"Comrades," said he, "do you know what is passing in the village?"
"How should we know?" answered one of them.
"Know, then," continued the youth, "that the famous shepherd and
scholar, Chrysostom, died this morning; and it is rumored that it was
for love of that saucy girl Marcela, daughter of William the rich; she
who rambles about these woods and fields in the dress of a
shepherdess."
"For Marcela, say you?" quoth one.
"For her, I say," answered the goatherd; "and the best of it is, he has
ordered in his will that they should bury him in the fields, like a
Moor, at the foot of the rock, by the cork-tree fountain, which,
according to report, and as they say, he himself declared was the very
place where he first saw her. He ordered also other tilings so
extravagant that the clergy say they must not be performed; nor is it
fit that they should, for they seem to be heathenish. But his great
friend Ambrosio, the student, who accompanied him, dressed also like a
shepherd, declares that the whole of what Chrysostom enjoined shall be
executed: and upon this the village is all in an uproar: but by what I
can learn, they will at last do what Ambrosio and all his friends
require; and to-morrow they come to inter him, with great solemnity, in
the place I mentioned; and, in my opinion, it will be a sight well worth
seeing; at least, I shall not fail to go, although I were certain of not
returning to-morrow to the village."
"We will do the same," answered the goatherds; "and let us cast lots who
shall stay behind to look after the goats."
"You say well, Pedro," quoth another; "but it will be needless to make
use of this expedient, for I will remain for you all: and do not
attribute this to self-denial or want of curiosity in me, but to the
thorn which stuck into my foot the other day, and hinders me from
walking."
"We thank you, nevertheless," answered Pedro.
Don Quixote requested Pedro to give him some account of the deceased man
and the shepherdess. To which Pedro answered, "that all he knew was,
that the deceased was a wealthy gentleman, and inhabitant of a village
situate among these mountains, who had studied many years at Salamanca;
at the end of which time he returned home, with the character of a very
learned and well read person; particularly, it was said, he understood
the science of the stars, and what the sun and moon are doing in the
sky; for he told us punctually the clipse of the sun and moon."
"Friend," quoth Don Quixote, "the obscuration of those two luminaries is
called an _eclipse_, and not a _clipse_."
But Pedro, not regarding niceties, went on with his story, saying, "He
also foretold when the year would be plentiful or starel."
"_Sterile_, you would say, friend," quoth Don Quixote.
"_Sterile_, or _starel_," answered Pedro, "comes all to the same thing.
And, as I was saying, his father and friends, who gave credit to his
words, became very rich thereby; for they followed his advice in
everything. This year he would say, 'Sow barley, and not wheat; in this
you may sow vetches, and not barley; the next year there will be plenty
of oil; the three following there will not be a drop.'"
"This science they call astrology," said Don Quixote.
"I know not how it is called," replied Pedro, "but I know that he knew
all this, and more too. In short, not many months after he came from
Salamanca, on a certain day he appeared dressed like a shepherd, with
his crook and sheepskin jacket, having thrown aside his scholar's gown;
and with an intimate friend of his, called Ambrosio, who had been his
fellow-student, and who now put on likewise the apparel of a shepherd. I
forgot to tell you how the deceased Chrysostom was a great man at making
verses; insomuch that he made the carols for Christmas-eve and the
religious plays for Corpus Christi, which the boys of the village
represented; and everybody said they were most excellent. When the
people of the village saw the two scholars so suddenly habited like
shepherds, they were amazed, and could not get at the cause that induced
them to make that strange alteration in their dress. About this time the
father of Chrysostom died, and he inherited a large estate, in lands and
goods, flocks, herds, and money, of all which the youth remained
absolute master; and, indeed, he deserved it all, for he was a very good
companion, a charitable man, and a friend to those that were good, and
had a face like any blessing. Afterwards it came to be known that he
changed his habit for no other purpose but that he might wander about
these desert places after that shepherdess Marcela, with whom, as our
lad told you, he was in love.
"As all that I have related is certain truth, I can more readily believe
what our companion told us concerning the cause of Chrysostom's death;
and therefore I advise you, sir, not to fail being to-morrow at his
funeral, which will be very well worth seeing; for Chrysostom had a
great many friends, and it is not half a league hence to the place of
interment appointed by himself."
"I will certainly be there," said Don Quixote, "and I thank you for the
pleasure you have given me by the recital of so entertaining a story."
Morning scarcely had dawned through the balconies of the east, when five
of the six goatherds got up and went to awake Don Quixote, whom they
asked whether he continued in his resolution of going to see the famous
interment of Chrysostom, for, if so, they would bear him company. Don
Quixote, who desired nothing more, arose, and ordered Sancho to saddle
and pannel immediately, which he did with great expedition; and with the
same dispatch they all set out on their journey.
