DON QUIXOTE found the house of don Diego to be as expansive as a village. But the coat of arms—carved in soft stone, above the door leading to the street, the wine-cellar in the patio, and the underground food-storage area at the gate, and many clay vats all around (since they were made in El Toboso), renewed his memory of the enchanted and transformed Dulcinea. And, giving a sigh, without realizing what he was saying, nor in whose presence he was, he said:
Oh, you sweet treasures, to my sorrow found!
Once sweet and welcome when it was heaven’s good will.
“Oh, you Tobosan vats, who have brought to mind the sweet treasure of my greatest bitterness!”
The student-poet, son of don Diego, who had come out with his mother, heard him say this as they went out to receive him, and both the mother and son were amazed to see the strange figure of don Quixote, who, when he got down from Rocinante, went over to take the lady’s hand and kiss it. Don Diego said: “Señora, receive with your accustomed affability señor don Quixote de La Mancha, who is the person before you, a knight errant, and the bravest and shrewdest one in the world.”
The lady, who was named doña Cristina, received him with great affection and courtesy, and don Quixote offered his services courteously and politely. He used almost the same polite expressions with the student, who, when he heard don Quixote talk, considered him to be sharp and keen-witted.
Here the author describes all the details of don Diego’s house, depicting everything that a house belonging to a rich country gentleman contains. But the translator of this history thought he would pass over these and similar details in silence, because they didn’t fit in with the main purpose of the history, which derives its strength from the truth rather than from boring digressions.
They ushered don Quixote into a room where Sancho took his armor off, leaving him in his Walloon pants and chamois doublet, all stained with the rust of armor. The collar was of the unadorned flat kind, like students wear, without starch or lace; his leggings were date-colored, and his shoes were waxed. His worthy sword hung from a sealskin strap, for it’s held that he’d suffered from a kidney infection for many years. He also put a cape of good grey material on. First of all, he washed his head and face with five—or maybe six (because there’s a difference of opinion about the number)—buckets of water, and even with that, the water was still the color of whey, thanks to the gluttony of Sancho and the purchase of his black cottage cheese that made his master so white.
With the attire as described and with a gentle and gallant appearance, don Quixote went out into another room, where the student was waiting to occupy him while the tables were being set. Since such a noble guest had arrived, doña Cristina wanted to show she knew how to entertain people who might come to her house.
While don Quixote was removing his armor, don Lorenzo (for that was the name of don Diego’s son) had the opportunity to say to his father: “Who in the world is this knight that you have brought home? His name, looks, and having said that he’s a knight errant have astonished my mother and me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, son,” said don Diego, “I only will say that I’ve seen him do things that only the craziest man in the world would do, and I’ve heard him say things that were so keen they overshadow and efface his deeds. Go speak to him and take the pulse of his knowledge, and, since you’re sharp, you can judge for yourself what seems most reasonable regarding his sagacity or foolishness, although, to tell the truth, I judge him to be crazy rather than sane.”
With this, don Lorenzo went to entertain don Quixote, as has been said, and among the conversations they had, don Quixote said to don Lorenzo: “Señor Diego de Miranda, your grace’s father, has told me of the rare skill and subtle genius you possess, and especially that you’re a great poet.”
“«Poet», possibly,” responded don Lorenzo, “but «great», certainly not. It’s true that I’m a bit fond of poetry and of reading good poets, but in no way do I deserve my father calling me «great».”
“This humility doesn’t seem bad to me,” responded don Quixote, “because there’s no poet who isn’t arrogant and doesn’t think he’s the best one in the world.”
“«There’s no rule without an exception»,” responded don Lorenzo, “and there must be some who are fine poets but don’t think so.”
“Very few;” responded don Quixote, “but tell me your grace, what verses are you working on now? Your señor father has told me that you have a project that is making you nervous and pensive. And if it’s a gloss, I know something about the subject of glosses, and I’d like to find out about it. And if it’s a literary joust, try to take second prize, because the first prize is won as a favor to a person of rank, and the second is awarded on the basis of merit alone, and by this reasoning the third becomes the second, and the first prize becomes the third, just like degrees that they give at universities. But even so, it’s great to be first.”
“Up to now,” said don Lorenzo under his breath, “I can’t say that you’re crazy—but let’s move on.” and he said aloud: “It seems to me that you’ve studied at the university. What was your major?”
“It was knight errantry,” responded don Quixote, “which is as good as poetry, and even a bit better.”
