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堂吉诃德|Don Quixote

Part 2 第18章|Part 2 Chapter 16

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 塞万提斯] 阅读：[44875]
《堂吉诃德》是一部幽默诙谐、滑稽可笑、充满了奇思妙想的长篇文学巨著。此书主要描写了一个有趣、可敬、可悲、喜欢自欺欺人的没落贵族堂吉诃德，他痴狂地迷恋古代骑士小说，以至于放弃家业，用破甲驽马装扮成古代骑士的样子，再雇佣农民桑乔作侍从，三次出征周游全国，去创建所谓的扶弱锄强的骑士业绩。他们在征险的生涯中闹出了许多笑话，到处碰壁受辱，堂吉诃德多次被打成重伤，有一次还被当成疯子关在笼子里遣送回乡。最后，他因征战不利郁郁寡欢而与世长辞，临终前他那一番貌似悔悟的话语让人匪夷所思又哭笑不得。
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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唐吉诃德发现迭戈的家大得简直就像一座村庄。临街的大门上方有标牌，尽管那是用粗石做的。院子里有酒窖，门廊处有地窖。许许多多的产于托博索的酒坛子又使唐吉诃德怀念起已被魔法改变了模样的杜尔西内亚来。他长叹一声，也不看旁边有什么人，就情不自禁地说道：

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“为我受苦的心上人呀，

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上帝会让你如意称心。

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托博索的酒坛啊，你勾起了我对那位使我万分痛苦的心上人的甜蜜回忆！”

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迭戈的那位大学生兼诗人的儿子闻声同母亲一起出来迎接唐吉诃德。他们一看到唐吉诃德的奇怪装束都愣住了。唐吉诃德下了马，十分有礼貌地请求吻女主人的手。迭戈对他夫人说：

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“夫人，请你以非常的热情接待你面前这位曼查的唐吉诃德大人吧，他是世界上最勇敢最聪明的游侠骑士。”

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迭戈的夫人唐娜克里斯蒂娜非常热情又非常有礼貌地接待唐吉诃德，唐吉诃德也非常客气地答之以礼。对那个大学生，唐吉诃德也同样寒暄了一番。那个学生根据唐吉诃德的言谈判断，觉得他是一个很机敏的人。

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原作者介绍了迭戈家的各种情况，把乡间富裕农户的东西叙述了一遍。可是译者却认为，这些琐屑小事与这部小说的主题无关，就把这些描写全都删去了。他觉得事实比那些干巴巴的细节更有说服力。

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唐吉诃德走进客厅，桑乔帮他脱掉甲胄。唐吉诃德只穿着短裤子、羊皮坎肩，衬衣是学生式的大翻领，既没上浆，也没镶花边；脚上穿的是浅黄色的软靴，外面是打了蜡的硬皮鞋，浑身上下都蹭满了盔甲的铁锈。他把剑挂在一条海豹皮宽背带上，据说这是因为他的肾有病已经多年，身上披着一件上等呢料的棕褐色短外套。他首先要了五六桶水冲洗脸和头。各桶的水量不一，可是全都洗完，水还是乳白色的。这都是馋嘴的桑乔造成的。他买的破奶酪把主人弄白了。经过一番打扮，唐吉诃德风度翩翩地走出来，来到另一个房间。那位大学生正在那儿等着他，准备趁着备饭的时候同他随便聊聊。唐娜克里斯蒂娜夫人因有贵客光临，想利用这个机会表现一下，证明自己能够而且善于款待来到她家的客人。

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迭戈的儿子叫洛伦索。唐吉诃德刚才脱盔甲的时候，他就问父亲：

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“父亲，您带到咱们家来的这个人是干什么的？他的名字，他的打扮，还有他说自己是游侠骑士，使我和母亲都感到很奇怪。”

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“我也不知道该怎么对你说才好，孩子。”迭戈说，“我只能对你说，我看见他做了一些世界上最荒谬的事情，可又说了一些聪明绝伦的话，把他的荒谬举动抵消了。你去同他聊聊吧，根据他的谈吐猜测一下他到底是什么样的人。你是个聪明人，他到底是机智过头还是愚蠢透顶，你按照情理自己判断吧。不过说实话，我倒宁愿把他看成是疯子，而不是正常人。”

