Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
"Is Sir Felixmarte there?" the priest responded. "Well, by my faith, into the corral with him quickly, despite his strange birth and resounding adventures, for the harshness and dryness of his style allow no other course of action. Into the corral with him and this other one, Senora Housekeeper."
"With pleasure, Senor," she replied, and with great joy she carried out her orders.
"This one is The Knight Platir,"7 said the barber.
"That's an old book," said the priest, "and I don't find anything in it that would warrant forgiveness. Let it join the others, with no defense."
And that is what happened. Another book was opened and they saw that its title was The Knight of the Cross. 8
"Because of the holy name this book bears one might pardon its stupidity, but as the saying goes, 'The devil can hide behind the cross.' Into the fire."
Picking up another book, the barber said:
"This is The Mirror of Chivalry."9
"I already know his grace," said the priest. "There you'll find Reinaldos de Montalban and his friends and companions, greater thieves than Cacus, and the Twelve Peers along with that true historian Turpin,10 and the truth is I'm inclined to condemn them to no more than perpetual exile, if only because they contain part of the invention of the famous Matteo Boiardo, from which the cloth was woven by the Christian poet Ludovico Ariosto,11 who, if I find him here, speaking in some language not his own, I will have no respect for him at all; but if he speaks in his own language, I bow down to him."
"Well, I have him in Italian," said the barber, "but I don't understand it."
"There's no reason you should," replied the priest, "and here we would pardon the captain if he had not brought it to Spain and translated it into Castilian, for he took away a good deal of its original value, which is what all who attempt to translate books of poetry into another language will do as well: no matter the care they use and the skill they show, they will never achieve the quality the verses had in their first birth. In fact, I say that this book, and all those you find that deal with the matter of France, should be thrown into a dry well and kept there until we can agree on what should be done with them, except for a Bernardo del Carpio that's out there, and another called Roncesvalles, 12 for these, on reaching my hands, will pass into the housekeeper's and then into the fire, with no chance of a pardon."
All this the barber seconded, and thought it right and proper, for he understood that the priest was so good a Christian and so loved the truth that he would not speak a falsehood for anything in the world. And opening another book, he saw that it was Palmerin of the Olive, 13 and with it was another called Palmerin of England, and seeing this, the priest said:
"The olive branch should be cut up immediately and burned until there's nothing left but ashes, but the palm branch of England should be kept and preserved as something unique; a chest should be made for it like the one Alexander found among the spoils of Darius and which he designated for preserving the works of the poet Homer. This book, my friend, has authority for two reasons: one, because it is very good in and of itself, and two, because it is well-known that it was composed by a wise and prudent king of Portugal. All the adventures in the castle of Miraguarda are excellent and very artful; the language is courtly and clear, for it takes into account and respects the decorum of the person speaking with a good deal of exactness and understanding. I say, therefore, that unless you are of another mind, Master Nicolas, this one and Amadis of Gaul should escape the fire, and all the rest, without further investigation or inquiry, should perish."
"No, my friend," the barber responded, "for the one I have here is the renowned Don Belianis." 14
"Well, that one," replied the priest, "and its second, third, and fourth parts need a little dose of rhubarb to purge their excess of choler, and it would be necessary to remove everything about the castle of Fame and other, more serious impertinences, and therefore they are given a delayed sentence, and the degree to which they are emended will determine if mercy or justice are shown to them; in the meantime, my friend, keep them in your house, but permit no one to read them."
"It will be my pleasure," replied the barber.
And not wishing to tire himself further with the perusal of books of chivalry, he ordered the housekeeper to take all the large ones to the corral. This was not said to a foolish woman or a deaf one, but to a person who would rather burn the books than weave a piece of cloth, no matter how large or fine it might be, and she seized almost eight at a time and threw them out the window. Because she took so many together, one of them fell at the feet of the barber, who wanted to see which one it was and saw that it said: History of the Famous Knight Tirant lo Blanc. 15
"God help me!" said the priest with a great shout. "Here is Tirant lo Blanc. Let me have it, friend, for I state here and now that in it I have found a wealth of pleasure and a gold mine of amusement. Here is Don Quirieleison of Montalban, that valiant knight, and his brother Tomas of Montalban, and the knight Fonseca, not to mention the battle that the brave Tirant waged against the Alani, and the witticisms of the damsel Placerdemivida, and the loves and lies of the widow Reposada, and the lady Emperatriz, beloved of Hipolito, her squire. I tell you the truth, my friend, when I say that because of its style, this is the best book in the world: in it knights eat, and sleep, and die in their beds, and make a will before they die, and do everything else that all the other books of this sort leave out. For these reasons, since the author who composed this book did not deliberately write foolish things but intended to entertain and satirize, it deserves to be reprinted in an edition that would stay in print for a long time.16 Take it home and read it, and you'll say that everything I've said about it is true."
"I'll do that," answered the barber. "But what shall we do with these small books that remain?"
"These," said the priest, "are probably not about chivalry; they must be poetry."