They had not gone a quarter of a league, when upon crossing a pathway,
they saw six shepherds advancing towards them, clad in jackets of black
sheepskin, with garlands of cypress and bitter rosemary on their heads;
each of them having in his hand a thick holly club. There came also with
them two gentlemen on horseback, well equipped for travelling, who were
attended by three lackeys on foot. When the two parties met they
courteously saluted each other, and finding upon inquiry that all were
proceeding to the place of burial, they continued their journey
together.
Proceeding on, they discerned through a cleft between two high mountains
about twenty shepherds coming down, all clad in jerkins of black wool,
and crowned with garlands, some of which were of yew, and some of
cypress. Six of them carried a bier covered with various flowers and
boughs. One of the goatherds said: "Those who come hither are bearing
the corpse of Chrysostom, and at the foot of yonder mountain is the
place where he desired to be interred." Four of them, with sharp
pickaxes, were making the grave by the side of a sharp rock. Upon the
bier lay a dead body, strewed with flowers, in the dress of a shepherd,
apparently about thirty years of age; and though dead, it was evident
that his countenance had been beautiful and his figure elegant. Several
books and a great number of papers, some open and some folded, lay round
him on the bier. All that were present, spectators as well as those who
were opening the grave, kept a marvellous silence, until one said to
another: "Observe carefully, Ambrosio, whether this be the place which
Chrysostom mentioned since you wish to be so exact in executing his
will."
"It is here," answered Ambrosio; "for in this very place my unhappy
friend often told me of his woe. Here it was, he told me, that he first
beheld that mortal enemy of the human race; here it was that he declared
to her his no less honorable than ardent passion; here it was that
Marcela finally undeceived and treated him with such disdain that she
put an end to the tragedy of his miserable life; and here, in memory of
so many misfortunes, he desired to be deposited in the bowels of eternal
oblivion."
Then, addressing himself to Don Quixote and the travellers, he thus
continued: "This body, sirs, which you are regarding with compassionate
eyes, was the receptacle of a soul upon which Heaven had bestowed an
infinite portion of its treasures; this is the body of Chrysostom, who
was a man of rare genius, matchless courtesy, and unbounded kindness; he
was a phoenix in friendship, magnificent without ostentation, grave
without arrogance, cheerful without meanness; in short, the first in all
that was good, and second to none in all that was unfortunate. He loved,
and was abhorred; he adored, and was scorned; he courted a savage; he
solicited a statue; he pursued the wind; he called aloud to the desert;
he was the slave of ingratitude, whose recompense was to leave him, in
the middle of his career of life, a prey to death, inflicted by a
certain shepherdess, whom he endeavored to render immortal in the
memories of men; as these papers you are looking at would sufficiently
demonstrate, had he not ordered me to commit them to the flames at the
same time that his body was deposited in the earth."
"You would then be more rigorous and cruel to them," said Vivaldo, "than
their master himself.
"It is neither just nor wise to fulfil the will of him who commands what
is utterly unreasonable.
"Augustus Caesar deemed it wrong to consent to the execution of what the
divine Mantuan commanded in his will; therefore, Signor Ambrosio,
although you commit your friend's body to the earth, do not commit his
writings also to oblivion; and if he has ordained like a man aggrieved,
do not you fulfil like one without discretion, but rather preserve those
papers, in order that the cruelty of Marcela may be still remembered,
and serve for an example to those who shall live in times to come, that
they may avoid falling down the like precipices; for I am acquainted, as
well as my companions here, with the story of this your enamored and
despairing friend; we know also your friendship, and the occasion of
his death, and what he ordered on his deathbed; from which lamentable
history we may conclude how great has been the cruelty of Marcela, the
love of Chrysostom, and the sincerity of your friendship; and also learn
the end of those who run headlong in the path that delirious passion
presents to their view. Last night we heard of Chrysostom's death, and
that he was to be interred in this place; led, therefore, by curiosity
and compassion, we turned out of our way, and determined to behold with
our eyes what had interested us so much in the recital; and, in return
for our pity, and our desire to give aid, had it been possible, we
beseech you, oh wise Ambrosio--at least I request it on my own
behalf--that you will not burn the papers, but allow me to take some of
them."
Then, without waiting for the shepherd's reply, he stretched out his
hand and took some of those that were nearest to him: upon which
Ambrosio said: "Out of civility, signor, I will consent to your keeping
those you have taken; but if you expect that I shall forbear burning
those that remain, you are deceived."
Vivaldo, desirous of seeing what the papers contained, immediately
opened one of them, and found that it was entitled, "The Song of
Despair." Ambrosio, hearing it, said: "This is the last thing which the
unhappy man wrote; and that all present may conceive, signor, to what a
state of misery he was reduced, read it aloud; for you will have time
enough while they are digging the grave."
"That I will do with all my heart," said Vivaldo; and, as all the
bystanders had the same desire, they assembled around him, and he read
in an audible voice as follows:--