PART I - CHAPTER XIV.

by Miguel de Cervantes

　　WHEREIN ARE INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD, TOGETHERWITH OTHER INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FORTHE LAY OF CHRYSOSTOM Since thou dost in thy cruelty desire The ruthless rigour of thy tyranny From tongue to tongue, from land to land proclaimed, The very Hell will I constrain to lend This stricken breast of mine deep notes of woe To serve my need of fitting utterance. And as I strive to body forth the tale Of all I suffer, all that thou hast done, Forth shall the dread voice roll, and bear along Shreds from my vitals torn for greater pain. Then listen, not to dulcet harmony, But to a discord wrung by mad despair Out of this bosom's depths of bitterness, To ease my heart and plant a sting in thine. The lion's roar, the fierce wolf's savage howl, The horrid hissing of the scaly snake, The awesome cries of monsters yet unnamed, The crow's ill-boding croak, the hollow moan Of wild winds wrestling with the restless sea, The wrathful bellow of the vanquished bull, The plaintive sobbing of the widowed dove, The envied owl's sad note, the wail of woe That rises from the dreary choir of Hell, Commingled in one sound, confusing sense, Let all these come to aid my soul's complaint, For pain like mine demands new modes of song. No echoes of that discord shall be heard Where Father Tagus rolls, or on the banks Of olive-bordered Betis; to the rocks Or in deep caverns shall my plaint be told, And by a lifeless tongue in living words; Or in dark valleys or on lonely shores, Where neither foot of man nor sunbeam falls; Or in among the poison-breathing swarms Of monsters nourished by the sluggish Nile. For, though it be to solitudes remote The hoarse vague echoes of my sorrows sound Thy matchless cruelty, my dismal fate Shall carry them to all the spacious world. Disdain hath power to kill, and patience dies Slain by suspicion, be it false or true; And deadly is the force of jealousy; Long absence makes of life a dreary void; No hope of happiness can give repose To him that ever fears to be forgot; And death, inevitable, waits in hall. But I, by some strange miracle, live on A prey to absence, jealousy, disdain; Racked by suspicion as by certainty; Forgotten, left to feed my flame alone. And while I suffer thus, there comes no ray Of hope to gladden me athwart the gloom; Nor do I look for it in my despair; But rather clinging to a cureless woe, All hope do I abjure for evermore. Can there be hope where fear is? Were it well, When far more certain are the grounds of fear? Ought I to shut mine eyes to jealousy, If through a thousand heart-wounds it appears? Who would not give free access to distrust, Seeing disdain unveiled, and--bitter change!-- All his suspicions turned to certainties, And the fair truth transformed into a lie? Oh, thou fierce tyrant of the realms of love, Oh, Jealousy! put chains upon these hands, And bind me with thy strongest cord, Disdain. But, woe is me! triumphant over all, My sufferings drown the memory of you. And now I die, and since there is no hope Of happiness for me in life or death, Still to my fantasy I'll fondly cling. I'll say that he is wise who loveth well, And that the soul most free is that most bound In thraldom to the ancient tyrant Love. I'll say that she who is mine enemy In that fair body hath as fair a mind, And that her coldness is but my desert, And that by virtue of the pain he sends Love rules his kingdom with a gentle sway. Thus, self-deluding, and in bondage sore, And wearing out the wretched shred of life To which I am reduced by her disdain, I'll give this soul and body to the winds, All hopeless of a crown of bliss in store. Thou whose injustice hath supplied the cause That makes me quit the weary life I loathe, As by this wounded bosom thou canst see How willingly thy victim I become, Let not my death, if haply worth a tear, Cloud the clear heaven that dwells in thy bright eyes; I would not have thee expiate in aught The crime of having made my heart thy prey; But rather let thy laughter gaily ring And prove my death to be thy festival. Fool that I am to bid thee! well I know Thy glory gains by my untimely end. And now it is the time; from Hell's abyss Come thirsting Tantalus, come Sisyphus Heaving the cruel stone, come Tityus With vulture, and with wheel Ixion come, And come the sisters of the ceaseless toil; And all into this breast transfer their pains, And (if such tribute to despair be due) Chant in their deepest tones a doleful dirge Over a corse unworthy of a shroud. Let the three-headed guardian of the gate, And all the monstrous progeny of hell, The doleful concert join: a lover dead Methinks can have no fitter obsequies. Lay of despair, grieve not when thou art gone Forth from this sorrowing heart: my misery Brings fortune to the cause that gave thee birth; Then banish sadness even in the tomb. The "Lay of Chrysostom" met with the approbation of the listeners, thoughthe reader said it did not seem to him to agree with what he had heard ofMarcela's reserve and propriety, for Chrysostom complained in it ofjealousy, suspicion, and absence, all to the prejudice of the good nameand fame of Marcela; to which Ambrosio replied as one who knew well hisfriend's most secret thoughts, "Senor, to remove that doubt I should tellyou that when the unhappy man wrote this lay he was away from