Cervantes the Cervantes Society of America Volume Xxvi Spring, 2006

Home , Alonso Quijano, Barefoot (horse), Don Quichotte, John Ormsby (translator), La Leyenda de la Mancha, Quiz (horse)

Bulletin ofCervantes the Cervantes Society of America volume xxvi Spring, 2006

“El traducir de una lengua en otra… es como quien mira los tapices flamencos por el revés.” Don Quijote II, 62

Translation Number Bulletin of the CervantesCervantes Society of America The Cervantes Society of America President Frederick De Armas (2007-2010) Vice-President Howard Mancing (2007-2010) Secretary-Treasurer Theresa Sears (2007-2010)

Executive Council Bruce Burningham (2007-2008) Charles Ganelin (Midwest) Steve Hutchinson (2007-2008) William Childers (Northeast) Rogelio Miñana (2007-2008) Adrienne Martin (Pacific Coast) Carolyn Nadeau (2007-2008) Ignacio López Alemany (Southeast) Barbara Simerka (2007-2008) Christopher Wiemer (Southwest)

Cervantes: Bulletin of the Cervantes Society of America Editors: Daniel Eisenberg Tom Lathrop Managing Editor: Fred Jehle (2007-2010) Book Review Editor: William H. Clamurro (2007-2010)

Editorial Board John J. Allen † Carroll B. Johnson Antonio Bernat Francisco Márquez Villanueva Patrizia Campana Francisco Rico Jean Canavaggio George Shipley Jaime Fernández Eduardo Urbina Edward H. Friedman Alison P. Weber Aurelio González Diana de Armas Wilson

Cervantes, official organ of the Cervantes Society of America, publishes scholarly articles in Eng- lish and Spanish on Cervantes’ life and works, reviews, and notes of interest to Cervantistas. Tw i ce yearly. Subscription to Cervantes is a part of membership in the Cervantes Society of America, which also publishes a newsletter: $20.00 a year for individuals, $40.00 for institutions, $30.00 for couples, and $10.00 for students. Membership is open to all persons interested in Cervantes. For membership and subscription, send check in us dollars to Theresa Sears, 6410 Muirfield Dr., Greensboro, NC 27410. ([email protected]). The journal style sheet and submission form are located at http://www2.h-net.msu.edu/~cervantes/bcsalist.htm. Manuscripts should be sent, if possible, as an attachment to an email message sent to Tom Lathrop ([email protected]); street address: 270 Indian Road, Newark, Delaware 19711-5204.The Society requires anonymous submissions, therefore the author’s name should not appear on the manuscript; instead, a cover sheet with the author’s name, address, and the title of the article should accompany the article. References to the author’s own work should be couched in the third person. Books for review should be sent to Wil- liam H. Clamurro, Department of Modern Languages and Literatures, Emporia State Univer- sity, Emporia, Kansas 66081-5087 ([email protected]). Copyright © 2008 Cervantes Society of America Cervantesvolume xxvi Table of Contents

Articles Tilting at Windmills:Don Quijote in English Michael J. McGrath...... 7

Don Quijote en hebreo: traducciones, adaptaciones y reescrituras Ruth Fine ...... 41

Génesis y significado de la primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote Jasna Stojanović ...... 57

A “New” Seventeenth-Century English Translation of “El celoso extremeño” Dale B. J. Randall ...... 73

Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited Michael Scham ...... 79

The Text ofDon Quixote as Seen by its Modern English Translators Daniel Eisenberg ...... 103

Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road Barbara Nichol ...... 127

Will the Real Cervantes Please Stand Up? Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations Don and Tom Lathrop ...... 181 Was Thomas Shelton the Translator of the ‘Second Part’ (1620) of Don Quixote?” James H. Montgomery ...... 209

On the Rhetoric Within and Without Don Quixote James A. Parr ...... 219

Review Articles Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote Tom Lathrop ...... 237

Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote Charles D. Presberg ...... 257

El Persiles hermético Isabel Lozano Renieblas ...... 277

Reviews Eric J. Kartchner. Unhappily Ever After: Deceptive Idealism in Cervantes’s Marriage Tales. Anthony J. Cárdenas-Rotunno ...... 285

Alberto Rivas Yanes, ed. El hidalgo fuerte: Siete miradas al Quijote / L’hidalgo fuerte: Sept regards sur Don Quichotte. Michael W. Joy ...... 287

Barbara Fuchs. Passing for Spain: Cervantes and the Fictions of Identity. Eric J. Kartchner...... 290

Ciriaco Morón. Para entender el Quijote. Vincent Martin ...... 294

Carme Riera. El Quijote desde el nacionalismo catalán, en torno al Tercer Centenario. Helena Percas de Ponseti ...... 297 José Manuel González Fernández de Sevilla, ed. Cervantes y/and Shakespeare. Nuevas interpretaciones y aproximaciones comparativas. New Interpretations and Comparative Approaches. Shannon M. Polchow ...... 301

Frederick A. De Armas. Quixotic Frescoes: Cervantes and Italian Renaissance Art. Michael Scham ...... 203

Don Quijote en el arte y pensamiento de Occidente. Ed. by John J. Allen and Patricia S. Finch. Steven Wagschal ...... 307

Jesús G. Maestro. La secularización de la tragedia. Cervantes y La Numancia. Francisco Vivar ...... 309

Cervantes y / and Shakespeare. Nuevas interpretaciones y aproximaciones comparativas. New Interpretations and Comparative Approaches. Ed. José Manuel González Fernández de Sevilla. Luis Gómez Canseco y Zenón Luis Martínez ...... 311

Cover photographs by Steven Erickson.

Tilting at Windmills: Don Quijote in English

______Michael J. McGrath

rinted on the inside jacket of Edith Grossman’s 2003 translation of Don Quijote is the following statement: “Unless you read PSpanish, you have never read Don Quixote.” For many people, the belief that a novel should be read in its original language is not contro- vertible. The Russian writer Dostoevsky learned Spanish just to be able to read Don Quijote. Lord Byron described his reading of the novel in Spanish as “a pleasure before which all others vanish” (Don Juan 14.98). Unfortunately, there are many readers who are unable to read the novel in its original language, and those who depend upon an English translation may read a version that is linguistically and culturally quite different from the original. In his article “Traduttori Traditori: Don Quixote in English,” John Jay Allen cites the number of errors he encountered in different translations as a reason for writing the article. In addition, according to Allen, literary scholarship runs the risk of being skewed as a result of the translator’s inability to capture the text’s original meaning:

I think that we Hispanists tend to forget that the overwhelming majority of comments on Don Quixote by non-Spaniards—novelists, theoreticians of literature, even comparatists—are based upon readings in translation, and I, for one, had never considered just what this might mean for interpretation. The notorious difficulty in establishing the locus of value in Don Quixote should alert us to the tremendous influence a translator may have in tipping the balance in what is obviously a delicate equilibrium of ambiguity and multi- valence. (1)

7 8 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

Burton Raffel, the translator of the 1995 Norton edition of the novel, acknowledges in the Introduction the importance of recreating in English the Spanish elements of the novel: “I want this translation to sound like it’s set in Spain to feel as Spanish as possible…. It’s not a book that could have been written in English—or indeed in any other language. Don Quijote’s magnificence is indubitably Hispanic” (xv). Eight English translations have appeared since 1949. Now that 400 years have passed since the publication of Part I of Miguel de Cervantes’ masterpiece, do we have today the English translations we need to appreciate Don Quijote? In my comparison of the most significant points of the novel, I refer to the following English translations of Don Quijote:1

1. The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha. A new translation from the Spanish, with a Critical Text Based on the First Editions of 1605 and 1615, and with Variant Readings, Variorum Notes, and an Introduction by Samuel Putnam. New York: Viking, 1949. 2. The Adventures of Don Quixote. Translated by J[ohn] M[ichael] Cohen. 1950. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1975. 3. Don Quixote of la Mancha. Translated and with an Introduction by Walter Starkie. New York: New American Library, 1964. 4. Don Quixote. The Ormsby Translation, Revised. Backgrounds and Sources. Criticism. Edited by Joseph R. Jones and Kenneth Douglas. (Henceforth referred to as ODJ, in the order of the participation of each.) New York: W. W. Norton, 1981. 5. Don Quijote. Trans. Burton Raffel. [Introduction by Diana de Armas Wilson. New York: W. W. Norton, 1995.] A New Translation. Backgrounds and Contexts. Criticism. Edited by Diana de Armas Wilson. 1998. New York: W. W. Norton, 1999. 6. The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha. Translated by John Rutherford, with an introduction by Roberto González Echevarría. 2000 (without the introduction). Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 2001.

1 James Montgomery published a translation of the novel titled The Adventures and Misadventures of Don Quixote: An Up-to-date Translation for Today’s Readers after I submitted this article. I will write a book review of Montgomery’s translation for a future number of the journal. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 9

7. Don Quixote. Translated by Edith Grossman. New York: Har- perCollins, 2003. 8. Don Quixote. Fourth-Centenary Translation. Trans. and with notes by Tom Lathrop. Illustrated by Jack Davis. Newark, DE: European Masterpieces, 2007.

Since my focus is on the quality of the translations and not that of the volumes, I am not commenting on introductions, secondary material, or notes, except as they relate to questions of translations. In Part II, Chapter 62, Cervantes, through the character of Don Quixote, offers this opinion on translations: “me parece que el traducir de una lengua en otra, como no sea de las reinas de las lenguas, grie- ga y latina, es como quien mira los tapices flamencos por el revés, que, aunque se veen las figuras, son llenas de hilos que las escurecen, y no se veen con la lisura y tez de la haz…” (II, 62; 555).2 The translator of Don Quijote must share the knight-errant’s quixotic vision in order to produce a translation that does not appear as “Flemish tapestries seen from the back.” The earliest translations, those of Thomas Shelton (1612 and 1620),3 John Phillips (1687), Peter Motteux (1712), and Tobias Smollet (1755), are often inaccurate, as these translators took many liberties with the novel. Motteux went so far as to eliminate sentences and in- sert text of his own.4 Charles Jervas, in 1742, produced a translation that attempted to recreate the original as closely as possible. His style of translation, however, did not capture Cervantes’ wit and transformed the novel into a solemn book. In the nineteenth century, the popularity of John Ormsby’s (1885) version superseded Alexander Duffield’s (1881) and Henry Edward Watts’ (1888) translations. In the introduction to his translation, Watts provides a description of what John Rutherford (xxviii) calls the “puritan” translator:

The translator should efface himself, for it is not he whom the public have come to see, but the author. To intrude one’s own nineteenth- century personality into such a book as Don Quixote, is an offence as gross against good manners as against art. A worse crime than

2 Spanish passages are from John Jay Allen’s edition. 3 In contrast with the 1612 translation of Part I, the first (1620) translation of Part II does not supply the name of its translator. While traditionally attributed to Shelton, Anthony Lo Ré has argued that it in fact the work of Leonard Digges. See his studies in the list of Works Cited. 4 Bertram D. Wolfe described Motteux’s translation as “odious.” 10 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

this, however, is to deck the author as well as his book in your own colours—to put on him your livery—to make him speak after a set manner—to torture and twist his character, as well as his work, into conformity with some fantastic idea in the translator’s brain.5

More recent translations are less conventional, as the translators aspire to present an accurate translation without sacrificing Cervantes’ style. This approach, however, is problematic. How do translators produce both a text that appeals to today’s readership and yet is faithful to the language and style of the original? In addition, how do they write in English and maintain the peculiarities of the original language? Language, as the expression of a culture, contains inherent expressions that are used primarily for effect. Texans refer to anything large as “bigger than Dallas.” If a person does not want to do something, she might say: “I’d rather go over Niagara Falls in a barrel.” A reader who reads these sayings in another language would need a cultural explanation to understand the references. The same is true of a reader ofDon Quijote in English. Its many topical allusions require a translator with intimate knowledge of Spanish culture. In addition, this same translator must be able to communicate effectively the nuances of the language, a task that is further complicated by Sancho Panza’s numerous witty sayings and malapropisms. While it is nearly impossible for translators to reproduce precisely Sancho’s wit, they can preserve the original meaning of the text with a translation that makes sense. It is important, therefore, that the translator find the right words to convey the same idea. Words alone, however, do not make a translation effective. It is necessary that the translator also recreate the original author’s style of writing. That is, the way he/she uses words, arranges the parts of a sentence, and finally puts the sentences into a paragraph. For example,Don Quijote has many long and complex sentences that on the surface would be easy to shorten in translation. This abbreviation, however, changes Cervantes’ style of dialogue. Cervantes’ distinctive style of writing certainly compli- cates the translation process, and translators must somehow find a way to produce a translation that is accurate and makes sense to a contemporary readership, while not compromising literary genius. In his review of Raffel’s translation, Steven Wagschal compares translating Don Quijote to a Gordian knot: “The translator must make compromises to preserve

5 The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of la Mancha, trans. Henry Edward Watts (London, 1888). Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 11 faithfully the original values and appeal simultaneously to a contemporary audience” (148). The introductions and prefaces to each of the translations serve as the reader’s initial orientation to what changes the reader can expect from the original, as well as, in some cases, a statement or two about the translator’s philosophy. What follows is a summary of this introductory material in chronological order. All translators except Starkie provide an introduction.

Samuel Putnam (1949): In order to be consistent with the names that appear more than once, Putnam leaves the names of people in their original form. He does translate, however, the names of monarchs. In addition, he anglicizes geographic names (e.g. Cordova instead of Córdoba, and Saragossa in place of Zaragoza). Putnam, unlike Ormsby, translates words that he feels have “a near enough equivalent” (xxvii). Putnam provides as examples of these words alforja, which he translates as saddlebags, and bota, translated as wine flask; he explains that words that can be translated with little difficulty, but are not, only slow up the average reader. Another example of a translation that resembles closely the original is cura, which Putnam translates as curate. He rejects as “too quaint” the translation “Dapple” for the name of Sancho Panza’s donkey (xxvii). As a noun, Putnam explains, the name should be a noun, not an adjective. He chooses to refer to Sancho’s donkey as “ass” or “donkey.” In his desire to modernize the translation, Putnam renders vuesa merced as “you,” rather than “thou,” in episodes that do not use archaic language. In addition, he takes liberties with the punctuation, the dialogue transitions, and the structure of paragraphs and sentences. Putnam believes modernization of the style is a necessity, for the Spanish language is nearly impossible to translate into English without making stylistic changes:

The Spanish language in general, and the Spanish of Cervantes in particular, have a terseness which, one may as well admit it, cannot be carried over into English; but with Cervantes this is a terseness that is achieved within a long and sprawling sentence marked by an intricate interweaving of clauses loosely connected by a series of que’s and relative pronouns. Any attempt to preserve this sentence structure—and Ormsby does attempt it—can lead only to obscurity in English, as it sometimes does in Spanish, conveying an impression of dullness which is decidedly unfair to the author. (xxviii) 12 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

Putnam espouses the addition of words to the text in instances when these words provide clarification, especially when the confusion is a result of problematic pronoun antecedents. He informs the reader that he does call attention, mainly in footnotes, to Cervantes’ contradictions and inconsistencies, but he does so only to comment on Cervantes’ literary style. While Putnam preserves the rhyme schemes of Cervantes’ verse, namely Antonio’s ballad in Part I, Chapter 11, and Grisóstomo’s song in Part I, Chapter 14, he does not attempt to recreate the assonance or medial rhymes. Putnam states that he is using the princeps editions of 1605 and 1615, presumably in facsimile.

J[ohn] M[ichael] Cohen (1950): First published in 1950, Cohen’s translation remained in print until about 1975. His stated aim was to translate Don Quijote with “the task of reconciling faithfulness to Cervantes with the writing of contemporary English” (11). While Cohen recognizes that earlier translations resemble the original in spirit, he believes previous translators failed to capture the genius of Cervantes’ language. Unlike Putnam, Cohen anglicizes the names of the characters. With the exception of episodes in which the Spanish is archaic for effect, Cohen modernizes both vocabulary and syntax. While Cohen translates the majority of Sancho’s sayings with his own words, he inserts occasionally English sayings that resemble closely the original. Cohen points out that the “stilted language” (19) of the pastoral narratives makes it difficult to achieve a translation that flows freely. Due to a dearth of suitable translations, Cohen tones down oaths and expletives and admits that a lack of faith in his own ability to translate effectively the interpolated poems is the reason he relies on earlier translators’ versions of the poetry. Cohen’s footnotes are scanty, and he explains that “the obscurities are few, and no attempts to explain them do much more than pile up indigestible historical references, that prevent the reader from getting along with the book” (20). In his discussion of Cervantes’ life and the novel, Cohen writes that Part I appeared in 1604, Part II in 1614, and Cervantes died in 1615 (18).6 Cohen does not state which Spanish version he consulted.

John Ormsby/Kenneth Douglas/Joseph R. Jones (ODJ, 1981): Before his untimely death, Kenneth Douglas had begun to revise

6 Although this was not known in Cohen’s day, and the date 1604 is an ignorant error, it has recently been established that Part I was actually on sale in December of 1604. See Rico. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 13

Ormsby’s 1885 translation.7 The publisher Norton then asked Joseph R. Jones to finish the work begun by Douglas. Jones explains that while his goal was to preserve the genius of the original as much as possible, his revisions have the American university student as the target readership: “My experience has taught me that American students by and large look for speed of comprehension and pace, and either they will have both or they will simply stop reading” (xi). In an effort to produce a version appropriate for American university students, and one that does not inter- rupt the pace of reading, Jones adheres to current conventions of spelling, punctuation, and paragraphing. Instead of explanatory footnotes for rare words, he inserts translations that are “reasonable or easily visual- ized substitutes” (xi). Jones deals with proverbs in two ways. If the meaning of the proverb is obvious, he substitutes it with a rhyming translation that sounds like a proverb. In addition, Jones replaces proverbs that are difficult to understand with other well-known proverbs. Since oaths are either untranslatable or awkward, to American ears, in Ormsby’s version, Jones translates them freely. Similar to Putnam, Jones modernizes forms of address in everyday conversation, but he does not do so when they are meant to enhance effect. Douglas/Jones consulted Martín de Riquer’s revised edition of the novel (Planeta, 1962) for accuracy.

Burton Raffel (1995, second edition, with expanded secondary material, 1999): Raffel’s translation, whose second edition replaced the ODJ translation in the Norton Critical Edition series, is based upon Riquer’s 1980 edition of the novel (Planeta). He aims to present a faithful recreation of the syntactical organization and movement (pace, linguistic density, and structural transitions) of the novel’s prose. In addition, he tries to match as closely as possible the rhetoric of the prose. Rhetorical substitutions, however, “are in truth a good deal less important than such larger matters as style, pacing, fidelity to authorial intent, and the like” (xvii). Brief explanations in brackets within the text accompany important yet untranslatable material. Raffel uses footnotes for lengthy explanations and retains the original form of Spanish names whenever possible.

John Rutherford (2000): After publishing Cohen’s translation in 1950, and taking it through some nine printings, Penguin replaced it

7 Ormsby’s translation, of course in the public domain, is the only English translation publicly available on the Internet. 14 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes with Rutherford’s translation. Rutherford consulted Luis A. Murillo’s Spanish edition of the novel (Castalia, 1978) and María Moliner’s Diccionario del uso del español (Gredos, 1966-67), in addition to three English translations, which he does not identify. Rutherford summarizes his approach to his translation in the following way:

What I tried to do was different: to let the Spanish words construct in my mind’s eye the world of the novel, and to live in that world; to see and hear Don Quixote and Sancho and to make them my best friends (some loss of sanity is a price that any artist has to pay); and only then to search for the English words with which to describe what I found in my imagination. (xxvii)

Rutherford rejects the idea of the “invisible translator.” Just as Cervantes used the language of his day, Rutherford believes a translation should use the language of its day. For this reason, he modernizes the language of both the dialogues and the narrations. He does not, however, modernize the novel’s oaths and insults, for he believes that contemporary expletives cannot do them justice. While Rutherford admits that it would be easy to shorten complex sentences and correct grammatical inaccuracies, to preserve Cervantes’ literary style he does neither. Rutherford describes the process of translating as an “impossible goal” (xxxii), for translators are unable to achieve the perfection they desire. Like modern knights- errant, he adds, translators must aspire to come as close as possible to the perfect translation.

Edith Grossman (2003): Grossman establishes from the outset of her introduction the enormous challenge of translating Don Quijote, a task she refers to as a “daunting and inspiring enterprise” (xviii). It was not until Spanish novelist Julián Ríos explained to Grossman that Cervantes was in many respects a modern writer did she start to feel comfortable with the endeavor that lay ahead. Grossman summarizes her philosophy of translating in this way:

For me this is the essential challenge in translation: hearing, in the most profound way I can, the text in Spanish and discovering the voice to say (I mean, to write) the text again in English. Compared to that, lexical difficulties shrink and wither away. (xix)

She considered leaving the protagonist’s name in the original, but instead Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 15 chose to write it with an “x” to emphasize the connection with “quixotic.” Unlike other translations she has done, Grossman uses footnotes in this one only when she needs to explain obscure references and complex allusions. Her translation is based upon one of Riquer’s editions of Don Quijote, though she does not specify which. Tom Lathrop (2007): Lathrop’s translation has as its primary ob- jective a version that adheres as closely as possible to the first edition of the novel. Unlike other translators, who rely on later Spanish editions, Lathrop (the only English translator who has also edited the Spanish text) chooses to translate from the first edition because the contradictions and supposed errors were put in the work on purpose, to mimic the books of chivalry on all levels, not only characters and types of adventures, but also the details of the careless writing style of those books- careless and/or misinformed chapter titles, contradictions of all types, inconsistencies of time and place, etc. (I, Introduction). Lathrop believes that editors who “correct” Cervantes’ supposed errors produce a text that misrepresents his intent. Lathrop does not translate monetary terms or certain words and expressions (e.g. señor). In addition, he alters very little the manner in which Sancho speaks.

A translation that only distorts but does not misrepresent the original with serious implications is perhaps the least significant kind of mistake. For example, the first line of the novel, “En un lugar de La Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, vivía un hidalgo de los de lanza en astillero, adarga antigua, rocín flaco y galgo corredor” (97), illustrates how translators distort the original. I will cite three examples. All but two of the translators, Raffel and Rutherford, translated “no quiero” as either “do not wish” (Cohen 31 and Starkie 56), “do not care” (Grossman 19), “do not desire” (Putnam 25) or “prefer not” (ODJ 25). Raffel’s translation “(I don’t want to bother you with its name)” (13), while somewhat awkward sounding, underscores the insignificance that Cervantes attri- butes to naming the village. Rutherford’s translation “the name of which I cannot quite recall” (25) and Lathrop’s “whose name I don’t quite” do not, however, communicate as effectively as the other translations Cervantes desire not to name a specific village that can call itself the home of Don Quixote. Another distortion is the translation of the word hidalgo, which appears in all but one of the translations as “gentleman.” The meanings of the two words, however, are quite different. According to the Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary, a gentleman is a “man 16 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes of good breeding, kindness, courtesy, and honor” or “any man of ordinary respectability and good behavior, regardless of occupation, family, or the like.” In addition, it is a polite way of referring to any man in English. The Diccionario de autoridades defines hidalgo as “la persona noble que viene de casa y solar conocido, y como tal está exento de los pechos y derechos que pagan los villanos” (1979). The translation “gentleman,” therefore, is misleading, as it does not necessarily imply nobility. Given the semantic differences, perhaps a description that represents a specific reference to nobility would be more appropriate, such as a low-ranking nobleman. Lathrop is the only translator not to translate hidalgo as “gentleman.” In fact, he leaves the word in its original form and in a footnote explains that an hidalgo is a “member of the lesser nobility, exempt from taxes” (17). Finally, a third variation of the first line is the translation ofadarga . All of the translators except Putnam and Starkie translate the word as “shield.” These two translators prefer “buckler,” which is a shield that fas- tens to the arm. The Diccionario de autoridades defines adarga as “cierto género de escudo compuesto de duplicados cueros, engrudados, y cosi- dos unos con otros, de figura casi oval, y algunos de la de un corazón: por la parte interior tiene en el medio dos asas, la primera entra en el brazo izquierdo, y la segunda se empuña con la mano.” Even though Putnam and Starkie remain loyal to the original meaning of the word, the other translators utilize a more general term with which English speakers are more apt to identify. In his article “Traduttori Traditori: Don Quixote in English,” John Jay Allen cites the following verses from Grisóstomo’s Song, Part I, Chapter 14, in which the shepherd contemplates suicide as another example of translators’ distortion of the original:

¡Oh, en el reino de amor fieros tiranos celos!, ponedme un hierro en esta manos. Dame, desdén, una torcida soga. (220)

The most accurate translation seems to be Charles Jervas’s, from his 1742 translation titled The Adventures of Don Quixote de la Mancha: O cruel tyrant of the realm of love, Fierce Jealously, arm with a sword this hand, Or thou, Disdain, a twisted cord bestow. (47)

Putnam’s translation is the most problematic, as he not only distorts the Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 17 original, but also fails to translate the entire passage: “O ye fierce tyrants of Love’s empery! / Shackle these hands with stout cord, if ye must” (117). Cohen, Starkie, ODJ, Grossman, and Lathrop seem to model their translations after Shelton’s 1620 translation:

Oh, tyrant of love’s state, fierce jealousy! With cruel chains these hands together tie, With stubborn cords coupled them, rough disdain! (103)

Cohen: O tyrant of love’s state, fierce jealously! With cruel chains these hands together tie, With twisted rope couple them, rough disdain! (105)

Starkie: Tyrant of love’s realm, savage Jealously, In mercy clap thy manacles on me; Thou, Disdain, tie my hands with twisted rope. (139)

ODJ: Oh, thou fierce tyrant of the realms of love, Oh, Jealously! Put chains upon these hands, And bind me with thy strongest cord, Disdain. (92)

Grossman: O jealously, in the kingdom of love a pitiless tyrant, place these my hands in chains. And condemn me, disdain, to be bound in twisted rope. (96)

Lathrop: Oh, thou fierce tyrant of the realms of love, Oh, Jealousy! Put chains upon these hands, And bind me with thy strongest cord, Disdain. (9)

Unlike the aforementioned translators, both Rutherford and Raffel translate “hierro” not as chains but as a sword or a sharp weapon:

Rutherford: Fierce tyrant of all Love’s imperial lands, O Jealously, place cold steel in these hands! Give me, Disdain, a rope of twisted thread! (106)

Raffel: Oh Jealously, lend me your sharpest blade, You fiercest tyrant in all the kingdom of love! And you, Disdain, give me a twisted rope! (75) 18 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

According to the Diccionario de autoridades, a hierro is “el instrumen- to que sirve para herir: como la espada, puñal.” Rutherford’s and Raffel’s translations are most similar in meaning to the original. Putnam, Cohen, Starkie, ODJ, Grossman, and Lathrop slightly distort Cervantes’ text, yet, with the exception of Putnam, their translations do not misrepresent the original. In Part II, Chapter 24 there is yet another example of a distortion that does not seriously impact the original. When Don Quijote and Sancho go to a hermitage to speak with a hermit, they find instead a “so- taermitaño” (235), which Allen describes in a footnote as a “compañera del ermitaño.” The visit to the hermitage justifies Don Quijote’s earlier remarks about the life of hermits:

…sino que quiero decir que al rigor y estrecheza de entonces no llegan las penitencias de los de agora; pero no por esto dejan de ser todos buenos: a lo menos, yo por buenos los juzgo; y cuando todo corra turbio, menos mal hace el hipócrita que se finge bueno que el público pecador. (234)

Not all translators, however, communicate to the reader the implied relationship between the male and female hermits. Putnam not only identifies as the hermit a female, but also includes a note that describes the relationship between the two hermits: “In this sub-hermit one may behold the brazen countenance of the anchorite’s Magdalen” (1186). Cohen (616), Starkie (699), and Rutherford (650) identify the “sotoermitaño” as an “under-hermitess,” without further explanation. In addition to the correct translation, “female sub-hermit,” Douglas/Jones explain in a footnote that “the suggestion is that the absent hermit has a concubine” (560). Raffel describes her as a “female servant” (489) and has a footnote similar to the one in the ODJ translation. Grossman’s translation “as- sistant hermit” (617) is misleading. Finally, Lathrop identifies the “soto- ermitaño” as a “female sub-hermit” (II, 24). The translations that inform the reader that the hermit is a woman do not distort the original with any negative consequences, but they do rely upon the reader to interpret the relationship between Don Quijote’s remarks and the presence of the female hermit in the hermitage. Translations that semantically distort the original are not as serious, I believe, as those that are insensitive to the ethical issues that concerned Cervantes. In Cervantes’ response to Avellaneda’s accusation in Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 19 the Prologue to Part II that Cervantes disparaged Lope de Vega in Part I, Cervantes makes the following comment about the playwright:

no tengo yo de perseguir a ningún sacerdote, y más si tiene por aña- didura ser familiar del Santo Oficio; y si él lo dijo por quien parece que lo dijo, engañóse de todo en todo; que del tal adoro el ingenio, admiro las obras, y la ocupación continua y virtuosa. (26)

Translators, however, fail to recognize the allusion to Lope, especially the irony of “la ocupación continua y virtuosa:”

Putnam: it is not likely that I should attack any priest, above all, one that is a familiar of the Holy Office. If he made this statement, as it appears that he did, on behalf of a certain person, then he is utterly mistaken; for the person in question is one whose genius I hold in veneration and whose works I admire, as well as his constant industry and powers of application. (592)

In a note (1172), Putnam refers to Lope de Vega only within the context of his explanation of the reference to the Holy Office. Cohen, too, ne- glects to inform the reader of the irony:

And that being the case I am not likely to persecute any priest, particularly if he is a familiar of the Holy Office to boot. And if it was on behalf of a certain person that he wrote what he did, he is absolutely mistaken; for I revere that man’s genius, and admire his works and his virtuous and unceasing industry. (468)

Starkie’s translation is similar to that of Putnam and Cohen, except that Starkie explains the irony in a footnote:

Lope de Vega, moreover, was a Familiar of the Holy Office and cau- tion was the best policy in answering. For this reason he [Cervantes] declares his admiration for Lope’s genius but adds in his most ironic vein: “…his ever virtuous way of life.” He knew the scandals that had arisen concerning Lope’s private life, which are fully revealed in the private correspondence between the great dramatist and his patron, the Duke of Sessa. (526)

Like Putnam, ODJ (415) and Raffel (360) explain in a note that Lope 20 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes was a servant of the Holy Office, but they do not provide a translation or a note to reveal the irony behind Cervantes’ “admiration” of Lope. Rutherford’s translation contains a subtle hint of irony:

I’m not going to start persecuting any priests, still less if they’re fa- miliars of the Holy Office as well; and if when he said this he was thinking about the man I have in mind, he’s completely mistaken, because I adore that man’s creativity and I admire his works and his unceasing, virtuous virtuosity. (484)

In addition, he explains in a note about the Holy Office that Lope, even though a priest, “was notorious for his many love affairs” (1004). Following Grossman’s explanation of the Holy Office in a footnote, she recognizes the irony: “the protestations that follow here are pointedly disingenuous, for despite his being a priest, Lope de Vega’s dissolute private life was common knowledge” (456). Finally, Lathrop, too, reveals in a footnote Cervantes’ irony: “Cervantes knew about Lope’s scandalous private life” (424). The eight translators have similar interpretations of the original, yet only Starkie, Rutherford, Grossman, and Lathrop explain the irony of Cervantes’ praise for Lope de Vega. Another example of Cervantine irony that escapes translators occurs in Part I, Chapter 9, when Cervantes expresses his strong desire to learn more about the life of Don Quijote. The discovery of two books from the sixteenth century in the knight-errant’s library leaves Cervantes “de- seoso de saber real y verdaderamente toda la vida y milagros de nuestro famoso español don Quijote de la Mancha, luz y espejo de la caballería manchega” (178). Putnam’s translation of “milagros” is not as forceful as the original, and the translation of “luz y espejo de la caballería manchega” is too literal:

desirous of knowing the real and true story, the whole story, of the life and wondrous deeds of our famous Spaniard, Don Quixote, light and mirror of the chivalry of La Mancha (81)

Cohen, with his translation “marvels,” fails to recreate the irony of the “milagros.” In addition, Cohen describes Don Quijote as the “light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry” (75-76). Unfortunately, Starkie’s translation (107) is the same as Cohen’s. ODJ, like Putnam, lessen the irony with their translation of “milagros” as “wondrous deeds;” they also describe Don Quijote as the “light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry” (66). Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 21

Raffel’s translation of “milagros” captures more closely the irony:

I longed to know really and truly everything about our famous Spaniard Don Quijote’s life and all his heroic exploits (51)

His translation of “luz y espejo de la caballería manchega,” however, is somewhat perplexing: “the light and ornament of La Mancha knight- hood” (51). Rutherford’s translation is problematic:

eager for exact and authentic knowledge of the complete life and works of our famous Spaniard Don Quijote de la Mancha, the light and mirror of the chivalry of that land (74)

Grossman’s translation is accurate and expresses well the irony of Cervantes’ description of his knight:

longing to know, really and truly and in its entirety, the life and miracles of our famous Spaniard Don Quixote de la Mancha, the model and paragon of Manchegan chivalry (66)

Lathrop’s translation of “vida y milagros,” “life and miracles,” informs the reader that the phrase is ironic, but like previous translators, he describes Don Quijote as “the light and mirror of Manchegan chivalry” (64-65). While both Grossman and Lathrop recreate the ironic force of the “milagros” of the knight-errant, the best translation of the entire passage seems to be Grossman’s. A final example of irony that translators fail to translate correctly is from the Prologue to Part I. Cervantes combines serious commentary about his literary style with false modesty as he addresses those critics who say that the novel is a “leyenda seca como un esparto, ajena de inven- ción, menguada de estilo, pobre de conceptos y falta de toda erudición y doctrina” (96). He praises in an ironic tone those authors whose books lack literary decorum: “guardando en esto un decoro tan ingenioso, que en un renglón han pintado un enamorado destraído y en otro hacen un sermoncico cristiano” (96). Putnam fails to communicate the irony with his translation “for they are so adroit at maintaining a solemn face” (12). Cohen, too, is guilty of a mistranslation, as he writes that there are “many St. Thomases or other doctors of the church, observing such an ingenious solemnity” (26). In Starkie’s translation, the authors about whom Cervantes writes possess “so portentous a gravity” (42). Rutherford (12) 22 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes and Grossman (4) translate “un decoro tan ingenioso” as “ingenious decorum.” ODJ, however, translates the phrase “tan ingenioso” as Cervantes probably intended it to mean: “anyone would say they do a decorum so ingenious” (10). Raffel’s translation “just see how careful they are to stay so delicately proper” (8) and Lathrop’s “such a resourceful decorum” (4) are close, but they do not possess the irony of “so ingenious.” While accuracy is a necessary component of a successful translation, the translator should not sacrifice a translation that makes sense in favor of one that is accurate but difficult to understand. In Part I, Chapter 2, Cervantes describes two women who are standing in front of the inn that Don Quijote approaches: “Estaban acaso a la puerta dos mujeres mozas, destas que llaman del partido…” (122). The problematic word is partido, which the Diccionario de autoridades defines as “las que son de mal vivir, vendiendo su cuerpo, que llaman comúnmente rameras.” Cohen (37), Rutherford (32), and Grossman (26) describe the women as possessing “easy virtue.” The other translations are not as polite or as ambiguous. ODJ (31) and Raffel (18) describe the women as “party girls;” Raffel underscores his translation with the addition of the word “whores.” Starkie’s (63) and Raffel’s translations “wenches” and “whores,” respectively, are, I believe, the most accurate and do not force the reader to make sense of them. Lathrop’s translation “tart” (25) is not as descriptive, but it is accurate. The most intriguing translation is Putnam’s: “of the district” (33). Unlike those of Starkie and Raffel, Putnam’s translation is ambiguous and does not capture the true nature of the women’s “profession.” Another passage that requires translators to choose between literal accuracy and making sense is the following statement by Sancho Panza, who comments on the presence of the interpolated novel “El curioso impertinente” in Cide Hamete Benengeli’s adventures of Don Quijote and Sancho, from Part II, Chapter 3: “Yo apostaré que ha mezclado el hi de perro berzas con capachos” (57). Sancho, of course, compares the presence of the interpolated novel within the larger novel to mixing cab- bage (berzas) with baskets (capachos). Not all of the translators, however, chose a translation that makes sense in lieu of one that is accurate. As a result, the reader must make sense of the translation. For example, Putnam’s and ODJ’s translations of mixing “cabbages with baskets” (620) is literal and requires the reader to ponder its significance. Although not as literal, Starkie’s translation “a pretty kettle of fish of everything” (549) is equally ambiguous. The other translations, while less accurate, make more sense: Cohen, “a fine mix-up of everything” (489); Raffel, “all sorts Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 23 of silly stuff ” (378); Rutherford, “right old hotchpotch” (506); Grossman, “apples and oranges” (478); and Lathrop, “mixed everything up” (445). There are several examples of translations that completely misrepresent the original. In Part I, Chapter II, Cervantes pokes fun at those authors who beg pardon for naming something considered unpleasant: “En esto sucedió acaso que un porquero que andaba recogiendo de unos rastrojos una manada de puercos (que, sin perdón, así se llaman)” (107). Except for Cohen, all of the translators translate correctly “sin perdón.” Cohen, however, writes “pardon me for naming them” (38). Starkie is the only translator who provides the reader with an explanation of Cervantes’ satire: “Even today the peasantry beg one’s pardon when mentioning swine. Proximity to the Moslems, who, like the Jews, abhor pork, originated this superstition. Cervantes here ridicules the superstition” (64). Another example of a mistaken translation is in Part II, Chapter 70, when Altisidora reacts angrily to Don Quijote’s ambivalence toward her: “Oyendo lo cual Altisidora, mostrando enojarse y alterarse…” (609). Six of the eight translations translate correctly Altisidora’s reaction:

Putnam: Hearing this, Altisidora became angry and excited. (1143) ODJ: Hearing this, Altisidora, becoming angry and upset… (811) Raffel: At this, Altisidora flared up and grew angry… (728) Rutherford: When Altisidora heard this she bridled up… (959) Grossman: Hearing which, Altisidora, showing signs of anger and vexation… (916) Lathrop: When Altisidora heard this, she became angry and up set… (838)

Cohen’s and Starkie’s translations, however, are completely misleading:

Cohen: At this Altisidora pretended to be angry and upset. (918) Starkie: On hearing this, Altisidora, pretending to be angry and upset… (1025)

While Altisidora did pretend to die, her anger was real and borne out of frustration. In his article, Allen cites Miguel de Unamuno’s interpretation of the girl’s reaction: 24 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

Mostró la liviana Altisidora que, aun en burlas y todo, le dolía el des- vío de Don Quijote. Imposible es que una doncella finja en chanzas enamorarse y no lleve a mal el que no se la corresponda en veras. (5)

Putnam’s and Cohen’s translations can be attributed to careless attention to context and a failure to understand the meaning of the word “mostrando.” In Part I, Chapter 31, Don Quijote tells Sancho how grateful he is that he is “digno de merecer amar tan alta señora como Dulcinea del Toboso” (431). All of the translators except Starkie translate “digno de merecer amar” as “worthy of loving” or a variable of the same phrase. In Starkie’s translation, however, Don Quijote is “worthy of the love” (311). Surprisingly, the translation of the monetary unit real in some editions is not only misleading, but also nonsensical. In Part I, Chapter 2, Don Quijote arrives at an inn and when told that there are only several little cod to eat, the knight underscores his belief that there is no difference between eight small cods and one large one with the following analogy: “porque eso se me da que me den ocho reales en sencillos que en una pieza de a ocho” (127). According to the Diccionario de autoridades, a real is a “moneda del valor de treinta y quatro maravedis, que es la que oy se llama real de vellon.” Cohen (40), Putnam (36), ODJ (33), Grossman (28), and Lathrop (28) leave the word in its original form. In addition to leaving the word in its original form, Grossman includes the following footnote: “Real was the name given to a series of silver coins, no longer in use, which were roughly equivalent to thirty-four maravedís” (28). By omitting italics, Starkie substitutes the English word real for the Spanish monetary unit real: Starkie: for it is the same to me whether I receive eight single reals or one piece of eight (67)

The most problematic translation is Raffel’s: “because I don’t care if you give me ten one-dollar bills or one ten-dollar bill” (21). He defends his translation with a historically-based argument:

Linguistic history also reveals that the German word thaler entered Spanish before it entered English, being used both in Spain and in Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 25

its colonies for the Spanish “piece of eight” coin, called (after the German) a dolar [sic] and worth eight reales. It was then borrowed— strictly, re-borrowed—as a monetary term, both in Britain and, later, in its North American colonies. With this largely forgotten history in mind, therefore, the many archaic monetary terms employed by Cervantes have been reduced to one, “dollar,” well understood at that time as an English word of Spanish origin. If this in some senses a linguistic compromise, on the facts it is clearly historically legiti- mated. (xvii-xviii)

While the reason for the change may be supported by the word’s ety- mological history, the appearance of the word “dollar” in a seventeenth- century Spanish novel about a knight whose language is archaic is anachronistic. Raffel’s historical explanation, however, does not explain why he chose to change the number of reales from eight to ten. In addition, as Wagschal points out in his review of Raffel’s translation, “paper money—as predicated by the term “dollar bill”—was not in wide-spread use anywhere in Europe until the eighteenth century” (149). Clearly, the translators who chose to leave the word in its original form provided the readers of their respective editions with the most accurate translation. An accurate translation of Don Quijote certainly requires the translator to have intimate knowledge of seventeenth-century Spanish culture, as the following sentence from the first chapter illustrates: “Una olla de algo más vaca que carnero, salpicón las más noches, duelos y quebrantos los sábados, lantejas los viernes, algún palomino de añadidura los do- mingos, consumían las tres partes de su hacienda” (113). The problematic words are olla, salpicón, duelos y quebrantos, and de añadidura, as they are associated with Spanish cuisine of the seventeenth century. All of the translators translated olla, which the Diccionario de autoridades defines as “la comida, o guisado, que se hace dentro de la misma olla, compues- to de carne, tocino, garbanzos y otras cosas,” as stew. The translation of salpicón, defined as “fiambre de carne picada, compuesto y aderezado con pimiento, sal, vinagre, y cebolla, todo mezclado,” is not uniform in all of the translations. Cohen (31), ODJ (25), Grossman (19), and Lathrop (17) translate salpicón as “hash,” which, according to the Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary is “a form of minced food, usually prepared from materials previously cooked, as meat, potatoes, bread crumbs, etc., and recooked by baking or frying.” Putnam takes a more direct approach with his translation of “chopped meat” (25). Starkie and Rutherford, however, are more vague with their translations of “hodge-podge, pick- 26 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes led and cold” (56) and “leftovers,” (25), respectively. Raffel’s translation, “cold salt beef ” (13), highlights the main ingredient in salpicón. Like salpicón, duelos y quebrantos has different translations. Duelos y quebrantos is a typical dish of La Mancha that the Diccionario de autoridades defines as “tortilla de huevos y sesos.” As such, the translations range from “boiled bones” (Cohen 31) to “bacon and eggs” (ODJ 25 and Lathrop17), “lardy eggs” (Rutherford 25), and “eggs and abstinence” (Grossman 19). Starkie’s intriguing translation of “tripe and trouble” (56-57) is accompanied by a footnote which explains that Saturday was a day of semi-abstinence (hence Grossman’s translation) in memory of the defeat of the Moors in 1212 in the battle of Navas de Tolosa (57). The footnote further states that duelos y quebrantos were “rashers and eggs” and that bacon and eggs were the staple diet of La Mancha during Cervantes’ lifetime. Putnam and Raffel prefer translations, “scraps” (25) and “leftover scraps” (13), respectively, that do not reflect as closely the culinary culture of La Mancha. Finally, the phrase de añadidura receives similar treatment by all of the translators, except Raffel, who does not make reference to it in his translation. The other translators interpret the phrase to mean something extra in a positive sense, hence the different translations can best be summarized with the following ones: “special delicacy” (Putnam 25) and “Sunday treat” (Cohen 31). While a translation that makes sense should be the goal of any translator, so should a translation that does not make sense, if, as is the case with Cervantes, the author of the original includes nonsensical information. One example in which Cervantes confuses the reader occurs at the beginning of Part II, Chapter 24. It is at this point in the novel that the translator of Cide Hamete’s original text informs the reader of the words Hamete wrote in the margin of the page that narrates the Cave of Montesinos episode:

No me puedo dar a entender, ni me puedo persuadir, que al valeroso don Quijote le pasase puntualmente todo lo que en el antecedente capítulo queda escrito: la razón es que todas las aventuras hasta aquí sucedidas han sido contingibles y verisímiles; pero ésta desta cueva no le hallo entrada alguna para tenerla por verdadera, por ir tan fuera de los términos razonables. Pues pensar yo que Don Quijote mintie- se, siendo el más verdadero hidalgo y el más noble caballero de sus tiempos, no es posible; que no dijera él una mentira si le asaetearan. Por otra parte, considero que él la contó y la dijo con todas las circunstancias dichas, y que no pudo fabricar en tan breve espacio tan Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 27

gran máquina de disparates; y si esta aventura parece apócrifa, yo no tengo la culpa; y así, sin afirmarla por falsa o verdadera, la escribo. Tú, lector, pues eres prudente, juzga lo que te pareciere, que yo no debo ni puedo más; puesto que se tiene por cierto que al tiempo de su fin y muerte dicen que se retrató della, dijo que él la había inven- tado, por parecerle que convenía y cuadraba bien con las aventuras que había leído en sus historias. (232)

Immediately after inviting the reader to decide the veracity of Don Quijote’s experience in the Cave of Montesinos, Cervantes informs the reader that “it is said” that Don Quijote confessed on his deathbed that he had invented the entire episode. Translators, therefore, must decide how to maintain the ambiguity surrounding the knight’s confession. Two of the translators, though, take it upon themselves to “correct” Cervantes so that the reader is not confused:

Cohen One thing, however, is certain, that finally he retracted it on his death-bed and confessed that he had invented it (624).

Starkie’s translation is similar to Cohen’s:

One thing, however, is certain, that finally he retracted it on his deathbed and confessed that he had invented it (696).

Unlike Cohen and Starkie, however, the other translators recognize the third-person account (“dicen”) of what Don Quijote said on his deathbed:

Putnam: It is definitely reported, however, that at the time of his death he retracted what he had said, confessing that he had invented the incident. (788) ODJ: Some maintain, however, that at the time of his death he retracted and said he had invented it all. (558) Raffel: though it is considered certain that there are those who allege that, on his deathbed, he took back every word of it, explaining that he had invented the entire thing. (487) 28 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

Rutherford: even though it is believed to be the case that when he was dying he is said to have retracted it all and stated that he had made it up. (648) Grossman: yet it is considered true that at the time of Don Quixote’s passing and death, he is said to have retracted it, saying he had invented it. (614) Lathrop: they say that he retracted it and said that he had invented it all. (570)

By recognizing the hearsay account of the knight’s deathbed confession, the preceding translators preserve the confusing nature of Hamete’s marginal notes about the Cave of Montesinos episode. As Allen notes in his article (7), it is necessary that the reader be unsure about the Cave of Montesinos episode to appreciate what Don Quijote tells Sancho at the end of Chapter 41: “Sancho, pues vos queréis que se os crea lo que habéis visto en el cielo, yo quiero que vos me creáis a mí lo que vi en la cueva de Montesinos. Y no os digo más” (373). In his article, Allen cites examples of double entendres that many translators do not do justice. Surprisingly, the word desengaño is problematic. In Part II, Chapter 29, Sancho, after he and Don Quijote leave behind Dapple and Rocinante and sail away on the “enchanted” boat, laments abandoning the animals: “¡Oh carísimos amigos, quedaos en paz, y la locura que nos aparta de vosotros, convertida en desengaño, nos vuelva a vuestra presencia!” (275). Desengaño, as defined by the Diccionario de autoridades, is “luz de la verdad, conocimiento del error con que se sale del engaño.” Translators, however, find it difficult, and in some cases impossible, to come up with a meaningful translation. Rutherford’s translation of desengaño is the closest to the meaning of the word during Cervantes’ day: “O my dearest friends, peace be with you, and let’s hope the madness that’s taking us from you sees the light and lets us come back to you again” (683). Putnam, ODJ, Raffel, and Lathrop seem to base their translations more on the word locura and its corresponding associations:

Cohen: One thing, however, is certain, that finally he retracted it on his death-bed and confessed that he had invented it (624). Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 29

Putnam: Peace be with you, O dearly beloved creatures! May the madness that takes us from you be turned into sound sense and bring us to back to you once more. (828) ODJ: O dear friends, peace be with you, and may this madness that is taking us away from you be turned into sober sense and bring us back to you. (587) Raffel: Oh, be calm, my dearest friends! Oh, may the madness taking us away from you be turned into sanity, and let us return! (514) Lathrop: Dear friends! Stay there in peace, and may the madness that is taking us away from you change to sanity and allow us to return to your presence. (602)

Cohen’s, Starkie’s, and Grossman’s translations of the word desengaño have nothing whatsoever to do with its Golden Age meaning. Grossman appears to revise Cohen’s translation, which he bases upon the English translation of the word desengaño: Cohen: O my dearest friends, stay there in peace, and may the madness that takes us from you turn to disappointment and bring us back to your company. (658)

Grossman: O dearest friends, stay in peace, and let the madness that takes us away from you turn into disappointment and bring us back to you! (648)

Starkie’s translation, while different, is equally perplexing:

O dearest friends, rest in peace, and may the folly that carries us away from you be turned to repentance and bring us back to your presence. (734)

Starkie seems to have followed Shelton’s translation, “repentance” (219). While Rutherford’s translation is closest to the Golden Age meaning of the word desengaño, Cohen’s, Starkie’s, and Grossman’s translations are misleading. Another double entendre is the word admirado, which describes Roque Guinart’s reaction in Part II, Chapter 60 after hearing Claudia 30 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

Jerónima tell him that she murdered her fiancé: “Roque, admirado de la gallardía, bizarría, buen talle y suceso de la hermosa Claudia” (531). The verb admirar, according to Autoridades, means “mirar una cosa con espan- to de su calidad, de su valor, u de su grandeza.” An appropriate translation, therefore, would be “amazed” or “astonished.” Putnam’s translation, however, has Roque “admiring” the act: “Admiring the beautiful Claudia’s dash and spirit and her charming figure, and admiring her as well for what she had done” (1070). Of course, Roque is not filled with admiration, defined in Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary as “wonder mingled with approbation, esteem, love, or delight, excited by something fine, skillful, beautiful, etc.” Instead, he is astonished, defined as “to stun, or strike dumb with sudden fear, terror, surprise, or wonder.” ODJ also describes Roque’s reaction as “filled with admiration” (760). Grossman, like Putnam and ODJ, interprets admirado as a favorable reaction: Roque, marveling at the lovely Claudia’s gallantry, courage, beautiful appearance, and remarkable story (854)

Starkie’s translation of admirado as “impressed” (959) and Cohen’s and Raffel’s translation “struck” (858 and 679, respectively) are closer to the sensation of astonishment implied by the original. Roque in Rutherford’s translation is “amazed” (896). Lathrop’s translation is the most accurate:

Roque, astonished at the gallantry, pluck, good looks, and initiative of the beautiful Claudia (785)

Of course, the words desengaño and admirado are only two of the many double entendres in the novel. A faulty translation of words like these changes the original so much that the reader is unable to truly appreciate certain parts of the novel. Translators must aspire to preserve the archaic style in which the characters speak, especially Don Quijote, but, unfortunately, a desire to appeal too much to modern readers leads some translators to omit archa- isms. For example, the four earliest translations of our group (Putnam, Cohen, Starkie, and ODJ) are more successful in preserving the archaic language of the following comments Don Quijote makes about Basilio’s trick to make everyone think he committed suicide in Part II, Chapter 22: “No se pueden ni deben llamar engaños los que ponen la mira en virtuosos fines” (210). In Putnam’s translation, this line becomes “Deception is not the word where aims are virtuous” (769). Cohen’s translation is Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 31 equally effective: “Deceptions they could not and should not be called seeing that they were designed for a good purpose” (608). Starkie’s translation seems to be modeled after Putnam’s and Cohen’s: “Trick it should not be called seeing that it aimed at virtuous ends” (678). The ODJ translation is perhaps the best: “Deceit is not and ought not to be the term used when the end visaged is a virtuous one” (543). In comparison, the four most recent translations do not recreate as well the archaic effect of the earlier translations:

Raffel: You really can’t call it a trick, nor should you, for how can there be deceit when the ending is virtuous. (473)

Rutherford: No, nothing that is directed at a virtuous end can or should be called deception. (631)

Grossman: They cannot and should not be called deceptions since their purpose was virtuous. (597)

Lathrop: You cannot and should not call those acts that lead to honor- able ends deceptions. (554)

Putnam, Cohen, Starkie, and ODJ are able to produce a translation that sounds antique without altering the meaning of the content. While there appears to be general uniformity with respect to the manner in which the different translators deal with the names of the characters, there are exceptions. In Part I, Chapter IV, Don Quijote persuades, albeit until the knight leaves, the farmer Juan Haldudo8 to stop whipping Andrés, the farmer’s young servant. Cohen is the only translator who anglicizes the names: “Andrés” becomes “Andrew” and “Juan Haldudo” becomes “John Haldudo” (48). In Part I, Chapter 34, Cohen also anglicizes the names of the characters that appear in the interpolated story “El curioso impertinente.” Thus, in Cohen’s edition, “Camila” is “Camilla,” “Lotario” becomes “Lothario,” and “Clori” translates to “Chloris.” The characters whose names would sound awkward when anglicized remain as they appear in the Spanish version: Anselmo

8 Douglas/Jones explain in a footnote that “Haldudo means ‘skirted’ or ‘wearing long or full skirts.’ Don Quixote takes it to be an unflattering nickname” (40). Upon hearing the name of the farmer, the knight comments, “That matters little. There may be Haldudos who are knights. Moreover, everyone is the son his works” (41). Raffel also calls attention to the significance of the farmer’s last name: “[haldudo / faldudo = long-skirted]” (27). 32 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes and Leonela. It is interesting that Putnam, Starkie, ODJ, Raffel, and Rutherford translate the name of only one of the characters from the interpolated novel: “Clori” becomes “Chloris.” Neither Grossman nor Lathrop, however, make this change. In Part II, Chapter 39, all of the translators except Raffel translate “Dolorida.”

