warnings he had used before, and Don Quixote responded that he had heard what he had to say, and he should not trouble himself with more warnings and pleas for they would be to no avail, and what he should do was hurry.
In the time it took the lion keeper to unlock the first cage, Don Quixote was considering if it would be better to do battle on foot or on horseback, and, finally, he decided to do battle on foot, fearing that Rocinante would become frightened at the sight of the lions. For this reason he leaped from his horse, tossed away his lance, took up his shield, unsheathed his sword, and at a deliberate pace, with marvelous courage and a valiant heart, he went to stand before the wagon, commending himself with all his heart first to God and then to his lady Dulcinea. And it is worth noting that when he reached this point, the author of this true history exclaimed:
"O most valiant and supremely courageous Don Quixote of La Mancha, paragon of all the brave men in the world, a second and new Don Manuel de Leon,1 the glory and honor of Spanish knights! What words shall I use to recount this fearsome deed, what phrases will lend it credence in times to come, what phrases can I find that do not suit and befit you even if they are the most hyperbolic of hyperboles? You on foot, you alone, you intrepid and of a noble mind, armed only with a sword, and not one of those with a dog on the blade,2 and with a shield not made of bright and shining steel, you stand waiting and anticipating the two most savage lions ever born in the African jungle. May your own deeds sing your praises, most valiant Manchegan; I shall leave them here in all their perfection, for I do not have the words with which to extol them."
The aforementioned exclamation of the author ended here, and he moved on, picking up the thread of the history and saying that when the lion keeper saw that Don Quixote was in position, and that he himself could not avoid freeing the male lion without falling into disfavor with the wrathful and audacious knight, he opened wide the first cage, which held, as has been said, the male lion, who appeared to be of extraordinary size and fearsome and hideous aspect. The first thing the lion did was to turn around in the cage where he had been lying and unsheathe his claws and stretch his entire body; then he opened his mouth, and yawned very slowly, and extended a tongue almost two spans long, and cleaned the dust from his eyes and washed his face; when this was finished, he put his head out of the cage and looked all around with eyes like coals, a sight and a vision that could frighten temerity itself. Only Don Quixote looked at him attentively, wanting him to leap from the wagon and come within reach of his hands, for he intended to tear him to pieces.
These are the extremes to which Don Quixote's unprecedented madness took him. But the magnanimous lion, more courteous than arrogant, took no notice of either childishness or bravado, and after looking in both directions, as has been said, he turned his back, and showed his hindquarters to Don Quixote, and with great placidity and calm went back inside the cage. Seeing this, Don Quixote ordered the lion keeper to hit him and provoke him into coming out.
"That I will not do," responded the lion keeper, "because if I instigate him, the first one he'll tear to pieces will be me. Senor, your grace should be content with what you have done, which is all that anyone could ask in the matter of courage, and not tempt fortune a second time. The lion's door is open: it is up to him to come out or not, but if he hasn't come out by now, he won't come out for the rest of the day. The greatness of your grace's heart has been clearly demonstrated: no brave warrior, to my understanding, is obliged to do more than challenge his opponent and wait for him in the field; if his adversary does not appear, the dishonor lies with him, and the one left waiting wins the crown of victory."
"That is true," responded Don Quixote, "and so, friend, close the door and give me the best statement you can regarding what you have seen me do, which is to say, you opened the lion's cage, I waited for him, he did not come out, still I waited for him, and still he did not come out but lay down again. I need do no more, and so away with enchantments, and may God protect justice and truth and true chivalry; close the door, as I have said, while I signal to those who have fled and run away so that they may hear of this great deed from your own lips."
The lion keeper did so, and Don Quixote, attaching to the end of his lance the cloth he had used to wipe away the downpour of curds on his face, began to call those who had not stopped fleeing or looking back at every step, all of them in a mad rush, with the gentleman at their head; but Sancho saw the signal with the white cloth, and he said:
"Strike me dead if my master hasn't defeated the savage beasts, for he's calling us."
Everyone stopped and realized that the one signaling was Don Quixote, and losing some part of their fear, they gradually approached until they could clearly hear Don Quixote calling to them. Finally, they returned to the wagon, and when they arrived Don Quixote said to the driver:
"Yoke your mules again, my friend, and continue on your way, and you, Sancho, give him two gold escudos, one for him and one for the lion keeper, in recompense for the delay I have caused them."
"I'll do that gladly," responded Sancho, "but what happened to the lions? Are they dead or alive?"
Then the lion keeper, in great detail and with many pauses, recounted the outcome of the contest, exaggerating to the best of his ability and skill the valor of Don Quixote, the sight of whom made a coward of the lion, who refused and did not dare to leave his cage, although he had kept the door open for some time; and only because he had told the knight that it was tempting God to provoke the lion and force him to come out, which is what he wanted him to do, and despite the knight's wishes and against his will, he had allowed the door to be closed again.