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就这样，洛伦索去找唐吉诃德了。谈话中，唐吉诃德对洛伦索说道：

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“您的父亲迭戈·德米兰达对我谈过您的超群的智慧，而且特别提到您是个伟大的诗人。”

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“诗人，我也许算得上，”洛伦索说，“可要说是伟大的诗人，那我就不敢当了。我的确是个诗歌爱好者，并且喜欢读一些优秀诗人的作品，但绝对够不上我父亲所说的伟大的诗人。”

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“我觉得你如此谦虚很不错，”唐吉诃德说，“因为现在的诗人都很狂妄，都自以为是世界上最伟大的诗人。”

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“凡事都有例外，”洛伦索说，“也许有的人就不是这样，就不这么想。”

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“这种人很少，”唐吉诃德说，“不过请您告诉我，您现在正写什么诗，竟使得您的父亲有些忧虑不安？如果是敷衍体诗，我略知一二，很希望拜读您的作品。如果这诗是为诗歌比赛准备的，我劝您争取二等奖，因为一等奖往往要照顾人情或是为贵人准备的。二等奖才货真价实。三等奖等于二等奖，以此类推，一等奖就等于三等奖，这就同大学里授学位一样。不过尽管如此，号称‘第一名’的人毕竟是最露脸的。”

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“直到现在，我还不能说他是疯子，”洛伦索心里说，“让我再接着同他聊。”

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于是，他对唐吉诃德说：

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“我觉得您在学校里上过学。您学的是什么专业？”

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“游侠骑士专业。”唐吉诃德说，“我觉得它像诗歌一样优美。若说它超过了诗歌，也只是超出了那么一点儿。”

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“我不知道那是什么专业，”洛伦索说，“我还从来没听说过。”

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“这是一门包括了世界上所有专业或大部分专业的专业。”唐吉诃德说，“因为从事这项专业的人得是法学家，懂得奖惩分明，使每个人都可以得到他应该得到的东西；他应该是神学家，若有人来向他请教，他可以明确地讲解他所信奉的基督教教义；他应该是医生，尤其应该是草药专家，能够识别荒山野岭中可以治伤的药草，免得游侠骑士到处去寻找治伤的药；他应该是天文学家，能够通过观察星星知道已经是深夜几时，知道自己所处的方位和气候带；他应该懂得数学，这门学问每时每刻都会用得上；除此之外，他还应该具有宗教道德和其他各种基本道德。接下来，他还得会其他一些小事情，例如，他应该像尼古拉斯或尼科劳人鱼①那样善于游泳，能够钉马掌，或修理马鞍和马嚼子。再回到刚才的话题上，他应该忠实于上帝和他的意中人，应该思想纯洁，谈吐文明，举止大方，行动果敢，吃苦耐劳，同情弱者，最多于生活在陆地的时间，并且频频在西西里和陆地之间往返穿梭。主要的就是坚持真理，为了保卫真理，即使牺牲自己的生命也在所不惜。这许多大大小小方面的才能构成了一个优秀的游侠骑士。这回您该知道了，洛伦索大人，骑士的学问难道是一门粗浅的学问吗？难道不能同学校和课堂里最高深的学问相比吗？”

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①15世纪意大利的卡塔尼亚人，善于游泳。

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“如果真是这样，”洛伦索说，“我承认它是一门超越了其他所有学科的学问。”

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“什么叫‘如果真是这样’？”唐吉诃德说。

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“我是说，”洛伦索说，“我怀疑世界上过去和现在真有具备了如此才能的游侠骑士。”

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“这个问题我已经说过多次了，现在我又得重复。”唐吉诃德说，“那就是大部分人认为世界上不曾有过游侠骑士。依我看，只有老天创造出奇迹，他们才会相信无论过去还是现在都确实存在着游侠骑士，否则我再费力气解释也是徒劳。在这方面我已有多次的经验了。现在，我并不想让您摆脱多数人曾经重复的错误，只是想恳求老天让您醒悟，让您明白，在过去的世纪里，游侠骑士对于世界来说是多么有益必要，而当今之世如果风行游侠骑士又有多少好处。可是现在，由于人本身的罪恶，却是贪图安逸和追求享乐占了上风。”

