Of the new and agreeable adventure that befell the Priest and the Barber, and of the beautiful Dorothea. "Alas, is it possible that I have at last found out a place which will afford a private grave to this miserable body, whose load I so repine to bear? Yes, if the silence and solitude of these deserts do not deceive me, here I may die concealed from human eyes. Ah me! ah wretched creature! to what extremity has affliction driven me, reduced to think these hideous woods and rocks a kind retreat! It is true, indeed, I may here freely complain to Heaven, and beg for that relief which I might ask in vain of false mankind; for it is vain, I find, to seek below either counsel, ease, or remedy."

The curate and his company, hearing all this distinctly, and conceiving they must be near the person who thus expressed his grief, rose to find him out. They had not gone above twenty paces before they spied a youth in a country habit, sitting at the foot of a rock behind an ash-tree; but they could not well see his face, being bowed almost upon his knees, as he sat washing his feet in a rivulet that glided by. They approached him so softly that he did not perceive them; and as he was gently paddling in the clear water, they had time to discern that his legs were as white as alabaster, and so taper, so curiously proportioned, and so fine, that nothing of the kind could appear more beautiful. Our observers were amazed at this discovery, rightly imagining that such tender feet were not used to trudge in rugged ways, or measure the steps of oxen at the plough, the common employments of people in such apparel; and therefore the curate, who went before the rest, whose curiosity was heightened by this sight, beckoned to them to step aside, and hide themselves behind some of the little rocks that were by; which they did, and from thence making a stricter observation, they found he had on a grey double-skirted jerkin, girt tight about his body with a linen towel. He wore also a pair of breeches, and gamashes of grey cloth, and a grey huntsman's cap on his head. His gamashes were now pulled up to the middle of his leg, which really seemed to be of snowy alabaster. Having made an end of washing his beauteous feet, he immediately wiped them with a handkerchief, which he pulled out from under his cap; and with that looking up, he discovered so charming a face, so accomplished a beauty, that Cardenio could not forbear saying to the curate, that since this was not Lucinda, it was certainly no human form, but an angel. And then the youth taking off his cap, and shaking his head, an incredible quantity of lovely hair flowed down upon his shoulders, and not only covered them, but almost all his body; by which they were now convinced that what they at first took to be a country lad was a young woman, and one of the most beautiful creatures in the world. Cardenio was not less surprised than the other two, and once more declared that no face could vie with hers but Lucinda's. To part her dishevelled tresses she only used her slender fingers, and at the same time discovered so fine a pair of arms, and hands so white and lovely, that our three admiring gazers grew more impatient to know who she was, and moved forward to accost her. At the noise they made, the pretty creature started; and peeping through her hair, which she hastily removed from before her eyes with both her hands, she no sooner saw three men coming towards her, but in a mighty fright she snatched up a little bundle that lay by her, and fled as fast as she could, without so much as staying to put on her shoes, or do up her hair. But, alas, scarce had she gone six steps, when, her tender feet not being able to endure the rough encounter of the stones, the poor affrighted fair fell on the hard ground; so that those from whom she fled hastened to help her. "Stay, madam," cried the curate, "whoever you be, you have no reason to fly; we have no other design but to do you service." With that, approaching her, he took her by the hand; and perceiving she was so disordered with fear and confusion that she could not answer a word, he strove to compose her mind with kind expressions. "Be not afraid, madam," continued he; "though your hair has betrayed what your disguise concealed from us, we are but the more disposed to assist you, and do you all manner of service. Then pray tell us how we may best do it. I imagine it was no slight occasion that made you obscure your singular beauty under so unworthy a disguise, and venture into this desert, where it was the greatest chance in the world that ever you met with us. However, we hope it is not impossible to find a remedy for your misfortunes, since there are none which reason and time will not at last surmount; and therefore, madam, if you have not absolutely renounced all human comfort, I beseech you to tell us the cause of your affliction, and assure yourself we do not ask this out of mere curiosity, but from a real desire to serve you, and assuage your grief."

While the curate endeavoured thus to remove the trembling fair one's apprehension, she stood amazed, without speaking a word, looking sometimes at one, sometimes at another, like one scarce well awake, or like an ignorant clown who happens to see some strange sight. But at last, the curate having given her time to recollect herself, and persisting in his earnest and civil entreaties, she sighed deeply, and then unclosing her lips, broke silence in the following manner: "Since this desert has not been able to conceal me, it would be needless now for me to dissemble with you; and since you desire to hear the story of my misfortunes, I cannot in civility deny you, after all the obliging offers you have been pleased to make me; but yet, gentlemen, I am much afraid what I have to say will but make you sad, and afford you little satisfaction; for you will find my disasters are not to be remedied. There is one thing that troubles me yet more; it shocks my nature to think I must be forced to reveal to you some secrets which I had a design to have buried in my grave; but yet, considering the garb and the place you have found me in, I fancy it will be better for me to tell you all than to give occasion to doubt of my past conduct and my present designs by an affected reservedness." The disguised lady having made this answer with a modest blush and extraordinary discretion, the curate and his company, who now admired her the more for her sense, renewed their kind offers and pressing solicitations; and then they courteously let her retire a moment to some distance to put herself in decent order. Which done she returned, and, being all seated on the grass, after she had used no small effort to restrain her tears, she thus began her story.

