第 二十八 章 · CHAPTER XXVIII. WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE

. CHAPTER XXVIII. WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE

CHAPTER XXVIII.

WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE

CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA

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Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don

Quixote of La Mancha was sent into the world; for by reason of his

having formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive

and restore to the world the long-lost and almost defunct order of

knight-errantry, we now enjoy in this age of ours, so poor in light

entertainment, not only the charm of his veracious history, but also of

the tales and episodes contained in it which are, in a measure, no less

pleasing, ingenious, and truthful, than the history itself; which,

resuming its thread, carded, spun, and wound, relates that just as the

curate was going to offer consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted

by a voice that fell upon his ear saying in plaintive tones:

“O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret

grave for the weary load of this body that I support so unwillingly? If

the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe

is me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these

rocks and brakes that permit me to complain of my misfortune to Heaven,

than that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for

counsel in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!”

All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as

it seemed to them to be uttered close by, as indeed it was, they got up

to look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they

discovered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in

the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable at the moment to

see as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that

flowed past. They approached so silently that he did not perceive them,

being fully occupied in bathing his feet, which were so fair that they

looked like two pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other

stones of the brook. The whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them

with surprise, for they did not seem to have been made to crush clods

or to follow the plough and the oxen as their owner’s dress suggested;

and so, finding they had not been noticed, the curate, who was in

front, made a sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind some

fragments of rock that lay there; which they did, observing closely

what the youth was about. He had on a loose double-skirted dark brown

jacket bound tight to his body with a white cloth; he wore besides

breeches and gaiters of brown cloth, and on his head a brown montera;

and he had the gaiters turned up as far as the middle of the leg, which

verily seemed to be of pure alabaster.

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As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a

towel he took from under the montera, on taking off which he raised his

face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of seeing a

beauty so exquisite that Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper:

“As this is not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine being.”

The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to

side there broke loose and spread out a mass of hair that the beams of

the sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a

peasant was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of

them had ever beheld, or even Cardenio’s if they had not seen and known

Luscinda, for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda

could compare with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her

shoulders, but such was their length and abundance, concealed her all

round beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form

was visible. She now used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had

seemed like bits of crystal in the water, her hands looked like pieces

of driven snow among her locks; all which increased not only the

admiration of the three beholders, but their anxiety to learn who she

was. With this object they resolved to show themselves, and at the stir

they made in getting upon their feet the fair damsel raised her head,

and parting her hair from before her eyes with both hands, she looked

to see who had made the noise, and the instant she perceived them she

started to her feet, and without waiting to put on her shoes or gather

up her hair, hastily snatched up a bundle as though of clothes that she

had beside her, and, scared and alarmed, endeavoured to take flight;

but before she had gone six paces she fell to the ground, her delicate

feet being unable to bear the roughness of the stones; seeing which,

the three hastened towards her, and the curate addressing her first

said:

“Stay, señora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only

desire to be of service to you; you have no need to attempt a flight so

heedless, for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it.”

Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words.

They, however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand went on

to say:

“What your dress would hide, señora, is made known to us by your hair;

a clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has disguised your

beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like

these where we have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve

your distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no distress, so long

as life lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make

the sufferer refuse to listen to comfort offered with good intention.

And so, señora, or señor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss the

fears that our appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with

your good or evil fortunes, for from all of us together, or from each

one of us, you will receive sympathy in your trouble.”

While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if

spell-bound, looking at them without opening her lips or uttering a

word, just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has

never seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing

some further words to the same effect to her, sighing deeply she broke

silence and said:

“Since the solitude of these mountains has been unable to conceal me,

and the escape of my dishevelled tresses will not allow my tongue to

deal in falsehoods, it would be idle for me now to make any further

pretence of what, if you were to believe me, you would believe more out

of courtesy than for any other reason. This being so, I say I thank

you, sirs, for the offer you have made me, which places me under the

obligation of complying with the request you have made of me; though I

fear the account I shall give you of my misfortunes will excite in you

as much concern as compassion, for you will be unable to suggest

anything to remedy them or any consolation to alleviate them. However,

that my honour may not be left a matter of doubt in your minds, now

that you have discovered me to be a woman, and see that I am young,

alone, and in this dress, things that taken together or separately

would be enough to destroy any good name, I feel bound to tell what I

would willingly keep secret if I could.”