Putnam (902), ODJ (639), and Lathrop (657): “Distressed One” Cohen: “Afflicted One” (719) Starkie: “Doleful One” (804) Rutherford: “Dolorous Duenna” (747) Grossman: “Dolorous One” (710)

While Putnam does not translate the name “Dolorida,” he does explain its significance within the text: “Oh noble and powerful lord of lords, my name is Trifaldín the White-Bearded, and I am the Countess Trifaldi’s squire, she who is also known as the Lady Dolorida [dolorida = of sor- rows]” (556). It is not surprising that Raffel does not anglicize the name, as he states in the Introduction that he does not translate the names; instead, as he does with “Dolorida,” he briefly explains their significance within brackets. In addition, the title of Raffel’s translation isDon Quijote. With the exception of Raffel, all of the other translators use the title Don Quixote. The translators cannot agree on how best to translate Cervantes’ humor in the following line from Part II, Chapter 10: “Y más, que así será buscar a Dulcinea por el Toboso como a Marica por Rávena, o al bachiller en Salamanca” (105). Of course, Cervantes compares locating Dulcinea, whom neither Don Quijote nor Sancho have ever seen, to finding a needle in a haystack. Unless the reader knew that Marica is the diminutive of María and that Ravenna is a city in northern Italy, the first allusion could not be appreciated. For this reason, either an accurate translation that does not sacrifice the meaning of the phrase or a footnote is needed. Unfortunately, not all of the translators recognized the potential problems associated with a faulty translation of “Marica por Ravena:”

Putnam: Marica in Rávena (667) Cohen: little Maria in Ravenna (526) Starkie: needle in a haystack (590) ODJ: María in Ravenna (473) Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 33

Raffel: one Marica out of all the Maricas in Ravenna (408) Rutherford: a girl called María in Madrid (544) Grossman: María in Ravenna (515) Lathrop: Marica in Ravenna (480)

Putnam, Cohen, ODJ, and Grossman rely on the reader’s knowledge to understand their translations. Starkie, Raffel, and Rutherford provide more explanatory translations; Starkie’s, however, ignores completely the cultural content of Cervantes’ allusion. While Lathrop’s translation is similar to Putnam’s, Lathrop provides for the reader a lengthy footnote that explains the meaning of “Marica in Ravenna:”

Ravenna is that city in northern Italy, near the Adriatic Sea, south of Venice and east of Bologna. Marica is an affectionate diminutive for María. But wouldn’t it be easy to find lots of Maricas in Ravenna? (480)

With respect to the comparison of finding “Dulcinea por el Toboso” to locating “al bachiller en Salamanca,” there exist subtle misinterpreta- tions. According to the Diccionario de autoridades, bachiller is “El primer grado que se da en las Universidades a los que han oído y estudiado alguna facultad: como Artes, Teología, Leyes, Cánones, Medicina, después de haber cursado en ellas el tiempo determinado para recibirle.” An accurate translation, therefore, is one that reflects the idea of a college graduate or at least a student. An endnote accompanies Putnam’s translation, “bachelor in Salamanca” (667): “Salamanca was full of bachelors of arts” (1177). Cohen (526), ODJ (473), Grossman (515), and Lathrop (II, 10) translate bachiller as “bachelor.” Without an explanatory footnote, the comparison becomes finding a Dulcinea in Toboso with locating a bachelor, or an unmarried man, in Salamanca. This meaning, however, clearly was not Cervantes’ intention. The other translations are more accurate:

Starkie: scholar in Salamanca (590) Raffel: college graduate in Salamanca (408) Rutherford: student in Salamanca (545)

The princeps, as Allen notes (214), has the primo from Part II, Chapter 24 referred to as sobrino at the end of the chapter. Only a few 34 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes of the translators, however, acknowledge this contradiction. Putnam translates this character’s identity as “cousin” (793), but he also includes a note: “The original has sobrino“ ”—“nephew,” an obvious slip on Cervantes’ part” (1187). A slip? Lathrop identifies the character as “nephew” (574), and he, too, explains the confusion surrounding this character’s name:

Nephew has been cousin to this point. Schevill keeps it, but says that is “carelessness on the part of Cervantes for cousin. It is not carelessness at all, but rather just another contradiction built into the work. Readers who delve into the books of chivalry will find the same carelessness that Cervantes is imitating here. Most editors make the change back to cousin without comment, some keep nephew and state that it should be cousin. (574) Those editors who “make the change back to cousin” include Starkie (702), ODJ (562), Raffel (491), Rutherford (653), and Grossman (619). Cohen ignores the discrepancy altogether. Instead of cousin or nephew, Cohen identifies the character asscholar (629). In Part II, Chapter 22, an inexplicable transformation takes place in Cohen’s translation: the cousin (610) becomes guide (611), and, then, scholar (611). Another example of how translators deal with names is the translation of the poems by the Académicos de la Argamasilla, Part I, Chapter 52. Since many academicians of Cervantes’ day had literary pseudonyms, the burlesque names of the academicians of Argamasilla de Alba, a town forty-two miles east of Ciudad Real that did not have an Academy, must have been a source of amusement. The names as they appear in the original are Monicongo, Paniaguado, Caprichoso, Burlador, Cachidiablo, and Tiquitoc. Putnam (540-43) and ODJ (403-05) do not alter the names. Putnam, however, explains the meaning of them:

Paniaguado: “The name signifies a parasite or hanger-on.” Caprichoso: “The meaning is whimsical, crotchety.” Burlador: “The name means jester.” Cachidiablo: “Signifying hobgoblin.” Tiquitoc: “The name is onomatopoeic.” (573)

Cohen, Starkie, Rutherford, and Grossman translate the names:

Cohen: Mumbo Jumbo, The Good Companion, Whimsical Will, The Joker, The Hobgoblin, Ding-Dong (458-60) Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 35

Starkie: Priggish, Toady, Crotchety, Playboy, Hobgoblin, Ding-Dong (515-17)

Unlike the translators who change all of the names, both Raffel and Lathrop translate only the names whose translation represents accu- rately the original: Raffel: Monicongo, Paniaguado, Whimsy, Practical Joker, The Devil’s Own, Ticky-Tocky (352-55) Lathrop: Monicongo, Paniaguado, Caprichoso, Jokester, Cachidiablo, Tiquitoc (412-414

In addition, Lathrop, as he does throughout his entire translation, facili- tates the reader’s comprehension of the Spanish text by including a footnote that explains the significance of Monicongo: “This is the old name for the Congo (modern République Démocratique du Congo, formerly Zaire” 412,). The title of the academician Paniaguado’s poem in the first edition of the novel is “In Laudem Dulcineæ del Doboso.” All of the translators except Lathrop correct this supposed mistake and change the problematic word to “Toboso.” Lathrop, however, insists on maintaining the original spelling and informs the reader in a footnote that “the first edition did say “Doboso.” It could be an amusing error-on-purpose by Cervantes. Virtually all editors and translators “correct” this, mostly without saying so.” The time period in which a translator lived and his country of origin affect the language and tone of a translation. For example, a translator who lives in the United States in 2007 will produce quite a different version than a translator who lived in Great Britain a century ago. For this reason, readers must be aware of a translator’s background with respect to her life and her country of origin. All of the translators of the English versions of Don Quijote since 1949 are from the United States, except Cohen, Starkie, and Rutherford, who are British. A person from Iowa, for example, who reads Rutherford’s translation probably would find the vocabulary difficult to understand. In Part II, Chapter 63, the narrator describes Sancho’s reaction upon seeing the half-naked galley rowers:

Sancho, que vio tanta gente en cueros, quedó pasmado, y más cuando vio hacer tienda con tanta priesa, que a él le pareció que todos los diablos andaban allí trabajando; pero esto todo fueron tortas y pan pintado para lo que ahora diré. (558) 36 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

According to the Diccionario de autoridades, tortas y pan pintado is an “expression familiar con que se advierte a alguno, que se siente o queja de pequeño trabajo, que habrá de sufrir, o tener otros mayores.” The line “pero esto todo fueron tortas y pan pintado para lo que ahora diré” in Rutherford’s translation reads as “But this was small beer compared to what I shall narrate next” (918). Small beer? Cohen and Starkie, whose translations appeared in 1950 and 1964, respectively, chose to express Rutherford’s “small beer” as “tarts and gingerbread” (879 and 982, respectively). In comparison, the translations that appeared within the last twenty-five years from American translators read in this manner:

ODJ: but all this was nothing to what I am going to tell now. (778) Raffel: but all of this was child’s play, compared to what I’ll tell you next. (696)

Grossman’s translation is very similar to Raffel’s:

but this was mere child’s play compared to what I shall tell you now. (876) Lathrop: But all this was nothing compared to what I’ll now relate. (804)

Readers from the United States should have no problems understanding the American translators’ translations of “tortas y pan pintado.” Since the translators are from the same country and the same time period, their vocabulary is similar. What happens when the translators are from the same country but different time periods? Putnam’s translation, published in 1949, is very different from the ones by ODJ, Raffel, Grossman, and Lathrop:

Putnam: This, however, was but gingerbread and cakes compared to what I am about to tell you now. (1095)

Another example of the British slant of Rutherford’s translation is from Part II, Chapter 66, when Sancho arbitrates a race, described to Sancho by a farmer, between a fat man and a thin man: “Es, pues, el caso—dijo el Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 37

Labrador—, señor bueno, que un vecino deste lugar, tan gordo, que pesa once arrobas, desafió a correr a otro su vecino, que no pesa más que cinco” (582). The Diccionario de autoridades defines arroba as “pesa de veinte y cinco libras de a diez y seis onzas cada una.” Rutherford translates the farmer’s narration using vocabulary to describe the race participants’ weights that would surely confuse American readers:

Well, it’s just this, good sir, said the farmer. One of the villagers, who’s so fat he weighs twenty stone, has challenged another man, a neighbour of his, who only weighs nine stone, to a race. (936)

A stone is the equivalent of fourteen pounds. In contrast, the ODJ and Raffel translations describe the men’s weights in pounds (793 and 710, respectively). Surprisingly, not all of the American translators list the weight of the men using pounds. Putnam does not translate “arrobas,” but he does include an endnote to explain the term: “The arroba being twenty-five pounds, the fat man’s weight was two hundred and seventy- five” (1220). Both Grossman and Lathrop leave the word “arrobas” in its original form (895 and 819, respectively). Grossman, however, does not explain the significance of the word, while Lathrop defines it in a footnote. Like Rutherford, Cohen, too, uses the term stone (897). Starkie, however, does not change the unit of measure from its original, nor does he provide an explanation of its meaning (1001). Translators of Don Quijote aspire to an impossible goal: a perfect rendering of one of the most complex and ingenious novels ever written. In order to do so, however, a translation of the novel must make sense, both linguistically and culturally, to the reader. For this reason, a reader must consider, when selecting a translation, the year in which the translation first appeared and the translator’s country of origin. The explanatory notes like the ones found in Putnam’s and Lathrop’s translations are necessary; readers not familiar with Spanish or seventeenth-century Spanish culture, for example, require additional information. The absence of footnotes and endnotes, in my opinion, hinders the reader’s appreciation of the novel. In addition to making sense, an English translation of Don Quijote must recreate the literary tropes of the original, as they are an integral aspect of the genius of the novel. Unfortunately, Cohen and Starkie tend to miss Cervantes’ irony and satire, and, consequently, their translations are misleading and deprive the reader of the author’s true intentions. While all of the translations, some more than others, offer a glimpse of 38 Michael J. McGrath Cervantes

the genius of Don Quijote, I recommend to anyone who desires a true appreciation of the novel the translations by ODJ and Lathrop. As scholars of Spain’s Golden Age, and especially Cervantine literature, Jones and Lathrop possess the knowledge to write an informative translation that appeals to today’s readers and the insight to recreate with accuracy the language, the literary tropes, and the history and culture of Cervantes’ day.

Department of Foreign Languages P.O. Box 8081 Georgia Southern University Statesboro, GA 30460 [email protected]

Works Cited

Allen, John Jay. “Traduttori Traditori: Don Quixote in English.” Crítica Hispánica 1.1 (1979): 1-13. Byron, George Gordon. Don Juan. Ed. and with an introduction and notes by Leslie A. Marchand. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1958. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. The Adventures of Don Quixote de la Mancha. Trans. Charles Jervas. 1742. London and New York: Routledge, n.d. ———. The Adventures of Don Quixote de la Mancha. Trans. J[ohn] M[ichael] Cohen. 1950. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1975. ———. Don Quijote. Fourth-Centenary Translation. Trans. and with notes by Tom Lathrop. Illustrated by Jack Davis. Newark, DE: European Masterpieces, 2005. ———. Don Quijote. Trans. Burton Raffel. [Introduction by Diana de Armas Wilson. New York: W. W. Norton, 1995.] A New Translation. Backgrounds and Contexts. Criticism. Edited by Diana de Armas Wilson. 1998. New York: W. W. Norton, 1999. ———. Don Quijote de la Mancha. Ed. John J. Allen. 25th ed. Madrid: Cátedra, 2005. ———. Don Quixote of la Mancha. Translated and with an Introduction by Walter Starkie. New York: New American Library, 1964. ———. Don Quixote. The Ormsby Translation, Revised. Backgrounds and Sources. Criticism. Edited by Joseph R. Jones and Kenneth Douglas. New York: W. W. Norton, 1981. ———. The First Part of the Delightful History of the Most Ingenious Knight Don Quixote of the Mancha. Trans. Thomas Shelton. New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1960. ———. The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha. A new translation from the Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote in English 39

Spanish, with a Critical Text Based on the First Editions of 1605 and 1615, and with Variant Readings, Variorum Notes, and an Introduction by Samuel Putnam. New York: Random House, 1949. ———. The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha. Trans. John Rutherford, with an Introduction by Roberto González Echevarría. 2000 (without the Introduction). Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 2001. Lo Ré, Anthony G. “Introduction.” A Facsimile Edition of the First English Translations of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra’s El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha 1605-1615). Thomas Shelton, Part I, London, 1612. Leonardo Digges, Part II, London 1620. Chapel Hill: n.p. [distributed by the Bull’s Head Bookshop], 2002. 7-49. ———. “Las primeras ediciones inglesas de Don Quixote, 1612-1620.” Actas del Segundo Coloquio Internacional de la Asociación de Cervantistas. Barcelona: Anthropos, 1991. 541-51. ———. “The Putative Shelton Quixote Part II, 1620, with Leonard Digges as the Likely Candidate.” Anthony G. Lo Ré. Essays on the Periphery of the Quixote. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta. 1991. 28-44. Ormsby, John. “Translator’s Preface.” 1885. 7 Jan. 2007 [incomplete and without notes]. Real Academia Española. [Diccionario de la lengua española. 6 vols. 1726-39.] Diccionario de autoridades. 3 vols. 1963-64. Madrid: Gredos, 1979. Available in different format at (23 March 2007). Rico, Francisco. “A pie de imprentas. Páginas y noticias de Cervantes viejo.” Bulletin Hispanique 104 (2002): 673-702. Wagschal, Steven. Review of Don Quijote: A New Translation, Backgrounds, Contexts and Criticism. By Miguel de Cervantes. Trans. Burton Raffel. Ed. Diana de Armas Wilson. Cervantes 21.1 (2001): 147-52. 27 Nov. 2005 . Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary. 2nd edition. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983. Wolfe, Bertram D. “The Laughter and Sanity of Don Quixote; This Year Marks the 400th Anniversary of a Genius, Cervantes.” New York Herald Tribune Weekly Book Review 17 Aug. 1947: 1-2.

Don Quijote en hebreo: traducciones, adaptaciones y reescrituras1

______Ruth Fine

n el capítulo II, 3 de Don Quijote, el bachiller Sansón Carrasco anuncia al azorado caballero que la historia de sus grandezas no Esólo ha sido impresa abundantemente, sino también que “no ha de haber nación ni lengua donde no se traduzca” (II, 3; 648). El vaticinio del bachiller se ha cumplido ampliamente. Entre las múltiples lenguas receptoras de la obra cervantina se encuentra también el hebreo, cuya milenaria convivencia con las otras lenguas peninsulares ha dado tan valiosos frutos. Recordemos que en el capítulo 9 del Don Quijote de 1605, se desli- za una significativa intervención del narrador-editor ficticio de la obra, quien, tras haber encontrado, para su enorme satisfacción, el texto de Cide Hamete Benengeli—gracias al cual continuará la lectura interrum- pida de la historia de don Quijote—, observa: “anduve mirando si pare- cía por allí algún morisco aljamiado que los leyese, y no fue muy dificultoso hallar intérprete semejante, pues aunque le buscara de otra mejor y más antigua lengua le hallara” (I, 9; 107–08). Esta elogiosa e indirecta alusión al hebreo podría estar sugiriendo, tal vez, la presencia, en Toledo, de hebraístas o incluso de criptojudíos, quienes conservarían el conocimiento de la lengua. Asimismo, se sobreentiende que la posibilidad de encontrar a alguno de estos intérpretes secretos en la Toledo aurisecular no debía ser tan remota. Sin duda, Cervantes no imaginaba entonces el largo y azaroso destino que le esperaría a su obra en la lengua bíblica, ni mucho menos, lo dificultoso que sería hallar traductores, conocedores de dicha lengua, dispuestos a volcar en ella las aventuras del héroe manchego, manteniendo la fidelidad requerida respecto del original. Mi trabajo

1 Una versión preliminar del presente artículo ha sido presentada en el XII Coloquio Internacional de la Asociación de Cervantistas, Argamasilla de Alba, mayo del 2005, y será publicada en las Actas de dicho Coloquio, editadas por Felipe B. Pedraza Jiménez. 41 42 Ruth Fine Cervantes ofrecerá un breve recorrido a través de los hitos centrales del accidentado destino del Quijote, en aquella que fuera designada por Cervantes “mejor y más antigua lengua.” La primera mención de Don Quijote en la literatura hebrea aparece en 1792, en el diario de viaje de Shlomó Romanelli, “Masá be Arav” (“Viaje por Arav”). Romanelli es uno de los pioneros del movimiento iluminis- ta judío, corriente que, en su primera etapa, propulsó la reinserción del pueblo judío en la vida intelectual y cultural de la sociedad mayoritaria, en cuyo seno había vivido hasta el momento como núcleo aislado. Poeta, dramaturgo, traductor de teatro y viajero, Romanelli rescata la imagen de don Quijote y Rocinante como símil que apoya la descripción de una confrontación violenta sufrida en uno de sus viajes (116). Otro ilumi- nista judío más tardío, Lilenblum, afirma en su autobiografía Jetaat neu- rim (“Pecado de juventud,” 1876): “Luché por ella [la Ilustración judía o Haskalá] como un don Quijote, que lucha contra molinos” (citado por Almagor, 59; la traducción es mía). Los intelectuales de la Emancipación o Ilustración judía del siglo XIX veían en don Quijote el símbolo del destino del pueblo hebreo: un pueblo marginado, aferrado a sus libros y a un pasado lejano, en constante espera de la redención mesiánica. En tal sentido son reveladoras las palabras del intelectual Arie David Friedman, en las que expresa el sorprendente deseo de desarraigar al caballero espa- ñol de su patria, para instaurarlo como emblema de la historia del pueblo judío:

Si no fuera de nuestro conocimiento que don Quijote de la Mancha, del que nos cuenta Cervantes, es un español de nacimiento, habría- mos afirmado que tiene alma judía…imaginemos por un momento que Cervantes no hubiera nacido ni existido y que don Quijote, en tanto figura literaria y esencial, aún no hubiera aparecido en el mundo, entonces podríamos decir que es en la literatura del pueblo judío en cuyo seno debería haber surgido un individuo de estas caracterís- ticas (Friedman 45; la traducción es mía).

Es así como los primeros intentos de traducción de Don Quijote al hebreo aparecen a fines del siglo XIX y principios del siglo XX, impre- gados del espíritu de la traducción dictado por la mencionada “ilustra- ción judía” (Haskalá) de Europa, bajo cuya influencia se tomaban obras y personajes consagrados de la literatura occidental y se los trasladaba a un contexto judío, convirtiéndolos en episodios y héroes de la historia de Israel. Se trata, indudablemente, de traducciones libres o de adapta- Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote en hebreo 43 ciones—y en algunos casos, en términos más rigurosos, de verdaderas reescrituras—, acordes con la concepción de la traducción reinante en dicho período, la cual veía en el traductor a un nuevo creador, entre cuyos méritos no figuraba el de la búsqueda de literalidad. Estas primeras traducciones-adaptaciones de Don Quijote se ubican, asimismo, en la corriente de traducciones realizadas por poetas judíos en lengua hebrea de Europa Oriental, corriente que intentó rescatar para la literatura hebrea las obras maestras de la literatura occidental, acervo cultural casi desco- nocido, a fin de sustraer a aquella literatura de los rígidos límites de los textos rabínicos dentro de los cuales se hallaba aprisionada. La primera traducción—reescritura—de Don Quijote al hebreo fue la realizada por Nájman Frénkel en 1871: Séfer Abinóam haglilí o Hamashíaj haevil (“El libro de Abinóam ha-Glilí [de Galilea] o el mesías necio”), en el cual se habla de la hazañas de un héroe judío, personifica- ción de don Quijote, cuya vida y aventuras se desarrollan en la Tierra de Israel, a fines del período del Segundo Templo (comienzos del siglo II). Su propósito consistía en imitar a héroes del pasado, a fin de salvar al pueblo judío de sus enemigos. Con tal objeto, Abinóam monta a su caballo y sale a defender a los débiles y a ayudar a los desvalidos, como habían hecho todos los héroes de épocas pretéritas, cuando no existía un rey en Israel, y, desde ya, a imitación de los héroes caballerescos. Para ello tomará como compañero a Ioná, su escudero, y tendrá como fuerza inspiradora una dama, Naomí (Dulcinea). La obra incluye algunos de los episodios de las aventuras del caballero manchego, llegando tan sólo hasta el capítulo 27 de la Primera Parte.2 El estilo de la obra de Frénkel mimetiza la escritura bíblica, tanto en el léxico empleado, como en la sintaxis y en la elección de los nombres propios. A la adaptación de Frénkel seguirá, en 1894, la de David Iudilevich: Don Quishot min la Mansha (“Don Quijote de la Mancha”). No obstante, la traducción de Don Quijote al hebreo de mayor importancia e influencia ha sido la de Jaim Najman Biálik (1873-1934): Don Quishot ish la Mansha (Odessa, 1912; Berlín, 1923), autor considerado el poeta nacional de la lengua hebrea. Biálik ignoraba el español, y si bien hay quienes estiman que tuvo el asesoramiento de un colega de habla hispa- na, realizó su traducción a partir de una versión rusa (tal vez abreviada)

2 Es probable que Frénkel—quien seguramente desconocía el español—se haya basado en algunas de las primeras traducciones de Don Quijote al ruso, como la de Teils (1769) y la de Masalski (1838), las cuales también llegan sólo hasta el capítulo 27 del primer libro. Dichas traducciones se fundan, a su vez, en la traducción francesa, de modo que la versión de Frénkel estaría aún más distanciada del original, debido a las dos traducciones mediadoras. 44 Ruth Fine Cervantes y/o alemana de Don Quijote, a pesar de que el escritor no aclare estos datos en la introducción a la obra. Biálik tampoco indica de modo explí- cito que no se trata de una traducción fiel, aunque sí admite que la suya es una versión abreviada: suprime, entre otros, los episodios externos y los textos líricos y, al mismo tiempo, incorpora pasajes de su autoría. El autor judío declara en su prólogo que la traducción está destinada a los lectores jóvenes, hecho que justifica las numerosas supresiones:

La traducción hebrea fue hecha a partir de la nueva versión de la traducción completa de Don Quijote, encontrada en los últimos años, la cual, a criterio de la mayor parte de los cervantistas, es la más adecuada y está exenta de pasajes apócrifos o de añadidos ajenos al original. Y debido al hecho de que esta traducción está destinada a los jóvenes, se encontrarán en ella muchas omisiones y abreviaciones, especialmente de aquellos episodios que no tienen relación con la trama principal y que distraen al lector de aquello que es esencial. (Biálik 18; la traducción es mía.)3

Se trata, por ende, de una traducción libre en extremo, selectiva, es- crita, además, en estilo bíblico vivo, de riqueza lingüística y retórica y de acentuado lirismo, todo lo cual le otorga un marcado valor estético, pero, indudablemente, la aleja de la fuente cervantina. Como fuera señalado anteriormente, los lectores judíos de la segunda mitad del siglo XIX y comienzos del siglo XX, en Europa Oriental, identificaban la figura del héroe manchego con el destino del pueblo ju- dío. Este espíritu es el que impulsó las adaptaciones, entre ellas, muy especialmente, la de Biálik, quien, al final del prólogo a su traducción de Don Quijote, escribe que halló en la obra de Cervantes mucho del espíri- tu bíblico, no sólo en los aspectos formales. Es de suponer, también, que la figura de don Quijote representara para Biálik el símbolo del judío encerrado en sus libros, que sale de su casa y de su cuarto para abrirse camino en el mundo (Shamir). Su traducción refleja, asimismo, la visión romántica de la obra de Cervantes, la del héroe idealista y trágico a la vez, de allí que el tono bíblico-profético fuera el más adecuado, en opinión de Biálik, para apoyar dicha ideología. A juicio de ciertos críticos, como Landa, Biálik aun pudo haberse inspirado más en la versión de Frénkel

3 De modo significativo, Biálik no consigna cuál es la traducción empleada ni cuál es la lengua mediadora. En cambio, sí destaca la fidelidad de la versión utilizada respecto del original—la ausencia de añadidos—, cualidad de la que carecerá su propia traducción, abundante en agrega- dos, los cuales son producto de su pluma e ingenio. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote en hebreo 45 que en la de Cervantes. Así, por ejemplo, su lengua, de registro bíblico, con términos del arameo, es similar a la de Frénkel. No obstante, los investigadores no han podido establecer de modo definitivo si Biálik llegó a conocer la traducción de aquél. En opinión de Landa (93), la versión de Frénkel parecería, por momentos, más cercana al original de Cervantes que la de Biálik. Es dable afirmar que el poeta hebreo proyecta en la traducción de Don Quijote su propia ideología, anulando, en muchos casos, la polisemia del texto. En tal sentido, Biálik añade términos y hasta fragmentos significativos, acordes con su concepción de mundo, ausentes en el original. Tales añadidos suelen corresponder al paradigma religioso: en algunos casos, Biálik traslada conceptos o imágenes del cristianismo a sus equi- valentes judíos, mientras que en otros casos, suprime tales referencias,4 llegando incluso a insertar marcas del campo semántico correspondiente a la tradición y religión judías, en pasajes en los que el original carecía por completo de alusión alguna de carácter religioso.5 Los ejemplos abun- dan: así, la mención de una sección del Talmud babilónico—Dérej Eretz (“Comportamiento cortés”)—nada menos que en boca de Sancho, para referirse a sus propios modales (Biálik 59); o la sorprendente afirma- ción de Sancho, quien se compromete a no transgredir las órdenes de don Quijote, así como evita no violar la prohibición de trabajar el día sábado (Biálik 50); o bien la transformación de Lucifer—mencionado por Sancho momentos antes del descenso de don Quijote a la cueva de Montesinos (Quijote II, 22; 813)—en los ángeles Shamjazai y Azael (Biálik 200), pertenecientes a la literatura midrásica hebrea (Biálik y Rabnitsky 20). No menos reveladoras resultan las omisiones de Biálik respecto del texto cervantino. Es posible observar que la versión hebrea reduce las menciones de las novelas de caballerías, referente primordial respecto

4 Por ejemplo, la referencia a los Evangelios en boca de don Quijote (Quijote I, 10; 115) se verá suprimida por Biálik, en cuya traducción don Quijote jurará en nombre de la Biblia (Biálik 57). 5 Esta misma inclinación por el paradigma religioso puede observarse, por ejemplo, en el capítulo correspondiente al discurso de la edad de oro, antítesis de la edad de hierro (Quijote I, 11; Biálik 60–61), ampliamente analizado por Landa (86–90). Este último crítico destaca que el autor judío incorpora al menos cinco veces la referencia a Dios—“la gracia de Dios y su caridad,” “las fuentes de Dios,” “los árboles de Dios,” “la bendición de Dios,” “y se alzó Dios”—ausentes por completo en el original español (como también ausentes en la versión de Frénkel, en la cual existe una única mención de los dioses, desde una perspectiva pagana y no cercana al judaísmo, como en Biálik). La traducción de este discurso, que incluye también numerosos versículos del Antiguo Testamento, le otorga al fragmento un indudable tono profético. 46 Ruth Fine Cervantes de la literatura del período, como también fuente de inspiración para el héroe manchego. Así, por ejemplo, el capítulo sexto del primer libro, donde se narra el escrutinio y quema de los libros, queda constreñido a unas pocas frases, en las que se menciona que sólo dos o tres libros se sal- varon de la hoguera (Biálik 41). Asimismo, se han suprimido muchas de las alusiones concretas respecto de la realidad histórica, local y nacional, contemporánea a Cervantes: la expulsión de los moriscos (se ha quitado el episodio de Ricote), la crítica a la corrupción o a la ley del encaje; todas estas referencias o bien están por completo ausentes, o bien se ven trans- formadas en versículos bíblicos o imágenes fantásticas, lo cual merma la proyección histórica o social que emerge del libro. Landa observa acerta- damente que ello resulta harto significativo en un autor que vive en una época de florecimiento de ideas revolucionarias, especialmente aquéllas que se inscriben en el paradigma del socialismo. Biálik llega a suavizar frases cervantinas que podrían ser decodificadas como un llamado a la igualdad social, tales como “sino porque entonces los que en ella vivían ignoraban estas dos palabras de tuyo y mío. Eran en aquella santa edad todas las cosas comunes” (Quijote I, 11; 121). La versión hebrea de Biálik dice pálidamente: “El hombre no sabía discriminar entre ‘mío’ y ‘tuyo’ “ (60; la traducción es mía). No obstante, a criterio de Landa (89), el poeta hebreo preserva y enfatiza los ideales de fraternidad universal, estimando la edad dorada como una sociedad cosmopolita en la que la humanidad vive como una gran familia. Biálik tiende a anular, también, pasajes que puedan resultar indecorosos, por ejemplo, la irónica referencia a la vir- ginidad incuestionable de las damas de los libros de caballerías (Quijote I, 9; 107), o el desnudo de las mujeres, en aquella edad dorada, desnudo al que don Quijote había hecho referencia en su discurso [Quijote I, 11; 122). Se evidencia así la actitud de pudor y de escamoteo de alusiones eróticas, fruto de la pluma de un autor judío, muy influido aún por las restricciones morales de su entorno. Por último, cabe destacar que Biálik elimina casi por completo el registro irónico del texto cervantino, como también el juego de voces narrativas, uno de los logros constructivos más significativos deDon Quijote de Cervantes. Tanto Cide Hamete Benengeli, como los restantes autores ficticios del texto cervantino, han desaparecido de la versión hebrea, para ser absorbidos por la voz de un único narrador heterodiegético. En oportunidades, incluso, como ocurre en el capítulo inicial de la obra, es el mismo protagonista quien asume las palabras del substituto autorial, Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote en hebreo 47 hecho que reduce los alcances del ethos irónico de dicho capítulo.6 Sucesivas generaciones de israelíes, hasta entrada la segunda mitad del siglo XX, han leído, estudiado y admirado esta versión de Don Quijote realizada por Biálik, no tomando en cuenta y, en oportunidades, hasta ignorando el hecho de que se trataba de una adaptación libre, muy redu- cida y marcadamente idiosincrásica de la obra maestra cervantina, cuya versión original desconocían. De este modo, al considerar la influencia de Don Quijote en la literatura hebrea hasta hace tan sólo contadas déca- das, debemos tener en cuenta que dichas huellas son un eco del Quijote de Biálik y no del de Cervantes. A la obra de Biálik seguirá, en 1920, una traducción anónima, que se publica en Varsovia. Se trata de una versión muy abreviada para niños: Jaiav ve corotav shel haatzil haniflá don Kijot ish la Manja (“Vida e historia del maravilloso noble don Quijote de la Mancha”). A ella le sucede- rán otras adaptaciones, como la de Yacubovich-Acabiá: Alilot don Kishot (“Las aventuras de don Quijote”), de 1940; la de A. Kastner, traducida por I. Tan Pi, de 1960; la de Sh. Skolski, para niños, de 1956 y de 1980: Alilot don Kishot (“Las aventuras de don Quijote”); y la de J. Reeves, traducida por Shulamit Harán, de 1984: Alilot hagvurá shel don Quishot (“Las valerosas aventuras de don Quijote”). En todos estos casos se trata de adaptaciones muy abreviadas. Es posible afirmar que la primera traducción rigurosa deDon Quijote al hebreo fue la de Itzjak Ravíkov, en una fecha tan tardía como 1955, quien sólo tradujo el libro de 1605, incluyendo como introducción el famoso prólogo de H. Heine (1837) y las ilustraciones de G. Doré. La primera traducción completa de Don Quijote al hebreo, a cargo de Nathan Bistritzky, se publica en 1958. En ella su traductor intentó resolver uno de los mayores problemas que presenta la lengua hebrea para la traducción de textos medioevales o áureos: crear un registro que mantenga una distancia lingüística respecto del hebreo moderno, similar a la existente entre el español del siglo XVII y el español actual. Esta dificultad es propia del hebreo, puesto que ha renacido como idioma habla- do tan sólo en el siglo XIX, salteando etapas evolutivas en su desarrollo, dificultad de la que carecen otras lenguas modernas. Es por ello que, si bien la traducción de Bistritzky posee un notorio vuelo retórico y lírico, presenta, al mismo tiempo, serias dificultades de comprensión para el

6 De modo singular, la traducción se cierra con la intervención de un substituto autorial— personificación del traductor real, Biálik—, que de modo ambiguo, habla del libro de la “Historia de don Quijote,” en el que se encontrarían registradas in extenso las aventuras del héroe manchego (Biálik 223). 48 Ruth Fine Cervantes lector contemporáneo, dado su registro “pseudo-arcaizante,” es decir, un grado de artificio y complicación excesivo, tanto en el nivel léxico como en el sintáctico. Finalmente, en el año 1994 aparece la segunda traducción completa de Don Quijote al hebreo, a cargo de Beatriz y Luis Landa, siendo el corpus de poemas traducido por Tal Nitzán Keren. Esta traducción, que incluye notas y un breve estudio sobre el autor y la obra, fue elabo- rada en un hebreo moderno y fluido; tal vez por ello, así como también por su encomiable calidad estilística, la aceptación y difusión en el seno del público israelí han sido inmediatas. La presente traducción marca, a nuestro entender, un sorprendente redescubrimiento de Don Quijote por parte de los lectores israelíes, y ha dado un notorio impulso al interés por la lectura y el estudio de la obra cervantina en Israel, interés que ha traído como consecuencia la traducción de otras obras cervantinas.7 En lo que respecta a las huellas de Don Quijote en la literatura hebrea—primordialmente, desde la perspectiva romántica e idealizante de su cosmovisión y la de su protagonista—, ellas son perceptibles en numerosas manifestaciones literarias, tanto en la lírica como en la prosa. Me centraré tan sólo en dos ejemplos, los cuales presentan un especial interés: Masaot Biniamín Hashlishí (“Los viajes de Benjamín III”) y Ajnasat kalá (“La dote de la novia”). Estimo que ambas obras no se hallan excesivamente distantes de la concepción rectora de las primeras traducciones de Don Quijote al hebreo—las de Frénkel y Biálik—, tra- tándose, a mi juicio, de auténticas reescrituras de la obra cervantina. Masaot Biniamín Hashlishí (“Los viajes de Benjamín III”; publicada originalmente en ídish, en 1878, y traducida al hebreo por el mismo autor, en 1896), de Méndele Mojer Sfarim (Méndele el vendedor de libros, seudónimo de Shalom Jacob Abramovich, 1835–1917), puede ser estimada, en primer término, como una parodia de Don Quijote. Su hé- roe, ridiculizado, sufre un proceso de enajenación respecto de la realidad circundante, como consecuencia de la lectura incesante de libros de viajes escritos por judíos, así como de textos de la tradición hebrea.8 Estas

7 Al final hay un listado de las traducciones al hebreo de otras obras de Cervantes. 8 Los libros de viajes que nutren la imaginación de Benjamín son, principalmente, Benjamín de Tudela (publicado por primera vez en Constantinopla, en 1543) y Eldad ha-Daní (“Eldad de la tribu de Dan,” escrito en hebreo y publicado en 1480, en Mantua). El primero de ellos es la historia de los viajes de Benjamín de Tudela durante el siglo XII, a través de Europa y Medio Oriente, incluyendo la Tierra de Israel. El segundo, verdadera utopía judía, narra las legendarias aventuras de un viajero judío, quien durante la segunda mitad del siglo IX, recorre el norte de África, España y parte de Asia, descubriendo los reinos en los que habitan los descendientes de Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote en hebreo 49 lecturas lo impulsan a salir de su aldea—Batalón (“holgazanería”)—en busca de aventuras, acompañado de un criado, teniendo como trasfondo el escenario de las aldeas judías de Europa Oriental en el siglo XIX. Lo que en don Quijote constituye la añoranza de un pasado literario, en Benjamín se transforma en un deseo, en parte más realista, de salir de la diáspora y llegar a la Tierra de Israel, impulsado por un llamado inter- no que no logra comprender del todo (Abramovich 67) y que tiene, sin duda, ecos mesiánicos.9 No obstante, su objetivo participa también de cierto grado de desatino, puesto que se propone encontrar las diez tribus perdidas de Israel, en cuya búsqueda habían salido también los héroes de sus libros. Así como don Quijote, Benjamín hallará en sus lecturas la explicación de los eventos y situaciones, muchas veces sorprendentes, que irá topando en su camino. A diferencia de otros críticos, que tienden a minimizar las relaciones intertextuales entre ambas obras, coincido con la opinión de Landa (97–99), quien estima que Masaot constituye una verdadera reelabora- ción literaria de Don Quijote. Abramovich, quien ubica su relato en una realidad histórica y cultural muy distinta de la de Cervantes, logra establecer un diálogo intertextual con respecto a la obra cervantina, que dará como resultado una nueva creación, una parodia de otra parodia, la cual, en el nuevo contexto, carece del ethos burlesco que la obra de Cervantes despliega respecto de las novelas de caballerías. En cambio, Los viajes de Benjamín III enfatiza la proyección satírica de la obra cervantina: la degradación caricaturesca de los personajes y de sus aventuras, con el objetivo de criticar la vida, las creencias y las utopías nacionales y religiosas de la sociedad judía de Europa Oriental en el siglo XIX, como también la barrera insondable que los separaba de los gentiles, los goim.10 A modo de breve ejemplificación, estableceré algunas relaciones de paralelismo y contraste entre ambas obras. Ambos protagonistas—don Quijote y Benjamín—salen en primera instancia solos de sus respectivas aldeas, impulsados por el afán de recrear el mundo de sus lecturas a lo las tribus perdidas. Ambos libros constituyeron un estímulo para los judíos de Europa Oriental, al poner al descubierto ante ellos comunidades judías en las que sus congéneres vivían en libertad, sin ser ni oprimidos ni perseguidos. 9 No son pocos los pasajes en los que se sugiere el rol redentor y mesiánico de Benjamín. Ver, por ejemplo, la afirmación explícita de uno de los personajes, quien lo considera el probable salvador de Israel (Abramovich 50). 10 Esta barrera era, en primera instancia, lingüística, ya que los judíos ni siquiera com- prendían el ruso. Benjamín debe recurrir a Sandril, su compañero-“escudero,” quien poseía ciertos rudimentos de la lengua de los goim, a fin de descifrar el discurso del gentil que encuentra en su camino. 50 Ruth Fine Cervantes largo de sus periplos. A su regreso, ambos ayudados por vecinos, son recibidos por mujeres descontentas, que sólo tienen palabras de crítica y enojo: el ama, en Don Quijote, y la mujer de Benjamín, en la obra de Abramovich. La segunda salida ya la harán acompañados de sus respectivos escuderos/criados: Sancho y Sandril. A diferencia de don Quijote y Sancho, cuya distancia social crea en la obra una fecunda dinámica dialógica, el amo y el criado de Los viajes de Benjamín III pertenecen a la misma clase social y creen en lo mismo, si bien Benjamín posee una formación cultural más elevada. Aun más, escapan de lo mismo: del yugo de sus respectivas mujeres. Otra diferencia significativa la constituye el hecho de que don Quijote es un héroe temerario; Benjamín, en cambio, es prácticamente un cobarde, quien no confía en sus propios recursos ni fuerza, tan sólo confía en Dios y en las filacterias que lo acompañan y protegen. Como he señalado ya, es dable afirmar que la novela de Abramovich extrema el registro satírico de Don Quijote. Su crítica se centra en la vida carente de posibilidad de progreso intelectual o económico de las comunidades judías de las aldeas (shtetlaj), por cuya modernización clamaban los intelectuales judíos iluministas del período, Abramovich entre ellos. Es por esa causa que en Los viajes todos los habitantes de Batalón par- ticipan de la enajenación libresca de los protagonistas, atrapados en los relatos bíblicos y midrásicos, no menos de lo que lo están el protagonista y su criado; todos intentan evadirse de la cruda realidad material que los rodea. En Batalón, la paupérrima aldea judía, a cada circunstancia vital sigue un relato que le dará sentido y explicación, siendo la Biblia una de las vertientes primordiales del cúmulo de narraciones. A pesar de ello, la sátira respecto de las comunidades judías sumidas en el retraso se inserta en el marco de una denuncia mordaz del sistema antisemita imperante, motivo principal, a ojos del autor, de la fosilización y del aislamiento en los cuales estas comunidades se hallaban inmersas. Si bien, como fuera observado, la comunidad en su totalidad se halla presa de esta obsesión intertextual, serán Benjamín y Sandril los únicos capaces de asumir una actitud activa y salir camino a la Tierra de Israel, a fin de hallar en su trayecto a los descendientes de las tribus perdidas. No obstante, debemos recordar una importante diferencia entre el hipertexto cervantino y su derivado hebreo: la locura de don Quijote responde a una situación individual; en cambio, la de Benjamín, es el fruto de un contexto histórico—el de la Europa antisemita y persecutoria del período—, contexto que no puede ser modificado por la sola voluntad y esfuerzo del héroe protagónico, como sí puede don Quijote recuperar su Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote en hebreo 51 cordura y retornar a su identidad primigenia, la de Alonso Quijano. En tanto que don Quijote se mueve entre un mundo de realidad y otro de imaginación, en el cual los enemigos son producto de sus elucubraciones mentales, en el caso de Benjamín los enemigos son reales: los dos mun- dos corresponden al mundo judío y al no judío, signado, este último, por sentimientos antisemitas que vuelven incuestionablemente peligrosas las aventuras y los viajes de los protagonistas (Garret 98–99). Una estrategia constructiva de raigambre cervantina es la utilización del sustituto autorial o autor ficticio, encarnado en la figura de Méndele, cuyo posible referente literario sería Cide Hamete Benengeli. A diferencia del resto de los personajes—tan alienados respecto de la realidad como Benjamín—, algunos de los cuales ven en el protagonista a un hé- roe y no a un loco, el substituto autorial, Méndele, considera a Benjamín como a un verdadero necio, convirtiéndolo así en el blanco de su constante ironía. Se trata de un narrador personal, como lo son las diversas voces narrativas de Don Quijote. Dicho narrador hace partícipe al lector de sus elecciones constructivas, como cuando afirma: “Suprimimos aquí intencionalmente mucho de lo dicho por no atentar contra la honra de Benjamín” (Abramovich 50). A pesar de ello, así como en el caso de la obra de Cervantes, el protagonista se erige en el autor de su propia historia y es él quien propulsa sus aventuras y determina su trayectoria. Los viajes de Benjamín III fue traducida al polaco por Clemens Junoasza (Shaniasvsky), en 1885, bajo el título Donkiszot zydowski (“Don Quijote judío”). Abramovich, de modo significativo, aceptó sin cuestionamientos esta designación. La obra, cuya centralidad para el desarrollo de la literatura hebrea es considerable, cuenta hasta el presente con numerosas adaptaciones teatrales.11 La segunda obra en hebreo, en la que pueden identificarse signifi- cativas marcas de intertextualidad respecto de Don Quijote, es Ajnasat kalá (“La dote de la novia”; 1919, 1931 y 1953) de Shmuel Iosef (Shai) Agnón (1888–1970), premio Nobel de literatura del año 1966.12 Entre algunos de sus aspectos sobresalientes, este libro presenta el juego dico- tómico de la realidad versus la ficción, encarnado principalmente en su

11 La primera adaptación teatral fue la de Ahorón Ashman, bajo la dirección de Moshé Ha- Levi, presentada en 1936 por el teatro Ohel. Entre las versiones teatrales idiosincrásicas de la obra de Abramovich, se destaca una adaptación antisionista, llevada a escena en Rusia, en la década de 1920, y otra, de Moshé Nadir, en ídish, en la que Benjamín sale en persecusión de “los judíos rojos,” los comunistas (Almagor 59–60). 12 Agnón compone y publica una primera versión de Ajnasat kalá en 1931. La versión definitiva, ampliada y corregida, será la de 1953. 52 Ruth Fine Cervantes protagonista, así como también estrategias narrativas de evidente inspi- ración cervantina. Es sabido que Agnón reconoció a Cervantes como a uno de sus principales referentes literarios, junto a otros clásicos, como Balzac, Gógol, Tolstoi y Flaubert. De modo abarcador, todas las obras de Agnón enfocan el conflicto espiritual que vive el hombre judío de nuestro tiempo: el alejamiento y la pérdida del modo de vida tradicional, de la identidad religiosa y de la fe. La novela La dote de la novia se integra en el marco de dicha cosmovi- sión, subrayando la postura anacrónica de su héroe—el indigente rabino Yódel de Brad—, inserto en un pasado utópico, que lo impulsa a dedicar toda su vida al estudio de la Biblia. Los viajes de Yódel se iniciarán como consecuencia de la presión de su esposa, quien lo obliga a salir de la aldea en la que habitan, a fin de cumplir con el precepto de obtener una dote, y luego, un novio, para la hija mayor, y más adelante, para las otras dos hijas casaderas. Yódel realizará su viaje en compañía del cochero Neta, protagonizando múltiples aventuras a lo largo de los distintos pueblos en los que se hallan asentadas comunidades judías. Cada uno de estos sucesos despierta en el rabino la inmediata asociación intertextual respecto de los libros bíblicos o los textos del Midrash. Su imaginario y su operativo mental son esencialmente intertextuales, tal como los del hé- roe manchego. Asimismo, tal como ocurre en la novela de Cervantes, en la obra de Agnón predomina el registro irónico respecto de las excentri- cidades de los protagonistas y el pasado utópico que intentan resucitar. Agnón ha querido crear una epopeya judía, cuyo protagonista es el fruto de una educación desconectada de la realidad cotidiana, inscripta en un mundo de milagros y de libros sagrados, mundo que se presenta como alternativa respecto de la desalentadora y cruda realidad de la Europa Oriental del siglo XIX. La fe constituye la fuerza propulsora de este protagonista, como eco intertextual del voluntarismo quijotesco. Ambos personajes protagonistas mantienen la fe en la veracidad incontrovertible de los textos que les sirven de inspiración y guía. La dote de la novia presenta también aspectos constructivos de fi- liación cervantina, tales como los juegos de diversas voces narrativas, la inclusión de numerosas metadiégesis (diecinueve narraciones extensas y quince relatos breves), así como estrategias metaficcionales. Éstas se destacan en el segundo libro de la novela, en el cual los protagonistas— Yódel y Neta—se convierten en personajes de la pieza teatral represen- tada en la festividad religiosa de Púrim, en la que se ponen en escena sus aventuras y desventuras. Con ello asistimos al desdoblamiento de los personajes—protagonistas de un segundo nivel narrativo, que funciona Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote en hebreo 53 como construcción en abismo—procedimiento magistralmente introdu- cido por Cervantes en Don Quijote de 1615. Por último, cabe destacar que la figura idealizada de la dama— Dulcinea—, inspiración y estímulo de las aventuras de don Quijote, en la obra de Agnón se verá encarnada en la presencia divina—Dios—, a quien Yódel acude incesantemente en sus desvelos y en quien confía como guía espiritual de su periplo. En último término, deseo mencionar la existencia de diversas adaptaciones de Don Quijote en el teatro israelí de las últimas décadas, así como de huellas intertextuales en la literatura contemporánea en hebreo. Las versiones dramáticas incluyen, entre otras, varias piezas musicales, una de ellas—Don Quishot—destinada al teatro de títeres, realizada por Ami y Rachel Berkman en 1985, con música de Manuel de Falla, hasta llegar a una sorprendente adaptación teatral, que ubica las aventuras de don Quijote en uno de los sitios emblemáticos del Israel moderno: el kibutz o granja colectiva.13 Sin duda, la huella de Don Quijote en la obra de autores contemporáneos como David Shájar, Amós Oz, Haim Beer o Ioshúa Knaz,14 e incluso en los textos de jóvenes cuentistas adscritos a la corriente postmodernista (Iulis y Galil, entre otros15), deja atrás al don Quijote romántico, símbolo del judío diaspórico y errante, aferrado a sus libros, para rescatar primordialmente los aspectos constructivos, polifó-

13 Para un panorama detallado de las versiones teatrales hebreas de Don Quijote, véase Almagor. Le agradezco al Prof. Almagor la valiosa información que me ha proporcionado sobre el tema. 14 Los autores mencionados constituyen tan sólo algunos de los ejemplos sobresalientes de la huella de Don Quijote en la narrativa israelí contemporánea. Dicha huella puede reconocerse ampliamente en la poesía (más de cuarenta poemas registran de modo explícito esta marca intertextual), así como en la ensayística y en el teatro. La novela Itganvut iejidim (“La subrepticia entrada de unos pocos”), de Ioshúa Knaz, es uno de las obras actuales en las que el referente del personaje de Don Quijote, así como el del “quijotismo,” se evidencian con mayor intensidad, y ello en relación con la caracterización del protagonista—Alón-, un israelí que rompe con la identidad estereotipada. Por su parte, la obra de Amós Oz, Otó haiam (“El mismo mar”), presenta a su “narrador ficticio” [sic], cuestionando el texto que ha resultado de su tarea creativa (45). En otra novela del mismo autor, Hamatzav hashlishí (“La tercera situación”), reconocemos el juego constante de desplazamientos entre la realidad y la imaginación. David Shájar, en Eijal haquelim hashvurim (“La sala de los utensilios rotos”) emplea el re- curso de narradores/autores ficticios, de inspiración cervantina. Por último, Haim Beer, en Notzot (“Plumas”), introduce el procedimiento de entrecru- zamiento intertextual, a partir de las fuentes bíblicas judías. 15 En sus relatos, tanto Tzvi Iulis como Lilaj Galil emplean la figura de los protagonistas de Don Quijote con función paródica y de pastische. 54 Ruth Fine Cervantes

nicos y metaficcionales de Don Quijote. Si bien no totalmente desligada de la concepción idealista del quijotismo, esta nueva recepción de la obra maestra cervantina se halla en concordancia con los pronunciados cam- bios que la sociedad israelí y su literatura han atravesado en los últimos decenios.

