_Where you will find set forth the highest proof that Don Quixote ever
gave, or could give, of his courage; with the successful issue of the
adventure of the Lions._
They were now overtaken by the waggon, which was attended only by the
driver, mounted on one of the mules, and another man that sat on the
fore part of it. Don Quixote making up to them, "Whither go ye,
friends?" said he. "What waggon is this? What do you convey in it? And
what is the meaning of these colours?" "The waggon is mine," answered
the waggoner: "I have there two brave lions, which the general of Oran
is sending to the king, and these colours are to let the people
understand that what goes here belongs to him." "Are the lions large?"
"Very large," answered the man in the fore part of the waggon; "bigger
never came from Africa. I am their keeper, and have had charge of
several others, but I never saw the like of these before. In the
foremost cage is a lion, and in the other a lioness. By this time they
are cruelly hungry, for they have not eaten to-day; therefore, pray,
good sir, ride out of the way, for we must make haste to get to the
place where we are to feed them." "What!" said Don Quixote, with a
scornful smile; "lion-whelps against me! And at this time of day?
Well, I will make those gentlemen that sent their lions this way, know
whether I am a man to be scared with lions. Get off, honest fellow;
and since you are the keeper, open their cages and let them both out;
for, in despite of those enchanters that have sent them to try me, I
will make the creatures know, in the midst of this very field, who Don
Quixote de la Mancha is."
While he was making this speech, Sancho came up to Don Diego, and
begged him to dissuade his master from his rash attempt. "Oh, good
dear sir!" cried he, "for pity's sake, hinder my master from falling
upon these lions by all means, or we shall be torn in pieces." "Why,"
said the gentleman, "is your master so arrant a madman, then, that you
should fear he would set upon such furious beasts?" "Ah, sir!" said
Sancho, "he is not mad, but terribly venturesome." "Well," replied the
gentleman, "I will take care there shall be no harm done;" and with
that, coming up to the Don, who was urging the lion-keeper to open the
cage, "Sir," said he, "knights-errant ought to engage in adventures
from which there may be some hope of coming off with safety, but not
in such as are altogether desperate; for courage which borders on
temerity is more like madness than true fortitude. Besides, these
lions are not come against you, but sent as a present to the king; and
therefore it is not your duty to detain them, or stop the waggon."
"Pray, sweet sir," replied Don Quixote, "go and amuse yourself with
your tame partridges and your ferrets, and leave every one to his own
business. This is mine, and I know best whether these worthy lions are
sent against me or no." Then turning about to the keeper, "Sirrah!"
said he, "open your cages immediately, or I will certainly pin thee to
the waggon with this lance." "Good sir," cried the waggoner, seeing
this strange apparition in armour so resolute, "for mercy's sake, do
but let me take out our mules first, and get out of harm's way with
them as fast as I can, before the lions get out; for if they should
once set upon the poor beasts, I should be undone for ever; for, alas,
that cart and they are all I have in the world to get a living with."
"Thou man of small faith," said Don Quixote, "take them out quickly
then, and go with them where thou wilt; though thou shalt presently
see that thy precaution was needless, and thou mightest have spared
thy pains."
The waggoner on this made all the haste he could to take out his
mules, while the keeper cried out, "Bear witness, all ye that are here
present, that it is against my will that I open the cages and let
loose the lions; and that I protest to this gentleman here, that he
shall be answerable for all the mischief they may do; together with
the loss of my salary and fees. And now, sirs, shift for yourselves as
fast as you can, before I open the cages; for, as for myself, I know
the lions will do me no harm." Once more the gentleman tried to
dissuade Don Quixote from doing so mad a thing; telling him, that he
tempted Heaven in exposing himself without reason to so great a
danger. To this Don Quixote made no other answer but that he knew what
he had to do. "Consider, however, what you do," replied the gentleman;
"for it is most certain that you are mistaken." "Well, sir," said Don
Quixote, "if you care not to be spectator of an action which you think
is likely to be a tragedy, put spurs to your mare and provide for your
safety." Sancho, hearing this, came up to his master with tears in his
eyes, and begged him not to go about this fearful undertaking, to
which the adventure of the windmills and the fulling-mills, and all
the brunts he had ever borne in his life, were but children's play.