“I don’t know what that branch of knowledge is,” replied don Lorenzo, “and until this moment I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s an area,” replied don Quixote, “that encompasses all or most of the sciences in the world, because he who professes it must be expert in legal matters and know laws of distributive and commutative justice, so as to give every person what he’s due and what is fitting. He has to be a theologian so he can communicate clearly and distinctly the Christian faith that he professes whenever he’s asked. He has to be a doctor, mainly an herbalist, so that he can recognize—in unpopulated areas and the wilderness—which herbs have the property to heal wounds, since knights errant cannot go looking for someone to treat him at every step of the way. He has to be an astronomer to be able to tell by looking at the stars how many hours have gone by at night, and to tell what part of the world he is in. He has to know math because he’ll need it all the time, not to mention that he should be endowed with all of the virtues, theological and cardinal. Coming down to lesser details, he has to be able to swim as they say the merman Nicolás or Nicolao did. He has to know how to shoe a horse and repair a saddle and a bridle. And coming back to more important matters, he has to be faithful to God, and to his lady. He has to be chaste in his thoughts, pure in his words, liberal with others, valiant in his deeds, patient in his travails, charitable with the needy, and finally, keeper of the truth, even though it may cost him his life to defend it. Of all these great and small parts is made the good knight errant. Now your grace can judge for yourself, señor don Lorenzo, if what the knight studies and professes is a puerile field, or if it can equal the most elevated ones that schools teach.”
“If that’s what it is,” replied don Lorenzo, “I say it exceeds all others.”
“What do you mean, ‘if that’s what it is’?” responded don Quixote.
“What I mean,” said don Lorenzo, “is that I doubt that there ever were nor are there now knights errant endowed with so many virtues.”
“I’ve said many times what I’ll repeat now,” responded don Quixote, “that most people think that there were and are no knights errant in the world, and since it seems to me that if heaven cannot miraculously make them understand the truth that there were and are such people, no matter what is done, it will be in vain, as experience has shown me many times; so I don’t want to take the time to correct your error, which you share with many others. What I plan to do is pray that heaven will correct this mistake, and make you understand how beneficial and how necessary knights errant of past centuries were, and how useful they’d be in the present one, if they were in fashion. But nowadays—because of man’s sins—sloth, laziness, idleness, gluttony, and lust triumph.”
“Our guest has escaped,” don Lorenzo said to himself, “but he’s an elegant madman withal, and I’d be an idiot if I didn’t believe it.”
Here their conversation ended because they were called to eat lunch. Don Diego asked his son what he’d learned about the wits of their guest, to which he responded: “All the doctors and scribes in the world won’t be able to fix the first draft of his craziness. He’s a crazy man with periods of lucidity.”
They went to eat, and the lunch was just like don Diego had described while they were on the road—clean, abundant, and delicious. But what delighted don Quixote the most was the marvelous silence that reigned in the whole house, which seemed like a Carthusian monastery. Once the table was cleared, thanks to God was given, and hands were washed, don Quixote begged don Lorenzo to recite the verses of the literary joust. To which he responded that he didn’t want to be like those poets who, when you ask them to recite their verses, they refuse, and when you don’t ask them they vomit them out. “I’ll recite my gloss, from which I expect no prize at all—I did it only for the intellectual exercise.”
“A learned friend of mine,” responded don Quixote, “thought that no one should bother glossing verses, and the reason, he said, was that the gloss could never be as good as the original text, and that most or much of the time, the gloss strayed from the intention and scope of what was being glossed, and further, that the rules of the gloss were too stringent—barring questions, expressions such as ‘he said’ and ‘I’ll say’, making verbs of nouns, or changing meaning, along with other restrictions and constraints that bind and hamper those who gloss, as your grace must know.”
“Truly, señor don Quixote,” said don Lorenzo, “I’d like to catch you in some error but I can’t, because you slip through my hands like an eel.”
“I don’t understand,” responded don Quixote, “what you mean about my slipping through your hands.”
“I’ll tell you later,” responded don Lorenzo, “but now let your grace listen attentively to the verses to be glossed, which I’ll recite now:”
If my ‘was’ should be turned to ‘is’
Without the hope of what shall be,
Or that the time should come again
Of what hereafter is to be.
THE GLOSS
As all things fade and pass away,
So Fortune’s favors will not stay;
And though once she gave me all,
Now she will not heed my call.
For ages at your feet I’ve lain,
Stern Fortune, hoping, but in vain;
What happiness for me, what bliss
IF MY ‘WAS’ SHOULD BE TURNED TO ‘IS’.
I wish no other prize or glory,
No other victory or palm,
But to regain once more the calm
Where lack disturbs my memory;
If you will give me back your boon,
My restless craving will be spent,
The more, if you will give it soon,
For then I’ll rest and be content
WITHOUT THE HOPE OF WHAT SHALL BE.