Department of Spanish and Latin American Studies The Hebrew University of Jerusalem Mount Scopus 91905 Jerusalem, Israel [email protected]

Obras citadas

Abramovich, Shalom Jacob (Méndele Mojer Sfarim). Masaot Biniamín Hashlishí (“Los viajes de Benjamín III”). Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1974. [En hebreo]. Almagor, Dan. “Cervantes ve ha-bamá ha-ivrit” (“Cervantes y el escenario hebreo”). Bamá, 129.27 (1992): 57–69. [En hebreo]. Agnón, Shmuel Iósef. Ajnasat kalá (“La dote de la novia”). Jerusalén-Tel Aviv: Shoken, 1978. [En hebreo]. Beer, Haim. Notzot (“Plumas”). Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1979. [En hebreo]. Biálik, Jaim Najman. Don Quishot. Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1952. [En hebreo]. Biálik, Jaim Najman y I. J. Rabnitsky. Séfer Hahagadá (“El libro de la Hagadá”). Tel Aviv: Dvir, 2000. [En hebreo]. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. Don Quijote de la Mancha. Ed. Francisco Rico. Barcelona: Crítica, 1998. Friedman, Arie David. Iunei prosa (“Estudios de prosa”). Tel Aviv: Majvarot Lesifrut, 1966. [En hebreo]. Galil El-Ami, Lilaj. “Don Quishot,” en Ajshav tijteví (“Ahora escribe”). Tel Aviv: Hozaat Hakibutz Haarzí, 1997. [En hebreo]. Garret, Leah. “The Jewish Don Quixote.” Cervantes 17.2 (1997): 94–105. (23 marzo 2007). Iulis, Zvi. “Haiom haatzuv beioter bejaiiav shel Don Quishot” (“El día más triste en la vida de Don Quijote”). Le jol shodedei haiam (“Para todos los piratas”). Tel Aviv: Amudim Lesafrut, 1999. 66–69. [En hebreo]. Knaz, Ioshúa. Itganvut iejidim (“La subrepticia entrada de unos pocos”). Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1986. [En hebreo]. Landa, Luis. Cervantes vehaieudim (“Cervantes y los judíos”). Beer-Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2002. [En hebreo]. Oz, Amós. Hamazav hashlishí (“La tercera situación”). Tel Aviv: Kéter, 1991. [En hebreo]. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote en hebreo 55

——— Otó haiam (“El mismo mar”). Jerusalén: Kéter, 1999. [En hebreo]. Romanelli, Shlomó. “Masá ba Arav” (“Viaje por Arav”). Ktavim Nivjarim (“Selección de textos”). Ed. Jaim Shirman. Jerusalén: Mosad Bialik, 1968. 116. [En hebreo]. Shajar, David. Eijal haquelim hashvurim (“La sala de los utensilios rotos”). Tel Aviv: Idediot Ajronot, 1995. [En hebreo]. Shamir, Ziva. “‘Boa, Laila’—bein ha-cuarto ha-Sheikspiri legvilei ha-séfer ha-ivrí” (“‘Ven, noche.’ Entre el cuarteto de Shakespeare y los pergaminos del libro hebreo”). Mejcarim ve madaei haiaadut 17–27 (“Investigaciones en Ciencias Judías. 17–27”). Ed. Iair Hoffman. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 2001. 655–65. [En hebreo].

Traducciones, adaptaciones y reescrituras en hebreo de Don Quijote

Frénkel, Najman. Séfer Abinóam haglilí o Hamashíaj haevil [“El libro de Abinóam ha- glilí (de Galilea) o el mesías necio”]. Iasi: I. Blumart, 1871. Don Quishot min la Mansha [“Don Quijote de la Mancha”]. Trad. y adaptación de David Iudilevich. Jerusalén: Hahor, 1894. Don Quishot ish la Mansha. [“Don Quijote de la Mancha”]. Trad. Jaim Najman Biálik. Odessa, 1912. Jaiav ve corotav shel hahatzil haniflá don Quijot ish Manja [“Vida e historia del maravilloso noble don Quijote de la Mancha”]. Trad. anónima abreviada para niños. Varsovia, 1920. Don Quishot. Trad. Jaim Najman Biálik. Berlín: Hotzaat Jovevei Hashirá Haivrit, 1923. Don Quishot. Trad. y adaptación para niños de Abraham Arié Acabiá. Tel Aviv: Izrael, 1954. Don Quishot. Trad. Jaim N. Biálik. Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1952. Haavrej hamejunán don Quijot de la Mansha [“El talentoso mancebo don Quijote de la Mancha”]. Trad. Iosef Ravíkov. Pról. Heinrich Heine. Dibujos de Gustave Doré. Libro 1. Tel Aviv: Tevel, 1955. Alilot don Quishot [“Las aventuras de don Quijote”]. Trad. y adaptación para niños de Shlomó Skolski. Tel Aviv: Amijai, 1956. Hidalgo hejarif don Quijote min la Mancha [“El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha”]. Trad. Nathan Bistritzky. Ilustr. Marcel Janco. 2 vols. Merjavia: Sifriat Poalim, 1958. Alilot don Kishot [“Las aventuras de don Quijote”]. Adaptación de Eric Kastner. Trad. I. Tan Pi. Jerusalén: Ají Assaf, 1960. Alilot hagvurá shel don Quishot [“Las valerosas aventuras de don Quijote”]. Adaptación para niños de James Reeves. Trad. Shulamit Harán. Dibujos de Gustave Doré. Tel Aviv: Zmora Bitán: 1984. 56 Ruth Fine Cervantes

Quitzur alilot don Quishot [“Las aventuras de don Quijote abreviadas”]. Trad. y adapt- ación en verso de Meír Tzvi. Jerusalén: Moteen, 1993. Don Quijote. Trad. Beatriz y Luis Landa. Trad. de la poesía y responsable de la edición: Tal Nitzán-Keren. 2 vols. Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hameujad, 1994. Harpatcaot Don Quijote [“Aventuras de Don Quijote”]. Adaptación para adolescentes. Trad. Tal Nitzán[-Keren]. Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hameujad, 2006.

Traducciones al hebreo de otras obras de Cervantes

Ish ha zjujit. [“El licenciado Vidriera”]. Trad. Efraim Shmueli. Tel Aviv: Gazit: 1941. Diucán haplaím. [“El retablo de las maravillas”]. Trad. Miriam Berenstein Cohen. Tel Aviv: Histadrut Haclalit shel haovdim haivrim be Eretz Israel. Ha Mercaz Letarbut Ve Jinuj, Hamador le Bamaut, ¿1954? Mearat Salamanca. [“La cueva de Salamanca”]. Trad. Miriam Berenstein Cohen. Tel Aviv: Histadrut Haclalit shel haovdim haivrim be Eretz Israel. Ha Mercaz Letarbut Ve Jinuj, Hamador le Bamaut, ¿1954? “Coaj hadam.” [“La fuerza de la sangre”]. Trad. Iósef Rubín. Mibjar ha sipur ha sfaradí. Ed. Iósef Rubín. Tel Aviv: Hadar, 1960. 11–23. Sipurim. [“Cuentos.” Incluye: “El licenciado Vidriera” y “El casamiento engañoso,” trad. Ióram Brunowsky; “Rinconete y Cortadillo,” “El celoso extremeño” y “Coloquio de los perros,” trad. Luis Landa]. Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hameujad, 1982. Haguiguim al ahava [Selección de aforismos cervantinos de tema amoroso]. Ed. y trad. Ben Zion Najmías. Raanana: Even Joshen, 2000. “Ish Extremadura hakanai” [“El celoso extremeño”]. Trad. Tal Nitzán-Keren. Haantologuia hajadashá [La nueva antología]. Ed. Menajem Peri. 2 vols. Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hameujad I, 2000. 1: 266–93. Jatunat hacazav [“El casamiento engañoso”]. Incluye, además, “La fuerza de la sangre” y “La señora Cornelia.” Trad. Fabiana Heifetz. Tel Aviv: Babel: 2002. Hapraclit Zjujit [“El licenciado Vidriera”]. Incluye, además, “Coloquio de los perros.” Trad. Fabiana Heifetz. Tel Aviv: Babel, 2003. “Shtei haalmot” [“Las dos doncellas”]. Trad. Assaf Ashkenazi. Tesis de Maestría, Universidad Hebrea de Jerusalén, 2004. Inédita. Novélot exempláriot [“La gitanilla,” “El amante liberal,” “La ilustre fregona,” “La espa- ñola inglesa” y “Las dos doncellas”). Trad. Menajem Argov y Assaf Ashkenazi. Jerusalén: Carmel, en prensa.16

16 Estos traductores están concluyendo la traducción al hebreo de Persiles y Sigismunda. Génesis y significado de la primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote

______Jasna Stojanović

a primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote realizada direc- tamente del original castellano es el resultado de una labor que Lse prolongó durante varios decenios para culminar en la versión final, que data de 1895–96. En efecto, es en 1895 que la Fundación del comerciante serbio Ilija Milosavljević (llamado Kolarac), sacó a luz los tres primeros tomos de la novela, mientras que el cuarto se publicó el año siguiente. El autor de esta primera versión integral1 fue Ðorđe (Jorge) Popović (1832–1914), figura destacada del Romanticismo serbio. Popović era jurista de profesión, pero también publicista y periodis- ta, traductor, escritor, lexicógrafo e historiador. Hoy en día la polifacética actividad de Popović queda un tanto olvidada fuera de los limitados cír- culos de historiadores de la literatura; no obstante, su gran aportación a nuestra cultura, así como su duradera dedicación a Miguel de Cervantes van siendo tema de interés e investigación de varios estudiosos, entre los que destaca la recién fallecida Ljiljana Pavlović-Samurović, catedrática en el Departamento de Estudios Ibéricos de la Universidad de Belgrado. Oriundo de la Voivodina, región serbia que en ese entonces pertene- cía al Imperio Austro-Húngaro, Ðorđe Popović estudió en Viena y pasó buena parte de su carrera profesional en Novi Sad, sede del Romanticismo nacional, antes de instalarse definitivamente en Belgrado (1877), capital del nuevo estado recién liberado de los turcos. Popović era conocido por sus coetáneos como fundador, editor e infatigable colaborador de numerosas revistas literarias, culturales y políticas, nacionales como ex- tranjeras (alemanas, austríacas, húngaras, checas, rusas, francesas, etc.).

1 Antes disponíamos tan sólo de una pésima adaptación anónima en catorce capítulos, realizada probablemente desde un original alemán (Don Kijot [sic] Manašanin [sic]).

57 58 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes

Destaca por su gran importancia la revista Danica, que Popović fundó en 1860 y editó hasta 18712 y por la que fue apodado Daničar. Hoy en día la principal contribución de Popović a la historia de las letras serbias radica en la firmeza y la perseverancia con las que este intelectual de vasta cultura y acertado gusto literario se dedicó a introducir obras maestras de la literatura universal entre nosotros. Daničar vertió al serbio títulos de Victor Hugo, Boccaccio, Manzoni, Lermontov, Gogol, Lessing y el escritor húngaro Jokai, entre otros, y además alentó a muchos a seguir su ejemplo. Miguel de Cervantes fue uno de sus autores predilectos, y hay que decir que de toda su obra prefería Don Quijote, del que opinaba que era “la primera y la mejor novela en el mundo” (prvi i najbolji roman u svetu), “obra inmortal” (besamrtno delo) y “clásica” (klasičko delo). Ya en vida Daničar se destacó como buen conocedor de Don Quijote; por ejemplo, con motivo del 70º aniversario de su labor profesional (1902), el perió- dico Carigradski Glasnik [Correo de Constantinopla] escribía que en el futuro “Aparte de Danica, su mejor trabajo [de Popović] será la traducción clásica de Don Quijote. Danica se mencionará biográficamente, pero su versión de Don Quijote no se sustituirá nunca, ni será posible sustituir- la por otra mejor.”3 Aunque excesivo—por ser típico de la época—este juicio no es completamente equivocado: la traducción de Ðorđe Popović resultó ser durante casi un siglo entero (hasta 1988) la única versión integral, seria y fiable de la novela cervantina en nuestra cultura. Además, aún hoy sigue editándose y no ha terminado de perder sus aficionados entre el público lector.4

2 La revista duró hasta agosto de 1872, pero en su último año la editó Ðorđe Rajković. 3 “Pored Danice, najbolji njegov rad biće klasični prevod Don Kihota. Danica će se samo biografski spominjati, ali njegov prevod Don Kihota neće se zameniti boljim nikad, niti se može zameniti” (“Sedamdesetogodišnjica” [“El setenta aniversario”] 1). 4 Cabe mencionar que la duradera dedicación cervantina de Popović le convirtió en raro “conocedor” de temas hispánicos y sinónimo de lo “español” para sus compatriotas. Un famoso poeta y amigo de Popović, Laza Kostić, además de decir que Daničar era “nuestro hombre de letras más laborioso y más preparado” (najvredniji i najspremniji književnik naš), escribía de él que era “bel hombre, rostro español, caballero, torero” (lep čovek, špansko lice, kavaljero, toreador) (O Jovanu Jovanoviću Zmaju (Zmajovi), 14 y 339). Y el hecho es que en la segunda mitad del siglo XIX Popović era prácticamente el único “especialista” en Cervantes entre los serbios, en el sentido que esta palabra tenía entonces. Los que asimismo podían ejercer el papel de intermediarios culturales eran los sefardíes radi- cados en nuestras regiones, que todavía conservaban su idioma, tradiciones y el recuerdo de la patria abandonada. Uno de ellos era Hajim (Jaime) Davičo, quien escribió a finales del siglo XIX y principios del XX sobre Don Quijote y tradujo dos entremeses al serbio (ver nuestro trabajo “Hajim Davičo, crítico y traductor de Cervantes en las letras serbias”). Volume 26 (2006) La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote 59

Ðorđe Popović empezó a interesarse por temas españoles y, más específicamente, cervantinos, nada más iniciar su carrera periodístia. Dio las primeras muestras de ello en el suplemento cultural de la revista Srpski dnevnik [Diario serbio], denominada Sedmica [Semana], de la que era editor. Tenía 24 años. En las páginas de Sedmica aparecieron en 1856 y 1857 los primeros fragmentos de Don Quijote jamás traducidos a nuestro idioma, realizados por Popović. Se trata de los capítulos 16 y 17 de la primera parte de la novela, elegidos, según suponemos, por su carácter cómico-burlesco, muy apropiado para el gusto literario del joven público literario serbio. Salvo un breve párrafo del capítulo 16 omitido por el traductor (creemos que a propósito),5 la versión de Popović se ciñe estrechamente al original cervantino. No hay duda de que el traductor se basaba en un texto español, sin excluir la posibilidad, eso sí, de haberse ayudado de alguna traducción alemana o francesa. Nos consta que Ðorđe Popović, según escribiría años más tarde, aprendió español sólo para poder verter Don Quijote al serbio; sabemos que fue autodidacta y podemos suponer que la traducción de una obra tan extensa y lingüísticamente tan compleja como la novela de Cervantes exigía de él un esfuerzo enorme. Teniendo en cuenta estos factores, así como la inexistencia de cualquier tradición hispanística en nuestro país en el siglo XIX, podemos afirmar que el joven Popović salió de ese primer intento con dignidad. A pesar de las imprecisiones, de palabras y expresiones traducidas erróneamente o literalmente,6 ha sabido trasponer con creces el tono general de humor fresco, de dinamismo y de encanto de este conocido episodio quijotesco. Popović ha demostrado conocer muy bien la novela de Cervantes y su espíritu—influido, claro está, por la vigente exégesis romántica—, el ca- rácter de don Quijote y de Sancho y la relación, entre amistad y fraternidad, que les unía, así como los caracteres de los demás protagonistas (el ventero y la ventera, la hija, Maritornes). Su versión de los capítulos 16 y 17 es viva y pintoresca, construida con ágiles diálogos y un raro sentido

5 Se trata del pasaje que en el original cervantino empieza por “según lo dice el autor desta historia, que deste arriero hace particular mención,” y termina con las palabras “¡Bien haya mil veces el autor de Tablante de Ricamonte, y aquel del otro libro donde se cuenta los hechos del conde Tomillas, y con qué puntualidad lo describen todo.” Las citas están tomadas de la edición publicada bajo la dirección de Francisco Rico y editada por el Instituto Cervantes y Editorial Crítica. 6 Popović traduce a menudo modismos literalmente, como en el ejemplo “Don Quijote se estaba boca arriba,” que traduce por “Don Gihote ležao je još sa ustima u vis” (I, 17; 260). Otras veces se le escapa el sentido de algunas palabras o expresiones, como cuando traduce “vecinos” por “komšije” (I, 17; 261), en vez de “meštani,” o dice “ja bih još bolje vikao” (I, 17; 260) para “Hablara yo más bien criado.” 60 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes del humor y la ironía cervantinos. Las huellas de la antigua ortografía serbia confieren un leve aroma arcaizante a la traducción, que viene muy a propósito. Entre los ejemplos de soluciones logradas se podría aducir el retrato de Maritornes (I, 16; 340–41 del texto serbio), el discurso pro- nunciado por el caballero mientras tiene a la moza asida de la muñeca (342–43) o el diálogo de amo y escudero al principio de I, 17. Sin embargo, varias décadas más tarde, en su prólogo al Don Quijote integral (1895) Popović confesaba que estos primeros intentos por verter al serbio la obra maestra de la literatura española no le satisfacían: “Abandoné la empresa, porque me pareció que mi traducción sería un empeoramiento del original,” afirmaba.7 Y de hecho, a partir de este momento Daničar descuida la traduc- ción de la novela (sólo provisionalmente, según veremos), pero no deja de hablar y escribir elogiosamente de ella y de Cervantes cada vez que se le presente la ocasión. La revista Danica contiene buen número de notas y comentarios de su editor sobre nuevas ediciones y versiones de Don Quijote en Europa y en el mundo, especialmente en el ámbito eslavo, que revelan su constante interés por la gran obra de la literatura española.8 Sin embargo, la prueba más evidente de ello es la polémica que sostuvo Popović con el autor de una pésima adaptación de Don Quijote publicada en 1862 en el suplemento cultural de la revista belgradense Trgovačke Novine [Gaceta Comercial], que aparecería el mismo año en forma de pe- queño libro.9 El traductor anónimo (que, por cierto, ocultó su identidad no sólo en la portada de la traducción, sino también en la controversia) atacó duramente a Daničar por criticar su versión, y la polémica entre los dos se prolongó de junio a agosto de 1862. El argumento principal del editor de Danica, muy sensato y moderno, consistía en que las obras clá- sicas no se podían presentar al público a través de adaptaciones torpes y poco serias que no benefician ni a los lectores ni a la literatura receptora. En la citada versión, decía, Don Quijote viene todo “recortado” (prekrojen) y de él se puede deducir tan sólo que el ingenioso hidalgo fue un “ton- to” (budala). Popović aduce asimismo ejemplos concretos de soluciones

7 “…ali sam se ostavio posla, jer mi se činilo, da bi mi prevod bio nagrđivanje originala” (“Servantesov život i dela mu” [“Vida y obras de Cervantes”] xxxviii). 8 Por ejemplo, en Danica 2 (1862): 30; 31 (1862): 507; 43 (1864): 697; y 18 (1867): 432. En la última nota que informa sobre el número de traducciones de la novela cervantina a varios idiomas europeos, Popović añade entre paréntesis, pensando en sí mismo: “El editor de esta revista está traduciendo esta novela del español al serbio” (“Urednik ovoga lista prevodi ovaj roman sa španjolskoga na srbski”). 9 Don Kijot [sic] Manašanin [sic]. Volume 26 (2006) La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote 61 inexactas encontradas en el texto de su adversario.10 Es indudable que la violencia con la que se enfrentaron los protagonistas de la discusión da fe del vivo interés suscitado hacia Cervantes y su obra en Serbia en ese entonces.

Varios testimonios revelan que el interés por Don Quijote iba cre- ciendo entre los serbios a partir de la década de los sesenta del XIX. En esta época la novela de Cervantes era muy leída por la gente culta, en su mayoría los profesionales de la literatura, y eso en versiones alemanas y francesas. Tenemos constancia de que varios escritores notables de esta época conocían, apreciaban, e incluso se inspiraban en la historia del viejo manchego: Jakov Ignjatović, Laza Kostić, Jovan Ilić y sus hijos, Jovan Jovanović-Zmaj, Stevan Sremac y Laza Lazarević son algunos de ellos. No obstante, para el gran público todavía no era asequible la novela cervantina. Quizá debido a esto, la editorial Braća Jovanović [“Hermanos Jovanović”] de Pančevo decidió incluir en su conocida “Biblioteca popular” una adaptación francesa de Don Quijote, en su versión serbia. El original se titulaba Histoire de l’admirable Don Quichotte de la Manche y era muy difundido en Europa a partir de su primera publicación (1853) y posteriores ediciones y reimpresiones (1866, 1868, 1878, 1888). En Serbia se publicó en 1882 bajo el título Pripovetka o slavnom vitezu Don Kihotu od Manče [Historia del famoso caballero Don Quijote de la Mancha]. Según nuestras investigaciones, el texto de esta adaptación “para la juventud” es una versión fiel de dicho original francés publicado en 1866 y su autor no declarado es Ðorđe Popović—Daničar. Aunque el nombre del traductor no figura en la portada, las ideas expresadas en el párrafo final del prólogo (por lo demás enteramente tomado del libro francés), así como su tono y estilo, y el texto mismo de la traducción, apuntan inequívocamente a Daničar. Afirmaba Popović en estas líneas que resultan familiares al estudioso, conocedor de su labor: “Nosotros, los serbios, no disponemos de Don Quijote traducido a nuestro idioma, aunque el mismo Dositej expresó el deseo de verlo vertido al serbio. En

10 Empezando por el título, Daničar dice: “En español Don Quijote de la Mancha no se puede traducir al serbio por Don Kijot Manašanin, sino por Don Gihote Mančanin (o Mančanac, o Mančanski, o, finalmente,od Manče). Si él [Daničar se refiere al traductor] sabe que en Castilla y en la Mancha se habla de otra manera, que informe de ello al resto de los mortales, que sí res- petan las obras clásicas.” (“Španjolsko Don Quijote de la Mancha nemože [sic] [se] srpski prevesti sa: Don Kijot Manašanin, nego Don Gihote Mančanin (ili Mančanac, ili Mančanski, ili naposledku [sic] od Manče). Ako on zna, da se u Kastilji, ili baš u Manči drugačije govori, neka bar javi to ostalom svetu, koji inače poštuje klasička dela.”). Danica, 20 (1862): 330. 62 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes

Sedmica…salieron en 1856 dos capítulos traducidos al serbio [omite el año 1857, probablemente por descuido]. En Belgrado empezó en 1862 a publicarse una versión desprovista de valor alguno. Este Don Quijote que sale ahora a la luz del día no es una versión completa del original, pero tampoco es un extracto de él. Hemos utilizado un libro francés para la juventud, en el cual se ha tomado del original español todo lo que puede interesar a la generación joven. Con un poco de suerte y si se nos ofrece la oportunidad, dentro de algún tiempo daremos la traducción integral de esta obra inmortal.”11 Aquí el traductor serbio sigue escrupulosamente el texto francés, ex- puesto en 28 capítulos, sin añadir ni omitir nada.12 Opta únicamente por cambiar la versión francesa de algunos nombres propios y topóni- mos por una forma más castizamente española (“Ginès de Passamont” es Hines Pasamonte, “montagne Noire” Sijera Morena y “Beau Ténébreux”— Beltenebros), lo que indica claramente que tenía a mano alguna versión castellana del texto cervantino. La lengua y el estilo del original francés son sencillos y fluidos, y lo mismo se puede decir en buena medida de su traducción serbia. No obstante, es posible reconocer rasgos del método de Popović y equivocaciones típicas que atestiguan que esta versión es un eslabón más en la maduración y elaboración de la versión final de Don Quijote realizada por el polígrafo serbio. Resulta particularmente revelador comparar la traducción de I, 16, publicada en Sedmica, con la de este libro (aunque levemente modificada, debido a que se trata de una adaptación) y la que iba a publicarse en 1895. Hemos podido comprobar que Popović demuestra la misma habilidad en transponer el dinamismo, la comicidad, ironía y socarronería del novelista español en ambas versiones. Su manera de traducir, su lenguaje popular rico y variado y su estilo personal reflejan la misma creatividad. Aducimos a título de ejemplo la frase—respuesta de Sancho a la pregunta formulada por Maritornes en I, 16 sobre los caballeros andantes (“¿Qué es caballero aventurero?”). El

11 “Mi Srbi nemamo na naš jezik prevedenoga Don Kihota, a još Dositije izrazio je želju, da se on na srpski prevede. U ‘Sedmici’…izišle su 1856. godine dve glave u prevodu srpskom. U Beogradu su 1862. počeli izdavati neki prevod, koji nema nikakve cene. Ovaj ‘Don Kihote,’ koji ovim puštamo u svet, nije potpun prevod oriđinala, a nije ni izvod. Mi smo upotrebili francusku knjigu, koja je za mladež napisana i u kojoj je iz španjolskog oriđinalnog dela uzeto sve, što bi moglo zanimati mladi naraštaj. Bude li sreće i prilike, mi ćemo vremenom doneti i potpuni prevod ovog besamrtnoga dela” (Migela Servantesa Savedre [sic], Pripovetka o slavnom vitezu Don Kihotu od Manče 6). 12 El procedimiento del traductor croata, que partió del mismo original francés y por los mismos años, era bastante diferente (Život i djela glasovitoga viteza Dona Quixotta de la Mancha). Volume 26 (2006) La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote 63 texto cervantino dice:

—¿Tan nueva sois en el mundo, que no lo sabéis vos?—respon- dió Sancho Panza—. Pues sabed, hermana mía, que caballero aventurero es una cosa que en dos palabras se ve apaleado y emperador. (I, 16; 169)

He aquí la traducción de Popović en 1856:

“Zar ste tako zeleni, da ni to neznate [sic]? …Dakle, seko, znaite, da e bludeći kavaler…stvar, koja e čas izdevetana a čas car”(341).

En 1882 nuestro traductor decía prácticamente lo mismo:

“Šta, zar ste vi tako zeleni u svetu? …Dakle, draga moja sešo, znajte, da je bludeći vitez jedna stvar, koju svaki čas ili čeka carska kruna ili…” (44). para finalmente llegar a la elaboración definitiva de esta frase, que en 1895, sin ser sustancialmente modificada, rezaba:

“Zar si tako mlada zelena u ovome svetu, da to ne znaš ? [...] dakle, da znaš, sešo, da je vitez pustolov stvorenje koje, dok ti dlan o dlan, bude bijen i ocaren”(133).

Esta breve ilustración ofrece el testimonio inequívoco de haber sido realizada por la misma persona, dadas las múltiples analogías de vocabu- lario y de estilo detectadas en ella. A nuestro entender, el análisis textual contrastivo de las versiones de 1856–57, 1882 y 1895–96, a pesar de sus múltiples diferencias (en el primer caso disponemos tan sólo de dos capí- tulos, en el segundo de una adaptación parcial de la novela y en el tercero del texto integral) puede ofrecer al investigador del aspecto filológico de la labor de Popović muchos datos valiosos, así como pistas para explicar su método de traducción y posteriormente valorar los resultados conse- guidos. De todas maneras, parece obvio que en las muestras señaladas se puede observar un hilo unificador que indudablemente es la persona del traductor y que por lo tanto las mismas constituyen diferentes etapas en la elaboración del texto definitivo de Don Quijote, llevado a cabo por Ðorđe Popović-Daničar. Conviene subrayar que después de los primeros intentos por verter 64 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes a Cervantes al serbio, Popović fue adquiriendo cada vez más experiencia en la práctica de esta actividad a la vez que ampliando conocimientos sobre la novela cervantina. Entre los años cincuenta y los noventa del siglo XIX—es decir, entre el Don Quijote primerizo y el integral—tradujo gran número de obras del francés, italiano, alemán, ruso, polaco y húngaro, adquiriendo así una facilidad y destreza envidiables. Aunque, por un lado, no poseía suficientes conocimientos del castellano ni de la civilización española, y traducía en gran medida por intuición, acaso por referencia a traducciones a otras lenguas que conocía, como el alemán, a nuestro traductor le ayudaron los otros múltiples idiomas que conocía, la admiración por Cervantes y el apego que sentía por su novela. A eso hay que añadir su innata curiosidad intelectual y periodística que le per- mitían estar al tanto de los acontecimientos literarios en la Europa de su tiempo y, consecuentemente, buscar modelos entre los grandes traductores de la época. Todo esto fue determinante para que Daničar, ya aban- donado el periodismo y después de dedicarse a la política, la diplomacia y otras actividades, no desistiese de su ambición juvenil y patriótica de dar al público serbio la traducción de Don Quijote, tarea que llevó a tér- mino ya en edad madura, pasados los cincuenta años de vida.

Finalmente, los esfuerzos de Ðorđe Popović se vieron colmados con la publicación, en 1895 (los tres primeros volúmenes) y 1896 (el cuar- to) de la primera traducción directa de Don Quijote en lengua serbia. La edición venía adornada con ilustraciones del grabador francés de origen alemán Tony Johannot, bastante difundidas en varias ediciones europeas de la novela antes de que aparecieran las de Doré.13 La edición fue mo- desta, según se puede comprobar por la calidad de papel y de impresión en los ejemplares de la época. En las secciones de sus catálogos sobre las traducciones de Don Quijote, los bibliógrafos españoles Río y Rico, Givanel Mas, y Plaza Escudero (estos últimos siguiendo a J. Ford y R. Lansing), coinciden en que la versión de Popović es “la más completa de las traducciones serbias,”14 y Río y Rico añade incluso que es “la mejor.”15 Cabe puntua- lizar que Daničar tradujo el texto cervantino sin las dedicatorias de la

13 Daničar lamentaba en el prólogo de su traducción (1895) el no poder ofrecer los graba- dos de Doré, debido a su coste elevado. 14 Gabriel María del Río y Rico, Catálogo bibliográfico de la sección de Cervantes en la Biblioteca Nacional 273; Juan Givanel Mas y Luis M. Plaza Escudero, Catálogo de la colección cervantina 4: 48. 15 Del Río 273. Volume 26 (2006) La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote 65 primera y la segunda parte, omitiendo (voluntariamente, según explica en el prólogo) los versos antepuestos a la primera parte de la novela. Se puede conjeturar que en esto siguió a su modelo principal, el Don Quijote francés de Louis Viardot, que tampoco reproducía los fragmentos refe- ridos.

La primera traducción serbia de la novela cervantina todavía no ha sido objeto de análisis científicos rigurosos y completos ni se ha evaluado hasta hoy su valor filológico-literario objetivo.16 No obstante, dada su ininterrumpida presencia en la cultura serbia a partir de 1895, es lógico que haya suscitado toda una serie de opiniones, juicios y evaluaciones, tanto de parte de simples lectores como de la de los escritores, críticos y traductores. Digamos de entrada que las primeras críticas, aparecidas en 1896, fueron muy favorables. En un artículo publicado en la revista Bosanska Vila [Hada Bosníaca] de Sarajevo, Hajim Davičo y Ljubomir Nedić afirmaban que “la traducción del Sr. Ðorđe Popović es tal vez la traducción más fiel de Don Quijote en el mundo”17 (sin dar pruebas de ello). Otro crítico, Marko Car, puntualizaba que “el Sr. Popović ha salido victorioso de esta difícil tentación; victorioso por lo menos en cuanto a las dificultades por reproducir el original y verterlo en una versión serbia agradable y correcta; y por lo que a la fidelidad se refiere (aunque en esto el Sr. traductor ha dado también fe de aplicación y responsabilidad particulares), en este aspecto no podría estar completamente de acuerdo con los Señores evaluadores de la Fundación Kolarac en Belgrado [los antes citados Davičo y Nedić]” (3).18 Decenios más tarde, con motivo de nuevas ediciones de la versión de Daničar, otras personalidades de nuestra vida literaria dieron su opinión; el sefardí y también traductor Hajim Alkalaj afirmaba en 1939 que para él el Don Quijote de Daničar era “una verdadera obra maestra” (“pravo remek-delo”) y “una obra de nuestra literatura de traducción que permanece clásica” (“[delo] koje u našoj prevodilačkoj književnosti ostaje klasičnim) (282). Otros (Oto

16 El primer paso hasta este objetivo fue dado por la hispanista Jasmina Bakračlić- Jovanović en su tesina de máster titulada Daničarev prevod Don Kihota (La traducción de Don Quijote de Daničar), leída en la Facultad de Filología de la Universidad de Belgrado en 1985 y no publicada hasta la fecha. 17 “prevod g. Ðorđa Popovića možda [je] najverniji prevod Don Kihota na svetu” (“O srpskom prevodu Don Kihota [“Sobre la traducción serbia de Don Quijote”] 63). 18 “gosp. Popović [je] iz ove teške kušnje slavodobitan izašao; slavodobitan bar što se ti?e savladanih teškoća u reprodukovanju originala u lijepoj i pravilnoj srpskoj formi; a već u pogledu vjernosti, i ako je gosp. prevodilac i tu osobitu marljivost i savjesnost pokazao, ja se u tom obziru ne bih ipak bezuslovno složio sa gospodom ocjenjivačima Kolarčeve Zadužbine u Biogradu.” 66 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes

Bihalji-Merin,19 M. Nikačević20) elogiaron la riqueza, la variedad y la frescura del lenguaje de Popović, ante todo por ser un lenguaje próximo al folklore y a los poemas heroicos serbios. En el extremo opuesto de estas apreciaciones positivas se encuentran los juicios de dos críticos croatas. El viejo y moderado Petar Skok, partiendo de un rudimentario análisis comparativo de las versiones de Daničar y de Iso Velikanović (el traductor croata, que publicó su versión en 1915), concluyó que, a pesar de algunas soluciones buenas, Popović “no conoce a fondo la lengua española, y a menudo traduce por intuición. Y esto no puede ser en una traducción literaria seria.”21 Josip Tabak, que emitiría su opinión décadas más tarde (1956), se basó en varios ejemplos de traducción equivocada de frases hechas y otros casos en la versión serbia para deducir, no sin mala fe, que Don Quijote viene “desfigurado” (unakažen) y que de ninguna manera merece el juicio exagerado de ser una traducción “fiel” (50). No obstante, a la hora de valorar esta obra de Ðorđe Popović y su significado para nuestra literatura es imprescindible tomar en cuenta otros factores además de los puramente filológicos. Subrayemos que esta primera traducción tuvo para sus contemporáneos un mérito que trascien- de el mero valor estético. De hecho, fue considerada una obra patriótica y nacional, realizada en el seno de un pueblo que, tras varias sublevaciones sangrientas a principios del siglo XIX, se vio libre del plurisecular yugo otomano para organizar un estado soberano y afirmar sus valores intrín- secos culturales, históricos y lingüísticos. En este sentido Don Quijote de Popović fue considerado la mejor prueba de la victoria de la lengua literaria serbia, reformada por Vuk Stefanović Karadžić en la primera mitad del XIX y para cuya nueva base sustancial este reformador tomó el lenguaje popular. Se trataba de la victoria de una joven y vigorosa lengua, que demostró poder expresar valores lingüísticos y estilísticos tan complejos como los que suponía la gran novela de Cervantes. Discípulo y seguidor de Vuk, Daničar era excelente conocedor del idioma popular,

19 Autor, según suponemos, de la nota anónima explicativa que acompaña la segunda edición de la versión de Popović [en la lista de Obras citadas: Cervantes, Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče, 1938]. 20 Nikačević fue redactor de la tercera edición de Don Quijote de Popović [en la lista de Obras citadas: Cervantes, Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče, 1952] y expresaba dicha opinión en una “Advertencia” (Napomena) al final del cuarto volumen (401). 21 “…nije prokuhao španjolski jezik, nego često puta prevodi po naslućivanju. A kod sol- idnoga književnog prijevoda to ne smije da bude” (“Don Quijote u hrvatskom prijevodu” [“Don Quijote en la traducción croata”] 126). Volume 26 (2006) La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote 67 cuya riqueza, variedad y originalidad recreó profusamente en su versión de la historia del ingenioso hidalgo, dando la más bella prueba de que su traducción llegaría a ser uno de los monumentos perennes del patrimonio literario y cultural serbio. A nuestro entender, esto explica claramente los elogios de los coetáneos y la fascinación ejercida por este libro en los años que siguieron a su primera publicación (e incluso mucho después). Por otra parte, el gran valor histórico del primer Don Quijote y la trascendencia de la actividad cervantina de Popović residen también en el hecho de que ellos fueron los que sentaron la base sólida para la poste- rior recepción de Cervantes y de la literatura española en nuestra cultura. Nos consta que los intelectuales serbios de finales del siglo XVIII y hasta bien entrado el XIX (es decir, antes de la traducción de Daničar) co- nocían el Quijote; nuestros primeros prosistas Dositej Obradović, Jovan Sterija Popović, Jakov Ignjatović, etc. se inspiraron de él para crear sus obras.22 Sin embargo, el resto del pueblo—la mayoría—lo desconocería hasta el momento en que Daničar empezara a trabajar en él. En este aspecto, la labor cervantina de Popović representa un hito de suma importancia en la recepción de Cervantes y de Don Quijote en el ámbito serbio. No olvidemos que Popović tradujo asimismo “La española inglesa,” dando así a conocer las novelas ejemplares a nuestro público lector. El prólogo de su traducción de 1895, una extensa introducción a la vida y obra de Cervantes, era muy difundido y apreciado durante años. Tampoco hay que olvidar que Daničar tendió el primer puente entre las literaturas española y serbia. Hasta que él se interesara, dificultaban mucho cualquier actividad la considerable distancia geográfica y cultural que separaba las penínsulas ibérica y balcánica, y la poca difusión tradicional de temas españoles entre los serbios (y viceversa, cabe decir). Durante el Romanticismo, en el proceso de apertura cultural de Serbia y de incorporación de obras clásicas de la literatura europea en la nacional, se traducían libros alemanes, franceses, ingleses y rusos; la literatura es- pañola era una gran desconocida. Teniendo esto en cuenta, no sorprende la poca preparación hispanística de Daničar. En lo que a Don Quijote se refiere, él mismo informa que tuvo el primer contacto con la gran novela “siendo colegial” (kao đak) y que la leyó en repetidas ocasiones, “cada vez en otra traducción alemana” (uvek u drugom nemačkom prevodu).23 Fue entonces cuando decidió aprender el castellano, sólo para poder verterla al serbio. Era autodidacta, lo que viene atestiguado por su desconoci-

22 Véase mi libro Servantes u srpskoj književnosti [Cervantes en la literatura serbia]. 23 Servantesov život i dela mu” [“Vida y obras de Cervantes”] xxviii. 68 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes miento no sólo de los rasgos más sutiles del idioma sino también de los elementales. Es obvio, también, que sus conocimientos eran exclusivamente librescos, no vividos: a partir de datos biográficos disponibles, podemos afirmar que no pisó nunca el suelo de España. Esto explica los numerosos fallos en la traducción de expresiones y construcciones del español oral y coloquial, tan frecuentes en Cervantes, así como la errónea transposición de topónimos y alusiones a lugares característicos (como los citados por el ventero en I, 3). Por otro lado, responsable y despierto por naturaleza, Popović era consciente de esta limitación nacional y personal. Por eso no tuvo reparos en buscar modelos y ayuda para dar fin de la mejor manera posible a esta labor tan exigente (sin las herramientas del traductor moderno), como era la aventura de traducir Don Quijote en los Balcanes a finales del siglo XIX. Por una parte, solicitó ayuda del sefardí Hajim Davičo para resolver dificultades textuales;24 por la otra, se orientó hacia modelos europeos de los que había oído hablar. En concre- to, en su introducción menciona a tres autores, aunque no tienen todos el mismo peso en su labor. El más importante es Louis Viardot,25 que rea- lizó una de las más conocidas versiones francesas de la novela cervantina en el siglo XIX.26 La traducción de Viardot era el modelo principal en el que se basó Daničar: los métodos de los dos traductores son similares (ceñirse lo más posible al original y respetar los valores característicos y locales del idioma y del estilo autorial); en muchos pasajes problemáticos Popović resuelve la dificultad actuando como Viardot; la mayoría de las notas explicativas en la versión serbia son traducciones o adaptaciones de las que da Viardot; el prólogo con el que Popović acompañó su Don Quijote está tomado en gran medida del texto de Viardot “Vie et oeu- vres de Cervantès,” pero acortado y adaptado al lector serbio. Daničar no oculta esta deuda, todo lo contrario: estaba persuadido de que rendía un servicio a su pueblo acercándole Don Quijote en su idioma y haciendóle sabedor de nuevas ideas que circulaban sobre él en Europa. Como dijo el crítico Predrag Protić en un estudio biográfico sobre Popović, él “Se con- sideraba a sí mismo una especie de popularizador, y resultó ser, por su

24 Davičo fue traductor del castellano, pero también escritor y conocido crítico teatral; véase nuestro trabajo mencionado en la nota 4. 25 Los otros dos son el traductor alemán Edmund Zoller y el casi olvidado ingeniero y escritor español José Mor de Fuentes, autor del “Elogio a Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra.” No obstante, el análisis ha demostrado que las huellas de estos dos autores en Popović son mínimas. 26 Publicado por primera vez en 1836, su Don Quichotte se hizo famoso cuando se le añadi- eron las ilustraciones de Gustave Doré—a partir de 1863—y fue reimpreso repetidas veces a lo largo de esta centuria. Volume 26 (2006) La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote 69 labor literaria y cultural, alguien que trajo mucho provecho a los demás. Era un crítico que sabía cómo influir en las corrientes literarias.”27 Y, efectivamente, la posteridad ha demostrado que Ðorđe Popović sabía lo que hacía y que poseía un conocimiento profundo de las nece- sidades del público serbio. Su traducción de Don Quijote fue éxito de ventas nada más publicada la primera edición. Levemente modernizada o abreviada para uso escolar, se ha editado durante los últimos cien años en varias editoriales de Belgrado, Sarajevo y Podgorica.28 Con motivo del centenario de la edición original, la Fundación Kolarac sacó a la luz una edición facsímil del libro de 1895–96. Todo esto, así como numerosos ecos que despertó en la crítica, son prueba fehaciente del gran impacto de la versión de Daničar en la recepción de Don Quijote en el ámbito serbio. Lo mismo se puede asegurar de su introducción sobre la vida y obras de Cervantes, que casi siempre acompañó las nuevas ediciones y reimpresiones de la novela. La fuerte impronta de este texto en varias generaciones de lectores que a través de él conocieron a un Cervantes heroico pero a la vez humano, todavía bastante arraigada, podría ser tema de otro artículo. La primera traducción directa de Don Quijote al serbio fue una gran labor cuya elaboración se prolongó durante varios decenios en la segunda mitad del siglo XIX. Su autor, el polifacético y talentoso Ðorđe Popović, dedicó muchos años de su vida, y mucha energía, a verterlo al serbio. Esta tarea nada fácil la realizó en varias etapas, perfeccionando con el tiempo su habilidad de traducir y conociendo a fondo el texto cervantino. Las difíciles condiciones culturales y literarias en nuestro país y la inexistencia de una tradición hispanística sólida constituían limitaciones objetivas que Popović logró superar a fuerza de talento, tesón y voluntad. Todo esto confiere una importancia capital a su obra. Su Don Quijote fue un gran paso hacia adelante de nuestra cultura, realizado gracias al esfuerzo de un individual empeñado en introducir en el patrimonio literario serbio una obra imprescindible de la literatura universal. Al mismo tiempo, representó el verdadero arranque de nuestro conocimiento de Cervantes, de su novela y de lo hispano en general. En este sentido, Popović puede ser considerado como fundador de la hispanística en nuestro suelo. Su empresa reviste interés no sólo en el ámbito serbio sino también en el

27 “Sebe je smatrao nekom vrstom popularizatora, pa je i u književnom radu kao i u kul- turnom poslu bio među onima od kojih su drugi imali mnogo koristi. Bio je kritičar koji je znao kako se može uticati na tokove književnosti” (“Srpska književna kritika u vreme nacionalnog romantizma” [“La crítica literaria serbia en la época del Romanticismo nacional”] 28). 28 En 1938, 1952, 1953, 1958, 1964, 1968, 1973, 1975, 1981, 1982, 1985, 1987, 1989, 1998 y 1999. 70 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes

entorno balcánico: de hecho, su versión es la primera traducción integral y directa de Don Quijote entre todos los pueblos sur-eslavos (croatas, eslovenos, macedonios y búlgaros). Todo esto le confiere un valor excepcional, que debe ser tomado muy en cuenta a la hora de evaluar su valor intrínseco, que todavía queda por hacer. Las numerosas ediciones y reimpresiones que se han hecho de nuestro primer Quijote demuestran que, por su retrato inolvidable del caballero manchego y por su estilo y exuberancia verbal, siempre ocupará un lugar excepcional en nuestra cultura.

Cátedra de Estudios Ibéricos Facultad de Filología de Belgrado Čede Minderovića 4 / 31 11030 Beograd, Serbia [email protected]

Obras Citadas

Alkalaj, Hajim. “Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče” [“Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha”]. Pregled [Revista] 185 (1939): 279–82. Car, Marko. “Don Quijote. Prevod Gjorgja Popovića. Ilustracije Tona Johannota” [“Don Quijote. Traducción de Gjordje Popović. Ilustraciones de Tony Johannot”]. Nada [Esperanza], 1 (1896): 3–7. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. Don Kijot [sic] Manašanin [sic] [Don Quijote de la Mancha]. U izvodu [Extracto]. Belgrado: Štamparija Nikole Stefanovića [Editorial de Nikola Stefanović], 1862. ———. Don Quijote de la Mancha. Edición dirigida por Francisco Rico. 2 vols. + CD. Barcelona: Crítica, 1998. ———. Engleska Španjolkinja [La española inglesa]. Preveo sa španjolskoga Ðorđe Popović [traducción del español de Ðorđe Popović]. Pančevo: Knjižara Braće Jovanovića [Librería de los Hermanos Jovanović], 1885. ———. Histoire de l’admirable Don Quichotte de la Manche. Illustrée de 64 vignettes par Bertall et Forest. [Sin nombre del traductor.] París: Hachette, 1866. ———. L’ingénieux hidalgo Don Quichotte de la Manche. Traduit et annoté par Louis Viardot. Illustrations de Gustave Doré. 2 vols. París: Hachette, 1863. ———. L’ingénieux hidalgo Don Quichotte de la Manche. Traduit et annoté par Louis Viardot. Vignettes de Tony Johannot. 2 vols. Paris: Dubochet, 1836. ———. “Odlomak iz Don Gihota. Glava sedamnaesta. U kojoj se produžuju nebro- jene patnje, koje hrabri Don Gihote i njegov verni sluga Sančo Panza pretrpeše Volume 26 (2006) La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote 71

u krčmi, koju je na svoju zlu sreću držao za zamak” [“Fragmento de Don Quijote. Capítulo diez y siete. Donde se prosiguen los innumerables trabajos que el bravo don Quijote y su buen escudero Sancho Panza pasaron en la venta que por su mal pensó que era un castillo”]. Prevod sa španjolskoga Ðorđe Popović [traducción del español de Ðorđe Popović]. Sedmica [Semana] 33 (1857): 259–62. ———. “Odlomak iz Don Gihota. Prvi deo. Glava šesnaesta. Šta se sbilo sa mudrim plemićem u krčmi za koju je mislio da je zamak” [“Fragmento de Don Quijote. Parte primera. Capítulo diez y seis. De lo que le sucedió al ingenioso hidalgo en la venta que él se imaginaba ser castillo”]. Preveo sa španskog Ðorđe Popović [tra- ducción del español de Ðorđe Popović]. Sedmica [Semana] 43 (1856): 340–43. ———. Pripovetka o slavnom vitezu Don Kihotu od Manče [Historia del famoso caballero Don Quijote de la Mancha]. S francuskoga [del francés]. Pančevo: Nakladna knjižara Braće Jovanovića [Editorial y librería de los Hermanos Jovanović], 1882. ———. Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče [El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha]. Preveo Ðorđe Popović [Traducción de Ðorđe Popović]. Redaktor Miodrag Nikačević [Redacción de M. N.]. 4 vols. Belgrado: Novo pokoljenje [Nueva generación], 1952. ———. Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče [El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha]. Preveo sa španskog originala Ðorđe Popović [Traducido del original español por Ðorđe Popović]. 2 vols. Belgrado: Eos, 1938. ———. Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče [El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha]. Sa španjolskog preveo Ðorđe Popović [traducción del español de Ðorđe Popović]. 4 vols. 1895–96. Facsímil. Belgrado: Zadužbina I. M. Kolarca [Fundación de I. M. Kolarac], 1996. ———. Život i djela glasovitoga viteza Dona Quixotta de la Mancha [Vida y obras del famoso caballero Don Quijote de la Mancha]. Po francezkom, za mladež priređenu izdanju hrvatski napisao Jos. Eugen Tomić [según la adaptación francesa para la juventud, redactado en croata por Jos. Eugen Tomić]. Zagreb: Naklada Kr. Sveučilištne knjižare Fr. župana [Albrecht i Fiedler] [Edición de la Librería Real Universitaria de Albrecht y Fiedler], 1879. Davičo, Haim, y Ljubomir Nedić. “O srpskom prevodu Don Kihota” [“Sobre la traduc- ción serbia de Don Quijote”]. Bosanska Vila [Hada Bosníaca], 4 (1896): 62–63. Givanel Mas, Juan, y Luis J. Plaza Escudero. Catálogo de la Colección Cervantina. 5 vols. Barcelona: Biblioteca Central, 1941–64. Kostić, Laza. O Jovanu Jovanoviću Zmaju (Zmajovi), njegovom pevanju, mišljenju i pisan- ju, i njegovom dobu [Sobre Jovan Jovanović Zmaj (Zmajova), su poesía, su pensamien- to, su arte y su época]. Sombor: Štamparija Ferdinanda Bitermana i Sina [Editorial de Ferdinand Biterman e Hijo], 1902. Pavlović-Samurović, Ljiljana. “Ocene Daničarevog prevoda Don Kihota na srpskom i hrvatskom jezičkom području” [“Evaluaciones de la traducción de Don Quijote en el área de los idiomas serbio y croata”]. Živi Jezici [Lenguas Vivas], 1–4 (1992–93): 98–196. 72 Jasna Stojanović Cervantes

———. “Prvi srpski prevod Servantesovog Don Kihota” [“La primera traducción serbia de Don Quijote de Cervantes”]. Migela Servantesa Savedre [sic]. Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče [El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha]. Sa španjolskog preveo Ðorđe Popović [Traducción del español de Ðorđe Popović]. 4 vols. 1895–96. Facsímil. Belgrado: Zadužbina I. M. Kolarca [Fundación de I. M. Kolarac], 1996. 1: v–xvii. ———. “La recepción de la traducción del Quijote realizada por Ðorđe Popović- Daničar en el área del idioma serbio.” Jornadas Cervantinas (Belgrado, 23–24 octu- bre 1996). Belgrado: Embajada de España–Fundación de Ilija Kolarac–Facultad de Filología, Universidad de Belgrado, 1998. 43–51. Popović, Ðorđe. “Život Servantesov i dela mu” [“Vida y obra de Cervantes”]. Migel Servantes Savedra [sic]. Veleumni plemić Don Kihote od Manče [El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha]. Sa španjolskog preveo Ðorđe Popović [traducción del español de Ðorđe Popović]. 4 vols. 1895–96. Facsímil. Belgrado: Zadužbina I. M. Kolarca [Fundación de I. M. Kolarac], 1996. 1: v–xxix. Protić, Predrag. “Srpska književna kritika u vreme nacionalnog romantizma” [“La crí- tica literaria serbia en la época del Romanticismo nacional”]. Laza Kostić i kritika u doba nacionalnog romantizma. Srpska književna kritika [Laza Kostić y la crítica en la época del Romanticismo nacional. La crítica literaria serbia], 3. Coord. P. Protić. Novi Sad, Belgrado: “Matica Srpska,” Institut za Književnost i Umetnost [“Patria Serbia,” Instituto para la Literatura y las Artes]: 1987. 7–42. Río y Rico, Gabriel Martín del. Catálogo bibliográfico de la sección de Cervantes en la Biblioteca Nacional. Madrid: [Biblioteca Nacional], 1930. “Sedamdesetogodišnjica” [“El setenta aniversario”]. Carigradski Glasnik [Correo de Constantinopla] 44 (1902): 1. Skok, Petar. “Don Quijote u hrvatskom prijevodu” [“Don Quijote en la traducción croata”]. Jugoslavenska Njiva [Campo yugoslavo] 1 (1919): 126. Stojanović, Jasna. “Hajim Davičo, crítico y traductor de Cervantes en las letras serbias.” Anales Cervantinos 31 (1999): 501–10. ———. “Prva ocena Daničarevog prevoda Servantesovog Don Kihota” [“La primera evaluación de la traducción de Don Quijote de Daničar”]. Letopis “Matice Srpske” [Registro de “Patria Serbia”] 462 (1998): 504–08. ———. Servantes u srpskoj književnosti [Cervantes en la literatura serbia]. Belgrado: Zavod za Udžbenike i Nastavna Sredstva, 2005. Tabak, Josip. “Kako smo prijevodili Cervantesa? (Don Quijote u prijevodu Ðorđa Popovića)” [“¿Cómo hemos traducido a Cervantes? (Don Quijote traducido por Ðorđa Popovića)”]. Jezik [Lengua] 2 (1956): 48–55. A “New” Seventeenth-Century English Translation of “El celoso extremeño”

______Dale B. J. Randall

ince a hefty handful of hard-working scholars over the years have interested themselves and others in England’s early reception Sof Cervantes, it is remarkable at this late date to learn that a translation of his “Celoso extremeño” published in London in 1681 appears to have been overlooked. Only slightly less surprising, there is no reference to it in the revised second edition of Donald Wing’s Short-title Catalogue, or its current Internet descendant.1 In 1903, however, in Edward Arber’s privately printed Term Catalogues, 1668-1709 A.D., it was listed among books said to be published in London during Michaelmas Term, 1681 (1: 461). Titled The Jealous Gentleman of Estramadure, osut of Miguel de Cervantes Savedra His Novels, this 125-page story in duodecimo, cost- ing one shilling when bound, was printed for the booksellers Charles Blount and Richard Butt. Blount, professionally the more active of the two, was situated “near the Bear-Tavern by the New-Exchange in the Strand” and Butt “at the Bear and Orange-Tree in Princes-street near the Horshoe-Tavern in Drury Lane” (Figure 1). An extremely rare book now (the copy in the British Library may be unique), it was noteworthy even in its own time insofar as it was the only book in English to focus on a single one of the stories from Cervantes’s Novelas ejemplares.