"What do you think of that, Sancho?" said Don Quixote. "Are there any enchantments that can prevail against true courage? Enchanters may deprive me of good fortune, but of spirit and courage, never!"
Sancho gave the men the escudos, the driver yoked his team, the lion keeper kissed Don Quixote's hands for the favor received and promised to recount that valiant feat to the king himself when he arrived in court.
"If, by chance, His Majesty asks who performed the deed, tell him it was The Knight of the Lions; from this day forth, I want the name I have had until now, The Knight of the Sorrowful Face, to be changed, altered, turned, and transformed into this, and in doing so, I follow the ancient usage of knights errant, who changed their names whenever they wished, or whenever it seemed appropriate."
The wagon went on its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and the Gentleman of the Green Coat continued on theirs.
In all this time Don Diego de Miranda had not said a word but was careful to observe and note the actions and words of Don Quixote, who seemed to him a sane man gone mad and a madman edging toward sanity. He had not yet heard anything about the first part of Don Quixote's history; if he had read it, he would no longer have been astonished by his actions and words, for he would have known the nature of his madness, but since he did not, he sometimes thought him sane and sometimes mad, because his speech was coherent, elegant, and eloquent and his actions nonsensical, reckless, and foolish. And he said to himself:
"What greater madness can there be than putting on a helmet full of curds and believing that enchanters had softened one's head? And what greater temerity and foolishness than to attempt to do battle with lions?"
Don Quixote drew him away from these thoughts and this soliloquy by saying:
"Who can doubt, Senor Don Diego de Miranda, that in the opinion of your grace I am a foolish and witless man? And it would not be surprising if you did, because my actions do not attest to anything else. Even so, I would like your grace to observe that I am not as mad or as foolish as I must have seemed to you. A gallant knight is pleasing in the eyes of his king when, in the middle of a great plaza, he successfully thrusts his lance into a fierce bull; a knight is pleasing when, dressed in shining armor, he enters the field and contends in lively jousts before the ladies; and all those knights who engage in military exercises, or seem to, entertain and enliven and, if one may say so, honor the courts of their princes; but above and beyond all these, the best seems to be the knight errant, who travels wastelands and desolate places, crossroads and forests and mountains, seeking dangerous adventures and attempting to bring them to a happy and fortunate conclusion, his sole purpose being to achieve glorious and lasting fame. The knight errant who helps a widow in some deserted spot, seems better, I say, than a courtier knight flattering a damsel in the city. All knights have their own endeavors: let the courtier serve the ladies, and lend majesty to the court of his king with livery; let him sustain poor knights with the splendors of his table, arrange jousts, support tourneys, and show himself to be great, liberal, magnanimous, and, above all, a good Christian, and in this manner he will meet his precise obligations. But let the knight errant search all the corners of the world; let him enter into the most intricate labyrinths; attempt the impossible at each step he takes; resist in empty wastelands the burning rays of the sun in summer, and in winter the harsh rigors of freezing winds; let him not be dismayed by lions, or frightened by monsters, or terrified by dragons; searching for these and attacking those and vanquishing them all are his principal and true endeavors.
I, then, since it is my fortune to be counted in the number of knights errant, cannot help but attack all things that seem to me to fall within the jurisdiction of my endeavors; and so, it was my rightful place to attack the lions which I now attacked, although I knew it was exceedingly reckless, because I know very well what valor means; it is a virtue that occupies a place between two wicked extremes, which are cowardice and temerity, but it is better for the valiant man to touch on and climb to the heights of temerity than to touch on and fall to the depths of cowardice; and just as it is easier for the prodigal to be generous than the miser, it is easier for the reckless man to become truly brave than for the coward; and in the matter of undertaking adventures, your grace may believe me, Senor Don Diego, it is better to lose with too many cards than too few, because 'This knight is reckless and daring' sounds better to the ear of those who hear it than 'This knight is timid and cowardly.'"
"Senor Don Quixote," responded Don Diego, "I say that everything your grace has said and done has been balanced on the scale of reason itself, and I understand that if the code and laws of knight errantry were ever lost, they would be found again in your grace's heart as if they were in their own repository and archive. And now let us hurry, for it is getting late; when we reach my village and house, your grace can rest from your recent labors, if not of the body then of the spirit, which can often lead to the body's fatigue."
"I consider your offer a great kindness and favor, Senor Don Diego," responded Don Quixote.
And spurring their mounts more than they had up until then, at about two o'clock they reached the village and house of Don Diego, whom Don Quixote called The Knight of the Green Coat.
CHAPTER XVIII
Regarding what befell Don Quixote in the castle or house of the Knight of the Green Coat, along with other bizarre matters
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 sweet treasures, discovered to my sorrow,
sweet and joyous when God did will them so!1
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:
"Senora, welcome with your customary amiability Senor 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 Dona 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, Senora Dona 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:
"Senor, 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, Senor 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 Nicolas, or Nicolao,2 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, Senor 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 nobles