All this she who was now seen to be a lovely woman delivered without

any hesitation, with so much ease and in so sweet a voice that they

were not less charmed by her intelligence than by her beauty, and as

they again repeated their offers and entreaties to her to fulfil her

promise, she without further pressing, first modestly covering her feet

and gathering up her hair, seated herself on a stone with the three

placed around her, and, after an effort to restrain some tears that

came to her eyes, in a clear and steady voice began her story thus:

“In this Andalusia there is a town from which a duke takes a title

which makes him one of those that are called Grandees of Spain. This

nobleman has two sons, the elder heir to his dignity and apparently to

his good qualities; the younger heir to I know not what, unless it be

the treachery of Vellido and the falsehood of Ganelon. My parents are

this lord’s vassals, lowly in origin, but so wealthy that if birth had

conferred as much on them as fortune, they would have had nothing left

to desire, nor should I have had reason to fear trouble like that in

which I find myself now; for it may be that my ill fortune came of

theirs in not having been nobly born. It is true they are not so low

that they have any reason to be ashamed of their condition, but neither

are they so high as to remove from my mind the impression that my

mishap comes of their humble birth. They are, in short, peasants, plain

homely people, without any taint of disreputable blood, and, as the

saying is, old rusty Christians, but so rich that by their wealth and

free-handed way of life they are coming by degrees to be considered

gentlefolk by birth, and even by position; though the wealth and

nobility they thought most of was having me for their daughter; and as

they have no other child to make their heir, and are affectionate

parents, I was one of the most indulged daughters that ever parents

indulged.

“I was the mirror in which they beheld themselves, the staff of their

old age, and the object in which, with submission to Heaven, all their

wishes centred, and mine were in accordance with theirs, for I knew

their worth; and as I was mistress of their hearts, so was I also of

their possessions. Through me they engaged or dismissed their servants;

through my hands passed the accounts and returns of what was sown and

reaped; the oil-mills, the wine-presses, the count of the flocks and

herds, the beehives, all in short that a rich farmer like my father has

or can have, I had under my care, and I acted as steward and mistress

with an assiduity on my part and satisfaction on theirs that I cannot

well describe to you. The leisure hours left to me after I had given

the requisite orders to the head-shepherds, overseers, and other

labourers, I passed in such employments as are not only allowable but

necessary for young girls, those that the needle, embroidery cushion,

and spinning wheel usually afford, and if to refresh my mind I quitted

them for a while, I found recreation in reading some devotional book or

playing the harp, for experience taught me that music soothes the

troubled mind and relieves weariness of spirit. Such was the life I led

in my parents’ house and if I have depicted it thus minutely, it is not

out of ostentation, or to let you know that I am rich, but that you may

see how, without any fault of mine, I have fallen from the happy

condition I have described, to the misery I am in at present. The truth

is, that while I was leading this busy life, in a retirement that might

compare with that of a monastery, and unseen as I thought by any except

the servants of the house (for when I went to Mass it was so early in

the morning, and I was so closely attended by my mother and the women

of the household, and so thickly veiled and so shy, that my eyes

scarcely saw more ground than I trod on), in spite of all this, the

eyes of love, or idleness, more properly speaking, that the lynx’s

cannot rival, discovered me, with the help of the assiduity of Don

Fernando; for that is the name of the younger son of the duke I told

of.”

The moment the speaker mentioned the name of Don Fernando, Cardenio

changed colour and broke into a sweat, with such signs of emotion that

the curate and the barber, who observed it, feared that one of the mad

fits which they heard attacked him sometimes was coming upon him; but

Cardenio showed no further agitation and remained quiet, regarding the

peasant girl with fixed attention, for he began to suspect who she was.