1 Wing’s Short-title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and British America, and of English Books Printed in Other Countries, 1641-1700 (copyright 1981-2005 by the British Library and ESTC/North America). This site covers works from the beginning of print to 1800 and is updated daily. For the present article, the site was checked on 9 January 2007. 73 74 Dale B. J. Randall Cervantes

Figure 1. The telling motto chosen for the title page of The Jealous Gentleman is by Glycon (date unknown), from Book 10, Epigram 124, of the Anthologia Græca: “All is laughter, all is dust, all is nothing, for all that is cometh from unreason” (as translated by W. R. Paton). Reproduced by permission of the British Library.

“El celoso extremeño” is, of course, the tale of a very wealthy and hyperbolically cautious old man, Felipe Carrizales (here presented as Philippo de Carizale), who takes extraordinary pains to protect his beautiful young wife, Leonora, from the ways of the world. In the words of this 1681 translation, Carizale

did not so much as suffer any Living Creature to come within his Doors, which was not Female. He had never so much as a He-Catt that coursed the Mice, or a Dog that bark’d there, they were all of the Feminine Gender…. Never Man came within the Gate of his Court, he always treated with his Friends upon the Street. Yea the very figures represented in the Tapestry, that hung his Rooms, and Volume 26 (2006) A “New”Translation of “El Celoso extremeño” 75

Chambers were all Women, and Flowers, and Landskips. (21-22)

Different minds in different times may be depended upon to react differently to an extended series of such precautions, and, surprisingly or not, the anonymous writer of the preliminary address here “To the readers” chooses to present the story as simply comic. Perhaps he (almost certainly he) had hopes of building on Cervantes’s already flourish- ing reputation as the creator of another aging but quite different Spanish gentleman. Certainly Don Quixote was usually regarded at the time as a funny book. In any case, on the grounds that Carizale is cuckolded, the writer of “To the readers” would have those readers respond much as they would to the popular cuckold jests of the day. He writes:

I Have here brought you a Man from Spain, on purpose to make you Laugh. Not but that I might have found Ridiculous Cuckolds enough nearer home, but because I had no mind to expose my self, to an action of Slander, for a matter of truth. The poor Don has had a hard time, and a long Voyage of it, and therefore ’twould be inconsistent both with the discretion, and civility of any body, that knows the World, to Laugh at him, because his Cloaths are a little Thread-bare, for I can assure you he has better at home. But if you can make your selves any sport with his Head-piece,2 he says you are welcome, and bids you laugh on in the name of Merryment, for he suffers in good Company, and such, as (whatever he does) think themselves never a whit the worse Men for the Cognizance. I will not do my Breeding the wrong, to forestal his Story, let him tell it himself: I will only forewarn you, that (like many another Man) he was undone by a Plot, and why may not we take the Liberty, to Laugh at their Plots, as well as they Laugh at ours, And so fare you well. (A2r- A3v)

As for the translation itself, and because plagiarism of some sort was not uncommon in England at the time, one might wonder whether the anonymous translator of this work was indebted to the now-long- deceased James Mabbe (1571/2–1642?). Mabbe’s version of “El celoso extremeño” had been published twice, first in his Exemplarie Novells (1640), and later, after his death, as Delight in Severall Shapes (1654), and both times with the title “The Jealous Husband.”

2 A reference to the cuckold’s traditional pair of horns. 76 Dale B. J. Randall Cervantes

Wherever one looks, however, comparing passages in Mabbe with those of his successor soon exonerates the latter. Where Mabbe writes “Ducats” (Delight in Severall Shapes, 271), his successor writes “Crowns” (5). “An old Negro” in Mabbe (276) appears in 1681 as “an old Moor” (16). The phrase “rich houshold-stuffe” in Mabbe (276) becomes the anonymous translator’s “delicate Moveables” (16). In a passage on Carizales’s four white female slaves, Mabbe reports that the old man “burned them with a hot yron in their cheekes” (176), whereas the later writer is satisfied with the calmer “marked them in the Face” (17). Mabbe has Loaysa, the determined, ingenious, and musically inclined young wooer of Carizale’s beautiful young wife “sing some pleasant wittie Ballads of Moores, and Moorish Women” (282). In contrast, his successor writes less happily that the young man sang “some of the Moors Mock-Romances” (27). It turns out that while both translators have their strengths, Mabbe’s grasp of Spanish is more firm and his talent as a writer more sure. Whatever smiles the phrasing of the later translator may elicit here and there, his prose in the final paragraph of the story is both clear enough and close enough to Cervantes’s prose:

I cannot tell the reason why Leonora took no more care, nor made any further endeavours, to justify her self, and to let her Jealous Husband understand, how pure, and blameless she was, and how valiantly she had resisted in this adventure: And yet there is a great likelyhood, that the trouble of her Soul bound up her Tongue, and the sudden Death of her Husband left no room for her Justification. (125)

Despite Leonora’s innocence, the turbación she feels inhibits her speech. This innocence combined with unease is not only faithful to Cervantes’s quiet ambiguity but also far removed from the “Merryment” of cuckoldry assumed in the volume’s opening remarks addressed to the reader (A3r). Of course, no translation conveys the meaning of its source perfectly—as Cervantes himself acknowledges in his famous tapestry simile. Nevertheless, this anonymous Jealous Gentleman of Estramadure conveys not only the action but also the mood of its original far better than its own introductory address might suggest. Imperfect as it is, the volume as a whole added its modest duodecimo weight to the ever-expanding English reputation of Spain’s greatest writer. Volume 26 (2006) A “New”Translation of “El Celoso extremeño” 77

Department of English Box 90015 Duke University Durham, N.C. 27708 [email protected]

Works Cited

Arber, Edward, ed. The Term Catalogues, 1668-1709 A.D. 3 vols. London: Edward Arber, 1903. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. Delight in Severall Shapes Drawne to the Life in Six Pleasant Histories, by the Elegant Pen of That Famous Spaniard, Don Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, the Same That Wrote Don Quixot. Trans. James Mabbe. London: William Sheares, 1654. ———. The Jealous Gentleman of Estramadure, out of Miguel de Cervantes Savedra His Novels. Anon. trans. London: Charles Blount and Richard Butt, 1681. English Short-title Catalogue. The British Library and ESTC/-North America. 9 January 2007 . Glycon. Epigram 124, Book 10, in The Greek Anthology. Trans. W. R. Paton. Vol. 4 of 5 vols. 1918. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1963. 62-63. Wing, Donald. Short-title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and British America, and of English Books Printed in Other Countries, 1641-1700. 2d ed. Rev. John J. Morrison and Carolyn W. Nelson, assisted by Matthew Seccombe. New York: Modern Language Association of America, 1994.

Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited

______Michael Scham

I remember with delight tearing apart Don Quixote, a cruel and crude old book, before six hundred students in Memorial Hall, much to the horror and embarrassment of some of my more conservative colleagues. Vladimir Nabokov1

s the smoke and conference halls clear follow-ing celebrations of the 400th anniversary of Don Quijote (Part I) and the 50th Aof Lolita, a reconsideration of Nabokov’s infamous pronounce- ments on Cervantes is in order. Much has already been done to set the record straight. Hispanists have rightly pointed out that Nabokov’s Lectures on Don Quixote is a somewhat dubious piece of literary criticism (Close, Kunce, Márquez Villanueva); Milan Kundera persuasively suggested how Nabokov misunderstood Cervantes’ humor (Kundera 59–61); Robert Alter, Michael Wood, and others have discussed similarities between Lolita and Don Quijote. Yet the links between these two masterpieces—the titles of which regularly appear in close proximity on the fashionable “top ten lists”—have by no means been exhausted. Nabokovians, who have tended to focus primarily on the French, Russian, and English-language references in Lolita, could benefit from a more thorough consideration of Don Quijote.2 And cervantistas have

1 In a BBC interview (Strong Opinions 103). 2 Alfred Appel’s excellent and otherwise thorough introduction to his annotated Lolita makes barely a mention of Cervantes in his discussion of very cervantine sources and traditions relating to Nabokov’s novel: Joyce and Sterne as great forebears in parody (xx), Hamlet as an exemplar of involuted narrative (xxx), the literary “assemblages” and “unclassifiable masterpieces” of Burton, Rabelais, and Sterne (xlv). Appel’s failure to follow the natural link from Sterne especially, and also from his numerous mentions of Borges, back to Cervantes leaves a gap in his 79 80 Michael Scham Cervantes more to gain than a vindication of our dear novel, so sensationally ma- ligned in Nabokov’s lectures. A look at Lolita’s self-reflexiveness, deploy- ment of parody, and representation of games and play affords a useful perspective from which to reconsider some of the critical debates surrounding Don Quijote, particularly the occasionally misleading assumptions behind the “romantic” vs. “hard school” controversy. If I commit the sin of anachronism by drawing Don Quijote into a modern conceptual framework, recklessly disregarding its Counter-Reformation context, I am also guilty of attempting to demote Lolita as a paragon of postmodern allusion and mirror-play. Nabokov’s near-categorical denial of influence on his own work certainly merits skepticism, and Hispanists are entitled to their righteous indignation at his Lectures on Don Quixote. But Catherine Kunce distorted the issue by asserting, in this journal, that “Nabokov is really an imitator [of Cervantes]” (103). Kunce’s many insightful observations regarding character, theme, and narrative strategy in Don Quijote and Lolita would benefit from a more nuanced approach to the complicated question of influence. Nabokov himself comments: “The only matter in which Cervantes and Shakespeare are equals is the matter of influence, of spiritual irrigation—I have in view the long shadow cast upon receptive posterity of a created image which may continue to live independently from the book itself ” (Lectures 8). This “long shadow” represents influence in a very general sense, what Nicholas Round terms “availability” in contrast to the more direct and intentional mining of “appropriation.” Archetypes such as Falstaff and Don Quijote, or techniques of narrative self-reflection become so generally familiar that a particular author need not have even read the original work to be within its range of influence. Alter, for whom the two novelists form the bookends of his study of the self-conscious novel, provided one of the most substantial discussions of Cervantes’ “availability” to Nabokov.3 The representation of fictitious “found manuscripts” and editors who ponder their meanings is just one example of how both novelists unremittingly interrogate the nature of story-telling in the very act of telling the stories. As Alter made clear, even though Cervantes looms smilingly behind such practices, there were many other sources from which Nabokov might have drawn—including his own very idiosyncratic earlier works. Michael Wood has entertain- ingly argued that, notwithstanding the modern master’s celebrated invo- analysis. 3 For a recent discussion of Don Quijote as a model for realism and philosophical reflection to writers outside the Hispanic tradition, see Alexander Welsh. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 81 lutions, Cervantes’ self-reflexive narrating in certain respects is actually more radical than Nabokov’s.4 The following pages are concerned with howDon Quijote’s influence on Lolita involves both availability and direct appropriation. It bears emphasizing that even when such influence is plausibly established, another important question remains: to what extent are the later author’s borrowings consistent with the intention of the predecessor? A look at any number of appropriations of the Quijote figure would illustrate how meanings quite alien from Cervantes’ original intent are generated (Anthony Close’s landmark The Romantic Approach claims that many of the most salient novelistic receptions of Don Quijote involve such distortions). I will argue that Lolita and Don Quijote articulate fundamentally similar attitudes regarding the relationship between fiction and reality, that there is a consistency of intention between them. An examination of play and parody will support this claim. On one hand, the role-playing and other recreational activities represented in both novels correspond to solipsistic and escapist tendencies on the part of the characters: Humbert’s tyrannizing of Lolita and his own inability to integrate socially; Don Quijote’s delusional journey with Sancho. But both works also present moments in which play becomes a means of authentic expression, community-formation, and understanding. In like manner, parody initially functions to expose and undermine moribund conventions (e.g., the chivalric romance, the confessional novel). In addition to mocking, however, parody may be used to salvage and revital- ize. Nabokov’s formulation of parody as a “springboard” can help us understand how Cervantes’ “funny book” developed into something much more profound—as Cervantes himself realized the possibilities of the strange combinations his imagination proposed.

I. Parallels and Allusions.

Para mí sola nació don Quijote, y yo para él; él supo obrar y yo escribir; solos los dos somos para en uno… (II, 74; 592)

I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments,

4 “In Nabokov we have endless grounds for a fine modern distrust, but find ourselves trust- ing (some of ) what our shifty narrator says. In Cervantes the situation is more or less the reverse. Broadly: where there is trust Cervantes finds multiple grounds for mistrust; indeed finds such grounds pretty much everywhere; devotes himself to finding them, gets many of his best jokes out of such moves” (“Cervantes Reads” 33–34). 82 Michael Scham Cervantes

prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. That is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita. (309)

The closing apostrophes in Don Quijote and Lolita announce the narrators’ ultimate devotion and permanent claims to their creations: Humbert wrests Lolita from Quilty (“One had to choose between him and H. H., and one wanted H. H. to exist at least a couple of months longer, so as to have him make you live in the minds of later generations,” 309), and Cide Hamete’s pen does so from the likes of the literary usurp- er, Avellaneda (“que se atrevió o se ha de atrever, a escribir con pluma de avestruz grosera y mal deliñada las hazañas de mi valeroso caballero” [II, 74]). Thus the novels end by redeeming their deceased title characters in art, claiming a conjoined immortality for artist and protagonist alike, and affirming the authenticity of both. We shall see that this final conso- nance is a culmination of many parallels and allusions that in fact begin at the very outset of both novels. As with Don Quijote, Humbert’s “bizarre cognomen [as the fictitious foreword’s John Ray. Jr, PhD informs us] is his own invention” (Lolita 3), and both authors have their men choose comical names: Cervantes gives us “Sir Thighpiece;” Nabokov, a similar combination of exaltation and bathos: “The double rumble is, I think, very nasty, very suggestive…. It is also a kingly name, and I did need a royal vibration for Humbert the Fierce and Humbert the Humble” (Strong Opinions 26). In Quixotic fashion, Humbert also transforms the names of others: “Dolores Haze” becomes “Lo-lee-ta” (9), just as Don Quijote changes “Aldonza Lorenzo” (a near anagram, and prosaically phonetic sister to Dolores Haze) into Dulcinea—“nombre, a su parecer, músico y peregrino y significativo, como todos los demás que a él y a sus cosas había puesto” (I, 1; 78). Humbert also calls his pistol “chum,” and the personification of his be- draggled, “limping car” near novel’s end puts one in mind of Rocinante. And so when Humbert says of Lolita that “There was in the fiery phan- tasm a perfection which made my wild delight also perfect, just because the vision was out of reach, with no possibility of attainment to spoil it” (264), one is compelled to agree with Ronald Paulson’s comment that “It is fascinating to think of Nabokov writing his Harvard lectures on Quixote and his obsession with Dulcinea in 1952 as he was also writing the story of Humbert and Lolita” (218 note 3). Part of the richness of both novels resides in the fact that the putative “normal” world surrounding the deranged protagonists pulsates with its own low-grade quixotism: Lolita’s imagination is captured by Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 83 movies and advertisements, Charlotte Haze’s by cheap paper-backs and magazines, the headmistress Pratt of Beardsley by the psychobabble of “progressive schooling” (177). The range of Cervantine characters with similar “incitements” is broad, including the aficionados of chivalric novels at Juan Palomeque’s inn (I, 32), and the many pastoral characters in both parts of the novel. Now, neither Cervantes nor Nabokov means to suggest facile equivalences: “observe, dear reader, everybody’s crazy, so who are we to judge?!” (Such is actually a strategy employed by Humbert to justify his crime.) Through the gallery of quixotisms the reader learns to discriminate, to appreciate varying levels of illusion and imaginative identification, and to understand the dangers as well as the rewards of fiction. Nabokov implicitly places his protagonist in the company of Fielding’s Parson Adams, Sterne’s Uncle Toby, Flaubert’s Emma Bovary, Melville’s Captain Ahab—that is to say, in Don Quijote’s company— in the very act of denying influence in a real-life model. “Did Humbert Humbert…have any original?” asks a BBC interviewer; “No. He’s a man I devised, a man with an obsession, and I think many of my characters have sudden obsessions, different kinds of obsessions” Strong( Opinions 16). Humbert would have us believe that his obsession bespeaks not pathology but heightened sensibilities and insight (Lolita 13). Of course, as Martin Amis and others have observed, his grotesque adventure illustrates the consequences of trying to turn one’s life into art (Amis 117). What makes Humbert especially akin to Don Quijote is the thoroughly literary character of his obsession. Much as Cervantes’ self-made knight draws from the romances, chivalric novels, pastoral literature, love sonnets, etc., to guide and justify his obsession, Humbert avails himself of Poe, Proust, confessional literature, and any and every literary or historical precedent that will serve—including Cervantes. Humbert’s childhood recollections include his father reading Don Quijote and Les Misérables to him (10). Among the entries in the hotel registers that Humbert frantically sifts for traces of Claire Quilty following Lolita’s disappearance, he finds the “redresser of wrongs,” “Donald Quix” of “Sierra, Nev” (251). Nabokov tantalizes the more paranoid among us with numerous combinations resulting in the initials “DQ” intermittently emerging in the text. Pattern-hunting comparativists are bound to sometimes see meaningful allusions where none exists, and Nabokov fully expects us to do so. An idea that underpins much of his work is that some perceived patterns 84 Michael Scham Cervantes are figments of a hopeful or demented mind, whereas others are indeed manifestations of an intentional order.5 The initials of Humbert’s dentist, “Dr. Quilty” (63), may only resonate with compulsive cervantistas. But when Humbert finds in his prison library a record of “Dolores Quine,” the pattern is imbued with more verifiable significance, since the entry is an allusion to Lolita and her decidedly quixotic endeavor of pursuing a life in theater (31–32). The guest-register glimpse of the playwright and pornographer Quilty as a sort of knight-errant attempting to rescue Lolita from vil- lainous Humbert is but one instance of Nabokov’s playful yet extensive incorporation of chivalric conventions. As in Don Quijote, Lolita combines the chivalric with the theme of the double. Quilty is described as a shape-changer as he pursues Humbert and Lolita cross-country: “A veri- table Proteus of the highway, with bewildering ease he switched from one vehicle to another” (227). Sansón Carrasco pursues Don Quijote, appearing alternately as “el Caballero de los Espejos” and “de la Blanca Luna.” We remember that, following his fortuitous defeat early in Part II, Sansón’s motives become ambiguous, as he himself admits to his own squire:

—La diferencia que hay entre esos dos locos es que el que lo es por fuerza lo será siempre, y el que lo es de grado lo dejará de ser cuando quisiere. —Pues así es—dijo Tomé Cecial—, yo fui por mi voluntad loco cuando quise hacerme escudero de vuestra merced, y por la misma quiero dejar de serlo y volverme a mi casa. —Eso os cumple—respondió Sansón—; porque pensar que yo he de volver a la mía hasta haber molido a palos a don Quijote es pensar en lo escusado; y no me llevará ahora a buscarle el deseo de que cobre su juicio, sino el de la venganza; que el dolor grande de mis costillas no me deja hacer más piadosos discursos. (II, 16; 147)

Appel has noted that Quilty functions as a projection of Humbert’s guilt: his character distorts Humbert while also representing a truth about him (lx). The same might be said of Sansón Carrasco vis-à-vis Don Quijote, especially when the former’s desire for revenge suffuses his purportedly pragmatic knight-errantry (to “rescue” Alonso Quijano)

5 Michael Wood (The Magician’s Doubts) and Brian Boyd are particularly good at elucidat- ing this aspect of Nabokov’s art. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 85 with its own touch of lunacy. Many other characters straddle the cuerdo/ sano divide in different ways, including the barber and curate (both well- versed in chivalric novels) as they don costumes in pursuit of our hero, as well as Dorotea/Micomicona and Grisóstomo. Cardenio and Don Diego de Miranda are further instances of doubles who enhance the reader’s perspective on Don Quijote: the former as an example of lunacy legitimized by a motive, the latter as a model of social conventionality and integration who nevertheless appears as another sort of play-actor (“Caballero del Verde Gabán”).6 As with the anticipation created by Quilty in Lolita, Sansón Carrasco’s aggravated resolve makes the reader wonder when and where the nemesis will reappear for a definitive encounter: “Whatever happens to Don Quixote, on the road, in the magic cave, in the ducal castle, or at Barcelona…is but a respite, and at any moment Carrasco, in some brilliant, tinkling, and flashing disguise may bar Don Quixote’s road and clout and clown him to his doom” (Lectures 80). The bungling hit-man of Pale Fire, Jakob Gradus, is another manifesta- tion of Nabokov’s interest in such fatidic figures.7 It is not only the mischievous Quilty who, casting himself as a “redresser of wrongs,” impugns Humbert’s heroic aspirations. Even Humbert occasionally envisions himself as a fairy-tale villain disgust- ingly threatening the captive damsel. A recollection of Maese Pedro’s spectacle in Don Quijote, featuring the fair Melisendra wistfully gazing from the castle tower, will place one of Humbert’s scenarios in its appropriate context:

Miren también un nuevo caso que ahora sucede, quizá no visto jamás. ¿No veen aquel moro que callandico y pasito a paso, puesto el dedo en la boca, se llega por las espaldas de Melisendra? Pues miren cómo la da un beso en mitad de los labios, y la priesa que ella se da a escupir, y a limpiárselos con la blanca manga de su camisa, y cómo se lamenta, y se arranca de pesar sus hermosos cabellos, como si ellos tuvieran la culpa del maleficio. Miren también… (II, 26; 241–42)

Now behold Humbert, as he approaches Lolita upstairs in her bedroom:

6 Charles Presberg has described a dialogic relationship between Don Quijote and Don Diego, one that contributes to the self-knowledge of both characters. 7 Nabokov felt Cervantes had missed an opportunity by not having Don Quijote con- front Avellaneda’s spurious knight. For a scathing critique of Nabokov’s Lectures, accompanied by some observations on the Quilty/Avellaneda parallel, see Márquez Villanueva. 86 Michael Scham Cervantes

Dorsal view. Glimpse of shiny skin between T-shirt and white gym shorts. Bending, over a window sill, in the act of tearing off leaves from a poplar outside while engrossed in torrential talk with a newspaper boy below (Kenneth Knight, I suspect)…. I began creeping up to her—“crippling” up to her, as pantomimists say. My arms and legs were convex surfaces between which—rather upon which—I slowly progressed by some neutral means of locomotion: Humbert the Wounded Spider…toward her taut little rear I moved like some paralytic, on soft distorted limbs, in terrible concentration. At last I was right behind her when I had the unfortunate idea of blustering a trifle—shaking her by the scruff of the neck and that sort of thing to cover my real manege, and she said in a shrill brief whine: “Cut it out!” —most coarsely, the little wench, and with a ghastly grin Humbert the Humble beat a gloomy retreat… But now listen to what happened next. (54–55)

Humbert’s cinematic technique and minstrel-like address to the reader recall the visual and aural emphasis in the Maese Pedro episode—and here it is worth recalling the narrator’s introduction to the chapter: “el trujamán comenzó a decir lo que oirá y verá el que le oyere o viere el capítulo siguiente” (II, 26; 239). I am not prepared to claim that Nabokov had the Maese Pedro show in mind when he composed the scene above, but one may certainly speak here of “availability,” and of a commonality of source material in particular. Both Cervantes and Nabokov incorporate medieval romance conventions (damsel in tower, at mercy of revoltingly lascivious villain, hero appearing below) to a sophisticated thematic and narrative effect. As George Haley illustrated, Maese Pedro’s show replicates and examines in miniature many of the novel’s central concerns: appropriation and transmission of materials, the relationship between author and audience, truth and verisimilitude, the fragility of the aesthetic space, etc. Like Ginés, Humbert is an artist-criminal who is very aware of his audience, frequently addressing us and directing our vision. His oozing passion for the young girl charges the entire scene with fairy-tale transcendence (the paperboy is a knight, Humbert a menacing beast, the bedroom an imprisoning tower), until the delirious illusion is shattered by the mundane and very plausible words of a real twelve year-old American girl: “Cut it out!” Such jarring and deflationary shifts in perspective are familiar to readers of Don Quijote. After our knight, inspired by his association of Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 87 acorns with inviolate nature, delivers an exalted speech on the Golden Age, we see the recalcitrant Sancho heedlessly munching on the acorns (I, 11). Marcela’s sudden appearance above the tomb of Grisóstomo, and serene refutation of the litany of claims leveled against her in absentia, undercuts the assumptions behind the men’s indulgence in pastoral self- pity (I, 14). But while the dominant strain of both novels is mock-heroic, Cervantes and Nabokov also achieve a tenuous redemption of romance. Edwin Williamson has persuasively argued that Cervantes was interested in preserving some of the ethical and aesthetic virtues of the knight-errantry novel. Part of Nabokov’s ire at the “cruelty” in Don Quijote derives from his affection for the protagonist, in whom he discerns moments of dignity and even Christ-like suffering. And Nabokov’s own chivalric allusions are often associated with qualified quests for authenticity and fortitude: the attempt to reconstruct the biography of a beloved artist-figure in The Real Life of Sebastian Knight (same patronymic as Lolita’s paperboy); the Arthurian echo of the youthful space-explorer in “Lance”; Van Veen’s anagnorisis upon viewing the film with the waning, quixotic Don Juan figure in Ada.8 When commenting on Don Quijote’s ignominious return from his first sally and the anticipation of the court- yard book-burning, Nabokov expresses what some critics may regard as anachronistic romanticizing, but what others consider one of the central subtleties of Cervantes’ masterpiece: “We are haunted by the creeping feeling that these books and those dreams and that madness are of a finer quality—and, in a word, ethically better—than the curate’s and the housekeeper’s so-called common sense” (43).9 Such ambivalence underlies Nabokov’s use of the term “fairy tale” to designate a story that is both highly artificial and profound (more on this below). The following consideration of games and play will help us understand how and why the romance mode survives in both Don Quijote and Lolita.

8 “The Don rides past three windmills, whirling black against an ominous sunset, and saves her from the miller who accuses her of stealing a fistful of flour and tears her thin dress. Wheezy but still game, Juan carries her across a brook…” (489). 9 In a sympathetic review of García Márquez’s Memoria de mis putas tristes, J. M. Coetzee compares the old man’s Humbertian relationship with Delgadina to Don Quijote and Dulcinea, and asserts that, despite the obvious problems with the couplings, both propose “the ethical superiority of a world in which people act in the name of ideals over worlds in which people act in the name of interests.” A romantic reception, to be sure, but Coetzee sees some of the knight’s arguments with the Duchess regarding the “reality” of Dulcinea as part of “the long debate on the nature of being from the pre-Socratics through Thomas Aquinas” (6). 88 Michael Scham Cervantes

II. Solipsistic Games and Transcendent Play. As Johan Huizinga discussed in his seminal study, participation in a game presupposes order:

Inside the play-ground an absolute and peculiar order reigns. Here we come across another, very positive feature of play: it creates order, is order. Into an imperfect world and into the confusion of life it brings a temporary, a limited perfection. (10)

The player can therefore be confident that skillful adherence to the rules produces a desirable outcome—that, if in accordance with the order of the game, his or her actions are imbued with meaning. A fundamental question is what happens when such a mentality is adopted in the “imperfect world.” As Don Quijote repeatedly demonstrates, it is usually an addled mind that attempts to do so, and with farcical results. The barco encantado episode provides a fine illustration of the dynamic, as Don Quijote’s recognition of pattern upon seeing the boat on the shore (“éste es el estilo de los libros…,” II, 29; 262) and his deduction of transcendent order (“la mano de Dios, que nos guíe,” II, 29; 262) is contrasted with an indifferent if pleasant natural phenomenon: “sosegadamente se deslizaba el barco por mitad de la corriente, sin que le moviese alguna inteligencia secreta, ni algún encantador escondido, sino el mismo curso del agua, blando entonces y suave” (II, 29; 265). It all ends in a wrecked boat, soaked knight and squire, and angry millers and fishermen.10 Many of Nabokov’s protagonists reveal similar disorders, from Luzhin’s chess- infused lunacy in The Defense, to the young man who, suffering from “referential mania,” discerns signifying patterns everywhere (“Signs and Symbols”). But Cervantes and Nabokov also depict moments in which the real world does resonate with the ideal order of play, when the lunatic’s aim is true. The frequent subversions of the aesthetic space in Nabokov and Cervantes—incomplete manuscripts, delusions revealed, fights breaking out between story-teller and audience, the break of day, etc.—certainly point up the fragility of fiction, and even its potential insidiousness. But insistence upon disillusioned and ironic clear-sight- edness is not the ambition of either author. This would be to take at face value the claim in Don Quijote’s prologue that the novel was created solely to discredit the chivalric romance, or that Lolita, as “John Ray

10 The inclusion in the scene of numerous references to cosmography, the science and superstitions of navigation, and an unusually high concentration of religious references and ges- tures results in a comic range encompassing far more than the knight-errantry novel. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 89

Jr., PhD,” earnestly notes, is meant to “warn us of dangerous trends” (5). Both novels undeniably promote the spinning of tales, which involves a partial endorsement of the protagonists’ insanity—and a validation of play as a meaningful activity. The prologue to the Novelas ejemplares memorably presents the collection as a sort of billiards table placed in a public square: “Mi inten- to ha sido poner en la plaza de nuestra república una mesa de trucos.” Cervantes’ apology for play goes on to describe the citizen’s need for re- cuperative escape, as well as a fundamental human inclination to seek and create form. He alludes to Aristotle’s therapeutic eutrapelia (“Horas hay de recreación, donde el afligido espíritu descanse”), and gives a compelling account of human creativity and inquisitiveness: “Para este efeto se plantan las alamedas, se buscan las fuentes, se allanan las cuestas y se cultivan, con curiosidad, los jardines” (I, 52). In Speak, Memory, Nabokov says the following:

[T]here is in every child the essentially human urge to reshape the earth, to act upon a friable environment (unless he is born a Marxist or a corpse and meekly waits for the environment to fashion him). This explains the child’s delight in digging, in making roads and tun- nels for his favorite toys. (302)

This urge to mold the natural world serves as an expression both of the author’s creative power and the reader’s desire to partake of the ordered realm of art. And as the passages above make clear, both authors associate such recreation with a non-deterministic view of the individual.11 The famous invitation to the idle reader in the prologue ofDon Quijote includes a seemingly radical emphasis on individual agency: “tienes tu alma en tu cuerpo y tu libre albedrío como el más pintado, y estás en tu casa, donde eres señor della, como el rey de sus alcabalas, y sabes lo que comúnmente se dice, que debajo de mi manto al rey mato” (I, Prólogo; 51). The striking change in venue—from the communal setting of the public square to the interior privacy and solitude of home (not to men-

11 A book-length comparative study would require a chapter on the pastoral conventions in Don Quijote and Lolita. Even though Nabokov ridiculed the “stale Arcadian theme” in Cervantes, his own copious representations of Golden Age gardens and landscapes engage many of the same concerns: the perfection of nature by art, the imaginative quest for coherence, the desire for a realm of human interaction uncorrupted by social norms, etc. Both authors often include such conventions within dissonant and dialogic contexts. 90 Michael Scham Cervantes tion the subversive suggestiveness of the regicidal proverb)—appears to signal a very different type of ideal reader from that of theNovelas ejemplares.12 The novel of course opens with an embodiment of the private reader, and he promptly loses his mind, only to become something of a complex character after he has extensively interacted with the world beyond the walls of his library. Ultimately, the readers posited by Don Quijote and the Novelas ejemplares (like the characters themselves) are obliged to actively reflect upon the narrative conventions presented, and to mediate their subjective response with a community of narrators, narratees, editors, and other manifestations of the author’s presence. In both Cervantes and Nabokov, the narrative involutions and the playful mysti- fications regarding the status of the text—history, legal document, case study?—are also implements of authorial control. The reader is challenged by such an author, and encouraged to think creatively; we are also given a master class, if we read carefully and pay close attention, on how to appreciate fictions as fictions. And while an indulgence in radical sub- jectivity is frequently entertained, we are also given a means to transcend the solipsistic self. Both authors memorably use prison imagery in accounts of the origins of their novels. Says Nabokov:

As far as I can recall the initial shiver of inspiration was somehow prompted by a newspaper story about an ape in the Jardin des Plantes, who, after months of coaxing by a scientist, produced the first drawing ever charcoaled by an animal: the sketch showed the bars of the poor creature’s cage. (311)

Cervantes’ surrogate in the prologue poses a question that is similarly cryptic:

¿qué podrá engendrar el estéril y mal cultivado ingenio mío sino la historia de un hijo seco, avellanado, antojadizo y lleno de pensamientos varios y nunca imaginados de otro alguno, bien como quien se engendró en una cárcel, donde toda incomodidad tiene su asiento y donde todo triste ruido hace su habitación? (I, Prólogo; 50)

12 Alban Forcione has argued that the two works in fact contain different visions of the individual and community, and consequently imply different types of readers: an individuated, “modern” subject in Don Quijote; a more community-oriented, integrated reader in the Novelas ejemplares, especially in the more idealizing romance narratives (“Exemplarity”). Forcione provides a compact and elegant account of the humanist ideal of play in this same article. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 91

Speculation on the genesis of Don Quijote in the Seville jail aside, the prison is an apt expression of the stifling, prosaic routine of the middling hidalgo, emphasized in the opening lines of the novel. But Mr. Quijada’s reading-induced metamorphosis into Don Quijote is a transfer to another sort of prison: his solipsistic chivalric vision, the specialized language of which functions—like the bars of Nabokov’s ape-cage—as a barrier between him and the world. As Ellen Pifer and others have discussed, Humbert’s delusions imprison Lolita (a condition that was particularly appreciated by Azar Nafisi’s secret group of women in Reading Lolita in Tehran); but he also imprisons himself—in his obsession, and in its intensely literary, involuted language. Dulcinea (or the “real” Aldonza Lorenzo) suffers no harm from Don Quijote’s delusions, for she remains oblivious to him throughout. Sancho Panza, on the other hand, is drawn into his master’s solipsistic world. Early in Part I, Don Quijote and Sancho receive the rustic hospitality of goatherds—a fine moment, in Don Quijote’s estimation, to impress upon his squire the virtues of their relationship. He invites Sancho to dine at his side, “porque de la caballería andante se puede decir lo mesmo que del amor se dice: que todas las cosas iguala” (I, 11; 154). In Sancho’s resistance to his master’s offer, we have another dramatization of the solitary, free individual presented in the prologue:

¡Gran merced! —dijo Sancho—; pero sé decir a vuestra merced que como yo tuviese bien de comer, tan bien y mejor me lo comería en pie y a mis solas como sentado a par de un emperador. Y aun, si va a decir la verdad, mucho mejor me sabe lo que como en mi rincón sin melindres ni respetos, aunque sea pan y cebolla, que los gallipavos de otras mesas donde me sea forzoso mascar despacio, beber poco, limpiarme a menudo, no estornudar ni toser si me viene en gana, ni hacer otras cosas que la soledad y libertad traen consigo. (154)

Sancho’s anti-ceremonial, independent spirit goes unappreciated by Don Quijote, whose principle concern is the coherence of his chivalric enterprise:

—Con todo eso, te has de sentar; porque a quien se humilla, Dios le ensalza. Y asiéndole por el brazo, le forzó a que junto dél se sentase. (I, 11; 154–55) 92 Michael Scham Cervantes

Don Quijote’s enforced community is contrived—as much so as the Golden Age speech that neither Sancho nor the goatherds appreciate (and the allusion to St. Luke as he forces Sancho to “humble himself ” provides a neat irony). Rather than serving as a stage that will allow his chivalric ideals to flourish, the banquet scene reinforces the artificiality of Don Quijote’s imaginative vision, and the inefficacy of his role-playing. Humbert’s recruitment of Lolita is facilitated by her own curiosity and pop-culture quixotism: “I knew I could kiss her throat or the wick of her mouth with perfect impunity. I knew she would let me do so, and even close her eyes as Hollywood teaches,” for Lolita is “a modern child, an avid reader of movie magazines, an expert in dream-slow close-ups” (48, 49). Long after the initial intrigue wears off, and Lolita has become Humbert’s captive, a tennis game provides a distilled image of their relationship:

…the initial tennis coaching I had inflicted on Lolita—…remained in my mind as oppressive and distressful memories—not only because she had been so hopelessly and irritatingly irritated by every suggestion of mine—but because the precious symmetry of the court instead of reflecting the harmonies latent in her was utterly jumbled by the clumsiness and lassitude of the resentful child I mis- taught. (233)

Despite his claims against society’s crassness and hypocrisy, Humbert realizes here that his own community with Lolita is far worse, that his artistic vision has wrought destruction. Indeed, the novel is full of instances that confirm Humbert’s desecration of Huizinga’s civilizing and ordered “play-ground.” In contrast to the “unearthly order” (230) intimated by Humbert as he watches Lolita’s tennis—and which emblematizes what he hopes to achieve in his union with her—, Humbert laments that in reality “everything about her was of the same exasperating impenetrable order” (204). After leaving the fever-stricken girl at a hospital room, he sees “what looked like the silhouette of gallows on what was probably a school playground” (241). Other basic tenets of play that Humbert vio- lates include the importance of voluntary participation and of maintaining a distinction between play and “ordinary” life (Huizinga 7–10). But it is crucial to acknowledge that, even while revealing a failure to achieve its ideal, Lolita’s tennis game suggests the transcendent potential of play. The order of the play-ground (“precious symmetry of the court”) does afford the girl a chance to express her “latent harmonies,” to mani- Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 93 fest an essence clouded by the conditions of her real life:

She would wait and relax for a bar or two of white-lined time before going into the act of serving, and often bounced the ball once or twice, or pawed the ground a little, always at ease, always rather vague about the score, always cheerful as she so seldom was in the dark life she led at home. Her tennis was the highest point to which I can imagine a young creature bringing the art of make-believe, although I daresay, for her it was the very geometry of basic reality. (231)

This passage is peculiar because it partly consists of Humbert’s typical rhapsodizing over the otherworldly beauty of the nymphet, and therefore is another display of the subtle sensibilities of those select few who can appreciate such creatures. In other words, it involves further indulgence of his solipsistic vision. On the other hand, Humbert realizes that he has damaged the girl and that, in addition to vulgar teenage mannerisms, she possesses virtues overlooked by his nymphic obsessions: cheerfulness, generosity, equanimity. Faced with the brutal manipulations of life with Humbert, Lolita is momentarily able to express aspects of her genuine self through the make-believe of play. Near novel’s end, Humbert will again recognize these qualities in his former nymphet when he visits her as the pregnant wife of Dick Schiller. Nabokov’s interest in the transcendent potential of play is evident throughout his corpus. The ungainly Luzhin, in The Defense, displays penetrating insight and grace while playing chess until his quixotic mania for the game commandeers his perception of reality.13 Oblivious to the machinations in his academic department, socially awkward and prone to solecisms, Professor Pnin reveals hidden qualities in his peer- less croquet-playing:

As soon as the pegs were driven in and the game started, the man was transfigured. From his habitual, slow, ponderous, rather rigid self, he changed into a terrifically mobile, scampering, mute, sly-vis-

13 Nabokov’s own prefatory remarks to The Defense are of interest to readers of Don Quijote: “My story was difficult to compose, but I greatly enjoyed taking advantage of this or that image and scene to introduce a fatal pattern into Luzhin’s life and to endow the description of a garden, a journey, a sequence of humdrum events, with the semblance of a game of skill, and, especially in the final chapters, with that of a regular chess attack demolishing the innermost elements of the poor fellow’s sanity” (8). 94 Michael Scham Cervantes

aged hunchback. It seemed to be always his turn to play. Holding his mallet very low and daintily swinging it between his parted spindly legs (he had created a minor sensation by changing into Bermuda shorts expressly for the game), Pnin foreshadowed every stroke with nimble aim-taking oscillations of the mallet head, then gave the ball an accurate tap, and forthwith, still hunched, and with the ball still rolling, walked rapidly to the spot where he had planned for it to stop. With geometrical gusto, he ran it through hoops, evoking cries of admiration from the onlookers. (Pnin 130) There is in Nabokov a tenuous distinction between the indulgence of degenerative obsessions and the cultivation of virtues, between lunacy and insight (humanist-leaning cervantistas might characterize it as an interplay between folly and wisdom). Humbert himself expresses the clarity he finds in play:

I suppose I am especially susceptible to the magic of games. In my chess sessions with Gaston I saw the board as a square pool of limpid water with rare shells and stratagems rosily visible upon the smooth tessellated bottom, which to my confused adversary was all ooze and squid-cloud. (233)

Of course, through much of the novel, Humbert’s vision is distorted by his unctuous pedophilia, and most of the second part finds him also foundering in Quilty’s “squid-cloud.” But in the famous final scene of Humbert looking down on the little town from a roadside parapet, he does achieve a clarity of vision. As with his description of the chess- board, the clarity is a function of a certain distance, of being able to comprehend the harmonizing order of the phenomena at hand:

As I approached the friendly abyss, I grew aware of a melodious unity of sounds rising like vapor from a small mining town that lay at my feet, in a fold of the valley. One could make out the geometry of the streets between blocks of red and gray roofs, and green puffs of trees, and a serpentine stream, and the rich, ore-like glitter of the city dump, and beyond the town, roads crisscrossing the crazy quilt of dark and pale fields, and behind it all, great timbered mountains. (307)

Unlike his medieval abduction fantasy in the second floor of the Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 95

Haze house (see above), Humbert’s mountain ascent to clarity is not a gross parody of Petrarch on Ventoux or Wordsworth on Snowdon. There is a sense that Humbert has achieved the integrated understanding of the true artist, an appreciation of the relationship between things that includes, for once, an understanding of the relationship between himself and Lolita. His epiphany is memorably spurred by the “melody of children at play,” of a beautiful order that he has violated: “…and then I knew that the hopelessly poignant thing was not Lolita’s absence from my side, but the absence of her voice from that concord” (308). As Pifer has argued, Humbert arrives at such an understanding by mediating his experience through art: “The nature of his (highly qualified) redemption is aesthetic as well as moral, for it depends less on his expressed remorse than on the vital image of the child he recreates in his narrative” (197). Rather than violently imposing his nymphic vision on reality, he has learned to perceive and express a truth about the girl through his imaginative effort. Numerous characters in Don Quijote reveal themselves in play.14 Basilio’s prowess at the wedding games of Camacho is a fairly traditional example, for his virtuosity at play is consistent with his good looks and winning manner (II, 19; 179). It is precisely such prowess that Don Quijote would hope to demonstrate as he takes leave of Don Diego in anticipation the tournaments, “las justas de Zaragoza” (II, 18; 176). Sancho’s exuberant report of Aldonza Lorenzo’s dominance in hurling the bar contains a comic dissonance, as the reality of rustic physical vigor undermines the ethereal identity of Dulcinea: “tira tan bien una barra como el más forzudo zagal de todo el pueblo. ¡Vive el Dador…!” (I, 25; 312). Sancho’s appointment as Governor of Barataria is even closer to the examples from Nabokov, since it is a realm of “make-believe” that reveals surprising truths. The simpleton does, in fact, play the role well, using his common sense grounded in humble experience to successfully judge the cases brought before him, and his sober resignation of the post and reunion with his ass reveals that the experience has deepened his self-understanding (II, 53; 443–44). This sequence is in fact one of the few that receives the open admiration of Nabokov: “the story develops a very special pair of very special wings” (Lectures 68). Famously fond of metamorphosing moths and butterflies, Nabokov was to incorporate a similar metaphor in his discussion of parody’s potential in The Real Life

14 TheNovelas ejemplares, of course, contain other compelling instances, such as “La ilustre fregona” and, in a more complex manner, “El casamiento engañoso” and “El coloquio de los perros.” 96 Michael Scham Cervantes of Sebastian Knight: “a clown developing wings” (89). The final section of this article will consider how Alonso Quijano’s “latent harmonies” find expression in Don Quijote.15

III. The Reality of Fairy Tales and the Springboard of Parody. Nabokov had no taste for the farcical and carnivalesque humor of Don Quijote, but the “cruel and crude” novel is redeemed by “episodes and passages that gently usher or sweep the reader into the dreamworld of permanent and irrational art” (Lectures 68). Don Quijote’s nocturnal encounter with Altisidora (II, 44) is, according to Nabokov, just such an episode. The ascendant Sancho has gone off to govern his island. Our knight, finding it increasingly difficult to sustain his chivalric vision, misses his squire and, as he silently undresses by the light of two candles in a room at the duke’s estate, a run in his stocking exacerbates his melancholy. A recognized master of zeugma, Cervantes is mischievous in his description of the rip:

Cerró tras sí la puerta, y a la luz de dos velas de cera se desnudó, y al descalzarse—¡oh desgracia indigna de tal persona!—se le sol- taron, no suspiros, ni otra cosa, que desacreditasen la limpieza de su policía, sino hasta dos docenas de puntos de una media, que quedó hecha celosía. (II, 44; 370)

But the floodgates of farce remain tenuously intact: we are led to contemplate that what was “let loose” on the knight as he is stooped in the exertion of disrobing might well have been melodramatic sighs or even flatulence (“no suspiros, ni otra cosa, que desacreditasen la limpieza de su policía”), but were in fact the stitches of his stocking. As with the acorns in Part I, the sight of the tear inspires a rather Shandean digression—this time on poverty—, complete with authoritative citations (it is curious that Nabokov loved Sterne, who loved Cervantes, and yet the syllogism was not complete). The peculiarly muted tone of the scene then resumes:

15 Focusing on his comic revitalization of the cosmic vision aboard Clavileño (II, 41) and the aftermath of his governorship, Forcione has recently discussed Sancho’s emergence in Part II as a champion of individual authenticity and the creative imagination (“Cervantes’ Night- Errantry”). For an interesting study claiming that Alonso Quijano is conscious of his game, that he is intentionally play-acting, see Torrente Ballester. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 97

Finalmente, él se recostó pensativo y pesaroso, así de la falta que Sancho le hacía como de la irreparable desgracia de sus medias, a quien tomara los puntos, aunque fuera con seda de otra color, que es una de las mayores señales de miseria que un hidalgo puede dar en el discurso de su prolija estrecheza. Mató las velas, hacía calor y no podía dormir, levantóse del lecho y abrió un poco la ventana de una reja que daba sobre un hermoso jardín, y al abrirla, sintió y oyó que andaba y hablaba gente en el jardín. (371–72)

Don Quijote has momentarily been reduced from an intrepid ad- venturer to a man who misses his companion and is burdened by material concerns. And it is notable that the narrator should underscore the disgrace of an hidalgo darning with thread that doesn’t match. Are we witnessing another adventure of our caballero, Don Quijote, or the waning struggles of Alonso Quijano to sustain his make-believe? Battling the deterioration of his imaginative world and beset with insomnia, our hero must contend with the confounding events in the ducal castle: among those heard in the garden beneath the window is Altisidora pretending to be a lovesick maiden. What enchants Nabokov about the scene is his perception that Don Quijote, despite growing doubts, is able to draw strength from his chivalric fantasy in the face of a “reality” that is doubly deserving of quotation marks, since Altisidora is intentionally staging a parody of the chivalric romance:

And the voice of the little damsel Altisidora (with the rolling R of Reality) so close at hand, in the garden, becomes for a moment, physically and mentally, more vivid than the vision of Dulcinea del Toboso, with all those limp, lisping l’s of lean illusion. But his innate modesty, his purity, the glorious chastity of the true knight-errant, all this proves stronger than his manly senses—and after listening to the song in the garden he bangs the window shut… (Lectures 70)16 According to Nabokov, the scene depicts Don Quijote “fighting one delusion by means of another delusion” (70). We can understand the first delusion as Altisidora’s parody, the offer of love; the second, as Don

16 That Lolita, whose story is being written during the period of Nabokov’s lectures, so roundly partakes of the “limp, lisping l’s of lean illusion” demonstrates at the very least that Cervantes’ novel resonates in Nabokov’s mind, that he easily “reads” some of his pet concerns back into Don Quijote. The numerous quixotic themes and figures we have considered show how the Spanish work did in fact make its way into Lolita. 98 Michael Scham Cervantes

Quijote’s chivalric vision, his desire not to betray Dulcinea. In addition to illustrating the complexity of fictional layers that obtains in part II, the episode presents a good example of what Alter called the “shuttling of our perception between the poles of fiction and reality” (193): from the knight’s armor to the hidalgo’s stockings, from the difficulty of falling asleep in a warm room to an affirmation of Dulcinea. And, as Cide Hamete famously observes, the “reality” of the ducal castle, with its petty intrigues and delight in making sport of Don Quijote and Sancho, does not emerge in a particularly dignified light: “que tiene para sí ser tan locos los burladores como los burlados, y que no estaban los duques dos dedos de parecer tontos, pues tanto ahínco ponían en burlarse de dos tontos” (II, 70; 564–65). Appel describes the unique quality of Nabokov’s parody thus: “With the possible exception of Joyce, Nabokov is alone among modern writers in his ability to make parody and pathos converge and sometimes coincide” (li). Anthony Close, who is perhaps one of the most inimi- cal critics to the type of comparison I am proposing, made a similar observation when describing Cervantes’ syncretism: “This strategy en- dows Cervantes’s parody with a peculiarly internal, empathetic relation to its target, and also a bewildering breadth of eclectic reference.”17 The comments of both critics distinguish the authors from their respective literary-cultural milieu; I have attempted to show how these very id- iosyncrasies make Cervantes and Nabokov appropriate for comparison despite their mutual distance. Dare I suggest that the same sequence in Don Quijote that Nabokov singles out for praise might serve to illustrate the point made by Close, the stern historicist? Parody in such a scene becomes, to use Nabokov’s suggestive term, a “springboard.” A shift in context may cast a particular convention in a ridiculous light; it may also be a catalyst for new possibilities of expression. In the metafictional excursus which is Chapter 10 of The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, the narrator describes a peculiar example of crime fiction: “The detective, a shifty fellow, drops his h’s, and this is meant to look as if it were meant to look quaint; for it is not a parody of the Sherlock Holmes vogue but a parody of the modern reaction from it. The lodgers are examined afresh. New clues are guessed at” (92). The entire episode of Don Quijote and Sancho’s residence with the Duke and Duchess indicates that the “modern reaction” to chivalric romance was based on its ability to provide

17 Cited by Iffland (432). Iffland’s sensitive critique of Close’s Cervantes and the Comic Mind of His Age offers historical grounds for identifying carnivalesque elements inDon Quijote. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 99 cheap entertainment for an unreflective public. The appealing pathos of the knight and squire’s comportment within a rather decadent funhouse gives the sequence an unexpected richness, resulting in a reassessment and qualified redemption of chivalry. The constant foregrounding of artifice in Cervantes and Nabokov assures, perhaps, that we do not read naively. But an educated imagination is not necessarily the same as a jaded one. Several fine critics have pointed out how the sophisticated Nabokov had a profound affection for romance, and how his constant articulation of “doubt” actually forti- fied his celebration of the mind’s capacity for understanding, for finding coherence and meaning (e.g. Frosch and Wood). Within what Borges called the “magias parciales” of Don Quijote we are repeatedly remind- ed that the chivalric, the pastoral, the picaresque, and the puppet show (those punctuating p’s of parody—to appropriate Nabokov’s play with l’s) are fictions, or (as Nabokov says of Don Quijote, Bleak House, and Madame Bovary) fairy tales. I have attempted to shed some light on why it is that, in Nabokov’s words, “without these fairy tales the world would not be real” (Lectures 1). Suspending our disbelief, Sancho-like, we accompany Cervantes and Nabokov on strange adventures, fighting one delusion (the authority of documents, of genres) by means of another (the enchantments of fiction). We do it in part because a curiously cul- tivated garden allows us to escape the chaos and contingencies of the world beyond. But we also do so because we suspect that the truth of existence lies somewhere between what the confines of lived experience affirm, and what the grand designs of imagination propose. Despite his dyspeptic and dismissive complaints, Nabokov recognized the formidable vindication of fiction in Don Quijote; Cervantes’ masterpiece can be found on the shimmering surface and in the very sinews of Lolita.

