Volume III ... 293
Preface ... 293
Approbation ... 296
Book I ... 299
Chapter I ... 299
Chapter II ... 305
Chapter III ... 308
Chapter IV ... 312
Chapter V ... 315
Chapter VI ... 318
Chapter VII ... 321
Chapter VIII ... 325
Chapter IX ... 329
Chapter X ... 331
Chapter XI ... 336
Chapter XII .. 339
Chapter XIII ... 342
Chapter XIV ... 346
Chapter XV ... 351
Chapter XVI ... 353
Chapter XVII ... 358
Book II ... 364
Chapter I ... 364
Chapter II ... 368
Chapter III ... 372
Chapter IV ... 377
Chapter V ... 380
Chapter VI ... 385
Chapter VII ... 390
Chapter VIII ... 394
Chapter IX ... 401
Chapter X ... 406
Chapter XI ... 409
Chapter XII ... 412
Chapter XIII ... 416
Chapter XIV ... 418
Chapter XV ... 423
Book III ... 431
Chapter I ... 431
Chapter II ... 435
Chapter III ... 439
Chapter IV ... 443
Chapter V ... 446
Volume IV ... 447
Book III ... 447
Chapter VI ... 447
Chapter VII ... 450
Chapter VIII ... 452
Chapter IX ... 455
Chapter X ... 461
Chapter XI ... 464
Chapter XII ... 467
Chapter XIII ... 472
Chapter XIV ... 475
Chapter XV ... 477
Chapter XVI ... 482
Chapter XVII ... 487
Chapter XVIII ... 493
Chapter XIX ... 498
Chapter XX ... 502
Book IV ... 507
Chapter I ... 507
Chapter II ... 510
Chapter III ... 514
Chapter IV ... 519
Chapter V ... 521
Chapter VI ... 523
Chapter VII ... 530
Chapter VIII ... 534
Chapter IX ... 542
Chapter X ... 543
Chapter XI ... 550
Chapter XII ... 556
Chapter XIII ... 558
Chapter XIV ... 561
Chapter XV ... 564
Chapter XVI ... 567
Chapter XVII ... 570
Chapter XVIII ... 572
Chapter XIX ... 576
Chapter XX ... 580
Chapter XXI ... 582
Chapter XXII ... 585
PLATES
Plate III, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on the road. ... i
Plate XII, Don Quixote Defends His Armour. ... 34
Plate I, Sancho Being Tossed. ... 89
Plate VIII, Don Quixote Valiantly Charging the Herd of Sheep. ...
93
Plate XI, Sancho’s Ass Stolen As They Sleep. ... 120
Plate XIV, The Tattered Gentleman Tells His Tale. ... 126
Plate IX, Don Quixote Displays the Bason. ... 257
Plate II, Don Quixote Worships His Lady. ... 334
Plate XIII, Don Quixote Braves the Lions. ... 360
Plate IV, Don Quixote Meets the Soldiers. ... 406
Plate VII, Sancho Panza and the Duchess and Her Ladies. ... 431
Plate VI, Governor Sancho Panza and the Woman. ... 474
Plate V, Don Quixote and the Shepherdesses. ... 527
Plate XVI, Don Quixote Attempts to Scourge Sancho Panza. ... 535
Plate X, Don Quixote Dancing. ... 546
Plate XV, Don Quixote on His Death-Bed. ... 585
THE LIFE OF CERVANTES.
Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra was at once the glory and reproach of
Spain; for, if his admirable genius and heroick spirit conduced to the
honour of his country, the distress and obscurity which attended his old
age, as effectually redounded to her disgrace. Had he lived amidst
Gothick darkness and barbarity, where no records were used, and letters
altogether unknown, we might have expected to derive from tradition a
number of particulars relating to the family and fortune of a man so
remarkably admired even in his own time. But one would imagine pains had
been taken to throw a veil of oblivion over the personal concerns of
this excellent author. No enquiry hath as yet been able to ascertain the
place of his nativity; and, although in his works he has declared
himself a gentleman by birth, no house has hitherto laid claim to such
an illustrious descendant.
One author says he was born at Esquivias[1]; but offers no argument in
support of his assertion: and probably the conjecture was founded upon
the encomiums which Cervantes himself bestows on that place, to which he
gives the epithet of renowned, in his preface to Persiles and
Sigismunda. Others affirm he first drew breath in Lucena, grounding
their opinion upon a vague tradition which there prevails; and a third
set take it for granted that he was a native of Seville, because there
are families in that city known by the names of Cervantes and
Saavedra[2]; and our author mentions his having, in his early youth,
seen plays acted by Lope Rueda, who was a Sevilian. These, indeed, are
presumptions that deserve some regard, though far from implying certain
information, they scarce even amount to probable conjecture; nay, these
very circumstances seem to disprove the supposition; for, had he been
actually descended from those families, they would in all likelihood
have preserved some memorials of his birth, which Don Nicholas Antonio
would have recorded, in speaking of his fellow-citizen. All these
pretensions are now generally set aside in favour of Madrid, which
claims the honour of having produced Cervantes, and builds her title on
an expression in his Voyage to Parnassus[3], which, in my opinion, is
altogether equivocal and inconclusive.
In the midst of such undecided contention, if I may be allowed to hazard
a conjecture, I would suppose that there was something mysterious in his
extraction, which he had no inclination to explain, and that his family
had domestick reasons for maintaining the like reserve. Without
admitting some such motive, we can hardly account for his silence on a
subject that would have afforded him an opportunity to indulge that
self-respect which he so honestly displays in the course of his
writings. Unless we conclude that he was instigated to renounce all
connection with his kindred and allies, by some contemptuous slight,
mortifying repulse, or real injury he had sustained; a supposition
which, I own, is not at all improbable, considering the jealous
sensibility of the Spaniards in general, and the warmth of resentment
peculiar to our author, which glows through his productions,
unrestrained by all the fears of poverty, and all the maxims of old age
and experience.
Whatever may have been the place of his nativity, we gather from the
preface to his novels, that he was born in the year 1549: and his
writings declare that his education was by no means neglected; for, over
and above a natural fund of humour and invention, he appears to have
possessed a valuable stock of acquired knowledge; we find him intimately
acquainted with the Latin classicks, well read in the history of
nations, versed in the philosophy, rhetorick, and divinity of the
schools, tinctured with astrology and geography, conversant with the
best Italian authors, and perfectly master of his own Castilian
language. His genius, which was too delicate and volatile to engage in
the severer studies, directed his attention to the productions of taste
and polite literature; which, while they amused his fancy, enlarged,
augmented, and improved his ideas, and taught him to set proper bounds
to the excursions of his imagination.
Thus qualified, he could not fail to make pertinent observations in his
commerce with mankind: the peculiarities of character could not escape
his penetration; whatever he saw became familiar to his judgment and
understanding; and every scene he exhibits is a just well-drawn
characteristick picture of human life.
How he exercised these talents in his youth, and in what manner the
first years of his manhood were employed, we are not able to explain,
because history and tradition are altogether silent on the subject;
unless we admit the authority of one author[4], who says he was
secretary to the Duke of Alva, without alledging any one fact or
argument in support of his assertion. Had he actually enjoyed a post of
such importance, we should not, in all probability, have wanted
materials to supply this chasm in his life; nor should we find him
afterwards in the station of a common soldier.
Others imagine that he served as a volunteer in Flanders, where he was
raised to the rank of ensign in the company commanded by Don Diego de
Urbina; grounding this belief on the supposition that the history of the
captive related in the first part of Don Quixote, is a literal detail of
his own adventures. But this notion is rejected by those who consider
that Cervantes would hardly have contented himself with the humble
appellation of Soldier, which, in speaking of himself, he constantly
assumes, had he ever appeared in any superior station of a military
character. In a word, we have very little information touching the
transactions of his life, but what he himself is pleased to give through
the course of his writings; and from this we learn, that he was
chamberlain to Cardinal Aquaviva in Rome, and followed the profession of
a soldier for some years, in the army commanded by Marco Antonio
Colona[5]; who was, by Pope Pius V. appointed general of the
ecclesiastical forces employed against the Turks, and received the
consecrated standard from the hands of his holiness, in the church of
St. Peter.
Under this celebrated captain, Cervantes embarked in the Christian fleet
commanded by Don John of Austria, who obtained over the Turks the
glorious victory of Lepanto, where our author lost his left hand by the
shot of an arquebus. This mutilation, which redounded so much to his
honour, he has taken care to record on divers occasions: and, indeed, it
is very natural to suppose his imagination would dwell upon such an
adventure, as the favourite incident of his life. I wish he had told us
what recompence he received for his services, and what consolation he
enjoyed for the loss of his limb; which must have effectually
disqualified him for the office of a common soldier, and reduced him to
the necessity of exercising some other employment.
Perhaps it was at this period he entered into the service of Cardinal
Aquaviva, to whose protection he was entitled by his gallantry and
misfortune; and now, in all likelihood, he had leisure and opportunity
to prosecute his favourite studies, to cultivate the muse, and render
himself conspicuous by the productions of his genius; which was known
and admired by several authors of distinction, even before his
captivity; for Louis Galvez De Montalvo, in his poem prefixed to
Galatea, says, “The world lamented his misfortune in tears, and the muse
expressed a widow’s grief at his absence.” I will even venture to
suppose, that, in this interval, his situation was such as enabled him
to raise an independent fortune; for we find him afterwards relieving
the wants of his fellow-captives in Barbary, with such liberality as
denoted the affluence of his own circumstances; and, in his Voyage to
Parnassus, which was published in his old age, Apollo upbraids him with
want of œconomy; and reminds him of his having once made his own
fortune, which in the sequel he squandered away.
I make no doubt but this was the most fortunate period of Saavedra’s
life; during which, he reformed and improved the Spanish theatre, and
ushered into the world a number of dramatick performances, which were
acted with universal applause. He tells us that he had seen plays acted
by the great Lope De Rueda[6], who was a native of Seville, and
originally a gold-beater. When this genius first appeared, the Spanish
drama was in its infancy: one large sack or bag contained all the
furniture and dress of the theatre, consisting of four sheep skin
jackets with the wool on, trimmed with gilt leather; four beards and
perriwigs, and the same number of pastoral crooks. The piece was no
other than a dialogue or eclogue between two or three swains and a
shepherdess, seasoned with comick interludes, or rather low buffoonery,
exhibited in the characters of a black-moor, a bravo, a fool, and a
Biscayan. The stage itself was composed of a few boards, raised about
three feet from the ground, upon four benches or forms. There was no
other scenery than a blanket or horse-cloth stretched across, behind
which the musicians sung old ballads, unaccompanied by any sort of
instrument. Lope de Rueda not only composed theatrical pieces, but also
acted in every character with great reputation; in which he was
succeeded by Naharro, a Toledan, who improved and augmented the
decorations; brought the musick from behind the blanket, and placed it
forwards to the audience; deprived the actors of their counterfeit
beards, without which no man’s part had been hitherto performed;
invented machines, clouds, thunder, and lightning; and introduced
challenges and combats with incredible success. But still the drama was
rude, unpolished, and irregular; and the fable, though divided into five
acts, was almost altogether destitute of manners, propriety, and
invention.
