How Don Quixote was entertained at the castle or house of the Knight of the Green Coat, with other extraordinary matters.

Don Quixote found that Don Diego de Miranda's house was spacious, after the country manner; the arms of the family were over the gate in rough stone,—the buttery in the foreyard, the cellar under the porch, and all around several great jars of the sort commonly made at Toboso; the sight of which bringing to his remembrance his enchanted and transformed Dulcinea, he heaved a deep sigh; and neither minding what he said nor who was by, broke out into the following exclamation:

"O ye Tobosian urns, that awaken in my mind the thoughts of the sweet pledge of my most bitter sorrows!" Don Diego's son, who, as it has been said, was a student, and poetically inclined, heard these words as he came with his mother to welcome him home, and, as well as she, was not a little surprised to see what a strange being his father had brought with him. Don Quixote alighted from Rozinante, and very courteously desiring to kiss her ladyship's hands, "Madam," said Don Diego, "this gentleman is the noble Don Quixote de la Mancha, the wisest and most valiant knight-errant in the world; pray let him find a welcome suitable to his merit and your usual civility." Thereupon Donna Christina (for that was the lady's name) received him very kindly, and with great marks of respect; to which Don Quixote made a proper and handsome return; and then almost the same compliments passed between him and the young gentleman, whom Don Quixote judged by his words to be a man of wit and sense.

While the knight was unarming, Don Lorenzo had leisure to talk with his father about him. "Pray, sir," said he, "who is this gentleman you have brought with you? Considering his name, his aspect, and the title of knight-errant which you give him, neither my mother nor I know what to think of him." "Truly," answered Don Diego, "I do not know what to say to you; all that I can inform you of is, that I have seen him play the maddest pranks in the world, and yet say a thousand sensible things that contradict his actions. But discourse with him yourself, and feel the pulse of his understanding; make use of your sense to judge of his; though, to tell you the truth, I believe his folly exceeds his discretion." Don Lorenzo then went to entertain Don Quixote; and after some discourse had passed between them, "Sir," said the knight, "I am not wholly a stranger to your merit; Don Diego de Miranda, your father, has given me to understand you are a person of excellent parts, and especially a great poet." "Sir," answered the young gentleman, "I may, perhaps, pretend to poetry, but never to be a great poet. It is true, I am somewhat given to rhyming, and love to read good authors; but I am very far from deserving to be thought one of their number." "I do not mislike your modesty," replied Don Quixote; "it is a virtue not often found among poets; for almost every one of them thinks himself the greatest in the world." "There is no rule without an exception," said Don Lorenzo; "and it is not impossible but there may be one who may deserve the name, though he does not think so himself." "That is very unlikely," replied Don Quixote. "But pray, sir, tell me what verses are those that your father says you are so puzzled about? If it should be what we call a gloss or a paraphrase, I understand something of that way of writing, and should be glad to see it. If the composition be designed for a poetical prize, I would advise you only to put in for the second; for the first always goes by favour, and is rather granted to the great quality of the author than to his merit; but as to the next, it is adjudged to the most deserving; so that the third may in a manner be esteemed the second, and the first no more than the third, according to the methods used in our universities of giving degrees. And yet, after all, it is no small matter to gain the honour of being called the first."

Hitherto all is well, thought Don Lorenzo to himself,—I cannot think thee mad yet; let us go on. With that, addressing himself to Don Quixote, "Sir," said he, "you seem to me to have frequented the schools; pray what science has been your particular study?" "That of knight-errantry," answered Don Quixote; "which is as good as that of poetry, and somewhat better too." "I do not know what sort of a science that is," said Don Lorenzo; "nor indeed did I ever hear of it before." "It is a science," answered Don Quixote, "that includes in itself all the other sciences in the world, or at least the greatest part of them. Whoever professes it ought to be learned in the laws, and understand distributive and commutative justice, in order to right all mankind. He ought to be a divine, to give a reason of his faith, and vindicate his religion by dint of argument. He ought to be skilled in physic, especially in the botanic part of it, that he may know the nature of simples, and have recourse to those herbs that can cure wounds; for a knight-errant must not expect to find surgeons in the woods and deserts. He must be an astronomer, to understand the motions of the celestial orbs, and find out by the stars the hour of the night, and the longitude and latitude of the climate on which fortune throws him; and he ought to be well instructed in all the other parts of the mathematics—that science being of constant use to a professor of arms, on many accounts too numerous to be related. I need not tell you that all the divine and moral virtues must centre in his mind. To descend to less material qualifications, he must be able to swim like a fish, know how to shoe a horse, mend a saddle or bridle; and, returning to higher matters, he ought to be inviolably devoted to Heaven and his lady, chaste in his thoughts, modest in words, and liberal and valiant in deeds; patient in afflictions, charitable to the poor; and finally, a maintainer of truth, though it cost him his life to defend it. These are the endowments to constitute a good knight-errant; and now, sir, be you a judge, whether the professors of chivalry have an easy task to perform, and whether such a science may not stand in competition with the most celebrated and best of those that are taught in colleges?" "If it be so," answered Don Lorenzo, "I say it deserves the pre-eminence over all other sciences." "What do you mean, sir, by that, If it be so?" cried Don Quixote. "I mean, sir," cried Don Lorenzo, "that I doubt whether there are now, or ever were, any knights-errant, especially with so many rare accomplishments." "This makes good what I have often said," answered Don Quixote; "most people will not be persuaded there ever were any knights-errant in the world. Now, sir, because I verily believe that unless Heaven will work some miracle to convince them that there have been and still are knights-errant, those incredulous persons are too much wedded to their opinion to admit such a belief, I will not now lose time to endeavour to let you see how much you and they are mistaken; all I design to do is, only to beseech Heaven to convince you of your being in an error, that you may see how useful knights-errant were in former ages, and the vast advantages that would result in ours from the assistance of men of that profession. But now effeminacy, sloth, luxury, and ignoble pleasure triumph, for the punishment of our sins." Now, said Lorenzo to himself, our gentleman has already betrayed his blind side; but yet he gives a colour of reason to his extravagance, and I were a fool to think otherwise.

Here they were called to dinner, which ended the discourse; and at that time Don Diego, taking his son aside, asked him what he thought of the stranger. "I think, sir," said Don Lorenzo, "that it is not in the power of all the physicians in the world to cure his distemper. He is mad past recovery; but yet he has lucid intervals." In short, they dined; and their entertainment proved such as the old gentleman had told the knight he used to give his guests—neat, plentiful, and well ordered. But that which Don Quixote most admired was, the extraordinary silence he observed through the whole house, as if it had been a monastery of Carthusians.