CHAP. V. Wherein is finished the History of the Sheepheardesse Marcela, with other accidents. B UT scarce had the day begun to discover it self by the Orientall win dows, when five of the six Goat-heards arising, went to awake Don-Quixote, and demanded of him whether he yet intended to goe to Chrisostome 's Buriall, and that they would accompany him. Don-Quixote that desired nothing more, got up and commaunded Sancho to saddle and empannell in a trice; which he did with great expedi tion, and with the like they all presently began their journey. And they had not yet gone a quarter of a league, when at the crossing of a path-way they saw six Sheepheards comming towards them, apparrelled with black skinns, and crowned with Garlands of Cypresse and bitter Enula Campana. Every one of them carried in his hand a thick truncheon of Elme. There came likewise with them two Gentlemen a horse-back, very well furnished for the way, with other three Lacquies that attended on them. And as soon as they encountred, they saluted one another courteously, and demanded whether they travelled; and knowing that they all went towards the place of the buriall, they began their journey together. One of the horse-men speaking to his companion, said, I think (Mr. Vivaldo) we shall account the time well imployed that we shall stay to see this so famous an entertainment; for it cannot chuse but be famous according to the wonderfull things these Sheepheards have recounted unto us, as well of the dead Sheepheard, as also of the murthering Sheepheardesse. It seems so to mee likewise, quoth Vivaldo. And I say, I would not only stay one day, but a whole week rather then misse to behold it. Don-Quixote demanded of them, what they had heard of Marcela and Chrysostome? The Traveller answered, That they had encountred that morning with those Sheepheards, and that by reason they had seen them apparrel led in that mournfull attire, they demanded of them the occasion thereof, and one of them rehearsed it, recounting the strangenesse and beauty of a certain Sheepheardesse called Marcela; and the amorous pursuits of her by many, with the death of that Chrysostome, to whose buriall they rode. Finally, he told all that again to him, that Peter had told the night before. This discourse thus ended, another began, and was, that he who was called Vivaldo, demanded of Don-Quixote the occasion that moved him to travell thus armed through so peaceable a countrey? To whom Don-Quixote answered, the profession of my ex ercise doth not license or permit me to doe other: Good dayes, cockering and ease were invented for soft Courtiers; but Travell, Unrest, and Arms were only invented and made for those which the world terms Knights Errant, of which number I my self (although unworthy) am one, and the least of all. Scarce had they heard him say this, when they all held him to be wood. And to find out the truth better, Viualdo did ask him again, what meant the word Knights Errant? Have you not read then, quoth Don-Quixote, the Histories and Annals of England, wherein are treated the famous acts of King Arthur, whom we continually call in our Castilian Romance, King Artus? of whom it is an ancient and common tradition in the Kingdome of Great Brittain, that he never dyed, but that he was turned by art of Inchantment into a Crow; and that in processe of time he shall return again to raign, and recover his Scepter and Kingdom. For which reason, it cannot be proved, that ever since that time untill this, any English man hath killed a Crow. In this good Kings time was first instituted the famous order of Knighthood, of the Knights of the Round Table, and the love that is there recounted, did in every respect passe as it is laid down between Sir Launce lot du Lake, and Queen Genever the honourable Lady Quintaniona being a dealer, and privie thereto. Whence sprung that so famous a Dittie, and so celebrated here in Spain of, Never was Knight of Ladies so well served as Launcelot when that hee in Brittain arrived, &c. with that progresse so sweet and delightfull of his amorous and valiant Acts: And from that time forward, the Order of Knight went from hand to hand, dilating and spreading it self through many and sundry parts of the World. And in it were famous and renowned for their feats of Armes, the valiant Amadis of Gaule, with all his progenie untill the fifth generation: and the valourous Felixmarte of Hircania; and the never-duely-praised Tirante the White, together with Sir Bevis of Hampton, Sir Gay of Warwick, Sir Eglemore, with diverse others of that Nation and Age. And almost in our dayes we saw, and communed, and heard of the invincible and valiant Knight Don Belianis of Greece! This then good Sirs, is to be a Knight Errant; and that which I have said is the Order of Chivalry: wherein, as I have already said, I, although a sinner, have made profession, and the same doe I professe that those Knights professed, whom I have above mentioned; and therefore I travell through these Solitudes and Desarts, seeking Adventures, with full resolution to offer mine own Arm and Person to the most dangerous that for tune shall present, in the aid of weak and needy persons. By these reasons of Don-Quixot 's the travellers perfectly perceived that he was none of the wisest, and knew the kinde of folly wherewithall he was crossed, whereat those remained wonderfully