From this uncultivated state of ignorance and barbarity, Cervantes
raised the Spanish theatre to dignity and esteem, by enriching his
dramatick productions with moral sentiments, regularity of plan, and
propriety of character; together with the graces of poetry, and the
beauties of imagination. He published thirty pieces, which were
represented at Madrid with universal applause; so that he may be justly
deemed the patriarch of the Spanish drama; and, in this particular,
revered above Lope de Vega himself, who did not appear until he had left
off writing for the stage.
In the year 1574, he was unfortunately taken by a Barbary corsair, and
conveyed to Algiers, where he was sold to a Moor, and remained a slave
for the space of five years and a half: during which, he exhibited
repeated proofs of the most enterprizing genius and heroick generosity.
Though we know not on what occasion he fell into the hands of the
Barbarians, he himself gives us to understand, in the story of the
Captive, that he resided at Algiers in the reign of Hassan Aga, a
ruffian renegado, whose cruelty he describes in these terms. ‘He was
every day hanging one, impaling another, maiming a third, upon such
slight occasions, frequently without any cause assigned, that the Turks
themselves owned he acted thus out of mere wantonness and barbarity, as
being naturally of a savage disposition, and an inveterate enemy to the
whole human race. The person who used the greatest freedom with him, was
one Saavedra, a Spanish soldier; who, though he did many things which
those people will not soon forget, in attempting to regain his liberty,
he never gave him one blow, nor ordered him once to be chastised, nor
even chid him with one hasty word; and yet the least of all his pranks
was sufficient, as we thought, to bring him to the stake; nay, he
himself was more than once afraid of being impaled alive. If time would
permit, I could here recount some of that soldier’s actions, which
perhaps might entertain and surprize you more than the relation of my
own story.’
Thus Cervantes ascertains the time of his own slavery, delineates with
great exactness the character of that inhuman tyrant, who is recorded in
history as a monster of cruelty and avarice; and proves to
demonstration, that his own story was quite different from that which
the Captive related of himself. Saavedra’s adventures at Algiers were
truly surprizing; and though we cannot favour the publick with a
substantial detail of every incident, we have found means to learn such
particulars of his conduct, as cannot fail to reflect an additional
lustre on a character which has been long the object of admiration.
We are informed by a respectable historian[7], who was his fellow-slave,
and an eye-witness of the transaction, that Don Miguel de Cervantes, a
gallant, enterprizing, Spanish cavalier, who, though he never wanted
money, could not obtain his release without paying an exorbitant ransom,
contrived a scheme for setting himself free, together with fourteen
unhappy gentlemen of his own country, who were all in the like
circumstances of thraldom under different patrons. His first step was to
redeem one Viana, a bold Mayorcan mariner, in whom he could confide, and
with whom he sent letters to the governor of that island, desiring, in
the name of himself and the other gentlemen captives, that he would send
over a brigantine under the direction of Viana, who had undertaken, at
an appointed time, to touch upon a certain part of the coast, where he
should find them ready to embark. In consequence of this agreement, they
withdrew themselves from their respective masters, and privately
repaired to a garden near the sea-side, belonging to a renegado Greek,
whose name was Al-Caid Hassan; where they were concealed in a cave, and
carefully screened from the knowledge of the owner, by his gardener, who
was a Christian captive. Viana punctually performed his promise, and
returned in a vessel, with which he was supplied by the governor of
Mayorca; but some Moors chancing to pass just as he anchored at the
appointed place, the coast was instantly alarmed, and he found himself
obliged to relinquish the enterprize. Meanwhile, the captives being
ignorant of this accident, remained in the cavern, which they never
quitted except in the night, and were maintained by the liberality of
Cervantes, for the space of seven months; during which the necessaries
of life were brought to them by a Spanish slave, known by the
appellation of El Dorador, or the Gilder. No wonder that their hope and
patience began to fail, and their constitutions to be affected by the
dampness of the place, and the grief of their disappointment, which Don
Miguel endeavoured to alleviate by the exercise of his reason,
good-humour, and humanity; till at last their purveyor turned traitor;
and, allured by the hope of receiving a considerable reward, discovered
the whole affair to Hassan Basha. This tyrant, transported with joy at
the information, immediately ordered the guardian Basha, with a body of
armed men, to follow the perfidious wretch, who conducted them to the
cave, where they seized those unhappy fugitives, together with their
faithful gardener, and forthwith carried the whole number to the publick
bagnio, except Cervantes, touching whose person they had received
particular directions from Hassan, who knew his character, and had been
long desirous of possessing such a notable slave. At present, however,
his intention was to persuade Don Miguel to accuse Oliver, one of the
fathers of the redemption then at Algiers, as an accomplice in the
scheme they had projected, that he might, on this pretence, extort from
the friar, by way of composition, the greatest part of the money which
had been collected for the ransom of Christian slaves. Accordingly, he
endeavoured to inveigle Saavedra with artful promises, and to intimidate
him with dreadful threats and imprecations, into the confession or
impeachment on which he wanted to lay hold: but that generous Spaniard,
with a resolution peculiar to himself, rejected all his offers, and
despising the terrors of his menaces, persisted in affirming that he had
no associate in the plan of their escape, which was purely the result of
his own reflection.
After having in vain tampered with his integrity, in repeated trials
that lasted for several days, he restored him and his companions to
their respective patrons, notwithstanding the remonstrances of Al Caid
Hassan, owner of the garden in which they had been apprehended; who,
probably with a view to manifest his own innocence, strenuously exhorted
the Basha to inflict the most exemplary punishment on the offenders, and
actually put his own gardener to death. Cervantes had so often
signalized his genius, courage, and activity, that Hassan resolved to
make him his own, and purchased him from his master for five hundred
ducats; then he was heard to say, ‘While I hold that maimed Spaniard in
safe custody, my vessels, slaves, and even my whole city, are secure.’
For he had not only concerted a number of schemes for the deliverance of
his fellow-captives, but his designs had even aspired to the conquest of
Algiers, and he was at four different times on the point of being
impaled, hooked, or burned alive. Any single attempt of that kind would
have been deemed a capital offence, under the mildest government that
ever subsisted among the Moors; but there was something in the character
or personal deportment of Cervantes, which commanded respect from
barbarity itself: for we find that Hassan Basha treated him with
incredible lenity, and his redemption was afterwards effected by the
intercession of a trinitarian father, for a thousand ducats[8].
From this account of his behaviour in Barbary, it appears that he acted
a far more important part than that of a poor mutilated soldier: he is
dignified with the appellation of Don Miguel De Cervantes, and
represented as a cavalier whose affluent fortune enabled him to gratify
the benevolence and liberality of his disposition. We must therefore
take it for granted, that he acquired this wealth after the battle of
Lepanto, where he surely would not have fought as a private soldier,
could he have commanded either money or interest to procure a more
conspicuous station in the service. Be that as it will, his conduct at
Algiers reflects honour upon his country; and while we applaud him as an
author, we ought to revere him as a man; nor will his modesty be less
the object of our admiration, if we consider that he has, upon this
occasion, neglected the fairest opportunity a man could possibly enjoy,
of displaying his own character to the greatest advantage, and indulging
that self complacency which is so natural to the human heart.
As he returned to his own country with those principles by which he had
been distinguished in his exile, and an heart entendered and exercised
in sympathizing with his fellow-creatures in distress; we may suppose he
could not advert to the lessons of Oeconomy, which a warm imagination
seldom or never retains; but that his heart glowed with all the
enthusiasm of friendship, and that his bounty extended to every object
of compassion which fell within his view.
Notwithstanding all the shafts of ridicule which he hath so successfully
levelled against the absurdities of the Spanish romance, we can plainly
perceive from his own writings, that he himself had a turn for chivalry:
his life was a chain of extraordinary adventures, his temper was
altogether heroick, and his actions were, without doubt, influenced by
the most romantick notions of honour.
Spain has produced a greater number of these characters than we meet
with upon record in any other nation; and whether such singularity be
the effect of natural or moral causes, or of both combined, I shall not
pretend to determine. Let us only affirm, that this disposition is not
confined to any particular people or period of time: even in our own
country, and in these degenerate days, we sometimes find individuals
whom nature seems to have intended for members of those ideal societies
which never did, and perhaps never can exist, but in imagination; and
who remind us of the characters described by Homer and Plutarch, as
patriots sacrificing their lives for their country, and heroes
encountering danger, not with indifference and contempt, but with all
the rapture and impetuosity of a passionate admirer.
If we consider Cervantes as a man inspired by such sentiments, and
actuated by such motives; and at the same time, from his known
sensibility and natural complexion, suppose him to have been addicted to
pleasure and the amusements of gallantry; we cannot be surprized to find
his finances in a little time exhausted, and the face of his affairs
totally reversed. It was probably in the decline of his fortune, that he
resolved to re-appear in the character of an author, and stand candidate
for the publick favour, which would be a certain resource in the day of
trouble: he therefore composed his Galatea, in six books, which was
published in the year 1584, dedicated to Ascanio Colonna, at that time
abbot of St. Sophia, and afterwards cardinal of the holy cross of
Jerusalem.
The rich vein of invention, the tenderness of passion, the delicacy of
sentiment, the power and purity of diction, displayed in this
performance, are celebrated by Don Louis De Vargas Manrique, in a
commendatory sonnet, which is a very elegant and honourable testimony of
our author’s success. Nevertheless, the production has been censured for
the irregularity of its stile, the incorrectness of its versification,
and the multiplicity of its incidents, which incumber and perplex the
principal narration; and, over and above these objections, the design is
not brought to a conclusion, so that the plan appears meagre and
defective. He himself pleads guilty to some part of the charge, in the
sentence pronounced by the curate, in the first part of Don Quixote;
who, when the barber takes up the Galatea of Miguel De Cervantes, ‘That
same Cervantes,’ says he, ‘has been an intimate friend of mine these
many years; and is to my certain knowledge, more conversant with
misfortunes than with poetry. There is a good vein of invention in his
book, which proposes something, though it concludes nothing. We must
wait for the second part which he promises; and then, perhaps, his
amendment may deserve a full pardon, which is now denied.’
Whether the success of Galatea encouraged our author to oblige the world
with some of those theatrical pieces, which we have already mentioned as
the first regular productions of the Spanish drama, or the whole number
of these was written and acted before his captivity, I have not been
able to determine; but, in all probability, his first essays of that
kind were exhibited in the interval between the battle of Lepanto and
the commencement of his slavery, and the rest published after his
redemption.
Unless we suppose him to have been employed at Madrid in this manner for
his subsistence, we must pass over two and twenty years, which afford us
no particular information touching the life of Saavedra; though, in that
period, he married Donna Cataline De Salazar, dissipated the remains of
his fortune, experienced the ingratitude of those he had befriended in
his prosperity, and after having sustained a series of mortifications
and distress, was committed to prison in consequence of the debts he had
contracted.
