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.
WHEREIN ARE DESCRIBED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD
Señor Vivaldo had finished the last verse and was about to glance through the rest of the papers he had saved from the fire, when suddenly on the summit of the rock by the grave he saw a most glorious apparition. It was no other than Marcela, the shepherdess, and every-one was aghast at her presence. The moment Ambrosio saw her, he became indignant beyond words and commanded her to leave. But she remained and asked them all to listen to her. She had come there to defend herself, she said; she knew what people had accused her of: cruelty, scornfulness, arrogance, ingratitude, deception, and hatred. But she hated no one, she declared. She had deceived no one. Crysostom had loved her because of her beauty; but she had loved neither him nor any other man. She had chosen solitude, the woods and the fields, because of her inborn craving for freedom. Should she have forced herself to give that up because any man chose to say, "I love you," while she did not love him? Was she to be blamed for Crysostom's death. For not loving him? Would not that have been to pawn her modesty and her womanly honor and virtue? And why should he have wanted to rob her of them?