"That I will not do," answered the keeper; "for, should I provoke him, I myself shall be the first he will tear in pieces. Be satisfied, signor cavalier, with what is done, which is all that can be said in point of courage, and do not tempt fortune a second time. The lion has the door open, and it is in his choice to come forth or not; and since he has not yet come out, he will not come out all this day. The greatness of your worship"s courage is already sufficiently shown. No brave combatant, as I take it, is obliged to more than to challenge his foe, and expect him in the field; and if the antagonist does not meet him, the disgrace falls on him, while the challenger is ent.i.tled to the crown of victory."
"That is true," answered Don Quixote; "shut the door, and give me a certificate in the best form you can of what you have here seen me perform. It should be known that you opened the door to the lion; that I waited for him; that he came not out; again I waited for him; again he came not out; and again he laid himself down. I am bound to no more,--enchantments avaunt! So Heaven prosper right and justice and true chivalry! Shut the door, as I told thee, while I make a signal to the fugitive and absent, that from your own mouth they may have an account of this exploit."
The keeper closed the door, and Don Quixote, having fixed the linen cloth with which he had wiped the curds from his face upon the point of his lance, began to hail the troop in the distance, who, with the gentleman in green at their head, were still retiring, but looking round at every step, when suddenly Sancho observed the signal of the white cloth.
"May I be hanged," cried he, "if my master has not vanquished the wild beasts, for he is calling to us!"
They all stopped, and saw that it was Don Quixote that made the sign; and, their fear in some degree abating, they ventured to return slowly till they could distinctly hear the words of Don Quixote, who continued calling to them. When they had reached the cart again, Don Quixote said to the driver: "Now, friend, put on your mules again, and in Heaven"s name proceed; and, Sancho, give two crowns to him and the keeper, to make them amends for this delay."
"That I will, with all my heart," answered Sancho; "but what has become of the lions? are they dead or alive?"
The keeper then very minutely, and with due pauses, gave an account of the conflict, enlarging, to the best of his skill, on the valor of Don Quixote, at sight of whom the daunted lion would not, or durst not, stir out of the cage, though he had held open the door a good while; and, upon his representing to the knight that it was tempting G.o.d to provoke the lion, and to force him out, he had at length, very reluctantly, permitted him to close it again.
"What sayest thou to this, Sancho?" said Don Quixote; "can any enchantment prevail against true courage? Enchanters may, indeed, deprive me of good fortune, but of courage and resolution they never can."
Sancho gave the gold crowns; the carter yoked his mules; the keeper thanked Don Quixote for his present, and promised to relate this valorous exploit to the king himself when he arrived at court.
"If, perchance, his majesty," said Don Quixote, "should inquire who performed it, tell him the Knight of the Lions; for henceforward I resolve that the t.i.tle I have hitherto borne, of the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure, shall be thus changed, converted, and altered; and herein I follow the ancient practice of knights-errant, who changed their names at pleasure."
It is a gallant sight to see a cavalier in shining armor prancing over the lists at some gay tournament in sight of the ladies; it is a gallant sight when, in the middle of a s.p.a.cious square, a brave cavalier, before the eyes of his prince, transfixes with his lance a furious bull; and a gallant show do all those knights make, who, in military or other exercises, entertain, enliven, and do honor to their prince"s court; but far above all these is the knight-errant, who, through deserts and solitudes, through cross-ways, through woods, and over mountains, goes in quest of perilous adventures, which he undertakes and accomplishes only to obtain a glorious and immortal fame.
All knights have their peculiar functions. Let the courtier serve the ladies, adorn his prince"s court with rich liveries, entertain the poorer cavaliers at his splendid table, order his jousts, manage tournaments, and show himself great, liberal, and magnificent; above all, a good Christian, and thus will he fulfil his duties.
In enterprises of every kind, it is better to lose the game by a card too much than one too little; for it sounds better to be called rash and daring than timorous and cowardly.
"Signor Don Diego de Miranda, your father, sir, has informed me of the rare talents you possess, and particularly that you are a great poet."
"Certainly not a great poet," replied Lorenzo; "it is true I am fond of poetry, and honor the works of good poets; but I have no claim to the t.i.tle my father is pleased to confer upon me."
"I do not dislike this modesty," answered Don Quixote; "for poets are usually very arrogant, each thinking himself the greatest in the world."
"There is no rule without an exception," answered Don Lorenzo; "and surely there may be some who do not appear too conscious of their real merits."
