Miguel Cervantes - Miguel de Cervantes - Don Quixote (English Edition)

But it is, after all, the humour of "Don Quixote" that distinguishes it from all other books of the romance kind. It is this that makes it, as one of the most judicial-minded of modern critics calls it, "the best novel in the world beyond all comparison." It is its varied humour, ranging from broad farce to comedy as subtle as Shakespeare's or Moliere's that has naturalised it in every country where there are readers, and made it a classic in every language that has a literature.

To the book of Don Quixote of la Mancha

If to be welcomed by the good,

O Book! thou make thy steady aim,

No empty chatterer will dare

To question or dispute thy claim.

But if perchance thou hast a mind

To win of idiots approbation,

Lost labour will be thy reward,

Though they'll pretend appreciation.

They say a goodly shade he finds

Who shelters 'neath a goodly tree;

And such a one thy kindly star

In Bejar bath provided thee:

A royal tree whose spreading boughs

A show of princely fruit display;

A tree that bears a noble Duke,

The Alexander of his day.

Of a Manchegan gentleman

Thy purpose is to tell the story,

Relating how he lost his wits

O'er idle tales of love and glory,

Of "ladies, arms, and cavaliers:"

A new Orlando Furioso-

Innamorato, rather—who

Won Dulcinea del Toboso.

Put no vain emblems on thy shield;

All figures—that is bragging play.

A modest dedication make,

And give no scoffer room to say,

"What! Alvaro de Luna here?

Or is it Hannibal again?

Or does King Francis at Madrid

Once more of destiny complain?"

Since Heaven it hath not pleased on thee

Deep erudition to bestow,

Or black Latino's gift of tongues,

No Latin let thy pages show.

Ape not philosophy or wit,

Lest one who cannot comprehend,

Make a wry face at thee and ask,

"Why offer flowers to me, my friend?"

Be not a meddler; no affair

Of thine the life thy neighbours lead:

Be prudent; oft the random jest

Recoils upon the jester's head.

Thy constant labour let it be

To earn thyself an honest name,

For fooleries preserved in print

Are perpetuity of shame.

A further counsel bear in mind:

If that thy roof be made of glass,

It shows small wit to pick up stones

To pelt the people as they pass.

Win the attention of the wise,

And give the thinker food for thought;

Whoso indites frivolities,

Will but by simpletons be sought.

AMADIS OF GAUL

To Don Quixote of la Mancha

Thou that didst imitate that life of mine

When I in lonely sadness on the great

Rock Pena Pobre sat disconsolate,

In self-imposed penance there to pine;

Thou, whose sole beverage was the bitter brine

Of thine own tears, and who withouten plate

Of silver, copper, tin, in lowly state

Off the bare earth and on earth's fruits didst dine;

Live thou, of thine eternal glory sure.

So long as on the round of the fourth sphere

The bright Apollo shall his coursers steer,

In thy renown thou shalt remain secure,

Thy country's name in story shall endure,

And thy sage author stand without a peer.

DON BELIANIS OF GREECE

To Don Quixote of la Mancha

In slashing, hewing, cleaving, word and deed,

I was the foremost knight of chivalry,

Stout, bold, expert, as e'er the world did see;

Thousands from the oppressor's wrong I freed;

Great were my feats, eternal fame their meed;

In love I proved my truth and loyalty;

The hugest giant was a dwarf for me;

Ever to knighthood's laws gave I good heed.

My mastery the Fickle Goddess owned,

And even Chance, submitting to control,

Grasped by the forelock, yielded to my will.

Yet—though above yon horned moon enthroned

My fortune seems to sit—great Quixote, still

Envy of thy achievements fills my soul.

THE LADY OF ORIANA

To Dulcinea del Toboso

Oh, fairest Dulcinea, could it be!

It were a pleasant fancy to suppose so—

Could Miraflores change to El Toboso,

And London's town to that which shelters thee!

Oh, could mine but acquire that livery

Of countless charms thy mind and body show so!

Or him, now famous grown—thou mad'st him grow so—

Thy knight, in some dread combat could I see!

Oh, could I be released from Amadis

By exercise of such coy chastity

As led thee gentle Quixote to dismiss!

Then would my heavy sorrow turn to joy;

None would I envy, all would envy me,

And happiness be mine without alloy.

GANDALIN, SQUIRE OF AMADIS OF GAUL,

To Sancho Panza, squire of Don Quixote

All hail, illustrious man! Fortune, when she

Bound thee apprentice to the esquire trade,

Her care and tenderness of thee displayed,

Shaping thy course from misadventure free.

No longer now doth proud knight-errantry

Regard with scorn the sickle and the spade;

Of towering arrogance less count is made

Than of plain esquire-like simplicity.

I envy thee thy Dapple, and thy name,

And those alforjas thou wast wont to stuff

With comforts that thy providence proclaim.

Excellent Sancho! hail to thee again!

To thee alone the Ovid of our Spain

Does homage with the rustic kiss and cuff.

On Sancho Panza and Rocinante

I am the esquire Sancho Pan—

Who served Don Quixote of La Man—;

But from his service I retreat-,

Resolved to pass my life discreet-;

For Villadiego, called the Si—,

Maintained that only in reti—

Was found the secret of well-be—,

According to the "Celesti—:"

A book divine, except for sin—

By speech too plain, in my opin—

I am that Rocinante fa—,

Great-grandson of great Babie—,

Who, all for being lean and bon—,

Had one Don Quixote for an own—;

But if I matched him well in weak—,

I never took short commons meek—,

But kept myself in corn by steal—,

A trick I learned from Lazaril—,

When with a piece of straw so neat—

The blind man of his wine he cheat—.

ORLANDO FURIOSO

To Don Quixote of La Mancha

If thou art not a Peer, peer thou hast none;

Among a thousand Peers thou art a peer;

Nor is there room for one when thou art near,

Unvanquished victor, great unconquered one!

Orlando, by Angelica undone,

Am I; o'er distant seas condemned to steer,

And to Fame's altars as an offering bear

Valour respected by Oblivion.

I cannot be thy rival, for thy fame

And prowess rise above all rivalry,

Albeit both bereft of wits we go.

But, though the Scythian or the Moor to tame

Was not thy lot, still thou dost rival me:

Love binds us in a fellowship of woe.

To Don Quixote of La Mancha

My sword was not to be compared with thine

Phoebus of Spain, marvel of courtesy,

Nor with thy famous arm this hand of mine

That smote from east to west as lightnings fly.

I scorned all empire, and that monarchy

The rosy east held out did I resign

For one glance of Claridiana's eye,

The bright Aurora for whose love I pine.