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“这回我们这位客人可露馅了。”洛伦索心中暗想，“不过，他毕竟是个非常特殊的疯子。如果我没有认识到这点，那么我就太笨了。”

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因为叫他们去吃饭了，他们的谈话到此为止。迭戈问儿子对这位客人印象如何，儿子答道：

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“要想治好他的疯病，恐怕世界上所有的医生都无能为力，看来只有靠那些摇笔杆子的人了。”

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大家去吃饭了。招待客人的饭食果然像迭戈在路上说的那样：干净、丰盛、鲜美。不过，最令唐吉诃德感到满意的是整个家庭像苦修会的修道院一般幽静。饭罢，大家撤掉台布，向上帝致谢，又用水洗洗手。唐吉诃德恳求洛伦索把他准备参加诗歌比赛的诗拿来给自己看。洛伦索说：

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“有的诗人在人家请他念自己的诗时，他拒绝；可人家没请他念的时候，他却又自作多情。为了不让你们以为我也是那种人，我就念念我的敷衍诗吧。不过，我并没有指望它得什么奖，只是为了锻炼一下我的智力。”

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“我的一位朋友，一位非常明智的人，”唐吉诃德说，“认为不应该给人家念敷衍诗，让人家厌烦。他说理由就是敷衍诗从来都不能表现原文的含义，往往超越了原诗的范围，而且敷衍诗本身的范围也特别窄，不准用问句，不能用‘他曾说’、‘他将说’，不能用动名词，不能改变含义，还有其他一些清规戒律，都束缚了敷衍诗。对于这些，大概您也有所了解。”

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“唐吉诃德大人，”洛伦索说，“我存心想找出您的破绽，可是没找到，您像泥鳅一样从我手里溜掉了。”

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“我不明白您说的‘溜掉了’是什么意思。”唐吉诃德说。

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“以后我会让您明白的。”洛伦索说，“不过，现在您先听听原诗，再听听根据它写的敷衍诗吧。”原诗是这样写的：

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假如今能比昔，

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明日等待何须。

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让时光倒流，

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或让未来现在达抵。

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敷　衍　诗

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如同一切都会发生，

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我的幸福已成陈迹。

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那曾经不浅的幸运

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一去不复返，

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无影无息。

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命运之神，

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你已见到我

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在你脚下拜倒了几个世纪。

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让我重新成为幸运者吧，

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我又会春风得意，

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“假如今能比昔”。

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我并不贪求其他乐趣与荣耀，

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其他的掌声和欢呼，

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其他的成功和胜利。

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只求得到往日的欢乐，

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它现在却是痛苦的回忆。

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如果你能让我回到往昔，

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命运之神，

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我所忍受的煎熬将会更替。

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如果这一幸运能立刻实现，

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“明日等待何须”。

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我的追求绝非可能。

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事过境迁，

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却要时光倒转，

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世上从未有过如此回天之力。

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时间飞逝，

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永不回头。

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光阴一去不还，

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追求者必失败，

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除非“让时光倒流”。

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生活在彷徨中，

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希冀又恐惧，

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虽生犹死，

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不如为超脱痛苦

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毅然决然地死去。

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我愿一死了之，

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可事情未如我意。

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斗转星移，

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生活还会让我恐惧，

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“或让未来现在达抵”。

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洛伦索刚念完，唐吉诃德就站起来，拉住洛伦索的右手，声音高得几乎像喊叫，说道：

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“老天万岁！出类拔萃的小伙子，你是世界上最伟大的诗人，你应该得到桂冠，但不是在塞浦路斯或加埃塔，就像一位诗人说的那样，而是在雅典科学院，上帝饶恕我吧，假如这些学院现在还存在的话；或者，是在现存的巴黎、波洛尼亚和萨拉曼卡科学院！上帝保佑，评审委员们若是不给你一等奖，就让福玻斯①用箭射死他们，就让缪斯永远不进他们家的门槛！大人，如果您能赏光的话，就请再给我念几首更高级的诗吧，我想全面领教一下您的惊人的才华。”