Like a fool I call upon the past,
And beg it to return in vain:
No power on earth can call back Time,
For it will never come again.
It races on with nimble wing;
And he is wrong who hopes to bring
By his cries all the past again,
OR THAT THE TIME SHOULD RETURN AGAIN.
To live in such perplexity,
Forever poised between hope and fear,
Is not life; better death in verity;
If by this way I could get clear
Of all my woes, then this were bliss;
But reason whispers in my ear
OF WHAT HEREAFTER IS TO BE.
When don Lorenzo finished reciting his gloss, don Quixote stood up and in a very loud voice—almost a shout—he went to clasp don Lorenzo’s right hand and said: “By the highest heaven, noble young man, you’re the best poet on earth, and you deserve do be crowned with laurel not by Cyprus or Gaeta, as a poet said (and may God pardon him for it), but rather by the Academies of Athens, if they were still flourishing, and by those that are in Paris, Bologna, and Salamanca today. If the judges refuse you first place may Phœbus shoot them with arrows, and the Muses never pass over the thresholds of their houses. Recite for me, señor, if you will, some longer verses for I want to take the pulse of every aspect of your admirable genius.”
Is it necessary to say that don Lorenzo was pleased to hear himself praised by don Quixote, even though he considered him crazy? Oh, power of flattery! How wide you cast your net and how vast are the boundaries of your satisfying dominion! Don Lorenzo confirmed this truth because he agreed to don Quixote’s request and desire, reciting to him this sonnet about the fable of Pyramus and Thisbe:
SONNET
The fair maiden the cruel wall does break
That had been cleft by Pyramus’ manly heart.
Straightway from his Cyprian home does Cupid start
To see the prodigious rift that love did make.
There no voice enters, only silence spake,
For souls though dumb may not be kept apart,
Perforce they’ll speak, and Love has still the art
A crafty enemy to subjugate.
But the rash maiden’s passion goes awry,
And haste makes her woo death instead of love.
The hapless pair together: tragic story!
Are both united in their common doom:
One sword, one sepulcher, one memory
Slays, covers, crowns with immortality.
“Blessed be God!” said don Quixote, having heard don Lorenzo’s sonnet, “among the infinite number of consumed poets, I’ve seen a consummate poet, and that’s you, señor mío, for your sonnet has convinced me of it.”
Don Quixote was well-entertained for four days in don Diego’s house, at the end of which he begged permission to leave, saying that he thanked them for the kindness and attention he’d received in their home, but since it didn’t seem right for knights errant to spend too much time at leisure and in comfort, he wanted to discharge the duties of his profession by seeking adventures, which he’d been informed abounded in that region, and where he expected to spend time until the day came of the jousts in Zaragoza, for that was his destination. But first he wanted to go into the Cave of Montesinos about which were told so many and such wondrous things throughout that area, trying to find out and investigate the origin and true source of the seven Lagunas de Ruidera, as they’re known.
Don Diego and his son praised his honorable resolve and told him that he should take anything he wanted from their home and estate, and that they would help him in any way they could, because his valor and honored profession obliged them to do so.
Finally the day of his departure arrived, as happy a one for don Quixote as is was sad for Sancho Panza, who was very content with the abundance in don Diego’s house, and was loath to going back to the hunger that’s so common in the woods and wilderness, and the skimpiness of their badly provisioned saddlebags. But he stuffed them with what seemed to him to be most necessary. And when he bade farewell, don Quixote said to don Lorenzo: “I don’t know if I already said this to you or not, and if I did, I’ll repeat it—if your grace wants to cut short the paths and travails to get to the height of the temple of fame, all you have to do is leave the path of poetry, which is a bit narrow in itself, and take the even narrower one of knight errantry, which will suffice to make you an emperor in the twinkling of an eye.
With these words don Quixote proved his madness beyond a reasonable doubt, and gave further proof when he said: “God knows I’d like to take señor don Lorenzo with me to teach him how to spare the humble and subdue and trample on those who are arrogant—these being functions of my profession. But because your tender age will not allow it, and your praiseworthy endeavors will not consent to it, I’ll content myself by telling your grace that by being a poet you can come to be famous, if you’re guided more by the opinion of others than your own, since no child seems ugly in the eyes of his parents, and this deception is even more prevalent when it comes to children of one’s intellect.”
Once again father and son marveled at don Quixote’s words, sometimes wise, sometimes foolish, and with his passion and resolve to go back headlong into his questionable quests, the target of his desires, the promise of services and courtesies were reiterated, and with the final permission of the lady of the castle, don Quixote and Sancho left, one on Rocinante and the other on the donkey.
< p>