Modern and Classical Languages University of St. Thomas 2115 Summit Ave. St. Paul, MN 55105 [email protected] 100 Michael Scham Cervantes

Works Cited

Alter, Robert. Partial Magic: The Novel as a Self-Conscious Genre. Berkeley: U California P, 1975. Amis, Martin. “Lolita Reconsidered.” The Atlantic Sept. 1992: 109–20. Appel, Alfred, Jr. “Introduction.” The AnnotatedLolita. New York: Vintage, 1991. xvii– lxvii. Borges, Jorge Luis. Otras inquisiciones. 4th ed. Buenos Aires: Emecé, 1989. Boyd, Brian. Vladimir Nabokov: The American Years. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1991. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Ed. Luis A. Murillo. 5th ed. 2 vols. Madrid: Castalia, 1978. ———. Novelas ejemplares. Ed. Harry Sieber. 2 vols. Madrid: Cátedra, 1989. Close, Anthony. Cervantes and the Comic Mind of His Age: Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. ———. The Romantic Approach to Don Quixote. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1978. ———. Rev. of Vladimir Nabokov, Lectures on Don Quixote. Journal of Hispanic Philology 7 (1983 [1984]): 227–29. Coetzee, J. M. “Sleeping Beauty.” Rev. of My Melancholy Whores, by Gabriel García Márquez. New York Review of Books 23 Feb. 2006: 4–8. Forcione, Alban K. “Cervantes’ Night-Errantry: The Deliverance of the Imagination.” Bulletin of Spanish Studies 81 (2004): 451–73. ———. “Exemplarity, Modernity, and the Discriminating Games of Reading.” Cervantes’s Exemplary Novels and the Adventure of Writing. Ed. Michael Nerlich and Nicholas Spadaccini. Minneapolis: Prisma Institute, 1989. 331–52. Frosch, Thomas R. “Parody and Authenticity in Lolita.” Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita: A Casebook. Ed. Ellen Pifer. New York: Oxford UP, 2003. 39–56. Haley, George. “The Narrator in Don Quijote: Maese Pedro’s Puppet Show.” MLN 80 (1965): 145–65. Huizinga, Johan. Homo Ludens. Boston: Beacon, 1950. Iffland, James. “Laughter Tamed.” Review article of Cervantes and the Comic Mind of His Age, by Anthony Close. Cervantes 23.2 (2003): 395–435. (11 Dec. 2006). Kunce, Catherine. “‘Cruel and Crude’: Nabokov Reading Cervantes.” Cervantes 13.2 (1993): 93–104. 11 Dec. 2006 . Kundera, Milan. Testaments Betrayed. Trans. Linda Asher. New York: HarperCollins, 1995. Márquez Villanueva, Francisco. “La lección del disparatario nabakoviano.” Desviaciones lúdicas en la crítica cervantina. Primer Convivio Internacional de Locos Amenos. Memorial Maurice Molho. Ed. Antonio Bernat Vistarini y José María Casasayas. Salamanca: U Salamanca–U Illes Balears, 2000. 337–55. Nabokov, Vladimir. Ada. 1969. New York: Vintage, 1990. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quijote and Lolita Revisited 101

———. The Annotated Lolita. Ed. Alfred Appel, Jr. New York: Vintage, 1991. ———. The Defense. 1964. Transl. Michael Scammell in collaboration with the author. New York: Vintage, 1990. ———. Lectures on Don Quixote. Ed. Fredson Bowers. New York: Harvest, 1983. ———. Pale Fire. 1962. New York: Everyman’s Library, 1992. ———. Pnin. 1957. New York: Vintage, 1989. ———. The Real Life of Sebastian Knight. 1941. New York: Vintage, 1992. ———. Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited. 1947. New York: Vintage, 1989. ———. The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov. New York: Vintage, 1997. ———. Strong Opinions. 1973. New York: Vintage, 1990. Nafisi, Azar. Lolita“ .“ Reading Lolita in Tehran. New York: Random House, 2004. 3–77. Paulson, Ronald. Don Quixote in England: The Aesthetics of Laughter. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1998. Pifer, Ellen. “TheLolita Phenomenon from Paris to Tehran.” The Cambridge Companion to Nabokov. Ed. Julian W. Conolly. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2005. 185–99. Presberg, Charles D. Adventures in Paradox: Don Quixote and the Western Tradition. University Park: Pennsylvania State UP, 2001. Round, Nicholas G. “Toward a Typology of Quixotisms.” Cervantes and the Modernists: The Question of Influence. Ed. Edwin Williamson. London: Tamesis, 1994. 9–28. Torrente Ballester, Gonzalo. El Quijote como juego y otros trabajos críticos. Barcelona: Destino, 1984. Welsh, Alexander. “The Influence of Cervantes.”The Cambridge Companion to Cervantes. Ed. Anthony J. Cascardi. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2002. 80–99. Williamson, Edwin. El Quijote y los libros de caballerías. Transl. María Jesús Fernández Prieto, revised by author. Madrid: Taurus, 1991. Wood, Michael. “Invisible Worlds: Cervantes Reads Borges and Nabokov.” Cervantes and the Modernists: The Question of Influence. Ed. Edwin Williamson. London: Tamesis, 1994. 29–41. ———. The Magician’s Doubts: Nabokov and the Risks of Fiction. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1998.

The Text ofDon Quixote as Seen by its Modern English Translators

______Daniel Eisenberg

ike the editor of a text, a translator is creating a text as well. The translator must, of course, choose a text (or perhaps multiple Lversions of a text) in the original language. Given the heated debate over the text of Don Quixote during the last thirty years, and the lack of a general consensus about which of the several competing editions is most worthy of use,1 it may be helpful to examine how the translators have approached the question of the work’s text. As will be seen, some are aware of the problems and carefully explain how they have handled the text, while others are less informative or seemingly ignorant of the whole situation. First the translations will be reviewed chronologically; then we will examine how the translators have handled some key textual points.

The earliest translators are the ones who go into the greatest depth about textual questions. John Ormsby is the earliest translator (1885) whose version is still in current use, free for the taking on the Internet, though without his careful notes and with his Introduction much abbreviated.2 He comments on the process of establishing an accurate text: “The London edition of 1738, commonly called Lord Carteret’s from having been suggested by him, was not a mere edition de luxe. It produced Don Quixote in becoming form as regards paper and type, and

1 I recommend the use of Rico’s edition, by far the most painstaking and best documented; see my review article “Rico, por Cervantes.” 2 To my knowledge no English translation other than Ormsby is available on the Internet, whether for sale or for free downloading. 103 104 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes embellished with plates which, if not particularly happy as illustrations, were at least well intentioned and well executed, but it also aimed at correctness of text, a matter to which nobody except the editors of the Valencia and Brussels editions had given even a passing thought; and for a first attempt it was fairly successful, for though some of its emendations are inadmissible, a good many of them have been adopted by all subsequent editors” (53). As for the Spanish text he uses, “the text I have followed generally is Hartzenbusch’s. But Hartzenbusch, though the most scholarly of the editors and commentators of Don Quixote, is not always an absolutely safe guide. His text is preferable to that of the Academy in being, as far as the First Part is concerned, based upon the first of La Cuesta’s three editions, instead of the third, which the Academy took as its basis on the supposition (an erroneous one, as I have shown elsewhere) that it had been corrected by Cervantes himself. His emendations are frequently admirable” (11). In his notes he occasionally comments on textual questions,3 and, as the above quote states, he takes a position on a debated textual point, the validity of the corrections in the edition of 1608.4 This is as much information as Ormsby gives us about his text, but his notes confirm that he consulted multiple editions, as was also stated by Joseph Jones (ix), whose revision of Ormsby will be mentioned shortly.

Samuel Putnam (1949) is of all the English translators the one who shows the most sensitivity, and gives us the most information about competing editions of the Spanish text. He tells us (xvii) that “one of the most important accomplishments of the modern specialist has been a reconstruction of the text of the first editions, such as that achieved by Professor Schevill. In the past the best of the English-language translators of Don Quixote have had a very unsatisfactory text from which to work and too often have relied upon later printings and the ‘emendations’ to be found in them; whereas the principle followed by textual critics of today, as in the case of this work, is the one laid down by Schevill, to the effect that the first editions are to be treated with the same reverence as if they were the original manuscript itself and must accordingly be employed as

3 For example, 1: 127 n. 1. 4 Ormsby opposed giving authority to the 1608 corrections. In his Appendix III, “Bibliography of Don Quixote,” he states that Cervantes “was not even aware of any such corrections having been made. The 1608 edition has no right to the position that has been claimed for it” (4: 411). Recently, Rico has reopened the question and defends the value of these corrections. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 105 the scientific base for any edition—and this applies to any translation as well—that aims at being definitive.” This lengthy sentence has two footnotes. The first, following “‘emendations’ to be found in them,” reads: “Such emendations, for instance, as are to be found in the edition of Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch (1863), an editor whom Ormsby often follows. Hartzenbusch performed a valuable service by calling attention to the textual differences between the first and later editions, pointing out that these were not due to corrections made by the author; but he then proceeded to emend the first-edition text upon the basis of what he believed Cervantes “must have” written. Numerous examples of this will be found in the notes to the present translation” (467). The second footnote, at the end of the sentence, refers the reader to the preface to Schevill’s edition.5 The above quotation is part of a review of recent Cervantine scholarship, and includes a statement that “It is Schevill’s reconstructed text that has been used as a base for this translation; where another reading has been adopted the fact has been noted and the explanation given. Other important variants that have a bearing upon the English version will also be found” (xviii, also xxiv). One could not ask more of a translator so far as the Spanish text used. Putnam includes more documentation of his work than any other translator. An extensively annotated bibliography, extending to seven pages of note-sized type (1037–1043), includes “List of the Principal English-Language Translations of Don Quixote,” “Principal Spanish Editions Made Use of in the Preparation of this Translation,” “Early Spanish Editions of Don Quixote Referred to in the Notes,” “Continental Translations of Don Quixote Cited in the Notes to this Version,” and “A List of the Principal Commentators and Lexicographers Cited in the Notes to this Translation.”

J. M. Cohen (1950), translator of the first Penguin Classics edition, has a “Translator’s Introduction” of 9 pages, but says not a word about the Spanish text he has used.

5 This important edition is part of the edition of Cervantes’ complete works published at their own expense by the editors Rudolph Schevill and Adolfo Bonilla y San Martín (1914–1941). That Putnam knew that the Don Quijote edition, which has on the title pages the names of both Schevill and his deceased collaborator Bonilla, was the product of Schevill alone indicates a considerable familiarity with the world of Cervantine scholarship. That Putnam knew that there were competing editions of Francisco Rodríguez Marín in the market simultaneously, and knew their chronology (1039), also reveals expertise. 106 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

Walter Starkie (1964)6 has an “Introduction” of 6 pages, but it also does not refer to the Spanish text. In notes he refers to Bowle (69 n. 2), Clemencín (60 n. 6), and Schevill (221 n. 3).

In 1981 there appeared a revised version of Ormsby, without his lengthy introduction or notes. It was begun by Kenneth Douglas, a French scholar. After his death in an accident, the cervantista Joseph Jones completed his work, adding explanatory footnotes and 170 pages of supplementary material for the university student. The “Preface” (ix–xii) is signed by Jones alone. Known as the Ormsby-Douglas-Jones translation (henceforth: ODJ), it was widely used until it was suddenly and—for some—unfortunately replaced by the Raffel translation. The back cover states that “recent textual scholarship has been taken into account [by Jones] in preparing the revisions; a detailed discussion of the procedures and principles followed is offered in the Preface.” Unfortunately there is no detailed discussion, nor any discussion at all, of these matters in the Preface. The only allusion to textual questions found there is the statement that Douglas had intended “to compare [Ormsby’s translation] with the Spanish original later, when he reviewed the Riquer edition of Don Quixote for scholarly improvements since Ormsby’s day. Unfortunately, his death intervened” (x). Nevertheless, Jones is one of the two translators who were known as Cervantes scholars prior to the their translation projects (Lathrop is the other), and it may be safely assumed that Jones consulted multiple editions and was aware of their textual differences. This translation was designated by its publisher as a “Norton Critical Edition,” though textual scholars will squirm at the misuse of the term “critical edition” (see Kirby), and Jones correctly makes no such claim.

The translation by Burton Raffel was uniquely anticipated by an article, “Translating Cervantes: Una vez más,” published in this journal (a chapter from a then-forthcoming book, The Art of Translating Prose). He was answered in a Letter to the Editor by James Parr, who, in a blatant display of the lack of cordiality so frequently found in Cervantine

6 According to Edward Friedman, who has prefaced the modern reprint of Starkie, the unabridged translation first appeared in 1964. It was preceded by abridged versions in 1954 and 1957. On my copy of the 1957 edition (“sixth printing, November 1962”), there is an offer of an LP of Starkie reading his translation, reduced from $5.95 to $2.98. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 107 studies, called it a “puff-piece,” saying that Raffel “should struggle for accuracy rather than revision.” Raffel responded in another Letter to the Editor, defending his efforts and commenting in passing on Parr’s lack of manners. In none of these, however, is there any comment on the text. Raffel’s translation first appeared in 1995, with an “Introduction” by the Cervantes scholar Diana de Armas Wilson. In the “Translator’s Note,” as published in the paperback version of 1996, Raffel states that he used the edition “by Martín de Riquer (Planeta, 1980); I have consulted, though less frequently, the edition by Luis Andrés Murillo (Clásicos Castalia)” (xviii). He also says that his translation had benefitted from a “sensitive, intelligent, wonderfully detailed vetting of the entire manuscript” by the scholar and former Cervantes editor John J. Allen (xviii). This edition was reviewed in Cervantes by Alan Burch. In 1999 Raffel’s translation replaced ODJ and became the “Norton Critical Edition,” now edited by Diana de Armas Wilson. It should be noted that while Douglas and Jones were editing a translation published in 1885, Wilson is editing a translation published in 1995. In what has now become the “Editor’s Introduction” she refers to the extensive errors in the prior version, crediting Michael McGaha, the other former editor of this journal, with “a long and useful list of errata in the trade version of this translation” (xvi). The supplementary material for the university student is completely redone, though reduced to 100 pages.

In 2000 another series replaced its translation: that of John Rutherford supplanted the venerable work of Cohen in the Penguin Classics series.7 In 2001 an introduction by Roberto González Echevarría was added. Following his essay on “Translating Don Quixote” (xxv–xxxii of the 2001 edition), his own dedication (xxxiii), and a chronology of Cervantes’ life (xxxv–xxxvii), Rutherford includes “A Note on the Text” (xxxix–xl). He used the edition of Luis Murillo—correctly described as a “useful modern edition” (xxxix)—except for relocating of the theft of the donkey to Chapter 25. The latter is correctly described as an innovation of Hartzenbusch, followed by “several modern editors” (xxxix)8 He states

7 In “Translating Fun: Don Quixote” Rutherford discusses the shortcomings of Cohen’s translation. More briefly, he comments on the translations of Raffel and Grossman: “our three Quixotes are clearly distinguished from each other by our different readings of Cervantes’ text and by our consequently different aims and achieve- ments” (page not given since I consulted an electronic file supplied by author). 8 The first editor since Hartzenbusch to relocate the donkey theft was John J. 108 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes that there are other “less important inconsistencies in the early editions. Some chapter headings, for example, don’t belong to the chapters that they precede. I have left all these, without comment, for readers to spot and ponder on for themselves” (xxxix). Finally, he was able to make “important corrections” (xl) when the 1998 edition of Rico appeared. In response to an invitation—extended to all the recent translators—to contribute to this issue of Cervantes, he directed me to six articles that he has published concerning his and prior translations.

The most textually ignorant of the modern translators is Edith Grossman (2003). She states that she “chose to use Martín de Riquer’s edition of Don Quixote” because it “is based on the first printing of the book (with all its historic slips and errors)” (xviii), and refers to it in notes (50 n. 16, 376 n. 1, 434 n. 1, 657 n. 3). She does not specify which of Riquer’s editions she uses, blissfully unaware that he has published two quite different ones, the older and better known Clásicos Z edition, available under a number of imprints, and the corrected edition of 1989, published only by Planeta. Textual evidence, however, reveals that she has used the older edition only.9 Also, there is to my knowledge no edition of the twentieth or twenty-first centuries that does not claim to be based on the first printing, although despite this vaunted fidelity there are important differences in the authority given to its readings.10 Grossman’s translation is reviewed in this issue by Lathrop.11

Thomas Lathrop is the only translator to have edited the Spanish text—to my knowledge, the only editor to have translated Don Quixote into any language—and the only one to have published scholarship on the textual problems of the work. Lathrop’s textual position, which I have debated publicly and successfully with him, is that most items which appear to be errors in the text—the disappearance and reappearance of Sancho’s donkey, the missing or incorrect chapter titles, and so on—were put there deliberately by Cervantes.12 There is no translator more aware

Allen, in 1977. 9 A comparison of her p. 657 (see Example 9 in the tables at the end of this article) with the two editions of Riquer shows that she has used only the first of them. 10 On fidelity to the first edition, see Rico,Quijotes “ del Siglo XX,” in the previous issue of this journal. 11 Grossman declined an invitation to review Lathrop’s translation, or to contribute in any other way to this issue, other than to authorize including her “Translator’s Note to the Reader.” 12 This debate has been transcribed and will appear shortly in both English and Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 109 of the problems in the Spanish text. Lathrop’s translation is of course based on the text of his edition. The translation first appeared in 2005, although this printing was withdrawn shortly after publication and is now a collector’s item. A much revised second printing was released in 2007. Lathrop explains in the Introduction that his translation was based on his own edition, published in 1997, “which itself was based on the carefully done old-spelling edition of Schevill and Bonilla.” He states that he used a facsimile of “an original 1605 Juan de la Cuesta printing,” presumably accompanied by the 1615 printing of Part II, and goes on to specify many other modern editions used. In 6 pages of the introduction (x–xv), which are taken from the introduction to his edition (xvi–xxii), Lathrop explains his position concerning what others consider errors of Cervantes’ text. The most important of these are the erroneous or missing chapter titles and the mysterious theft and recovery of Sancho’s donkey. As he has argued in more detail elsewhere, Tom believes these are not errors but were done deliberately by Cervantes.13

In 2006 there appeared an apparently self-published translation by James H. Montgomery, which I learned of by chance14 and purchased on Amazon. His publisher wrote me that “Hackett Publishing has contracted with Mr. Montgomery to publish a revised version of the Don Quixote translation you obtained through Amazon; the latter should remain in print until the Hackett edition (which in addition to including a revision of the translation will also have a newly commissioned Introduction) is published, hopefully in March 2009” (Rak).15 The publisher forwarded my letter to Montgomery, who wrote me on January 5, 2008 that he

Spanish. An mp3 audio file is also available; for references, see Eisenberg and Lathrop in the list of Works Cited. 13 See (in order of publication) “Por qué,” “Contradictions in the Quijote Explained,” “Contradictions or Typical Exaggerations,” “‘In Laudem,’” “The Mysterious Missing Title,” and “Un cajista.” On the controversy provoked by Lathrop’s position, in addition to the debate cited in the previous note, see Ruiz Mantilla; I am grateful to Lathrop for making this article available. 14 While checking an online database for recent material on Cervantes, I found that a letter of Montgomery, entitled “Translating Cervantes,” had appeared in the Times Literary Supplement. In it, he replies to a criticism of his translation, signed “J. C.” 15 I would like to thank Edward Friedman for putting me in contact with Montgomery’s publisher. 110 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes had used Vicente Gaos’s 1987 edition as his primary text, supplemented by consultation of a 1955 edition of Riquer and the 1947-49 edition of Rodríguez Marín.

Examples

The following tables illustrate how the various translations handle some difficult or questionable points in the text, about which the Spanish editions disagree. An asterisk indicates that the translator comments on the textual problem in a note. It is beyond the scope of this article to explore the history of these points. Rico’s “Aparato crítico” will direct the curioso to earlier scholarship on each. Following the examples there are some conclusions.

Ex a m p l e 1: Quexana/Quixana (Part I, Chapter 1)

By verisimilar conjectures, the text says, one could conclude that Don Quijote’s last name was “Quexana” (in the first edition), corrected to “Quixana” in Cuesta’s second edition. The modern spellings are “Quejana” and “Quijana.”

Ormsby Quixana (1: 105) Putnam Quejana (26) Cohen Quexana (31) Starkie Quixana (57) ODJ Quexana (25) Raffel Quejana (13) Rutherford Quexana (25) Grossman Quexana (20) Lathrop Quejana (17) Montgomery Quejana (8) Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 111

Example 2: Florimorte de Hircania (Part I, Chapter 6)

Among the books in Don Quixote’s library is a romance of chivalry commonly referred to as Felixmarte de Hircania, which is the protagonist’s name specified on the book’s title page. There are seven references to the protagonist or book as “Felixmarte” in the text of Don Quijote: Part I, chapters 13, 32 (four times), and 49; Part II, Chapter 1. The first reference to it, however, is by the name “Florimorte,” which is an error, although whether the error was that of Cervantes, Cervantes’ character, or the typesetter is debated. Early editions also read “Florimonte” and “Florismarte.” “Florismarte” is the first name of the protagonist in the work himself, before his name is changed to “Felixmarte,” and this is the form used in most later Spanish editions.

Ormsby *Florismarte (1: 155) Putnam *Florismarte (53) Cohen Florismarte (58) Starkie Florismarte (87) ODJ Florismarte (49) Raffel Florismarte (35) Rutherford *Florismarte (53) Grossman Felixmarte (47) Lathrop *Florimorte (47) Montgomery Florismarte (30) 112 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

Example 3: The Title of Chapter 10 of Part I

The title of Chapter 10 of Part I refers to don Quijote’s battle with thevizcaíno , which has already finished, and of his encounter with some yangüeses, who do not appear in the work until Chapter 15. In the eighteenth century the Spanish Real Academia created a title that corresponds to the content of Chapter 10.

Ormsby New title (1: 196) Putnam New title (75) Cohen New title (79) Starkie New title (111) ODJ *New title (69) Raffel New title (54) Rutherford Original title (78) Grossman *Original title (70) Lathrop Original title (69) Montgomery *New title (48) Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 113

Example 4: The theft of Sancho’s donkey (Part I, Chapter 23 or 25)

In the first edition of Part I, Sancho’s donkey mysteriously disappears and reappears, without explanation. In the second authorized (Cuesta) edition, also of 1605, passages are added explaining the theft and recovery of the donkey. The first passage is inserted at the “wrong” place in the text, Chapter 23, and the donkey remains present for two more chapters after the theft is described. Some editors move the theft of the donkey to Chapter 25, after the last reference to it as present.16 The disappearing donkey problem is discussed in Chapters 3 and 4 of Part II.

Ormsby *Omitted (1: 378) Putnam *Included in Chapter 23, in brackets (178–79) Cohen *Included in Chapter 23 (182–83) Starkie *Included in Chapter 23 (220–21) ODJ *Included in note to Chapter 23 (161) Raffel *Omitted (153) Rutherford Included in Chapter 25 (210) Grossman *Omitted (174, 196) Lathrop *Included in note to Chapter 23 (166–67) Montgomery *Included in Chapter 23, in brackets and italics (126–27)

16 According to a statement of the editor John J. Allen that neither I nor Allen have been able to document, this was the change in Don Quixote’s text that the late E. C. Riley most wanted to see. Allen does include the text in Chapter 25. This textual problem is discussed in Chapter 4 of Part II of Don Quijote. In “El rucio de Sancho,” I have discussed this discussion and its implication for dating. 114 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

Example 5: The labyrinth of Perseus (Part I, Chapter 25)

Don Quijote refers to the labyrinth of Perseus. Later editions correct this to Theseus.

Ormsby Theseus (2: 24) Putnam *Perseus (209) Cohen Theseus (213) Starkie Theseus (252) ODJ Theseus (187) Raffel *Perseus (159) Rutherford Perseus (219) Grossman *Perseus (204) Lathrop *Perseus (192) Montgomery *Perseus (150)

Example 6: Antonio (Part I, Chapter 42)

In the “Tale of Ill-Advised Curiosity,” in the first edition the name of Antonio mistakenly appears instead of Cardenio.

Ormsby Cardenio (2: 262) Putnam Cardenio (380) Cohen Cardenio (381) Starkie *Cardenio (431) ODJ Cardenio (335) Raffel Cardenio (291) Rutherford Cardenio (395) Grossman Cardenio (368) Lathrop *Cardenio (341) Montgomery Fernando (274) Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 115

Example 7: The title of Part I, Chapter 43

In the first edition, a long Chapter 42 is followed by Chapter 44, although the table of contents does supply a title and folio number for Chapter 43.

Ormsby Included (2: 272) Putnam Included (387) Cohen Included (387) Starkie Included (438) ODJ Included (340) Raffel Included (296) Rutherford Included (401) Grossman Included (374) Lathrop Omitted; found in Table of Contents at end of Part I (418) Montgomery Included (279)

Example 8: Vicente de la Rosa/Roca (Part I, Chapter 51)

A character in the story told in this chapter twice is “Vicente de la Rosa”; the third time his name is mentioned it is “de la Roca.”17

Ormsby Roca, Roca, Roca (2: 368–370) Putnam Rosa, Rosa, Rosa (449–50) Cohen Roca, Roca, Roca (446–48) Starkie Roca, Roca, Roca (503–05) ODJ Rosa, Rosa, Rosa (393–94) Raffel Rosa, Rosa, Rosa (343–44) Rutherford Rosa, Rosa, Rosa (463–65) Grossman *Rosa, Rosa, Rosa (434–36) Lathrop *Rosa, Rosa, Roca (401–02) Montgomery Rosa, Rosa, Rosa (323–25)

17 According to Lathrop in “Un cajista,” Clemencín, Rodríguez Marín, and Valbuena Prat use “Roca” three times, Riquer, Casalduero, and Murillo use “Rosa” three times, and Avalle-Arce, Gaos, Ferreras, Sevilla Arroyo/Rey Hazas and Lathrop include both forms. 116 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

Example 9: Dulcinea del Doboso (Part I, concluding verses)

The heading of one of the poems at the end of Part I declares that it was written “in laudem Dulcineæ del Doboso.” The town she is from is, of course, El Toboso.

Ormsby in Laudem Dulcineæ del Toboso (2: 385) Putnam in laudem Dulcineae del Toboso (461) Cohen in laudem dulcineae del toboso (459) Starkie in lauden [sic] dulcineae of el toboso (516) ODJ in laudem Dulcineæ Del Toboso (403) Raffel in praise of Dulcinea del Toboso (353) Rutherford in laudem dulcineae del toboso (476) Grossman In Laudem Dulcineae of Toboso (446) Lathrop *In Laudem Dulcineæ del Doboso (412) Montgomery in praise of dulcinea of toboso (333) Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 117

Example 10: Don Quijote is no longer “el Caballero de la Triste Figura”; he is now “de los Leones.” (Part II, Chapter 30)

The text of the first edition makes no sense. The compositor was confused by an invented word used by Sancho (“figuro”). The Spanish, in Rico’s and most other modern editions, has Sancho say: “ya no hay triste figura ni figuro.” The Duke then continues: “Sea el de los leones….”

Ormsby —*Emended: “ ‘there is no Rueful Countenance nor any such character now.’ ‘He of the Lions be it’ ” (3: 333) Putnam—*Emended: “ ‘There is no Knight of the Mournful Countenance any more, nor of any kind of Countenance.’ ‘Of the Lions let it be’” (708) Cohen—Emended, but omits invented word: “there’s no Sad Countenance now.” “Of the Lions, be it” (666) Starkie—Original: “ ‘for now there is no rueful figure.’ The duke continued: ‘Let the figure be a lion’ ” (743) ODJ—Emended: “‘there is no Mournful Countenance nor any such character now.’ ‘He of the Lions be it’” (594) Raffel—Emended: “‘there isn’t any Knight of the Sad Face any more — or sad figure, either.’ ‘Knight of the Lions it shall be’” (520) Rutherford—Emended: “‘there isn’t any Sorry Face or sorry anything else any more.’ ‘Of the Lions be it….’” (691) Grossman—*Emended: “‘there’s no more Sorrowful Face, or Figure: let it be of the Lions’” (657). Lathrop —Original, but omits invented word: “there’s no more ‘Woebegone’, just ‘He of the lions.’” (610) Montgomery—Emended: “‘there is no longer a Woeful Countenance.’ ‘”Lions” it is.’”(488) 118 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

Dedications, legal documents, prefatory poems

Both parts of Don Quijote appeared with dedications and, as was normal, supporting legal documents: Certificates of Price; Certificates of Errata; Royal Privileges (copyrights); Approbations (censor’s approvals; those of Part I are missing). Part I is preceded and concluded by burlesque verse. The verse is surely by Cervantes, and is discussed by Rutherford “Translating Don Quixote: The Poetry”). The dedication of Part II was also Cervantine, though not that of Part I.18 Starting in the eighteenth century, scholars have suggested that the Approbation of Márquez Torres is by Cervantes.19 The legal documents published in the original first editions help understand how Cervantes was viewed by his contemporaries, and the societal context in which he wrote.

18 See Rico, “El primer pliego.” 19 See the summary of writing on this topic offered in the “Notas complementarias” of Rico’s edition (2: 427 of the 2004 edition), and my Interpretación cervantina, n. 42 of Chapter 1 (21-22 of the printed book). Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 119

Part 1 Poems at begin- Legal ning and end Dedications Documents

Ormsby Included Included Omitted

Putnam Included Included Included

Cohen Concluding Included Omitted verse only

Starkie Included Included Only Appro- bation of Márquez Torres

ODJ Included Included Included

Raffel Concluding Part II only Omitted verse only

Rutherford Included Omitted* Omitted (xl)

Grossman Included Part II only Omitted

Lathrop Included Omitted Omitted

Montgomery Concluding Included Only Approbations of poetry only Val divielso and Márquez Torres 120 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

Where does this survey leave the reader who must use, or prefers to use, a translation? Once again, the complexity of the responses to Cervantes’ work both astonishes and perplexes. Just as there is not (and cannot be) an edition of the work suitable for all purposes and readers, there is no one translation that will serve every purpose. The following are some textual criteria that one might use in choosing a translation:

One might prefer the edition to follow a single edition of the Spanish text, and refer the reader to that edition for textual commentary; this is the approach followed by Grossman, Raffel, and Rutherford. However, each of them chooses a different edition. Rutherford, who is a Hispanist, has made the most up-to-date and enlightened choice (Murillo)20; in addition, Rutherford is the only translator who even mentions the edition of Rico, which I believe will be the standard edition of the Spanish text for our generation. Raffel is not a Hispanist, but he is familiar with Cervantine scholarship and has published in this journal. His choice of the revised Riquer is better than that of Grossman, a professional translator “intimidated by Cervantes scholarship,” with “nightmares of armies of Hispanists coming after me,” and who seemingly has ignored Cervantine scholarship altogether because, as she put it, “a lifetime would not be enough time to read it all, and I had a two years’ contract.” Her choice of Riquer was for “practical and sentimental” reasons.21 Having decided to ignore Cervantine scholarship, it is unsurprising that her choice of text—the earlier, superseded Riquer—is one that no current Cervantes scholar would endorse, not even Riquer himself. Putnam’s approach is similar. He states that he primarily follows Schevill-Bonilla, but differs from the above three translators in occasionally departing from his source text, specifying in notes when this has taken place. Ormsby had a similar approach, but the edition in question was that of Hartzenbusch.

To refer the reader to a Spanish edition for textual questions supposes, of course, that the reader can read it, in which case the need for a translation is questionable. For the reader who knows no Spanish,

20 The edition of Murillo, who is of a generation subsequent to Riquer’s, is more up to date than the small difference between it and the date of the revised Riquer would suggest. 21 “Translating Cervantes,” Hofstra University, November 4, 2004. Grossman was an invited speaker at the conference “Don Quixote: The First 400 Years.” Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 121 one might wish for some enlightenment about the difficulties of the text to be included. This is especially significant since an apparent deficiency of the text (the missing theft and recovery of the donkey) is discussed in the work itself. Lathrop is the only translator who is himself an editor, and the only one to have published on the work’s textual problems.22 As one might expect, his translation provides, in notes, the most commentary on the text of the work. Nevertheless, Lathrop’s extreme and idiosyncratic position on the works’ errors—that Cervantes wanted the donkey to mysteriously disappear and reappear, for example, and wanted there to be no Chapter 43—to my knowledge has convinced no other Cervantes scholar. The information he provides about the text would presumably be labeled “misinformation.”23

Another approach we might favor in a translation would be for the translator to approach the question of the text like an editor: to study the available materials, make decisions, and present the reader with the rationale used. This is indeed the approach taken by Ormsby and Putnam, whose translations stand head and shoulders above the others in the seriousness and detail with which textual questions are treated, and perhaps discouraged subsequent translators, such as Cohen, from treating the question at all. However, Ormsby and Putnam are the two oldest of the translations examined here. One could recommend either only if one were to dismiss the progress made in the last 50 years (Putnam) or the last century (Ormsby) in the study of the text: in realizing, for example, what the donkey problem reveals about revisions in Part I.24

As can be seen, the criteria used for selection of a translation are no simple matter. One might, in fact, choose such a basic criterion as including the entire work in the translation. Should not a translation of Don Quixote, the greatest work of secular literature, include the work in its entirety? Is this an unreasonable expectation? Yet three of the translations, including two recent ones, omit the burlesque preliminary

22 See the articles cited in note 13. 23 I have publicly and successfully debated with Lathrop the nature of the text’s deficiencies, what he would call “alleged deficiencies.” See Eisenberg and Lathrop. 24 Though it may seem strange, since progress is so slow that it seems at first non-existent, our understanding of the text has progressed significantly over the past hundred years. See Rico, “Historia del texto.” On the implications of the donkey problem, see Stagg. 122 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

poems with which Cervantes began Part I. Others omit the dedications. None informs the reader that the Approbation of Márquez Torres— included by only four of the translators—is possibly a commentary by Cervantes himself on his book.

The treatment of the Spanish text to be translated is of course only one of several criteria to be considered in choice of a translation. Yet even from this limited perspective, it is impossible to make a clear recommendation. Just as no single edition of the Spanish text is adequate, no single translation is either. No serious student of the work in Spanish uses only one edition. The student of the work in English translation has even greater problems: the use of multiple translations should be just as routine. However strong our fantasy of “the perfect translation,” there will never be—indeed, can never be—a single English translation which meets every need.

42 Westchester Drive Clifton Park, New York [email protected] [email protected]

Works Cited

Burch, Alan. Review of Miguel de Cervantes, The History of That Ingenious Gentleman Don Quijote de la Mancha, trans. Burton Raffel. Cervantes 17.1 (1997): 185–88. 30 July 2007 . C., J. [Untitled column]. Times Literary Supplement 9 February 2007. 16. [Cohen, J. M.] Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. The Adventures of Don Quixote. Translated by J[ohn] M[ichael] Cohen. 1950. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1970. Eisenberg, Daniel. La interpretación cervantina del Quijote. Trad. Isabel Verdaguer. Madrid: Compañía Literaria, 1995. 17 August 2007 or [with different note numbers] . ———. “No hay una primera parte del Quijote.” El Quijote desde América. Ed. Gustavo Illades and James Iffland. N.p.: Benemérita Universidad Autónoma de Puebla– El Colegio de México, 2006. 57–79. 30 July 2007 . ———. “Rico, por Cervantes.” Hispanic Review 69 (2001): 84-88. 30 June 2007

users.ipfw.edu/jehle/deisenbe/reviews/rico.htm> or . ———. “El rucio de Sancho y la fecha de composición de la Segunda Parte de Don Quijote.” 1976. [Revised text.] Estudios cervantinos. Barcelona: Sirmio, 1991 [1992]. 143–52. 30 July 2007 . Eisenberg, Daniel, and Tom Lathrop. “Debate Eisenberg-Lathrop: Los ‘errores’ en Don Quijote.” Cervantismo en USA. Ed. Francisco Layna Ranz and Georgina Dopico Black. Madrid: Polifemo, in press. ———. “The Eisenberg–Lathrop Debate.” Audio file. 18 August 2007 . ———. “The Eisenberg–Lathrop Debate.”Cervantes , in press. 18 August 2007 . Friedman, Edward. “An Introduction to Don Quixote.” Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. Don Quixote. Trans. Walter Starkie. New York: New American Library, 2001. 19–35. ———. Personal communication. June 14, 2007. ———. Personal communication. June 15, 2007. [Gaos, Vicente]. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de La Mancha. Edición crítica y comentario de Vicente Gaos [completed by Agustín del Campo]. 3 vols. Madrid: Gredos, 1987. Grandbois, Peter. “Lost in the Details: Translating Master Peter’s Puppet Show.” Forthcoming in Cervantes 27 (2007 [2008]). Available shortly at . [Grossman, Edith.] Cervantes, Miguel de. Don Quixote. Trans. Edith Grossman. Introduction by Harold Bloom. New York: HarperCollins, 2003. ———. “Translating Cervantes.” Talk given at Hofstra University, November 4, 2004. Kirby, Carol. “The Preparation of a Genuine Critical Edition of Golden-Age Dramatic Texts: Theory, Methodology and Application.” Editing the Comedia, II. Ed. Michael D. McGaha and Frank P. Casa. Ann Arbor: Dept. of Romance Languages, University of Michigan, 1991. 1–38. Lathrop, Tom. “Un cajista examina varias ediciones del Quijote.” Actas del XV Congreso de la Asociación Internacional de Hispanistas. Monterrey: Fondo de Cultura Económico, 2007. 281-87. [———]. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Ed. Tom Lathrop. 2 vols. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 1997. [———]. [———]. Don Quixote. Fourth-Centenary Translation. Trans. Tom Lathrop. Illustrated by Jack Davis. Newark, DE: Cervantes & Co., 2005. [———]. [———]. Don Quixote. Fourth-Centenary Translation. Trans. Tom 124 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

Lathrop. Illustrated by Jack Davis. “2nd printing” [actually revised 2nd edition]. Newark, DE: Cervantes & Co., 2007. ———. “Contradictions in the Quijote Explained.” Jewish Culture and the Hispanic World. Ed. Mishael M. Caspi and Samuel Armistead. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2000. 242–46. ———. “Contradictions or Typical Exaggerations? More on the Contradictions in Don Quijote.” “Corónente tus hazañas”: Studies in Honor of John Jay Allen. Ed. Michael J. McGrath. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2005. 307–12. ———. “Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote.” Cervantes 26.1–2 (2006 [2007]), in press. Available shortly at . ———. “‘In Laudem Dulcineæ del Doboso’: More about Falsifications inDon Quijote.” BYU’s Book of Papers from the Symposium. Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 2006. 61-73. ———. “Introduction.” Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. Don Quixote. Trans. Tom Lathrop. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2005. vii–xxx. ———. “The Mysterious Missing Title of Chapter 43 ofDon Quixote, Part I.” Cervantes y su mundo, III. Ed. A. Robert Lauer and Kurt Reichenberger. Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2006. 275–82. ———. “¿Por qué Cervantes no incluyó el robo del rucio?” Anales Cervantinos 22 (1984): 207–12. McGrath, Michael J. “Tilting at Windmills: Don Quixote in English.” Cervantes 26 (2006 [2008]): 7-38. Available shortly at . Montgomery, James H. “Was Thomas Shelton the Translator of the ‘Second Part’ (1620) of Don Quixote?” Cervantes 26 (2006 [2008]): 209-218 [Montgomery, James H.] Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. The Adventures and Misadventures of Don Quixote. An Up-to-Date Translation for Today’s Readers, Translated and Carefully Compared with the 15 Principal English Translations (from 1612 to 2003) by James H. Montgomery. N.p.: Ne Plus Ultra Publications, 2006. [According to the title page verso, copies may be ordered at .] ———. “Translating Cervantes.” Times Literary Supplement 16 March 2007. 15. Ormsby, John. “Bibliography of Don Quixote.” Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of la Mancha. Transl. John Ormsby. 4 vols. London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1885. 4: 410–26. [———]. Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of la Mancha. Transl. John Ormsby. 4 vols. London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1885. 12 July 2007 or [without Ormsby’s notes]. ———. “Translator’s Preface.” Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. The Ingenious Gentleman Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote as seen by English Translators 125

Don Quixote of la Mancha. Transl. John Ormsby. 4 vols. London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1885. 1: 1–77. 12 July 2007 or [both incomplete and without notes]. [Ormsby-Douglas-Jones.] Cervantes, Miguel de. Don Quixote. The Ormsby Translation, Revised. Backgrounds and Sources. Criticism. Ed. Joseph R. Jones and Kenneth Douglas. New York: W. W. Norton, 1981. Parr, James. “To the Editor.” Cervantes 13.2 (1993): 135–37. 30 June 2007 . [Putnam, Samuel.] Cervantes, Miguel de. The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha. A new translation from the Spanish text, with a Critical Text Based upon the First Editions of 1605 and 1615, and with Variant Readings, Variorum Notes, and an Introduction by Samuel Putnam. New York: Random House, n.d. [1949?]. Raffel, Burton. “Translator’s Introduction.” Miguel de Cervantes. The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha. New York: Random House, n.d. [1949?]. vii–xxv. ———. The Art of Translating Prose. University Park: Penn State UP, 1994. [———.] Cervantes, Miguel de. Don Quixote. A New Translation. Backgrounds and Contexts. Criticism. Trans. Burton Raffel. Ed. Diana de Armas Wilson New York: W. W. Norton, 1999. [———]. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. The History of that Ingenious Gentleman Don Quijote de la Mancha. Trans. Burton Raffel. Intro. by Diana de Armas Wilson. 1995. New York: W. W. Norton, 1996. ———. “To the Editor.” Cervantes 14.1 (1994): 107–09. 23 March 2007 . ———. “Translating Cervantes: Una vez más.” Cervantes 13.1 (1993): 5-30. 30 June 2007 . Rak, Brian. Personal communication, December 11, 2007. [Rico, Francisco.] Cervantes, Miguel de. Don Quijote de la Mancha. Edición del Instituto Cervantes, dirigida por Francisco Rico, con la colaboración de Joaquín Forradellas. Segunda edición revisada. 2 vols. + CD. Barcelona: Crítica, 1998. [———]. [———]. [———]. Edición del Instituto Cervantes 1605–2005. Dirigida por Francisco Rico, con la colaboración de Joaquín Forradellas. 2 vols. + CD. Barcelona: Galaxia Gutenberg—Círculo de Lectores—Centro para la Edición de los Clásicos Españoles, 2004. ———. “Historia del texto.” Miguel de Cervantes. Don Quijote de la Mancha. Edición del Instituto Cervantes, 1605–2005. Dirigida por Francisco Rico, con la colaboración de Joaquín Forradellas. 2 vols. + CD. Barcelona: Galaxia Gutenberg—Círculo de Lectores—Centro para la Edición de los Clásicos Españoles, 2004. 1: ccxxi– cclxxvi. 126 Daniel Eisenberg Cervantes

———. “El primer pliego del Quijote.” Hispanic Review 64 (1996): 313–36. ———. “Quijotes del siglo XX: El repudio de la crítica textual.” Cervantes 25.2 (2005 [2006]): 83–94. June 28, 2007 . [Riquer, Martín de.] Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. Don Quijote de la Mancha. Texto y notas de Martín de Riquer. 2 vols. 1944. Barcelona: Juventud, 1969. [———]. [———]. [———]. Texto y notas de Martín de Riquer. 3ª ed., con anotación ampliada y un índice onomástico y de situaciones. Paris: Librairie des Editions Espagnoles, 1955. [———]. [———]. [———]. Ed. Martín de Riquer. Barcelona: Planeta, 1980. [Rodríguez Marín, Francisco]. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Nueva edición crítica, con el comento refundido y mejorado y más de mil notas nuevas. 10 vols. Madrid: Atlas, 1947-1949. Ruiz Mantilla, Jesús. “Los hispanistas buscan restaurar la pureza cervantina del Quijote.” El País 21 July 2004: 33. Rutherford, John. “Brevísima historia de las traducciones inglesas del Quijote.” La huella cervantina en la cultura anglosajona. Ed. J. M. Barrio Marco. Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid, 2007. 481-98. [———]. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha. Trans. John Rutherford, with an Introduction by Roberto González Echevarría. 2000 (without the Introduction). New York: Penguin, 2001. ———. “The Dangerous Don: Translating Cervantes’s Masterpiece.” In Other Words: The Journal for Literary Translators 17 (2001): 20-33. ———. “La domesticación de Don Quijote.” Cartografías de la traducción. Ed. Román Álvarez. Salamanca: Almar, 2001. 215-32. ———. “Don Quijote y la traducción de la risa.” Boletín de la Biblioteca Menéndez y Pelayo 131 (2005): 475-92. ———. Personal communication, January 5, 2008. ———. “Translating Don Quixote: The Poetry.” Antes y después del Quijote. Ed. Robert Archer et al. Valencia: Generalitat Valenciana–Biblioteca Valenciana, 2005. 113-27. ———. “Translating Fun: Don Quixote.” The Translator as Writer. Ed. Susan Bassnett and Peter Bush. London: Continuum, 2006. 71-83. Stagg, Geoffrey. “Revision in Don Quixote, Part I.” Hispanic Studies in Honour of I. González Llubera. Oxford: Dolphin, 1959. 349–66. [Starkie, Walter.] Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. Don Quixote. Trans. Walter Starkie. With a new Introduction by Edward H. Friedman. New York: New American Library, 2001. [———]. [———]. Don Quixote of la Mancha. An abridged version designed to relate without digressions the principal adventures of the Knight and his Squire. 1957. New York: New American Library, 1962. Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road

______Barbara Nichol

he following Cervantes scholars are interviewed in this program: A. J. Close, Daniel Eisenberg, Edward Friedman, Barry TIfe, James Iffland, Carroll Johnson, Eduardo Urbina, and Diana de Armas Wilson. The 3-part program (3 hours) can be obtained on CD or casset- te for $34 (Canadian), taxes and shipping included; ordering details at . To order using a credit card, call (416) 205-7367, or you can send a check or credit card information to: Ideas Transcripts,18 Box 500, Station A, Toronto, M5W 1E6, Canada. The program was transcribed by Christina H. Lee and the transcrip- tion edited by Daniel Eisenberg (who wrote the footnotes).19

18 In fact no transcript of this broadcast is available for purchase, only the audio files. 19 Also, the interviews required some “touching up” in the interests of readability. Here is an example of the revision, from my own words:

Verbatim: “The people who were descendants of the Jews were faced with the whole reasons for discriminatory measures in Spain. For example, to go to the New World, you had to come up with documents that said that your bloodlines were pure, there was not trace of Judaism involved in it. But people who were part of that class were, to some extent, outsiders of society. People who were barred from lucrative jobs, from prestige. And this definitely, I believe, was a factor of both Cervantes’ moderately economic success and even in his moderate success as an author within his own time.”

