_How Don Quixote was entertained at the castle or house of the Knight
of the Green Coat, with other extraordinary matters._
Don Quixote found that Don Diego de Miranda's house was spacious,
after the country manner; the arms of the family were over the gate in
rough stone,--the buttery in the foreyard, the cellar under the porch,
and all around several great jars of the sort commonly made at Toboso;
the sight of which bringing to his remembrance his enchanted and
transformed Dulcinea, he heaved a deep sigh; and neither minding what
he said nor who was by, broke out into the following exclamation:
"O ye Tobosian urns, that awaken in my mind the thoughts of the sweet
pledge of my most bitter sorrows!" Don Diego's son, who, as it has
been said, was a student, and poetically inclined, heard these words
as he came with his mother to welcome him home, and, as well as she,
was not a little surprised to see what a strange being his father had
brought with him. Don Quixote alighted from Rozinante, and very
courteously desiring to kiss her ladyship's hands, "Madam," said Don
Diego, "this gentleman is the noble Don Quixote de la Mancha, the
wisest and most valiant knight-errant in the world; pray let him find
a welcome suitable to his merit and your usual civility." Thereupon
Donna Christina (for that was the lady's name) received him very
kindly, and with great marks of respect; to which Don Quixote made a
proper and handsome return; and then almost the same compliments
passed between him and the young gentleman, whom Don Quixote judged by
his words to be a man of wit and sense.
While the knight was unarming, Don Lorenzo had leisure to talk with
his father about him. "Pray, sir," said he, "who is this gentleman you
have brought with you? Considering his name, his aspect, and the title
of knight-errant which you give him, neither my mother nor I know what
to think of him." "Truly," answered Don Diego, "I do not know what to
say to you; all that I can inform you of is, that I have seen him play
the maddest pranks in the world, and yet say a thousand sensible
things that contradict his actions. But discourse with him yourself,
and feel the pulse of his understanding; make use of your sense to
judge of his; though, to tell you the truth, I believe his folly
exceeds his discretion."
Don Lorenzo then went to entertain Don Quixote; and after some
discourse had passed between them, "Sir," said the knight, "I am not
wholly a stranger to your merit; Don Diego de Miranda, your father,
has given me to understand you are a person of excellent parts, and
especially a great poet." "Sir," answered the young gentleman, "I may,
perhaps, pretend to poetry, but never to be a great poet. It is true,
I am somewhat given to rhyming, and love to read good authors; but I
am very far from deserving to be thought one of their number." "I do
not mislike your modesty," replied Don Quixote; "it is a virtue not
often found among poets; for almost every one of them thinks himself
the greatest in the world." "There is no rule without an exception,"
said Don Lorenzo; "and it is not impossible but there may be one who
may deserve the name, though he does not think so himself." "That is
very unlikely," replied Don Quixote. "But pray, sir, tell me what
verses are those that your father says you are so puzzled about? If it
should be what we call a gloss or a paraphrase, I understand something
of that way of writing, and should be glad to see it. If the
composition be designed for a poetical prize, I would advise you only
to put in for the second; for the first always goes by favour, and is
rather granted to the great quality of the author than to his merit;
but as to the next, it is adjudged to the most deserving; so that the
third may in a manner be esteemed the second, and the first no more
than the third, according to the methods used in our universities of
giving degrees. And yet, after all, it is no small matter to gain the
honour of being called the first."
Hitherto all is well, thought Don Lorenzo to himself,--I cannot think
thee mad yet; let us go on. With that, addressing himself to Don Quixote,
"Sir," said he, "you seem to me to have frequented the schools; pray what
science has been your particular study?" "That of knight-errantry,"
answered Don Quixote; "which is as good as that of poetry, and somewhat
better too." "I do not know what sort of a science that is," said Don
Lorenzo; "nor indeed did I ever hear of it before." "It is a science,"
answered Don Quixote, "that includes in itself all the other sciences in
the world, or at least the greatest part of them. Whoever professes it
ought to be learned in the laws, and understand distributive and
commutative justice, in order to right all mankind. He ought to be a
divine, to give a reason of his faith, and vindicate his religion by dint
of argument. He ought to be skilled in physic, especially in the botanic
part of it, that he may know the nature of simples, and have recourse to
those herbs that can cure wounds; for a knight-errant must not expect to
find surgeons in the woods and deserts. He must be an astronomer, to
understand the motions of the celestial orbs, and find out by the stars
the hour of the night, and the longitude and latitude of the climate on
which fortune throws him; and he ought to be well instructed in all the
other parts of the mathematics--that science being of constant use to a
professor of arms, on many accounts too numerous to be related. I need
not tell you that all the divine and moral virtues must centre in his
mind. To descend to less material qualifications, he must be able to swim
like a fish, know how to shoe a horse, mend a saddle or bridle; and,
returning to higher matters, he ought to be inviolably devoted to Heaven
and his lady, chaste in his thoughts, modest in words, and liberal and
valiant in deeds; patient in afflictions, charitable to the poor; and
finally, a maintainer of truth, though it cost him his life to defend it.
These are the endowments to constitute a good knight-errant; and now,
sir, be you a judge, whether the professors of chivalry have an easy task
to perform, and whether such a science may not stand in competition with
the most celebrated and best of those that are taught in colleges?" "If
it be so," answered Don Lorenzo, "I say it deserves the pre-eminence over
all other sciences." "What do you mean, sir, by that, If it be so?" cried
Don Quixote. "I mean, sir," cried Don Lorenzo, "that I doubt whether
there are now, or ever were, any knights-errant, especially with so many
rare accomplishments." "This makes good what I have often said," answered
Don Quixote; "most people will not be persuaded there ever were any
knights-errant in the world. Now, sir, because I verily believe that
unless Heaven will work some miracle to convince them that there have
been and still are knights-errant, those incredulous persons are too much
wedded to their opinion to admit such a belief, I will not now lose time
to endeavour to let you see how much you and they are mistaken; all I
design to do is, only to beseech Heaven to convince you of your being in
an error, that you may see how useful knights-errant were in former ages,
and the vast advantages that would result in ours from the assistance of
men of that profession. But now effeminacy, sloth, luxury, and ignoble
pleasure triumph, for the punishment of our sins." Now, said Lorenzo to
himself, our gentleman has already betrayed his blind side; but yet he
gives a colour of reason to his extravagance, and I were a fool to think
otherwise.
Here they were called to dinner, which ended the discourse; and at
that time Don Diego, taking his son aside, asked him what he thought
of the stranger. "I think, sir," said Don Lorenzo, "that it is not in
the power of all the physicians in the world to cure his distemper. He
is mad past recovery; but yet he has lucid intervals." In short, they
dined; and their entertainment proved such as the old gentleman had
told the knight he used to give his guests--neat, plentiful, and well
ordered. But that which Don Quixote most admired was, the
extraordinary silence he observed through the whole house, as if it
had been a monastery of Carthusians.