_Of what befell Don Quixote with a worthy gentleman of La Mancha._
While thus discoursing, they were overtaken by a gentleman, mounted on
a fine mare, and dressed in a green cloth riding-coat faced with
murry-coloured velvet, and a hunter's cap of the same; the mare's
furniture corresponded in colour with his dress, and was adapted to
field-sports; a Moorish scymitar hung at his shoulder-belt, which was
green and gold; his buskins were wrought like the belt; and his spurs
were green,--not gilt, but green,--and polished so neatly that, as
they suited his clothes, they looked better than if they had been of
pure gold. He saluted them courteously, and, spurring his mare, was
passed on, when Don Quixote said to him, "If you are travelling our
road, signor, and are not in haste, will you favour us with your
company?" "Indeed, signor," replied he, "I should not have passed on,
but I was afraid your horse might prove unruly in the company of
mine." "Sir," answered Sancho, "if that be all, you may set your mind
at rest on that score, for ours is the soberest and best-behaved horse
in the world, and was never guilty of a roguish trick in his life, but
once, and then my master and I paid for it sevenfold." The traveller
upon this checked his mare, his curiosity being excited by the
appearance of Don Quixote, who rode without his helmet, which Sancho
carried at the pommel of his ass's pannel; but if he stared at Don
Quixote, he was himself surveyed with no less attention by the knight,
who conceived him to be some person of consequence. His age seemed to
be about fifty, though he had but few grey hairs; his face was of the
aquiline form, of a countenance neither too gay nor too grave, and by
his whole exterior it was evident that he was no ordinary person. It
was not less manifest that the traveller, as he contemplated Don
Quixote, thought he had never seen any thing like him before. With
wonder he gazed upon his tall person, his meagre sallow visage, his
lank horse, his armour and stately deportment--altogether presenting a
figure like which nothing, for many centuries past, had been seen in
that country.
Don Quixote perceived that he had attracted the attention of the
traveller, and being the pink of courtesy, and always desirous of
pleasing, he anticipated his questions by saying, "You are probably
surprised, signor, at my appearance, which is certainly uncommon in
the present age; but this will be explained when I tell you that I am
a knight in search of adventures. I left my country, mortgaged my
estate, quitted ease and pleasures, and threw myself into the arms of
fortune. I wished to revive chivalry, so long deceased; and, for some
time past, exposed to many vicissitudes, stumbling in one place, and
rising again in another, I have prosecuted my design; succouring
widows, protecting damsels, aiding wives and orphans--all the natural
and proper duties of knights-errant. And thus, by many valorous and
Christian exploits, I have acquired the deserved honour of being in
print, throughout all, or most of, the nations in the world. Thirty
thousand copies are already published of my history, and, Heaven
permitting, thirty thousand thousands more are likely to be printed.
Finally, to sum up all in a single word, know that I am Don Quixote de
la Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure. Though
self-praise depreciates, I am compelled sometimes to pronounce my own
commendations; but it is only when no friend is present to perform
that office for me. And now, my worthy sir, that you know my
profession, and who I am, you will cease to wonder at my appearance."
After an interval of silence, the traveller in green said, in reply,
"You are indeed right, signor, in conceiving me to be struck by your
appearance; but you have rather increased than lessened my wonder by
the accounts you give of yourself. How! Is it possible that there are
knights-errant now in the world, and that there are histories printed
of real chivalries? I had no idea that there was any body now upon
earth who relieved widows, succoured damsels, aided wives, or
protected orphans; nor should yet have believed it, had I not been
convinced with my own eyes. Thank Heaven, the history you mention must
surely cast into oblivion all the fables of imaginary knights-errant,
which abound, much to the detriment of good morals, and the prejudice
and neglect of genuine history." "There is much to be said," answered
Don Quixote, "upon the question of the truth or fiction of the
histories of knights-errant." "Why, is there any one," answered he in
green, "who doubts the falsehood of those histories?" "I doubt it,"
replied Don Quixote: "but no more of that at present; for if we travel
together much farther, I hope to convince you, sir, that you have been
wrong in suffering yourself to be carried in the stream with those who
cavil at their truth." The traveller now first began to suspect the
state of his companion's intellects, and watched for a further
confirmation of his suspicion; but before they entered into any other
discourse, Don Quixote said that, since he had so freely described
himself, he hoped he might be permitted to ask who he was. To which
the traveller answered, "I, sir knight, am a gentleman, and native of
a village, where, if it please God, we shall dine to-day. My fortune
is affluent, and my name is Don Diego de Miranda. I spend my time with
my wife, my children, and my friends: my diversions are hunting and
fishing; but I keep neither hawks nor greyhounds, only some decoy
partridges and a stout ferret. I have about six dozen of books,
Spanish and Latin, some of history, and some of devotion; those of
chivalry have not come over my threshold. Sometimes I eat with my
neighbours and friends, and frequently I invite them; my table is neat
and clean, and not parsimoniously furnished. I slander no one, nor do
I listen to slander from others. I pry not into other men's lives, nor
scrutinise their actions. I hear mass every day; I share my substance
with the poor, making no parade of my good works, lest hypocrisy and
vain-glory, those insidious enemies of the human breast, should find
access to mine. It is always my endeavour to make peace between those
who are at variance. I am devoted to our blessed Lady, and ever trust
in the infinite mercy of God our Lord."