Revised: “The people who were descendants of the Jews were faced with a whole series of discriminatory measures in Spain. For example, to go to the New World, you had to come up with documents that said that your bloodlines were pure, that there was no trace of Judaism in them. But people who were part of that class were, to some extent, the outsiders of society, people who 127 128 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

Some words of James Iffland had been mistakenly attributed to Edward Friedman; this has been corrected here and on the audio version currently for sale. All participants have had the opportunity to review the transcriptions and make corrections. The variations betweenQuixote and Quijote, and between Cervantes’ and Cervantes’s, reflect the pronunciation of the speakers. Part I

5 20

Paul Kennedy: I’m Paul Kennedy and this is Ideas. 5

Paul Kennedy: In a poll released last year, the novel Don Quijote was voted the best and most central work of literature of all time. There were a hundred writers polled. The survey was conducted by the Norwegian Nobel Institute. The Institute was choosing 100 titles to make up a library of world literature. They weren’t necessarily seeking a number one book, but Don Quijote came very much in the lead. It earned fifty percent more votes than any other title. Don Quijote came out in two parts, Part I in 1605, and Part II ten years later. It’s now published as one enormous book. And most of us haven’t read it. Or we’ve read it a bit of it in school. Or we’ve seen Man of La Mancha. Or we’ve seen a picture of the hero and the windmills. So many of us will have asked, when we saw the results of that poll in news- papers last year: “Why Don Quijote?” The question is “Why this book?” Tonight on Ideas, the beginnings of an answer: points of view from some of the world’s leading experts on the book, as the three-part series gets on the way. Don Quijote: 400 Years on the Road is produced and presented by Barbara Nichol.

were barred from lucrative jobs, from prestige. And this definitely, I believe, was a factor in both Cervantes’ moderate economic success and even in his moderate success as an author in his own time.” 20 This symbol is used to designate a musical interlude. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 129

Part I, Chapter 1. In a village of La Mancha (I don’t want to bother you with its name) there lived, not very long ago, one of those gentlemen who keep a lance in a lance-rack, an ancient shield, a skinny old horse, and a fast greyhound. Three quarters of his income went into his pot of stew (which contained a good deal more cow than sheep), the cold salt beef he ate most nights, Friday’s beans and lentils and Saturday’s leftover scraps, and sometimes a slender young pigeon for Sunday. All the rest ended up in a heavy broadcloth coat, velvet breeches he wore on feast days (with velvet slippers to match), and the fine quality homespun he wore, with great dignity, during the week. He lived with a housekeeper who was over forty, and a niece who hadn’t reached twenty, plus a boy for the fields and the market, who spent as much time saddling the old horse as wielding the pruning knife. Our gentleman was getting close to fifty, but strong, lean, his face sharp, always up at dawn, and a devoted hunter. It’s said his family name was Quijada, or maybe Quesada: there’s some disagreement among the writers who’ve discussed the matter. But more than likely his name was really Quejana. Not that this makes much difference in our story; it’s just important to tell things as faithfully as you can. (I, 1; 13)21

Barbara Nichol: And so Miguel de Cervantes starts out, telling his tale, he says, as faithfully as he can. But the story—he tells us it’s a true story—is gathered up from more than one account, most of it collected by an historian, a Moor, Cide Hamete Benengeli. The story is about a man who went mad reading what he believed to be true stories. Don Quijote took as truth medieval tales of wandering knights and ladies fair. But in this book, the book about this man, are many stories and many voices speaking. Told as faithfully as it can be, the story of Don Quijote is a kaleidoscope, a hall of mirrors, a puzzle: fractured, conflicting, reflecting points of view. It was written in Spain at the start of the seventeenth century, a society that was making every effort to keep variety in check.

Carroll Johnson: Cervantes was born into a society that was officially monolithic, mono-religious, monolingual, mono-cultural, and it was characterized by, you can almost say, a mania for exclusivity.

21 Part, chapter and page references have been added. The page numbers refer to the translation used in the broadcast, that of Burton Raffel (New York: Norton, 1999). 130 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

Barbara Nichol: Carroll B. Johnson is a professor at the University of California at Los Angeles. His specialty is early modern Spanish literature. Among his publications on Don Quijote are the books: Madness and Lust and The Quest for Modern Fiction. He’s the author of Cervantes and the Material World. Carroll Johnson: During the Middle Ages, in the Iberian penin- sula, there were three ethnic, linguistic, religious groups that were coexis- ting for a period of seven hundred years or so. In 1492, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel of Castile threw the Muslims off the Iberian penin- sula as a political entity, and immediately following that, decreed religious unity, religious conformity. It was suddenly against the law to be a Jew or a Muslim. The Muslims were just sort of forcibly converted to Christianity. It was a huge population. They spoke a different language. The Jews were offered the opportunity to continue to be Jewish but do it somewhere else, outside of Spain, or to continue to be Spanish but do it as Christians. In the course of these events, a society is created where officially everyone is Christian, everyone subscribes to certain national values, to a certain kind of national ethos. Underneath, the society is divided into those who had always been Christian and the newly converted, who were called New Christians, and their descendants. The New Christians were sort of systematically excluded from full participation in the power structure. The key to getting ahead in that society was to have the right kind of blood. Now, Cervantes’ family may or may not have been a family of New Christians. Circumstances suggest that this is probably where they were coming from. But the point is that within Spanish society, Cervantes is one of these kind of semi-marginalized, semi-outsiders, who is able to bring to bear a critical perspective that’s denied to people who are full members, grown up in it, and never have reason to question anything.

Barbara Nichol: Miguel de Cervantes was born in 1547. His father was a barber-surgeon, which was on the lowest rung of the medical ladder. The father was deaf. There were lots of children and there was very little money. When Miguel de Cervantes was young, the family moved around a lot, the father trying to improve their fortunes. At one time, he was jailed for debts. Chances are our author received nothing more than a standard education for the time. Details are scarce. Four centu- Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 131 ries of scholarship have turned up very little about the author’s youth. And for centuries scholars have been busy digging and disputing their findings about Cervantes, discussing and disputing the man Cervantes invented: Don Quijote. Who was he? Carroll Johnson: When the book starts, Don Quijote has no identity. The salient feature of him as a character is his anonymity and his identification as a member of a group. He’s introduced as an hidalgo, that is, a member of the absolute lowest rank of the nobility, a group of aristocrats whose aristocratic status was constantly in danger of slipping away from them, who lives out in the country: the text says “one of those hidalgos who would keep a dog, and a lance, and a shield.” He eats the same menu seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. He has two suits of clothes, one for weekdays, one for holidays. His life is a paradigm of monotony. He doesn’t have a name. His name might have been Quijana, might have been Quijada, or it might have been Quesada. Well, in that society, one’s identity is a function of one’s lineage, in two senses. One is either an hidalgo, some kind of an aristocrat, or a commoner. And, just as important in that society, one is either an old Christian or a New Christian. This guy has no identity, because nobody knows what his family name is. So he begins an absolute tabula rasa. The only thing that distinguishes him from many of these other country hidalgos who keep a lance and a dog and so on, and whose economic status is precarious, is that this guy is a voracious reader. He reads chivalric romance. He is so taken up in the reading of these books that he reads them all day; he stays up all night reading them; he sells off part of his small landholdings, which provide his livelihood, in order to buy more books to read. The result of the round-the-clock reading schedule, according to the text, is that his brain dries out, and the consequence of that is that his mind becomes unbalanced. He loses his judgment; he goes crazy, in a word. And in this new state of mental alienation, induced by the physio- logical experience of the brain drying out from lack of sleep—which, by the way, is up-to-the-minute with contemporary scientific theory of the late sixteenth century—he conceives this project. He decides what he needs to do is to actually live one of these books. So this is the project: he is going to transform himself into a knight-errant and he is going to travel around doing the things that knights-errant do, both in order to strike a blow for good in the world, and also to win fame for himself. That is, through this new identity to achieve a kind of existential vali- 132 Barbara Nichol Cervantes dation. So he sets about willfully transforming himself from this anonymous country hidalgo into a knight-errant on the model of those in the books that he’s read.

A. J. Close: These are stories about the doings of knights-errant, knights who wondered the fields and forests in search of adventure.

Barbara Nichol: A. J. Close on the literature of chivalry. Anthony Close is a Reader of Spanish at the University of Cambridge. Among his books are The Romantic Approach to Don Quijote and Cervantes and the Comic Mind of his Age. A. J. Close: They are set in dreamy and distant lands, for Spaniards that is. These include Great Britain and Brittany (France, that is, nor- thwest France). They’re set in a period shortly after the death of Christ. And it’s a very fabulous world, which dresses up the medieval code and practice of chivalry, projecting it back in time. It’s a world of dragons, princesses, enchanters, dragons, princesses, palaces, tourneys, dwarfs, serpents, monsters, and above all, knights and knights-errant wandering fields and forests in search of fame and adventure. And it was hugely popular in Spain in the sixteenth century. There were about eighty or ninety chivalric romances produced beginning with most the famous of them all, Amadís de Gaula, which came out in 1508.22 Many of them were wrist-breakingly heavy tomes in several parts. So this was a massive amount of literature. It was by far and away the most popular genre. And you’ve got all kinds of people reading it. Saint Theresa of Avila confesses that she was an enthusiast of chivalric romances in her youth. Saint Ignatius Loyola, before he converted and turned to the religious life, was a very worldly courtier. And when he was wounded at the siege of Pamplona (this was in 1521), lying on his sickbed, he asked to be brought his favorite reading, which was chivalric romances. Well, they didn’t have any available and so they brought him The Lives of the Saints instead. They weren’t all enthusiastic supporters of the romances. There was a very long tradition of moralists and churchmen who thundered against

22 [Ed. note: 1508 is the date of the earliest surviving edition of Amadís de Gaula, but it was almost surely not the first edition.] Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 133 them as frivolous, unedifying, implausible, and all the rest, and Cervantes follows in that tradition, though his objections are artistic rather than moral. Daniel Eisenberg: They’re a type of early novel, which deals with the adventures of a royal protagonist that might be separated from his family; he doesn’t know he is royal, until finally he is reconciled with his parents and goes on to become the king with his parents’ death, and he can’t go riding around the world anymore.

Barbara Nichol: Daniel Eisenberg is the editor of the journal of the Cervantes Society of America.

Daniel Eisenberg: They fulfilled some of the role that we see today in serials, in soap operas. Or even a good comparison is the type of short movie that was seen back in movie theaters a generation ago. You’d have the adventures of Tom Mix, for example. Each installment would show the person getting out of one scrape and go on and end up in another scrape. And that was the point in which the adventure would end, and you’d have to come back the following week to find out how the person got out of that particular scrape.

Carroll Johnson: He has a helmet inherited from his grandpa- rents’ generation, but it’s incomplete. He doesn’t have the part that covers the knight’s face, so he builds that out of cardboard and takes several days. He tests it with his sword and it flies to pieces.

Barbara Nichol: Carroll Johnson on Don Quijote as he shapes himself and his surroundings into proper chivalric form.

Carroll Johnson: So he re-does it, puts a couple of iron bars inside to reinforce it. This time, however, he refrains from testing it. And this I think is the beginning of Quixotic wisdom. That is, instead of subjec- ting the new helmet to some kind of an empirical demonstration, he just imposes his will on it. “It’s a good helmet, not because I’ve seen it resist a blow, but it’s a good helmet because I need it to be a good helmet.” He’s got a horse. The horse he has is a decrepit old nag, it’s the kind of animal that in Spanish is called a rocín. He can’t rename the horse and effect a change that way, and out of that, the word Rocinante emerges. It’s kind of a little pun, which the narrator explains. Ante means before, so this horse was a rocín before. 134 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

So he’s very satisfied with that name, and he moves on into rena- ming himself. It takes him a week, and he comes up finally with his name “Don Quijote” in imitation of the most famous knight-errant in all the books he has read, a man named Amadís de Gaula. He decides that “Don Quijote” by itself is not enough. Amadís was not just Amadís, but Amadís de Gaula, “of Wales.” He names himself Don Quijote de la Mancha, which is the part of Spain that he lives in. So after he’s done that, there’s only one attribute of a knight-errant that remains, and that is the lady fair. He thinks for a while about that. And apparently there was a farm girl in a neighboring village that he had kind of worshiped from afar. She had never understood that he was interested in her. He decides that this girl will be the lady of his thoughts. Her name is Aldonza Lorenzo, a name that just won’t do for the lady fair of a knight-errant. So he thinks for a while and he renames her, and she becomes “Dulcinea,” which is a name that has resonances not only to chivalric literature but also to another kind of highbrow literary form called pastoral literature. She is from the neighboring village of El Toboso, so she becomes Dulcinea del Toboso. Both of these names are composed of two parts: the Don Quijote part and the Dulcinea part are reaching up to assimilate these people into the world of chivalric literature. The de La Mancha and del Toboso del part are pulling them down to earth. La Mancha is a region in Spain that really doesn’t have much to bring it anyone’s notice. It’s generally flat, they grow some wheat, they raise sheep. There are no big cities, not the site of any famous battles, or anything like that. So to style yourself as from La Mancha is to actually detract from any kind of prestige that might be associated with the place where you are from. El Toboso is a little town in La Mancha and in Cervantes’ time, El Toboso did have a little claim to fame, which was that it was populated almost entirely by moriscos, that is, Spaniards who were the descendants of Muslims who had been converted to Christianity around 1492 to 1500, people who were defined in that society as outsiders. It’s from El Toboso that Don Quijote picks his girlfriend.

Barbara Nichol: Dulcinea del Toboso, the light of his life, beauty most rare. Sancho Panza, the local peasant, who will become Quijote’s squire, is most enthusiastic at the choice. He knows the girl whom Don Quijote has now renamed Dulcinea.

“Oh ho!” said Sancho. “Then the lady Dulcinea del Toboso is… Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 135

otherwise known as Aldonza Lorenzo?” “That she is, said Don Quixote, “and she’s worthy to be mistress of the entire universe.” “I know her well,” said Sancho, “and let me tell you, she can throw an iron ball as far as the strongest boy in the whole village. Praise the Lord! but she’s a damned good girl, well built and straight as an arrow, and as strong and brave as they come…and what a voice! Let me tell you, one day she got up in the village bell tower, to call some of their boys, working in one of her father’s ploughed fields, and even though those fellows were more than a mile off they heard her as if they’d been standing at the foot of the tower. And maybe the best thing about her is that she hasn’t got a finicky bone in her body, … she can crack jokes with everyone, and make faces… It’s been a long time since I laid eyes on her, and she must have changed: women who are always out in the fields…their faces really take a beating.” (I, 25; 155–56)

Barbara Nichol: We never meet Dulcinea del Toboso. Well, perhaps we see her once in an episode the author says he cannot guarantee it’s true. In the Cave of Montesinos, Dulcinea quietly flees when she sees our hero, but sends to him an emissary. Dulcinea wants to know, says the emissary, if she can borrow six bucks.

Paul Kennedy: Tonight on Ideas you are listening to Don Quijote: 400 Years on the Road, produced and presented by Barbara Nichol. Barbara Nichol: As the book starts in the prologue, we find the author stymied by his task. But a friend comes to his rescue. He offers his advice: “stay focused on the task at hand.” He says this: “keep yourself focused on demolishing the whole false, irrational network of chivalric romances despised by so many, yet adored by so many more. Do this and what you have accomplished will be no small affair.” Was this what Cervantes was after in writing the book? Some say yes, some say no. As in each and every detail of the author’s life and work, it sometimes seems that there are not two sides, but many.

Diana de Armas Wilson: Montaigne called them “wit-besotting trash.” 136 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

Barbara Nichol: Diana de Armas Wilson is Professor Emerita of English and Renaissance Studies at the University of Denver. She’s the editor of the Norton Critical Edition of Don Quijote and the author of Cervantes, the Novel, and the New World. Diana de Armas Wilson: They were trash. Other people called them filth, excrement, gangrene. One chronicler called them “scorpion oil.” In other words, they were poisonous. I think they were highly sexual, and they were romances. They gave human beings who read them a very odd idea of what life was. But Cervantes, I do want to stress, was never censorious. He preferred to laugh at chivalry.

Daniel Eisenberg: In the second half of the sixteenth century, they had clearly passed the peak of their popularity. However, I do not agree with those people that say that this was just a pretense that Cervantes was using, and really he didn’t care very much about these books. His intentions changed so much, and I don’t believe there is one set of intentions that we can apply to the book as a whole. But I will say what he was doing when he began the work: I’m convinced that he was writing it to destroy the popularity of Spanish chivalric literature. I think he wanted to do that because he thought it was harming the country, that Spain would be a greater country if there were no more chivalric literature, and people were reading about the true heroes that Spain had. This chivalric literature, by the way, is always celebrating foreign heroes, that’s a convention of it: people from France or Greece, or Thrace or Italy. I think Cervantes’ concern with these works was genuine, and he really did believe that they were harmful and he really was out to get rid of them.

Carroll Johnson: What is overt on the surface of the discourse is that this book is a satire of an existing literary genre. What he says in his prologue to Part I is, in effect: “I am taking on the books of chivalry.” And there are people today, professional readers of Cervantes, who still consider that that is the stated intention, that’s the real intention, and any other concerns that may have come along since simply do violence to Cervantes’ original intention. I don’t really know how serious he was about satirizing the existing literary genre. Certainly he is very, very concerned about existing literature. It’s a book that depends on virtually all of the forms of literature Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 137 that were circulating around when in the 1590s he sat down to write it. This is the period of the revival of pastoral literature from antiquity, literature about shepherds and shepherdesses who exist in kind of an idealized country setting and who devote themselves mainly to falling in love. Late in Part II, when Don Quijote is defeated in battle and, as a result, is forced to take a one-year break from the exercise of knight- errantry, he decides that what we’ll do is become shepherds.

Barry Ife: Cervantes was fascinated by genre.

Barbara Nichol: Barry Ife is the Cervantes Professor of Spanish at King’s College, London. Among his publications on the subject are Reading and Fiction in Golden Age Spain and the upcoming The Origins of the Novel in Spain. Barry Ife: He loved taking the expectations that readers had of certain kinds of work, and playing with those expectations, defeating them, wrong-footing readers, and this novel is in many ways like a walk- around, as if it were an art gallery. You go from one room to another: this is the chivalric room; that’s the pastoral room; this is the Italian short story room, and so on. And you can walk through a whole anthology of European fiction of the time. And that’s very pleasurable. I’m sure that he had in mind a whole batch of readers: quite sophisticated, quite experienced readers, who wouldn’t just laugh at the slapstick in the book, but would have a nice knowing smile on their faces. They recognized episodes not just from chivalric novels, but from other works of fiction that they read.

Barbara Nichol: In Part I, Don Quijote proceeds on Rocinante into the world. He comes upon an inn. He takes it to be a castle. He meets two prostitutes out front. He thinks they are noble damsels. He’s made a knight, dubbed by the innkeeper who plays along with Don Quijote’s madness. And Don Quijote’s off again, attacking passers-by he takes to be wrongdoers: meddling, causing trouble, being violent, taking beatings. Finally, he is rescued by an acquaintance who happens by. He’s taken home. And this is the end of what scholars call the first sally. On the second sally, Sancho Panza on his donkey is by his side. Sancho Panza thinks that Don Quijote will one day make him the governor of an island. Don Quijote has said so and he believes it too. What follows is a series of adventures, the attack on the windmills being the 138 Barbara Nichol Cervantes most famous. He thinks they are giants. He mistakes two flocks of sheep for armies. There are adventures and the stories of adventures: the interpolated stories told by characters whom they encounter on their journey through the back country of Spain. Among these stories is “The Captive’s Tale,” “The Story of the Man Who Couldn’t Keep from Prying” (titles vary with translations), the stories of Cardenio and Lucinda, of Don Fernando and Dorotea. Part I becomes a tangle of characters and stories; some of them are sorted out by chance reunions. As we make out way along with Don Quijote and his squire, we are there as lovers reunite, old misunderstandings are explained, loose ends tied up. Finally, as Part I ends, Don Quijote is captured and brought home by worried friends. They bring him home imprisoned in an oxcart. Don Quijote’s imagination meets this test; he believes he’s been enchanted. How else a great knight-errant such as he be contained in such lowly style?

Barbara Nichol: By the time this book came out, Cervantes was getting old. He was almost sixty. He had more than his share of failures and hard times. He’d spent a lifetime, off and on, reading, and doing what he could to make a name by writing. Among his literary endeavors, he’d made a little headway as a poet. He had some plays produced. He published a novel, La Galatea. It was a pastoral novel, shepherds and shepherdesses. Cervantes promised a second part of La Galatea. On his deathbed, he was still promising. But Don Quijote was quickly popular. This didn’t make Cervantes rich. The publisher made money and there were lots of pirated editions, but people loved Don Quijote. And although the patron to whom Cervantes dedicated the book didn’t care much for it, the author was now able to attract another patron. After Part I of Don Quijote came out, Cervantes published the very highly regarded Exemplary Novels, a book of long short stories. He published Part II of Don Quijote and Persiles and Sigismunda, a novel released after his death.

Daniel Eisenberg: When we look at the Exemplary Novels and Don Quixote Part II and the Persiles, these were all dedicated to the same person, the Count of Lemos. And since he was dedicating successive works to the same patron, we take this as indication that he really was getting some significant reward. Perhaps in these final years of his life, he Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 139 was finally able to devote himself full-time to writing, and that’s why we see so many of his works completed and published in the final years of his life. However, it also seems that the Count of Lemos kept Cervantes at a certain distance. Giving him financial support was not the same as hiring him to be his secretary, by the way; that was another avenue that men in letters could pursue: to be employed as a secretary by a noble. And the Count of Lemos had occasion to hire a secretary during Cervantes’ life and during this period when he was Cervantes’ patron, and we know that Cervantes applied for that position and didn’t get it.

Barbara Nichol: But why not? In fact, it’s something of a theme in Cervantes’ life, that he tended to be overlooked and unrewarded. He was, for example, a soldier when he was young. He was wounded in a naval battle, the battle of Lepanto. According to reputable accounts, he fought with what could only be called storybook valor. He took two gun- shots in the chest. He permanently lost the use of his left hand. On the way home to Spain, his ship was overcome by pirates. He was captured and spent five years as a captive, held for ransom in Algiers. Four times he tried to escape, attempting to save other captives as well, and stepping up to take the blame when these schemes failed. Somehow though, home in Spain, he didn’t get positions he applied for to the Crown. And in the wake of his adventures, he spent many years traveling the back roads of Spain, collecting goods and taxes for the government. He was once jailed, innocent though he apparently was, on a matter related to these accounts. But why was Cervantes not given the job of secretary to the Count of Lemos? Possibly, because of questions over his bloodline. And it’s possible it had to do with an accusation of homosexuality, leveled against him at the time of his captivity in Algiers. But to return to the writing of the novel, it seems that by the time that the work was underway, he might have taken on some pessimism about his future as an author.

Daniel Eisenberg: It was not a work, at least at first, that he had set particularly high hopes for. What he really wanted to do, if he could have done what he wanted to do, was to be the writer that would write, let’s say, the equivalent, for the time, of the Great American Novel. In his case it would have been the Great Spanish Poem, that would have had the equivalent prestige. We have in Part I a number of pieces that are just sort of stuck into the work. And people complained, and even at the time they complained, 140 Barbara Nichol Cervantes that Part I was not very unified, not very well put together, that it had things that were stuck in it because he made a book out of it, and I think that’s exactly what he was doing. That he had written part of Part I, and “yeah, we’re going to write a book, so I’ve got this story and it relates to the topic, so I’m going to put it in there.” It started out, I think Cervantes scholars would agree, as a work that was not envisioned as having the scope or the size or the extension that the book ended up having.

Eduardo Urbina: This book was written late in life, very late in life for Cervantes.

Barbara Nichol: Eduardo Urbina is a professor of Hispanic Literatures at Texas A&M University and the director of the Cervantes Project.

Eduardo Urbina: It was published at the end of his career, at the end of his life, at the end of many, many frustrations, disappointments, failures in his personal life, both as a writer and as an individual, as a human being. And for twenty years preceding the publication of the Quijote in 1605, we have twenty years of silence. Cervantes does not publish anything from 1585 to 1605, twenty years. It’s almost like a compendium of a lifetime. I don’t think Cervantes wrote the book all at once or with a particular plan, or from beginning to end or anything like that. I think it’s an accumulation of writings, writings that he wrote for other reasons, at other times, in other genres, and in other contexts. It’s an accumulation of personal experiences. So it is indeed a book in which he sort of collected everything that he had seen, done, suffered, written all his life. And in a very sort of experimental and serendipitous way, he started putting it together. He started to connect it. He was confronted with a challenge, the challenge of “how am I going to make a whole out of all these parts?” And I think the talent of Cervantes, and the magic of the book as a conclusion, as a result, is that somehow he managed to do it. He managed to connect all these things and to make them one, one book. Not perfectly, but he managed to do so. And by the way, I think that the genius, so to speak, is to have made his main character a madman, because that provided the solution to mixed worlds, mixed layers, mixed levels, because the mind and the vision of the madman allows for all this variety. The other thing that is strange about it is that it’s also a very, very funny, a very entertaining Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 141 book, a very joyous sort of book, not the kind of book you would expect from a person that had suffered and that had so much pain in his life, so much disappointment. When he started to conceive of the Quijote, the Quijote was conceived probably or initially as one more story, the story of this poor man that reads a bunch of books, and he goes mad. And that somehow when Chapter 7 starts and Sancho comes into the picture and they go out again, and the book starts expanding, expanding, expanding, and it’s like one of those acts that you see of jugglers with one ball and two balls, and three balls, and pretty soon they have twenty balls in the air.

Barbara Nichol: Scholars tend to agree on this: that Don Quijote is a tale that grew beyond the author’s expectations. And scholars like to speculate on how the writing of the book unfolded, on how the book took shape. And Cervantes encourages his readers to do this very thing. The novel makes it clear to us that the writing of the book is a journey we’re very welcome to join in on. We’re invited to accompany the author as he goes. Edward Friedman is a Professor of Spanish and Comparative Literature at Vanderbilt University. He’s published widely on Cervantes, including an introduction to the recent Starkie Signet Classics translation.23 He is the President of the Cervantes Society of America.24 He talks about the way in which we watch the author’s work pro- ceed. He takes an example, Cervantes’ decision to provide our hero with a squire.

Edward Friedman: When Don Quijote goes back home after his first sally, early in Part I, and then takes off again with Sancho Panza, it seems as if Cervantes may have been thinking something along the lines of: “now that I’m going to write something that’s very sustained, rather than have Don Quijote inventing things with an absent narrator talking about what’s going on, let’s have a dialogue partner.” So he sort of goes back on the road with Sancho, and Sancho has that definite role of interpreting reality. Elements like this, to me, make readers feel that this is something that the writer was playing around with, that he had an initial idea, but

23 Don Quixote, trans. Walter Starkie, with a new Introduction by Edward H. Friedman (New York: New American Library, 2001). 24 Friedman served as President of the Cervantes Society of America from 2001 through 2003. 142 Barbara Nichol Cervantes that idea kept expanding, and that he was playing around with his op- tions as he was writing the novel. There is a real sense of the active creation being part of the text. And Don Quijote has often been compared to Velázquez’s painting, Las meninas or Ladies in Waiting, in which the figure of Velázquez is in the work of art. We see framed works of art on the walls. We see types of framed reality that look like pictures: for example, a framed mirror, or an open doorway with a figure standing in it. In a sense I think that Velázquez and Cervantes are saying: “the literary work is a combination of final product and a process by which that work of art is created.” And each of them, it seems to me, wanted to bring that process into the work of art.

A. J. Close: He’s a novelist’s novelist. And this is not only because he is a superb professional—he’s got all the tricks of the trade—but also because of all the writers of his age and more than any other writer of his age, and as much as any writer since, he is the one who brings the novelist into the novel. He makes Don Quijote a story about how to read novels, how to write them, how to criticize them. People read them, write them, criticize them, burn them, discuss them madly, so it’s a story about reading and also writing. And this isn’t presented in the abstract as far as Cervantes is concerned. He is constantly bringing himself into the story. Think of the various masks that he adopts within the story. The most obvious one is the personage of the Moorish historian, who is supposed to be writing, with the preposterous name of Cide Hamete Benengeli. Benengeli, in- cidentally, means “aubergine” in Arabic. And the reason why Benengeli’s called with this aubergine-like name is that this is the epithet given to people of Toledo, and Benengeli comes from Toledo. Well, Cide Hamete Benengeli, the historian, is the clownish mask that Cervantes has put on to tell his story. And the more he hides himself behind Benengeli, the more you are aware of the fact that it is Cervantes, the puppet master, who is pulling the strings. And this isn’t the only mask he adopts. He appears in lots of other guises: the priest, for example, of Don Quijote’s village. He says that he is a very good friend of Cervantes, knows him very well. Well, very good friend is just a metaphor for “I’m Cervantes.” Cervantes keeps bringing himself into the story, and one of the interpolated episodes of Part I, the ex-captive’s story, is based in very particular detail on Cervantes’ personal experiences as a soldier, including participation in the battle of Lepanto, five years captivity in Algiers, and so on. And this autobiographical Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 143 reference is made quite plain inside the story. So, in all sorts of ways, Cervantes brings himself into his story-writing. And it’s not just as the writer, the author, the narrator: it’s as me, Cervantes. Barbara Nichol: This self-consciousness in the books, this awareness of the author and the reader, of the book being a book, acknowledged in the text, this is something we might call postmodern. But Cervantes is postmodern before there was even modern. He got there some four centuries ago. In a passage from the prologue, the author talks about his misgivings about the book, now that he is faced with the task of writing the prologue.

I would have preferred to give it to the world just as it is, plain and simple, not decorating it with a prologue or an endless list of all the sonnets, epigrams, and elegies we put in the front of books. Because, let me tell you, though writing the book was hard work, nothing was harder than this preface you’re reading right now. I kept picking up my pen and putting it down, over and over, not knowing what I was supposed to write, and once, when I was sitting like that, just hanging fire, motionless, with the paper in front of me, a pen stuck behind my ear, my elbow on the desk, my hand on my cheek, wondering what I ought to say, one of my friends suddenly came in, clever, smart, and seeing me so buried in thought asked me why, and I didn’t hide anything from him, I told him I was worried about the prologue I had to write for Don Quijote’s history, and beginning to think I neither wanted to write it nor let that noble knight’s adventures see the light of day. (I, Prologue; 7)

Barbara Nichol: The author is worried, he tells us, that he’s not going to be able to come up with proper elegies and epigrams and footnotes and sonnets, the learned citations, and one needs these to give the work an educated polish. But when the author’s friend drops by, the friend whom we met earlier, he has a great solution. All those elegies and epigrams and sonnets, the author should just make them up, attribute to whatever source he likes. Who is going to prove whomever is quoted didn’t say these things? Then, throw in a little Latin, as Cervantes writes: a pinch of Latin here, a pinch of Latin there. And this piece of advice:

And then, to show your learning in the humanities and in heavenly cosmography, make sure, somehow or other, you get the name of the 144 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

river Tagus into your history, and you’ve immediately got yourself another fantastic annotation like this: The river Tagus was named for a Spanish King; it originates in such-and-such a place and flows down to the ocean, kissing the walls of the famous city of Lisbon, which is said to be lined with gold, etc., etc., etc. (I, Prologue; 10) 5

Eduardo Urbina: The book is not so much about reality or about the character itself, but about fiction and fictionality. The main theme of the book is the book itself. The Quijote is first and foremost about the Quijote itself, and not about Don Quijote as a character, but about the Quijote itself as a fiction. That is a manual, so to speak, of how to write a novel, what is fiction, what is the essence of reality. And this is something that Jorge Luis Borges, the famous Argentinean writer, wrote and imi- tated too: this idea that the only reality is fiction. And as a result, fiction about fiction is the most real fiction there is.

Paul Kennedy: Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road was produced and presented by Barbara Nichol. It was the first of three parts.

Part II

Paul Kennedy: I’m Paul Kennedy and this is Ideas. It was four hundred years ago that Miguel de Cervantes published the first part ofDon Quijote, the story of a country hidalgo who goes mad reading books of chivalry and sets out as a knight-errant in search of adventure. The book was wonderfully popular when it was published. Four centuries later, it towers above world literature. Last year, in a poll of one hundred writers, it was voted the best and most central work of all time. Tonight our look inside this famous book continues with Part II of the three-part series Don Quijote: 400 Years on the Road. This series is presented by Barbara Nichol. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 145

Barbara Nichol: We are well into Part I of Don Quijote. Night is falling. Don Quijote and his squire Sancho Panza, a day of adventures behind them, despair of finding a bed for the night. Well, Sancho des- pairs. Don Quijote thinks it’s suitable for knights-errant to suffer in such ways. But they come upon a settlement of goatherds, a group of huts where they are taken in. They’re offered a warm place at the fire, and food and drink. The travelers eat their fill: salted goat and a great hard cheese. The wine horn, Cervantes tells us, was not lazing about for it kept on going around and around, sometimes full and sometimes empty, like the bucket of a water wheel. And then, Don Quijote, the recipient of simple generosity, grows thoughtful in this moment of companionship. To his now besotted and uncomprehending hosts, he talks about the time he calls “the Golden Age.”

Blessed the time, and blessed the centuries, called by the ancients the Golden Age! — and not because, then, the gold…came to men’s hands without effort, but because those who walked the earth in that time knew nothing of those two words, thine and mine. All things were shared, in that holy age; to obtain his daily bread, no one had to trouble himself any more than to lift his hand and gather his food from the sturdy oak trees, which freely rewarded them with their sweet, delicious fruit. On every hand there were clear fountains and flowing rivers, offering up their delightful, transparent waters. Wise and careful bees shaped their busy republic in the cleft rocks and the tree-hollows, offering the abundant harvest of their sweet work to whoever might come, freely and even-handedly. (I, 11; 59)

James Iffland: Do you remember the speech about the Golden Age, right at the very beginning?

Barbara Nichol: James Iffland is a professor of Spanish literature at Boston University. He’s published widely on Cervantes, with specific work on Avellaneda’s book.25

James Iffland: There Don Quijote talks about a prior point in hu-

25 As broadcast, the preceding and following text was mistakenly attributed to Edward Friedman, with an introduction of Friedman at this point. The introduction of Iffland has been relocated from a later point. 146 Barbara Nichol Cervantes man history, which he describes as an ideal time. Interestingly enough, at that ideal period in human history, there was no private property. We’re really talking about a form of primitive communism. He describes it as a time when there was peace, where there was enough food for everyone. People didn’t have to work the earth; nature itself was abundant and ge- nerous in the way it provided food for everyone. And Don Quijote says, “Well, ever since then, things have gone downhill.” He contrasts the Iron Age of the present with that Golden Age of the past. He points out that he has become a knight-errant as a kind of an antidote to the fact that we no longer have a Golden Age. Interestingly enough, a few chapters later, Don Quijote says that he was brought into the world to bring back the Golden Age, to resuscitate the Golden Age.26 That’s a much more radical thing than he said earlier. When he says that he was born to bring back the Golden Age, he is talking about bringing back a classless society.

Barbara Nichol: The novel Don Quijote tends to fend off interpretation. For every argument one can make about the meaning of text, there is an equally convincing other side, or many other sides. The book is like the Bible: you can find within it what you need to make your case. And certainly among the ideas that can be found within the book, there are social issues and traces of dissent.

James Iffland: Don Quijote is trying to change not only his own social status. He’s an hidalgo, lower nobility; he calls himself “don.” He turns himself into a caballero; he did not have the right to do that legally at the time. He dreams about becoming a king or an emperor. He’s actually into a form of social climbing. Sancho, of course, is also trying to go up in the world. He is a poor peasant. Don Quijote convinces him that he can be governor of an island, that he can become a count. Now, of course, all this comes off comically in the work, but it also is pointing out a real social problem of the period. There’s a huge demo- graphic crisis in Spain at the time. There had been some terrible plagues; there had been serious bouts of starvation at the end of the sixteenth century. The peasantry could not sustain itself out in the country, so many of them were abandoning the countryside. They were leaving their traditional places and going to the cities and trying to find a better way of life. So, as in a comical way, what Don Quijote is doing is adding to

26 I, 20; 110. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 147 the problems that the Crown was having at that time. Sancho leaves his job there, which is to be a farmer, and he’s off trying to go up the social ladder; in that, he is doing practically what the whole Spanish society at the time was doing. We’re of course talking about the early modern period, in which people were leaving behind what we can call medieval or feudal social formations. We’re entering an incipiently capitalist world and, as we know, capitalism demands physical mobility. People need to be able to move around. This was viewed by the land-holding aristocracy and elements within the church as a big problem. People were not ac- cepting their niche in society as they did during centuries of the Middle Ages. And this whole notion of “Oh, I can be something better; I can go up the ladder,” was viewed with tremendous alarm.

Barbara Nichol: Don Quijote intends to move above his social station, for good or ill. Is he wise or not? Well, for good or ill, he will be taking up a role he tells us that nobility’s abandoned. The heroes whose careers he followed in the books of chivalry were nobility, but they were warriors as well.

James Iffland: He makes a distinction between the model that is found in the books of chivalry: that is, a nobleman who actually carried out his original function of a warrior. The nobility was essentially a warrior class. In the books of chivalry, in a very stylized way, we find the values of a warrior class still very much intact. But of course by the early seventeenth century, the nobility had largely abandoned that function. In other words, they had been given a huge number of privileges. For example, the nobility did not pay the majority of taxes. Why? Well, they didn’t pay taxes but if there were a war, the nobility was expected to mobilize, to get soldiers together, and go out and fight those wars. For a variety of reasons, including the introduction of firearms into warmaking, the nobility had essentially begun to abandon that whole function. Now all they do is hang around at the court. They dress up in fancy clothes; they use perfume. They no longer are willing to go out and risk their hide. There we have Don Quijote on a number of occasions saying: “Look, I’m doing what should be done. The nobility of my period aren’t doing what they should be.” That’s one thing. Then, of course, we have this curious tendency to physically attack church figures. We should realize the Don Quijote never goes into church during Part I. The only time he uses a rosary and prays is when he is doing penance in the Sierra Morena; he makes a 148 Barbara Nichol Cervantes rosary out of his shirt tail, which is of course a very disrespectful way of putting together a rosary. And there are three moments in Part I where he physically attacks churchmen. Physically attacking church people at the time led to automatic excommunication. So Don Quijote, for all in- tents and purposes, is excommunicated at that particular point.

Barbara Nichol: Miguel de Cervantes was excommunicated twice, while working for the crown collecting goods and taxes. The Church sometimes resisted giving up what it was asked. And the Church domi- nating the culture as it did is very much a feature of the landscape of the story.

Carroll Johnson: Along about Chapter 4 of Part I, Don Quijote is just setting out on his adventures.

Barbara Nichol: Carroll B. Johnson is a professor at the University of California at Los Angeles. Among his publications are the books: Madness and Lust, The Quest for Modern Fiction, and Cervantes and the Material World.

Carroll Johnson: He meets a group of people that the narrator identifies as silk merchants from Toledo, who are on their way to Murcia to buy silk. Don Quijote, of course, identifies them as the opportunity for chivalric adventure. And the one that occurs to him on this particular occasion is to stop these people and challenge them to acknowledge that Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beautiful woman in the world. This is a typical kind of episode from the books of chivalry that were his favorite reading, and that he sets out to imitate. So he stops these guys in the middle of the road and challenges them in the manner of the books of chivalry. But before long, he is asking them to do things in a sequence: to believe, confess, swear, and defend that Dulcinea is the most beautiful. So the language of his challenge has sort of slipped off from the discourse of chivalric romance with knights and ladies into the discourse of contemporary religious polemic. Not only that, the particular people that he is addressing—anybody in that society who is identified as a merchant—is probably a descendant of Jews who were all converted to Christianity in 1492.

Daniel Eisenberg: Spain was a country in which there had been massive conversions from Judaism to Christianity at the end of the fifte- Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 149 enth century, some of them before, a few of them after.

Barbara Nichol: Daniel Eisenberg is the editor of the journal of the Cervantes Society of America.

Daniel Eisenberg: It became illegal to be a Jew in Spain in 1492. The people who were descendants of the Jews were faced with a whole series of discriminatory measures in Spain. For example, to go to the New World, you had to come up with a document that said that your bloodlines were pure, that there was no trace of Judaism in them. But people who were part of that class were, to some extent, outsiders in society, people who were barred from lucrative jobs, from prestige. And this definitely, I believe, was a factor both in Cervantes’ moderate economic success and even in his moderate success as an author in his own time. His father was a surgeon, which was not an M.D. as we would have it today, but a sort of trade and, by the way, being a tax collector was almost the paradigmatic Jewish occupation. This was something that the kings would constantly hire Jews to do, back when there were Jews in Spain. His grandfather was a lawyer. His great-grandfather was a cloth merchant. They all did the sort of things that were associated with Jews or descendants from Jews. And on his mother’s side the same thing.

Edward Friedman: Just at the very beginning of Part I, in the prologue, he is a man who fictionalizes himself. He’s the author who has a work of art, and he is lamenting the fact that he doesn’t quite have the literary background or the inclination to write a prologue.

Barbara Nichol: Edward Friedman, on one of many moments when the author puts in an appearance.

Edward Friedman: You see that he is filling the space of the prologue by talking about the problem of writing a prologue, and he invents an alter ego, a friend who gives him advice about writing a prologue and suggests that he not take the normal route, but that he invent things and make up things, and really be a little bit irresponsible. And there is a certain challenge to authority.

Barbara Nichol: One can find the traces of social dissent and ar- 150 Barbara Nichol Cervantes tistic dissent as well. Cervantes was almost sixty when he published the first part of his book. His creative life had not turned out as he had ho- ped. In an irony that befits the author of this kaleidoscopic tale, his many disappointments might have been the bits of sand inside the oyster. Eduardo Urbina is a professor of Hispanic literature at Texas A&M University and the director of The Cervantes Project.

Eduardo Urbina: It is obvious that when you see his failures in poetry, when you see his failures in the theater, and some types of narrative, such as the pastoral, that it wasn’t until he discovered this sort of free, experimental way of writing that he was able to recognize his own talent as a storyteller. He was pretty much ridiculed and excluded from the high level circles of literary life in Madrid. Even though he was a member of one of these academies—writers got together and read things to each other, and so forth—he was always considered uneducated, un- learned, somebody that was trying to fake it, so to speak: that he didn’t have the resources, the education, or the background to aspire to write a major Renaissance humanistic book. In fact that probably was the case, because the only really fantastic success that he had was in a book that was totally outside the norms, outside any genres, outside any of the traditional sort of Renaissance writings. That he had to invent this mode of writing and this type of narrative that now we call the novel, is indicative that his talents for narrative, for storytelling, did not surface completely until he found a vehicle to do so, but one that he had to invent himself, because there was no other way to do it. That Cervantes died thinking that the Persiles, his last novel, was going to be his major work, his claim for eternal fame, is indicative that even in 1616, Cervantes still was trying to write something serious, something according to the respected norms and canons, and still had not quite himself realized what he had done with the Quijote, because he thought that the Persiles was going to be his greatest work. And obviously we know that that did not happen.

Just then, they came upon thirty or forty windmills, …and as soon as don Quijote saw them he said to his squire: “Destiny guides our fortunes more favorably than we could have expected. Look there, Sancho Panza, my friend, and see those thirty or so wild giants, which whom I intend to do battle and to kill each Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 151

and all of them, so with their stolen booty we can begin to enrich ourselves. This is noble, righteous warfare, for it is wonderfully useful to God to have such an evil race wiped from the face of the earth.” “What giants?” asked Sancho Panza. “The ones you can see over there,” answered his master, “with the huge arms, some of which are nearly two leagues long.” “Now look, your grace,” said Sancho Panza, “what you see over there aren’t giants, but windmills, and what seem to be arms are just their sails, that go round in the wind and turn the millstone.” “Obviously,” replied don Quijote, “you don’t know much about adventures. Those are giants, and if you are frightened, take yourself away from here and say your prayers, while I go charging into savage and unequal combat with them.” Saying which, he spurred his horse, Rocinante, paying no attention to the shouts of Sancho Panza, his squire, warning him that without any question it was windmills and not giants he was going to attack. So utterly convinced was he they were giants…that he neither heard Sancho’s cries nor noticed, close as he was, what they really were, but charged on, crying: “Flee not, oh cowards and dastardly creatures, for he who attacks you is a knight alone and unaccompanied.” (I, 8; 43–44)

Barbara Nichol: From the famous windmills scene from Part I. Finally with the publication of the book, Cervantes had won himself a popular success. And then, a decade later, came Part II. Barry Ife is the Cervantes Professor of Spanish at King’s College, London. Among his publications on this subject are Reading and Fiction in Golden Age Spain and the upcoming The Origins of the Novel in Spain.

Barry Ife: Everything everybody knows about Don Quixote comes from the first half of Book I, the first quarter of the work. The tilting at windmills, the episode of the flocks of sheep, all of those famous episodes come fairly early on in the book. And I guess what happens is that the readers work beyond that and then they suddenly stop recognizing things from the popular perception of the book. And there is no doubt that by the middle of Book I, it gets very complicated. You’ve got Chinese boxes of stories within stories. And I think the great tragedy of Don Quixote is that few people make it through to Book II. And Book 152 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

II, which he published ten years after Book I, is a very, very interesting sequel. It raises lots and lots of issues. It’s a continuation, but in many ways, it’s a radically different book, because what Cervantes does in Book II is make Don Quixote famous. When we start Book II, it starts with one of Quixote’s neighbors rushing in and saying: “There’s a novel about you on the market. People are reading Don Quixote Part I.” So Cervantes incorporates the first book into the second, and he makes Quixote famous. Whereas in Book I whenever Quixote goes out into the street or into the countryside, people wonder who on earth he is, because he is a throwback from 150 years earlier, a knight-errant. In Book II, everybody he meets says “Ah, I’ve read about you, you are Don Quixote, you’re famous,” and that completely changes the dynamic between Don Quixote and the rest of the world.

Barbara Nichol: In Part I, Cervantes lets the reader in on what he, the author, is up to in the act of composition. He takes us with him as he undertakes the book. And in Part II, he has a further twist to offer. He shares with us what it is to have ten years ago published the famous novel, Don Quijote. He takes up, for example, in Part II complaints the critics made of Part I. A common grievance, then as now, concerned long stories, the interpolated tales, told by characters our hero comes across. Diana de Armas Wilson is a Professor Emerita of English and Renaissance Studies at the University of Denver. She’s the editor of the Norton Critical Edition of Don Quijote and the author of Cervantes, the Novel, and the New World. Diana de Armas Wilson: He was certainly criticized for what they called “a bewildering succession of inset tales.” I guess they just want straight plot, Don Quijote and Sancho. In fact, in Part II, Don Quijote himself would say, “Wasn’t my story, the story of my life, interesting enough not to be punctuated all the time by these inset stories?”27 One critic, a kind of famous Oxford don, called them “the padding of a tired author.”28 There’s another critic, a Victorian, Ormsby, who called the ta-

27 “I have no idea why the author relied on novellas and irrelevant stories when there was so much to be written about me” (II, 3; 378). 28 The allusion is to Salvador de Madariaga: “The rapid succession of episodes which suddenly break into the main narrative precisely towards the end of [Part I]…is less the rich reward of fresh inspiration than the padding of a tired author who disperses in minor tasks an effort no longer sufficient for his main creation.” (Don Quixote. An Introductory Essay in Psychology, revised edition with additional chapter, reprint of 1961 ed. [London: Oxford University Press, Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 153 les commonplace, just filled with intrigue and he especially trashed one of them, and that’s the “The Tale of the Curious Impertinent.” He called it as “a nauseous story.”29 Well, I mean, I happen to think that these inset stories are dazzling psychological masterpieces. They really all do connect with and they comment upon among each other and also on the main plot. I would like to mention the wonderful tale of Cardenio who was a erotomaniac; he goes mad for love. And it’s interesting to me that this tale must have caught Shakespeare’s eye, since there is evidence that Shakespeare wrote on or may have jointly authored a lost play called Cardenio, that we are still looking for.30 Edward Friedman: In Part II, when there’s a discussion of how readers have responded to Part I, the biggest issue is that readers seem to have felt that the incorporation of one of the interpolated stories, “El curioso impertinente,” or “The Tale of Ill-Advised Curiosity” it’s been called, is interesting but doesn’t really belong in the text.

Barbara Nichol: “The Tale of the Curious Impertinent,” “The Tale of Ill-Advised Curiosity”: the title varies with translation. It’s the story of a man who convinces his best friend to test his wife’s fidelity. He has no reason to suspect his wife and it all ends in disaster.

Edward Friedman: What I like to mention is that right before that appears in the text, there is a discussion of what’s more valuable, fiction or history. And in the novel, what follows is a work of pure fiction, and then “The Captive’s Tale,” the story of a man that has been captive as Cervantes was in North Africa, who talks about his experiences. There is a real interesting juxtaposition of discussion of fiction, discussion of real

1966], p. 80). 29 Ormsby’s “Translator’s Preface” was not included in the vanished and much-lamented revised edition prepared by Joseph R. Jones and Kenneth Douglas and published by Norton in 1981. It is available at: (23 Dec. 2006), and also at (23 June 2006). 30 On the survival of the lost Cardenio of Shakespeare and Fletcher in an eighteenth- century adaptation, The Double Falsehood of Louis Theobald, see myLa interpretación cervantina del Quijote, trans. Isabel Verdaguer (Madrid: Compañía Literaria, 1995), Chapter 4, p. 135, n. 94, available online at (23 Dec. 2006). While it is also available at the Biblioteca Cervantes Virtual (, 23 Dec. 2006), the footnote numbers of their text do not match those of the printed book. 154 Barbara Nichol Cervantes life stories, and then, the presentation of pure fiction, the presentation of a real life story. And what I think is interesting is that the fictional story is in many ways more realistic and more verisimilar than the so-called real life story that follows it. So, it’s one detail, but it’s the idea that nothing really is out of place, and I think it’s very hard to think of abridging Don Quijote. A. J. Close: For Cervantes, the inclusion of interpolated episodes, in Part I and Part II, was absolutely essential.

Barbara Nichol: A. J. Close is a Reader of Spanish at the University of Cambridge. Among his books are: The Romantic Approach to Don Quijote and Cervantes and the Comic Mind of his Age.

A. J. Close: What the Renaissance appreciated in books was the more the merrier, and the more different, the better. So, the inclusion of episodes would have been considered essential by Cervantes on the grounds of variety. Now modern readers are, as were some seventeenth- century Spanish readers, much more interested in the doings and characters of Quixote and Sancho than of Cervantes’s romantic heroes and heroines.

Barry Ife: At the time, in his time, he was criticized heavily for the insertion of extraneous material in Part I, the episodes of the interpolated novels. And it’s common to say that Cervantes took that criticism on board and had less extraneous material in Book II. I don’t think that’s true. I think he has just as much episodic material in Book II, but he just hides it better. He stitches it together more seamlessly.

Barbara Nichol: In Part II, Cervantes lets the reader know he’s heard all their complaints about Part I. He doesn’t seem too cowed. He joins in. His characters will gripe about aspects of the book his critics pointed out. Very famously he acknowledges some obvious mistakes, places in Part I where a copy edit might have been abused.

A. J. Close: Cervantes composed it off his cuff. He improvised as he went along. He didn’t plan. The famous omission of how Sancho’s donkey got stolen in mid-Part I, is the most famous example of all. Suddenly, in the middle of Chapter 25 of Part I, Sancho’s donkey is no longer there, without any explanation of how it disappeared. And it reappears again very late in Part I, in Chapter 42 and again in Chapter 46 Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 155 with no explanation as to how Sancho recovered the donkey. Well, this is just one example of how there are various sorts of inconsequentiali- ty, inconsistency, signs of off-the-cuff improvisation in the novel. And seventeenth-century readers found that odd. We, paradoxically, tend to find it one of the attractions of Don Quijote. It is so unpredictable, so zany, you never know where it’s coming from, and modern readers tend to be less irritated by this feature.

Barbara Nichol: And Cervantes has an explanation for the mistakes that crop up in Part I. He blames the printers, and, indeed, it might have been their fault.