In this dismal situation, he composed that performance which is the
delight and admiration of all Europe; I mean, the first part of Don
Quixote, which he wrote with a view to ridicule and discredit those
absurd romances, filled with the most nauseous improbability and
unnatural extravagance, which had debauched the taste of mankind, and
were indeed a disgrace to common sense and reason. Not that Cervantes
had any intention to combat the spirit of knight-errantry, so prevalent
among the Spaniards; on the contrary, I am persuaded he would have been
the first man in the nation to stand up for the honour and defence of
chivalry; which, when restrained within due bounds, was an excellent
institution, that inspired the most heroick sentiments of courage and
patriotism, and on many occasions conduced to the peace and safety of
the commonwealth. In the character of Don Quixote, he exhibits a good
understanding perverted by reading romantick stories, which had no
foundation in nature or in fact. His intellects are not supposed to have
been damaged by the perusal of authentick histories, which recount the
exploits of knights and heroes who really existed; but his madness seems
to have flowed from his credulity, and a certain wildness of
imagination, which was captivated by the marvellous representation of
dwarfs, giants, necromancers, and other preternatural extravagance. From
these legends he formed his whole plan of conduct; and, though nothing
can be more ridiculous than the terms upon which he is described to have
commenced knight-errant, at a time when the regulations of society had
rendered the profession unnecessary, and indeed illegal; the criterion
of his frenzy consists in that strange faculty of mistaking and
confounding the most familiar objects with the fantastical illusions
which those romances had engendered in his fancy. So that our author did
not enter the lists against the memory of the real substantial chivalry,
which he held in veneration; but with design to expel an hideous phantom
that possessed the brains of the people, waging perpetual war with true
genius and invention.
The success of this undertaking must have exceeded his most sanguine
hopes. Don Quixote no sooner made his appearance, than the old romances
vanished like mist before the sun. The ridicule was so striking, that
even the warmest admirers of Amadis and his posterity seemed to awake
from a dream, and reflected with amazement upon their former
infatuation. Every dispassionate reader was charmed with the humorous
characters of the knight and squire, who straight became the favourites
of his fancy; he was delighted with the variety of entertaining
incidents, and considered the author’s good sense and purity of stile
with admiration and applause.
He informs us, by the mouth of the batchelor Sampson Carrasco, that even
before the publication of the second part, twelve thousand copies of the
first were already in print, besides a new impression then working off
at Antwerp. ‘The very children,’ says he, ‘handle it, boys read it, men
understand, and old people applaud the performance. It is no sooner laid
down by one, than another takes it up, some struggling, and some
entreating for a sight of it; in fine, this history is the most
delightful and least prejudicial entertainment that ever was seen; for,
in the whole book, there is not the least shadow of a dishonourable
word, nor one thought unworthy of a good catholick.’
Nor was this applause confined to the kingdoms and territories of Spain.
The fame of Don Quixote diffused itself through all the civilized
countries of Europe; and the work was so much admired in France, that
some gentlemen who attended the French ambassador to Madrid, in a
conversation with the licentiate Marques Torres, chaplain to the
archbishop of Toledo, expressed their surprize that Cervantes was not
maintained from the publick treasury, as the honour and pride of the
Spanish nation. Nay, this work, which was first published at Madrid in
the year 1605, had the good fortune to extort the approbation of royalty
itself: Philip III. standing in a balcony of his palace, and surveying
the adjacent country, perceived a student on the bank of the Manzanares,
reading a book, and every now and then striking his forehead and
bursting out into loud fits of laughter. His majesty having observed his
emotions for some time, ‘That student,’ said he, ‘is either mad, or
reading Don Quixote.’ Some of the courtiers in attendance, had the
curiosity to go out and enquire, and actually found the scholar engaged
in the adventures of our Manchegan.
As the book was dedicated to the Duke de Bejar, we may naturally suppose
that nobleman, either by his purse or interest, obtained the author’s
discharge from prison; for he congratulates himself upon the protection
of such a patron, in certain verses prefixed to the book, and supposed
to be written by Urganda the unknown. He afterwards attracted the notice
of the Count De Lemos, who seems to have been his chief and favourite
benefactor; and even enjoyed a small share of the countenance of the
cardinal archbishop of Toledo: so that we cannot, with any probability,
espouse the opinion of those who believe his Don Quixote was intended as
a satire upon the administration of that nobleman. Nor is there the
least plausible reason for thinking his aim was to ridicule the conduct
of Charles V. whose name he never mentions without expressions of the
utmost reverence and regard. Indeed, his own indigence was a more severe
satire than any thing he could have invented against the ministry of
Philip III. for, though their protection kept him from starving, it did
not exempt him from the difficulties and mortifications of want; and no
man of taste and humanity can reflect upon his character and
circumstances, without being shocked at the barbarous indifference of
his patrons. What he obtained was not the offering of liberality and
taste, but the scanted alms of compassion: he was not respected as a
genius, but relieved as a beggar.
One would hardly imagine that an author could languish in the shade of
poverty and contempt, while his works afforded entertainment and delight
to whole nations, and even sovereigns were found in the number of his
admirers; but Cervantes had the misfortune to write in the reign of a
prince whose disposition was sordid, and whose talents, naturally mean,
had received no manner of cultivation; so that his head was altogether
untinctured with science, and his heart an utter stranger to the virtues
of beneficence. Nor did the liberal arts derive the least encouragement
from his ministry, which was ever weak and wavering. The Duke De Lerma
seems to have been a proud, irresolute, shallow-brained politician,
whose whole attention was employed in preserving the good graces of his
master; though, notwithstanding all his efforts, he still fluctuated
between favour and disgrace, and at last was fain to shelter himself
under the hat of a cardinal. As for the Count de Lemos, who had some
share in the administration, he affected to patronize men of genius,
though he had hardly penetration enough to distinguish merit; and the
little taste he possessed was so much warped by vanity and self-conceit,
that there was no other avenue to his friendship but the road of
adulation and panegyrick: we need not, therefore, wonder that his bounty
was so sparingly bestowed upon Cervantes, whose conscious worth and
spirit would not suffer him to practise such servility of prostration.
Rather than stoop so far beneath the dignity of his own character, he
resolved to endure the severest stings of fortune; and, for a series of
years, wrestled with inconceivable vexation and distress. Even in this
low situation, he was not exempted from the ill offices of those who
envied his talents and his fame. The bad writers vilified his genius,
and censured his morals; they construed Don Quixote into an impertinent
libel, and endeavoured to depreciate his Exemplary Novels, which were
published at Madrid, in the year 1613. This performance is such as might
be expected from the invention and elegance of Cervantes, and was
accordingly approved by the best judges of his time. Indeed, it must
have been a great consolation to him, in the midst of his misfortunes,
to see himself celebrated by the choicest wits of Spain; and, among the
rest, by the renowned Lope De Vega, prince of the Spanish theatre, who,
both during the life and after the death of our author, mentioned him in
the most respectful terms of admiration[9].
But, of all the insults to which he was exposed from the malevolence of
mankind, nothing provoked him so much, as the outrage he sustained, from
the insolence and knavery of an author, who, while he was preparing the
second part of Don Quixote for the press, in the year 1614, published a
performance, intitled, The Second Volume of the sage Hidalgo Don Quixote
De La Mancha, containing his third sally. Composed by the licentiate
Alonzo Fernandez De Avellaneda, a native of Tordesillas; dedicated to
the alcalde, regidors, and gentlemen, of the noble town of Argamasilla,
the happy country of Don Quixote De La Mancha. This impostor, not
contented with having robbed Cervantes of his plan, and, as some people
believe, of a good part of his copy, attacked him personally, in his
preface, in the most virulent manner; accusing him of envy, malice,
peevishness, and rancour; reproaching him with his poverty, and taxing
him with having abused his cotemporary writers, particularly Lope De
Vega, under the shadow of whose reputation this spurious writer takes
shelter, pretending to have been lashed, together with that great
genius, in some of our author’s critical reflections.
In spite of the disguise he assumed, Cervantes discovered him to be an
Arragonian; and in all probability knew his real name, which, however,
he did not think proper to transmit to posterity; and his silence in
this particular was the result either of discretion, or contempt. If he
was a person of consequence, as some people suppose, it was undoubtedly
prudent in Cervantes to pretend ignorance of his true name and quality;
because, under the shadow of that pretence, he could the more securely
chastise him for his dullness, scurrility, and presumption: but if he
knew him to be a man of no character or estimation in life, he ought to
have deemed him altogether unworthy of his resentment; for his
production was such as could not possibly prejudice our author’s
interest or reputation. It is altogether void of invention and
propriety; the characters of Don Quixote and Sancho are flattened into
the most insipid absurdity; the adventures are unentertaining and
improbable; and the stile barbarous, swoln, and pedantick.
Howsoever Saavedra’s fortune might have been affected by this fraudulent
anticipation, I am persuaded, from the consideration of his magnanimity,
that he would have looked upon the attempt with silent disdain, had the
fictitious Avellaneda abstained from personal abuse; but finding himself
so injuriously upbraided with crimes which his soul abhorred, he gave a
loose to his indignation and ridicule, which appear through the preface
and second part of Don Quixote, in a variety of animadversions equally
witty and severe. Indeed, the genuine continuation, which was published
in the year 1615, convinced the world that no other person could
compleat the plan of the original projector. It was received with
universal joy and approbation; and in a very little time translated into
the languages of Italy, France, England, and other countries, where,
though the knight appeared to disadvantage, he was treated as a noble
stranger of superlative merit and distinction.
In the year after the publication of his novels, Cervantes ushered into
the world a poem called, A Voyage to Parnassus, dedicated to Don Rodrigo
De Tapia, knight of St. Jago. This performance is an ironical satire on
the Spanish poets of his time, written in imitation of Cæsar Caporali,
who lashed his cotemporaries of Italy under the same title; though
Saavedra seems to have had also another scope, namely, to complain of
the little regard that was paid to his own age and talents. Those who
will not allow this piece to be an excellent poem, cannot help owning
that it abounds with wit and manly satire; and that nothing could be a
more keen reproach upon the taste and patronage of the times, than the
dialogue that passes between him and Apollo; to whom, after having made
a bold, yet just recapitulation of his own success in writing, he
pathetically complains, that he was denied a seat among his brethren;
and takes occasion to observe, that rewards were not bestowed according
to merit, but in consequence of interest and favour.
He has, upon other occasions, made severe remarks upon the scarcity of
patrons among the nobility of Spain, and even aimed the shafts of his
satire at the throne itself. In his dedication of the second part of Don
Quixote, to the Count De Lemos, he proceeds in this ironical strain:
‘But no person expresses a greater desire of seeing my Don Quixote, than
the mighty Emperor of China, who, about a month ago, sent me a letter by
an express, desiring, or rather beseeching, me to supply him with a copy
of that performance, as he intended to build and endow a college for
teaching the Spanish language from my book, and was resolved to make me
rector or principal teacher. I asked if his majesty had sent me any
thing towards defraying the charges; and, when he answered in the
negative, “Why, then, friend,” said I, “you may return to China as soon
as you please; for my own part, I am not in a state of health to
undertake such a long journey: besides, I am not only weak in body, but
still weaker in purse, and so I am the emperor’s most humble servant.”