"I was born in a certain town of Andalusia, from which a duke takes his title that makes him a grandee of Spain. This duke had two sons, the eldest heir to his estate, and, as it may be presumed, of his virtues; the youngest heir to nothing I know of but treachery and deceitfulness. My father, who is one of his vassals, is but of low degree; but so very rich, that had fortune equalled his birth to his estate, he could have wanted nothing more, and I, perhaps, had never been so miserable; for I verily believe my not being of noble blood is the chief occasion of my distress. True it is, my parents are not so meanly born as to have any cause to be ashamed, nor so high as to alter the opinion I have that my misfortune proceeds from their lowness. It is true, they have been farmers from father to son, yet without any scandal or stain. They are honest old-fashioned Christian Spaniards, and the antiquity of their family, together with their large possessions, raises them much above their profession, and has by little and little almost universally gained them the name of gentlemen, setting them, in a manner, equal to many such in the world's esteem. As I am their only child, they loved me with the utmost tenderness; and their great affection made them esteem themselves happier in their daughter than in the peaceable enjoyment of their large estate. Now, as it was my good fortune to be possessed of their love, they were pleased to trust me with their substance. The whole house and estate was left to my management, and I took such care not to abuse the trust reposed in me that I never forfeited their good opinion of my discretion. The time I had to spare from the care of the family I employed in the usual exercises of young women, sometimes making bone-lace, or at my needle, and now and then reading some good book, or playing on the harp,—having experienced that music was very proper to recreate the wearied mind. While I thus lived the life of a recluse, unseen, as I thought, by anybody but our own family, and never leaving the house but to go to church, which was commonly betimes in the morning, and always with my mother, and so close hid in a veil that I could scarce find my way; notwithstanding all the care that was taken to keep me from being seen, it was unhappily rumoured abroad that I was handsome, and to my eternal disquiet, love intruded into my peaceful retirement. Don Fernando, second son to the duke I have mentioned, had a sight of me"——Scarce had Cardenio heard Don Fernando named but he changed colour, and betrayed such a disorder of body and mind that the curate and the barber were afraid he would have fallen into one of those frantic fits that often used to take him; but, by good fortune, it did not come to that, and he only set himself to look stedfastly on the country maid, presently guessing who she was; while she continued her story, without taking any notice of the alteration of his countenance.

"No sooner had he seen me," said she, "but, as he since told me, he felt in his breast that violent passion of which he afterwards gave me so many proofs. He purchased the good will of all our servants with private gifts; made my father a thousand kind offers of service; every day seemed a day of rejoicing in our neighbourhood, every evening ushered in some serenade, and the continual music was even a disturbance in the night. He got an infinite number of love-letters transmitted to me, I do not know by what means, every one full of tender expressions, promises, and vows. But all this assiduous courtship was so far from inclining my heart to a kind return, that it rather moved my indignation, insomuch that I looked upon Don Fernando as my greatest enemy; not but that I was well enough pleased with his gallantry, and took a secret delight in seeing myself courted by a person of his quality. Such demonstrations of love are never altogether displeasing to women, and the most disdainful, in spite of all their coyness, reserve a little complaisance in their hearts for their admirers. But the inequality between us was too great to suffer me to entertain any reasonable hopes, and his gallantry too singular not to offend me. My father, who soon put the right construction upon Don Fernando's pretensions, like a kind parent, perceiving I was somewhat uneasy, and imagining the flattering prospect of so advantageous a match might still amuse me, told me that if I would marry, to rid me at once of his unjust pursuit, I should have liberty to make my own choice of a suitable match, either in our own town or the neighbourhood; and that he would do for me whatever could be expected from a loving father. I humbly thanked him for his kindness, and told him that as I had never yet had any thoughts of marriage, I would try to rid myself of Don Fernando some other way. Accordingly, I resolved to shun him with so much precaution that he should never have the opportunity to speak to me; but all my reserve, far from tiring out his passion, strengthened it the more. In short, Don Fernando, either hearing or suspecting I was to be married, thought of a contrivance to cross a design that was likely to cut off all his hopes. One night, therefore, when I was in my chamber, nobody with me but my maid, and the door double locked and bolted, that I might be secured against the attempts of Don Fernando, whom I took to be a man who would scruple at nothing to accomplish his ends, unexpectedly I saw him just before me; which amazing sight so surprised me, that I was struck dumb, and fainted away with fear. I had not power to call for help, nor do I believe he would have given me time to have done it, had I attempted it; for he presently ran to me, and taking me in his arms, while I was sinking with the fright, he spoke to me in such endearing terms, and with so much address and pretended tenderness and sincerity, that I did not dare to cry out when I came to myself. His sighs, and yet more his tears, seemed to me undeniable proofs of his vowed integrity; and I being but young, bred up in perpetual retirement from all society but my virtuous parents, and inexperienced in those affairs, in which even the most knowing are apt to be mistaken, my reluctancy abated by degrees, and I began to have some sense of compassion. However, when I was pretty well recovered from my first fright, my former resolution returned; and then, with more courage than I thought I should have had, 'My lord,' said I, 'if at the same time that you offer me your love, and give me such strange demonstrations of it, you would also offer me poison and leave me to take my choice, I would soon resolve which to accept, and convince you by my death that my honour is dearer to me than my life. To be plain, I can have no good opinion of a presumption that endangers my reputation; and unless you leave me this moment, I will so effectually make you know how much you are mistaken in me, that if you have but the least sense of honour left, you will regret driving me to that extremity as long as you live. I was born your vassal, but not your slave; nor does the greatness of your birth privilege you to injure your inferiors, or exact from me more than the duties which all vassals pay; that excepted, I do not esteem myself less in my low degree than you have reason to value yourself in your high rank. Do not, then, think to awe or dazzle me with your grandeur, or fright or force me into a base compliance; I am not to be tempted with titles, pomp, and equipage; nor weak enough to be moved with vain sighs and false tears. In short, my will is wholly at my father's disposal, and I will not entertain any man as a lover but by his appointment.' 'What do you mean, charming Dorothea?' cried the perfidious lord. 'Cannot I be yours by the sacred title of husband? Who can hinder me, if you will but consent to bless me on those terms? I am yours this moment, beautiful Dorothea; I give you here my hand to be yours, and yours alone, for ever; and let all-seeing Heaven, and this holy image here on your oratory, witness the solemn truth.'

