**In which is ended the story of the shepherdess Marcela, with othe_ncidents**
Bit hardly had day begun to show itself through the balconies of the east,
when five of the six goatherds came to rouse Don Quixote and tell him that i_e was still of a mind to go and see the famous burial of Chrysostom the_ould bear him company. Don Quixote, who desired nothing better, rose an_rdered Sancho to saddle and pannel at once, which he did with all despatch,
and with the same they all set out forthwith. They had not gone a quarter of _eague when at the meeting of two paths they saw coming towards them some si_hepherds dressed in black sheepskins and with their heads crowned wit_arlands of cypress and bitter oleander. Each of them carried a stout holl_taff in his hand, and along with them there came two men of quality o_orseback in handsome travelling dress, with three servants on foo_ccompanying them. Courteous salutations were exchanged on meeting, an_nquiring one of the other which way each party was going, they learned tha_ll were bound for the scene of the burial, so they went on all together.
One of those on horseback addressing his companion said to him, "It seems t_e, Senor Vivaldo, that we may reckon as well spent the delay we shall incu_n seeing this remarkable funeral, for remarkable it cannot but be judging b_he strange things these shepherds have told us, of both the dead shepherd an_omicide shepherdess."
"So I think too," replied Vivaldo, "and I would delay not to say a day, bu_our, for the sake of seeing it."
Don Quixote asked them what it was they had heard of Marcela and Chrysostom.
The traveller answered that the same morning they had met these shepherds, an_eeing them dressed in this mournful fashion they had asked them the reason o_heir appearing in such a guise; which one of them gave, describing th_trange behaviour and beauty of a shepherdess called Marcela, and the loves o_any who courted her, together with the death of that Chrysostom to whos_urial they were going. In short, he repeated all that Pedro had related t_on Quixote.
This conversation dropped, and another was commenced by him who was calle_ivaldo asking Don Quixote what was the reason that led him to go armed i_hat fashion in a country so peaceful. To which Don Quixote replied, "Th_ursuit of my calling does not allow or permit me to go in any other fashion;
easy life, enjoyment, and repose were invented for soft courtiers, but toil,
unrest, and arms were invented and made for those alone whom the world call_nights-errant, of whom I, though unworthy, am the least of all."
The instant they heard this all set him down as mad, and the better to settl_he point and discover what kind of madness his was, Vivaldo proceeded to as_im what knights-errant meant.
"Have not your worships," replied Don Quixote, "read the annals and historie_f England, in which are recorded the famous deeds of King Arthur, whom we i_ur popular Castilian invariably call King Artus, with regard to whom it is a_ncient tradition, and commonly received all over that kingdom of Grea_ritain, that this king did not die, but was changed by magic art into _aven, and that in process of time he is to return to reign and recover hi_ingdom and sceptre; for which reason it cannot be proved that from that tim_o this any Englishman ever killed a raven? Well, then, in the time of thi_ood king that famous order of chivalry of the Knights of the Round Table wa_nstituted, and the amour of Don Lancelot of the Lake with the Queen Guinever_ccurred, precisely as is there related, the go-between and confidante therei_eing the highly honourable dame Quintanona, whence came that ballad so wel_nown and 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 and war.
Handed down from that time, then, this order of chivalry went on extending an_preading itself over many and various parts of the world; and in it, famou_nd renowned for their deeds, were the mighty Amadis of Gaul with all his son_nd descendants to the fifth generation, and the valiant Felixmarte o_ircania, and the never sufficiently praised Tirante el Blanco, and in our ow_ays almost we have seen and heard and talked with the invincible knight Do_elianis of Greece. This, then, sirs, is to be a knight-errant, and what _ave spoken of is the order of his chivalry, of which, as I have already said,
I, though a sinner, have made profession, and what the aforesaid knight_rofessed that same do I profess, and so I go through these solitudes an_ilds seeking adventures, resolved in soul to oppose my arm and person to th_ost perilous that fortune may offer me in aid of the weak and needy."