She, however, without noticing the excitement of Cardenio, continuing

her story, went on to say:

“And they had hardly discovered me, when, as he owned afterwards, he

was smitten with a violent love for me, as the manner in which it

displayed itself plainly showed. But to shorten the long recital of my

woes, I will pass over in silence all the artifices employed by Don

Fernando for declaring his passion for me. He bribed all the household,

he gave and offered gifts and presents to my parents; every day was

like a holiday or a merry-making in our street; by night no one could

sleep for the music; the love letters that used to come to my hand, no

one knew how, were innumerable, full of tender pleadings and pledges,

containing more promises and oaths than there were letters in them; all

which not only did not soften me, but hardened my heart against him, as

if he had been my mortal enemy, and as if everything he did to make me

yield were done with the opposite intention. Not that the high-bred

bearing of Don Fernando was disagreeable to me, or that I found his

importunities wearisome; for it gave me a certain sort of satisfaction

to find myself so sought and prized by a gentleman of such distinction,

and I was not displeased at seeing my praises in his letters (for

however ugly we women may be, it seems to me it always pleases us to

hear ourselves called beautiful) but that my own sense of right was

opposed to all this, as well as the repeated advice of my parents, who

now very plainly perceived Don Fernando’s purpose, for he cared very

little if all the world knew it. They told me they trusted and confided

their honour and good name to my virtue and rectitude alone, and bade

me consider the disparity between Don Fernando and myself, from which I

might conclude that his intentions, whatever he might say to the

contrary, had for their aim his own pleasure rather than my advantage;

and if I were at all desirous of opposing an obstacle to his

unreasonable suit, they were ready, they said, to marry me at once to

anyone I preferred, either among the leading people of our own town, or

of any of those in the neighbourhood; for with their wealth and my good

name, a match might be looked for in any quarter. This offer, and their

sound advice strengthened my resolution, and I never gave Don Fernando

a word in reply that could hold out to him any hope of success, however

remote.

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“All this caution of mine, which he must have taken for coyness, had

apparently the effect of increasing his wanton appetite—for that is the

name I give to his passion for me; had it been what he declared it to

be, you would not know of it now, because there would have been no

occasion to tell you of it. At length he learned that my parents were

contemplating marriage for me in order to put an end to his hopes of

obtaining possession of me, or at least to secure additional protectors

to watch over me, and this intelligence or suspicion made him act as

you shall hear. One night, as I was in my chamber with no other

companion than a damsel who waited on me, with the doors carefully

locked lest my honour should be imperilled through any carelessness, I

know not nor can conceive how it happened, but, with all this seclusion

and these precautions, and in the solitude and silence of my

retirement, I found him standing before me, a vision that so astounded

me that it deprived my eyes of sight, and my tongue of speech. I had no

power to utter a cry, nor, I think, did he give me time to utter one,

as he immediately approached me, and taking me in his arms (for,

overwhelmed as I was, I was powerless, I say, to help myself), he began

to make such professions to me that I know not how falsehood could have

had the power of dressing them up to seem so like truth; and the

traitor contrived that his tears should vouch for his words, and his

sighs for his sincerity.

“I, a poor young creature alone, ill versed among my people in cases

such as this, began, I know not how, to think all these lying

protestations true, though without being moved by his sighs and tears

to anything more than pure compassion; and so, as the first feeling of

bewilderment passed away, and I began in some degree to recover myself,

I said to him with more courage than I thought I could have possessed,

‘If, as I am now in your arms, señor, I were in the claws of a fierce

lion, and my deliverance could be procured by doing or saying anything

to the prejudice of my honour, it would no more be in my power to do it

or say it, than it would be possible that what was should not have

been; so then, if you hold my body clasped in your arms, I hold my soul

secured by virtuous intentions, very different from yours, as you will

see if you attempt to carry them into effect by force. I am your

vassal, but I am not your slave; your nobility neither has nor should

have any right to dishonour or degrade my humble birth; and low-born

peasant as I am, I have my self-respect as much as you, a lord and

gentleman: with me your violence will be to no purpose, your wealth

will have no weight, your words will have no power to deceive me, nor

your sighs or tears to soften me: were I to see any of the things I

speak of in him whom my parents gave me as a husband, his will should

be mine, and mine should be bounded by his; and my honour being

preserved even though my inclinations were not would willingly yield

him what you, señor, would now obtain by force; and this I say lest you

should suppose that any but my lawful husband shall ever win anything

of me.’ ‘If that,’ said this disloyal gentleman, ‘be the only scruple

you feel, fairest Dorothea’ (for that is the name of this unhappy

being), ‘see here I give you my hand to be yours, and let Heaven, from

which nothing is hid, and this image of Our Lady you have here, be

witnesses of this pledge.’”