A. J. Close: The compositors of the book, that is to say, the people who actually printed the pages simply took the manuscript as it had been given to them and they lost one page or two. Cervantes himself alludes to this. Were there editors of books? Not normally. He just sold the manuscript to a bookseller, and booksellers in those days were also publishers, and once you sold it to the bookseller that was it, as far as he was concerned. Next time he saw the book was when the book was in print.

Paul Kennedy: Tonight on Ideas you are listening to Don Quijote: 400 Years on the Road, produced and presented by Barbara Nichol. 5

Barbara Nichol: The petty criticisms leveled at the book, details concerning disappearing donkeys and the like, these were the sort of the criticisms Cervantes could swat away. But there was a reader of Part I who seems to have taken issue with the novel as a whole, and who brought Cervantes grief. Before Cervantes could release his second part, a false sequel was published. It was written by an unknown author, who took the name Alonso Fernández de Avellaneda.31 James Iffland: There are two major camps in modern Cervantes scholarship. There is the group which, in fact, says that Cervantes was criticizing Spanish society of his time. Then, there is the other school, which says wait a minute, wait a minute, what we’re doing is projecting our own reading of the work, our own twentieth or twenty-first century reading of the works back onto what is essentially a literary parody. Now,

31 As broadcast, James Iffland was introduced at this point. 156 Barbara Nichol Cervantes the big question is: how did a Spaniard of the seventeenth century read the work? There are only a few allusions at the time that would seem to indicate that some writers, some intellectuals of the time were, in fact, picking up on what we could call contestatory or critical dimensions of the work. In the case of Avellaneda, here we have a complete work produced by a contemporary of Cervantes. In other words, in this work, we see how at least one Spaniard at the time viewed Cervantes’s Part I. And in that sense, I think, to the degree that we can find Avellaneda trying to counteract Cervantes’s Part I—in other words, where he is specifically going at aspects of the work that somehow rattled people’s cages—I think that we can, as I say, by trying to reconstruct the reading that we find in Avellaneda, we can, in fact, show that at least some readers at the time, were in fact picking up on those disquieting vibes. I think he was bothered to a certain degree by the comic dimension of the work, and the way that comic dimension of the work, in very oblique ways, does in fact question the position of the aristocracy and the role of the Church at the time. Of course, Cervantes, like all authors of the period in Spain, had to take into account that everything that he wrote would go through a fairly rigorous process of censorship. So if you were going to make any kind of criticism about the system, particularly about theological matters or church matters, you had to do it indirectly. And of course Cervantes’s work was approved for publication. When it came out it was very widely read, and I think that Avellaneda was a good enough reader of the first part to figure out that Cervantes was, in fact, tweaking the nose of the establishment, so to speak, and he was doing it in such a clever way that it was hard to really point fingers at him and say, “Hey, look, he is attacking the system!” So, actually, through various complicated series of maneuvers, Avellaneda tries to redirect the comical dimension in his own continuation, in such a way, at least I think and many of my colleagues think, that it comes out as being ideologically charged in a much more orthodox or conservative fashion. In Don Quijote, Part I, if you just look at the representations of laughter in Cervantes’s Don Quijote, you find that laughter is going in all directions. The first people who laugh at Don Quijote in Part I are actually the prostitutes who are sitting at the door of the inn, the first inn that he visits. So this is laughter going from the lower social stratum towards Don Quijote, who is after all at least an hidalgo, a member of the lower nobility. Laughter goes in all directions in Cervantes, whereas in Avellaneda it’s typically laughter coming from aristocrats, or a group dominated by the aristocrats, and it’s Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 157 elitist laughter, a laughter which is designed to put Don Quijote in his place.

Barbara Nichol: So who was Avellaneda? Well, no one knows for sure.

James Iffland: Personally, I think that he was probably a member of the younger generation of authors. My feeling is that there is a whole batch of authors who were born around the year 1580, which would make them, say, twenty-five or thirty years younger than Cervantes. My feeling is that it was probably someone from the lower aristocracy, somebody who was trying to make his way up in the very complicated courtly world of the time, and someone who was probably very conservative ideologically, and who was somewhat upset by what he was reading in the first part of Don Quijote. It’s also quite clear, by the way, that he was probably very close to the famous Spanish playwright of the period, Lope de Vega, who was the founder of the Spanish national theater; at least, that’s the way he’s looked at now. Cervantes had taken some pots- hots at Lope in Part I, and Avellaneda says himself in his prologue that Cervantes should stay away from Lope. So clearly, at least in my opinion, Avellaneda was somebody who belonged to Lope’s circle. Actually, some critics theorize that it may have been Lope himself; I don’t think that’s a possibility.

Barbara Nichol: Whatever the tensions were between Cervantes and the circle he defended, and it was an influential circle at the time, it’s clear relations were bitter. A sort of bickering went back and forth between their work and his.

James Iffland: Avellaneda, in his prologue, is incredibly insul- ting towards Cervantes. He refers to his age: Cervantes was probably about sixty-seven when Avellaneda publishes his work. So Avellaneda makes cracks about Cervantes’s age, he makes cracks about the fact that Cervantes had a bad hand, the use of which he lost because of a battle wound, that he was a manco. And he says, “I am going to publish this so that he won’t make any money with his continuation.” In other words, he wants to sabotage any kind of financial benefit that Cervantes can derive from the publication of his own Part II. But he also claims that 158 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

Cervantes made cracks about him in his prologue to Part I.32

Daniel Eisenberg: In the latest issue of the journal of the Cervantes Society of America is a review essay of a book that came out in Spain last year, which does say… I mean, the title of the review article is “Now We Know Who Avellaneda Was.”33 And Avellaneda has been identified with a person called Jerónimo de Pasamonte who, in turn, is the basis for the character Ginés de Pasamonte, who is present in both Don Quixote Part I and Part II, and, in fact, is the one who stole the donkey. So the pieces start to fall together. It’s clear also that there was some enmity between Cervantes and this character, Jerónimo de Pasamonte, but we don’t know the details of what it is.

Barbara Nichol: The content of the false Part II. This would have provided to Cervantes with extra sorrow. To begin with, Dulcinea is not on the scene. Here is a Don Quijote whose heart is not steadfast, not the romantic idealist we meet in Cervantes’ work; someone who would give his life for a chaste and perfect love. And then we see our hero humbled, manipulated by a noble. His name is Don Álvaro Tarfe. Tarfe makes a laughing stock of Don Quijote. He makes of him a plaything, a pawn of the nobility. In this version of Quijote, the false Part II, Quijote and his squire travel to Saragossa and Madrid. They make their way through cities where they end up in some struggles with the law, and they have a traveling companion. No lady fair: she is a prostitute, an ugly one, a tripe seller who’s passed her prime, named Barbara. At the end of false Part II, Don Quijote is locked up in an asylum for the mad, in Toledo. Sancho Panza is a paid buffoon, after-dinner entertainment. Barbara is living in a home for worn-out prostitutes. A degrading end for all.

James Iffland: One thing that readers of Part I notice is how important the romances of chivalry are in terms of establishing the struc-

32 This prologue is excerpted in the Norton edition of the Raffel translation, pp. 765–67. 33 Helena Percas de Ponseti, “Un misterio dilucidado: Pasamonte fue Avellaneda” [review article of Alfonso Martín Jiménez, El Quijote de Cervantes y el Quijote de Pasamonte. Una imitación recíproca] Cervantes 22.1 (2002): 127–54, (6 Feb. 2006). Subsequently, Percas has published “La reconfirmación de que Pasamonte fue Avellaneda,” Cervantes 25.1 (2005 [2006]): 167–99, (19 June 2006). Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 159 ture of Cervantes’s Part I, whereas when we read Part II, one notices very early in the reading process that it’s no longer the romances of chivalry but Cervantes’s own Part I and the false second part that really are the basic points of contact with the literary past. It also creates its own sense of irony because Cervantes was playing around with the idea that what he was writing was the “True History of don Quijote.” And when a false sequel appears, that really makes that so-called “true history” the true history, if the other is false. So there is a whole new system of ironies that really can come into play in Part II. I think his own Part II is much, much stronger because of that intervention and that invasion into his personal space. I think the way he deals with that is fascinating and really makes the novel stronger.

Barbara Nichol: So Cervantes now has something else to offer, as he shares with us what it is to be the author of this book. He’s folded in the false Part II as well. And he makes it clear he’s angry at the intrusion of Avellaneda, that he will best and thwart him. And as for Avellaneda, at the end of the false Part II, it looked as if he was threatening to go another round.

James Iffland: Avellaneda says a couple of things at the end of his Part II that would worry Cervantes. First, he suggests that there is going to be a continuation but that it would center on Sancho. Secondly, he says that there are rumors that Don Quijote was freed from the insane asylum in Toledo and that he went off on another series of adventures. The rumor also says that his squire this time was actually a woman disguised as a man, so the new Sancho is a woman disguised as a man, and that there were a series of adventures which took him through a number of cities of Old Castile. So, obviously when Cervantes is looking at the end of this work, he is saying: “Oh, my God, this is going to go on!” and “How can I stop it?” One of the most important potential changes is the whole matter of Don Quijote’s death. Now here I’m sure I’m going to have a lot of disagreement from some of my colleagues with “modern” interpretations of the works or, at least, interpretations of the works which go back to the Romantic period. Our Don Quijote is the “Man of La Mancha” Don Quijote, very much a product of Romantic premises. And in that reading of the work Don Quijote becomes a semi-tragic figure, a poor fellow who is following his impossible dream, who’s too good for this world and therefore must die. That’s pretty much an axiom in much of Cervantes 160 Barbara Nichol Cervantes criticism nowadays and also in the “Man in La Mancha” way of looking at the work. I personally wonder whether Cervantes really planned to have Don Quijote die at the end of his Part II. After all, Don Quijote is only fifty years old. He is not ancient by any means. Cervantes, of course, knows that at the end of the false Part II there is mention of further adventures. Does he want his creation to be exploited by that rival, by that enemy Avellaneda? How can he prevent further exploitation of his creation? Well, one way of doing it is having him die off. And if you look at the way that the end of the authentic Part II shapes up, it’s quite clear that Cervantes wants Don Quijote dead so that Avellaneda or anybody else will not be able to use him. Again, there’s nothing in the logic of the text which requires him to die.

Barbara Nichol: And in the final paragraph of the real Part II, our final moment in the chronicles of Don Quijote, Don Quijote has now died. The author of the work has this to say:

Don Quijote was born only for me, and I for him; he knew how to act, and I how to write; only we two are a unity, in spite of that fake…scribbler who dared — and may dare again — to record with his fat ostrich-feathered quill such badly drawn adventures for my brave knight, who is far too weighty for his shoulders to bear, and is a subject his frozen brains could never take on — so warn him, if you happen ever to meet, that he’d better let the weary, powdered bones of Don Quijote rest in their tomb. (II, 74; 746)

Barry Ife: I think, from my point of view, the only thing I would criticize is that Part II does run out of steam towards the end. I think there is a very simple reason for that: in order to wrong-foot Avellaneda’s spurious Part II, he took Quixote’s path and brought him back along the same route. And there are a couple of episodes that duplicate each other as he retraces his earlier steps.

Barbara Nichol: Whatever the effects of Avellaneda’s book, his presence on this earth provided for a lovely bit of literary revenge. In Cervantes’ real Part II, the story of the real Quijote, we run into a character who’s just back from the gates of hell. And at the gates of hell she saw some devils playing tennis. They played with rackets made of fire instead of wood. And they didn’t play with balls; they played their game by hitting back and forth some books, and the books that they were hitting at Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 161 the mouth of hell? Copies of Avellaneda’s false Part II.

James Iffland: The false Part II provides us with a rather amazing moment in literary history for a variety of reasons. In Chapter 72, with only two more chapters left in the work, Don Quijote checks in at an inn and runs into none other than Álvaro Tarfe.

Barbara Nichol: Don Álvaro Tarfe is the character from the false Part II who sets up Don Quijote for ridicule. He shows up in the real Part II. And Don Quijote asks from him his statement that the work he was invented for, the false Part II, was not the story of the real Quijote.

James Iffland: We have this remarkable situation in which Don Quijote is trying to prove that he’s the real thing. He is trying to prove that the other work is false, and yet, out of that fake work, in walks this character who begins to dialogue with him. And so, Don Quijote says, “Look, I want to set things straight.” And he calls in the local mayor with a notary. And we have Don Álvaro testifying before the notary that this is the real Don Quijote. It’s a strange labyrinth that Cervantes is putting together here. Again, this brings us into a very tricky area. In other words, how can we say or to what degree are we justified in saying that Cervantes’s Don Quijote is the real thing, as opposed to Avellaneda’s? They’re both literary characters. Ontologically, what’s the difference between one and the other?

Paul Kennedy: On Ideas tonight, Part II of the three-part series, Don Quijote: 400 Years on the Road, produced and presented by Barbara Nichol.

Part III

Paul Kennedy: I’m Paul Kennedy and this is Ideas. 5 162 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

Paul Kennedy: It was in 1605 that the first part ofDon Quijote was published. It’s the story of a man who’s driven mad by reading fiction. He reinvents himself according to the literature of chivalry. He will be a knight-errant and a local peasant girl he barely knows, he will imagine her his lady fair, his Dulcinea. On his horse, named Rocinante, and with his squire, Sancho Panza, he set out looking for adventures. And so Miguel de Cervantes divides the simple framework and hung upon it images and stories that stayed with us for centuries. Tonight, the final part of three programs on the book’s enduring power. Don Quijote: 400 Years on the Road was produced and presented by Barbara Nichol.

Barbara Nichol: It’s Part I, and it’s raining. Don Quijote and his squire Sancho Panza are traveling the back roads of Spain. They’ve recently been foiled in one adventure, but they will now succeed in another. They come across a barber-surgeon who is one his way from one town to the next. Cervantes’ father was a barber-surgeon, it turns out, and traveled a great deal in search of work. This barber-surgeon in the book is wearing his barber’s basin on his head to protect his hat from rain. Don Quijote spots the basin on the surgeon’s head and decides that he is wearing not a basin, but a legendary helmet, a marvelous enchanted object: Mambrino’s helmet. Quijote spurs his horse and charges at the surgeon, who jumps down off his mule and runs away. Don Quijote wins Mambrino’s helmet, a victory. In the wake of this great deed, Sancho Panza talks of his regret that no one will know of Don Quijote’s exploits, of a brave feat such as this. But Quijote disagrees. He points out that once a knight has roamed the world, the word gets out. How a knight such as he can one day expect, for instance, to be known and welcomed far and wide. Entering an unfamiliar city, the children will be the first to see him coming.

He’s already known for his deeds, and when the little boys see him coming though the city gate they tag along after him, and run all around him, shouting: “Here’s the Knight of the Sun,” or the Serpent, or whatever sign he rides under and in the name of which he has accomplished great deeds …So they’ll all run around proclai- ming your exploits, and soon, responding to the yelling and clamo- Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 163

ring of the boys and the other good citizens, the king of that realm will come to the window of his royal palace and, the moment he sees the knight, will recognize him by his armor, or perhaps by the device on his shield…and the king will meet him halfway up the great stair- case, and wrap his arms around him, and give him ceremonial kisses on the cheek, and then he’ll lead him by the hand to the queen’s own chambers, where the knight will find her with her daughter, the princess, who’ll of course be one of the most beautiful, polished damsels anyone could unearth, no matter how hard they tried, anywhere in all the known parts of the world. So what will happen, the moment they meet, is that the princess will fix her eyes on him, and he’ll fix his on her, and they’ll each think the other more divine than human, and without knowing why or why not, then and there they’ll be tangled in love’s intricate net, and their hearts will swim in sorrow, not knowing how they can give utterance and voice to their yearning and their love. (I, 21; 123–24)

Barbara Nichol: And so Don Quijote described a scene typical of the books of chivalry, upon which he fashioned his new life. These fantasies of his, of brave deeds and ladies fair, found purpose in a life in which adventure and romance were in very short supply.

Carroll Johnson: Don Quijote belongs to a class of people at the lowest end of the aristocratic spectrum.

Barbara Nichol: Carroll B. Johnson is a professor at the University of California at Los Angeles. Among his publications are the books Madness and Lust, The Quest for Modern Fiction, and Cervantes and the Material World. Carroll Johnson: The society, like all societies in Europe, was divided into nobles and commoners. Don Quijote is a noble, but he is a very, very minor noble. He belongs to a class that was known as hidalgos. Among all of Spanish aristocracy, the hidalgos did not have the right to call themselves “don,” but like all other aristocrats, they were expected to live on their land, and live off what the land would produce, that is, without working. This aristocratic state was standard across Europe and has the Latin name of “otium cum dignitate,” leisure with dignity. Well, Don Quijote is a very, very minor aristocrat, living at a time where the Spanish economy was suffering galloping inflation generally due to the 164 Barbara Nichol Cervantes influx of precious metals from America, which produced what we might call the hundred-dollar-cup-of-coffee effect. He has to live on what his land can produce, and he’s just being squeezed by inflation. And he is sort of imprisoned in his own status as an aristocrat. In terms of the affective part of his life, he is a bachelor, and as far as we know, he has never been married. He lives with two women: a housekeeper, who is about his own age, and his niece. And my idea of the sort of unspoken emotional part of his day-to-day existence in this household is that he is a perfect candidate for what a few years ago was known as mid-life crisis, a resurgence in mid-life of the problems of adolescence, kind of a second adolescence. OK, so this guy is a fifty-year-old bachelor, lives by himself, with these two women, one of whom, his niece, has grown from a little adolescent into a young woman about “not quite twenty,” the text says. And precisely the same period in his life where he is going though all of this Sturm und Drang of second adolescence: bad combination. The way I read the book, there’s the suggestion, although never overtly stated in the text, that what’s bothering this guy, besides his precarious economic situation, is uncomfortable feelings toward his own niece, which of course he attempts to repress. My idea is that he throws himself into the reading of this particular literary genre that’s characterized by sex and violence as a way to take his mind off what’s sitting there across the table from him at mealtimes, and so on and so on. That line of defense, that is, reading, losing himself imaginatively in these adventures, doesn’t seem to do the trick. The only thing that’s left is to physically get out of there and psychically dissociate himself from that intolerable situation. And I think that’s what motivates his insanity. Psychosis is sort of the last-ditch desperate defense that human beings can mount against intolerable ambiental pressure, and I think that’s what happens to Don Quijote. A. J. Close: He was fascinated by character, and this is what distinguishes him from other Spanish writers of this time. He considered drawing characters his specialty. He focuses on them, and if you just flip through the pages of Don Quijote, you can see that hundreds and hundreds of pages of it are devoted just to talk, just to dialogue; not to the narration but dialogue, what one character says to another, how another character reacts.

Barbara Nichol: He was fascinated by character, Cervantes, and by what these days we call psychology, and the watching under a mag- nifying glass the tiny wheels and cogs that move life along. This is one Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 165 aspect of the book that scholars talk about, when asked about the new ways the novel broke new ground.

Carroll Johnson: If you know this book, you kind of have an entry into all kinds of modern fiction. I think what later writers have seized on mostly is the idea of a book about a human life in the process of forming itself in some kind of dialectical relationship with its circumstances. According to the Hungarian theorist George Lukacs, that’s what distinguishes a novel from other kinds of narrative fictions, that dialectical relationship. A character starts out in the world, really, not formed. The character’s identity is problematical, in doubt. He is trying to convince himself that he really is who he thinks he is, or who he wants to be. And as the work progresses, he comes in contact with other people, institutions, and even physical objects. And as a result of these interactions, by the end of it, his character has evolved in some way, and chances are that the environment has also been changed as a result of this interaction. It’s a back-and-forth: I say one thing; you counter with something else that I hadn’t thought of, that goes against what I’m saying. I am forced then to accommodate myself in some way to take into account what you’ve said to me. I think a dialogue is more the back-and-forth, where a dialectic leads to a series of conclusions. The classical Hegelian definition is that a thesis that’s countered by an antithesis that leads to some kind of a synthesis which in turn becomes the new thesis for the next go-around, and so on. Somebody has called this the Cervantine principle.

A. J. Close: Criticism since about the mid-nineteenth century has recognized that Don Quijote is a very important work of transition between, let’s say, the medieval epic or the chivalric romances, which were forms of medieval epic, and the modern novel.

Barbara Nichol: A. J. Close is a reader of Spanish at the University of Cambridge. Among his books are The Romantic Approach to Don Quijote and Cervantes and the Comic Mind of his Age. A. J. Close: The reason why it’s such an important hinge work is because what you get in Don Quijote is the equivalent of a medieval epic or a chivalric novel, but located psychologically in the brain of Don Quijote, because he, as far as he’s concerned, is living a chivalric romance. He is a hero of chivalric romance, which he regards as true history. Now this relocation of medieval epic in the brain of the hero, and with the 166 Barbara Nichol Cervantes hero’s delusions projected very realistically against the studied, realistic psychological way, and projected very realistically and also ironically and satirically against the backdrop of ordinary, everyday contemporary society, this was a very major step. If you think of some of the great nineteenth-century novels —for example, think of Madame Bovary, think of The Pickwick Papers, think of Vanity Fair, and Martin Chuzzlewit—what you get is something rather similar. That is to say, in Madame Bovary, a heroine who is fed by too much reading of romantic literature and sees herself in terms of the escapist fantasies of romantic literature, and tries to live them out, with disastrous results, because she is not taking account of the truth of her circumstances. She is married to a rather dull doctor in a drab Normandy town, and she’s surrounded by very prosaic and humdrum people, yet she has these great dreams of romantic adventure, and she has a succession of lovers and the love affairs turn out disastrously, and eventually she dies committing suicide. Flaubert said of Don Quijote, it’s the book that I knew by heart, before I ever could read even. Well, that’s just one example. You get the influence of Cervantes in the same kind of way in Jane Austen, in Fielding, in Mark Twain, in Dostoevski, and hundreds of others I could name. And what you get in the great eighteenth-century novelists, and they took it from Cervantes, whom they admired deeply, was the sense of an individual experience lived through time. When a reader reads a novel, he or she identifies with the hero or heroine, and when he or she’s finished the novel, feels as though a great chapter of his own life is being closed in a certain way. This sense of living with characters throughout their career or a significant part of it is something the eighteenth-century novelists introduced, and it’s something they got with Don Quijote. Because before Don Quijote, you never had stories as organically unified and continuous. Stories were a higgledy-piggledy hodgepodge of different elements. If you think of the Decameron of Boccaccio: what it is is a hundred novels, a hundred short stories, one after the other, with no unity between them, really. And if you think of chivalric romances, what you get in chivalric romances are an ocean of stories, different adventures happening to different characters, but again, no particular unity between one adventure and the next.

Barry Ife: For starts, one thing that is inescapable about Don Quixote when you see it on the shelf is that it is a very long novel. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 167

Barbara Nichol: Barry Ife is the Cervantes Professor of Spanish at King’s College, London. Among his publications on the subject are Reading and Fiction in Golden Age Spain and the upcoming The Origins of the Novel in Spain. Barry Ife: This is in an age that was used to either short stories or novella, the long short story length, the fifteen-twenty thousand-word length, which was a genre in which Cervantes also worked. So, simply producing a large-scale narrative itself based on a life of an individual: this was perceived to be quite a novelty. Of course, the other thing is that the seventeenth-century English reading public was used to what we call today romance, escapist literature. And even in the Spanish context, Quixote is one of a relatively few number of works that’s definitely not escapist; they deal with the here and now. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, a reader of the novel in Spain would have expected as a matter of course for that novel to be set in England or France or some far-away place. It’s escapist. That’s where the world of romance and fiction was: somewhere else. It didn’t happen on your own doorstep. In the second half of the sixteenth century, Spanish fiction came home. And that’s really quite staggeringly new in European fiction, that ability to find fiction on your own doorstep, to find the world around you, the places that you know, have been incorporated into a work of fiction. And I think that’s an aspect of Don Quixote that the English writers picked up on, and appreciated, and developed.

Diana de Armas Wilson: He introduced what were called the common realities into prose fiction.

Barbara Nichol: Diana de Armas Wilson is a Professor Emerita of English and Renaissance Studies at the University of Denver. She’s the editor of the Norton Critical Edition of Don Quijote and the author of Cervantes, the Novel and the New World. Diana de Armas Wilson: I mean, a few examples. Don Quijote will talk about poverty and necessities. Sancho talks about the slave trade; the galley slaves talk about their petty crimes, their sex addictions. The Lady Belerma alludes to her menopause, which I know is a first in Western letters. The character Anselmo confesses to an eating disorder and I could go on and on. 168 Barbara Nichol Cervantes

A. J. Close: Despite the fact that Don Quijote and Sancho are much larger than life and daft as two brushes, for generations of readers, the way in which they react to life is profoundly true to human experience.

Barbara Nichol: A reason that the book endures: what A. J. Close calls “exemplariness.” The author captures how it is that people of all periods behave. He uses an example from Part I. Don Quijote is captured and transported in a cage atop an oxcart. This, to Don Quijote, makes no sense, such degradation for a great knight such as he. It can’t be so; he must be enchanted.

A. J. Close: The nerve that Cervantes hits there is the typical tendency of people, despite the fact that they’re wrong, to justify themselves for the reasons about being right. And this goes together with self-delusion, with arrogance, and all the familiar psychology.

Barry Ife: You can put it in a relatively small category of great works of literature. You might include The Iliad, The Odyssey, a small number of other works of that sort, that just have a universal dimension to them. It’s a commonplace of literary history and criticism that there are not very many stories. Some people say there are three stories, three grand narratives, some people say there are seven. But basically, all the novels that have ever been written are variations on a small number of stories. What Don Quixote is about is a range of those grand narratives, but it’s fundamentally about anachronism. It’s about a man who espouses a set of values that no longer apply in the society in which he lives. He is anachronistic; he is trying to recreate a heroic age, an age of chivalry that’s gone past, and he’s trying to rescue those values and apply them in his own world. And what he meets with is brutishness, indifference, hostili- ty, and so on. And that tension that is set up between his own ambitions and what the world around him is telling him: that’s almost a universal human situation.

Barbara Nichol: It’s about anachronism; it’s about chivalry; it’s about reading and writing and books. It’s about myriad things, as Barry Ife would be the first in line to say. And it looks at them from many often conflicting and convincing points of view. The book cannot be solved, summed up, and laid aside. And so for different generations, the novel opens up in different ways. Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 169

Daniel Eisenberg: The first intimation that the book was a classic, a book that deserved to have some special treatment, took place in the eighteenth century and in England.

Barbara Nichol: Daniel Eisenberg is the editor of the journal of the Cervantes Society of America.

Daniel Eisenberg: In 1737 was the first luxury edition of Don Quixote, and the same person who published this luxurious edition commissioned the first biography of Cervantes. And it is primarily in England and in Germany that really the case for Cervantes’ greatness and Don Quixote’s greatness was made. And we reached even a point where you had to have read Don Quixote, because if you were into literature, that was just the book that everybody read, the book that was in everyone’s library. And there were many translations and editions taking place at that time.

Barry Ife: It appeals in different ways to different generations of readers through the ages. In a couple of years time, Part I of Don Quixote will be 400 years old, and it’s gone through at least three or four different forms of life during that period. If we were able to ask Cervantes what he was trying to achieve, and what his contemporary readers thought about the book, undoubtedly he would say that his aim was primarily recreational.

A. J. Close: In the seventeenth century, particularly in Spain, but also in England, the reaction of readers to Don Quijote was very light- hearted. They loved it as a work of broad, rollicking, burlesque parody. The Spaniards could easily take that attitude, because they were very familiar with Cervantes’s parodic references to chivalry books, the genre which he’s trying to demolish. And that awareness is uppermost in their minds, and the fact that Cervantes is a superb writer of farce—he’s very graphic, he’s very vivid, he’s got a terrific sense of humor—this encourages that kind of reaction. And as a result, in seventeenth-century Spain, Cervantes wasn’t put on a classic pedestal. They considered him more or less as a kind of P. G. Wodehouse. But the way that seventeenth-century Spanish readers saw Cervantes was as a terribly inventive writer, extremely amusing, the 170 Barbara Nichol Cervantes creator of legendary characters, extremely popular, but perhaps a little bit light-weight to be put on a classic pedestal. They would have put other writers on that pedestal automatically, but Cervantes, they had their doubts. For instance, the great mid-seventeenth-century writer Baltasar Gracián, who is the author of a great allegory of man’s pilgrima- ge through life, El criticón, forbids the reading of Don Quijote to the man of mature judgment, along with other signs of youthful frivolity, like playing the guitar, whistling, carrying on one a locket with an image of the lady, being French—I don’t know why that should be a sign of youthful frivolity but it is for Gracián—, wearing green costume.

Daniel Eisenberg: In the eighteenth century, in Germany especially, we have the exaltation of a hero in conflict with society. It’s really the first time we find the exaltation of the isolated hero: the individual can in fact be right and society can be wrong; this has to do with the intellectual turmoil that followed the French Revolution, which was a great blow to ideas of progress, to ideas of societal harmony. And one of the responses to it was, in fact, to withdraw and realize that society was just pretty messed up. And these people found their paradigm for the virtuous hero in conflict with society in Don Quixote. And they did tend to dwell on the noble aspect of Don Quixote, and the comic material within the book was something that they found disturbing and tended to overlook. When we see Don Quixote as a representative of a conflict of hero in society, that has really been with us ever since the eighteenth century.

Barry Ife: By the nineteenth century, the heroic or noble aspect of Don Quixote, as a little man who struggles against the system, who upholds unfashionable values, that’s the aspect of Don Quixote that’s celebrated, the so-called romantic approach to Don Quixote. The twentieth century saw the work as essentially a study in intertextuality, perspectivism. I think it was regarded as a masterpiece of narrativity; it was fascinated by the various layers of narrators, the fact that the story is told by upwards of a dozen different people in different voices, sometimes contradictory, sometimes not. And now as we’re going into the twenty- first century, we’re looking again at some of the historical, contextual aspects: what it tells us about seventeenth-century Spain, what it tells us about Cervantes’s approach to some of the issues of his own age.

Barbara Nichol: And so in the past century or so, our hero has Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 171 fought his way through the thickets of literary fashion. The book seems to respond to whatever new approaches its students bring to bear. Edward Friedman is a professor of Spanish and Comparative Literature at Vanderbilt University. He’s published widely on Cervantes, including the introduction to the recent Starkie Signet Classics translation. He is the president of the Cervantes Society of America. There are new approaches, he says, well suited to a novel which focuses, as this one does, one the acts of reading and writing.

Edward Friedman: In more recent decades, we’ve gone from basically trying to understand the author’s mind and really seeing the author as the key figure, to focusing more and more on the reader, and then finally blending the two together very nicely. But definitely, I think the whole question of what’s been called “reader response theory” and looking at how readers devise strategies to interpret texts, to fill in gaps, to find indeterminacies and see what they can do with it. And this is a novel that really lends itself so beautifully to that.

Barry Ife: I think it all comes down to this key element of recreation. He says in the prologue to his short stories that fiction is like a billiard table, a game of billiards. You step up, you have a game, you enjoy yourself, you don’t do any harm to anyone, and what you derive from that is recreation. And he obviously felt very strongly about that. He was a professional writer. He had to appeal to an audience and he tried to give his audience what he knew would entertain them and amuse them. Fiction for Cervantes was clearly fun. It was fun for his readership. And it was stuff to play games with. Picking up on his own metaphor of the billiard table, it’s material you can knock around, you can reshape, you can play with. It’s not like history; it’s not sacrosanct. I mean, he was quite an ambitious writer; there’s no doubt about that. He was always pushing the envelope; he was always trying to do something that hadn’t been done before, something that would astonish you. The key concepts in his work are verisimilitude, on the one hand—you mustn’t tell anybody anything that’s completely implausible—, but on the other hand, you must astonish them. And in order to astonish them, you’ve got to tell them something extraordinary. So playing around with those boundaries is what he enjoyed most. And once you do that, you’re covering a lot of the ground that the novel covered in the subsequent 400 years. And in fact, he has an argument that I think I would espouse, which says that what we think of as the classic realist novel in the nineteenth and 172 Barbara Nichol Cervantes early twentieth centuries was actually just a passing phase in the history of the novel. And the novel really has rediscovered its playful roots in the second half of the twentieth century. And those playful roots are in Cervantes and the writers that made Cervantes possible.

Paul Kennedy: Tonight on Ideas you are listening to Don Quijote: 400 years on the Road, produced and presented by Barbara Nichol.

Barbara Nichol: It’s the very day that Don Quijote has won Mambrino’s helmet. He and Sancho see coming toward them a chain gang of galley slaves, criminals. There are twelve of them escorted by two guards. Don Quijote stops the gang; he questions all the slaves. Why are they in chains? What did they do? They tell their tales and convince Quijote that they don’t deserve their fate. Don Quijote attacks the guards and sets them free. What are we to make of what then takes place?

A. J. Close: Don Quijote has just liberated the galley slaves, and he gathers them around him and tells them to go loaded in chains to pay homage to his lady Dulcinea. They answer him by pelting him with stones and running off. That’s the end of the adventure. Right, you can make it mean what you like. You read this as an exemplary story with a right-wing message. That is, the folly of nurturing a snake or a miscreant, then complaining when it bites you. But, you can also read it as an exemplary story with a left-wing message. That is to say, about the tragedy of trying to aim for utopian solutions in a mean and nasty world. And so you can have two opposite kinds of exemplariness and, in fact, a great deal more. And Cervantes’s typical attitude in this adventure and lots of others is laid back, ironic, non-committal. He just doesn’t take sides. And that encourages the possibilities of interpretation. One of the reasons for the multiplicity of interpretations of Don Quijote is the very original attitude Cervantes takes towards writing comic literature in counter-reformation Spain. Because of the morally committed, religiously committed atmos- phere of the period, he assumes with his contemporaries that literature ought to have a didactic and moral improving message. But on the other had, the age’s very strong sense of decorum, what’s appropriate to each Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 173 genre, makes him very wary about seeming to preach in works of comic entertainment. And so he adopts a very original solution, which is to include in his work all the improving, moral discourses of his age, practically all of them: political, educational, moral, religious, you name it. And to adopt towards them a rather ironic, detached attitude, or to put them in the mouth of Don Quijote, who expresses them in his idiosyncratic way, not necessarily a crazy way, but certainly an idiosyncratic one. And as a result, readers of Don Quijote, ever since about 1700 onwards, have been asking themselves whose side Cervantes is on. “Is he joking? What’s he joking about?” asked the philosopher Ortega y Gasset in 1914. And as a result, Don Quijote strikingly confirms a truism about the literary classics, that is to say the capacity to be reinterpreted in new ways by each succeeding generation.

Barry Ife: Any generation, any age can find itself mirrored in the book. And I think that was because, although Don Quixote is set in the here and now of 1605, when Quixote leaves his village, goes out into the open road, and stays at inns and meets goatherds, and shepherds, and travelers, and so on, it’s very much the here-and-now of 1605. Cervantes was interestingly non-committal about that world. If he had views on the Spain of 1605, he coded them very deeply in the narrative. So the fact that he presents a complex, layered, but broadly non-committal picture of his world, I think, does help to promote that universal quality that the book has. It’s not parochial; it’s not obviously of its age. And because it has that kind of neutrality in the voice, it is able to speak to audiences across many different periods of time.

Diana de Armas Wilson: It’s a book about meaning itself, about how meaning gets in to things, how it confounds the senses, how it ge- nerates illusions. So it’s a book that sees that world as a kaleidoscope of meaning and asks us to sort through multiple interpretations. And there’s one confusing point in the novel, when nobody is quite sure of what happened in the Cave of Montesinos, and the narrator turns to us and asks us: “Reader: you decide.”

Barbara Nichol: Don Quijote in Part II is lowered into a deep dark cave. Half an hour later, up on top, Sancho Panza and a companion 174 Barbara Nichol Cervantes bring him up. But time is very different underground. Don Quijote says that he has been gone for quite some time. He says that down below he fell asleep, and he awoke to find a palace. He consorted in the cave, he says, with characters from legend, and ran across the peasant girl he thinks is the enchanted version of his lady fair. He lent her money. Did this take place? Did it not? The author says he can’t tell help us here.

Edward Friedman: Cervantes understands certainly intuitively that reality isn’t just out there, that reality has to be interpreted, and that there are multiple perspectives. And there are so many interesting ways in which he plays with the idea of perspective within the novel. Sometimes it’s very subtle, but the idea is that in one early episode, for example, he has characters talking about a woman who’s the cause of death of a suitor that she rejected. And the idea is that we get a really full vision of her; many people talk about her. We see her as cruel, and unfeeling, and evil. When she comes on stage, she gives a speech that presents a totally different perspective, her perspective, and that changes the whole story. And Don Quijote, in a sense, protects her against the people who would strike her and follow her.

Barbara Nichol: Marcela appears at the suitor’s grave. She’s very beautiful. Because she is so beautiful, the unsuccessful suitor loved her. In fact, she’s loved by many of the men, who have gathered to denounce her. She makes her case. She says:

Heaven, you say, has made me beautiful — so very beautiful that you are moved, unable to help yourselves, to love me, and because of the love you show me I am obliged, you say, as also you desire, to love you. I know, by the natural understanding God granted me, that everything beautiful is lovable, but I do not understand how, because it is loved, that which is loved for its beauty is obliged to love whoever loves it. Further: it can happen that he who loves that which is beautiful is himself ugly, and since that which is ugly ought to be hated, it’s very wrong of him to say: “I love you for your beauty; you must therefore love me, even though I’m ugly.” …And tell me: if Heaven had made me ugly instead of beautiful, would it be right for me to complain about you, because you did not love me? (I, 14; 77) Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 175

Edward Friedman: Cervantes understood that there are multiple perspectives. When you talk about questions of history, when you talk about questions of truth, you have to see them as much more relative than absolute. And I think, in many ways, it seems to me, that Don Quijote looks ahead in a very precocious way to what would become the realistic novel or the naturalistic novel of the nineteenth century. And he seems to be saying: “well, you can have realism, but sooner or later when realism reaches its heights, you’re going to be standing back a little and look at ways to react against realism. In fact, we really want to look at literature not as being life, but as being insufficient to talk about real life.” And this is really what Cervantes does before there were those realistic novels to react to. Now that we are privy to what comes after Don Quijote, we can appreciate Cervantes’ achievement a bit more, because we understand that he really was intuiting what was going to be following what he did by centuries.

Barbara Nichol: Part II. It begins with the start of the third sally and ends with Don Quijote’s death. Early in this part, Quijote decides that he will visit Dulcinea, his lady fair in El Toboso, her hometown. But as we know, as the reader knows, there’s no such person. And Sancho Panza knows it too. But Sancho, when they arrive in El Toboso, comes up with a solution. He finds a local farm girl passing by and points her out: “There is Dulcinea!” He counts on Don Quijote’s madness to find a way to believe that this is so. And Don Quijote does not let him down. She does not look like Dulcinea should. She is none too attractive and she smells. And so she must have been enchanted, and he must save her from this evil magic.

Carroll Johnson: From then on, Dulcinea is enchanted. And Don Quijote’s job is to get her disenchanted, restored to her pristine form, because that’s obviously the first priority of knightly duties. So that gives the second part a kind of structure that the first part didn’t have. In the first part, they went along encountering adventures pretty much at random. Now there is a purpose to Don Quijote’s adventures. He’s got to find a way to get Dulcinea disenchanted.

Barbara Nichol: In the course of their pursuits in Part II, Quijote and his squire meet up with the Duke and Duchess. The Duke 176 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes and Duchess are idle, and spoiled, and cruel, and they know who Don Quijote is, and they decide they will have fun at his expense. By means of elaborate events they stage, the Duke and Duchess convince our pair that Dulcinea can be disenchanted by one means: Sancho Panza must beat himself, whip himself 3,300 times. So disenchanting Dulcinea becomes Sancho’s unpleasant task to undertake. Meanwhile, in an unrelated plot, Don Quijote’s lost a battle with another knight. And the terms of their battle were these: if Don Quijote were to lose, he would agree to leave off being a knight-errant for a year. Don Quijote loses and he and Sancho Panza head for home. But back to Dulcinea: Sancho Panza carries out his beatings. At least to Don Quijote’s knowledge, he whips himself 3,300 times. But this presents another problem, in Carroll Johnson’s reading of the work a problem that he will not solve.

Carroll Johnson: He and Sancho are on their way back to the little village in La Mancha. Naturally he’s dejected because he can’t be a knight for a year. They’ve got this sort of enforced sabbatical. Interestingly enough, what they decide to do in the sabbatical is to become shepherds, literary shepherds, as to adopt a different literary lifestyle than the one they’ve been in now, which is the chivalric style. So, there are on their way back to their village; Sancho has found a way to complete the beatings that are supposed to disenchant Dulcinea. The effect of this is to recreate the crisis in the existence of Dulcinea that they managed to avoid back there when they were at El Toboso, when Sancho enchanted her, and kind of “put her on ice.” There was no need to go looking for her. There was no need to question whether she really exists or not. Now, all of that’s back on the table, except that in the course of what’s been going on in Part II, Don Quijote has become physically debilitated. And more importantly, I think he’s become mentally debilitated. Physically, he’s been defeated in Barcelona by another knight. He’s been trampled on by pigs, he has been kind of beaten up by the Duke and Duchess. He is, in fact, chronologically older than he was when he started out, and he was middle-aged to start with. And psychologically, in the course of Part II, one of the differences between the two parts is that in Part I, Don Quijote imposes his will onto his circumstances beginning with testing the helmet. He looks at windmills, he needs giants, the windmills become giants and so on. In Part II, people know about him, people have read Part I, so they cater to him. They create situations Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 177 where he can be a knight-errant with all the appropriate costumes and props, so that he doesn’t need to use his imagination and the force of his will, the way he needed to do all the time in Part I. So his imaginative faculty—his ability to engender the kind of situation that he needs in order to be Don Quijote—has got flabby; he hasn’t been using it. And as a result, he’s losing it. So that all this kind of comes to a head when Sancho completes the whippings and Dulcinea is supposed to be disenchanted. It means that all the problematics of her existence are suddenly back on the table, but Don Quijote doesn’t have the imaginative force anymore to keep thinking of a way to preserve the myth of her existence. And I think that’s what finally beats him. He goes back home, and is reunited with the two women that he lives with. And one of them, his niece, kind of makes fun of his advanced age and the idea that now he’s going to go be a shepherd, and he couldn’t be a knight. And he thinks he’s young, but in fact, he’s old; and he thinks he’s OK, but in fact, he’s decrepit, a whole series of quite unpleasant things. His housekeeper, who is more sympathetic, doesn’t want him to go out being a shepherd either, exposed to the inclement weather and so on. And she encourages him to adopt the lifestyle of one of the gentlemen they have met in their travels, who is just deadeningly conformist, who is kind of a country hidalgo like Don Quijote, but whose life has no meaning to it, no narratible dimension to it. It’s just a round of the same exercises that are repeated, like Don Quijote at the beginning. And this is all too much for Don Quijote. And as I read the text, I think there comes a point right here where he just packs it in; he just gives it up.

Barbara Nichol: But he doesn’t give up everything. He dies, but he does not renounce the idea that he, not his circumstances, will determine his identity, will determine who he’ll be.

Carroll Johnson: On his deathbed, he appears to be going to be recouping his original identity. What happens, actually, is that he assumes a new identity. He said: “I used to be Don Quijote and now I’m not. My name is Alonso Quijano,” which if you go back to the First Part, you discover was not one of the original possibilities of what his name might have been before he became Don Quijote. And he adds a nickname, “El Bueno,” “the Good,” onto this Alonso Quijano, which has never entered any of this before. So, what people think is that instead of recouping his original place in society and his original sanity, he adopts a new identity 178 Barbara Nichol Cervantes solely for the purpose of dying an exemplary death, and getting himself off stage forever.

Barbara Nichol: Cervantes died in 1616. He was married and lived with his wife only briefly. They had no children. He had an illegiti- mate daughter from an affair. She had no children. From what we know, Cervantes has no descendants.

Could there be anything more satisfying than to see, as it were, right in front of our eyes, an immense lake of bubbling, boiling pitch, crawling with hordes of wriggling serpents, and snakes, and lizards, and all sorts of fierce and terrifying animals — and then, right out of the middle of that lake, there comes a doleful voice, saying: “You, knight, whoever you may be, staring out at this fearful lake, if you yearn for the treasure hidden under these black waters, show the strength of your brave heart and hurl yourself into the middle of this black and burning tide, for otherwise you cannot be worthy to set eyes on the noble wonders hidden here, nor will you ever behold the seven castles of the seven enchantresses who lie under this blackness.” And then the knight, barely waiting for the doleful voice to finish, and not bothering to stop and consider the fearful danger into which he’s putting himself — not pausing even long enough to strip off the heavy weight of his armor — commends himself to God and to his lady and throws himself right into the boiling lake, and without knowing what to expect or where he will come to, suddenly finds himself on a flowery meadow, incomparably lovelier than the Elysian Fields themselves. (I, 50; 338)

Paul Kennedy: On Ideas tonight, Part III of the three-part series, Don Quijote: 400 Years on the Road, produced and presented by Barbara Nichol. The music was by Claire Laurens. Technical production Dave Field. The associate producer is Liz Nage. Readings were by Greg Kelly. Translations are from the Norton Critical Edition: Burton Raffel. Barbara Nichol thanks Donald McCrory, María Antonia Garcés, James Parr, Burton Raffel, and Hugh Graham. You can order an audio copy of this 3-part series for $34, taxes and Volume 26 (2006) Don Quixote: 400 Years on the Road 179 shipping included. To order using a credit card, call (416) 205-7367, or you can send a check or credit card information to: Ideas Transcripts, Box 500, Station A, Toronto, M5W 1E6. Our e-address is: ideas(at)cbc. ca.

The Executive Producer of Ideas is Bernie Lucht, and I’m Paul Kennedy

Used by permission of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and Barbara Nichol (barbaranichol(at)sympatico.ca).

Will the Real Cervantes Please Stand Up?1 Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations

______Don and Tom Lathrop

ohn Bartlett as a sixteen-year old lad started to work in the Harvard College bookstore, where he came to know the stock— Jinside and out—so well that whenever there was any question about anything, people would just say “Ask John Bartlett.” He kept a notebook of some of the things that people asked him, and in 1855, when he was 35, and by then owned the bookstore, he published part of the contents of his notebook, a “small thin volume,” called Familiar Quotations. Its object was to show “to some extent, the obligations our language owes to various authors for numerous phrases and familiar quotations which have become ‘household words.’” By the time it was in its fourth edition, both the book and Bartlett himself moved to Little, Brown Publishers. In his lifetime, his book went through five more editions, each one larger than the previous one. Now, if you want to know what Elbert Hubbard, who died in the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915, had to say about loyalty to your em- ployer, Bartlett will tell you: “If you work for a man, in heaven’s name,

1 This is a quote from the television quiz show “To Tell the Truth,” which ran off and on from 1956 to 2002. Two imposters and the real subject were questioned by a panel of four celebri- ties to determine who the real subject was. After the questioning was finished, the moderator would ask the real subject to stand up. Versions of this paper were given at the Hofstra University symposium “Don Quixote: The First 400 Years,” November, 2004 and at the Kentucky Foreign Language Conference, April, 1988.

