CHAPTER XVIII

Don Quixote found Don Diego de Miranda’s house to be spacious in the rustic manner; his coat of arms, though of rough stone, was above the street door, the storeroom in the courtyard, the wine cellar, the entrance hall, and on many large earthenware jars, which, because they were from Toboso, revived in Don Quixote memories of his enchanted and transformed Dulcinea; and heaving a sigh, and not caring what he said or whom he was with, he said:

O Tobosan vessels, which have brought to mind the sweetest treasure of my deepest grief!”

He was heard to say this by the student poet, Don Diego’s son, who had come out with his mother to receive him, and both mother and son marveled to see the strange figure of Don Quixote, who, dismounting Rocinante, very courteously went up to her and asked to kiss her hands, and Don Diego said:

“Señora, welcome with your customary amiability Señor Don Quixote of La Mancha, whom you have here before you, the most valiant and intelligent knight errant in the world.”

The lady, whose name was Doña Cristina, received him with signs of great affection and courtesy, and Don Quixote responded with a number of judicious and courteous phrases. He used almost the same phrases with the student, who, when he heard Don Quixote speak, thought him a man of intelligence and wit.

Here the author depicts all the details of Don Diego’s house, portraying for us what the house of a wealthy gentleman farmer contains, but the translator of this history decided to pass over these and other similar minutiae in silence, because they did not accord with the principal purpose of the history, whose strength lies more in its truth than in cold digressions.

They led Don Quixote to a chamber, where Sancho removed his armor, leaving him in pantaloons and a chamois doublet that was stained with the grime of his armor; his collar was wide and soft like a student’s, without starch or lace trimming; his tights were date colored and his shoes waxed. He girded on his trusty sword, which hung from a swordbelt made of sealskin, for it is believed that for many years he suffered from a kidney ailment; over this he wore a short cape of good dark cloth; but first of all, with five pots, or perhaps six pots of water, there being some difference of opinion regarding the number, he washed his head and face, and still the water was the color of whey, thanks to Sancho’s gluttony and his purchase of the blackhearted curds that turned his master so white. With these adornments, and genteel grace and gallantry, Don Quixote went to another room, where the student was waiting to entertain him while the tables were being laid, for with the arrival of so noble a guest, Señora Doña Cristina wished to show that she knew how and was able to lavish attention on those who visited her house.

While Don Quixote was removing his armor, Don Lorenzo, which was the name of Don Diego’s son, had the opportunity to say to his father:

“Señor, who can this knight be whom you have brought to our house? His name and appearance, and his saying that he is a knight errant, have baffled my mother and me.”

“Son, I don’t know what to tell you,” responded Don Diego. “I can say only that I have seen him do things worthy of the greatest madman in the world, and heard him say things so intelligent that they wipe out and undo his mad acts: speak to him, and explore what he knows, and since you are clever, you’ll make a reasonable judgment regarding his cleverness or foolishness, though to tell you the truth, I think he’s more mad than sane.”

Then Don Lorenzo went in to entertain Don Quixote, as has been said, and among other exchanges that passed between them, Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo:

“Your grace’s father, Señor Don Diego de Miranda, has informed me of the rare ability and subtle ingenuity which your grace possesses, and, in particular, that your grace is a great poet.”

“A poet, perhaps,” responded Don Lorenzo, “but by no means great. The truth is, I have a predilection for poetry and for reading good poets, but that does not justify calling me great, as my father has done.”

“This humility does not seem a bad thing to me,” responded Don Quixote, “because there is no poet who is not arrogant and does not think himself the greatest poet in the world.”

“Every rule has its exception,” responded Don Lorenzo, “and there must be some who are great and do not think so.”

“Very few,” responded Don Quixote. “But tell me, your grace, what verses are you at work on now? Your father has told me that they have made you somewhat restive and thoughtful. If it is a gloss, I know something about the subject and would like very much to hear it; if the verses are for a literary competition, your grace should try to win second place; first is always won through favor or because of the high estate of the person, second is won because of pure justice, and by this calculation third becomes second, and first becomes third, in the manner of the degrees offered by universities; but, even so, being called first carries with it great celebrity.”