"Very few, I believe," said Don Quixote.
THE SCIENCE OF KNIGHT-ERRANTRY.
"It is a science," replied Don Quixote, "which comprehends all, or most of the other sciences; for he who professes it must be learned in the law, and understand distributive and commutative justice, that he may know not only how to a.s.sign to each man what is truly his own, but what is proper for him to possess; he must be conversant in divinity, in order to be able to explain, clearly and distinctly, the Christian faith which he professes; he must be skilled in medicine, especially in botany, that he may know both how to cure the diseases with which he may be afflicted, and collect the various remedies which Providence has scattered in the midst of the wilderness, nor be compelled on every emergency to be running in quest of a physician to heal him; he must be an astronomer, that he may if necessary ascertain by the stars the exact hour of the night and what part or climate of the world he is in; he must understand mathematics, because he will have occasion for them; and taking it for granted that he must be adorned with all the cardinal and theological virtues, I descend to other more minute particulars, and say that he must know how to swim as well as it is reported of Fish Nicholas;[9] he must know how to shoe a horse and repair his saddle and bridle: and to return to higher concerns, he must preserve his faith inviolable towards Heaven, and also to his mistress; he must be chaste in his thoughts, modest in his words, liberal in good works, valiant in exploits, patient in toils, charitable to the needy, and steadfastly adhering to the truth, even at the hazard of his life. Of all these great and small parts a good knight-errant is composed."
THE TEXT.
Could I recall departed joy, Though barred the hopes of greater gain, Or now the future hours employ That must succeed my present pain.
THE PARAPHRASE.
All fortune"s blessings disappear, She"s fickle as the wind; And now I find her as severe As once I thought her kind.
How soon the fleeting pleasures pa.s.sed!
How long the lingering sorrows last!
Unconstant G.o.ddess, in thy haste, Do not thy prostrate slave destroy, I"d ne"er complain, but bless my fate, _Could I recall departed joy._
Of all thy gifts I beg but this, Glut all mankind with more, Transport them with redoubled bliss, But only mine restore.
With thought of pleasure once possessed, I"m now as cursed as I was blessed: Oh, would the charming hours return, How pleased I"d live, how free from pain, I ne"er would pine, I ne"er would mourn.
_Though barred the hopes of greater gain._
But oh, the blessing I implore Not fate itself can give!
Since time elapsed exists no more, No power can bid it live.
Our days soon vanish into naught, And have no being but in thought.
Whate"er began must end at last, In vain we twice would youth enjoy, In vain would we recall the past, _Or now the future hours employ._
Deceived by hope, and racked by fear, No longer life can please; I"ll then no more its torments bear, Since death so soon can ease.
This hour I"ll die--but, let me pause-- A rising doubt my courage awes.
a.s.sist, ye powers that rule my fate, Alarm my thoughts, my rage restrain, Convince my soul there"s yet a state _That must succeed my present pain._
O Flattery, how potent is thy sway! How wide the bounds of thy pleasing jurisdiction!
_On the story of Pyramus and Thisbe._
SONNET.
The nymph who Pyramus with love inspired Pierces the wall, with equal pa.s.sion fired: Cupid from distant Cyprus thither flies, And views the secret breach with laughing eyes.
Here silence, vocal, mutual vows conveys, And whispering eloquent, their love betrays: Though chained by fear, their voices dare not pa.s.s, Their souls, transmitted through the c.h.i.n.k, embrace.
Ah, woful story of disastrous love!
Ill-fated haste that did their ruin prove!
One death, one grave, unite the faithful pair, And in one common fame their memories share.
No parents can see the deformity of their own children, and still stronger is this self-deception with respect to the offspring of the mind.
At parting, Don Quixote addressing himself to Don Lorenzo: "I know not,"
said he, "whether I have already told your worship, but if I have, let me now repeat the intimation, that when you are inclined to take the shortest and easiest road to the inaccessible summit of the temple of fame, you have no more to do, but to leave on one side the path of poetry, which is pretty narrow, and follow that of knight-errantry, which, though the narrowest of all others, will conduct you to the throne of empire in the turning of a straw."
Riches are able to solder abundance of flaws.
Every sheep to its like.
Let every goose a gander choose.
AN ACCOUNT OF THE MARRIAGE OF CAMACHO THE RICH; AND ALSO THE ADVENTURE OF BASILIUS THE POOR.