"Pray let me alone (said Sancho); for in my life before, excepting your worship, did I never know a saint mounted on horseback."-" I have no title to be thought so (answered the gentleman); on the contrary, I am a miserable sinner; but the simplicity of your behaviour, my friend, shews that you yourself must be a very good man.' Upon this declaration Sancho quitted him, and again remounted Dapple, having by his behaviour unbended the solemn gravity of his master into a smile, and increased the wonder of Don Diego. Don Quixote then made inquiry into the number of children he had, informing him at the same time, that the ancient sages who were not enlightened with the knowledge of the true God, reckoned the gifts of fortune and nature, abundance of friends, and increase of dutiful children, as constituting part of the supreme happiness. "Sir (answered Don Diego), I have one son; and if I had none, should, peradventure, think myself happier than I am, not that he is very bad, but because he does not come up to what I would wish him to be. He is now eighteen years of age, six of which he has spent at Salamanca, studying Greek and Latin; and when I would have had him apply to something else, I found him so dipt in poetry, if that deserves the name of science, that I could not prevail upon him to take to the study of the law, which was what I wanted he should do; nor would he apply to divinity, the first and noblest of all sciences. I was desirous to make him the honour and ornament of his family, as we live in an age and under a monarch where useful and virtuous learning is so amply recompensed; for what is learning without virtue? No better than pearls on a dunghill. He will spend whole days in examining whether such a verse in Homer's Iliad be expressed with propriety, whether such an epigram of Martial is to be construed into a lewd sense or not, and whether such a verse in Virgil will bear this or that meaning. In a word, these authors, with Horace, Persius, Juvenal, and Tibullus, engross the whole of his time and conversation. As to the modern authors of his own country, he seems to have no great relish for them, though, notwithstanding his seeming disregard, he is now busied in making a kind of commentary upon four verses, which I believe are designed as a subject for a prize in the schools." To this information the other answered, "Signor, children are to be considered as part of the bowels of the parents, and, be they good or bad, we must treat them as such, and cherish them accordingly. It is incumbent upon parents to lead them betimes into the paths of decency and virtue, to instil into them sound principles, and train them up in Christian discipline, that by these means they may be the stay of their declining years, and an honour to their own descendants. I am not against using persuasion VOL. III. to incline them either to the study of this or that science, but look upon using force as altogether unwarrantable, more especially as the young gentleman does not study in view of getting his livelihood, he being so fortunate as to have that secured by inheritance; then I think he should be indulged in pursuing whatever his genius or inclination mostly prompts him to; and though in poetry there is more pleasure than utility, it generally does honour to the person who has a vein for it. I liken poetry to a young, tender, and beautiful virgin, whom many other virgins, that is, all the other sciences, are assiduous to ornament, enrich, and embellish; now, as she makes use of them all, so likewise does she reflect a lustre upon them all. But then this tender virgin is not to be handled roughly; she is not to be dragged through the streets, exposed in public places, or stand as a prostitute at the gates of palaces. She is a kind of alchemy of such rare virtue, that whoeve knows the nature of her composition may change her into pure gold of inestimable value; whoever would keep her must narrowly look after her; she must not be indulged in the indecency of obscene satire, nor allowed to run into insipid sonnets. And though she may enjoy the profits arising from heroic poetry, weeping tragedy, or laughing comedy, yet the muse must not be ve◄ nal: no buffoons must have any thing to do with her, and she must be kept sacred from the unhallowed multitude, who neither know nor esteem those hidden treasures she carries about her. And think not that by the multitude, I only mean the common rank of men; no, under that class I number all who are strangers to real knowledge, be they peers or be they princes. But whoever is possessed of those qualifications I have been mentioning, and with them attempts the study and execution of poetry, I say his name will be famous, and held in veneration wherever politeness extends its influence. As to what you say of your son's not esteeming the poetry of his own country, I don't think he is quite right in that opinion, and for this reason; the mighty Homer did not write in Latin, because he was a Greek; nor Virgil in Greek, for the same reason that he was a Roman; and in general, every one of the ancient poets wrote in the language of his own country, and did not seek for another to clothe the majesty of his ideas. As this is the case, I think it should be a prevailing maxim in all countries; nor should we undervalue the German poet for writing in his own language, nor the Castilian, nor even the Biscayan, for writing in his; but, perhaps, your son does not dislike Spanish poetry, but Spanish poets, as being destitute of the knowledge of other languages or sciences, that might contribute to cultivate, assist, and