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When Cardenio heard her say she was called Dorothea, he showed fresh

agitation and felt convinced of the truth of his former suspicion, but

he was unwilling to interrupt the story, and wished to hear the end of

what he already all but knew, so he merely said:

“What! is Dorothea your name, señora? I have heard of another of the

same name who can perhaps match your misfortunes. But proceed;

by-and-by I may tell you something that will astonish you as much as it

will excite your compassion.”

Dorothea was struck by Cardenio’s words as well as by his strange and

miserable attire, and begged him if he knew anything concerning her to

tell it to her at once, for if fortune had left her any blessing it was

courage to bear whatever calamity might fall upon her, as she felt sure

that none could reach her capable of increasing in any degree what she

endured already.

“I would not let the occasion pass, señora,” replied Cardenio, “of

telling you what I think, if what I suspect were the truth, but so far

there has been no opportunity, nor is it of any importance to you to

know it.”

“Be it as it may,” replied Dorothea, “what happened in my story was

that Don Fernando, taking an image that stood in the chamber, placed it

as a witness of our betrothal, and with the most binding words and

extravagant oaths gave me his promise to become my husband; though

before he had made an end of pledging himself I bade him consider well

what he was doing, and think of the anger his father would feel at

seeing him married to a peasant girl and one of his vassals; I told him

not to let my beauty, such as it was, blind him, for that was not

enough to furnish an excuse for his transgression; and if in the love

he bore me he wished to do me any kindness, it would be to leave my lot

to follow its course at the level my condition required; for marriages

so unequal never brought happiness, nor did they continue long to

afford the enjoyment they began with.

“All this that I have now repeated I said to him, and much more which I

cannot recollect; but it had no effect in inducing him to forego his

purpose; he who has no intention of paying does not trouble himself

about difficulties when he is striking the bargain. At the same time I

argued the matter briefly in my own mind, saying to myself, ‘I shall

not be the first who has risen through marriage from a lowly to a lofty

station, nor will Don Fernando be the first whom beauty or, as is more

likely, a blind attachment, has led to mate himself below his rank.

Then, since I am introducing no new usage or practice, I may as well

avail myself of the honour that chance offers me, for even though his

inclination for me should not outlast the attainment of his wishes, I

shall be, after all, his wife before God. And if I strive to repel him

by scorn, I can see that, fair means failing, he is in a mood to use

force, and I shall be left dishonoured and without any means of proving

my innocence to those who cannot know how innocently I have come to be

in this position; for what arguments would persuade my parents that

this gentleman entered my chamber without my consent?’

“All these questions and answers passed through my mind in a moment;

but the oaths of Don Fernando, the witnesses he appealed to, the tears

he shed, and lastly the charms of his person and his high-bred grace,

which, accompanied by such signs of genuine love, might well have

conquered a heart even more free and coy than mine—these were the

things that more than all began to influence me and lead me unawares to

my ruin. I called my waiting-maid to me, that there might be a witness

on earth besides those in Heaven, and again Don Fernando renewed and

repeated his oaths, invoked as witnesses fresh saints in addition to

the former ones, called down upon himself a thousand curses hereafter

should he fail to keep his promise, shed more tears, redoubled his

sighs and pressed me closer in his arms, from which he had never

allowed me to escape; and so I was left by my maid, and ceased to be

one, and he became a traitor and a perjured man.