"Good your worship," cried he, "do but mind; here is no enchantment in
the case, nor anything like it. Alack-a-day, sir, I peeped even now
through the grates of the cage, and I am sure I saw the claw of a true
lion, and such a claw as makes me think the lion that owns it must be
as big as a mountain." "Alas, poor fellow!" said Don Quixote, "thy
fear will make him as big as half the world. Retire, Sancho, and leave
me, and if I chance to fall here, thou knowest our old agreement;
repair to Dulcinea--I say no more." To this he added some expressions
which cut off all hopes of his giving over his mad design.
The gentleman in green would have opposed him; but considering the
other much better armed, and that it was not prudence to encounter a
madman, he even took the opportunity, while Don Quixote was storming
at the keeper, to march off with his mare, as Sancho did with Dapple,
and the carter with his mules, every one making the best of his way to
get as far as he could from the waggon, before the lions were let
loose. Poor Sancho at the same time made sad lamentations for his
master's death; for he gave him up for lost, not doubting but that the
lions had already got him into their clutches. He cursed his ill
fortune, and the hour he came again to his service; but for all his
wailing and lamenting, he urged on poor Dapple, to get as far as he
could from the lions. The keeper, perceiving the persons who fled to
be at a good distance, fell to arguing and entreating Don Quixote as
he had done before. But the knight told him again that all his reasons
and entreaties were but in vain, and bid him say no more, but
immediately despatch.
Now while the keeper took time to open the foremost cage, Don Quixote
stood debating with himself whether he had best make his attack on
foot or on horseback; and upon mature deliberation he resolved to do
it on foot, lest Rozinante, not used to lions, should be put into
disorder. Accordingly, he quitted his horse, threw aside his lance,
grasped his shield, and drew his sword; then advancing with a
deliberate motion, and an undaunted heart, he posted himself just
before the door of the cage, commending himself to Heaven, and
afterwards to his lady.
The keeper observing that it was not possible for him to prevent
letting out the lions without incurring the resentment of the
desperate knight, set the door of the foremost cage wide open, where,
as I have said, the lion lay, who appeared of a monstrous size and of
a frightful aspect. The first thing he did was to turn himself round
in his cage; in the next place he stretched out one of his paws, put
forth his claws, and roused himself. After that he gaped and yawned
for a good while, and shewed his dreadful fangs, and then thrust out
half a yard of tongue, and with it licked the dust from his face.
Having done this, he thrust his head quite out of the cage, and stared
about with his eyes that looked like two live coals of fire: a sight
and motion enough to have struck terror into temerity itself. But Don
Quixote only regarded it with attention, wishing his grim adversary
would leap out of his hold, and come within his reach, that he might
exercise his valour, and cut the monster piecemeal. To this height of
extravagance had his folly transported him; but the generous lion,
more gentle than arrogant, taking no notice of his vapouring and
bravados, after he had looked about him a while, turned his back upon
the knight, and very contentedly lay down again in his apartment.
Don Quixote, seeing this, commanded the keeper to rouse him with his
pole, and force him out whether he would or no. "Not I, indeed, sir,"
answered the keeper; "I dare not do it for my life; for if I provoke
him, I am sure to be the first he will tear to pieces. Let me advise
you, sir, to be satisfied with your day's work. 'Tis as much as the
bravest that wears a head can pretend to do. Then pray go no farther,
I beseech you; the door stands open, the lion is at his choice whether
he will come out or no. You have waited for him; you see he does not
care to look you in the face; and since he did not come out at the
first, I dare engage he will not stir out this day. You have shewn
enough the greatness of your courage; the scandal is his, the honour
the challenger's."
"'Tis true," replied Don Quixote. "Come, shut the cage-door, honest
friend, and give me a certificate under thy hand, in the amplest form
thou canst devise, of what thou hast seen me perform; while I make
signs to those that ran away from us, and get them to come back, that
they may have an account of this exploit from thy own mouth." The
keeper obeyed; and Don Quixote, clapping a handkerchief on the point
of his lance, waved it in the air, and called as loud as he was able
to the fugitives, who fled nevertheless, looking behind them all the
way, and trooped on in a body with the gentleman in green at the head
of them.