enliven their own natural genius; and even this prejudice may be carried too far; for the maxim, that a poet is born with his talent, is certainly just; 2 M colours meeting them upon the road, and tak ing this for some new adventure, called to Sancho to bring his helmet. Sancho, hearing the voice of his master, left the shepherd in great hurry, and, mounting Dapple, arrived where Don Qxixote was, to whom there happened a very terrible and tremendous adventure. CHAP. XVII. Which sets before the reader that highest and most exalted pinnacle, which the incredible magnanimity of Don Quixote ever did, or ever could arrive at, with the happy issue of the adventure of the lions. THE history then proceeds to inform us, that when Don Quixote called upon Sancho to bring him his helmet, he, Sancho, was deep in bargain with the shepherds about some curds; and, finding himself summoned in such violent haste by his master, was at a prodigious loss what to do with them, for he had paid for them, and could not bear the thoughts of losing his purchase: in this extremity he had recourse to his master's helmet, in which he safely stowed them, and, hugging himself in this lucky thought, away he trotted to receive the commands of his lord and master, who desired him to deliver his helmet; "For (said he), if I know aught of adventures, that which I descry yonder will prove such a one as will oblige me to have recourse to arms.” that is, a real poet comes forth a poet into the world, and, with this natural endowment implanted in him by his Creator, produces, without the help of study or cultivation, such things as verify that of the poets, when they say, Est Deus in nobis. One so born a poet, if he culti vates his genius by the assistance of art, must be much better, nay, greatly preferable to him who without natural fire attains to the knowledge of the rules only; for it is obvious, that as art does not exceed nature, but serves to polish and bring it to perfection, so art assisting nature, and nature so assisted by art, form the accomplished poet. To conclude, signor, my advice is, that your son should be allowed to follow the bent of his own inclination; and as he must be already an exceeding good scholar, having mastered the learned languages, which may be looked upon as having mounted the first steps in his progress to the seat of the sciences, by the assistance of that knowledge he will be able, without more help, to climb to the top of human literature, which as much adorns and sets off a gentleman as a mitre does a bishop, or the long robe the counsel learned in the law. If you find him writing satires injurious to private characters, burn his works and rebuke him; but if he composes discourses that comprehend for their subject of satire vice in general, as Horace did with so much elegance, then commend him; for though it be unlawful to mark and single out particular persons, it is allowable to write against particular vices; for example, to write against envy, or to lash the envious, and so of others. Here are some poets indeed, who, Don Diego, upon hearing this declaration, rather than baulk their fancy of saying a smart looked about him every where, but could disthing, will risk being sent to the isles of Pon- cover nothing, except a carriage coming totus. As the manners, so will the verses be; if wards them, with two or three flying flags, by the former are chaste the latter will be so like which he guessed the carriage might be loaded wise: writing is the interpreter of the mind, with some of the king's money, and mentioned which will always produce what is consonant to this observation to Don Quixote, who minded its own native conceptions; and when kings and not what he said, his brain wandering so upon the great men of the earth once see this won- adventures, that every thing must be one, and derful gift of poetry employed on subjects of nothing but a series of one adventure upon the wisdom, virtue, and dignity, they bestow marks back of another; he therefore answered the of honour, esteem, and munificence upon the gentleman to this effect: "Sir, fore-warned and poet; they crown him from the leaves of that fore-armed is half the day; I am not now to tree, which is proof against the glancing thun- learn that I have enemies of all kinds, visible derbolt, emblematically denoting, that such as and invisible; neither know I the time, the wear that crown ought to be secure against all place, the hour, nor under what appearance hurt or offence." they will attack me." With these words, turning about, he demanded his helmet of Sancho, The traveller wondered so much at Don Quixote's discourse, that he began to be stag-who, not having time to disengage the curds gered in his mind, whether he was a madman or not. But as this conversation did not altogether hit Sancho's taste, he had, in the midst of it, gone out of the road to beg a little milk of some shepherds who were milking ewes hard by; and the gentleman in green, who seemed very fond of the good sense and ingenious conversation of Don Quixote, was going to renew their dialogue, when the Don, suddenly lifting up his eyes, saw a carriage with the king's from it, was obliged to deliver it, with that lining in the inside, to his master, who took it, and, without farther examination, clapped it in a great hurry upon his head, which pressing and squeezing the curds, the whey began to ooze down his beard; and this circumstance so startled him, that he called out to Sancho, "What can this mean? Is my skull softening or my brains melting, or do I sweat from head to foot? Surely, this I can say, that if I do