"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:




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