PART I - CHAPTER XIII.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELA, WITH OTHERINCIDENTSBit hardly had day begun to show itself through the balconies of theeast, when five of the six goatherds came to rouse Don Quixote and tellhim that if he was still of a mind to go and see the famous burial ofChrysostom they would bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired nothingbetter, rose and ordered Sancho to saddle and pannel at once, which hedid with all despatch, and with the same they all set out forthwith. Theyhad not gone a quarter of a league when at the meeting of two paths theysaw coming towards them some six shepherds dressed in black sheepskinsand with their heads crowned with garlands of cypress and bitteroleander. Each of them carried a stout holly staff in his hand, and alongwith them there came two men of quality on horseback in handsometravelling dress, with three servants on foot accompanying them.Courteous salutations were exchanged on meeting, and inquiring one of theother which way each party was going, they learned that all were boundfor the scene of the burial, so they went on all together.One of those on horseback addressing his companion said to him, "It seemsto me, Senor Vivaldo, that we may reckon as well spent the delay we shallincur in seeing this remarkable funeral, for remarkable it cannot but bejudging by the strange things these shepherds have told us, of both thedead shepherd and homicide shepherdess.""So I think too," replied Vivaldo, "and I would delay not to say a day,but four, for the sake of seeing it."Don Quixote asked them what it was they had heard of Marcela andChrysostom. The traveller answered that the same morning they had metthese shepherds, and seeing them dressed in this mournful fashion theyhad asked them the reason of their appearing in such a guise; which oneof them gave, describing the strange behaviour and beauty of ashepherdess called Marcela, and the loves of many who courted her,together with the death of that Chrysostom to whose burial they weregoing. In short, he repeated all that Pedro had related to Don Quixote.This conversation dropped, and another was commenced by him who wascalled Vivaldo asking Don Quixote what was the reason that led him to goarmed in that fashion in a country so peaceful. To which Don Quixotereplied, "The pursuit of my calling does not allow or permit me to go inany other fashion; easy life, enjoyment, and repose were invented forsoft courtiers, but toil, unrest, and arms were invented and made forthose alone whom the world calls knights-errant, of whom I, thoughunworthy, am the least of all."The instant they heard this all set him down as mad, and the better tosettle the point and discover what kind of madness his was, Vivaldoproceeded to ask him what knights-errant meant."Have not your worships," replied Don Quixote, "read the annals andhistories of England, in which are recorded the famous deeds of KingArthur, whom we in our popular Castilian invariably call King Artus, withregard to whom it is an ancient tradition, and commonly received all overthat kingdom of Great Britain, that this king did not die, but waschanged by magic art into a raven, and that in process of time he is toreturn to reign and recover his kingdom and sceptre; for which reason itcannot be proved that from that time to this any Englishman ever killed araven? Well, then, in the time of this good king that famous order ofchivalry of the Knights of the Round Table was instituted, and the amourof Don Lancelot of the Lake with the Queen Guinevere occurred, preciselyas is there related, the go-between and confidante therein being thehighly honourable dame Quintanona, whence came that ballad so well knownand widely spread in our Spain-- O never surely was there knight So served by hand of dame, As served was he Sir Lancelot hight When he from Britain came-- with all the sweet and delectable course of his achievements in love andwar. Handed down from that time, then, this order of chivalry went onextending and spreading itself over many and various parts of the world;and in it, famous and renowned for their deeds, were the mighty Amadis ofGaul with all his sons and descendants to the fifth generation, and thevaliant Felixmarte of Hircania, and the never sufficiently praisedTirante el Blanco, and in our own days almost we have seen and heard andtalked with the invincible knight Don Belianis of Greece. This, then,sirs, is to be a knight-errant, and what I have spoken of is the order ofhis chivalry, of which, as I have already said, I, though a sinner, havemade profession, and what the aforesaid knights professed that same do Iprofess, and so I go through these solitudes and wilds seekingadventures, resolved in soul to oppose my arm and person to the mostperilous that fortune may offer me in aid of the weak and needy."By these words of his the travellers were able to satisfy themselves ofDon