sweat, it is not through fear, though I am fully persuaded this will prove a most terrible adventure. If you have got any thing let me have it to wipe me, for this deluge of sweat blinds my eyes. Sancho replied not, but gave him a cloth, and with it sent up his thanks to the Almighty, that his master had not found out what it was. Don Quixote, after rubbing himself, took off his helmet to see what it was that sat so cool upon his head, and, perceiving something white and clotted, put it to his nose, and snuffed at it: "By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso (cried he), thou hast put curds into my helmet, thou traitor, thou ill-bred 'squire" To which apostrophe, Sancho answered, with great unconcern and tranquillity, "If they are curds, let me have them to eat; but the devil ought rather to eat them, for I am sure it must be he who put them there. I offer to defile your worship's helmet! in good troth, I can perceive, by the help of that understanding God hath given me, that I am not without my enchanters too, who are at me, as a sort of member and limb of your worship; and I'll be sworn, have put that nastiness there, to instigate your worship to wrath against me, and stir up your worship to anoint my ribs in the manner your worship was wont to do. But this time they have missed their aim, I trow, as I can depend upon the just sentence of my master, who will easily weigh with himself, that I had neither curds, cream, nor any such stuff; and that if I had, it was more likely I should have crammed them into my own guts than put them into his worship's helmet."—"All this is possible," cried Don Quixote: and all this the other gentleman saw, and saw with astonish ment, more especially when our hero, after having cleaned his head, beard, chops, and helmet, clapped the latter upon his skull, and fixing himself in his seat, tried whether or not his sword could be easily drawn; then grasping his spear, "Now (cried he), happen what will, here am I, determined for the combat, should the prince of the evil spirits set himself in battle array against me." By this time the carriage with the streamers was come up, attended only by the driver (who rode one of the mules), and a man who sat upon the fore-part of it. Don Quixote wedged him self directly in their way, and called out, "Whither, my brethren, are you bound? what carriage is this? what does it contain? what ensigns are those displayed?" To which interrogations the waggoner replied, "The car riage itself belongs to me, and within are two savage lions, which the general of Oran sends to court to his majesty: the streamers are the ensigns of our lord the king, to shew that what is here contained belongs to the crown."-" Are these lions large?" inquired Don Quixote. "So large (replied the man who sat upon the fore-part of the waggon), that lions of a more monstrous size never came from Barbary into this kingdom. I am their keeper, and have had several under my charge before now, but never any so big as they there is a male and a fe male: the he is in the first cage, and the female in the other; they are now ravenous with hunger, having had no food to-day, and therefore I must entreat you to get out of the way, as we must make haste to the place where they are to be fed." To which entreaty Don Quixote answered with half a smile, "What are your lion whelps to me, and at this time of day too! are lion whelps brought against me! I'll make those who sent them hither, yes-by the holy God! I'll make them see whether I am a man to be scared by lions. Come, honest friend, get off; and as you are their keeper, open the cages and turn them out; for, in the midst of this plain, will I make the savage beasts of the wilderness know who Don Quixote de la Mancha is, in defiance of the enchanters who have sent them against me." "Aha! (said Don Diego to himself), I think our Knight of the Rueful Countenance has now given us a pretty incontestable sample of what he is: these curds have certainly soked his skull and suppurated his brains." Then Sancho came up to Diego, and said, "For God's sake, signor, take care that my master's worship does not encounter these lions, or belike we shall all of us be tore to pieces."→ " What (answered he), is your master then really so much out of his wits, that you believe and dread he will engage these savage monsters?"-" He is not out of his wits (replied Sancho), but prodigious bold." "I'll make him give over," answered the other; then going up to Don Quixote, who was pressing the keeper to open the cages, he said, " Signor, gentlemen of the order of knights-errant ought to go upon adventures that have a probability of success, not such as are quite desperate; for that courage which is almost temerity, savours rather of madness than true fortitude. Besides, these lions do not come with any hostile design against you; no, they think of nothing less: they are going to be presented to the king, and as they are on their way to court, I think they should not be stopped in their journey."