By these words of his the travellers were able to satisfy themselves of Do_uixote's being out of his senses and of the form of madness that overmastere_im, at which they felt the same astonishment that all felt on first becomin_cquainted with it; and Vivaldo, who was a person of great shrewdness and of _ively temperament, in order to beguile the short journey which they said wa_equired to reach the mountain, the scene of the burial, sought to give him a_pportunity of going on with his absurdities. So he said to him, "It seems t_e, Senor Knight-errant, that your worship has made choice of one of the mos_ustere professions in the world, and I imagine even that of the Carthusia_onks is not so austere."
"As austere it may perhaps be," replied our Don Quixote, "but so necessary fo_he world I am very much inclined to doubt. For, if the truth is to be told,
the soldier who executes what his captain orders does no less than the captai_imself who gives the order. My meaning, is, that churchmen in peace and quie_ray to Heaven for the welfare of the world, but we soldiers and knights carr_nto effect what they pray for, defending it with the might of our arms an_he edge of our swords, not under shelter but in the open air, a target fo_he intolerable rays of the sun in summer and the piercing frosts of winter.
Thus are we God's ministers on earth and the arms by which his justice is don_herein. And as the business of war and all that relates and belongs to i_annot be conducted without exceeding great sweat, toil, and exertion, i_ollows that those who make it their profession have undoubtedly more labou_han those who in tranquil peace and quiet are engaged in praying to God t_elp the weak. I do not mean to say, nor does it enter into my thoughts, tha_he knight-errant's calling is as good as that of the monk in his cell; _ould merely infer from what I endure myself that it is beyond a doubt a mor_aborious and a more belaboured one, a hungrier and thirstier, a wretcheder,
raggeder, and lousier; for there is no reason to doubt that the knights-erran_f yore endured much hardship in the course of their lives. And if some o_hem by the might of their arms did rise to be emperors, in faith it cost the_ear in the matter of blood and sweat; and if those who attained to that ran_ad not had magicians and sages to help them they would have been completel_aulked in their ambition and disappointed in their hopes."
"That is my own opinion," replied the traveller; "but one thing among man_thers seems to me very wrong in knights-errant, and that is that when the_ind themselves about to engage in some mighty and perilous adventure in whic_here is manifest danger of losing their lives, they never at the moment o_ngaging in it think of commending themselves to God, as is the duty of ever_ood Christian in like peril; instead of which they commend themselves t_heir ladies with as much devotion as if these were their gods, a thing whic_eems to me to savour somewhat of heathenism."
"Sir," answered Don Quixote, "that cannot be on any account omitted, and th_night-errant would be disgraced who acted otherwise: for it is usual an_ustomary in knight-errantry that the knight-errant, who on engaging in an_reat feat of arms has his lady before him, should turn his eyes towards he_oftly and lovingly, as though with them entreating her to favour and protec_im in the hazardous venture he is about to undertake, and even though no on_ear him, he is bound to say certain words between his teeth, commendin_imself to her with all his heart, and of this we have innumerable instance_n the histories. Nor is it to be supposed from this that they are to omi_ommending themselves to God, for there will be time and opportunity for doin_o while they are engaged in their task."
"For all that," answered the traveller, "I feel some doubt still, becaus_ften I have read how words will arise between two knights-errant, and fro_ne thing to another it comes about that their anger kindles and they whee_heir horses round and take a good stretch of field, and then without any mor_do at the top of their speed they come to the charge, and in mid-career the_re wont to commend themselves to their ladies; and what commonly comes of th_ncounter is that one falls over the haunches of his horse pierced through an_hrough by his antagonist's lance, and as for the other, it is only by holdin_n to the mane of his horse that he can help falling to the ground; but I kno_ot how the dead man had time to commend himself to God in the course of suc_apid work as this; it would have been better if those words which he spent i_ommending himself to his lady in the midst of his career had been devoted t_is duty and obligation as a Christian. Moreover, it is my belief that al_nights-errant have not ladies to commend themselves to, for they are not al_n love."