Quixote's being out of his senses and of the form of madness thatovermastered him, at which they felt the same astonishment that all felton first becoming acquainted with it; and Vivaldo, who was a person ofgreat shrewdness and of a lively temperament, in order to beguile theshort journey which they said was required to reach the mountain, thescene of the burial, sought to give him an opportunity of going on withhis absurdities. So he said to him, "It seems to me, Senor Knight-errant,that your worship has made choice of one of the most austere professionsin the world, and I imagine even that of the Carthusian monks is not soaustere.""As austere it may perhaps be," replied our Don Quixote, "but sonecessary for the world I am very much inclined to doubt. For, if thetruth is to be told, the soldier who executes what his captain ordersdoes no less than the captain himself who gives the order. My meaning,is, that churchmen in peace and quiet pray to Heaven for the welfare ofthe world, but we soldiers and knights carry into effect what they prayfor, defending it with the might of our arms and the edge of our swords,not under shelter but in the open air, a target for the intolerable raysof the sun in summer and the piercing frosts of winter. Thus are we God'sministers on earth and the arms by which his justice is done therein. Andas the business of war and all that relates and belongs to it cannot beconducted without exceeding great sweat, toil, and exertion, it followsthat those who make it their profession have undoubtedly more labour thanthose who in tranquil peace and quiet are engaged in praying to God tohelp the weak. I do not mean to say, nor does it enter into my thoughts,that the knight-errant's calling is as good as that of the monk in hiscell; I would merely infer from what I endure myself that it is beyond adoubt a more laborious and a more belaboured one, a hungrier andthirstier, a wretcheder, raggeder, and lousier; for there is no reason todoubt that the knights-errant of yore endured much hardship in the courseof their lives. And if some of them by the might of their arms did riseto be emperors, in faith it cost them dear in the matter of blood andsweat; and if those who attained to that rank had not had magicians andsages to help them they would have been completely baulked in theirambition and disappointed in their hopes.""That is my own opinion," replied the traveller; "but one thing amongmany others seems to me very wrong in knights-errant, and that is thatwhen they find themselves about to engage in some mighty and perilousadventure in which there is manifest danger of losing their lives, theynever at the moment of engaging in it think of commending themselves toGod, as is the duty of every good Christian in like peril; instead ofwhich they commend themselves to their ladies with as much devotion as ifthese were their gods, a thing which seems to me to savour somewhat ofheathenism.""Sir," answered Don Quixote, "that cannot be on any account omitted, andthe knight-errant would be disgraced who acted otherwise: for it is usualand customary in knight-errantry that the knight-errant, who on engagingin any great feat of arms has his lady before him, should turn his eyestowards her softly and lovingly, as though with them entreating her tofavour and protect him in the hazardous venture he is about to undertake,and even though no one hear him, he is bound to say certain words betweenhis teeth, commending himself to her with all his heart, and of this wehave innumerable instances in the histories. Nor is it to be supposedfrom this that they are to omit commending themselves to God, for therewill be time and opportunity for doing so while they are engaged in theirtask.""For all that," answered the traveller, "I feel some doubt still, becauseoften I have read how words will arise between two knights-errant, andfrom one thing to another it comes about that their anger kindles andthey wheel their horses round and take a good stretch of field, and thenwithout any more ado at the top of their speed they come to the charge,and in mid-career they are wont to commend themselves to their ladies;and what commonly comes of the encounter is that one falls over thehaunches of his horse pierced through and through by his antagonist'slance, and as for the other, it is only by holding on to the mane of hishorse that he can help falling to the ground; but I know not how the deadman had time to commend himself to God in the course of such rapid workas this; it would have been better if those words which he spent incommending himself to his lady in the midst of his career had beendevoted to his duty and obligation as a Christian. Moreover, it is mybelief that all knights-errant have not ladies to commend themselves to,for they are not all in love.""That is impossible," said Don Quixote: "I say it is impossible thatthere could be a knight-errant without a lady, because