_What passed between Don Quixote and the Goatherds._
After travelling the remainder of the day without further adventure,
they came to a place where some goatherds had set up some small huts;
and there they concluded to take up their lodging that night. This was
as great a mortification to Sancho, who was altogether for a good
town, as it was a pleasure to his master, who was for sleeping in the
open fields; and who believed that, as often as he did it, he
confirmed his title to knighthood by a new act of possession.
The knight was very courteously received by the goatherds; and as for
Sancho, after he had set up Rozinante and his ass as well as he could,
he presently repaired to the attractive smell of some pieces of kid's
flesh which stood boiling in a kettle over the fire. The hungry
squire would immediately have tried whether they were fit to be
removed out of the kettle into the stomach, but was not put to that
trouble; for the goatherds took them off the fire, and spread some
sheep-skins on the ground, and soon got their rural feast ready; and
cheerfully invited his master and him to partake of what they had.
Next, with some coarse compliment, after the country way, they desired
Don Quixote to sit down on a trough with the bottom upwards; and then
six of them, who were all that belonged to that fold, squatted them
down round the skins, while Sancho stood to wait upon his master, and
gave him drink in a horn cup, which the goatherds used. But he seeing
his man stand behind, said to him, "Sancho, it is my pleasure that
thou sit thee down by me, in the company of these good people, that
there be no difference now observed between thee and me, thy natural
lord and master; for it may be said of knight-errantry as of love,
that it makes all things equal." "I thank your worship," cried Sancho;
"but yet I must needs own, had I but a good deal of meat before me,
I'd eat it as well, or rather better, standing, and by myself, than if
I sat by an emperor; and, to deal plainly and truly with you, I had
rather munch a crust of brown bread and an onion in a corner, without
any more ado or ceremony, than feed upon turkey at another man's
table, where one is fain to sit mincing and chewing his meat an hour
together, drink little, be always wiping his fingers and his mouth,
and never dare to cough or sneeze, though he has never so much a mind
to it, nor do a many things which a body may do freely by one's self:
therefore, good sir, change those tokens of your kindness, which I
have a right to by being your worship's squire, into something that
may do me more good. As for these same honours, I heartily thank you
as much as if I had accepted them; but yet I give up my right to them
from this time to the world's end." "Talk no more," replied Don
Quixote, "but sit thee down, for the humble shall be exalted;" and so
pulling him by the arms, he forced him to sit by him.
All this while the goatherds said nothing, but stared upon their
guests; who swallowed whole luncheons as big as their fists with a
mighty appetite.
A young fellow, who used to bring them provisions from the next
village, happened to come while they were eating, and addressing
himself to the goatherds, "Hark ye, friends," said he, "d'ye hear the
news?" "What news?" cried one of the company. "That fine shepherd and
scholar Chrysostome died this morning," answered the other; "and they
say it was for love of Marcella, daughter of William the rich, that
goes up and down the country in the habit of a shepherdess." "For
Marcella!" cried one of the goatherds. "I say for her," replied the
fellow; "and what is more, it is reported he has ordered by his will
they should bury him in the fields like any heathen Moor, hard by the
cork-tree fountain, where they say he first saw her. Nay, he has
likewise ordered many other strange things to be done, which the
clergy cannot allow of; while Ambrose, the other scholar, who likewise
apparelled himself like a shepherd, is resolved to have his friend
Chrysostome's will fulfilled in every thing, just as he has ordered
it. It is thought that Ambrose and his friends will carry the day; and
to-morrow morning he is to be buried in great state where I told you:
I fancy it will be worth seeing; and I intend to go and see it, even
though I should not get back again to-morrow." "We will all go," cried
the goatherds, "and cast lots who shall tarry to look after the
goats." "Well said, Pedro," cried one of the goatherds; "but as for
casting of lots, I will save you that labour, for I will stay myself,
not so much out of kindness to you neither, or want of curiosity, as
because of the thorn in my toe, that will not let me go." Don Quixote,
who heard all this, entreated Pedro to tell him who the deceased was,
and also to give him a short account of the shepherdess.