"That is impossible," said Don Quixote: "I say it is impossible that ther_ould be a knight-errant without a lady, because to such it is as natural an_roper to be in love as to the heavens to have stars: most certainly n_istory has been seen in which there is to be found a knight-errant without a_mour, and for the simple reason that without one he would be held n_egitimate knight but a bastard, and one who had gained entrance into th_tronghold of the said knighthood, not by the door, but over the wall like _hief and a robber."
"Nevertheless," said the traveller, "if I remember rightly, I think I hav_ead that Don Galaor, the brother of the valiant Amadis of Gaul, never had an_pecial lady to whom he might commend himself, and yet he was not the les_steemed, and was a very stout and famous knight."
To which our Don Quixote made answer, "Sir, one solitary swallow does not mak_ummer; moreover, I know that knight was in secret very deeply in love;
besides which, that way of falling in love with all that took his fancy was _atural propensity which he could not control. But, in short, it is ver_anifest that he had one alone whom he made mistress of his will, to whom h_ommended himself very frequently and very secretly, for he prided himself o_eing a reticent knight."
"Then if it be essential that every knight-errant should be in love," said th_raveller, "it may be fairly supposed that your worship is so, as you are o_he order; and if you do not pride yourself on being as reticent as Do_alaor, I entreat you as earnestly as I can, in the name of all this compan_nd in my own, to inform us of the name, country, rank, and beauty of you_ady, for she will esteem herself fortunate if all the world knows that she i_oved and served by such a knight as your worship seems to be."
At this Don Quixote heaved a deep sigh and said, "I cannot say positivel_hether my sweet enemy is pleased or not that the world should know I serv_er; I can only say in answer to what has been so courteously asked of me,
that her name is Dulcinea, her country El Toboso, a village of La Mancha, he_ank must be at least that of a princess, since she is my queen and lady, an_er beauty superhuman, since all the impossible and fanciful attributes o_eauty which the poets apply to their ladies are verified in her; for he_airs are gold, her forehead Elysian fields, her eyebrows rainbows, her eye_uns, her cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her neck alabaster,
her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her fairness snow, and what modest_onceals from sight such, I think and imagine, as rational reflection can onl_xtol, 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 the Moncadas o_equesenes of Catalonia, nor yet of the Rebellas or Villanovas of Valencia;
Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabertis, Corellas, Lunas, Alagones, Urreas, Foces, o_urreas of Aragon; Cerdas, Manriques, Mendozas, or Guzmans of Castile;
Alencastros, Pallas, or Meneses of Portugal; but she is of those of El Tobos_f La Mancha, a lineage that though modern, may furnish a source of gentl_lood for the most illustrious families of the ages that are to come, and thi_et none dispute with me save on the condition that Zerbino placed at the foo_f the 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, "I will no_enture to compare it with that of El Toboso of La Mancha, though, to tell th_ruth, no such surname has until now ever reached my ears."
"What!" said Don Quixote, "has that never reached them?"
The rest of the party went along listening with great attention to th_onversation of the pair, and even the very goatherds and shepherds perceive_ow exceedingly out of his wits our Don Quixote was. Sancho Panza alon_hought that what his master said was the truth, knowing who he was and havin_nown him from his birth; and all that he felt any difficulty in believing wa_hat about the fair Dulcinea del Toboso, because neither any such name nor an_uch princess had ever come to his knowledge though he lived so close to E_oboso. They were going along conversing in this way, when they saw descendin_ gap between two high mountains some twenty shepherds, all clad in sheepskin_f black wool, and crowned with garlands which, as afterwards appeared, were,
some of them of yew, some of cypress. Six of the number were carrying a bie_overed with a great variety of flowers and branches, on seeing which one o_he goatherds said, "Those who come there are the bearers of Chrysostom'_ody, and the foot of that mountain is the place where he ordered them to bur_im." They therefore made haste to reach the spot, and did so by the tim_hose who came had laid the bier upon the ground, and four of them with shar_ickaxes were digging a grave by the side of a hard rock. They greeted eac_ther courteously, and then Don Quixote and those who accompanied him turne_o examine the bier, and on it, covered with flowers, they saw a dead body i_he dress of a shepherd, to all appearance of one thirty years of age, an_howing even in death that in life he had been of comely features and gallan_earing. Around him on the bier itself were laid some books, and severa_apers open and folded; and those who were looking on as well as those wh_ere opening the grave and all the others who were there preserved a strang_ilence, until one of those who had borne the body said to another, "Observ_arefully, Ambrosia if this is the place Chrysostom spoke of, since you ar_nxious that what he directed in his will should be so strictly complie_ith."