In short, emperor for emperor, and monarch for monarch, to take one with
the other, and set the hare’s head against the goose giblets, there is
the noble Count De Lemos, at Naples, who, without any rectorships,
supports, protects, and favours me, to my heart’s content.’
This facetious paragraph certainly alludes to some unsubstantial promise
he had received from the court. At the same time I cannot help
observing, that his gratitude and acknowledgment to the Count De Lemos,
seem to have greatly exceeded the obligation; for, at this very time,
while he is extolling his generosity, he gives us to understand that his
circumstances were extremely indigent.
At the very time of this dedication, the poverty of Cervantes had
increased to such a degree of distress, that he was fain to sell eight
plays, and as many interludes, to Juan Villaroel, because he had neither
means nor credit for printing them at his own expence. These theatrical
pieces, which were published at Madrid in the year 1615, though counted
inferior to many productions of Lope De Vega, have nevertheless merit
enough to persuade the discerning reader that they would have succeeded
in the representation; but he was no favourite with the players, who
have always arrogated to themselves the prerogative of judging and
rejecting the productions of the drama; and, as they forbore to offer,
he disdained to solicit their acceptance. The truth is, he considered
actors as the servants of the publick, who, though entitled to a certain
degree of favour and encouragement for the entertainment they afforded,
ought ever to demean themselves with modesty and respect for their
benefactors; and he had often professed himself an enemy to the
self-sufficiency, insolence, and outrageous behaviour of the king’s
company; some of whom had been guilty of the most flagrant crimes, and
even committed murder with impunity.
It is sometimes in the power of the most inconsiderable wretch to
mortify a character of the highest dignity. Cervantes, notwithstanding
his contempt of such petty criticks, could not help feeling the
petulance of a puny player, who presumed to depreciate the talents of
this venerable father of the stage. ‘Some years ago[10],’ says he, ‘I
had recourse again to my old amusement; and, on the supposition that the
times were not altered since my name was in some estimation, I composed
a few pieces for the stage; but found no birds in last year’s nests: my
meaning is, I could find no player who would ask for my performances,
though the whole company knew they were finished; so that I threw them
aside, and condemned them to perpetual silence. About this time, a
certain bookseller told me he would have purchased my plays, had he not
been prevented by an actor, who said, that from my prose much might be
expected, but nothing from my verse. I confess, I was not a little
chagrined at hearing this declaration; and said to myself, “Either I am
quite altered, or the times are greatly improved, contrary to common
observation, by which the past is always preferred to the present.” I
revised my comedies, together with some interludes which had lain some
time in a corner, and I did not think them so wretched, but that they
might appeal from the muddy brain of this player, to the clearer
perception of other actors less scrupulous and more judicious. Being
quite out of humour, I parted with the copy to a bookseller, who offered
me a tolerable price: I took his money, without giving myself any
farther trouble about the actors, and he printed them as you see. I
could wish they were the best in the world; or, at least, possessed of
some merit. Gentle reader, thou wilt soon see how they are, and if thou
canst find any thing to thy liking, and afterwards should happen to meet
with my back-biting actor, desire him, from me, to take care and mend
himself; for I offend no man: as for the plays, thou mayest tell him,
they contain no glaring nonsense, no palpable absurdities.’
The source of this indifference towards Cervantes, we can easily
explain, by observing that Lope De Vega had, by this time, engrossed the
theatre, and the favour of the publick, to such a degree, as ensured
success to all his performances; so that the players would not run any
risk of miscarriage, in exhibiting the productions of an old neglected
veteran, who had neither inclination nor ability to support his
theatrical pieces by dint of interest and cabal. Far from being able to
raise factions in his favour, he could hardly subsist in the most
parsimonious manner, and in all probability would have actually starved,
had not the charity of the Count De Lemos enabled him barely to breathe.
The last work he finished was a novel, intitled, The Troubles of
Persiles and Sigismunda; which, however, he did not live to see in
print. This child of his old age he mentions in the warmest terms of
paternal affection[11], preferring it to all the rest of his
productions; a compliment which every author pays to the youngest
offspring of his genius; for, whatever sentence the world may pronounce,
every man thinks he daily improves in experience and understanding; and
that in refusing the pre-eminence to his last effort, he would fairly
own the decay and degeneracy of his own talents.
We must not, however, impute the encomiums which Cervantes bestows upon
his last performance to this fond partiality alone; because the book has
indubitable merit; and, as he himself says, may presume to vie with the
celebrated romance of Heliodorus[12], in elegance of diction,
entertaining incidents, and fecundity of invention. Before this novel
saw the light, our author was seized with a dropsy, which gradually
conveyed him to his grave; and nothing could give a more advantageous
idea of his character, than the fortitude and good-humour which he
appears to have maintained to the last moment of his life, overwhelmed
as he was with misery, old age, and an incurable distemper. The preface
and dedication of his Persiles and Sigismunda contain a journal of his
last stage, by which we are enabled to guess at the precise time of his
decease. ‘Loving reader,’ said he, ‘as two of my friends and myself were
coming from the famous town of Esquivias—famous, I say, on a thousand
accounts; first, for its illustrious families, and secondly, for its
more illustrious wines, &c.—I heard somebody galloping after us, with
intent, as I imagined, to join our company; and, indeed, he soon
justified my conjecture, by calling out to us to ride more softly. We
accordingly waited for this stranger; who riding up to us upon a she
ass, appeared to be a grey student; for he was cloathed in grey, with
country buskins, such as peasants wear to defend their legs in
harvest-time, round-toed shoes, a sword provided, as it happened, with a
tolerable chape, a starched band, and an even number of three-thread
bredes; for the truth is, he had but two; and as his band would every
now and then shift to one side, he took incredible pains to adjust it
again. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you are going, belike, to solicit some
post or pension at court: his eminence of Toledo must be there, to be
sure, or the king at least, by your making such haste. In good faith I
could hardly overtake you, though my ass hath been more than once
applauded for a tolerable ambler.” To this address one of my companions
replied, “We are obliged to set on at a good rate, to keep up with that
there mettlesome nag, belonging to Signior Miguel De Cervantes.” Scarce
had the student heard my name, when springing from the back of his ass,
whilst his pannel fell one way, and his wallet another, he ran towards
me, and taking hold of my stirrup, “Aye, aye,” cried he, “this is the
sound cripple! the renowned, the merry writer; in a word, the darling of
the muses!” In order to make some return to these high compliments, I
threw my arms about his neck, so as that he lost his band by the
eagerness of my embraces; and told him that he was mistaken, like many
of my well-wishers. “I am, indeed, Cervantes,” said I; “but not the
darling of the muses, or in any shape deserving of those encomiums you
have bestowed: be pleased, therefore, good Signior, to remount your
beast and let us travel together like friends the rest of the way.” The
courteous student took my advice; and, as we jogged on softly together,
the conversation happening to turn on the subject of my illness, the
stranger soon pronounced my doom, by assuring me that my distemper was a
dropsy, which all the water of the ocean, although it were not salt,
would never be able to quench. “Therefore, Signior Cervantes,” added the
student, “you must totally abstain from drink; but do not forget to eat
heartily: and this regimen will effect your recovery without
physick.”—“I have received the same advice from other people,” answered
I, “but I cannot help drinking, as if I had been born to do nothing else
but drink. My life is drawing to a period; and, by the daily journal of
my pulse, which I find will have finished its course by next Sunday at
farthest, I shall also have finished my career; so that you come in the
very nick of time to be acquainted with me, though I shall have no
opportunity of shewing how much I am obliged to you for your good will.”
By this time we had reached the Toledo Bridge; where, finding we must
part, I embraced my student once more, and he having returned the
compliment with great cordiality, spurred up his beast, and left me as
ill-disposed on my horse as he was ill-mounted on his ass; although my
pen itched to be writing some humourous description of his equipage:
but, adieu my merry friends all; for I am going to die, and I hope to
meet you again in the other world, as happy as heart can wish.’
After this adventure, which he so pleasantly relates, (nay, even in his
last moments) he dictated a most affectionate dedication to his patron,
the Count De Lemos, who was at that time president of the Supreme
Council in Italy. He begins facetiously with a quotation from an old
ballad; then proceeds to tell his excellency, that he had received
extreme unction, and was on the brink of eternity; yet he wished he
could live to see the count’s return, and even to finish the Weeks of
the Garden, and the second part of Galatea, in which he had made some
progress.
This dedication was dated April 19, 1617; and, in all probability, the
author died the very next day, as the ceremony of the unction is never
performed until the patient is supposed to be in extremity: certain it
is, he did not long survive this period; for, in September, a licence
was granted to Donna Catalina De Salazar, widow of Miguel De Cervantes
Saavedra, to print the Troubles of Persiles and Sigismunda, a northern
history; which was accordingly published at Madrid, and afterwards
translated into Italian.
Thus have I collected and related all the material circumstances
mentioned by history and tradition, concerning the life of Cervantes;
which I shall conclude with the portrait of his person, drawn by his own
pen, in the preface to his novels. His visage was sharp and aquiline,
his hair of a chesnut colour, his forehead smooth and high, his nose
hookish or hawkish, his eyes brisk and chearful, his mouth little, his
beard originally of a golden hue, his upper-lip furnished with large
mustachios, his complexion fair, his stature of the middling size; and
he tells us, moreover, that he was thick in the shoulders, and not very
light of foot.
In a word, Cervantes, whether considered as a writer or a man, will be
found worthy of universal approbation and esteem; and we cannot help
applauding that fortitude and courage, which no difficulty could
disturb, and no danger dismay; while we admire that delightful stream of
humour and invention, which flowed so plenteous and so pure, surmounting
all the mounds of malice and adversity.
Footnote 1:
Thomas Tamayo De Vargas.
Footnote 2:
Don Nicholas Antonio.
Footnote 3:
He describes his departure from Madrid in these words: ‘Out of my
country and myself I go!’
Footnote 4:
Nicholas Antonio, biblioth. Hisp.
Footnote 5:
His dedication of Galatea.
Footnote 6:
In the preface to his plays.
Footnote 7:
F. Diego Da Haedo.
Footnote 8:
To this adventure he doubtless alludes, in the story of the Captive;
who says, that when he and his fellow-slaves were deliberating about
ransoming one of their number, who should go to Valencia and Mayorca,
and procure a vessel with which he might return and fetch off the
rest, the renegado who was of their council opposed the scheme,
observing, that those who are once delivered seldom think of
performing the promises they have made in captivity: as a confirmation
of the truth of what he alledged, he briefly recounted a case which
had lately happened to some Christian gentlemen, attended with the
strangest circumstances ever known, even in those parts, where the
most uncommon and surprizing events occur almost every day.
Footnote 9:
Laurèl de Apollo Selva 8.
Footnote 10:
In his preface to his plays.
Footnote 11:
Preface to his novels. Dedication of the last part of Don Quixote.
Footnote 12:
The Loves of Theagenes and Chariclea.