And opening one, he saw that it was Diana, by Jorge de Montemayor,17 and he said, believing that all the others were of the same genre:
"These do not deserve to be burned like the rest, because they do not and will not cause the harm that books of chivalry have, for they are books of the understanding and do no injury to anyone."
"Oh, Senor!" said the niece. "Your grace should send them to be burned, just like all the rest, because it's very likely that my dear uncle, having been cured of the chivalric disease, will read these and want to become a shepherd and wander through the woods and meadows singing and playing, and, what would be even worse, become a poet, and that, they say, is an incurable and contagious disease."
"What the girl says is true," said the priest, "and it would be a good idea to remove from the path of our friend this obstacle and danger. And, to begin with Montemayor's Diana, I am of the opinion that it should not be burned, but that everything having to do with the wise Felicia and the enchanted water, and almost all the long verses, should be excised, and let it happily keep all the prose and the honor of being the first of such books."
"This next one," said the barber, "is called Diana the Second, by the Salamancan, and here's another one with the same name, whose author is Gil Polo."18
"The one by the Salamancan," replied the priest, "should join and add to the number of those condemned in the corral, and the one by Gil Polo should be preserved as if it were by Apollo himself; and move on, my friend, and let's hurry; it's growing late."
"This book," said the barber, opening another one, "is The Ten Books of Fortune in Love, composed by Antonio de Lofraso, a Sardinian poet."19
"By the orders I received," said the priest, "since Apollo was Apollo, and the muses muses, and poets poets, no book as amusing or nonsensical has ever been written, and since, in its way, it is the best and most unusual book of its kind that has seen the light of day, anyone who has not read it can assume that he has never read anything entertaining. Give it to me, friend, for I value finding it more than if I were given a cassock of rich Florentine cloth."
&nb
"These next ones are The Shepherd of Iberia, Nymphs of Henares, and Deceptions of Jealousy." 20
"Well, there's nothing else to do," said the priest, "but turn them over to the secular arm of the housekeeper; and don't ask me why, for I'd never finish."
"This one is The Shepherd of Filida." 21
"He isn't a shepherd," said the priest, "but a very prudent courtier; keep that as if it were a precious jewel."
"This large one here," said the barber, "is called Treasury of Various Poems."22
"If there weren't so many," said the priest, "they would be more highly esteemed; this book needs a weeding and clearing out of certain base things contained among all its grandeurs. Keep it, because its author is a friend of mine, and out of respect for other, more heroic and elevated works that he has written."
"This," said the barber, "is The Songbook by Lopez Maldonado."23
"The author of that book," replied the priest, "is also a great friend of mine, and when he recites his verses they amaze anyone who hears them, and the delicacy of his voice when he sings them is enchanting. He's somewhat long-winded in the eclogues, but you can't have too much of a good thing: keep it with the chosen ones. But what's that book next to it?"
"La Galatea, by Miguel de Cervantes,"24 said the barber.
"This Cervantes has been a good friend of mine for many years, and I know that he is better versed in misfortunes than in verses. His book has a certain creativity; it proposes something and concludes nothing. We have to wait for the second part he has promised; perhaps with that addition it will achieve the mercy denied to it now; in the meantime, keep it locked away in your house, my friend."
"Gladly," the barber responded. "And here are three all together: La Araucana, by Don Alonso de Ercilla, La Austriada, by Juan Rufo, a magistrate of Cordoba, and El Monserrate, by Cristobal de Virues, a Valencian poet."25
"All three of them," said the priest, "are the best books written in heroic verse in the Castilian language, and they can compete with the most famous from Italy: keep them as the richest gems of poetry that Spain has."
The priest wearied of seeing more books, and so, without further reflection, he wanted all the rest to be burned; but the barber already had one open, and it was called The Tears of Angelica. 26
"I would shed them myself," said the priest when he heard the name, "if I had sent such a book to be burned, because its author was one of the famous poets not only of Spain but of the world, and he had great success translating some fables by Ovid."
CHAPTER VII
Regarding the second sally of our good knight Don Quixote of La Mancha
At this point, Don Quixote began to shout, saying:
"Here, here, valiant knights; here each must show the might of his valiant arm, for the courtiers are winning the tourney."
Because of their response to this noise and uproar, the examination of the remaining books went no further; and so, it is believed that into the flames, without being seen or heard, went La Carolea and The Lion of Spain, along with The Deeds of the Emperor, composed by Don Luis de Avila,1 which no doubt were among the remaining books; perhaps, if the priest had seen them, they would not have suffered so harsh a sentence.
When they reached Don Quixote, he was already out of bed, still shouting and engaging in senseless acts, slashing forehand and backhand with his sword and as awake as if he had never slept. They seized him and forced him back to bed, and after he had calmed down somewhat, he turned to speak to the priest and said:
"In truth, Senor Archbishop Turpin, it is a great discredit to those of us called the Twelve Peers to do nothing more and allow the courtier knights victory in this tourney, when we, the knights who seek adventures, have won glory on the three previous days."
