Sancho listened with the greatest attention to the account of thegentleman's life and occupation; and thinking it a good and a holylife, and that he who led it ought to work miracles, he threwhimself off Dapple, and running in haste seized his right stirrupand kissed his foot again and again with a devout heart and almostwith tears.
Seeing this the gentleman asked him, "What are you about, brother?What are these kisses for?"
"Let me kiss," said Sancho, "for I think your worship is the firstsaint in the saddle I ever saw all the days of my life."
"I am no saint," replied the gentleman, "but a great sinner; but youare, brother, for you must be a good fellow, as your simplicityshows."
Sancho went back and regained his pack-saddle, having extracted alaugh from his master's profound melancholy, and excited freshamazement in Don Diego. Don Quixote then asked him how many childrenhe had, and observed that one of the things wherein the ancientphilosophers, who were without the true knowledge of God, placed thesummum bonum was in the gifts of nature, in those of fortune, inhaving many friends, and many and good children.
"I, Senor Don Quixote," answered the gentleman, "have one son,without whom, perhaps, I should count myself happier than I am, notbecause he is a bad son, but because he is not so good as I couldwish. He is eighteen years of age; he has been for six at Salamancastudying Latin and Greek, and when I wished him to turn to the studyof other sciences I found him so wrapped up in that of poetry （if thatcan be called a science） that there is no getting him to take kindlyto the law, which I wished him to study, or to theology, the queenof them all. I would like him to be an honour to his family, as welive in days when our kings liberally reward learning that is virtuousand worthy; for learning without virtue is a pearl on a dunghill. Hespends the whole day in settling whether Homer expressed himselfcorrectly or not in such and such a line of the Iliad, whether Martialwas indecent or not in such and such an epigram, whether such and suchlines 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 languagehe makes no great account; but with all his seeming indifference toSpanish poetry, just now his thoughts are absorbed in making a glosson four lines that have been sent him from Salamanca, which Isuspect are for some poetical tournament."
To all this Don Quixote said in reply, "Children, senor, areportions 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 forthe parents to guide them from infancy in the ways of virtue,propriety, and worthy Christian conduct, so that when grown up theymay be the staff of their parents' old age, and the glory of theirposterity; and to force them to study this or that science I do notthink wise, though it may be no harm to persuade them; and whenthere is no need to study for the sake of pane lucrando, and it is thestudent's good fortune that heaven has given him parents who providehim with it, it would be my advice to them to let him pursuewhatever science they may see him most inclined to; and though that ofpoetry is less useful than pleasurable, it is not one of those thatbring discredit upon the possessor. Poetry, gentle sir, is, as Itake it, like a tender young maiden of supreme beauty, to array,bedeck, and adorn whom is the task of several other maidens, who areall the rest of the sciences; and she must avail herself of the helpof all, and all derive their lustre from her. But this maiden will notbear to be handled, nor dragged through the streets, nor exposedeither at the corners of the market-places, or in the closets ofpalaces. She is the product of an Alchemy of such virtue that he whois able to practise it, will turn her into pure gold of inestimableworth. He that possesses her must keep her within bounds, notpermitting her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. Shemust on no account be offered for sale, unless, indeed, it be inheroic 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. Anddo not suppose, senor, that I apply the term vulgar here merely toplebeians and the lower orders; for everyone who is ignorant, be helord or prince, may and should be included among the vulgar. He, then,who shall embrace and cultivate poetry under the conditions I havenamed, shall become famous, and his name honoured throughout all thecivilised nations of the earth. And with regard to what you say,senor, of your son having no great opinion of Spanish poetry, I aminclined to think that he is not quite right there, and for thisreason: the great poet Homer did not write in Latin, because he wasa Greek, nor did Virgil write in Greek, because he was a Latin; inshort, all the ancient poets wrote in the language they imbibed withtheir mother's milk, and never went in quest of foreign ones toexpress their sublime conceptions; and that being so, the usage shouldin justice extend to all nations, and the German poet should not beundervalued because he writes in his own language, nor theCastilian, nor even the Biscayan, for writing in his. But your son,senor, I suspect, is not prejudiced against Spanish poetry, butagainst those poets who are