Don Quixote_ Translation by Edith Grossman (HarperCollins) - Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra [327]
Don Quixote fell silent when he said this, and the man in green took so long to respond that it seemed he did not know what to say, but after some time he said:
“You were correct, Señor Knight, in deducing my desire from my surprise, but you have not taken away the astonishment that seeing you has caused me, for although, Señor, you say my knowing who you are will take it away, that has not happened; rather, now that I know, I am more amazed and astonished than before. How is it possible that there are knights errant in the world today or that there are printed histories of true knightly deeds? I can’t convince myself that anyone in the world today favors widows, protects maidens, honors married women, and helps orphans, and I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it in your grace with my own eyes. Heaven be praised! With the history that your grace says has been published about your lofty and true chivalric feats, the countless tales of imaginary knights errant will be forgotten, for they have filled the world, harming good customs and damaging and discrediting good histories.”
“There is much to say,” responded Don Quixote, “regarding whether the histories of knights errant are imaginary or not.”
“Well, who can doubt,” said the Man in Green, “that those histories are false?”
“I doubt it,” responded Don Quixote, “and let us say no more; if our journey together is a long one, I hope to God to convince your grace that you have erred in going along with those who are certain they are not true.”
From this last statement of Don Quixote’s, the traveler assumed he must be a simpleton, and he waited to see if any further statements would confirm this, but before they could engage in other conversation, Don Quixote asked him to say who he was, for he had informed him of his circumstances and his life. To which the Man in the Green Coat responded:
“I, Señor Knight of the Sorrowful Face, am a gentleman who is a native of a village where, God willing, we shall have our dinner today. I am more than moderately wealthy, and my name is Don Diego de Miranda; I spend my time with my wife, and my children, and my friends; my pastimes are hunting and fishing, but I keep neither hawk nor greyhounds, only some tame decoy partridges or a few bold ferrets. I have some six dozen books, some in Castilian and some in Latin, some historical and some devotional; books of chivalry have not yet crossed my threshold. I read more profane books than devout ones, as long as the diversion is honest, and the language delights, and the invention amazes and astounds, though there are very few of these in Spain. From time to time I dine with my neighbors and friends, and often I invite them to my table; my meals are carefully prepared and nicely served and in no way meager; I don’t like gossip, and I don’t allow it in my presence; I don’t meddle in other people’s lives, and I don’t pry into what other people do; I hear Mass every day; I distribute alms to the poor but do not boast of doing good works, so as not to allow hypocrisy and vainglory into my heart, for they are enemies that can easily take possession of the most modest heart; I attempt to bring peace to those whom I know are quarreling; I am devoted to Our Lady, and trust always in the infinite mercy of the Lord our God.”
Sancho was very attentive to this recounting of the life and pastimes of the gentleman, and finding it a good and saintly life, and thinking that the man who led it must be able to perform miracles, he quickly dismounted the donkey and hurried to grasp the gentleman’s right stirrup, and with a devout heart, and almost in tears, he kissed his feet over and over again. Seeing this, the gentleman asked:
“What are you doing, brother? What is the reason for these kisses?”
“Let me give them to you,” responded Sancho, “because I think your grace is the first saint with short stirrups that I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“I’m