e accompaniment not of pipes and
rebecks, but to that of one crook knocked against another, or of bits of
tile jingled between the fingers, and sung with voices not melodious and
tender, but so coarse and out of tune, that whether singly or in chorus,
they seemed to be howling or grunting. They passed the greater part of
the day in hunting up their fleas or mending their brogues; and none of
them were named Amarillis, Filida, Galatea, or Diana; nor were there any
Lisardos, Lausos, Jacintos, or Riselos; but all were Antones, Domingos,
Pablos, or Llorentes. This led me to conclude that all those books about
pastoral life are only fictions ingeniously written for the amusement of
the idle, and that there is not a word of truth in them; for, were it
otherwise, there would have remained among my shepherds some trace of
that happy life of yore, with its pleasant meads, spacious groves,
sacred mountains, handsome gardens, clear streams and crystal fountains,
its ardent but no less decorous love-descants, with here the shepherd,
there the shepherdess all woe-begone, and the air made vocal everywhere
with flutes and pipes and flageolets.

_Scip._ Enough, Berganza; get back into your road, and trot on.

_Berg._ I am much obliged to you, friend Scipio; for, but for your hint,
I was getting so warm upon the scent, that I should not have stopped
till I had given you one whole specimen of those books that had so
deceived me. But a time will come when I shall discuss the whole matter
more fully and more opportunely than now.

_Scip._ Look to your feet, and don't run after your tail, that is to
say, recollect that you are an animal devoid of reason; or if you seem
at present to have a little of it, we are already agreed that this is a
supernatural and altogether unparalleled circumstance.

_Berg._ That would be all very well if I were still in my pristine state
of ignorance; but now that I bethink me of what I should have mentioned
to you in the beginning of our conversation, I not only cease to wonder
that I speak, but I am terrified at the thought of leaving off.

_Scip._ Can you not tell me that something now that you recollect it?

_Berg._ It was a certain affair that occurred to me with a sorntess, a
disciple of la Camacha de Montilla.

_Scip._ Let me hear it now, before you proceed with the story of your
life.

_Berg._ No, not till the proper time. Have patience and listen to the
recital of my adventures in the order they