Chap. IV What Was Related by a Goatherd, Who Chanced to Come Into the Hut
In the mean time, another of the lads, who brought them victuals from the village, entering the hut, said, ‘Do you know what has happened in our town, comrades?’ When one of them answered, ‘How should we!’ ‘Know, then,’ continued he, ‘that the famous student Chrysostom died this morning; and it is murmured about, that his death was occasioned by his love for that devilish girl Marcella, daughter of William the rich. She that roves about these plains in the habit of a shepherdess.’—‘For Marcella, said you!’ cried one. ‘The same,’ answered the goatherd; ’and it is certain, that in his last will he ordered himself to be buried in the field like a Moor (God bless us!) at the foot of the rock, hard by the cork-tree spring; for, the report goes, and they say he said so himself, as how the first time he saw her was in that place; and he has also ordained many other such things as the clergy say must not be accomplished; nor is it right they should be accomplished; for, truly, they seem quite heathenish: to all which objections his dear friend, Ambrosio the student, who also dressed himself like a shepherd, to keep him company, replies, that he will perform every thing, without fail, that Chrysostom has ordered; and the whole village is in an uproar about it: but it is believed that every thing, at last, will be done according to the desire of Ambrosio, and all the rest of the shepherds, his friends; and that to-morrow he will be interred with great pomp in the very spot I have mentioned. I am resolved, therefore, as it will be a thing well worth seeing, to go thither without fail, even though I thought I should not be able to return to the village that night.’—‘We will do so too,’ replied the goatherds, ’and cast lots to see which of us must stay and take care of our flocks.’—‘You are in the right, Pedro,’ said one; ‘but there will be no occasion to use that shift, for I myself will stay and take care of the whole; and you must not impute my tarrying to virtue, or the want of curiosity, but to the plaguy thorn that ran into my foot the other day, and hinders me from walking.’—‘We are obliged to thee, however,’ answered Pedro; whom Don Quixote desired to tell him who that same dead shepherd and living shepherdess were.
To this question the goatherd replied, all that he knew of the matter was, that the deceased was the son of a rich farmer, who lived in the neighbourhood of a village in these mountains; that he had studied in Salamanca many years, at the end of which he had returned to his family with the character of a great scholar: in particular, they said he was very knowing in the science of the stars, and what passed betwixt the sun and moon, and the heavens; for he had punctually foretold the clipse of them both! ‘The obscuration of those two great luminaries,’ said the knight, ‘is called the eclipse, and not the clipse, friend.’ But Pedro, without troubling his head with these trifles, proceeded, saying, ‘he likewise foresaw when the year would be plentiful or staril.’—‘You mean, sterile,’ said Don Quixote. ‘Sterile, or staril,’ replied Pedro, ‘comes all to the same purpose; and I say, that his father and his friends, taking his advice, became very rich: for they gave credit to his words, and followed his counsel in all things. When he would say, this year you must sow barley, and no wheat; here you must sow carabances, but no barley; next year there will be a good harvest of oil; but for three years to come there will not be a drop.’—‘That science,’ replied Don Quixote, ’is called astrology.’—‘I know not how it is called,’ replied Pedro; ‘but this I know, that he knew all this, and much more. In short, not many months after he came from Salamanca, he appeared all of a sudden in shepherd-weeds, with his woolly jacket, and a flock of sheep, having laid aside the long dress of a student. And he was accompanied by a friend of his in the same habit, whose name was Ambrosio, and who had been his fellow student at college. I forgot to tell you that Chrysostom the defunct was such a great man at composing couplets, that he made carols for Christmas eve, and plays for the Lord’s-day, which were represented by the young men in our village; and every body said, that they were tip-top. When the people of the village saw the two scholars so suddenly cloathed like shepherds, they were surprized, and could not guess their reason for such an odd change. About that time the father of this Chrysostom dying, he inherited great riches, that were in moveables and in lands, with no small number of sheep, more or less, and a great deal of money: of all which this young man remained desolate lord and master: and truly he deserved it all; for he was an excellent companion, very charitable, a great friend to good folks, and had a most blessed countenance. Afterwards it came to be known, that his reason for changing his garb, was no other than with a view of strolling through the woods and desarts after that same shepherdess Marcella, whose name my friend mentioned just now, and with whom the poor defunct Chrysostom was woundily in love: and I will now tell you, for it is necessary that you should know who this wench is; for, mayhap, nay even without a mayhap, you never heard of such a thing in all the days of your life, though you be older than St. Paul53.’—‘Say, Paul’s,’ replied Don Quixote, offended at the goatherd’s perverting the words. ‘Saint Paul was no chicken,’ replied Pedro; ’and if your worship be resolved to correct my words every moment, we shall not have done in a twelvemonth.’—‘I ask your pardon friend,’ said the knight; ‘I only mention this, because there is a wide difference between the person of St. Paul, and a church that goes by his name: but, however, you made a very sensible reply; for, to be sure, the saint lived long before the church was built: therefore go on with your story, and I promise not to interrupt you again.’