admired: that by the relation of the others came to un derstand it: and Vivaldo who was very discreete, and likewise of a pleasant disposition, to the end they might passe over the rest of the way without heavines unto the rock of the buriall, which the Sheepheards said was neere at hand, he resolved to give him further occasion to passe onward with his follies, and therefore said unto him. Me thinkes, Sir Knight, that you have profest one of the most austere professions in the world. And I doe constantly hold that even that of the Charterhouse Munkes is not neer so straight. It may bee as straight as our profession, quoth Don-Quixote, but that it should be so necessary for the world, I am within the breadth of two fingers to call it in doubt. For if we would speak a truth, the Souldier that puts in execution his Captains command, doth no lesse then the very Captain that commands him. Hence I infer, That Religious men doe with all peace and quietnesse seek of Hea ven the good of the Earth. But Souldiers and wee Knights doe put in execution that which they demand, defending it with the valour of our Armes, and files of our Swords: not under any roof; but under the wide Heavens, made as it were in Sum mer a mark to the insupportable Sun beams, and in Winter to the rage of withering Frosts. So that wee are the Ministers of God on earth, and the Armes wherewith he executeh here his Justice. And as the Affairs of Warr, and things thereunto per taining, cannot be put in execution without sweat, labour and travell; it follows that those which professe warfare take questionlesse greater pain then those which in quiet, peace, and rest doe pray unto God, that he will favour and assist those that need it. I mean not therefore to affirm, nor doth it once passe through my thought, that the state of a Knight Errant is as perfect as that of a retyred religious man, but only would infer through that which I my self suffer, that it is doubtlesly more laborious, more battered, hungry, thirsty, miserable, torn and lowsie. For the Knights Errant of times past, did without all doubt, suffer much woe and misery in the discourse of their life. And if some of them ascended at last to Empires, won by the force of their life. And if some of them ascended at last to Empires, won by the force of their Arms, in good faith it cost them a great part of their sweat and blood: And if those which mounted to so high a degree had wanted those inchanters and wise men that assisted them, they would have remained much defrauded of their desires, and greatly deceived of their hopes. I am of the same opinion, replyed the Traveller: but one thing among many others hath seemed to me very ill in Knights Errant, which is when they perceive themselves in any occasion to begin any great and dangerous Adventure, in which appears manifest perill of losing their lives, they never in the instant of attempting it remember to commend themselves to God, as every Christian is bound to doe in like dangers; but rather doe it to their Ladies with so great desire and devotion as if they were their Gods; a thing which in my opinion smells of gentillisme. Sir, quoth Don-Quixote, they can doe no lesse in any wise, and the Knight Errant which did any other, would digresse much from his duty. For now it is a received use and custome of errant Chivalry, that the Knight adventurous, who attempting of any great feat of Arms shall have his Lady in place, do mildly and amo rously turn his eyes towards her, as it were by them demanding that she doe favour and protect him in that ambiguous trance which he undertakes; and moreover if none doe hear him, he is bound to say certain words between his teeth, by which he shall with all his heart commend himself to her: and of this wee have innumerable examples in Histories. Nor is it therefore to be understood that they doe omit to commend themselves to God, for they have time and leisure enough to doe it, in the progresse of the work. For all that, replied the Traveller, there remains in me yet one scruple, which is, That often times, as I have read, some speech begins between two Knights Errant, and from one word to another their choler begins to be inflamed, and they to turn their horses, and to take up a good piece of the Field, and without any more adoe, to run as fast as ever they can drive to encounter again; and in the midest of their race, doe commend themselves to their dames, and that which commonly ensues of this encountring is, that one of them falls down, thrown over the crupper of his horse, past through and through by his enemies Launce; and it befalls the other, that if he had not caught fast, of his horse main, he had likewise faln. And I here cannot perceive how he that is slain had any leisure to commend himself unto God in the discourse of this so accelerate and hasty a work. Me thinks it were better that those words which he spent in his race on his Lady, were bestowed as they ought, and as every Christian is bound to bestow them. And the rather, because I conjecture, that all Knights Errant have not Ladies to whom they may commend themselves; for all of them are not amorous. That cannot be, answered Don-Quixote, I say it cannot be that there's any Knight Errant without a Lady: For it is as proper and essentiall to such to be enamoured, as to Heaven to have starrs: And I dare warrant that