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尽管洛伦索把唐吉诃德看成是疯子，这时听到唐吉诃德的赞扬，还是很高兴，这难道不是好事吗？恭维的力量，你真是无处不及，力大无边啊！洛伦索就证明了这个事实。他满足了唐吉诃德的要求和愿望，念了一首根据皮拉摩斯和提斯柏的传说写的十四行诗：

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十　四　行　诗

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美丽的少女凿开了墙壁，

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也打开了英俊的皮拉摩斯的胸臆，

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阿摩尔②从塞浦路斯赶来，

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观看这窄小神奇的孔隙。

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相对无言，默默无语，

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唯恐声音穿过这狭小的罅缝；

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但两相情愿，两心相通，

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爱情面前无阻力。

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事出预料，情非人意，

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少女误走一步，导致香消玉陨。

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噢，如此奇妙的悲剧。

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同一把剑，他们被掩杀又复生，

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留下了一个墓穴，一场回忆。

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①太阳神阿波罗的别名之一。

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②阿摩尔又称厄罗斯，是希腊传说中的小爱神。

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“感谢上帝，”唐吉诃德听洛伦索念完诗后说，“在当今无数蹩脚的诗人中，我终于发现了像您这样完美的诗人。这首十四行诗的高超技巧就向我证明了这一点。”

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唐吉诃德在洛伦索家住了四天，受到了极其盛情的款待。四天后，唐吉诃德向主人告别，对在主人家受到很好的照顾表示感谢。但是作为游侠骑士，过多地贪图安逸就不合适了。他还要去履行他的职责，征服险恶，他听说这种险恶在当地还有很多。他打算就近转悠几天，等到了萨拉戈萨大比武的日子再到萨拉戈萨去。反正他是要去那儿的。不过，他首先得到蒙特西诺斯山洞去。据说那里有很多奇怪的事情，他想去看看。另外，他还想去看看人称“鲁伊德拉七湖”的发源地和它真正的水流走向。迭戈和他的儿子对唐吉诃德的光荣决定大加赞赏，告诉他，家里有什么他认为可能用得着的东西，尽可拿走，对于从事这种高尚职业的好人理应如此。

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出发的日子终于到了。唐吉诃德兴高采烈，桑乔却垂头丧气。他对在迭戈家酒足饭饱的日子非常满意，不愿意再到荒郊野林去吃褡裢里那点干粮了。尽管如此，他还是用褡裢装上了足够的食物。唐吉诃德临行前对洛伦索说：

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“我不知道是否已经对您说过，如果我已经说过了，那我就再说一遍：如果您想走捷径，少费力气，达到那难以抵达的法玛①的顶峰，您不用做别的，只需部分地放弃那略显狭窄的诗歌创作之路，而选择更为狭窄的游侠骑士之路。游侠骑士不费吹灰之力就可以成为皇帝。”

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①罗马人对希腊神话中的女神俄萨的称呼。法玛本身是“名望”的意思。

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唐吉诃德又说了一些疯话，才结束了他的疯癫过程。他说道：

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“上帝知道，我本想带洛伦索大人同我一起走，以便教教他该怎样宽恕普通人，打掉狂妄人的威风，这是从事我们这行的人必不可少的品德。不过您年纪轻轻，而且还从事了这个值得赞颂的行当，所以我不能把您带走。我只想告诫您，作为诗人，您应该更多地采纳别人的意见，而不要只是按照自己的意见行事，那才能一举成名。世界上没有哪个父母认为自己的孩子丑；而在意识方面，这种自欺欺人的情况就更为严重。”

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迭戈父子俩对唐吉诃德一会儿明白、一会儿糊涂的言语甚感惊讶。唐吉诃德翻来覆去地说，无非就是要去寻求他那倒霉的艰险，这才是他的最终目的。父子二人又客气了一番，女主人也依依惜别，唐吉诃德和桑乔分别骑着罗西南多和驴出发了。