"Be still, my friend," said the priest, "for it is God's will that fortune changes, and that what is lost today is won tomorrow; your grace should tend to your health now, for it seems to me your grace must be fatigued, if not badly wounded."
"Not wounded," said Don Quixote, "but bruised and broken, there is no doubt about that, for the ignoble Don Roland beat me mercilessly with the branch of an oak tree, all on account of envy, because he sees that I alone am his rival in valorous deeds. But my name would not be Reinaldos de Montalban if, upon rising from this bed, I did not repay him in spite of all his enchantments; for now, bring me something to eat, since I know that is what I need most at present, and leave my revenge to me."
They did as he asked: they gave him food, and he went back to sleep, and they marveled at his madness.
That night, the housekeeper burned and consigned to the flames all the books that were in the corral and in the house, and some must have been in the fire that should have been preserved in perpetual archives; but their destiny, and the sloth of the examiner, did not permit this, and so, as the proverb says, at times the just must pay for sinners.
One of the remedies that the priest and the barber devised for their friend's illness was to wall up and seal off the room that held the books, so that when he got up he would not find them--perhaps by removing the cause, they would end the effect--and they would say that an enchanter had taken the books away, along with the room and everything in it; and this is what they did, with great haste. Two days later Don Quixote got out of bed, and the first thing he did was to go to see his books, and since he could not find the library where he had left it, he walked back and forth looking for it. He went up to the place where the door had been, and he felt it with his hands, and his eyes looked all around, and he did not say a word; but after some time had passed, he asked his housekeeper what had become of the library and his books. The housekeeper, who had been well-instructed in how she should respond, said:
"What library and what anything is your grace looking for? There's no more library and no more books in this house, because the devil himself took them away."
"It wasn't a devil," replied the niece, "but an enchanter who came on a cloud one night, after the day your grace left here, and he dismounted from the serpent he was riding and entered the library, and I don't know what he did inside, but after a little while he flew up through the roof and left the house full of smoke; and when we had the presence of mind to see what he had done, we could find no books and no library; the only thing the housekeeper and I remember very clearly is that as the evil old man was leaving, he shouted that because of the secret enmity he felt for the owner of the books and the room, he had done damage in the house, which we would see soon enough. He also said he was called Munaton the Wise."
"He must have said Freston,"2 said Don Quixote.
"I don't know," the housekeeper replied, "if he was called Freston or Friton; all I know is that his name ended in ton."
"That is true," said Don Quixote. "He is a wise enchanter, a great enemy of mine who bears me a grudge because he knows through his arts and learning that I shall, in time, come to do battle in single combat with a knight whom he favors and whom I am bound to vanquish, and he will not be able to stop it, and for this reason he attempts to cause me all the difficulties he can; but I foresee that he will not be able to contravene or avoid what heaven has ordained."
"Who can doubt it?" said the niece. "But, Senor Uncle, who has involved your grace in those disputes? Wouldn't it be better to stay peacefully in your house and not wander around the world searching for bread made from something better than wheat, never stopping to think that many people go looking for wool and come back shorn?"
"Oh, my dear niece," replied Don Quixote, "how little you understand! Before I am shorn I shall have plucked and removed the beard of any man who imagines he can touch even a single hair of mine."
The two women did not wish to respond any further because they saw that he was becoming enraged.
So it was that he spent two very quiet weeks at home, showing no signs of wanting to repeat his initial lunacies, and during this time he had lively conversations
During this time, Don Quixote approached a farmer who was a neighbor of his, a good man--if that title can be given to someone who is poor--but without much in the way of brains. In short, he told him so much, and persuaded and promised him so much, that the poor peasant resolved to go off with him and serve as his squire. Among other things, Don Quixote said that he should prepare to go with him gladly, because it might happen that one day he would have an adventure that would gain him, in the blink of an eye, an insula,3 and he would make him its governor. With these promises and others like them, Sancho Panza,4 for that was the farmer's name, left his wife and children and agreed to be his neighbor's squire.
Then Don Quixote determined to find some money, and by selling one thing, and pawning another, and undervaluing everything, he managed to put together a reasonable sum. He also acquired a round shield, which he borrowed from a friend, and doing the best he could to repair his broken helmet, he informed his squire of the day and time he planned to start out so that Sancho could supply himself with whatever he thought he would need. He ordered him in particular to bring along saddlebags, and Sancho said he certainly would bring them and also planned to take along a donkey he thought very highly of because he wasn't one for walking any great distance. As for the donkey, Don Quixote had to stop and think about that for a while, wondering if he recalled any knight errant who had with him a squire riding on a donkey, and none came to mind, yet in spite of this he resolved to take Sancho along, intending to obtain a more honorable mount for him at the earliest opportunity by appropriating the horse of the first discourteous knight he happened to meet. He furnished himself with shirts and all the other things he could, following the advice the innkeeper had given him; and when this had been accomplished and completed, without Panza taking leave of his children and wife, or Don Quixote of his housekeeper and niece, they rode out of the village one night, and no one saw them, and they traveled so far that by dawn they were certain they would not be found even if anyone came looking for them.