Marcela,from whom he had voluntarily separated himself, to try if absence wouldact with him as it is wont; and as everything distresses and every fearhaunts the banished lover, so imaginary jealousies and suspicions,dreaded as if they were true, tormented Chrysostom; and thus the truth ofwhat report declares of the virtue of Marcela remains unshaken, and withher envy itself should not and cannot find any fault save that of beingcruel, somewhat haughty, and very scornful.""That is true," said Vivaldo; and as he was about to read another paperof those he had preserved from the fire, he was stopped by a marvellousvision (for such it seemed) that unexpectedly presented itself to theireyes; for on the summit of the rock where they were digging the gravethere appeared the shepherdess Marcela, so beautiful that her beautyexceeded its reputation. Those who had never till then beheld her gazedupon her in wonder and silence, and those who were accustomed to see herwere not less amazed than those who had never seen her before. But theinstant Ambrosio saw her he addressed her, with manifest indignation:"Art thou come, by chance, cruel basilisk of these mountains, to see ifin thy presence blood will flow from the wounds of this wretched beingthy cruelty has robbed of life; or is it to exult over the cruel work ofthy humours that thou art come; or like another pitiless Nero to lookdown from that height upon the ruin of his Rome in embers; or in thyarrogance to trample on this ill-fated corpse, as the ungrateful daughtertrampled on her father Tarquin's? Tell us quickly for what thou art come,or what it is thou wouldst have, for, as I know the thoughts ofChrysostom never failed to obey thee in life, I will make all these whocall themselves his friends obey thee, though he be dead.""I come not, Ambrosia for any of the purposes thou hast named," repliedMarcela, "but to defend myself and to prove how unreasonable are allthose who blame me for their sorrow and for Chrysostom's death; andtherefore I ask all of you that are here to give me your attention, forwill not take much time or many words to bring the truth home to personsof sense. Heaven has made me, so you say, beautiful, and so much so thatin spite of yourselves my beauty leads you to love me; and for the loveyou show me you say, and even urge, that I am bound to love you. By thatnatural understanding which God has given me I know that everythingbeautiful attracts love, but I cannot see how, by reason of being loved,that which is loved for its beauty is bound to love that which loves it;besides, it may happen that the lover of that which is beautiful may beugly, and ugliness being detestable, it is very absurd to say, "I lovethee because thou art beautiful, thou must love me though I be ugly." Butsupposing the beauty equal on both sides, it does not follow that theinclinations must be therefore alike, for it is not every beauty thatexcites love, some but pleasing the eye without winning the affection;and if every sort of beauty excited love and won the heart, the willwould wander vaguely to and fro unable to make choice of any; for asthere is an infinity of beautiful objects there must be an infinity ofinclinations, and true love, I have heard it said, is indivisible, andmust be voluntary and not compelled. If this be so, as I believe it tobe, why do you desire me to bend my will by force, for no other reasonbut that you say you love me? Nay--tell me--had Heaven made me ugly, as ithas made me beautiful, could I with justice complain of you for notloving me? Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was nochoice of mine, for, be it what it may, Heaven of its bounty gave it mewithout my asking or choosing it; and as the viper, though it kills withit, does not deserve to be blamed for the poison it carries, as it is agift of nature, neither do I deserve reproach for being beautiful; forbeauty in a modest woman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; theone does not burn, the other does not cut, those who do not come toonear. Honour and virtue are the ornaments of the mind, without which thebody, though it be so, has no right to pass for beautiful; but if modestyis one of the virtues that specially lend a grace and charm to mind andbody, why should she who is loved for her beauty part with it to gratifyone who for his pleasure alone strives with all his might and energy torob her of it? I was born free, and that I might live in freedom I chosethe solitude of the fields; in the trees of the mountains I find society,the clear waters of the brooks are my mirrors, and to the trees andwaters I make known my thoughts and charms. I am a fire afar off, a swordlaid aside. Those whom I have inspired with love by letting them see me,I have by words undeceived, and if their longings live on hope--and Ihave given none to Chrysostom or to any other--it cannot justly be saidthat the death of any is my doing, for it was rather his own obstinacythan my cruelty that killed him; and if it be made a charge against methat his wishes were honourable, and that therefore I was bound to yieldto them, I answer that when on this very spot where now his grave is madehe declared to me his purity of purpose, I told him that mine was to livein perpetual solitude, and that the earth alone should enjoy the fruitsof my retirement and the spoils of my beauty; and if, after this openavowal, he chose