Translator’s Note
The translator’s aim, in this undertaking, was to maintain that
ludicrous solemnity and self-importance by which the inimitable
Cervantes has distinguished the character of Don Quixote, without
raising him to the insipid rank of a dry philosopher, or debasing him to
the melancholy circumstances and unentertaining caprice of an ordinary
madman; and to preserve the native humour of Sancho Panza from
degenerating into mere proverbial phlegm, or affected buffoonery.
He has endeavoured to retain the spirit and ideas, without servilely
adhering to the literal expression of the original; from which, however,
he has not so far deviated, as to destroy that formality of idiom, so
peculiar to the Spaniards, and so essential to the character of the
work.
The satire and propriety of many allusions, which had been lost in the
change of custom and lapse of time, are restored in explanatory notes;
and the whole is conducted with that care and circumspection, which
ought to be exerted by every author, who, in attempting to improve upon
a task already performed, subjects himself to the most invidious
comparison.
PREFACE TO THE READER.
Idle reader, without an oath thou mayest believe, that I wish this book,
as the child of my understanding, were the most beautiful, sprightly,
and discreet production, that ever was conceived. But it was not in my
power to contravene the order of nature: in consequence of which, every
creature procreates its own resemblance. What, therefore, could be
engendered in my barren, ill-cultivated genius, but a dry, meagre
offspring, wayward, capricious, and full of whimsical notions peculiar
to my own imagination, as if produced in a prison, which is the seat of
inconvenience, and the habitation of every dismal sound[13]. Quiet
solitude, pleasant fields, serene weather, purling streams, and
tranquillity of mind, contribute so much to the fecundity even of the
most barren genius, that it will bring forth productions so fair as to
awaken the admiration and delight of mankind.
A man who is so unfortunate as to have an ugly child, destitute of every
grace and favourable endowment, may be so hood-winked by paternal
tenderness, that he cannot perceive his defects; but, on the contrary,
looks upon every blemish as a beauty, and recounts to his friends every
instance of his folly as a sample of his wit: but I, who, though
seemingly the parent, am no other than the step-father of Don Quixote,
will not sail with the stream of custom; nor, like some others,
supplicate thee, gentle reader, with the tears in my eyes, to pardon or
conceal the faults which thou mayest spy in this production. Thou art
neither its father nor kinsman; hast thy own soul in thy own body, and a
will as free as the finest; thou art in thy own house, of which I hold
thee as absolute master as the king of his revenue; and thou knowest the
common saying, ‘Under my cloak the king is a joke.’ These considerations
free and exempt thee from all manner of restraint and obligation; so
that thou mayest fully and frankly declare thy opinion of this history,
without fear of calumny for thy censure, and without hope of recompence
for thy approbation.
I wished only to present thee with the performance, clean, neat, and
naked, without the ornament of a preface, and unincumbered with an
innumerable catalogue of such sonnets, epigrams, and commendatory
verses, as are generally prefixed to the productions of the present age;
for I can assure thee, that although the composition of the book hath
cost me some trouble, I have found more difficulty in writing this
preface, which is now under thy inspection: divers and sundry times did
I seize the pen, and as often laid it aside, for want of knowing what to
say; and during this uneasy state of suspence, while I was one day
ruminating on the subject, with the paper before me, the quill behind my
ear, my elbow fixed on the table, and my cheek leaning on my hand; a
friend of mine, who possesses a great fund of humour and an excellent
understanding, suddenly entered the apartment, and finding me in this
musing posture, asked the cause of my being so contemplative. As I had
no occasion to conceal the nature of my perplexity, I told him I was
studying a Preface for the History of Don Quixote; a talk which I found
so difficult, that I was resolved to desist, and even suppress the
adventures of such a noble cavalier: for you may easily suppose how much
I must be confounded at the animadversions of that ancient law-giver the
vulgar, when it shall see me, after so many years that I have slept in
silence and oblivion, produce, in my old age, a performance as dry as a
rush, barren of invention, meagre in stile, beggarly in conceit, and
utterly destitute of wit and erudition; without quotations in the
margin, or annotations at the end, as we see in other books, let them be
never so fabulous and profane; indeed, they are generally so stuffed
with apothegms from Aristotle, Plato, and the whole body of
philosophers, that they excite the admiration of the readers, who look
upon such authors as men of unbounded knowledge, eloquence, and
erudition. When they bring a citation from the Holy Scripture, one would
take them for so many Saint Thomas’s, and other doctors of the church;
herein observing such ingenious decorum, that in one line they will
represent a frantick lover, and in the very next begin with a godly
sermon, from which the Christian readers, and even the hearers, receive
much comfort and edification. Now, my book must appear without all these
advantages; for I can neither quote in the margin, nor note in the end:
nor do I know what authors I have imitated, that I may, like the rest of
my brethren, prefix them to the work in alphabetical order, beginning
with Aristotle, and ending in Xenophon, Zoilus, or Zeuxis, though one
was a back biter, and the other a painter. My history must likewise be
published without poems at the beginning, at least without sonnets
written by dukes, marquisses, counts, bishops, ladies, and celebrated
poets: although, should I make the demand, I know two or three
good-natured friends, who would oblige me with such verses as should not
be equalled by the most famous poetry in Spain.
‘In a word, my good friend,’ said I, ‘Signior Don Quixote shall be
buried in the archives of La Mancha, until Heaven shall provide some
person to adorn him with those decorations he seems to want; for I find
myself altogether unequal to the task, through insufficiency and want of
learning; and because I am naturally too bashful and indolent to go in
quest of authors to say what I myself can say as well without their
assistance. Hence arose my thoughtfulness and meditation, which you will
not wonder at, now that you have heard the cause.’ My friend having
listened attentively to my remonstrances, slapped his forehead with the
palm of his hand; and, bursting into a loud laugh, ‘’Fore God! brother,’
said he, ‘I am now undeceived of an error, in which I have lived during
the whole term of our acquaintance; for I always looked upon you as a
person of prudence and discretion; but now, I see, you are as far from
that character as heaven is distant from the earth. What! is it possible
that such a trifling inconvenience, so easily remedied, should have
power to mortify and perplex a genius like yours, brought to such
maturity, and so well calculated to demolish and surmount much greater
difficulties? In good faith, this does not proceed from want of ability,
but from excessive indolence, that impedes the exercise of reason. If
you would be convinced of the truth of what I alledge, give me the
hearing, and, in the twinkling of an eye, all your difficulties shall
vanish, and a remedy be prescribed for all those defects which, you say,
perplex your understanding, and deter you from ushering to the light
your history of the renowned Don Quixote, the luminary and sole mirror
of knight-errantry.’ Hearing this declaration, I desired he would tell
me in what manner he proposed to fill up the vacuity of my apprehension,
to diffuse light, and reduce to order the chaos of my confusion; and he
replied, ‘Your first objection, namely, the want of sonnets, epigrams,
and commendatory verses from persons of rank and gravity, may be
obviated, by your taking the trouble to compose them yourself, and then
you may christen them by any name you shall think proper to chuse,
fathering them upon Prestor John of the Indies, or the Emperor of
Trebisond; who, I am well informed, were very famous poets: and even
should this intelligence be untrue, and a few pedants and batchelors of
arts should backbite and grumble at your conduct, you need not value
them three farthings; for although they convict you of a lye, they
cannot cut off the hand that wrote it[14].
‘With regard to the practice of quoting in the margin, such books and
authors as have furnished you with sentences and sayings for the
embellishment of your history, you have nothing to do, but to season the
work with some Latin maxims, which your own memory will suggest, or a
little industry in searching easily obtain: for example, in treating of
freedom and captivity, you may say, _Non bene pro toto libertas venditur
auro_; and quote Horace, or whom you please, in the margin. If the power
of death happens to be your subject, you have at hand, _Pallida mors
æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turres_. And expatiating
upon that love and friendship which God commands us to entertain even
for our enemies, you may have recourse to the Holy Scripture, though you
should have never so little curiosity, and say, in the very words of God
himself, _Ego autem dico vobis, diligite inimicos vestros_. In
explaining the nature of malevolence, you may again extract from the
Gospel, _De corde exeunt cogitationes malæ_. And the instability of
friends may be aptly illustrated by this distich of Cato, _Donec eris
felix, multos numerabis amicos; tempora si fuerint nubila, solus eris_.
By these, and other such scraps of Latin, you may pass for an able
grammarian; a character of no small honour and advantage in these days.
And as to the annotations at the end of the book, you may safely furnish
them in this manner: when you chance to write about giants, be sure to
mention Goliah; and this name alone, which costs you nothing, will
afford a grand annotation, couched in these words, “The giant Golias, or
Goliat, was a Philistine, whom the shepherd David slew with a stone from
a sling, in the valley of Terebinthus, as it is written in such a
chapter of the book of Kings.”
‘If you have a mind to display your erudition and knowledge of
cosmography, take an opportunity to introduce the River Tagus into your
history, and this will supply you with another famous annotation, thus
expressed. “The River Tagus, so called from a king of Spain, takes its
rise in such a place, and is lost in the sea, after having kissed the
walls of the famous city of Lisbon; and is said to have golden sands,
&c.” If you treat of robbers, I will relate the story of Cacus, which I
have by rote. If of harlots, the Bishop of Mondoneda will lend you a
Lamia, a Lais, and a Flora; and such a note will greatly redound to your
credit. When you write of cruelty, Ovid will surrender his Medea. When
you mention wizzards and inchanters, you will find a Calypso in Homer,
and a Circe in Virgil. If you have occasion to speak of valiant
captains, Julius Cæsar stands ready drawn in his own Commentaries; and
from Plutarch you may extract a thousand Alexanders. If your theme be
love, and you have but two ounces of the Tuscan tongue, you will light
upon Leon Hebreo, who will fill up the measure of your desire: and if
you do not chuse to travel into foreign countries, you have at home
Fonseca’s Treatise on the Love of God, in which all that you, or the
most ingenious critick can desire, is fully decyphered and discussed. In
a word, there is nothing more to be done, than to procure a number of
these names, and hint at their particular stories in your text; and to
leave me the talk of making annotations and quotations, with which I
will engage, on pain of death, to fill up all the margins, besides four
whole sheets at the end of the book. Let us now proceed to the citation
of authors, so frequent in other books, and so little used in your
performance; the remedy is obvious and easy; take the trouble to find a
book that quotes the whole tribe alphabetically, as you observed, from
Alpha to Omega, and transfer them into your book; and though the
absurdity should appear never so glaring, as there is no necessity for
using such names, it will signify nothing. Nay, perhaps, some reader
will be weak enough to believe you have actually availed yourself of all
those authors, in the simple and sincere history you have composed; and,
if such a large catalogue of writers should answer no other purpose, it
may serve at first sight to give some authority to the production: nor
will any person take the trouble to examine, whether you have or have
not followed those originals, because he can reap no benefit from his
labour. But, if I am not mistaken, your book needs none of those
embellishments in which you say it is defective: for it is one continued
satire upon books of chivalry; a subject which Aristotle never
investigated, St. Basil never mentioned, and Cicero never explained. The
punctuality of truth, and the observations of astrology, fall not within
the fabulous relation of our adventures; to the description of which,
neither the proportions of geometry, nor the confirmation of rhetorical
arguments, are of the least importance: nor hath it any connection with
preaching, or mingling divine truths with human imagination; a mixture
which no Christian’s fancy should conceive. It only seeks to avail
itself of imitation; and the more perfect this is, the more entertaining
the book will be: new, as your sole aim in writing, is to invalidate the
authority, and ridicule the absurdity, of those books of chivalry, which
have, as it were, fascinated the eyes and judgment of the world, and in
particular of the vulgar, you have no occasion to go a begging maxims
from philosophers, exhortations from Holy Writ, fables from poets,
speeches from orators, or miracles from saints; your business is, with
plain, significant, well-chosen, and elegant words, to render your
periods sonorous, and your stile entertaining; to give spirit and
expression to all your descriptions, and communicate your ideas without
obscurity and confusion. You must endeavour to write in such a manner as
to convert melancholy into mirth, increase good-humour, entertain the
ignorant, excite the admiration of the learned, escape the contempt of
gravity, and attract applause from persons of ingenuity and taste.