“So far,” said Don Lorenzo to himself, “I can’t call you crazy; let’s move on.”

And to Don Quixote he said:

“It seems to me that your grace has spent time in school: what sciences have you studied?”

“The science of knight errantry,” responded Don Quixote, “which is as good as poetry, and perhaps even a little better.”

“I don’t know that science,” replied Don Lorenzo. “I haven’t heard of it until now.”

“It is a science,” replied Don Quixote, “that contains all or most of the sciences in the world, because the man who professes it must be a jurist and know the laws of distributive and commutative justice so that he may give to each person what is his and what he ought to have; he must be a theologian so that he may know how to explain the Christian law he professes, clearly and distinctly, no matter where he is asked to do so; he must be a physician, and principally an herbalist, so that he may know, in the midst of wastelands and deserts, the herbs that have the virtue to heal wounds, for the knight errant cannot always go looking for someone to heal him; he must be an astrologer, so that he can tell by the stars how many hours of the night have passed, and in what part and climate of the world he finds himself; he must know mathematics, because at every step he will have need of them; and leaving aside the fact that he must be adorned with all the theological and cardinal virtues, and descending to the small details, I say that he must know how to swim as well as they say the fishman Nicolás, or Nicolao,³⁸⁰ could swim; he must know how to shoe a horse and repair a saddle and bridle; and returning to what was said before, he must keep his faith in God and in his lady; he must be chaste in his thoughts, honest in his words, liberal in his actions, valiant in his deeds, long-suffering in his afflictions, charitable with those in need, and, finally, an upholder of the truth, even if it costs him his life to defend it. Of all these great and trivial parts a good knight errant is composed, and so your grace may judge, Señor Don Lorenzo, if the science learned by the knight who studies and professes it is a shallow one, and if it can be compared to the noblest that are taught in colleges and schools.”

“If this is true,” replied Don Lorenzo, “I say that this science surpasses all of them.”

“What do you mean, if this is true?” responded Don Quixote.

“What I mean to say,” said Don Lorenzo, “is that I doubt there have ever been knights errant, or that there are any now, who are adorned with so many virtues.”

“I have often said what I repeat now,” responded Don Quixote. “Most of the people in the world are of the opinion that there never have been knights errant, and it seems to me that if heaven does not miraculously reveal to them the truth that they did exist and do exist now, any effort I make must be in vain, as experience has so often shown me, and so I do not wish to take the time now to free your grace from the error you share with many others; what I intend to do is pray that heaven frees you from it, and allows you to understand how beneficial and necessary knights errant were to the world in the past, and how advantageous they could be in the present if they were still in use, but what triumphs now, because of people’s sins, are sloth, idleness, gluttony, and self-indulgence.”

“Our guest has gotten away from us,” said Don Lorenzo to himself, “but even so, he is a gallant madman, and I would be a weak-minded fool if I didn’t think so.”

Here their conversation came to an end because they were called to the table. Don Diego asked his son what he had deduced regarding their guest’s wits, to which he responded:

“Not all the physicians and notaries in the world could make a final accounting of his madness: he is a combination madman who has many lucid intervals.”

They went in to eat, and the meal was just the kind that Don Diego had declared on the road that he usually provided for his guests: pure, abundant, and delicious; but what pleased Don Quixote the most was the marvelous silence that reigned throughout the house, which seemed like a Carthusian monastery. And so when the tablecloths had been removed, and thanks given to God, and water poured over hands, Don Quixote most earnestly asked Don Lorenzo to recite his verses for the literary competition, to which he responded that in order not to seem like one of those poets who refuse when they are asked to recite their verses and spew them forth when they aren’t asked…

“…I’ll recite my gloss, for which I don’t expect any prize at all; I’ve written it only to exercise my wits.”

“A wise friend of mine,” responded Don Quixote, “was of the opinion that nobody ought to tire of glossing verses, and the reason, he said, was that the gloss never could approach the text, and that many or most times the gloss strayed from the intention and purpose of what the text proposed; moreover, the laws of the gloss were too strict, for they did not allow questions, or he said or I shall say, or the making of verbs into nouns, or changing the significance, along with other restrictions and regulations that set limits for those who write glosses, as your grace must know.”