At last Sancho observed the signal, and called out, "Hold!" my master
calls; "I will be hanged, if he has not got the better of the lions!"
At this they all faced about, and perceived Don Quixote flourishing
his ensign; whereupon recovering a little from their fright, they
leisurely rode back till they could plainly distinguish his voice. As
soon as they were got near the waggon, "Come on, friend," said he to
the carter; "put-to thy mules again, and pursue thy journey; and,
Sancho, do thou give him two ducats for the lion-keeper and himself,
to make them amends for the time I have detained them." "Ay, that I
will with all my heart," quoth Sancho; "but what is become of the
lions? Are they dead or alive?" Then the keeper very formally related
the whole action, not failing to exaggerate, to the best of his skill,
Don Quixote's courage; how, at his sight alone, the lion was so
terrified, that he neither would nor durst quit his stronghold, though
for that end his cage-door was kept open for a considerable time; and
how at length, upon his remonstrating to the knight, who would have
had the lion forced out, that it was presuming too much upon Heaven,
he had permitted, though with great reluctancy, that the lion should
be shut up again. "Well, Sancho," said Don Quixote to his squire,
"what dost thou think of this? Can enchantment prevail over true
fortitude? No; these magicians may rob me of success, but never of my
invincible greatness of mind."
Sancho gave the waggoner and the keeper the two pieces. The first
harnessed his mules, and the last thanked Don Quixote for his bounty,
and promised to acquaint the king himself with his heroic action when
he went to court. "Well," said Don Quixote, "if his majesty should
chance to inquire who the person was that did this thing, tell him it
was the Knight of the Lions; a name I intend henceforth to take up, in
place of that which I have hitherto borne; in which proceeding I do
but conform to the ancient custom of knights-errant, who changed their
names as often as they pleased, or as it suited with their advantage."
Don Quixote now addressed Don Diego. "Without doubt, sir," said he,
"you take me for a downright madman, and, indeed, my actions may seem
to speak me no less. But for all that, give me leave to tell you, I am
not so mad, nor is my understanding so defective, as you may fancy.
Let me remind you that every knight has his particular employment. Let
the courtier wait on the ladies; let him with splendid equipage adorn
his prince's court, and with a magnificent table support poor
gentlemen. Let him give birth to feasts and tournaments, and shew his
grandeur, and liberality, and munificence, and especially his piety:
in all these things he fulfils the duties of his station. But as for
the knight-errant, let him search into all the corners of the world,
enter into the most intricate labyrinths, and every hour be ready to
attempt impossibility itself; let him in desolate wilds baffle the
rigour of the weather, the scorching heat of the sun's fiercest beams,
and the inclemency of winds and snow; let lions never fright him,
dragons daunt him, nor evil spirits deter him:--to go in quest of
these,--to meet, to dare, to conflict, and to overcome them all,--is
his principal and proper office. Well I know, that valour is a virtue
situate between the two vicious extremes of cowardice and temerity.
But certainly it is not so ill for a valiant man to rise to a degree
of rashness as it is to fall short, and border upon cowardice. For as
it is easier for a prodigal to become liberal than a miser, so it is
easier for the hardy and rash person to be reduced to true bravery,
than the coward ever to rise to that virtue. And therefore, in thus
attempting adventures, believe me, Signor Don Diego, it is better to
exceed the bounds a little, and overdo, rather than underdo the thing;
because it sounds better in people's ears to hear it said, how that
such a knight is rash and hardy, than such a knight is dastardly and
timorous."
"All you have said and done," answered Don Diego, "is agreeable to the
exactest rules of reason; and I believe if the laws and ordinances of
knight-errantry were lost, they might be all recovered from you, your
breast seeming to be the safe repository and archive where they are
lodged. But it grows late; let us make a little more haste to get to
our village and to my habitation, where you may rest yourself after
the fatigues which doubtless you have sustained, if not in body, at
least in mind, whose pains often afflict the body too." "Sir,"
answered Don Quixote, "I esteem your offer as a singular favour." And
so, proceeding a little faster than they had done before, about two in
the afternoon they reached the village, and got to the house of Don
Diego, whom now Don Quixote called the Knight of the Green Coat.