no History hath yet been seen, wherein is found a Knight Errant without love: for by the very reason that he were found without them, he would be convinced to be no legitimate Knight, but a Ba stard; and that he entred into the Fortresse of Chivalry, not by the Gate, but by leaping over the Staccado like a Robber and a Thiefe. Yet notwithstanding, replied the other, I have read (if I doe not forget my self) that Don Gataor, brother to the valourous Amadis du Gaule, had never any certain Mistris, to whom he might commend himself; and yet for all that he was nothing lesse accounted of, and was a most valiant and famous Knight. To that objection our Don-Quixote answered, One Swallow makes not a Summer. How much more that I know, that the Knight whom you alledge, was secretly very much enamoured? besides that that his inclination of loving all Ladies well, which he thought were fair, was a naturall inclination, which hee could not govern so well. But it is in conclusion suffi ciently verified, that yet hee had one Lady whom hee crowned Queen of his Will, to whom hee did also commend himself very often and secretly, for he did not a little glo ry to be so secret in his Loves. Then Sir, if it bee of the essence of all Knights errant to bee in love, quoth the tra veller, then may it likewise bee presumed that you are also enamoured, seeing that it is annext to the profession? And if you doe not prize your selfe to bee as secret as Don Gataor, I doe entreate you as earnestly as I may, in all this companies name and mine owne, that it will please you to tell us the name, countrey, quality and beauty of your Ladie, for I am sure shee would account her self happy to think that all the world doth know shee is beloved and served by so worthy a Knight as is your self. Here Don-Quixote breathing forth a deep sigh, said, I cannot affirm whether my sweet Enemy delight or no, that the world know how much shee is beloved, or that I serve her. Only I dare avouch (answering to that which you so courteously demanded) that her name is Dulcinea, her countrey Toboso, a Village of Mancha: her calling must bee at least of a Princesse, seeing shee is my Queene and Lady, her beauty soveraigne; for in her are verified, and give glorious lustre to all those impossible and Chimericall attributes of beauty, that Poets give to their Mistresses; that her haires are gold, her forehead the Elisian fields, her browes the Arkes of Heaven, her Eyes Sunnes, her cheekes Roses, her Lips Currall, her Teeth Pearles, her neck Alablaster, her Bosom Marble, Ivory her Hands, and her whitenesse Snow; and the Parts which modesty conceales from humane sight, such as I think and understand, that the discreet consi deration may prize, but never be able to equalize them: her linage, progeny, and pedegree wee desire to know likewise, quoth Vivaldo. To which Don Quixote an swered, she is not of the ancient Romane Curcios, Cayes, or Scipios, nor of the moderne Colomnas or Vrsinos, nor of the Moncadas or Requese nes of Catalunia, and much lesse of the Rebelias and Villanovas of Valencia, Pala foxes, Nucas, Rocabertis, Corelias, Alagones, Vrreas, Fozes and Gurreas of A ragon, Cerdas, Manziquez, Mendocas, and Guzmanes of Castile, Lancasters, Pa lias and Meneses of Portugal; but shee is of those of Toboso of the Mancha; a linage which though it bee moderne is such as may give a generous beginning to the most no ble families of ensuing ages. And let none contradict mee in this, if it bee not with those conditions that Cerbino put at the foote of Orlandoes Armour, To wit: Let none from hence presume these Armes to move, But hee that with Orlando dares his force to prove. Although my linage bee of the Cachopines of Laredo, replied the Traveller, yet dare I not to compare it with that of Toboso in the Mancha, although to speake sinceerely, I never heard any mention of that linage you say untill now, What quoth Don-Quixote, is it possible that you never heard of it till now? All the company travelled, giving marveilous attention to the reasons of those two; and even the very Goatheards and Sheepheards began to perceive the great want of judgement that was in Don-Quixote, only Sancho Panca did verily beleeve, that all his Masters words were most true, as one that knew what hee was, from the very time of his byrth. But that wherein his belief staggered somwhat, was of the beautifull Dul cinea of Toboso; for hee had never heard speake in his life before of such a name or Prin cesse, although he had dwelled so many yeers hard by Toboso. And as they travelled in these discourses, they beheld discending betwixt the clift of two loftie Mountaines to the number of twenty Sheepheards, all apparelled in skinnes of black wooll, and crowned with Garlands; which as they perceived afterward, were all of Ewe and Cypresse; sixe of them carried a Beere, covered with many sorts of flowres and boughs. Which one of the Goatheards espying, hee said, those that come there are they which bring Chrisostom's body, and the foote of that Mountain is the place where hee hath commanded them to bury him. These words were occasion to make them haste to arive in time; which they did just about the instant that the o thers had said downe the Corps on the ground: and foure of them, with sharp pick axes did dig the Grave at the side of a hard Rock. The one and the others saluted