Before he could read one more of the manuscripts he had saved from the fire, a wondrous vision suddenly appeared before him; at least, everyone took it for a vision, but it was the shepherdess Marcela: she appeared on the summit of the mountain at whose foot the shepherds were digging a grave, and she was so beautiful that her beauty instantly eclipsed the splendor of its own glory. Those who saw her for the first time gazed at her in silent admiration, but even those who often had occasion to see her were no less astonished than those who had never seen her before. As for Ambrosio, scarcely had he seen her when, unable to restrain his indignation, he said:
“Why have you come here, you savage basilisk of the surrounding mountains? Is it to see whether, at your approach, blood will gush from the wounds of the wretch whose life your cruelty has taken? Is it to boast of the fruits of your wickedness and, like the cruel Nero [139], who watched burning Rome from above, admire them from the heights? Or is it to trample this cold corpse beneath your profane foot, like the ungrateful daughter of Tarquinius [140]? Speak quickly, then: why have you come, and what do you want from us? While he was alive, the thoughts of the deceased Chrysostom were directed toward you; after his death, the thoughts of those who call themselves his friends may easily be consumed by you.
“No, Ambrosio, that is not why I came here!” Marcela replied. “I came to justify myself and prove that those who blame me for Chrysostom’s death and for their own sorrows are wrong. Therefore, I ask everyone present to listen to me attentively—for in order for reasonable people to recognize the truth, I need not spend much time or waste many words. You yourselves claim that heaven endowed me with beauty, and that my beauty disarms you and compels you to love me; yet you express the wish, and even demand, that I should love you in return for your love. The natural understanding with which the Lord endowed me tells me that what is beautiful cannot be unloved, but surely the woman who is loved for her beauty is not obliged to love the one who loves her solely because she is loved? Now imagine that, in addition to being in love with beauty, the lover is ugly; and since everything ugly cannot help but inspire disgust, it would be very strange if he said: ‘I loved you for your beauty—so love me too, even though I am ugly.’ Let us even suppose that they are equally beautiful; that does not mean their desires are alike, for not every beauty possesses the power to make others fall in love with it—some delight the eye but do not conquer the heart. If every beauty inspired love and conquered hearts, our vague and uncertain desires would wander forever, never knowing where to settle, for if there are countless beautiful beings in the world, our desires would have to be countless as well. Yet I have heard that true feeling is indivisible and that one cannot love under compulsion. But if that is so—and I am convinced that it is—can I be required to surrender my heart by force merely because you swear that you love me? And if heaven, which made me beautiful, had made me ugly instead, tell me: would I have the right to reproach you for not loving me? Consider also that I did not choose my beauty: whatever it may be, it was given to me by heaven; I neither sought it nor chose it. And if a snake cannot be condemned for being venomous, since nature itself endowed it with the poison by which it kills, then neither am I guilty of having been born beautiful, for the beauty of an honest woman is like a distant flame or a sharp sword: whoever does not approach it is neither wounded nor scorched by it. Honor and virtue are the adornments of the soul, without which even the most beautiful body
sharp sword: whoever does not approach it is neither wounded nor scorched by it. Honor and virtue are the adornments of the soul, without which even the most beautiful body loses all its beauty. And if innocence is one of those virtues that so adorn the soul and body and lend them a special charm, must a girl who is loved for her beauty lose her innocence by yielding to the advances of a man who resorts to every kind of trick for his own pleasure in order to make her lose it? I was born free, and, to live freely, I chose the solitude of the valleys: the trees growing on the mountains are my companions, and the clear waters of the streams are my mirrors. To the trees and waters I entrust my thoughts and my beauty. I am a distant flame, a sword flashing from afar. Those whom my gaze has enchanted are disabused by my words. Desire is nourished by hope, and since I gave neither Chrysostom nor anyone else any hope, it is more reasonable to suppose that Chrysostom was brought to the grave by his own persistence, not by my cruelty. They may object that his intentions were honorable and that therefore I should have returned his affection. Well, I will tell you that when, on this very spot where they are now digging his grave, he revealed his noble desires to me, I replied that eternal solitude would be my lot, and that only the earth would enjoy the fruits of my chastity and the remains of my beauty. If, despite my dissuasion, he continued stubbornly and hopelessly to swim against the current, what is surprising in the fact that the wave of folly eventually swept him away? If I had held him back, I would have been false to my heart. If I had yielded to him, I would have betrayed my noblest aspiration and inclination. He refused to heed my dissuasion; he suffered shipwreck without being pursued—judge now whether I am to blame for his sufferings. Let the deceived complain, let the one lured by hope lament, let the one I summon hope, let the one I admit to my presence take pride; but let not the man whom I neither lured, deceived, summoned, nor admitted call me an inhuman murderess. Until now, heaven has not wished me to love anyone by the workings of fate, and you should not expect me to make a choice of my own. Let these words, which dispel every hope, serve henceforth as a warning to all who seek my favor; and if anyone dies because of me, know that he will not die of jealousy or humiliation, for one who loves no one can arouse jealousy in no one, and to disabuse someone is not to humiliate them. Whoever calls me a beast and a basilisk—let him withdraw from me as from a harmful and evil creature; whoever calls me merciless—let him not seek to please me; whoever calls me ungrateful—let him shun me; whoever calls me cruel—let him not pursue me, for this very beast and basilisk, this merciless, cruel, and ungrateful woman, will pursue no one, seek to please no one, remain aloof from all, and pursue no one. Chrysostom was destroyed by his mad passion and fiery temperament; what have my modest conduct and chastity to do with it? I preserve my honor in the company of trees—why, then, do those who want me to associate with people seek to rob me of it? You know that I possess my own wealth—I do not envy what belongs to others. My nature is freedom-loving, and I do not wish to submit to anyone. I love no one and bear hatred toward no one. I deceive no one and entice no one; I mock no one and court no one. The innocent talk of country girls and caring for goats are what I cherish. My dreams do not extend beyond the surrounding mountains, and if they do extend farther, it is only so that, following the path by which the soul yearns toward its homeland, I may contemplate the beauty of the heavens.
With these words, Marcela, without waiting for a reply, disappeared into the thicket of the nearby forest, leaving those present astonished both by her reason and by her beauty.
What are the books about?