-" Pray, good signor (said Don Quixote), if you will please to get away from hence, and look after your ferrets and decoypartridges, do, and leave every one to mind his own business: this is my business, and it be hoves me to know whether or not these lions come against me." Then turning to the keeper, "Sirrah (said he), if you do not immediately open the cages, I swear by the living God I will this instant pin you to the place where you sit." The carter, seeing the obstinate resolution of this armed phantom who addressed him, begged for the sake of charity he would let him take off his mules, and get with them out of danger, before the lions were uncaged; "For should my cattle be slain (said he), I am undone for ever, having nothing to depend upon for bread but this cart and these mules." "Man of little faith (said Don Quixote), alight; take off thy mules, and do what thou wilt; but thou shalt quickly see thou hast laboured in vain, and that thou mightest have spared thyself this unnecessary trouble." The carter then got off, and unharnessed in great hurry, and the keeper spoke aloud, "I call all present to witness, that I am forced, against my will, to open the cages, and let loose the lions; and I here declare, that this gentleman is chargeable with, and answerable for, all the harm they shall do, as also for my salary and perquisites over and above. And now, gen tlemen, pray take care of yourselves, and get out of the way; for, as to me, I know they will do me no harm." Don Diego again urged him to forbear attempting so extravagant an action, alleging it was tempting of God to think of going about such a desperate undertaking. The other replied, that he knew what he did; and Don Diego once more desired him to think well of what he was about, as he was certain that he deceived himself. "Signor (said Don Quixote), if you do not care to be a spectator of what you think will be a tragical adventure, set spurs to your mare, and provide for your own safety." Sancho, upon this intimation, fell a blubbering, and earnestly besought him not to think of entering upon this adventure ; " For, in comparison of this (said he), the windmills, the terrible adventure of the fulling-mill ham mers, nay, all the exploits your worship has performed during the course of your life, are but custards and puff-paste. Consider, sir (continued he), that there can be no enchantment in this cage; I myself have peeped through the cage, and there I saw the claw of a real living lion; and sure I am, that the beast that owns such a claw, must be bigger than a mountain." "Be he large or small (answered Don Quixote), thy fear would magnify him to the bigness of one half of the globe. Begone, leave me: if I die, you know our old agreement; repair to Dulcinea. I say no more." He spoke several other things, which shewed he was determined on what he was about, and that all attempts to dissuade him were in vain. Don Diego would willingly have stopped him; but had neither weapons nor armour equal to the other's, and, besides, did not think it prudent to engage with a man who was frantic; for by this time he was convinced that Don Quixote was so in all respects; who still pressing the keeper, and repeating his threats, Don Diego clapped spurs to his mare, Sancho applied his heels to Dapple, the carter put for ward his mules, and all endeavoured to get as fast out of the way as they could, before the beasts were let loose. Sancho deplored the fate of his master, who, he believed, was just going to be sacrificed by the lions: he bewailed his own hard fortune, and cursed the hour when he thought of serving him again: however, amidst the intenseness of his grief, he ceased not to punch and jog on his ass, that he might get from the cart as far as possible. The keeper, seeing that these runaways were now safe at a sufficient distance, renewed his expos tulations with Don Quixote, who said, "I hear you, friend; but give yourself no more trouble with arguments or entreaties, it will all signify nothing; and therefore I desire you will make haste.' While the keeper protracted the time in opening the first grate, Don Quixote considered with himself, whether he had best alight for the combat, or continue on the back of Rozinante; and determined at last to fight on foot, lest his steed might take fright at the sight of the lions. Accordingly, he leaped upon the ground, threw away his lance, braced his shield, and drew his sword, in which attitude, ap proaching with great steadiness, he placed himself just before the cart, recommending himself, with great devotion, first to the protection of the Almighty, and then to his mistress Dulcinea del Toboso. We must observe, that at this place the au thor of this history breaks out into pathetic exclamations, expressing himself to this purpose: "O Don Quixote de la Mancha ! renowned for fortitude, brave beyond human expression ; thou mirror, in which all heroes of the earth may contemplate their own perfections! thou second and other Don Manuel de Leon, glory and ornament of Spanish knights! how shall I find words worthy to relate this matchless achievement? by what power of argument shall I make it gain credit among future generations? for what encomiums ever so exalted, even beyond the hyperbole, can there be, but what thou deservest? On foot thou stoodst collected within thy magnanimous self, with a sword far from being sharp, with a shield far from bright and shining; there, I say, didst thou stand waiting and expecting two of the fiercest lions that were ever yet engendered in the dens of Libia. I want words wherewithal to embellish thy great achievements: let thy own exploits then be the harbinger of thy praises, O heroic Manchegan!" The author here breaks off his exclamation, and proceeds in the recital of the history, saying: The keeper seeing Don Quixote fixed in this posture, and finding himself under a necessity of letting loose the he-lion, to avoid the resentment of this enraged and intrepid hero, flung the door of the first cage open, where the lion appeared lying, of a monstrous bigness and terrifying aspect: he immediately turned himself 66 round in the cage, put out one of his paws, and stretched himself at full