‘Well, then, my good master,’ said the goatherd, ‘there lived in our village a farmer, still richer than Chrysostom’s father; his name was William, and God gave him, over and above great wealth, a daughter, who at her birth was the death of her mother, the most worthy dame in all the country. Methinks I see her now with that face of her’s, which seemed to have the sun on one side, and the moon on the other; she was an excellent housewife, and a great friend to the poor, for which reason I believe her soul is enjoying the presence of God in paradise. Her husband died of grief for the loss of so good a wife, leaving his daughter Marcella, young and rich, to the care of an uncle, who has got a living in our village. The girl grew up with so much beauty, that she put us in mind of her mother, who had a great share, and yet it was thought it would be surpassed by the daughter’s. It happened accordingly; for when she came to the age of fourteen or fifteen, nobody could behold her without blessing God, for having made so beautiful a creature; and every body almost grew desperately in love with her. Her uncle kept her up with great care; but, for all that, the fame of her exceeding beauty spread in such a manner, that both for her person and her fortune, not only the richest people in our town, but likewise in many leagues about, came to ask her in marriage of her uncle, with much importunity and felicitation. But he, who, to give him his due, was a good christian, although he wanted to dispose of her as soon as she came to the age fit for matrimony, would not give her away without her own consent; neither had he a view in deferring her marriage, to the gain and advantage which he might enjoy in managing the girl’s fortune. And truly I have heard this spoken in more companies than one, very much to the praise of the honest priest. For I would have you know, Sir traveller, that in these small towns people intermeddle and grumble about every thing. And this you may take for certain, as I know it to be so, that a clergyman must be excessively good indeed, if he can oblige his flock to speak well of him, especially in country villages.’—‘You are certainly in the right,’ said Don Quixote; ’and pray go on, for your story is very entertaining; and you, honest Pedro, relate it with a good grace.’—‘May I never want God’s grace!’ said the shepherd; ‘for that is the main chance; and you must know, moreover, that though the uncle proposed to his niece, and described the good qualities of each in particular who asked her in marriage, desiring her to give her hand to some one or other, and chuse for herself; she never would give him any other answer, but that she did not chuse to marry, for she was too young to bear the burden of matrimony. On account of these excuses, which seemed to have some reason in them, her uncle forbore to importune her, and waited till she should have more years and discernment to make choice of her own company; for he said, and to be sure it was well said, that parents should never dispose of their children against their own inclinations. But behold, when we least thought of it, the timorous Marcella one day appeared in the habit of a shepherdess; and without imparting her design to her uncle, or any body in the village, for fear they might have dissuaded her from it, she took to the field with her own flock, in company of the other damsels of the village. As she now appeared in publick, and her beauty was exposed to the eyes of every body, you cannot conceive what a number of rich youths, gentlemen and farmers, immediately took the garb of Chrysostom, and went wooing her through the fields. One of these suitors, as you have heard, was the deceased, who, they say, left off loving to adore her; and you must not think, that because Marcella took to this free and unconfined way of living, she brought the least disparagement upon her chastity and good name; on the contrary, such is the vigilance with which she guards her honour, that of all those who serve and solicit her, not one has boasted, nor indeed can boast with any truth, that she has given him the smallest hope of accomplishing his desire; for though she neither flies, or avoids the company and conversation of the shepherds, but treats them in a courteous and friendly manner, whenever any one of them comes to disclose his intention, let it be ever so just and holy, even marriage itself, she throws him from her like a stone from a sling; and being of this disposition, does more damage in this country, than if a pestilence had seized it; for her affability and beauty allures all the hearts of those that converse with her to serve and love her, but her coyness and plain dealing drives them even to the borders of despair; therefore they know not what to say, but upbraid her with cruelty and ingratitude, and give her a great many such titles, as plainly shew the nature of her disposition: and if your worship was but to stay here one day, you would hear these hills and dales resound with the lamentations of her rejected followers. Not far from this place there is a tuft of about a dozen of tall beeches, upon every one of which you may read engraved the name of Marcella, and over some a crown cut out in the bark, as if her lover would have declared, that Marcella wears, and deserves to wear, the crown of all earthly beauty. Here one shepherd sighs, there another complains; in one place you may hear amorous ditties, in another the dirges of despair; one lover sits musing through all the hours of the night, at the foot of some tall ash or rugged rock, and there, without having closed his weeping eyes, shrunk up as it were, and intranced in his own reflections, he is found by the rising sun; a second, without giving respite or truce to his sighs, exposed to the heat of the most sultry summer’s sun, lies stretched upon the burning sand, breathing his complaints to pitying Heaven, and over this and that, and these and those, the free, the unconcerned, the fair Marcella triumphs. We who are acquainted with her disposition, wait with impatience to see the end of all this disdain, and long to know what happy man will tame such an unsociable humour, and enjoy such exceeding beauty. As every thing that I have recounted is true to a tittle, I have no reason to doubt the truth of what our comrades said concerning the cause of Chrysostom’s death; and therefore I advise you, Sir, not to fail being to-morrow at his burial, which will be well worth seeing; for Chrysostom had a great many friends, and the spot in which he ordered himself to be buried is not more than half a league from hence.’
‘I will take care to be present,’ said the knight, ‘and thank you heartily for the pleasure you have given me in relating such an interesting story.’—‘Oh! as for that,’ cried the goatherd, ‘I do not know one half of what has happened to the lovers of Marcella: but to-morrow, perhaps, we may light upon some shepherd on the road, who is better acquainted with them. In the mean time you will do well to go to sleep under some cover, for the cold night air may not agree with the hurt your jaws have received, though the remedy I have applied is such, that you have nothing else to fear.’
Sancho Panza, who wished the goatherd’s loquacity at the devil, earnestly intreated his master to go to sleep in Pedro’s hut. This request the knight complied with, and spent the greatest part of the night in thinking of his Lady Dulcinea, in imitation of Marcella’s lovers; while Sancho Panza, taking up his lodging betwixt Rozinante and his ass, slept soundly, not like a discarded lover, but like one who had been battered and bruised the day before.