"This is the place," answered Ambrosia "for in it many a time did my poo_riend tell me the story of his hard fortune. Here it was, he told me, that h_aw for the first time that mortal enemy of the human race, and here, too, fo_he first time he declared to her his passion, as honourable as it wa_evoted, and here it was that at last Marcela ended by scorning and rejectin_im so as to bring the tragedy of his wretched life to a close; here, i_emory of misfortunes so great, he desired to be laid in the bowels of eterna_blivion." Then turning to Don Quixote and the travellers he went on to say,
"That body, sirs, on which you are looking with compassionate eyes, was th_bode of a soul on which Heaven bestowed a vast share of its riches. That i_he body of Chrysostom, who was unrivalled in wit, unequalled in courtesy,
unapproached in gentle bearing, a phoenix in friendship, generous withou_imit, grave without arrogance, gay without vulgarity, and, in short, first i_ll that constitutes goodness and second to none in all that makes u_isfortune. He loved deeply, he was hated; he adored, he was scorned; he wooe_ wild beast, he pleaded with marble, he pursued the wind, he cried to th_ilderness, he served ingratitude, and for reward was made the prey of deat_n the mid-course of life, cut short by a shepherdess whom he sought t_mmortalise in the memory of man, as these papers which you see could full_rove, had he not commanded me to consign them to the fire after havin_onsigned his body to the earth."
"You would deal with them more harshly and cruelly than their owner himself,"
said Vivaldo, "for it is neither right nor proper to do the will of one wh_njoins what is wholly unreasonable; it would not have been reasonable i_ugustus Caesar had he permitted the directions left by the divine Mantuan i_is will to be carried into effect. So that, Senor Ambrosia while you consig_our friend's body to the earth, you should not consign his writings t_blivion, for if he gave the order in bitterness of heart, it is not righ_hat you should irrationally obey it. On the contrary, by granting life t_hose papers, let the cruelty of Marcela live for ever, to serve as a warnin_n ages to come to all men to shun and avoid falling into like danger; or _nd all of us who have come here know already the story of this your love-
stricken and heart-broken friend, and we know, too, your friendship, and th_ause of his death, and the directions he gave at the close of his life; fro_hich sad story may be gathered how great was the cruelty of Marcela, the lov_f Chrysostom, and the loyalty of your friendship, together with the en_waiting those who pursue rashly the path that insane passion opens to thei_yes. Last night we learned the death of Chrysostom and that he was to b_uried here, and out of curiosity and pity we left our direct road an_esolved to come and see with our eyes that which when heard of had so move_ur compassion, and in consideration of that compassion and our desire t_rove it if we might by condolence, we beg of you, excellent Ambrosia, or a_east I on my own account entreat you, that instead of burning those paper_ou allow me to carry away some of them."
And without waiting for the shepherd's answer, he stretched out his hand an_ook up some of those that were nearest to him; seeing which Ambrosio said,
"Out of courtesy, senor, I will grant your request as to those you have taken,
but it is idle to expect me to abstain from burning the remainder."
Vivaldo, who was eager to see what the papers contained, opened one of them a_nce, and saw that its title was "Lay of Despair."
Ambrosio hearing it said, "That is the last paper the unhappy man wrote; an_hat you may see, senor, to what an end his misfortunes brought him, read i_o that you may be heard, for you will have time enough for that while we ar_aiting for the grave to be dug."
"I will do so very willingly," said Vivaldo; and as all the bystanders wer_qually eager they gathered round him, and he, reading in a loud voice, foun_hat it ran as follows.