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Don Quixote pursued his journey in the high spirits, satisfaction, and self-complacency already described, fancying himself the most valorous knight-errant of the age in the world because of his late victory. All the adventures that could befall him from that time forth he regarded as already done and brought to a happy issue; he made light of enchantments and enchanters; he thought no more of the countless drubbings that had been administered to him in the course of his knight-errantry, nor of the volley of stones that had levelled half his teeth, nor of the ingratitude of the galley slaves, nor of the audacity of the Yanguesans and the shower of stakes that fell upon him; in short, he said to himself that could he discover any means, mode, or way of disenchanting his lady Dulcinea, he would not envy the highest fortune that the most fortunate knight-errant of yore ever reached or could reach.

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He was going along entirely absorbed in these fancies, when Sancho said to him, “Isn’t it odd, senor, that I have still before my eyes that monstrous enormous nose of my gossip, Tom Cecial?”

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“And dost thou, then, believe, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that the Knight of the Mirrors was the bachelor Carrasco, and his squire Tom Cecial thy gossip?”

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“I don’t know what to say to that,” replied Sancho; “all I know is that the tokens he gave me about my own house, wife and children, nobody else but himself could have given me; and the face, once the nose was off, was the very face of Tom Cecial, as I have seen it many a time in my town and next door to my own house; and the sound of the voice was just the same.”

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“Let us reason the matter, Sancho,” said Don Quixote. “Come now, by what process of thinking can it be supposed that the bachelor Samson Carrasco would come as a knight-errant, in arms offensive and defensive, to fight with me? Have I ever been by any chance his enemy? Have I ever given him any occasion to owe me a grudge? Am I his rival, or does he profess arms, that he should envy the fame I have acquired in them?”

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“Well, but what are we to say, senor,” returned Sancho, “about that knight, whoever he is, being so like the bachelor Carrasco, and his squire so like my gossip, Tom Cecial? And if that be enchantment, as your worship says, was there no other pair in the world for them to take the likeness of?”

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“It is all,” said Don Quixote, “a scheme and plot of the malignant magicians that persecute me, who, foreseeing that I was to be victorious in the conflict, arranged that the vanquished knight should display the countenance of my friend the bachelor, in order that the friendship I bear him should interpose to stay the edge of my sword and might of my arm, and temper the just wrath of my heart; so that he who sought to take my life by fraud and falsehood should save his own. And to prove it, thou knowest already, Sancho, by experience which cannot lie or deceive, how easy it is for enchanters to change one countenance into another, turning fair into foul, and foul into fair; for it is not two days since thou sawest with thine own eyes the beauty and elegance of the peerless Dulcinea in all its perfection and natural harmony, while I saw her in the repulsive and mean form of a coarse country wench, with cataracts in her eyes and a foul smell in her mouth; and when the perverse enchanter ventured to effect so wicked a transformation, it is no wonder if he effected that of Samson Carrasco and thy gossip in order to snatch the glory of victory out of my grasp. For all that, however, I console myself, because, after all, in whatever shape he may have been, I have victorious over my enemy.”

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“God knows what’s the truth of it all,” said Sancho; and knowing as he did that the transformation of Dulcinea had been a device and imposition of his own, his master’s illusions were not satisfactory to him; but he did not like to reply lest he should say something that might disclose his trickery.

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As they were engaged in this conversation they were overtaken by a man who was following the same road behind them, mounted on a very handsome flea-bitten mare, and dressed in a gaban of fine green cloth, with tawny velvet facings, and a montera of the same velvet. The trappings of the mare were of the field and jineta fashion, and of mulberry colour and green. He carried a Moorish cutlass hanging from a broad green and gold baldric; the buskins were of the same make as the baldric; the spurs were not gilt, but lacquered green, and so brightly polished that, matching as they did the rest of his apparel, they looked better than if they had been of pure gold.

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When the traveller came up with them he saluted them courteously, and spurring his mare was passing them without stopping, but Don Quixote called out to him, “Gallant sir, if so be your worship is going our road, and has no occasion for speed, it would be a pleasure to me if we were to join company.”

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“In truth,” replied he on the mare, “I would not pass you so hastily but for fear that horse might turn restive in the company of my mare.”