to such it is asnatural and proper to be in love as to the heavens to have stars: mostcertainly no history has been seen in which there is to be found aknight-errant without an amour, and for the simple reason that withoutone he would be held no legitimate knight but a bastard, and one who hadgained entrance into the stronghold of the said knighthood, not by thedoor, but over the wall like a thief and a robber.""Nevertheless," said the traveller, "if I remember rightly, I think Ihave read that Don Galaor, the brother of the valiant Amadis of Gaul,never had any special lady to whom he might commend himself, and yet hewas not the less esteemed, and was a very stout and famous knight."To which our Don Quixote made answer, "Sir, one solitary swallow does notmake summer; moreover, I know that knight was in secret very deeply inlove; besides which, that way of falling in love with all that took hisfancy was a natural propensity which he could not control. But, in short,it is very manifest that he had one alone whom he made mistress of hiswill, to whom he commended himself very frequently and very secretly, forhe prided himself on being a reticent knight.""Then if it be essential that every knight-errant should be in love,"said the traveller, "it may be fairly supposed that your worship is so,as you are of the order; and if you do not pride yourself on being asreticent as Don Galaor, I entreat you as earnestly as I can, in the nameof all this company and in my own, to inform us of the name, country,rank, and beauty of your lady, for she will esteem herself fortunate ifall the world knows that she is loved and served by such a knight as yourworship seems to be."At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh and said, "I cannot say positivelywhether my sweet enemy is pleased or not that the world should know Iserve her; I can only say in answer to what has been so courteously askedof me, that her name is Dulcinea, her country El Toboso, a village of LaMancha, her rank must be at least that of a princess, since she is myqueen and lady, and her beauty superhuman, since all the impossible andfanciful attributes of beauty which the poets apply to their ladies areverified in her; for her hairs are gold, her forehead Elysian fields, hereyebrows rainbows, her eyes suns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, herteeth pearls, her neck alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, herfairness snow, and what modesty conceals from sight such, I think andimagine, as rational reflection can only extol, not compare.""We should like to know her lineage, race, and ancestry," said Vivaldo.To which Don Quixote replied, "She is not of the ancient Roman Curtii,Caii, or Scipios, nor of the modern Colonnas or Orsini, nor of theMoncadas or Requesenes of Catalonia, nor yet of the Rebellas orVillanovas of Valencia; Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabertis, Corellas, Lunas,Alagones, Urreas, Foces, or Gurreas of Aragon; Cerdas, Manriques,Mendozas, or Guzmans of Castile; Alencastros, Pallas, or Meneses ofPortugal; but she is of those of El Toboso of La Mancha, a lineage thatthough modern, may furnish a source of gentle blood for the mostillustrious families of the ages that are to come, and this let nonedispute with me save on the condition that Zerbino placed at the foot ofthe trophy of Orlando's arms, saying,'These let none move Who dareth not his might with Roland prove.'""Although mine is of the Cachopins of Laredo," said the traveller, "Iwill not venture to compare it with that of El Toboso of La Mancha,though, to tell the truth, no such surname has until now ever reached myears.""What!" said Don Quixote, "has that never reached them?"The rest of the party went along listening with great attention to theconversation of the pair, and even the very goatherds and shepherdsperceived how exceedingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. SanchoPanza alone thought that what his master said was the truth, knowing whohe was and having known him from his birth; and all that he felt anydifficulty in believing was that about the fair Dulcinea del Toboso,because neither any such name nor any such princess had ever come to hisknowledge though he lived so close to El Toboso. They were going alongconversing in this way, when they saw descending a gap between two highmountains some twenty shepherds, all clad in sheepskins of black wool,and crowned with garlands which, as afterwards appeared, were, some ofthem of yew, some of cypress. Six of the number were carrying a biercovered with a great variety of flowers and branches, on seeing which oneof the goatherds said, "Those who come there are the bearers ofChrysostom's body, and the foot of that mountain is the place where heordered them to bury him." They therefore made haste to reach the spot,and did so by the time those who came had laid the bier upon the ground,and four of