“The day which followed the night of my misfortune did not come so

quickly, I imagine, as Don Fernando wished, for when desire has

attained its object, the greatest pleasure is to fly from the scene of

pleasure. I say so because Don Fernando made all haste to leave me, and

by the adroitness of my maid, who was indeed the one who had admitted

him, gained the street before daybreak; but on taking leave of me he

told me, though not with as much earnestness and fervour as when he

came, that I might rest assured of his faith and of the sanctity and

sincerity of his oaths; and to confirm his words he drew a rich ring

off his finger and placed it upon mine. He then took his departure and

I was left, I know not whether sorrowful or happy; all I can say is, I

was left agitated and troubled in mind and almost bewildered by what

had taken place, and I had not the spirit, or else it did not occur to

me, to chide my maid for the treachery she had been guilty of in

concealing Don Fernando in my chamber; for as yet I was unable to make

up my mind whether what had befallen me was for good or evil. I told

Don Fernando at parting, that as I was now his, he might see me on

other nights in the same way, until it should be his pleasure to let

the matter become known; but, except the following night, he came no

more, nor for more than a month could I catch a glimpse of him in the

street or in church, while I wearied myself with watching for one;

although I knew he was in the town, and almost every day went out

hunting, a pastime he was very fond of. I remember well how sad and

dreary those days and hours were to me; I remember well how I began to

doubt as they went by, and even to lose confidence in the faith of Don

Fernando; and I remember, too, how my maid heard those words in reproof

of her audacity that she had not heard before, and how I was forced to

put a constraint on my tears and on the expression of my countenance,

not to give my parents cause to ask me why I was so melancholy, and

drive me to invent falsehoods in reply. But all this was suddenly

brought to an end, for the time came when all such considerations were

disregarded, and there was no further question of honour, when my

patience gave way and the secret of my heart became known abroad. The

reason was, that a few days later it was reported in the town that Don

Fernando had been married in a neighbouring city to a maiden of rare

beauty, the daughter of parents of distinguished position, though not

so rich that her portion would entitle her to look for so brilliant a

match; it was said, too, that her name was Luscinda, and that at the

betrothal some strange things had happened.”

Cardenio heard the name of Luscinda, but he only shrugged his

shoulders, bit his lips, bent his brows, and before long two streams of

tears escaped from his eyes. Dorothea, however, did not interrupt her

story, but went on in these words:

“This sad intelligence reached my ears, and, instead of being struck

with a chill, with such wrath and fury did my heart burn that I

scarcely restrained myself from rushing out into the streets, crying

aloud and proclaiming openly the perfidy and treachery of which I was

the victim; but this transport of rage was for the time checked by a

resolution I formed, to be carried out the same night, and that was to

assume this dress, which I got from a servant of my father’s, one of

the zagals, as they are called in farmhouses, to whom I confided the

whole of my misfortune, and whom I entreated to accompany me to the

city where I heard my enemy was. He, though he remonstrated with me for

my boldness, and condemned my resolution, when he saw me bent upon my

purpose, offered to bear me company, as he said, to the end of the

world. I at once packed up in a linen pillow-case a woman’s dress, and

some jewels and money to provide for emergencies, and in the silence of

the night, without letting my treacherous maid know, I sallied forth

from the house, accompanied by my servant and abundant anxieties, and

on foot set out for the city, but borne as it were on wings by my

eagerness to reach it, if not to prevent what I presumed to be already

done, at least to call upon Don Fernando to tell me with what

conscience he had done it. I reached my destination in two days and a

half, and on entering the city inquired for the house of Luscinda’s

parents. The first person I asked gave me more in reply than I sought

to know; he showed me the house, and told me all that had occurred at

the betrothal of the daughter of the family, an affair of such

notoriety in the city that it was the talk of every knot of idlers in

the street. He said that on the night of Don Fernando’s betrothal with

Luscinda, as soon as she had consented to be his bride by saying ‘Yes,’

