In Which Is Ended the Story of the Shepherdess Marcela with Other Incidents
AS soon as the sun was rising in the east, Don Quixote was awakened, and a little later they were on their way to the burial of Crysostom.
They had gone only a short distance, when they met six shepherds, all dressed in black sheepskins and with crowns of bitter oleander and cypress on their heads. In his hand each shepherd carried a staff of holly. Directly behind them came two dignified gentlemen on horseback, followed by three servants on foot. While stopping to exchange greetings, all had learned that they were going in the same direction for the same purpose. The two gentlemen had met the mourning shepherds, and from them had heard the sad story of the love of Crysostom for Marcela. That had aroused their curiosity and sorrow, and they wanted now to do him honor.
The battle-clad Don Quixote, of course, attracted their attention, and one of the gentlemen was eager to learn why any one should be masquerading in armor so early in the morning. To which he got the reply that the danger of his calling made it necessary for him to wear it. The gentlemen could not help then but realize Don Quixote's mental condition. But one of them possessed a restless sense of humor, and when Don Quixote began to discourse on chivalry and knights errant, he asked to know what these things were. Our hero then explained their mysteries at length. He described the deeds of King Arthur, spoke of the famous Round Table, and told the love-story of Don Lancelot and Queen Guinevere.
In the course of these descriptions the jesting gentleman felt that he had fully diagnosed the madness of our knight, and thought it only fair play to beguile the journey to the burial-place by listening to his absurdities. Now and then he would put in a word or ask a question in order not to break the thread. For instance, he suggested cunningly that the calling of a knight errant was as serious as that of a Carthusian monk; and Don Quixote replied that he thought it a much more necessary one. And as to its demands, there was no comparison, he declared, for if ever one rose to become an emperor it was only after tremendous sacrifice of blood and sweat.
The traveling gentleman was agreed with him on that score; but there was one thing he did not approve of: whenever a knight went into battle, he commended himself to his lady, instead of God. This he thought wrong and unchristianlike. Don Quixote, however, saw no wrong in it. It was only human, he contended, to think first of his beloved one at so austere a moment; and, besides, often the knight errant would say things under his breath that would not be understood. Then only Heaven could know whether he had called upon his lady or God.
The gentleman then soon found another argument. He expressed a doubt that all knights errant were in love, saying that some of them commended themselves to ladies fictitiously. Don Quixote denied this emphatically; but the traveler thought that he had read somewhere that Don Galaor, the brother of the valiant Amadis of Gaul, never commended himself to any particular lady, yet he was a brave and most illustrious knight errant. All that Don Quixote replied to this argument was: "Sir, one solitary swallow does not make summer!" and offered, as if in confidence, his conviction that this very knight had been very deeply in love, but secretly.
At that very moment he heaved a sigh of weariness. The sigh was misinterpreted by the traveler, however, for he asked our knight whether he was reticent about telling the name of his lady.
"Dulcinea del Toboso, of La Mancha," answered Don Quixote. And this time he made her a princess, extolling her virtues and her beauty to the traveler, who found it amusing to hear the knight tell of her ancestry and lineage. First of all Don Quixote named to the traveler the families of Spain that she was not connected with, then informed him that she was of the house of El Toboso of La Mancha. And though this was a most modern family, one could never foretell what position it would hold in the future.
The traveler in his turn told Don Quixote of his own family, saying that he of course dared not to compare it with that of the fair Dulcinea, although he never had heard of hers ere this—a confession that surprised Don Quixote exceedingly.
During this conversation between the knight and the traveling gentleman—who was named Señor Vivaldo—they came in sight of a score of shepherds, all dressed in black sheepskins and crowned with garlands. Six of them were carrying a bier on which lay the body of the dead Crysostom. At his side were scattered some papers and books. When they had found the resting-place that the dead man had chosen for himself, Ambrosio, his dearest friend, spoke some words in his memory. He mentioned how Crysostom's heart had been rent asunder by the cruel treatment of one whom his departed friend would have immortalized to the world in poetry, had Ambrosio not been commissioned by him to consign the verses to the flames after having entrusted his body to the earth.
Señor Vivaldo thought it would be a great pity to do away with such beautiful verses, and he pleaded with Ambrosio against their consignment to oblivion. As he was speaking, he reached out his hand for some of the papers that were close to him, and Ambrosio considerately permitted him to keep them. The remaining ones were burned.
Señor Vivaldo glanced through the papers eagerly and read the title—"Lay of Despair." When Ambrosio heard this, he asked him to read the words aloud that all those assembled might hear the last verses of the dead shepherd. And while Señor Vivaldo spoke the despairing lines, some of the shepherds were digging the grave for their friend.