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“You may safely hold in your mare, senor,” said Sancho in reply to this, “for our horse is the most virtuous and well-behaved horse in the world; he never does anything wrong on such occasions, and the only time he misbehaved, my master and I suffered for it sevenfold; I say again your worship may pull up if you like; for if she was offered to him between two plates the horse would not hanker after her.”

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The traveller drew rein, amazed at the trim and features of Don Quixote, who rode without his helmet, which Sancho carried like a valise in front of Dapple’s pack-saddle; and if the man in green examined Don Quixote closely, still more closely did Don Quixote examine the man in green, who struck him as being a man of intelligence. In appearance he was about fifty years of age, with but few grey hairs, an aquiline cast of features, and an expression between grave and gay; and his dress and accoutrements showed him to be a man of good condition. What he in green thought of Don Quixote of La Mancha was that a man of that sort and shape he had never yet seen; he marvelled at the length of his hair, his lofty stature, the lankness and sallowness of his countenance, his armour, his bearing and his gravity — a figure and picture such as had not been seen in those regions for many a long day.

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Don Quixote saw very plainly the attention with which the traveller was regarding him, and read his curiosity in his astonishment; and courteous as he was and ready to please everybody, before the other could ask him any question he anticipated him by saying, “The appearance I present to your worship being so strange and so out of the common, I should not be surprised if it filled you with wonder; but you will cease to wonder when I tell you, as I do, that I am one of those knights who, as people say, go seeking adventures. I have left my home, I have mortgaged my estate, I have given up my comforts, and committed myself to the arms of Fortune, to bear me whithersoever she may please. My desire was to bring to life again knight-errantry, now dead, and for some time past, stumbling here, falling there, now coming down headlong, now raising myself up again, I have carried out a great portion of my design, succouring widows, protecting maidens, and giving aid to wives, orphans, and minors, the proper and natural duty of knights-errant; and, therefore, because of my many valiant and Christian achievements, I have been already found worthy to make my way in print to well-nigh all, or most, of the nations of the earth. Thirty thousand volumes of my history have been printed, and it is on the high-road to be printed thirty thousand thousands of times, if heaven does not put a stop to it. In short, to sum up all in a few words, or in a single one, I may tell you I am Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called ‘The Knight of the Rueful countenance;’ for though self-praise is degrading, I must perforce sound my own sometimes, that is to say, when there is no one at hand to do it for me. So that, gentle sir, neither this horse, nor this lance, nor this shield, nor this squire, nor all these arms put together, nor the sallowness of my countenance, nor my gaunt leanness, will henceforth astonish you, now that you know who I am and what profession I follow.”

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With these words Don Quixote held his peace, and, from the time he took to answer, the man in green seemed to be at a loss for a reply; after a long pause, however, he said to him, “You were right when you saw curiosity in my amazement, sir knight; but you have not succeeded in removing the astonishment I feel at seeing you; for although you say, senor, that knowing who you are ought to remove it, it has not done so; on the contrary, now that I know, I am left more amazed and astonished than before. What! is it possible that there are knights-errant in the world in these days, and histories of real chivalry printed? I cannot realise the fact that there can be anyone on earth now-a-days who aids widows, or protects maidens, or defends wives, or succours orphans; nor should I believe it had I not seen it in your worship with my own eyes. Blessed be heaven! for by means of this history of your noble and genuine chivalrous deeds, which you say has been printed, the countless stories of fictitious knights-errant with which the world is filled, so much to the injury of morality and the prejudice and discredit of good histories, will have been driven into oblivion.”

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“There is a good deal to be said on that point,” said Don Quixote, “as to whether the histories of the knights-errant are fiction or not.”

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“Why, is there anyone who doubts that those histories are false?” said the man in green.

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“I doubt it,” said Don Quixote, “but never mind that just now; if our journey lasts long enough, I trust in God I shall show your worship that you do wrong in going with the stream of those who regard it as a matter of certainty that they are not true.”