"In short, urged by his solicitations, I became his wife; but not long afterwards he left me, I knew not whither. Months passed away, and in vain I watched for his coming; yet he was in the town, and every day amusing himself with hunting. What melancholy days and hours were those to me! I long strove to hide my tears and so to guard my looks that my parents might not see and inquire into the cause of my wretchedness; but suddenly my forbearance was at an end, with all regard to delicacy and fame, upon the intelligence reaching me that Don Fernando was married in a neighbouring town to a beautiful young lady, of some rank and fortune, named Lucinda."——Cardenio heard the name of Lucinda at first only with signs of indignation, but soon after a flood of tears burst from his eyes. Dorothea, however, pursued her story, saying, "When this sad news reached my ears, my heart became so inflamed with rage that I could scarcely forbear rushing into the streets and proclaiming the baseness and treachery I had experienced; but I became more tranquil, after forming a project which I executed the same night. I borrowed this apparel of a shepherd swain in my father's service, whom I entrusted with my secret, and begged him to attend me in my pursuit of Don Fernando. He assured me it was a rash undertaking; but finding me resolute, he said he would go with me to the end of the world. Immediately I packed up some of my own clothes, with money and jewels, and at night secretly left the house, attended only by my servant and a thousand anxious thoughts, and travelled on foot to the town, where I expected to find my husband; impatient to arrive, if not in time to prevent his perfidy, to reproach him for it.

"I inquired where the parents of Lucinda lived; and the first person to whom I addressed myself told me more than I desired to hear. He told me also that on the night that Don Fernando was married to Lucinda, after she had pronounced the fatal Yes, she fell into a swoon; and the bridegroom, in unclasping her bosom to give her air, found a paper written by herself, in which she affirmed that she could not be wife to Don Fernando, because she was already betrothed to Cardenio (who, as the man told me, was a gentleman of the same town), and that she had pronounced her assent to Don Fernando merely in obedience to her parents. The paper also revealed her intention to kill herself as soon as the ceremony was over, which was confirmed by a poniard they found concealed upon her. Don Fernando was so enraged to find himself thus mocked and slighted, that he seized hold of the same poniard, and would certainly have stabbed her, had he not been prevented by those present; whereupon he immediately quitted the place. When Lucinda revived, she confessed to her parents the engagement she had formed with Cardenio, who, it was suspected, had witnessed the ceremony, and had hastened from the city in despair; for he left a paper expressing his sense of the wrong he had suffered, and declaring his resolution to fly from mankind for ever.

"All this was publicly known, and the general subject of conversation; especially when it appeared that Lucinda also was missing from her father's house—a circumstance that overwhelmed her family with grief, but revived my hopes; for I flattered myself that Heaven had thus interposed to prevent the completion of Don Fernando's second marriage, in order to touch his conscience and restore him to a sense of duty and honour.

"In this situation, undecided what course to take, I instantly left the city, and at night took refuge among these mountains. I engaged myself in the service of a shepherd, and have lived for some months among these wilds, always endeavouring to be abroad, lest I should betray myself. Yet all my care was to no purpose, for my master at length discovered my secret. Lest I might not always find means at hand to free myself from insult, I sought for security in flight, and have endeavoured to hide myself among these rocks. Here, with incessant sighs and tears, I implore Heaven to have pity on me, and either alleviate my misery or put an end to my life in this desert, that no traces may remain of so wretched a creature."