length, 'yawned and gaped with great composure, and then, with a tongue of above half a yard long, cleaned his face and eyes; after which he thrust his head out of the cage, and stared around him with eyes like firebrands; a sight sufficient to have struck a damp into the most intrepid heart: but Don Quixote only fixed his eyes attentively upon him, wishing for the minute he would leap out of the cart, that he might engage and cut him in pieces; to such an unaccountable degree had his frenzy worked up his disturbed imagination. But the lion, naturally generous, and more inclinable to be gentle than rough, heeded not his bravadoes or flourishing: on the contrary, after having looked around him, as we have observed, turned about, and shewing our hero his backside, with great composure and tranquillity laid himself down again to rest; which circumstance Don Quixote perceiving, ordered the keeper to rouse him by blows, and oblige him to come forth. Nay, that I won't (answered he); for should I enrage him, he would immediately tear me to pieces: come, sir knight, be contented with what you have done, which is all that can be expected from any man's courage, and give over tempting fortune any more. The door of his cage is open, and he may come forth or not, as he pleases; but as he has not come out now, he will not all day. The intrepidity of your worship's valour is sufficiently vouched: I apprehend the bravery of no combatant needs do more than challenge his adversary and await him in the field; and if the enemy won't meet him, the imputation of cowardice lies with him, and the crown of victory devolves upon the other."" You say true (said Don Quixote); shut the door, my friend, and let me have, under your hand, in the best manner you are able to draw it, a certificate of what you have now seen; for I think it is highly fitting mankind should know that you opened the lion's cage; that I waited for him, and he came not out; that I waited for him again, and he came not out; and that again he laid himself down. I am not bound to do any more; so enchantments avaunt! and God prosper truth, justice, and noble chivalry: shut the door therefore, and I will wave a signal for those who have run off to return, and have an account of this action from your own mouth." The keeper obeyed; and Don Quixote, clapping upon the point of his lance the cloth Sancho had given him to wipe off the curds, called out to them who were still pursuing their flight, and at every step, all in a body, turning about their heads, and Don Diego leading them on; but Sancho chancing to espy the signal of the linen cloth, "I'll be bound to be crucified (said he), if my master has not got the better of the lions; for he now calls to us." They all stopped, and perceived it was Don Quixote who made the sign; upon which the violence of their terrors somewhat abated, and they approached nearer and nearer by degrees, till they could distinctly hear the voice of Don Quixote calling to them: at last they came back to the cart, and Don Quixote said to the carter, "Harness your mules again, my friend, and go on in your journey; and, Sancho, give him and the keeper two crowns of gold, as a recompense for the time I have detained them."-" That I will most willingly do; but where are the lions, dead or alive?" Then the keeper, very circumstantially, and, dividing his discourse with great propriety, gave an account of the issue of this adventure, exaggerating, with all his might, and all the power of rhetoric he could muster up, the courage of Don Quixote ; "At sight of whom (said he), the lion, overawed, would not, or rather durst not, venture out of the cage, though I held the door open a considerable time; and that, upon remonstrating to the great knight, that it was tempting of God to provoke the lion so far as to oblige him to come out by force, as he wanted him to have done, and was going to make him do, whether he would or not, his honour had suffered the cage door to be shut."-" Sancho (said Don Quixote), what dost thou think now? Can enchantments avail aught against true courage? They may indeed, and with ease, stand in the way of my good fortune, but of valour and resolution they never can deprive me." Sancho gave the crowns to the people; the carter harnessed his mules, and the keeper kissed Don Quixote's hand for his liberality, and promised, when he arrived at court, he would give an account of this heroic achievement to his majesty himself. "Should the king (said Don Quixote), perchance inquire who performed it, tell him, it was the Knight of the Lions; for I am determined, that, from this time forward, the title I have been hitherto distinguished by, of Knight of the Rueful Countenance, shall be changed, bartered, and sunk, into that of Knight of the Lions; and in this alteration I imitate the example of knights-errant of old, who, as they pleased, altered their designations as it best suited their purposes." The carriage went forward; Don Quixote, Sancho, and the traveller in green, pursued their journey; and, during all this time, Don Diego de Miranda was so attentive to remark and observe the actions of Don Quixote, that he had not opened his mouth; but looked upon him as a man whose good sense was blended with a strange sort of madness: the reason was, he knew as yet nothing of the first part of his history: had he read that, his amazement at the knight's words and actions would have vanished, as it would have cleared up to him the nature of his frenzy; but as he knew not that, he was at times divided in his opinion, sometimes believing him to be in his senses, and at other |