Finally, let your aim be levelled against that ill-founded bulwark of
idle books of chivalry, abhorred by many, but applauded by more; which
if you can batter down, you will have atchieved no inconsiderable
exploit.’
I listened to my friend’s advice in profound silence, and his remarks
made such impression upon my mind, that I admitted them without
hesitation or dispute; and resolved that they should appear instead of a
Preface. Thou wilt, therefore, gentle reader, perceive his discretion,
and my good luck in finding such a counsellor in such an emergency; nor
wilt thou be sorry to receive, thus genuine and undisguised, the History
of the renowned Don Quixote de La Mancha, who, in the opinion of all the
people that live in the district of Montiel, was the most virtuous and
valiant knight who had appeared for many years in that neighbourhood. I
shall not pretend to enhance the merit of having introduced thee to such
a famous and honourable cavalier; but I expect thanks for having made
thee acquainted with Sancho Panza, in whom I think are united all the
squirish graces which we find scattered through the whole tribe of vain
books written on the subject of chivalry. So, praying God will give thee
health, without forgetting such an humble creature as me, I bid thee
heartily farewel.
Footnote 13:
This is a strong presumption that the first part of Don Quixote was
actually written in a gaol.
Footnote 14:
Alluding to the loss of his hand in the battle of Lepanto.
VOLUME THE FIRST.
PART I.
BOOK I.
CHAP. I.
OF THE QUALITY AND AMUSEMENTS
OF THE RENOWNED DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA.
In a certain corner of La Mancha, the name of which I do not chuse to
remember, there lately lived one of those country gentlemen, who adorn
their halls with a rusty lance and worm-eaten target, and ride forth on
the skeleton of a horse, to course with a sort of a starved greyhound.
Three-fourths of his income were scarce sufficient to afford a dish of
hodgepodge, in which the mutton bore no proportion to the beef[15], for
dinner; a plate of salmagundy, commonly at supper[16]; gripes and
grumblings on Saturdays[17], lentils on Fridays, and the addition of a
pigeon or some such thing on the Lord’s day. The remaining part of his
revenue was consumed in the purchase of a fine black suit, with velvet
breeches, and slippers of the same, for holidays; and a coat of
home-spun, which he wore in honour of his country during the rest of the
week.
He maintained a female housekeeper turned of forty, a niece of about
half that age, and a trusty young fellow, fit for field and market, who
could turn his hand to any thing, either to saddle the horse or handle
the hough[18].
Our squire, who bordered upon fifty, was of a tough constitution,
extremely meagre, and hard featured, an early riser, and in point of
exercise, another Nimrod[19]. He is said to have gone by the name of
Quixada, or Quesada, (for in this particular the authors who mention
that circumstance disagree) though, from the most probable conjectures,
we may conclude that he was called by the significant name of
Quixada[20]; but this is of small importance to the history, in the
course of which it will be sufficient if we swerve not a tittle from the
truth.
Be it known, therefore, that this said honest gentleman, at his leisure
hours, which engrossed the greatest part of the year, addicted himself
to the reading of books of chivalry, which he perused with such rapture
and application, that he not only forgot the pleasures of the chace, but
also utterly neglected the management of his estate: nay, to such a pass
did his curiosity and madness in this particular drive him, that he sold
many good acres of Terra Firma, to purchase books of knight-errantry,
with which he furnished his library to the utmost of his power; but none
of them pleased him so much as those that were written by the famous
Feliciano De Silva, whom he admired as the pearl of all authors, for the
brilliancy of his prose, and the beautiful perplexity of his expression.
How was he transported, when he read those amorous complaints, and
doughty challenges, that so often occur in his works!
‘The reason of the unreasonable usage my reason has met with, so
unreasons my reason, that I have reason to complain of your beauty!’ And
how did he enjoy the following flower of composition! ‘The high heaven
of your divinity, which with stars divinely fortifies your beauty, and
renders you meritorious of that merit, which by your highness is
merited.’
The poor gentleman lost his senses in poring over, and attempting to
discover the meaning of these and other such rhapsodies, which Aristotle
himself would not be able to unravel, were he to rise from the dead for
that purpose only. He could not comprehend the probability of those
direful wounds, given and received by Don Bellianis, whose face and
whose carcase must have remained quite covered with marks and scars,
even allowing him to have been cured by the most expert surgeons of the
age in which he lived.
He, notwithstanding, bestowed great commendations on the author, who
concludes his book, with the promise of finishing that interminable
adventure; and was more than once inclined to seize the quill, with a
view of performing what was left undone; nay, he would have actually
accomplished the affair, and published it accordingly, had not
reflections of greater moment employed his imagination, and diverted him
from the execution of that design.
Divers and obstinate were the disputes he maintained against the parson
of the parish, (a man of some learning, who had taken his degrees at
Siguenza[21],) on that puzzling question, whether Palmerin of England,
or Amadis De Gaul, was the most illustrious knight-errant: but master
Nicholas, who acted as barber to the village, affirmed, that none of
them equalled the knight of the sun, or indeed could be compared to him
in any degree, except Don Galaor, brother of Amadis De Gaul; for his
disposition was adapted to all emergencies; he was neither such a
precise, nor such a puling coxcomb, as his brother; and in point of
valour, his equal at least.
So eager and entangled was our hidalgo[22], in this kind of history,
that he would often read from morning to night, and from night to
morning again, without interruption; till at last the moisture of his
brain being quite exhausted with indefatigable watching and study, he
fairly lost his wits; all that he had read of quarrels, inchantments,
battles, challenges, wounds, tortures, amorous complaints, and other
improbable conceits, took full possession of his fancy; and he believed
all those romantick exploits so implicitly, that, in his opinion, the
Holy Scripture was not more true. He observed that Cid Ruydias was an
excellent knight; but not equal to the lord of the flaming-sword, who
with one back-stroke had cut two fierce and monstrous giants through the
middle. He had still a better opinion of Bernardo Del Carpio; who, at
the battle of Roncevalles, put the inchanted Orlando to death[23], by
the same means that Hercules used when he strangled the earth born
Anteus. Neither was he silent in the praise of Morgante; who, though of
that gigantick race which is noted for insolence and incivility, was
perfectly affable and well-bred. But his chief favourite was Reynaldo of
Montalban, whom he hugely admired for his prowess, in sallying from his
castle to rob travellers; and, above all things, for his dexterity in
stealing that idol of the impostor Mahomet, which, according to the
history, was of solid gold. For an opportunity of pummelling the traitor
Galalon[24], he would willingly have given his house-keeper, body and
soul; nay, and his niece into the bargain. In short, his understanding
being quite perverted, he was seized with the strangest whim that ever
entered the brain of a madman: this was no other than a full persuasion,
that it was highly expedient and necessary, not only for his own honour,
but also for the good of the publick, that he should profess
knight-errantry, and ride through the world in arms, to seek adventures,
and conform in all points to the practice of those itinerant heroes
whose exploits he had read; redressing all manner of grievances, and
courting all occasions of exposing himself to such dangers, as in the
event would entitle him to everlasting renown. This poor lunatick looked
upon himself already as good as seated, by his own single valour, on the
throne of Trebisond; and, intoxicated with these agreeable vapours of
his unaccountable folly, resolved to put his design in practice
forthwith.
In the first place he cleaned an old suit of armour, which had belonged
to some of his ancestors, and which he found in his garret, where it had
lain for several ages, quite covered over with mouldiness and rust; but
having scoured and put it to rights, as well as he could, he perceived,
that instead of a compleat helmet, there was only a simple head-piece
without a beaver. This unlucky defect, however, his industry supplied by
a vizor, which he made of paste-board, and fixed so artificially to the
morrion, that it looked like an entire helmet. True it is, that in order
to try if it was strong enough to risk his jaws in, he unsheathed his
sword, and bestowed upon it two hearty strokes, the first of which in a
twinkling undid his whole week’s labour. He did not at all approve of
the facility with which he hewed it in pieces; and therefore, to secure
himself from any such danger for the future, went to work anew. He faced
it with a plate of iron, in such a manner as that he remained satisfied
of its strength without putting it to a second trial, and looked upon it
as a most finished piece of armour.
He next visited his horse, which (though he had more corners than a
rial[25], being as lean as Gonela’s, that _tantum pellis et ossa fuit_)
nevertheless, in his eye, appeared infinitely preferable to Alexander’s
Bucephalus, or the Cid’s Babieca. Four days he consumed in inventing a
name for this remarkable steed; suggesting to himself what an
impropriety it would be if an horse of his qualities, belonging to such
a renowned knight, should go without some sounding and significant
appellation: he therefore resolved to accommodate him with one that
should not only declare his past, but also his present capacity; for he
thought it but reasonable, that since his master had altered his
condition, he should also change his horse’s name, and invest him with
some sublime and sonorous epithet, suitable to the new order and
employment he professed. Accordingly, after having chosen, rejected,
amended, tortured, and revolved, a world of names in his imagination, he
fixed upon Rozinante[26], an appellation, in his opinion, lofty,
sonorous, and expressive, not only of his former, but likewise of his
present situation, which entitled him to the preference over all other
horses under the sun. Having thus denominated his horse, so much to his
own satisfaction, he was desirous of doing himself the like justice; and
after eight days study, actually assumed the title of Don Quixote: from
whence, as hath been observed, the authors of this authentick history
concluded, that his former name must have been Quixada, and not Quesada,
as others are pleased to affirm. But recollecting that the valiant
Amadis, not satisfied with that simple appellation, added to it that of
his country; and in order to dignify the place of his nativity, called
himself Amadis De Gaul. He resolved, like a worthy knight, to follow
such an illustrious example, and assume the name of Don Quixote de La
Mancha, which, in his opinion, fully expressed his generation, and at
the same time reflected infinite honour on his fortunate country.
