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.