to persist against hope and steer against the wind, whatwonder is it that he should sink in the depths of his infatuation? If Ihad encouraged him, I should be false; if I had gratified him, I shouldhave acted against my own better resolution and purpose. He waspersistent in spite of warning, he despaired without being hated. Bethinkyou now if it be reasonable that his suffering should be laid to mycharge. Let him who has been deceived complain, let him give way todespair whose encouraged hopes have proved vain, let him flatter himselfwhom I shall entice, let him boast whom I shall receive; but let not himcall me cruel or homicide to whom I make no promise, upon whom I practiseno deception, whom I neither entice nor receive. It has not been so farthe will of Heaven that I should love by fate, and to expect me to loveby choice is idle. Let this general declaration serve for each of mysuitors on his own account, and let it be understood from this time forththat if anyone dies for me it is not of jealousy or misery he dies, forshe who loves no one can give no cause for jealousy to any, and candouris not to be confounded with scorn. Let him who calls me wild beast andbasilisk, leave me alone as something noxious and evil; let him who callsme ungrateful, withhold his service; who calls me wayward, seek not myacquaintance; who calls me cruel, pursue me not; for this wild beast,this basilisk, this ungrateful, cruel, wayward being has no kind ofdesire to seek, serve, know, or follow them. If Chrysostom's impatienceand violent passion killed him, why should my modest behaviour andcircumspection be blamed? If I preserve my purity in the society of thetrees, why should he who would have me preserve it among men, seek to robme of it? I have, as you know, wealth of my own, and I covet not that ofothers; my taste is for freedom, and I have no relish for constraint; Ineither love nor hate anyone; I do not deceive this one or court that, ortrifle with one or play with another. The modest converse of the shepherdgirls of these hamlets and the care of my goats are my recreations; mydesires are bounded by these mountains, and if they ever wander hence itis to contemplate the beauty of the heavens, steps by which the soultravels to its primeval abode."With these words, and not waiting to hear a reply, she turned and passedinto the thickest part of a wood that was hard by, leaving all who werethere lost in admiration as much of her good sense as of her beauty.Some--those wounded by the irresistible shafts launched by her brighteyes--made as though they would follow her, heedless of the frankdeclaration they had heard; seeing which, and deeming this a fittingoccasion for the exercise of his chivalry in aid of distressed damsels,Don Quixote, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, exclaimed in aloud and distinct voice:"Let no one, whatever his rank or condition, dare to follow the beautifulMarcela, under pain of incurring my fierce indignation. She has shown byclear and satisfactory arguments that little or no fault is to be foundwith her for the death of Chrysostom, and also how far she is fromyielding to the wishes of any of her lovers, for which reason, instead ofbeing followed and persecuted, she should in justice be honoured andesteemed by all the good people of the world, for she shows that she isthe only woman in it that holds to such a virtuous resolution."Whether it was because of the threats of Don Quixote, or because Ambrosiotold them to fulfil their duty to their good friend, none of theshepherds moved or stirred from the spot until, having finished the graveand burned Chrysostom's papers, they laid his body in it, not withoutmany tears from those who stood by. They closed the grave with a heavystone until a slab was ready which Ambrosio said he meant to haveprepared, with an epitaph which was to be to this effect: Beneath the stone before your eyes The body of a lover lies; In life he was a shepherd swain, In death a victim to disdain. Ungrateful, cruel, coy, and fair, Was she that drove him to despair, And Love hath made her his ally For spreading wide his tyranny. They then strewed upon the grave a profusion of flowers and branches, andall expressing their condolence with his friend ambrosio, took theirVivaldo and his companion did the same; and Don Quixote bade farewell tohis hosts and to the travellers, who pressed him to come with them toSeville, as being such a convenient place for finding adventures, forthey presented themselves in every street and round every corner oftenerthan anywhere else. Don Quixote thanked them for their advice and for thedisposition they showed to do him a favour, and said that for the presenthe would not, and must not go to Seville until he had cleared all thesemountains of highwaymen and robbers, of whom report said they were full.Seeing his good intention, the travellers were unwilling to press himfurther, and once more bidding him farewell, they left him and pursuedtheir journey, in the course of which they did not fail to discuss thestory of Marcela and Chrysostom as well as the madness of Don Quixote.He, on his part, resolved to go in quest of the shepherdess Marcela, andmake offer to her of all the service he could render her; but things didnot fall out with him as he expected, according to what is related in thecourse of this veracious history, of which the Second Part ends here.