themselves very courteously, and then Don-Quixote, and such as came with him, be gan to behold the Beere, wherein they saw laid a dead body, all covered with flowres, and apparelled like a Sheepheard of some thirty yeeres old; and his dead countenance shewed that he was very beautifull and an able bodied man. He had placed round a bout him in the Beer, certain Books, and many Papers, some open and some shut, and altogether, as well those that beheld this, as they which made the grave; and all the o thers that were present kept a marvellous silence, untill one of them which carried the dead man, said to another; See well Ambrosio, whether this be the place that Crisostome meant seeing that thou wouldest have all so punctually observed, which he command ed in his Testament. This is it, answered Ambrosio; for many times my unfortunate friend recounted to me in it the History of his mishaps; even there he told me that he had seen that cruel enemy of mankinde first; and there it was, where he first broak his affection to as honest as they were amorous: and there was the last time wherein Mar cela did end to resolve, and began to disdain him, in such sort that shee set end to the Tragedie of his miserable life. And here in memory of so many misfortunes he commanded himself to be committed to the bowels of eternall oblivion, and turning himself to Don-Quixote, and to the other Travellers, he said: This body Sirs which you doe now behold with pittifull eyes, was the depository of a soul wherein heaven had hourded up an infinite part of his Treasures. This is the body of Crisostome, who was peerlesse in wit, without fellow for courtesie, rare for comlinesse, a Phoenix for friendship, magnificent without measure, grave without presumption, pleasant without offence; and finally, the first in all that which is good, and second to none in all un fortunate mischances. He loved well, and was hated; he adored, and was disdained; hee prayed to one no lesse savage then a Beast; he importuned a heart as hard a Marble; he pursued the Winde; he cryed to Desarts; he served Ingratitude; and he obteyned for reward, the spoyles of death in the mid'st of the carier of his life: to which a Sheep heardesse hath given end whom he laboured to eternize, to the end she might ever live in the memories of men, as those papers which you see there might very well prove, had he not commanded me to sacrifice them to the fire, as soon as his body was rendred to the earth. If you did so, quoth Vivaldo, you would use greater rigour and cruelty towards them then their very Lord, nor is it discreet or justly done, that his will be accomplished, who commands any thing repugnant to reason. Nor should Augustus Caesar himself have gained the reputation of wisedome, if he had permited that to be put in execution which the divine Mantuan had by his will ordeined. So that Seignior Ambrosio, now that you commit your friends body to the earth, doe not therefore commit his labour to oblivion: for though he ordeined it as one injured, yet are not you to accomplish it, as one void of discretion: but rather cause, by giving life to these papers, that the cruelty of Marcela may live eternally, that it may serve as a document to those that shall breath in insuing ages, how they may avoid and shun the like downfalls: For both my self and all those that come here in my companie, doe already know the Histo rie of your enamoured and despairing friend; the occasion of his death; and what hee commanded e're he deceased: out of which lamentable relation may be collected, how great hath been the Crnelty of Marcela; the Love of Crisostome; the Faith of your Affection, and the Conclusion which those make, which doe rashly run through that way, which indiscreet Love doth present to their view. We understood yester night of Crisostomes death, and that he should be enterred in this place; and therefore we omitted our intended journies both for curiosity and pittie, and resolved to come and behold with our eyes that, the relation whereof did so much grieve us in the hear ing: And therefore wee desire thee (discreet Ambrosio) both in reward of this our compassion, and also of the desire which springs in our breasts to remedie this disaster, if it were possible: but chiefly I for my part request thee, that omitting to burn these Papers, thou wilt license me to take away some of them. And saying so, without ex pecting the Sheepheards answer, he stretched out his hand and took some of them that were next to him. Which Ambrosio perceiving, said, I will consent Sir for courtesies sake, that you remain Lord of those which you have seized upon; but to imagine that I would omit to burn these that rest, were a very vain thought. Vivaldo, who did long to see what the Papers contained which he had gotten, did unfold presently one of them which had this title, A Dittie of despair. Ambrosio overheard him, and said; That is the last paper which this unfortunate Sheepheard wrote; and because Sir, that you may see the terms to which his mishaps conducted him; I pray you to read it; but in such manner as you may be heard; for you shall have leisure enough to doe it whil'st the grave is a diging. I will doe it with all my heart, replyed Vivaldo; and all those that were present, having the like desire, they gathered about him; and he reading it with a cleer voyce pronounced it thus.