“Truly, Señor Don Quixote,” said Don Lorenzo, “I would like to catch your grace in some foolish mistake, and I can’t, because you slip out of my hands like an eel.”

“I do not understand,” responded Don Quixote, “what your grace says or means to say about my slipping away.”

“I’ll explain later,” responded Don Lorenzo, “but for now your grace should listen to the glossed verses and to the gloss, which read like this:

When Don Lorenzo finished reciting his gloss, Don Quixote rose to his feet, and in a loud voice that was almost a shout, and grasping Don Lorenzo’s right hand in his own, he said:

“Praise be to heaven on high, magnanimous youth, for you are the best poet on earth, and you deserve to be crowned with a laurel wreath, not by Cyprus or Gaeta, as a poet once said,³⁸¹ may God forgive him, but by the academies of Athens, if they still existed today, and by those that do in Paris, Bologna, and Salamanca! May it please heaven that the judges who would deprive you of first place be pierced by the arrows of Phoebus, and may the Muses never cross the thresholds of their houses! If you please, Señor, tell me some verses in a long line,³⁸² for I wish to explore your admirable talent thoroughly.”

Is it surprising to anyone that Don Lorenzo was extremely happy to be praised by Don Quixote, even though he considered him mad? O Flattery, how powerful you are, how far you extend, how widespread the boundaries of your pleasant domain! Don Lorenzo gave credence to this truth by acceding to the request and desire of Don Quixote, and reciting this sonnet on the tale or history of Pyramus and Thisbe:

“Praise be to God!” said Don Quixote when he had heard Don Lorenzo’s sonnet. “Among the infinite number of consumptive poets, Señor, I have seen a consummate poet, which is what your grace is, and what the artfulness of this sonnet leads me to believe.”

For four days Don Quixote was wonderfully regaled in the house of Don Diego, and at the end of this time he asked permission to leave, telling his host that he was grateful for the kind and generous treatment he had received in his house, but because it did not seem right for knights errant to devote too many hours to idleness and leisure, he wished to fulfill his obligations and go in search of adventures, for he had heard that this land abounded in them, and this was where he hoped to pass the time until the day of the jousts in Zaragoza, when he would vanquish all adversaries; but first he had to enter the Cave of Montesinos, about which so many marvelous things were recounted in that district, and he would also look into and inquire about the origin and true source of the seven Lakes of Ruidera, as they were commonly called.

Don Diego and his son praised his honorable determination and told him to take from their house and estate everything he wished, for they would serve him most willingly, as they were bound to do because of the worth of his person and the honorable profession he pursued.

At last the day of his departure arrived, as joyful for Don Quixote as it was sad and mournful for Sancho Panza, who was quite content with the abundance in Don Diego’s house and opposed this return to the hunger that was customary in forests and wastelands and in the meagerness of his badly provisioned saddlebags. Despite this, he filled them to the top with what he thought most necessary, and as they took their leave, Don Quixote said to Don Lorenzo:

“I do not know if I have already told your grace, and if I have, I shall tell you again, that when your grace wishes to save a good deal of time and trouble in your ascent to the inaccessible summit of the temple of Fame, you need do nothing else but leave the narrow path of poetry and follow the even narrower one of knight errantry, which will suffice to make you an emperor in the blink of an eye.”

With these words Don Quixote brought to a close the question of his madness, in particular when he added these, saying:

“God knows I should like to take Señor Don Lorenzo with me, to teach him how one must pardon the meek and subdue and trample the proud, virtues deeply connected to the profession I follow; but since his youth does not ask it, nor his meritorious pursuits consent to it, I shall be content with merely advising your grace that, being a poet, you can achieve fame if you are guided more by other people’s opinions than by your own, for no father or mother thinks their children are ugly, and for those born of the understanding, such deception is an even greater danger.”

Once again the father and son were astonished by the mixed speech of Don Quixote, sometimes intelligent and sometimes utterly foolish, and by the persistence and perseverance of his complete devotion to the search for his misadventurous adventures, which were the object and goal of all his desires. The compliments and courtesies were repeated, and with the kind permission of the lady of the castle, Don Quixote and Sancho, mounted on Rocinante and the donkey, took their leave.