Accordingly, his armour being scowered, his beaver fitted to his
head-piece, his steed accommodated with a name, and his own dignified
with these additions, he reflected, that nothing else was wanting but a
lady to inspire him with love; for a knight-errant without a mistress,
would be like a tree destitute of leaves and fruit, or a body without a
soul. ‘If,’ said he, ‘for my sins, or rather for my honour, I should
engage with some giant, an adventure common in knight-errantry, and
overthrow him in the field, by cleaving him in twain, or, in short,
disarm and subdue him; will it not be highly proper that I should have a
mistress, to whom I may send my conquered foe; who, coming into the
presence of the charming fair, will fall upon his knees, and say, in an
humble and submissive tone; “Incomparable princess, I am the giant
Carculiambro, lord of the island Malindrania, who being vanquished in
single combat by the invincible knight Don Quixote de La Mancha, am
commanded by him to present myself before your beauty, that I may be
disposed of, according to the pleasure of your highness?”’ How did the
heart of our worthy knight dance with joy when he uttered this address;
and still more, when he found a lady worthy of his affection! This, they
say, was an hale, buxom, country wench, called Aldonza Lorenço, who
lived in the neighbourhood, and with whom he had formerly been in love;
though, by all accounts, she never knew, nor gave herself the least
concern about the matter. Her he looked upon as one qualified, in all
respects, to be the queen of his inclinations; and putting his invention
again to the rack for a name that should bear some affinity with her
own, and at the same time become a princess or lady of quality, he
determined to call her Dulcinea del Toboso, she being a native of that
place; a name, in his opinion, musical, romantick, and expressive, like
the rest which he had appropriated to himself and his concerns.
Footnote 15:
Mutton in Spain is counted greatly preferable to beef.
Footnote 16:
_Salpicon_, which is the word in the original, is no other than cold
beef sliced, and eaten with oil, vinegar, and pepper.
Footnote 17:
Gripes and grumblings, in Spanish _duelos y quebrantos_; the true
meaning of which the former translators have been at great pains to
investigate, as the importance of the subject (no doubt) required. But
their labours have, unhappily, ended in nothing else but conjectures,
which, for the entertainment and instruction of our readers, we beg
leave to repeat. One interprets the phrase into collops and eggs;
‘Being,’ saith he, ‘a very sorry dish.’ In this decision, however, he
is contradicted by another commentator, who affirms, ‘It is a mess too
good to mortify withal:’ neither can this virtuoso agree with a late
editor, who translates the passage in question into an amlet; but
takes occasion to fall out with Boyer for his description of that
dish, which he most sagaciously understands to be a ‘bacon froize,’ or
‘rather fryze, from its being fried, from frit in French;’ and
concludes with this judicious query, ‘After all these learned
disquisitions, who knows but the author means a dish of nichils?’ If
this was his meaning, indeed, surely we may venture to conclude, that
fasting was very expensive in La Mancha; for the author mentions the
_duelos y quebrantos_ among those articles that confirmed
three-fourths of the knight’s income.
Having considered this momentous affair with all the deliberation it
deserves, we in our turn present the reader with cucumbers, greens, or
pease-porridge, as the fruit of our industrious researches; being
thereunto determined by the literal signification of the text, which
is not ‘grumblings and groanings,’ as the last-mentioned ingenious
annotator seems to think, but rather pains and breakings; and
evidently points at such eatables as generate and expel wind;
qualities (as every body knows) eminently inherent in those vegetables
we have mentioned as our hero’s Saturday’s repast.
Footnote 18:
_Podadera_, literally signifies a pruning-hook.
Footnote 19:
In the original, a lover of hunting.
Footnote 20:
_Quixadas_, signifies jaws, of which our knight had an extraordinary
provision.
Footnote 21:
Siguenza, a town situated on the banks of the Henares, in New Castile,
in which there is a small university.
Footnote 22:
Hidalgo has much the same application in Spain as squire in England;
though it literally signifies the son of something, in
contradistinction to those who are the sons of nothing.
Footnote 23:
Orlando, the supposed nephew of Charlemagne, and poetical hero of
Boiardo and Ariosto, is said to have been invulnerable in all parts of
his body, except the soles of his feet, which he therefore took care
to secure with double plates of armour.
Footnote 24:
Galalon is said to have betrayed Charlemagne’s army at Roncevalles,
where it was roughly handled by the Moors, in his retreat from Spain.
Footnote 25:
This is a joke upon the knight’s steed, which was so meagre, that his
bones stuck out like the corners of a Spanish rial, a coin of very
irregular shape, not unlike the figure in geometry called a trapezium.
Footnote 26:
Rozinante, implies that which was formerly an ordinary horse, though
the _ante_ seems to have been intended by the knight as a badge of
distinction, by which he was ranked before all other horses.
CHAP. II.
OF THE SAGE DON QUIXOTE’S FIRST SALLY FROM HIS OWN HABITATION.
These preparations being made, he could no longer resist the desire of
executing his design; reflecting with impatience on the injury his delay
occasioned in the world, where there was abundance of grievances to be
redressed, wrongs to be rectified, errors to be amended, abuses to be
reformed, and doubts to be removed; he therefore, without communicating
his intention to any body, or being seen by a living soul, one morning
before day, in the scorching month of July, put on his armour, mounted
Rozinante, buckled his ill-contrived helmet, braced his target, seized
his lance, and through the back door of his yard sallied into the fields
in a rapture of joy, occasioned by this easy and successful beginning of
his admirable undertaking: but scarce was he clear of the village, when
he was assaulted by such a terrible objection, as had well-nigh induced
our hero to abandon his enterprize directly; for he recollected that he
had never been knighted; and therefore, according to the laws of
chivalry, he neither could nor ought to enter the lists with any
antagonist of that degree; nay, even granting he had received that mark
of distinction, it was his duty to wear white armour, like a new knight,
without any device on his shield, until such time as his valour should
entitle him to that honour[27].
These cogitations made him waver a little in his plan; but his madness
prevailing over every other consideration, suggested that he might be
dubbed by the first person he should meet, after the example of many
others who had fallen upon the same expedient; as he had read in those
mischievous books which had disordered his imagination[28]. With respect
to the white armour, he proposed, with the first opportunity, to scower
his own, until it should be fairer than ermine: and having satisfied his
conscience in this manner, he pursued his design, without following any
other road than that which his horse was pleased to chuse; being
persuaded that, in so doing, he manifested the true spirit of adventure.
Thus proceeded our flaming adventurer, while he uttered the following
soliloquy.
‘Doubtless, in future ages, when the true history of my famed exploits
shall come to light, the sage author, when he recounts my first and
early sally, will express himself in this manner: “Scarce had ruddy
Phœbus, o’er this wide and spacious earth, displayed the golden threads
of his refulgent hair; and scarce the little painted warblers with their
forky tongues, in soft, mellifluous harmony, had hailed the approach of
rosy-winged Aurora, who stealing from her jealous husband’s couch,
through the balconies and aërial gates of Mancha’s bright horizon, stood
confessed to wondering mortals; when lo! the illustrious knight Don
Quixote de La Mancha, up-springing from the lazy down, bestrode famed
Rozinante his unrivalled steed! and through Monteil’s ancient,
well-known field,” which was really the case, “pursued his way.”’ Then
he added, ‘O fortunate age! O happy times! in which shall be made
publick my incomparable atchievements, worthy to be engraved in brass,
on marble sculptured, and in painting shewn, as great examples to
futurity! And O! thou sage enchanter, whosoever thou may’st be, doomed
to record the wondrous story, forget not, I beseech thee, my trusty
Rozinante, the firm companion of my various fate!’ Then making a sudden
transition, he exclaimed, as if he had been actually in love, ‘O
Dulcinea! sovereign princess of this captive heart, what dire affliction
hast thou made me suffer, thus banished from thy presence with reproach,
and fettered by thy rigorous command, not to appear again before thy
beauteous face! Deign, princess, to remember this thy faithful slave,
who now endures such misery for love of thee!’ These, and other such
rhapsodies, he strung together; imitating, as much as in him lay, the
stile of those ridiculous books which he had read; and jogging along, in
spite of the sun, which beamed upon him so intensely hot, that surely
his brains, if any had remained, would have been fried in his skull:
that whole day did he travel without encountering any thing worth
mentioning; a circumstance that grieved him sorely, for he had expected
to find some object on which he could try the prowess of his valiant
arm[29].
Some authors say, his first adventure was that of the pass of Lapice;
but others affirm, that the windmills had the maidenhead of his valour:
all that I can aver of the matter, in consequence of what I found
recorded in the annals of La Mancha, is, that having travelled the whole
day, his horse and he, about twilight, found themselves excessively
wearied, and half dead with hunger; and that looking around for some
castle or sheep-cote, in which he might allay the cravings of nature, by
repose and refreshment; he descried, not far from the road, an inn,
which he looked upon as the star that would guide him to the porch, if
not the palace, of his redemption: in this hope, he put spurs to his
horse, and just in the twilight reached the gate, where at that time
there happened to be two ladies of the game; who, being on their journey
to Seville, with the carriers, had chanced to take up their night’s
lodging in this place.
As our hero’s imagination converted whatsoever he saw, heard, or
considered, into something of which he had read in books of chivalry; he
no sooner perceived the inn, than his fancy represented it as a stately
castle, with its four towers and pinnacles of shining silver,
accommodated with a draw-bridge, deep moat, and all other conveniences
that are described as belonging to buildings of that kind.
When he was within a small distance of this inn, which to him seemed a
castle, he drew bridle, and stopped Rozinante, in hope that some dwarf
would appear upon the battlements, and signify his arrival by sound of
trumpet: but as this ceremony was not performed so soon as he expected,
and his steed expressed great eagerness to be in the stable, he rode up
to the gate, and observing the battered wenches before-mentioned,
mistook them for two beautiful maidens, or agreeable ladies, enjoying
the cool breeze at the castle gate. At that instant, a swine-herd, who,
in a field hard by, was tending a drove of hogs, (with leave be it
spoken) chanced to blow his horn, in order to collect his scattered
subjects: immediately the knight’s expectation was fulfilled, and
concluding that now the dwarf had given the signal of his approach, he
rode towards the inn with infinite satisfaction. The ladies no sooner
perceived such a strange figure, armed with lance and target, than they
were seized with consternation, and ran affrighted to the gate; but Don
Quixote, guessing their terror by their flight, lifted up his
paste-board vizor, and discovering his meagre lanthorn-jaws besmeared
with dust, addressed them thus, with gentle voice and courteous
demeanor: ‘Fly me not, ladies; nor dread the least affront; for it
belongs not to the order of knighthood, which I profess, to injure any
mortal, much less such high-born damsels as your appearance declares you
to be.’
The wenches, who stared at him with all their curiosity, in order to
discover his face, which the sorry beaver concealed, hearing themselves
stiled HIGH-BORN DAMSELS, an epithet so foreign to their profession,
could contain themselves no longer, but burst out into such a fit of
laughter, that Don Quixote, being offended, rebuked them in these words:
‘Nothing is more commendable in beautiful women than modesty; and
nothing more ridiculous than laughter proceeding from a slight cause:
but this I mention not as a reproach, by which I may incur your
indignation; on the contrary, my intention is only to do you service.’