them with sharp pickaxes were digging a grave by the side ofa hard rock. They greeted each other courteously, and then Don Quixoteand those who accompanied him turned to examine the bier, and on it,covered with flowers, they saw a dead body in the dress of a shepherd, toall appearance of one thirty years of age, and showing even in death thatin life he had been of comely features and gallant bearing. Around him onthe bier itself were laid some books, and several papers open and folded;and those who were looking on as well as those who were opening the graveand all the others who were there preserved a strange silence, until oneof those who had borne the body said to another, "Observe carefully,Ambrosia if this is the place Chrysostom spoke of, since you are anxiousthat what he directed in his will should be so strictly complied with.""This is the place," answered Ambrosia "for in it many a time did my poorfriend tell me the story of his hard fortune. Here it was, he told me,that he saw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human race, andhere, too, for the first time he declared to her his passion, ashonourable as it was devoted, and here it was that at last Marcela endedby scorning and rejecting him so as to bring the tragedy of his wretchedlife to a close; here, in memory of misfortunes so great, he desired tobe laid in the bowels of eternal oblivion." Then turning to Don Quixoteand the travellers he went on to say, "That body, sirs, on which you arelooking with compassionate eyes, was the abode of a soul on which Heavenbestowed a vast share of its riches. That is the body of Chrysostom, whowas unrivalled in wit, unequalled in courtesy, unapproached in gentlebearing, a phoenix in friendship, generous without limit, grave withoutarrogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in short, first in all thatconstitutes goodness and second to none in all that makes up misfortune.He loved deeply, he was hated; he adored, he was scorned; he wooed a wildbeast, he pleaded with marble, he pursued the wind, he cried to thewilderness, he served ingratitude, and for reward was made the prey ofdeath in the mid-course of life, cut short by a shepherdess whom hesought to immortalise in the memory of man, as these papers which you seecould fully prove, had he not commanded me to consign them to the fireafter having consigned his body to the earth.""You would deal with them more harshly and cruelly than their ownerhimself," said Vivaldo, "for it is neither right nor proper to do thewill of one who enjoins what is wholly unreasonable; it would not havebeen reasonable in Augustus Caesar had he permitted the directions leftby the divine Mantuan in his will to be carried into effect. So that,Senor Ambrosia while you consign your friend's body to the earth, youshould not consign his writings to oblivion, for if he gave the order inbitterness of heart, it is not right that you should irrationally obeyit. On the contrary, by granting life to those papers, let the cruelty ofMarcela live for ever, to serve as a warning in ages to come to all mento shun and avoid falling into like danger; or I and all of us who havecome here know already the story of this your love-stricken andheart-broken friend, and we know, too, your friendship, and the cause ofhis death, and the directions he gave at the close of his life; fromwhich sad story may be gathered how great was the cruelty of Marcela, thelove of Chrysostom, and the loyalty of your friendship, together with theend awaiting those who pursue rashly the path that insane passion opensto their eyes. Last night we learned the death of Chrysostom and that hewas to be buried here, and out of curiosity and pity we left our directroad and resolved to come and see with our eyes that which when heard ofhad so moved our compassion, and in consideration of that compassion andour desire to prove it if we might by condolence, we beg of you,excellent Ambrosia, or at least I on my own account entreat you, thatinstead of burning those papers you allow me to carry away some of them."And without waiting for the shepherd's answer, he stretched out his handand took up some of those that were nearest to him; seeing which Ambrosiosaid, "Out of courtesy, senor, I will grant your request as to those youhave taken, but it is idle to expect me to abstain from burning theremainder."Vivaldo, who was eager to see what the papers contained, opened one ofthem at once, and saw that its title was "Lay of Despair."Ambrosio hearing it said, "That is the last paper the unhappy man wrote;and that you may see, senor, to what an end his misfortunes brought him,read it so that you may be heard, for you will have time enough for thatwhile we are waiting for the grave to be dug.""I will do so very willingly," said Vivaldo; and as all the bystanderswere equally eager they gathered round him, and he, reading in a loudvoice, found that it ran as follows.