she was taken with a sudden fainting fit, and that on the bridegroom

approaching to unlace the bosom of her dress to give her air, he found

a paper in her own handwriting, in which she said and declared that she

could not be Don Fernando’s bride, because she was already Cardenio’s,

who, according to the man’s account, was a gentleman of distinction of

the same city; and that if she had accepted Don Fernando, it was only

in obedience to her parents. In short, he said, the words of the paper

made it clear she meant to kill herself on the completion of the

betrothal, and gave her reasons for putting an end to herself all which

was confirmed, it was said, by a dagger they found somewhere in her

clothes. On seeing this, Don Fernando, persuaded that Luscinda had

befooled, slighted, and trifled with him, assailed her before she had

recovered from her swoon, and tried to stab her with the dagger that

had been found, and would have succeeded had not her parents and those

who were present prevented him. It was said, moreover, that Don

Fernando went away at once, and that Luscinda did not recover from her

prostration until the next day, when she told her parents how she was

really the bride of that Cardenio I have mentioned. I learned besides

that Cardenio, according to report, had been present at the betrothal;

and that upon seeing her betrothed contrary to his expectation, he had

quitted the city in despair, leaving behind him a letter declaring the

wrong Luscinda had done him, and his intention of going where no one

should ever see him again. All this was a matter of notoriety in the

city, and everyone spoke of it; especially when it became known that

Luscinda was missing from her father’s house and from the city, for she

was not to be found anywhere, to the distraction of her parents, who

knew not what steps to take to recover her. What I learned revived my

hopes, and I was better pleased not to have found Don Fernando than to

find him married, for it seemed to me that the door was not yet

entirely shut upon relief in my case, and I thought that perhaps Heaven

had put this impediment in the way of the second marriage, to lead him

to recognise his obligations under the former one, and reflect that as

a Christian he was bound to consider his soul above all human objects.

All this passed through my mind, and I strove to comfort myself without

comfort, indulging in faint and distant hopes of cherishing that life

that I now abhor.

“But while I was in the city, uncertain what to do, as I could not find

Don Fernando, I heard notice given by the public crier offering a great

reward to anyone who should find me, and giving the particulars of my

age and of the very dress I wore; and I heard it said that the lad who

came with me had taken me away from my father’s house; a thing that cut

me to the heart, showing how low my good name had fallen, since it was

not enough that I should lose it by my flight, but they must add with

whom I had fled, and that one so much beneath me and so unworthy of my

consideration. The instant I heard the notice I quitted the city with

my servant, who now began to show signs of wavering in his fidelity to

me, and the same night, for fear of discovery, we entered the most

thickly wooded part of these mountains. But, as is commonly said, one

evil calls up another and the end of one misfortune is apt to be the

beginning of one still greater, and so it proved in my case; for my

worthy servant, until then so faithful and trusty when he found me in

this lonely spot, moved more by his own villainy than by my beauty,

sought to take advantage of the opportunity which these solitudes

seemed to present him, and with little shame and less fear of God and

respect for me, began to make overtures to me; and finding that I

replied to the effrontery of his proposals with justly severe language,

he laid aside the entreaties which he had employed at first, and began

to use violence.

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“But just Heaven, that seldom fails to watch over and aid good

intentions, so aided mine that with my slight strength and with little

exertion I pushed him over a precipice, where I left him, whether dead

or alive I know not; and then, with greater speed than seemed possible

in my terror and fatigue, I made my way into the mountains, without any

other thought or purpose save that of hiding myself among them, and

escaping my father and those despatched in search of me by his orders.

It is now I know not how many months since with this object I came

here, where I met a herdsman who engaged me as his servant at a place

in the heart of this Sierra, and all this time I have been serving him

as herd, striving to keep always afield to hide these locks which have

now unexpectedly betrayed me. But all my care and pains were

unavailing, for my master made the discovery that I was not a man, and

harboured the same base designs as my servant; and as fortune does not

always supply a remedy in cases of difficulty, and I had no precipice

or ravine at hand down which to fling the master and cure his passion,

as I had in the servant’s case, I thought it a lesser evil to leave him

and again conceal myself among these crags, than make trial of my

strength and argument with him. So, as I say, once more I went into

hiding to seek for some place where I might with sighs and tears

implore Heaven to have pity on my misery, and grant me help and

strength to escape from it, or let me die among the solitudes, leaving

no trace of an unhappy being who, by no fault of hers, has furnished

matter for talk and scandal at home and abroad.”

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