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From this last observation of Don Quixote’s , the traveller began to have a suspicion that he was some crazy being, and was waiting him to confirm it by something further; but before they could turn to any new subject Don Quixote begged him to tell him who he was, since he himself had rendered account of his station and life. To this, he in the green gaban replied “I, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance, am a gentleman by birth, native of the village where, please God, we are going to dine today; I am more than fairly well off, and my name is Don Diego de Miranda. I pass my life with my wife, children, and friends; my pursuits are hunting and fishing, but I keep neither hawks nor greyhounds, nothing but a tame partridge or a bold ferret or two; I have six dozen or so of books, some in our mother tongue, some Latin, some of them history, others devotional; those of chivalry have not as yet crossed the threshold of my door; I am more given to turning over the profane than the devotional, so long as they are books of honest entertainment that charm by their style and attract and interest by the invention they display, though of these there are very few in Spain. Sometimes I dine with my neighbours and friends, and often invite them; my entertainments are neat and well served without stint of anything. I have no taste for tattle, nor do I allow tattling in my presence; I pry not into my neighbours’ lives, nor have I lynx-eyes for what others do. I hear mass every day; I share my substance with the poor, making no display of good works, lest I let hypocrisy and vainglory, those enemies that subtly take possession of the most watchful heart, find an entrance into mine. I strive to make peace between those whom I know to be at variance; I am the devoted servant of Our Lady, and my trust is ever in the infinite mercy of God our Lord.”

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Sancho listened with the greatest attention to the account of the gentleman’s life and occupation; and thinking it a good and a holy life, and that he who led it ought to work miracles, he threw himself off Dapple, and running in haste seized his right stirrup and kissed his foot again and again with a devout heart and almost with tears.

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Seeing this the gentleman asked him, “What are you about, brother? What are these kisses for?”

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“Let me kiss,” said Sancho, “for I think your worship is the first saint in the saddle I ever saw all the days of my life.”

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“I am no saint,” replied the gentleman, “but a great sinner; but you are, brother, for you must be a good fellow, as your simplicity shows.”

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Sancho went back and regained his pack-saddle, having extracted a laugh from his master’s profound melancholy, and excited fresh amazement in Don Diego. Don Quixote then asked him how many children he had, and observed that one of the things wherein the ancient philosophers, who were without the true knowledge of God, placed the summum bonum was in the gifts of nature, in those of fortune, in having many friends, and many and good children.

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“I, Senor Don Quixote,” answered the gentleman, “have one son, without whom, perhaps, I should count myself happier than I am, not because he is a bad son, but because he is not so good as I could wish. He is eighteen years of age; he has been for six at Salamanca studying Latin and Greek, and when I wished him to turn to the study of other sciences I found him so wrapped up in that of poetry (if that can be called a science) that there is no getting him to take kindly to the law, which I wished him to study, or to theology, the queen of them all. I would like him to be an honour to his family, as we live in days when our kings liberally reward learning that is virtuous and worthy; for learning without virtue is a pearl on a dunghill. He spends the whole day in settling whether Homer expressed himself correctly or not in such and such a line of the Iliad, whether Martial was indecent or not in such and such an epigram, whether such and such lines of Virgil are to be understood in this way or in that; in short, all his talk is of the works of these poets, and those of Horace, Perseus, Juvenal, and Tibullus; for of the moderns in our own language he makes no great account; but with all his seeming indifference to Spanish poetry, just now his thoughts are absorbed in making a gloss on four lines that have been sent him from Salamanca, which I suspect are for some poetical tournament.”