Sancho was very attentive to the account of the gentleman's life,
which appeared to him to be good and holy; and thinking that one of
such a character must needs work miracles, he flung himself off his
Dapple, and running up to him, he laid hold of his right stirrup;
then, devoutly and almost with tears, he kissed his feet more than
once. "What mean you by this, brother?" said the gentleman; "why these
embraces?" "Your worship," said Sancho, "is the first saint on
horseback I ever saw in all my life." "I am no saint," answered the
gentleman, "but a great sinner; you, my friend, must indeed be good,
as your simplicity proves." Sancho retired, and mounted his ass again;
having forced a smile from the profound gravity of his master, and
caused fresh astonishment in Don Diego.
Don Quixote then asked him how many children he had; at the same time
observing that the ancient philosophers, being without the knowledge
of the true God, held supreme happiness to subsist in the gifts of
nature and fortune, in having many friends and many good children. "I
have one son," answered the gentleman; "and if I had him not, perhaps
I should think myself happier; not that he is bad, but because he is
not all that I would have him. He is eighteen years old; six of which
he has spent at Salamanca, learning the Latin and Greek languages; and
when I wished him to proceed to other studies, I found him infatuated
with poetry, and could not prevail upon him to look into the law,
which it was my desire he should study; nor into theology, the queen
of all sciences. I was desirous that he should be an honour to his
family, since we live in an age in which useful and virtuous
literature is rewarded by the sovereign,--I say virtuous, for letters
without virtue are pearls on a dunghill. He passes whole days in
examining whether Homer expressed himself well in such a verse of the
Iliad; whether such a line in Virgil should be understood this or that
way;--in a word, all his conversation is with those and other ancient
poets: for the modern Spanish authors he holds in no esteem. At the
same time, in spite of the contempt he seems to have for Spanish
poetry, his thoughts are at this very time entirely engrossed by a
paraphrase on four verses sent him from Salamanca, and which, I
believe, is intended for a scholastic prize."
"Children, my good sir," replied Don Quixote, "are the flesh and blood
of their parents; and whether good or bad, must be loved and cherished
as part of themselves. It is the duty of parents to train them up,
from their infancy, in the paths of virtue and good manners, and in
Christian discipline; so that they may become the staff of their age,
and an honour to their posterity. As to forcing them to this or that
pursuit, I do not hold it to be right, though I think there is a
propriety in advising them; and when the student is so fortunate as to
have an inheritance, and therefore not compelled to study for his
subsistence, I should be for indulging him in the pursuit of that
science to which his genius is most inclined; and although that of
poetry be less useful than delightful, it does not usually reflect
disgrace on its votaries. With regard to your son's contempt for
Spanish poetry, I think he is therein to blame. The great Homer, being
a Greek, did not write in Latin; nor did Virgil, who was a Roman,
write in Greek. In fact, all the ancient poets wrote in the language
of their native country, and did not hunt after foreign tongues to
express their own sublime conceptions. If your son write personal
satires, chide him, and tear his performances; but if he writes like
Horace, reprehending vice in general, commend him; for it is laudable
in a poet to employ his pen in a virtuous cause. Let him direct the
shafts of satire against vice, in all its various forms, but not level
them at individuals; like some who, rather than not indulge their
mischievous wit, will hazard a disgraceful banishment to the isles of
Pontus. If the poet be correct in his morals, his verse will partake
of the same purity: the pen is the tongue of the mind, and what his
conceptions are, such will be his productions."
The gentleman hearing Don Quixote express himself in this manner, was
struck with so much admiration, that he began to lose the bad opinion
he had conceived of his understanding. As for Sancho, who did not much
relish this fine talk, he took an opportunity to slink aside in the
middle of it, and went to get a little milk of some shepherds that
were hard by keeping their sheep. Now when the gentleman was going to
renew his discourse, mightily pleased with these judicious
observations, Don Quixote, lifting up his eyes, perceived a waggon on
the road, set round with little flags that appeared to be the king's
colours; and believing it to be some new adventure, he called out to
Sancho to bring him his helmet. Sancho, hearing him call aloud, left
the shepherds, and clapping his heels vigorously to Dapple's sides,
soon came trotting up to his master.