mere Spanish verse writers, without anyknowledge of other languages or sciences to adorn and give life andvigour to their natural inspiration; and yet even in this he may bewrong; for, according to a true belief, a poet is born one; that is tosay, the poet by nature comes forth a poet from his mother's womb; andfollowing the bent that heaven has bestowed upon him, without theaid of study or art, he produces things that show how truly he spokewho said, 'Est Deus in nobis,' &c. At the same time, I say that thepoet by nature who calls in art to his aid will be a far betterpoet, and will surpass him who tries to be one relying upon hisknowledge of art alone. The reason is, that art does not surpassnature, but only brings it to perfection; and thus, nature combinedwith art, and art with nature, will produce a perfect poet. To bringmy argument to a close, I would say then, gentle sir, let your songo on as his star leads him, for being so studious as he seems tobe, and having already successfully surmounted the first step of thesciences, which is that of the languages, with their help he will byhis own exertions reach the summit of polite literature, which so wellbecomes an independent gentleman, and adorns, honours, anddistinguishes him, as much as the mitre does the bishop, or the gownthe learned counsellor. If your son write satires reflecting on thehonour of others, chide and correct him, and tear them up; but if hecompose discourses in which he rebukes vice in general, in the styleof Horace, and with elegance like his, commend him; for it islegitimate for a poet to write against envy and lash the envious inhis verse, and the other vices too, provided he does not single outindividuals; there are, however, poets who, for the sake of sayingsomething spiteful, would run the risk of being banished to thecoast of Pontus. If the poet be pure in his morals, he will be pure inhis verses too; the pen is the tongue of the mind, and as the thoughtengendered there, so will be the things that it writes down. And whenkings and princes observe this marvellous science of poetry in wise,virtuous, and thoughtful subjects, they honour, value, exalt them, andeven crown them with the leaves of that tree which the thunderboltstrikes not, as if to show that they whose brows are honoured andadorned with such a crown are not to be assailed by anyone."
He of the green gaban was filled with astonishment at Don Quixote'sargument, so much so that he began to abandon the notion he had takenup about his being crazy. But in the middle of the discourse, it beingnot very much to his taste, Sancho had turned aside out of the road tobeg a little milk from some shepherds, who were milking their eweshard by; and just as the gentleman, highly pleased, was about to renewthe conversation, Don Quixote, raising his head, perceived a cartcovered with royal flags coming along the road they were travelling;and persuaded that this must be some new adventure, he called aloud toSancho to come and bring him his helmet. Sancho, hearing himselfcalled, quitted the shepherds, and, prodding Dapple vigorously, cameup to his master, to whom there fell a terrific and desperateadventure.CHAPTER XVII
WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE FURTHEST AND HIGHEST POINT WHICH THE UNEXAMPLEDCOURAGE OF DON QUIXOTE REACHED OR COULD REACH; TOGETHER WITH THEHAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS
THE history tells that when Don Quixote called out to Sancho tobring him his helmet, Sancho was buying some curds the shepherdsagreed to sell him, and flurried by the great haste his master wasin did not know what to do with them or what to carry them in; so, notto lose them, for he had already paid for them, he thought it bestto throw them into his master's helmet, and acting on this bright ideahe went to see what his master wanted with him. He, as heapproached, exclaimed to him:
"Give me that helmet, my friend, for either I know little ofadventures, or what I observe yonder is one that will, and does,call upon me to arm myself."
He of the green gaban, on hearing this, looked in all directions,but could perceive nothing, except a cart coming towards them with twoor three small flags, which led him to conclude it must be carryingtreasure of the King's, and he said so to Don Quixote. He, however,would not believe him, being always persuaded and convinced that allthat happened to him must be adventures and still more adventures;so he replied to the gentleman, "He who is prepared has his battlehalf fought; nothing is lost by my preparing myself, for I know byexperience that I have enemies, visible and invisible, and I knownot when, or where, or at what moment, or in what shapes they willattack me;" and turning to Sancho he called for his helmet; andSancho, as he had no time to take out the curds, had to give it justas it was. Don Quixote took it, and without perceiving what was init thrust it down in hot haste upon his head; but as the curds werepressed and squeezed the whey began to run all over his face andbeard, whereat he was so startled that he cried out to Sancho:
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