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To all this Don Quixote said in reply, “Children, senor, are portions of their parents’ bowels, and therefore, be they good or bad, are to be loved as we love the souls that give us life; it is for the parents to guide them from infancy in the ways of virtue, propriety, and worthy Christian conduct, so that when grown up they may be the staff of their parents’ old age, and the glory of their posterity; and to force them to study this or that science I do not think wise, though it may be no harm to persuade them; and when there is no need to study for the sake of pane lucrando, and it is the student’s good fortune that heaven has given him parents who provide him with it, it would be my advice to them to let him pursue whatever science they may see him most inclined to; and though that of poetry is less useful than pleasurable, it is not one of those that bring discredit upon the possessor. Poetry, gentle sir, is, as I take it, like a tender young maiden of supreme beauty, to array, bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other maidens, who are all the rest of the sciences; and she must avail herself of the help of all, and all derive their lustre from her. But this maiden will not bear to be handled, nor dragged through the streets, nor exposed either at the corners of the market-places, or in the closets of palaces. She is the product of an Alchemy of such virtue that he who is able to practise it, will turn her into pure gold of inestimable worth. He that possesses her must keep her within bounds, not permitting her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. She must on no account be offered for sale, unless, indeed, it be in heroic poems, moving tragedies, or sprightly and ingenious comedies. She must not be touched by the buffoons, nor by the ignorant vulgar, incapable of comprehending or appreciating her hidden treasures. And do not suppose, senor, that I apply the term vulgar here merely to plebeians and the lower orders; for everyone who is ignorant, be he lord or prince, may and should be included among the vulgar. He, then, who shall embrace and cultivate poetry under the conditions I have named, shall become famous, and his name honoured throughout all the civilised nations of the earth. And with regard to what you say, senor, of your son having no great opinion of Spanish poetry, I am inclined to think that he is not quite right there, and for this reason: the great poet Homer did not write in Latin, because he was a Greek, nor did Virgil write in Greek, because he was a Latin; in short, all the ancient poets wrote in the language they imbibed with their mother’s milk, and never went in quest of foreign ones to express their sublime conceptions; and that being so, the usage should in justice extend to all nations, and the German poet should not be undervalued because he writes in his own language, nor the Castilian, nor even the Biscayan, for writing in his. But your son, senor, I suspect, is not prejudiced against Spanish poetry, but against those poets who are mere Spanish verse writers, without any knowledge of other languages or sciences to adorn and give life and vigour to their natural inspiration; and yet even in this he may be wrong; for, according to a true belief, a poet is born one; that is to say, the poet by nature comes forth a poet from his mother’s womb; and following the bent that heaven has bestowed upon him, without the aid of study or art, he produces things that show how truly he spoke who said, ‘Est Deus in nobis,’ etc. At the same time, I say that the poet by nature who calls in art to his aid will be a far better poet, and will surpass him who tries to be one relying upon his knowledge of art alone. The reason is, that art does not surpass nature, but only brings it to perfection; and thus, nature combined with art, and art with nature, will produce a perfect poet. To bring my argument to a close, I would say then, gentle sir, let your son go on as his star leads him, for being so studious as he seems to be, and having already successfully surmounted the first step of the sciences, which is that of the languages, with their help he will by his own exertions reach the summit of polite literature, which so well becomes an independent gentleman, and adorns, honours, and distinguishes him, as much as the mitre does the bishop, or the gown the learned counsellor. If your son write satires reflecting on the honour of others, chide and correct him, and tear them up; but if he compose discourses in which he rebukes vice in general, in the style of Horace, and with elegance like his, commend him; for it is legitimate for a poet to write against envy and lash the envious in his verse, and the other vices too, provided he does not single out individuals; there are, however, poets who, for the sake of saying something spiteful, would run the risk of being banished to the coast of Pontus. If the poet be pure in his morals, he will be pure in his verses too; the pen is the tongue of the mind, and as the thought engendered there, so will be the things that it writes down. And when kings and princes observe this marvellous science of poetry in wise, virtuous, and thoughtful subjects, they honour, value, exalt them, and even crown them with the leaves of that tree which the thunderbolt strikes not, as if to show that they whose brows are honoured and adorned with such a crown are not to be assailed by anyone.”

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He of the green gaban was filled with astonishment at Don Quixote’s argument, so much so that he began to abandon the notion he had taken up about his being crazy. But in the middle of the discourse, it being not very much to his taste, Sancho had turned aside out of the road to beg a little milk from some shepherds, who were milking their ewes hard by; and just as the gentleman, highly pleased, was about to renew the conversation, Don Quixote, raising his head, perceived a cart covered with royal flags coming along the road they were travelling; and persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he called aloud to Sancho to come and bring him his helmet. Sancho, hearing himself called, quitted the shepherds, and, prodding Dapple vigorously, came up to his master, to whom there fell a terrific and desperate adventure.

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