Peter answered, that all he knew of the matter was, that the deceased
was a wealthy gentleman, who had been several years at the university
of Salamanca, and came home mightily improved in his learning. Within
some few months after he had left the university, on a certain morning
we saw him come dressed for all the world like a shepherd, and driving
his flock, having laid down the long gown, which he used to wear as a
scholar. At the same time one Ambrose, who had been his
fellow-scholar, also took upon him to go like a shepherd, and keep him
company, which we all did not a little marvel at. Somewhat before that
time Chrysostome's father died, and left him a large estate; and in
truth he deserved it all, for he was bountiful to the poor, a friend
to all honest people, and had a face like any blessing. At last it
came to be known, that the reason of his altering his garb in that
fashion was only that he might go up and down after that shepherdess
Marcella, whom our comrade told you of before, for he was fallen
mightily in love with her. And now I will tell you who this lady is.
You must know that there lived near us one William, a yeoman, who was
richer yet than Chrysostome's father; now he had no child but a
daughter; whose mother was as good a woman as ever went upon two legs:
methinks I see her yet standing afore me, with that blessed face of
hers. She was an excellent housewife, and did a deal of good among the
poor; for which, I believe, she is at this very time in paradise.
Alas, her death broke old William's heart; he soon followed her, poor
man, and left all to his little daughter, that Marcella by name,
giving charge of her to her uncle, the parson of our parish. When she
came to be fourteen or fifteen years of age, no man set his eyes on
her that did not bless heaven for having made her so handsome; so that
most men fell in love with her, and were ready to run mad for her. All
this while her uncle kept her very close: yet the report of her great
beauty and wealth spread far and near, insomuch that almost all the
young men in our town asked her of her uncle; nay, there flocked whole
droves of suitors, and the very best in the country too, who all
begged, and sued, and teazed her uncle to let them have her. But
though he'd have been glad to have got fairly rid of her, yet would
not he advise or marry her against her will; for he's a good man, I'll
say that for him, and a true Christian every inch of him, and scorns
to keep her from marrying to make a benefit of her estate; and, to his
praise be it spoken, he has been mainly commended for it more than
once, when the people of our parish meet together. "For I would have
you know, Sir Errant, that here in the country, and in our little
towns, there is not the least thing can be said or done but people
will talk and find fault: indeed, the parson must be essentially good
who could bring his whole parish to give him a good word." "Thou art
in the right," cried Don Quixote, "and therefore go on; for the story
is pleasant, and thou tellest it with a grace." "May I never want
God's grace," quoth Pedro, "for that is most to the purpose. But for
our parson, as I told you before, though he took care to let her know
of all those proposals, yet would she never answer otherwise, but that
she had no mind to wed as yet, as finding herself too young for the
burden of wedlock. But behold, when we least dreamed of it, the coy
lass must needs turn shepherdess; and neither her uncle, nor all those
of the village who advised her against it, could persuade her, but
away she went to the fields to keep her own sheep with the other young
lasses of the town. But then it was ten times worse; for no sooner was
she seen abroad, when I cannot tell how many spruce gallants, both
gentlemen and rich farmers, changed their garb for love of her, and
followed her up and down in shepherd's guise. One of them, as I have
told you, was this same Chrysostome, who now lies dead, of whom it is
said he not only loved, but worshipped her. In this way Marcella does
more harm in this country than the plague would do; for her
courteousness and fair looks draw on every body to love her; but then
her reserve and disdain break their hearts; and all they can do, poor
wretches, is to make a heavy complaint, and call her cruel, unkind,
ungrateful, and a world of such names, whereby they plainly shew what
a sad condition they are in: were you but to stay here some time, you
would hear these hills and valleys ring again with the doleful moans
of those she has denied, who yet have not courage to give over
following her. Here sighs one shepherd, there another moans; here is
one singing doleful ditties, there another is wringing his hands and
making woful complaints. And all this while the hard-hearted Marcella
never minds any one of them, and does not seem to be the least
concerned for them. We are all at a loss to know what will be the end
of all this pride and coyness, and who shall be the happy man that
shall at last succeed in taming her. Now, because there is nothing
more certain than all this, I am the more apt to give credit to what
our comrade has told us, as to the occasion of Chrysostome's death;
and therefore I would needs have you go and see him laid in his grave
to-morrow; which I believe will be worth your while, for he had many
friends, and it is not half a league to the place where it was his
will to be buried." "I intend to be there," answered Don Quixote; "and
in the mean time I return thee many thanks for the extraordinary
satisfaction this story has afforded me."