This address, which was wholly unintelligible to the ladies, together
with the ludicrous appearance of him who pronounced it, increased their
mirth; which kindled the knight’s anger, and he began to wax wroth; when
luckily the landlord interposed. This inn-keeper, who, by reason of his
unwieldy belly, was of a pacifick disposition, no sooner beheld the
preposterous figure of our hero, equipped with such ill-suited
accoutrements as his bridle, lance, target, and corslet composed, than
he was seized with an inclination to join the nymphs in their
unseasonable merriment; but being justly afraid of incensing the owner
of such unaccountable furniture, he resolved to behave civilly, and
accordingly accosted him in these words: ‘Sir knight, if your worship
wants lodging, you may be accommodated in this inn with every thing in
great abundance, except a bed; for at present we have not one
unengaged.’ Don Quixote perceiving the humility of the governor of the
castle, for such he supposed the landlord to be, answered, ‘For me,
Signior Castellano, any thing will suffice; my dress is armour, battles
my repose, &c.’ Mine host imagining that he called him Castellano[30],
because he looked like a hypocritical rogue; though indeed, he was an
Andalusian, born on the coast of St. Lucar, as great a thief as Cacus,
and more mischievous than a collegian or a page, replied with a sneer,
‘If that be the case, I suppose your worship’s couch is no other than
the flinty rock, and your sleep perpetual waking; so that you may alight
with the comfortable assurance, that you will find, in this mansion,
continual opportunities of defying sleep, not only for one night, but
for a whole year, if you please to try the experiment.’ With these
words, he laid hold of the stirrup of Don Quixote; who, dismounting with
infinite pain and difficulty, occasioned by his having travelled all day
long without any refreshment, bade the landlord take special care of his
steed; for, he observed, a better piece of horse-flesh had never broke
bread.
The innkeeper, though with all his penetration he could not discern any
qualities in Rozinante sufficient to justify one half of what was said
in his praise, led him civilly into the stable; and having done the
honours of the place, returned to receive the commands of his other
guest, whom he found in the hands of the high born damsels; who having
by this time reconciled themselves to him, were busied in taking off his
armour: they had already disincumbered him of his back and
breast-plates, but could fall upon no method of disengaging his head and
neck from his ill-contrived helmet and gorget, which were fast tied with
green ribbands, the Gordian knots of which no human hands could loose;
and he would by no means allow them to be cut; so that he remained all
night armed from the throat upwards, and afforded as odd and comical a
spectacle as ever was seen[31]. While these kind harridans, whom he
supposed to be the constable’s lady and daughter, were employed in this
hospitable office, he said to them with a smile of inconceivable
pleasure, ‘Never was knight so honoured by the service of ladies as Don
Quixote, when he first ushered himself into the world; ladies ministered
unto him, and princesses took charge of his Rozinante. O Rozinante! (for
that, fair ladies, is the name of my steed, and Don Quixote de La Mancha
the appellation of his master) not that I intended to have disclosed
myself until the deeds atchieved in your service should have made me
known; but, in order to accommodate my present situation to that
venerable romance of Sir Lancelot, I am obliged to discover my name a
little prematurely; yet the time will come, when your highness shall
command, and I will obey, and the valour of this arm testify the desire
I feel of being your slave.’
The charmers, whom nature never desired to expose to such extraordinary
compliments, answered not a syllable, but asked if he chose to have any
thing for supper. To which kind question Don Quixote replied, that from
the information of his bowels, he believed nothing eatable could come
amiss. As it was unluckily a meagre day, the inn afforded no other fare
than some bundles of that fish which is called abadexo in Castile,
baccalao in Andalusia, curadillo in some parts of Spain, and truchuela
in others: so that they inquired if his worship could eat truchuela; for
there was no other fish to be had. ‘A number of troutlings,’ answered
the knight, ‘will please me as much as one trout; for, in my opinion,
eight single rials are equivalent to one piece of eight; besides, those
troutlings may be as much preferable to trouts, as veal is to beef, or
lamb to mutton[32]: be that as it will, let the fish be immediately
produced; for the toil and burden of arms are not to be borne without
satisfying the cravings of the stomach.’ A table being therefore covered
at the inn-door, for the benefit of the cool air, mine host brought out
a cut of baccalao, wretchedly watered, and villainously cooked, with a
loaf as black and greasy as his guest’s own armour: but his manner of
eating afforded infinite subject for mirth; for, his head being inclosed
in his helmet, and the beaver lifted up, his own hands could be of no
service in reaching the food to his mouth; and therefore one of the
ladies undertook to perform that office: but they found it impossible to
convey drink in the same manner; and our hero must have made an
uncomfortable meal, if the landlord had not bored a cane, and putting
one end of it in his mouth, poured some wine into the other; an
operation he endured with patience, rather than suffer the ribbands of
his helmet to be destroyed.
While they were thus employed, a sow-gelder happened to arrive at the
inn, and winding three or four blasts with his horn, confirmed Don
Quixote in his opinion, that he sat in some stately castle, entertained
with musick during his repast, which, consisting of delicate troutling
and bread of the finest flour, was served up, not by a brace of harlots
and a thievish innkeeper, but by the fair hands of two beautiful ladies,
and the courteous governor of the place. This conceit justified his
undertaking and rendered him very happy in the success of his first
sally: but he was mortified when he recollected that he was not as yet
knighted; because he thought he could not lawfully atchieve any
adventure without having been first invested with that honourable order.
Footnote 27:
According to the ancient rules of chivalry, no man was entitled to the
rank and degree of knighthood, until he had been in actual battle, and
taken a prisoner with his own hand.
Footnote 28:
It was common for one knight to dub another. Francis I. King of
France, was knighted, at his own desire, by the Chevalier Bayard, who
was looked upon as the flower of chivalry.
Footnote 29:
He might have imitated the young knight described in Perce Forest, who
having been dubbed by King Alexander, rode into a wood, and attacked
the trees with such fury and address, that the king and his whole
court were convinced of his prowess and dexterity.
Footnote 30:
_Sano de Castella_, signifies a crafty knave.
Footnote 31:
This circumstance of the ladies disarming the knight, is exactly
conformable to the practice of chivalry; though his refusing to lay
aside his helmet is no great argument of his courtesy or attachment to
the laws and customs of his profession; for, among knights, it was
looked upon as an indispensible mark of respect, to appear without the
helmet in church, and in presence of ladies, or respectable
personages; and, indeed, in those iron times, this was considered as a
necessary mark and proof of peaceable intention: hence we derive the
custom of uncovering the head in salutation.
Footnote 32:
In the original, or kid to he-goat.
CHAP. III.
THE DIVERTING EXPEDIENT DON QUIXOTE FALLS UPON
IN ORDER TO BE KNIGHTED.
Harassed by this reflection, he abridged his sorry meal, and called for
the landlord; with whom having shut himself up in the stable, he fell
upon his knees, and addressed the supposed constable in these words:
‘Never will I rise from this suppliant posture, thrice valiant knight,
until your courtesy shall grant the boon I mean to beg; a boon, that
will not only redound to your particular praise, but also to the
inestimable benefit of mankind in general[33].’ The innkeeper hearing
such discourse proceed from the mouth of his guest, who kneeled before
him, was astonished; and gazed at our hero, without knowing what to say
or do: at length, however, he intreated him to rise; but this request
was absolutely refused, until he assured him that his boon should be
granted. ‘Signior,’ said Don Quixote, ‘I could expect no less from the
courtesy of your magnificence; I will now therefore tell you, that the
boon which I have begged, and obtained from your generosity, is, that
you will, to-morrow morning, vouchsafe to confer upon me the honour of
knighthood. This night will I watch my arms in the chapel of your
castle; that the morning, as I said, may fulfil my eager desire, and
enable me, as I ought, to traverse the four corners of the world, in
search of adventures for the relief of the distressed, according to the
duty and office of chivalry, and of those knight-errants, in imitation
of whom my genius is strongly addicted to such atchievements.’
The landlord, who, as we have already observed, was a sort of a wag, and
had, from the beginning, suspected that his lodger’s brain was none of
the soundest, having heard him to an end, no longer entertained any
doubts about the matter; and, in order to regale himself and the rest of
his guests with a dish of mirth, resolved to humour him in his
extravagance. With this view, he told him, that nothing could be more
just and reasonable than his request, his conceptions being extremely
well-suited, and natural to such a peerless knight as his commanding
presence and gallant demeanour demonstrated him to be; that he himself
had, in his youth, exercised the honourable profession of errantry,
strolling from place to place in quest of adventures, in the course of
which he did not fail to visit the suburbs of Malaga, the isles of
Riaran, the booths of Seville, the market-place of Segovia, the
olive-gardens of Valencia, the little tower of Grenada, the bay of St.
Lucar, the spout of Cordova[34], the publick houses of Toledo, and many
other places, in which he had exercised the dexterity of his hands as
well as the lightness of his heels, doing infinite mischief; courting
widows without number, debauching damsels, ruining heirs, and, in short,
making himself known at the bar of every tribunal in Spain: that, at
length, he had retired to the castle, where he lived on his own means,
together with those of other people; accommodating knights-errant of
every quality and degree, solely on account of the affection he bore to
them, and to the coin which they parted with in return for his
hospitality. He, moreover, informed him, that there was no chapel in the
castle at present, where he could watch his armour, it having been
demolished in order to be rebuilt; but that, in case of necessity, as he
very well knew, he might chuse any other place; that the court-yard of
the castle would very well serve the purpose; where, when the knight
should have watched all night, he, the host, would in the morning, with
God’s permission, perform all the other ceremonies required, and create
him not only a knight, but such an one as should not have his fellow in
the whole universe.
He then asked, if he carried any money about with him: and the knight
replied, that he had not a sous; for he had never read in the history of
knights-errant, that they had ever troubled themselves with any such
incumbrance. The innkeeper assured him, that his was very much mistaken,
for that though no such circumstance was to be found in those histories,
the authors having thought it superfluous to mention things that were so
plainly necessary as money and clean shirts, it was not to be supposed
that their heroes travelled without supplies of both; he might therefore
take it for granted and uncontrovertible, that all those knights, whose
actions are so voluminously recorded, never rode without their purses
well lined in cases of emergency[35]; not forgetting to carry a stock of
linen, with a small box of ointment to cure the wounds they might
receive in the course of their adventures; for it was not to be
imagined, that any other relief was to be had every time they should
have occasion to fight, and be wounded in fields and desarts; unless
they were befriended by some sage inchanter, who would assist them, by
transporting through the air, in a cloud, some damsel, or dwarf, with a
cordial of such virtue, that one drop of it would instantly cure them of
their bruises and wounds, and make them as sound as if no such mischance
had happened: but the knights of former ages, who had no such assistance
to depend upon, laid it down as a constant maxim, to order their squires
to provide themselves with money and other necessaries, such as ointment
and lint for immediate application: and, when the knight happened to be
without a squire, which was very seldom the case, he himself kept them
in very small bags, that hung, scarce perceptible, at his horse’s rump,
as if it were a treasure of much greater importance. Though, indeed,
except upon such an occasion, that of carrying bags was not much for the
honour of knight-errantry; for which reason, he advised Don Quixote, and
now that he was on the brink of being his godson, he might command him,
never thenceforward to travel without money, and those other
indispensible necessaries, with which he should provide himself as soon
as possible; and then he would, when he least thought of it, find his
account in having made such provision.