181 182 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes work for him! If he pays you wages that supply you bread and butter, work for him—speak well of him, think well of him, stand by him and stand by the institution he represents.” The case of Elbert Hubbard brings up two matters. The first is: Just who is Elbert Hubbard, and is this really a familiar quotation, a “household word”? Of the ten-thousand or so quotations in the book, how many of them are really familiar? Bartlett himself, in the preface to the fourth edition of his work, answers this question: “It is not easy to determine in all cases the degree of familiarity that may belong to phrases or sentences which present themselves for admission; for what is familiar to one class of readers may be quite new to another. Many maxims of the most famous writers of our language, and numberless curious happy turns from orators and poets, have knocked at the door, and it was hard to deny them.” He ends with: “…it has been thought better to incur the risk of erring on the side of fullness.” And in fairness to Elbert Hubbard, in his day—the turn of the past century—he was a well-known journal- ist. A second question that comes up derives from the fact that Elbert Hubbard’s quotation was said a couple of decades after Bartlett published his own last edition. How much of Bartlett’s came after Bartlett stopped working on it? Later editors, such as Nathan Haskell Dole and Christopher Morley have kept Bartlett’s original corpus intact, but have added many items from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. By the time the ninth edition rolled around, Bartlett himself had included some French authors (Villon, Boileau, Rabelais, Montaigne, and others) and quotations from “the ancients.” And by the time the elev- enth edition was published, a formal set of translated authors had been set up, the Romance section under the watchful eye of none other than Harvard’s own J.D.M. Ford. Of the 140-odd foreign authors present, the only Spanish writers are Loyola and Cervantes. There are about 275 entries fromDon Quixote. It was my father, Don, who first started thinking about the question of Cervantes in Bartlett. He wondered about a number of things. Since a translation was perforce used for this selection, how many of the Familiar Quotations reflect Cervantes’ real words faithfully? How many Quotations say about the same thing Cervantes did, but with turns of phrase to fit English norms? Of more curious interest were the final two questions: are there any that differ entirely from Cervantes’ text? and are there any that are not even present in the original at all? In other words, is Bartlett attributing to Cervantes quotations which are in fact bells and whistles added by the Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 183 translator? And what percentage would that be, if any? The translation Bartlett’s successors used was Motteux’s. When I saw this, it made me wince since I didn’t (and still don’t) like that translation, even though I had two different versions of it on my shelf. The edition that we needed to find was the old Modern Library version of Motteux, since the page numbers cited in Bartletts’s refer to that edition that I located finally in a Hollywood bookstore. I looked for all the quotations from Bartlett’s and compared them with what was in the Spanish edition, and kept a record of everything. The first thing we noticed is that Motteux regularly used English equivalents for Spanish proverbs and the like. This is a good way, and maybe the best way, to translate proverbs, since a so-called literal translation from the other language of proverbs may either not make sense or may not have the force the original proverb does. Isn’t the best translation what a perfectly bi-lingual speaker would say in either language in the same circumstance? For example, when Cervantes says “Más vale un pájaro en la mano que buitre volando” Motteux naturally substituted “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” Similarly, the absolute best way to translate Cervantes’ “No se ganó Zamora en una hora” is the way Motteux did with “Rome was not built in a day.” Of course, Cervantes didn’t create “Más vale un pájaro” and “No se ganó Zamora en una hora”— he was just using was Spain’s collective wisdom, and Motteux was using was Britain’s collective wisdom in his version. So in Bartlett some English proverbs are here attributed to Spain! I have counted 24 of these. One thing Motteux does is pile on two proverbs where Cervantes only uses one. Look at section 1, example 1. Where Cervantes has “de zoca a colodra,” Motteux uses two equivalents, but this time well backed by English sources: “leap out of the frying pan into the fire” and “out of a warm sun into God’s blessing.” A similar thing happens in No. 21, where Cervantes just says “donde se piensa que hay tocinos, no hay estacas.” Here, Motteux knew of no similar English proverb, so he used a familiar one, then translated the Spanish as well as he could, but still in a confusing way: “Many count their chickens before they are hatched; and where they expect bacon meet with broken bones.” No. 23 is another example of Motteux’s two proverbs for Cervantes’ one: “The ass will carry his load, but not a double load; ride not a free horse to death,” but the Spanish offers only one proverb: “…el asno… sufre la carga, mas no la sobrecarga.” No. 24 is a good word-for-word translation of the Spanish: “…en los nidos de antaño no hay pájaros hogaño,” “Ne’er look for birds 184 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes of this year in the nests of the last.” I think that our traditional proverb that follows François Villon would be better: “Where are the snows of yesteryear?” “Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?” In No. 8, “si me dan la vaquilla, corro con la soguilla,” again a good English equivalent is given, backed by the English oral tradition. Motteux uses an equivalent proverb: “A gift-horse should not be looked in the mouth.” In No. 6, “Aún hay sol en las bardas,” would have no force in English, so he uses an equivalent “Where there’s life there’s hope.” Section 2 lists sixty-seven accurate translations from Cervantes. If anything is legitimately attributable to Cervantes, it comes from this list. No. 46, for example, “Sings like a lark,” “canta como una calandria” could not have been better translated by Aristotle if he had been resuscitated for that sole purpose. Similarly, No. 51, “Paciencia y barajar,” “patience and shuffle the cards,”is quite exact, although the Spanish proverb is unknown nowadays and no one uses the English phrase as a proverb. No. 52, dealing with comparisons, is also exact: “Comparisons are odious,” as are Nos. 54 and 55, “In the night all cats are grey,” “de noche todos los gatos son pardos”; and “All is not gold that glitters,” “no es oro todo lo que reluce.” An odd one, though, it No. 60: “es pedir peras al olmo,” which Motteuz renders as “You may as well expect pears from an elm.” Didn’t they have “You can’t get blood from a turnip” in those days? That would be the ideal rendition. There are some interesting ones at the beginning of the section that I would like to mention. Example No. 1, “Me lo sé de coro,” which refers to old-time school learning through choral repetition, is translated appro- priately enough by “I know it by heart.” When the Old French expression “apprendre par chœur” came into English, after William’s conquest in 1066, English speakers thought is was cœur ‘heart’ instead of chœur ‘c h o r u s’. In number 4, Motteux, using his usual style of piling on the proverbs, begins with “After meat comes mustard,” reminiscent of Montaigne’s “Moutarde après dîner” (which Bartlett doesn’t cite), to introduce the notion of “money to a starving man at sea…, ” “como quien tiene dineros en mitad del golfo y se está muriendo de hambre.” The third section, dealing with items which Motteux did differently from Cervantes’ original, is very problematic because sometimes I have listed things that are only slightly different, as in No. 37, “Tenía por límite el cielo,” “No limits but the sky,” and others that are really different, as in No. 77, “No me engaño,” “I’ll take my corporal oath on it.” I also realize Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 185 that a few of these items could be listed as proverbial-type equivalents, too, such as those listed in Section 1. Every time I went over these lists I changed items from one list to another, but had to stop somewhere. Bear in mind that of the one-hundred-ten items on this list, really none of them refers to Cervantes’ own words, and therefore really none of them should be included under the rubric Cervantes. The interesting thing about this list is that we see a something about Motteux, how he worked. It is obvious he knows his own literature and traditions well, especially Shakespeare, Heywood’s Proverbes, and other works, so he can use his own home-made collection, which we might call Motteux’ s Familiar Quotations, to render the Spanish using English expressions and turns of phrase that are well-known to his readers. As he translates—if “translates” is the right word—it is obvious that the Spanish words inspire him to look into his wealth of expressions and find something that vaguely fits. No. 3, “sin pegar los llorosos ojos,” is translated by “without a wink of sleep.” In echoing Shakespeare, Motteux has taken a bit of the meaning away from the original, yet has made it more familiar to his readers. No. 4, “y lo que yo saco en limpio de todo esto,” is really quite far from “plain as the nose on a man’s face.” Motteux, from our scholarly point of view, has strayed too far, even though he is backed by Shakespeare and the oral tradition. I would render it “and what I gather from all this.” In No. 10, Motteux has used the familiar Shakespearean “In the twinkling of an eye” to render, and this time rather well, “en menos de un abrir y un cerrar de ojos.” And for No. 14, from Deuteronomy he has taken the “apples of his eyes” to use for “las niñas de sus ojos,” although I confess I have never understood the literal meaning of either. In No. 20, we have another example of a bad translation. “Nunca lo bueno fue mucho” doesn’t mean “Can we ever have too much of a good thing?” And similarly in No. 50, “No ande buscando tres pies al gato” doesn’t mean “Those who play with cats expect to be scratched,” even though both deal with cats. Look at No. 51. Isn’t it ludicrous to say Cervantes said: “Raise a hue and cry” for “dar noticias”? Anyone looking at No. 54 might claim that Cervantes has made yet another mistake, because we don’t have seven senses, when the Spanish quote says: “El miedo me asaltó con mil géne- ros de sobresaltos y visiones.” Section four contains seventy-two items that were added—thrown in—by Motteux. There is no hint of any of them in the original, yet here they are, attributed to Cervantes! The first twenty seven of them have 186 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes sources pretty easy to track down. Nos. 1 and 2, “Time out of mind” and “To give the devil his due” are both Shakespearean, and No. 3, “Murder will out,” which I thought was also from Shakespeare is really from Chaucer. No. 21 is an interesting one. Obviously George Washington was not Motteux’s source since Washington came along long after Motteux. Maybe Washington was citing Motteux when he said “Honesty is always the best policy.” Of course, honesty isn’t a policy at all, it’s a characteristic. If you have ever read Motteux with a Spanish original nearby, you may have wondered how Cervantes originally said the notion of “Higgldy-piggledy.” Well, if you looked it up, there is nothing there to find. To recap: of the twenty-four items in Section one, twenty two of them are quite different from those quoted inBartlett’s . In Section three, of the hundred-ten items listed, Motteux has changed or falsified them all to some degree, and in Section 4, Motteux has added all seventy two items gratuitously. This means that only 25% of what was attributed to Cervantes actually reflect what was written by him. Imagine the untold thousands of high-school debaters, politicians, speech writers, and orators who have delved int Bartlett’s, saying things such as “As the celebrated Spanish author, don Miguel de Cervantes, has unequivocally stated: ‘Make hay while the sun shines,’” or “As Cervantes, author of Man of la Mancha, used to quip: ‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ ” whereas Cervantes never said either one. So, what are the conclusions? Does this mean that we should begin to doubt all of Bartlett’s? No, because 90% of his quotations are originally from English-language sources. Does it mean that we should be equally wary of all the translated quotations? I say cautiously “probably not,” because the classical authors, for example, have been throughly vetted through the ages. I think that Motteux is just an extreme example of “traduttori, tradittori.” He was obviously interested in entertaining his audience and not too interested in preserving the essence of the original. He clearly succeeded brilliantly since translation has more editions by more publishers than any other. Cervantes said that a translation was like the reverse side of a Flemish tapestry—where you could still see the people and what was going on, just not clearly. But Motteux—and Bartlett’s by extension—has made a kind of Twilight Zone tapestry out if it. On the front, the people look like Spaniards, but on the reverse side they look like Englishmen. Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 187

1. Motteux’ Good Equivalents for Proverbs and the Like The number in parentheses in English refer to the Modern Library Giant Edition of Don Quixote (New York, 1930). The numbers in parentheses after the Spanish quotations refer to any edition by Martín de Riquer in the Juventud/Colección Z/Las Américas series. If you don’t have one of these old Riquer editions, part and chapter numbers are also given.

1. Lest we leap out of the frying-pan into the fire; or, out of God’s blessing into the warm sun. (112; I, 12) …y de zoca en colodra… (160; I,18) “Leape out of the frying pan into the fire,” Heywood, Proverbes “Out of Gods blessing into the warme sunne,”Heywood. Proverbes “Thou out of heaven’s bebediction comest to the warm sun,” Shakespeare, King Lear, II, 2, 168. “Thou shalt some out of a warme sunne into God’s blessing,” John Lyly (ca. 1553-1606), Euphues

2. Nor do they care a straw. (161) …no se la da… dos higos. (213; I, 23) “I did not care one straw,” Terence, Eunuchus, III, 1, 21

3. As well look for a needle-in a bottle of hay. (502) …buscar… como a Marica en Ravena. (603; II, 10) “Needle in a botle of hay,” Nathaniel Field, A Woman’s in a Weathercock (1612)

4. He would not budge an inch. (677) …de quien un punto ni un paso se apartaba. (796; II, 34) “I’ll not budge an inch,” Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew, Induc., 14

7. Set a beggar on horseback. (782)—Viose el perro en bragas de cerro… (905; II, 50) “Set a beggar on horseback and he will ride a gallop,” Robert Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy, Part II, 2, 2

8. A gift-horse should not be looked in the mouth. (861) …corro con la soguilla. (989; II, 62) “No man ought to look a given horse in the mouth,” Heywood, Proverbes 188 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

9. By a small sample we may judge of the whole piece. (25) …que por el hilo se sacará el ovillo. (60, I, 5)

10. Fear is sharp-sighted, and can see things under ground, and much more in the skies. (131) …pero tiene el miedo muchos ojos, y vee las cosas debajo de la tierra. (180, I, 20)

11. Ne’er cringe nor creep, for what you by force may reap. (149) “No pidas de grado lo que puedes tomar por fuerza.” (200: I, 21)

12. Sing away sorrow, cast away care. (153) …quien canta, sus males espanta. (204: I, 22)

13. ‘Tis ill talking of balters in the house of a man that was hanged. (195) …mentar la soga en casa del ahorcado. (246; I, 25)

14. A bird in hand is worth two in the bush (259) …más vale pájaro en mano que buitre volando. (315; I, 31)

15. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. (322) …al freír los huevos lo verá. (385: I, 37)

16. Presume to put in her oar. (480) …se atreva a poner lengua. (579; II, 6)

17. Tell me thy company, and I’ll tell thee what thou art. (594) …dime con quién andas, decirte he quién eres. (709; II, 23)

18. Good wits jump; a word to the wise is enough. (692) …y al buen entendedor, pocas palabras. (812; II, 37)

19. When thou art at Rome, do as they do at Rome. (806) “cuando a Roma fueres, haz como vieres.” (931; 36)

20. Man appoints, and God disappoints. (816) …el hombre propone y Dios dispone. (941; II, 55)

21. Many count their chickens before they are hatched; and where they expect bacon meet with broken bones. (816) …que adonde se piensa que hay tocinos, no hay estacas. (941; II, 55)

22. Rome was not built in a day. (917) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 189

…no se ganó Zamora en una hora. (1049; II, 71)

23. The ass will carry his load, but not a double load; ride not a free horse to death. (917) …el asno… sufre la carga, mas no la sobrecarga. (1049; II, 71)

24. Ne’er look for birds of this year in the nests of the last. (933) …en los nidos de antaño no hay pájaros hogaño. (1066; II, 74)

2. Motteux’ Good Translations from Cervantes

1. I know it all by heart. (157) …me lo sé de coro. (209; I, 22)

2. One of those carpet-knights that abandon themselves to sleep and lazy ease. (131) …de aquellos caballeros que toman reposo en los peligros. (181; I, 20) “carpet knights” = “courtly knights because they receive their honors in the court and upon carpets” Robert Burton (1577-1640)

3. One swallow never makes a summer. (77) …una golondrina no hace verano. (120; I, 13) “One swallow maketh not summer,” John Heywood (1497-1580) Proverbes One swallowe proueth not that summer is neare,” John Northbrook, Treatise against dancing, (1577)

4. After meat comes mustard; or, like money to a starving man at sea, when there are no victuals to be bought with it. …como quien tiene dineros en mitad del golfo y se está muriendo de hambre. (205; I, 22)

5. I find my familiarity with thee has bred contempt. (136) …que la mucha conversación que tengo contigo ha engendrado este menosprecio. (186; I, 20) “I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt,” Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor, I, 1, 255 “Familiarity breeds contempt,” Aesop, The Fox and the Lion

6. Let every man look before he leaps. (528) Y cada uno mira por el virote. (634-35; II, 24) “Look ere ye leape,” Heywood, Proverbes 190 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

7. You are the King by your own Fireside, as much as any Monarch is in his throne. (xix) …estás en tu casa donde eres señor della, como el rey de sus alcabalas. (19; I, prologue)

8. Fortune may have yet a better success in reserve for you, and they who lose to-day may win to-morrow. (39) (Dios será servido que) la suerte se mude y que lo que hoy se pierde se gane mañana. (76; I, 7)

9. The charging of his enemy was but the work of a moment. (50) …el arremeter al vizcaíno, todo fue en un tiempo. (88; I, 8)

10. And had a face like a blessing. (69) …tenía una cara como una bendición. (112; I, 12)

11. That’s the nature of women,… not to love when we love them, and to love when we love them not. (133) —Esta es natural condición de las mujeres… desdeñar a quien las quiere y amar a quien las aborrece. (183; I, 20)

12. Ill-luck, you know, seldom comes alone. (135) …que las aventuras y desventuras nunca comienzan por poco. (185; I, 20)

13. Experience, the universal Mother of Sciences. (140) (La) experiencia, madre de las ciencias todas. (191; I, 21)

14. Give me but that, and let the world rub, there I’ll stick. (148) … a eso me atengo. (199; I, 21)

15. ‘Tis an office of more trust to shave a man’s beard than to saddle a horse. (151) …es más de confianza el hacer la barba que ensillar un caballo. (202; I, 22) 16. Return to our flesh-pots of Egypt. (160) …volver… a las ollas de Egipto. (212; I, 22)

17. Within a stone’s throw of it. (170) …un tiro de piedra. (221; I, 23)

18. ‘Tis the only comfort of the miserable to have partners in their woes. (173) …que todavía es consuelo en las desgracias hallar quien se duela dellas. (225; I, 23)

19. The very remembrance of my former misfortune proves a new one to me. (174) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 191

…que el traerlas a la memoria no me sirve de otra cosa que añadir otras de nuevo. (226; I, 24)

20. She may guess what I should perform in the wet, if I do so much in the dry. (186) …si en seco hago esto, ¿qué hiciera en mojado? (238; I, 25)

21. For goodness-sake. (190) —Por el amor de Dios. (241; I, 25)

22. Cutting the air as swift as a witch upon a broomstick. (191) …volveré por los aires como, un brujo. (243; I, 25)

23. My love and hers have always been purely Platonick. (192) …mis amores y los suyos hav sido siempre platónicos. (244; I, 25)

24. There are but two things that chiefly excite us to love a woman, an attractive beauty, and unspotted fame. (195) …que dos cosas solas incitan a amar más que otras; que son la hermosura y la buena fama. (246; I, 25)

25. My memory is so bad, that many times I forget my own name! (195) …que la (= memoria) tengo tan mala, que muchas veces se me olvida cómo me llamo. (247; I, 25)

26. On the word of a gentleman, and a Christian. (236) …por la fe de caballero y de cristiano. (290; I, 29)

27. A fig for your great captain. (267) ¡Dos higos para el Gran Capitán! (324; I, 32)

28. He that gives quickly gives twice. (291) ..el que luego da, da dos veces. (350; I, 34)

29. Let none presume to tell me that the pen is preferable to the sword. (325) ¡Quítenseme de delante los que dijeren que las letras hacen ventaja a las armas. (388-89; I, 36)

30. It is past all controversy, that what costs dearest, is, and ought most to be valued. (328) Y es razón averiguada que aquello que más cuesta se estima y se debe estimar más. (392; I, 38) 192 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

31. The bow cannot always stand bent, nor can human frailty subsist without some lawful recreation. (412) ..no es posible que esté continuo el arco armado, ni la condición y flaqueza humana se pueda sustentar sin alguna lícita recreación. (488; I, 48)

32. Faith without good works is dead. (423) …es muerta la fe sin obras. (502; I, 50)

33. How blind must he be that can’t see through a sieve. (450) ..cuán ciego es aquel que no vee por tela de cedazo. (547; II, 1)

34. When the head aches, all the members partake of the pains. (456) …que cuando las cabeza duele, todos los miembros duelen. (554; II, 2)

35. He has done like Orbaneja, the painter of Ubeda; who, being asked what he painted, answered, “As it may hit;” and when he had scrawled out a misshapen cock, was forced to write underneath in Gothic letters, “This is a cock.” (464) …como hacía Orbaneja, el pintor de Úbeda, al cual preguntándole qué pintaba, re- spondió: “Lo que saliere.” Tal vez pintaba un gallo, de tal suerte y tan mal parecido, que era menester que con letras góticas escribiese junto a él: “Este es un gallo.” (562; II, 3)

36. Youngsters read it, grown men understand it, and old people applaud it. (464) …los mozos los hombres lo entienden y los viejos la celebran. (562; I, 3)

37. The most artful part in a play is the fool’s. (465) … la más discreta figura de la comedia es el bobo. (563; I, 3)

38. “There is no book so bad,” said the bachelor, “but something good may be found in it.” (465) “No hay libro tan malo,” dijo el bachiller,” que no tenga algo de bueno.” (563; II, 3) Pliny the Younger, Letters, III, 5, 10

39. He that publishes a book runs a very great hazard, since nothing can be more impossible than to compose one that may secure the approbation of every reader. (466) …el que imprime un libro, siendo de toda imposibilidad componerle tal, que satisfaga y contente a todos los que le leyeren. (564; II, 3)

40. Every man is as Heaven made him, and sometimes a great deal worse. (468) …que cada uno es como Dios le hizo, y aun peor muchas veces. (566; II, 4)

41. There’s no sauce in the world like hunger. (473) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 193

La mejor salsa del mundo es la hambre. (572; II, 5)

42. Are we to mark this day with a white or a black stone? (503) ¿Podré señalar este día con piedra blanca, o con negra? (604; II, 10)

43. As one egg is like another. (530) …se parece un huevo a otro. (636; II, 14)

44. The pen is the tongue of the mind (543) ..la pluma es la lengua del alma. (651; II, 16)

45. Modesty is a virtue not often found among poets, for almost every one of them thinks himself the greatest in the world. (555) —No me parece mal esa humildad… porque no hay poeta que no sea arrogante y pi- ense de sí que es el mayor poeta del mundo. (663-64; II, 18)

46. Sings like a lark. (564) …canta como una calandria. (672; II, 19)

47. Marriage is a noose. (564) …es un lazo (673; II, 19)

48. There were but two families in the world, Have-much and Have-little. (574) Dos linajes solos hay en el mundo,… que son el tener y el no tener. (685; II, 20)

49. He preaches well that lives well, quoth Sancho, that’s all the divinity I understand. (575) —Bien predica quien bien vive… yo no sé otras tologías. (687; I, 20)

50. Love and War are the same thing, and stratagems and policy are as allowable in the one as in the other. (580) …el amor y la guerra son una misma cosa, y así como en la guerra es cosa lícita y acos- tumbrada usar de ardides y estratagemas para vencer al enemigo… (692; II, 21)

51. Patience, and shuffle the cards. (592) …paciencia y barajar. (707; II, 23)

52. Comparisons are odious. (593) …toda comparación es odiosa. (708; II, 23)

53. One of the most considerable advantages the great have over their inferiors, is to have servants as good as themselves. (645) 194 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

…una de las ventajas mayores que llevan los príncipes a los demás hombres es que se sirven de criados tan buenos como ellos. (764; II, 31)

54. In the night all cats are gray. (665) …de noche todos los gatos son pardos. (784; II, 33)

55. All is not gold that glisters. (666) …no es oro todo lo que reluce. (784; II, 33)

56. A good name is better than riches. (668) …más vale el buen nombre que las muchas riquezas. (787; II, 33)

57. Heaven’s help is better than early rising (674) …más vale al que Dios ayuda que al que mucho madruga. (792; II, 34)

58. They had best not stir the rice, though it sticks to the pot. (691) …será mejor no menear el arroz, aunque se pegue. (811; II, 37)

59. They cover a dunghill with a piece of tapestry when a procession goes by. (691) …como quien cubre o tapa un muladar con un tapiz en día de procesión. (811; II, 37)

60. You may as well expect pears from an elm. (704) …es pedir peras al olmo. (825; II, 40)

61. Diligence is the mother of good fortune. (724) …que la diligencia es madre de la buena ventura. (845; II, 43)

62. When a man says, “Get out of my house! What would you have with my wife?” there’s no answer to be made. (726) “a idos de mi casa y qué queréis con mi mujer, no hay responder.” (847; II, 43)

63. Walls have ears. (763) …que las paredes tienen oídos. (885; II, 48)

64. He that proclaims the kindnesses he has received, shows his disposition to repay ‘em if he could. (835) …quien dice y publica las buenas obras que recibe, también las recompensara con otras, si pudiera. (960; II, 63)

65. He that errs in so considerable a passage, may well be suspected to have committed many gross errors through the whole history. (843) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 195

…quien en esta parte tan principal yerra, bien se podrá temer que yerra en todas las demás de la histopria. (968; II, 59)

66. Now blessings light on him that first invented this same sleep! It covers a man all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak; ‘tis meat for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot. ‘Tis the current coin that purchases all the pleasures of the world cheap; and the balance that sets the king and the shepherd, the fool and the wise man even. (898) …bien haya el que inventó el sueño, capa que cubre todos los humanos pensamientos, manjar que quita la hambre, agua que ahuyenta la sed, fuego que calienta el frío, frío que templa el ardor, y, finalmente, moneda general con que todas las cosas se compran, balanza y peso que iguala al pastor con el rey y al simple con el discreto. (1030; II, 68)

67. He… got the better of himself, and that’s the best kind of victory one can wish for. (924) …viene vencedor de sí mismo; que, según él me ha dicho, es el mayor vencimiento que desearse puede. (1056; II, 72)

3. Motteux Uses Different Expressions and Turns of Phrase from Cervantes’ Words

1. They can expect nothing but their labour for their pains. (xxiii) …no yéndole nada en ello. (24; I, prologue) “I have had my labour for my travail,” Shakespeare, Trolius and Cressida, I, i, 73.

2. As ill-luck would have it. (12) A dicha… (46; I, 2) “As good luck would have it.” Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor, III, 5, 86.

3. Without a wink of sleep (72) …sin pegar los llorosos ojos. (114; I, 12) “I have not slept one wink,” Shakespeare, Cymbeline, III, 4, 103.

4. Plain as the nose on a man’s face. (112) Y yo que yo saco en limpio de todo esto… (160; I, 18) “as a nose on a man’s face,” Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen from Verona, II, 1, 145.

5. Let the worst come to the worst. (127) Y cuando así fuese…, (176; I, 19) “The worst comes to worst,” Thos. Middleton (1570-1627),The Phoenix 196 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

6. More knave than fool. (261) …más de ladrón que de simple. (317; I, 31) “More knave than fool,” Ch. Marlowe, The Jew of Malta, II

7. At his wit’s end. (306) …estaba desesperado (365; I, 35) “We both be at out wittes end,” Heywood, Proverbes

8. Stopped them in the nick. (383) …les asió al salir de la puerta. (454; I, 44) “The nick of time,” John Suckling (1609-1642), The Goblins, V

9. Give them the slip. (415) …había de hacer de las suyas, y irse donde jamás gentes le viesen. (492; I, 49) “Judas had given them the slip,” Mathew Henry (1662-1714), Commentaries: Matt. 22

10. In the twinkling of an eye. (476) …en menos de un abrir y un cerrar de ojos. (575; II, 5) “In the twinkling of an eye,” Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, II, 2, 183

11. Sleeveless errants. (502) …semejantes mensajerías (604; II, 10) “A sleeveless errand,” Heywood, Proverbes

12. The very pink of courtesy. (521) …que son la mesma cortesía. (626; II, 13) “I am the very pink of courtesy,” Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet II, 4, 63.

13. There is no love lost, sir. (583) —No nos debemos nada… (696; II, 22) “There shall be no love lost,”Ben Jonson (1573?-1637), Every Man out of his Humour, II, 1

14. The apples of his eyes. (637) …las niñas de sus ojos. (756; I, 30) “The apple of the eye,” Deut. 32:10

15. Building castles in the air. (649) …papando aire. (769; II, 31) “Can build castles in the air,” Robert Burton (1577-1640), Anatomy of Melancholy Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 197

16. He’s as mad as a March hare. (664) …es un mentecato (783; II, 783) “Mad as a march hare,” Heywood, Proverbes

17. This is no time for me to mind niceties, and spelling of letters. I have other fish to fry. (682) …que no estoy agora para mirar en sotilezas ni en letras más o menos. (801; I, 35) “We have other fish to fry,” Rabelais, Works, V, Chap. 11

18. There’s a time for some things, and a time for all things; a time for great things, and a time for small things. (682) ….no son todos los tiempos unos. (801; II, 35) “For everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose,” Ecclesiastes, 3:1

19. I think it a very happy accident. (831) …ha sido para mí felicísimo acontecimiento. (956; II, 58) “By many a happy accident,” Middleton, No Wit, No Help, Like a Woman’s II, 2

20. I was so free with him as not to mince the matter. (xx) … no encubriéndosela… (20; I, prologue)

21. The brave man carves out his fortune, and every man is the son of his own works. (22) …cuanto más que cada uno es hijo de sus obras. (57; I, 4)

22. Which I have earned by the sweat of my brows. (22) …sudor… (57; I, 4)

23. Put you in this pickle. (30) …tal ha parado vuestra merced. (65; I, 5)

24. Can we ever have too much of a good thing? (37) …que nunca lo bueno fue mucho. (75; I, 6) “Can one desire too much of a good thing?” Shakespeare, As You Like It, IV, 1, 110.

25. *The charging of his enemy was but the work of a moment. …el arremeter al vizcaíno, todo fue en un tiempo. (88; I, 8)

26. I don’t know that ever I saw one in my born days. (57) …ni en mi vida le caté a ninguno. (98; I, 10)

27. Those two fatal words, Mine and Thine. (63) 198 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

…estas dos palabras, mío y tuyo. (104; I, 11)

28. The eyes those silent tongues of Love. (65) …ni aun con los ojos siquiera. (107; I, 11)

29. Ambrose and his friends will carry the day. (67) ..en fin, sa hará lo que Ambrosio y todos los pastores sus amigos quieren. (11012)

30. As good-natured a soul as e’er trod on shoe of leather. (69) …era muy buen compañero y caritativo y amigo de los buenos. (112; I, 12)

31. He’s a good man, I’ll say that for him, and a true Christian every inch of him. (70) …a las derechas es buen cristiano. (113; I, 12)

32. There’s not the least thing can be said or done, but people will talk and find fault. (70) …de todo se trata y de todo se murmura. (113; I, 12)

33. Everything disturbs an absent lover. (84) …como al enamorado ausente no hay cosa que la fatigue ni temor que no le dé alcance. (129; I, 14)

34. It is a true saying, that a man must eat a peck of salt with his friend, before he knows him. (92) …bien dicen que es menester mucho tiempo para venir a conocer a las personas. (139; I, 15) 35. Fortune leaves always some door open to come at a remedy. (94) Siempre deja la ventura una puerta abierta en las desdichas, para dar remedio a ellas. (141; I, 15)

36. Fair and softly goes far. (97) Aun es temprano… (145; I, 16)

37. No limits but the sky. (110) …que tenía por límite el cielo. (157; I, 17)

38. A peck of troubles. (112) …a tantas desventuras… (160; I, 18)

39. The short and long is… (112) Y lo que sería muy acertado… (160; I, 18) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 199

40. Every tooth in a man’s head is more valuable than a diamond. (121) …que la boca sin muelas es como molino sin piedra. (169; I, 18)

41. The famous Don Quixote de la mancha, otherwise called The Knight of the Woeful Figure. (126) …el famoso don Quijote de la Mancha, que por otro nombre se llama el Caballero de la Triste Figura. (175; I, 19)

42. You are come off now with a whole skin. (127) …vuestra merced ha acabado esta peligrosa aventura lo más a su salvo de todas las que he visto. (177; I, 19)

43. Get out of harm’s way. (130) desviarnos del peligro. (179; I, 20)

44. You may go whistle for the rest. (134) …que no hay pasar adelante. (184; I, 20)

45. Why do you lead me a wild-goose chase? (136) …que me trae a deshoras y por estos no acostumbrados pasos. (186; I, 20)

46. I tell thee, that’s Mambrino’s helmet. —Pues ése es el yelmo de Mambrino. (192; I, 21)

47. I give up the ghost. (143) …aquí sea mi hora. (194; I, 21)

48. Of good natural parts, and of a liberal education. (154) …muy bien nacida. (206; I, 22)

49. A medley of kindred, that ‘twould puzzle a convocation of casuists to resolve their degrees of consanguinity. (155) … la parentela tan intricadamente, que no hay diablo que lo declare. (207; I, 22)

50. Those who’ll play with cats must expect to be scratched. (159) …no ande buscando tres pies al gato. (210; I, 22)

51. Raise a hue and cry. (159) …dar noticias (211; I, 22)

52. ‘Tis the part of a wise man to keep himself to-day for to-morrow, and not venture all his eggs in one basket. (162) 200 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

…de sabios es guardarse hoy para mañana, y no aventurarse todo en un día. (214; I, 23)

53. The ease of my burdens, the staff of my life. (163) …alivio de mis cargas, y, finalmente, sustentador de la mitad de mi persona. (215; I, 23) (from spurious “robo del rucio”)

54. I’m almost frightened out of my seven senses. (168) …el miedo me asalto con mil géneros de sobresaltos y visiones. (220; I, 23)

55. Absence, that common cure of love. (177) …el ausentarse por algunos meses. (229; I, 24)

56. From pro’s and con’s they fell to a warmer way of disputing. (181) …y fue el fin de las réplicas asirse de las barbas… (233; I, 24)

57. I never thrust my nose into other men’s porridge. It is no bread and butter of mine; every man for himself, and God for us all. (183) …no soy amigo de saber vidas ajenas (235; I, 25)

58. Naked came I into the world, and naked must I go out. (183) …desnudo nací; desnudo me hallo (235; I, 25)

59. Mere flim-flam stories, and nothing but shams and lies (187) …todo debe de ser cosa de viento y mentira. (239; I, 25)

60. Thou hast seen nothing yet. (190) —¡Bien estás en el cuento? (241; I, 25)

61. There’s no need to make an enquiry about a woman’s pedigree, as there is of us men, when some badge of honour is bestowed on us. (194) …que no han de ir a hacer la información dél (= linaje) para darle algún hábito. (246; I, 25)

62. You’re a devil at everything; and there’s no kind of thing in the versal world but what you can turn your hand to. (196) …que es vuestra merced el mesmo diablo, y que no hay cosa que no sepa. (247; I, 25)

63. ‘Twill grieve me so to the heart, that I shall cry my eyes out. (197) …que me dará mucha lástima y no podré dejar de llorar. (248; I, 25)

64. Without knowing why or wherefore. (197) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 201

…sin qué ni para qué (248; I, 25)

65. Ready to split his sides with laughing. (208) …no pudo tener la risa (259; I, 27)

66. As much a fool as he was, he loved money, and knew how to keep it when he had it, and was wise enough to keep his own counsel. (208) …que maguer que tonto, era un poco codicioso… (260; I, 27)

67. What man has assurance enough to pretend to know thoroughly the riddle of a woman’s mind, and who could ever hope to fix her mutable nature? (216) ¿quién hay en el mundo que se pueda alabar que ha penetrado y sabido el confuso pensamiento y condición mudable de una mujer? (268; I, 27)

68. Demonstrations of love are never altogether displeasing to women, and the most disdainful, in spite of all their coyness, reserve a little complaisance in their hearts for their admirers. (226) …por feas que seamos las mujeres, me parece a mí que siempre nos da gusto oír que nos llaman hermosas. (280; I, 28)

69. Delay always breeds danger. (240) …que en la tardanza dicen que suele estar el peligro. (295; I, 29)

70. Let things go at sixes and sevens. (250) …siquiera se lo lleve el diablo todo. (306; I, 30)

71. Think before thou speakest. (252) …mira… lo que hablas… (308; I, 30)

72. Let us forget and forgive injuries. (254) —Echemos, … pelillos a la mar. (309; II, 30)

73. I must speak the truth, and nothing but the truth. (255) …si va a decir la verdad. (310; I, 30)

74. I can tell where my own shoe pinches me; and you must not think, sir, to catch old birds with chaff. (267) ¡Como si yo no supiese.. adónde me aprieta el zapato. (325; I, 32)

75. Required in every good lover…, the whole alphabet… Agreeable, Bountiful, Constant, Dutiful, Easy, Faithful, Gallant, Honourable, Ingenious, Kind, Loyal, Mild, Noble, Officious, Prudent, Quiet, Rich, Secret, True, Valiant, Wise… Young 202 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

and Zealous. (292) …han de tener los buenos enamorados, sino todo un abecé entero…, agradecido, bueno, caballero, dadivoso, enamorado, firme, gallardo, honrado, ilustre, leal, mozo, noble, onesto, principal, quantioso, rico, y las eses que dicen (= sabio, solo, solícito, y secreto) , y luego, tácito, verdadero. La X no cuadra, porque es la letra áspera; y la Y ya está dicha; la Z, zelador de tu honra. (351; I, 34)

76. Virtue is the truest nobility. (314) …la verdadera nobleza consiste en la virtud. (376; I, 36)

77. I’ll take my corporal oath on ‘t. (321) …no me engaño. (385; I, 37)

78. It seldom happens that any felicity comes so pure as not to be tempered and allayed by some mixture of sorrow. (359) Mas como pocas veces, o nunca, viene el bien puro y sencillo, sin ser acompañado o seguido de algún mal que le turbe o sobresalte. (427; I, 41)

79. There’s no striving against the stream; and the weakest still goes to the wall. (404) …donde reina la envidia no puede vivir la virtud, ni adonde hay escaseza la liberalidad. (479; I, 47) 80. I would have nobody to control me, I would be absolute; and who but I? Now, he that is absolute can do what he likes; he that can do what he likes, can take his pleasure; he that can take his pleasure, can be content; and he that can be content, has no more to desire. So the matter’s over; and come what will come, I am satisfied. (423) …y tan rey sería yo de mi estado como cada uno del suyo; y siendolo, haría lo que quisiese; y haciéndo lo que quisiese, haría mi gusto; y haciendo mi gusto, estaría contento; y en estanbdo contento, no tiene más que desear; y no teniendo más que desear, acabóse. (502; I, 50)

81. It is not the hand, but the understanding of a man, that may be said to write. (441) …hase de advertir que no se escribe con las canas, sino con el entendimiento. (536; II, prologue)

82. Had only now and then lucid intervals. (448) …con lúcudios intervalos (545; II, 1) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 203

83. (Fearing he would not) Keep within bounds. (455) (Temiendo que) …se descosiese (553; II, 2)

84. Miracle me no miracles. (467) Milagros o no milagros (562; II, 3)

85. There are men that will make you books, and turn ‘em loose into the world, with as much dispatch as they would do a dish of fritters. (465) …hay algunos que así componen libros y arrojan libros de sí como si fuesen buñuelos. (563; II, 3)

86. Birds of a feather flock together. (474) “Al hijo de tu vecino, límpiale las narices y métele en tu casa.” (573; II, 5)

87. He casts a sheep’s eye at the wench. (474) …no mira de mal ojo a la mochacha. (573; II, 5)

88. I ever loved to see everything upon the square. (475) …fui amiga de la igualdad. (674; II, 19)

89. Journey over all the universe in a map, without the expense and fatigue of travelling, without suffering the inconveniences of heat, cold, hunger, and thirst. (479) …se pasean por todo el mundo, mirando un mapa, sin costarles blanca. (578; II, 6)

90. A little in one’s own pocket is better than much in another man’s purse. ‘Tis good to keep a nest-egg. Every little makes a mickle. (486) …que sobre un huevo pone la gallina y muchos pocos hacen un mucho. (585; II, 7)

91. That’s neither here nor there.(498) —No se atenga a eso. (599; II, 9)

92. Remember the old saying, “Faint heart ne’er won fair lady.” (501) …buen corazón quebranta mala ventura. (602; II, 10) English quotation from Edmund Spencer (1553?-1599) (Britain’s Ida, V, 1).

93. She’ll give Camacho the bag to hold. (565) …yo le daré a él un saco de buena fortuna. (674; II, 19)

94. A private sin is not so prejudicial in this world as a public indecency. (582) …que mucho más dañan a las honras de las mujeres las desenvolturas y libertades públicas que las maldades secretas. (695; II, 22) 204 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

95. He has an oar in every man’s boat, and a finger in every pie. (583) …pero no hay cosa donde no pique y deje de meter su cucharada. (695; II, 22)

96. Come back sound, wind and limb. (587) Dios… te vuelva libre, sano y sin cautela a la luz desta vida. (700; II, 22)

97. To-morrow will be a new day. (618) …y amanecerá Dios. (737; II, 36)

98. “Sit there, clod-pate!” cried he; “for let me sit wherever I will, that will still be the upper end, and the place of worship to thee.” (648) “Sentaos, majagranzas; que adondequiera que yo me siente será vuestra cabecera.” (767-68; II, 31)

99. ‘Tis good to live and learn. (655) …es bueno vivir mucho: por ver mucho. (774; II, 32)

100. Great persons are able to do great kindnesses. (662) —De grandes señoras, grandes mercedes se esperan. (781; II, 32)

101. An honest man’s word is as good as his bond. (674) …al buen pagador no le duelen prendas. (792; II, 34)

102. The worst is still behind. (683) …que aún falta la cola por desollar. (802; II, 35)

103. ‘Twill do you a world of good. (683) …que os será de mucho provecho. (802; II, 35)

104. My understanding has forsook me, and is gone a wool-gathering. (692) …me ha llevado el entendimiento no sé adonde. (813; II, 38)

105. Make it thy business to know thyself, which is the most difficult lesson in the world (719) …procurando conocerte a ti mismo, que es el más difícil conocimiento que puede imaginarse. (840; II, 42)

106. What a man has, so much he’s sure of. (725) …tanto vales cuanto tienes. (846; II, 53)

107. I shall be as secret as the grave (862) Así lo juro… (990; II, 62) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 205

108. There is a thing called poetical license. (913) …y ya no hay necedad que canten o escriban que no atribuyan a licencia poética. (1045; II, 70)

109. There is a strange charm in the thoughts of a good legacy, or the hopes of an estate, which wondrously alleviates the sorrow that men would otherwise feel for the death of friends. (934) …que esto del heredar algo borra o templa en el heredero la memoria de la pena que es razón que deje el muerto. (1066: II, 74) 110. For if he like a madman lived, At least he like a wise one died. (935) …morir cuerdo y vivir loco. (1067; II, 74)

4. Motteux Inserts Items not in Cervantes’ Text The numbers in parentheses refer to pages in the Motteux edition. 1. Time out of mind. (4) “Time out o’ mind,” Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, I, 4, 70. 2. To give the devil his due. (111) “He will give the devil his due,” Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part I, I,2. 132. 3. Murder will out. (157) “Mordre wol out,” Chaucer, The Prioresses Tale, 1766 4. The main chance. (159) “Let me stand to the maine chance,” Thos. Lyly, Euphues. “Main chance,” Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part I, II, 5, 113 5. Make hay while the sun shines. (182) “When the sun shineth, make hay,” Heywood, Proverbes 6. Little said is soon amended. (184) “Little said is soonest mended,” George Wither (1588-1667), The Shepherd’s Hunting 7. They must needs go whom the Devil drives. (259) “He must needs goe whom the devill doth drive,” Heywood, Proverbes 8. She made a virtue of necessity. (313) “Thus maketh virtue of necessitee,” Chaucer, Troilus and Criseyde, III, 1586 9. I begin to smell a rat. (319) “I smell a rat,” Thos. Middleton,The Phoenix 10. By hook or by crook. (328) “By hoke ne by croke,” John Skelton (ca. 1460-1529) 11. Even a worm when trod upon, will turn again. (440) “The smallest worm with turn, when trodden upon,” Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part III, II, 2, 17 12. Spare your breath to cool your porridge. (505) “Spare your breath to cool your porridge,” Rabelais, Works V, 28 13. A great cry, but little wool. (520) “Moche Crye and no Wulle,” John Fortescue (ca. 1395-1476), De Laudibus Angliae, Chap. 19 14. neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring. (521) She is neither fish nor flesh, nor good red herring,” Heywood, Proverbes 15. I’ll turn over a new leaf. (524) “Turn over a new leaf,” Middleton, Anything for a Quiet Life, II, 3 206 Don and Tom Lathrop Cervantes

16. The fair sex. (480) “That sex which is therefore called the fair,” Richard Steele (1672-1729) 17. Like a man of mettle. (625) “A lad of mettle,” Shakespeare, King Henry IV, Part I, II, 4, 13 18. You can see farther into a millstone than he. (628) Shee had seene far into a millstone,” Heywood, Proverbes 19. Speak the truth and shame the devil. (647) “While you live, tell truth and shame the devil,” Shakespeare, King Henry IV, Part I, III, 1, 58 20. Upon second thoughts. (653) “Second thoughts, they say, are best,” John Dryden (1630-1700) 21. Honesty’s the best policy. (666) “…honesty is always the best policy,” G. Washington, Farewell Address 22. You cannot eat your cake and have your cake; and store’s no sore. (723) “Would you both eat your cake and have your cake?” Heywood, Proverbes; “…store is no sore,” Heywood, Proverbes 23. Mum’s the word. (729) “Cry ‘mum,’” Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor, V, 2, 6 24. Spick and span new. (829) Spick and Span new,” Middleton, The Family of Love, V, 3 25. All the fat shall be in the fire. (906) “The fat is in the fire,” Heywood, Proverbes 26. Thereby hangs a tale. (923)“Thereby hangs a tale,” Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor I, 4, 144 27. The fair sex. (480) “That sex which is therefore called the fair,” Richard Steele (1672-1729) 28. Thank you for nothing. (94) 29. May Old Nick rock my cradle. (103) 30. You’re leaping over the hedge before you come to the stile. (117) 31. You’re taking the wrong sow by the ear. (117) 32. Paid him in his own coin. (119) 33. Bell, book, and candle. (120) 34. A finger in every pie. (133) 35. No better than she should be. (133) 36. Every dog has his day. (133) 37. Let every man mind his own business. (157) 38. I know what’s what. (162) 39. Lovers are commonly industrious to make themselves uneasy. (179) 40. A close mouth catches no flies (184) 41. To tell you the truth. (190) 42. Between jest and earnest (190) 43. ‘Tis ten to one. (193) Volume 26 (2006) Cervantes in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations 207

44. As sure as I’m alive. (193) 45. My honour is dearer to me than my life. (228) 46. Higgledy-piggledy. (241) 47. Mind your own business (263) 48. Within the bounds of possibility. (283) 49. The ornament of her sex. (287) 50. Thank your stars. (292) 51. Harp so on the same string. (305) 52. Here’s the devil-and-all to pay. (319) 53. Ready cash. (468) 54. Rejoices the cockles of my heart. (472) 55. Neither will I make myself anybody’s laughing-stock. (475) 56. That feather in their caps. (476) 57. Stand in thy own light. (476) 58. Fore-warned fore-armed. (502) 59. Returning the compliment. (606) 60. I can see with half an eye. (632) 61. Scum of the world. (635) 62. Old… that’s an affront no woman can well bear. (644) 63. Made ‘em pay dear for their frolic. (655) 64. A blot in thy scutcheon to all futurity. (681) 65. But all in good time. (686) 66. With a grain of salt. (690) 67. The pot calls the kettle black. (727) 68. I thought it working for a dead horse, because I am paid beforehand. (917) 69. Nothing like striking while the iron is hot. (919) 70. Every man was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. (926) 71. Die merely of the mulligrubs. (932) 72. Get out of your doleful dumps. (932)

Was Thomas Shelton the Translator of the ‘Second Part’ (1620) of Don Quixote?”

______James H. Montgomery

his paper is admittedly a provisional study of the authorial problems of Part Two of Thomas Shelton’sDon Quixote (1620). TI say provisional because a terminal illness prevents me from doing the definitive study that is called for. Nevertheless, it makes a convincing enough case for someone else to pursue the matter more thoroughly. Like Cervantes, who first conceived of writing a“ novela ejemplar”1 of some seven or eight chapters but later expanded it into a full-size novel, I began translating Don Quixote in 1984 with the intention of translating only those chapters usually selected for inclusion in textbooks of surveys of world literature. I originally intended to send those chapters to publishers to let them compare my version with those of Samuel Putnam and J.M. Cohen. After finishing these chapters, I decided to translate a few more, and then a few more, and eventually decided to translate the whole novel, a task that I finally completed in 2006. In the course of this activity I assembled a collection of the 15 major English translations, beginning with Thomas Shelton’s of 1612 and 1620, and ending with Edith Grossman’s of 2003.2 During this time I read through my draft

1 ”Su proyecto inicial habría sido sólo en el hacer una breve ejemplar contra los libros de caballerías.” Gaos, Vicente. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Madrid : Editorial Gredos, 1981-1987. Vol. 3, p. [18]. 2 1612-1620. The history of Don Quixote of The Mancha / translated from the 209 210 James H. Montgomery Cervantes

Spanish of Miguel de Cervantes by Thomas Shelton ; with a new preface by F.J. Harvey Darton, and illustrated with two portraits, eighteen plates, and facsimiles. London : Privately printed for the Navarre Society Limited, 1923. 2 v. : ill. ; 23 cm. 1700-1703. Don Quixote / Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra; translated by P.A. Motteux ; introduction and notes by Stephen Boyd. [Complete and unabridged]. Hertfordshire : Wordsworth Editions Limited, 2000. xvi, 765 p. ; 20 cm. (Wordsworth classics) Original title: The history of the renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha. 1742. Don Quixote de la Mancha / Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; translated by Charles Jarvis ; edited, wit h an introd., by E.C. Riley. Oxford, New York : Oxford University Press, 1992.xxii, 1087 p. ; 19 cm. (The world’s classics) 1755. The adventuresof Don Quixote de La Mancha / by Miguel de Cervantes ; translated by Tobias Smollett ; with an introd. by Carlos Fuentes. New York : Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 1986. xxxi, 846 p. : ill. ; 23 cm. Original title: The history and adventures of the renowned Don Quixote. 1818. Don Quixote de la Mancha / translated from the Spanish of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra [by Mary Smirke] ; embellished with engravings from pictures painted by Robert Smirke. [1st ed.] London : Printed for T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1818. 4 v. : 50 plates ; 24 cm. 1881. The ingenious knight Don Quixote de la Mancha / composed by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; a new translation from the originals of 1605 and 1608 [sic] by Alexander James Duffield, with some of the notes of the Reverend John Bowle, Juan Antonio Pellicer, Don Diego Clemencín, and other commentators. [1st ed.]. London : C. Kegan Paul, 1881. 3 v. ; 24 cm. 1885. Don Quixote, the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha / by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; the translation by John Ormsby, with a new introduction by Irwin Edman ; and the illustrations by Edy Legrand. New York : Heritage Press, c1950. 682 p., [48] leaves of plates : ill. ; 29 cm. Original title: The ingenious gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha. 1888. The ingenious gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha / by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; done into English by Henry Edward Watts. New ed., with notes, original and selected. London : Adam and Charles Black, 1895. 5 v. ; 22 cm. Original title: The ingenious gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha. 1908. The visionary gentleman Don Quijote de La Mancha / by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; translated into English by Robinson Smith. 3d ed., complete with a life of Cervantes, notes, and appendices. New York : Hispanic Society of America, 1932.2 v. ; 24 cm. Original title: That imaginative gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha. 1949. The ingenious gentleman Don Quixote de La Mancha / Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra : a new translation from the Spanish ... by Samuel Putnam. New edi- Volume 26 (2006) Was Shelton the Translator of Don Quixote II 211 more than 200 times, making a word-for-word comparison of each of the previous translations with my own, as well as comparing each of the others with the original Spanish. The Spanish text with which I worked was the critical edition of Vicente Gaos.3 I frequently consulted as well the outdated but highly inspirational critical edition of Francisco Rodríguez Marín.4 After self-publishing my Don Quixote in 2006,5 I sent out several review copies, one of which was to the Times Literary Supplement of London. Their “reviewer” totally ridiculed it, whereupon I wrote a letter pointing out the places where I took issue with the “reviewer.” As a result of my letter, Hackett Publishing Company asked to see a copy of my translation and, after vetting it with various readers of theirs, agreed to publish it in late 2008 or early 2009. I regret having “rushed” my version

tion. New York : Viking Press, 1958. xxx, 1043 p. ; 24 cm. 1950. The adventures of Don Quixote / by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; translated by J.M. Cohen. [1st ed.]. Harmondsworth, Eng. : Penguin Books, 1950. 940 p. ; 20 cm. (Penguin classics) 1964. Don Quixote of La Mancha / Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; translated and with an introd. by Walter Starkie. [1st ed.]. New York : New American Library, 1964. 1052 p. ; 18 cm. (Signet classics) 1995. The history of that ingenious gentleman Don Quijote de la Mancha / Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; translated from the Spanish by Burton Raffel ; introd. by Diana de Armas Wilson. [1st ed.]. New York : W.W. Norton, 1995. xviii, 733 p. ; 24 cm. 2000. The ingenious hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha / Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; translated by John Rutherford. [1st ed.]. NY : Penguin Books, 2001, c2000. xl, 1023 p. ; 20 cm. 2003. Don Quixote : a new translation / by Edith Grossman ; introduction by Harold Bloom. [1st ed.] New York : ecc, 2003. xxxv, 940 p. ; 24 cm. 3 El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de La Mancha / Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; edición crítica y comentario de Vicente Gaos ; [llevada a cabo por Agustín del Campo]. Madrid : Editorial Gredos, 1987. 3 v. ; 26 cm. (Biblioteca románica hispánica ; IV, Textos ; 18) 4 El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha / de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. Nueva edición crítica, con el comento refundido y mejorado y más de mil notas nuevas / dispuesta por Francisco Rodríguez Marín. Madrid : Ediciones Atlas, 1947-1949. 10 v. : ill. ; 22 cm. 5 The adventures and misadventures of Don Quixote / translated ... by James H. Montgomery. North Charleston, SC : BookSurge, 2006. Available from Amazon. com. 212 James H. Montgomery Cervantes into print, but at the time I thought my illness might not allow me to see it published. I have since gone through my manuscript and made numerous improvements, incorporating many of the comments of the scholars who vetted my work. In working on my translation, when I came to Thomas Shelton’s, I was overwhelmed by the beauty and power of his language, especially when I considered that it was the first translation of the Quijote into any language. But somewhere in the “Second Part” I became somewhat disenchanted with its literary style, even asking myself why I had been so tremendously impressed in the first place. During an exchange of correspondence with Dr. Anthony lo Ré, Spanish professor emeritus at Chapel Hill, he mentioned the possibility that Part Two of Shelton’s translation was not by Shelton himself. This struck a responsive chord in me and seemed to explain my lack of enthusiasm for the Second Part. I returned to study the controversial Second Part and discovered, to my amazement, that although it was indeed translated by Shelton himself up through Chapter Forty, it was startlingly clear that Chapters Forty-One through Seventy-Four were definitely the work of some other hand. I proceeded to read all I could about Shelton, which was easy enough, since very little is known about him. In reading the few references I could find, I discovered that there has been considerable discussion of the authorship of the 1620 translation. But, after studying Shelton’s version over a period of years, I feel that the solution to the controversial question of authorship is really quite simple. In effect, no formal proof is needed if one will merely read the 1620 translation with an eye to its literary style. When one reads Chapters Forty and Forty-One consecutively, his or her only conclusion will be that they cannot both be translated by the same person. However, proof needs to be based upon something more solid than mere reading, I went to the Web and downloaded the text of the Shelton translations of 1612 and 1620. Then, using the “Find and Replace” function on the computer, it was an easy matter to compare the parts translated by Shelton and those by the anonymous author. I compared the vocabulary used by Shelton with that of the other translator. The results show that certain words employed by Shelton numerous times through Part Two, Ch. 40 hardly appear in the chapters by the other translator. I then chose a single grammatical construction to demonstrate the difference between the two translators. I chose the auxiliary ‘do,’ followed by the main verb, and searched it in all conjugations of the present and past tenses. Additionally, I would have liked to make a study of the syntax between the two translators but my present infirmity has not allowed Volume 26 (2006) Was Shelton the Translator of Don Quixote II 213 me to devote the necessary time and effort. Still, I think the following analysis, as simple as it is, will tend to indicate that Chapters Forty-One through Seventy-Four of the Second Part could not possibly have been written by the same person who wrote the first forty chapters as well as all of Part One (1612).

Following are the two tests which I did employ in the study. 1) The incidence of Vocabulary Words in the portions translated by Shelton compared to those by the anonymous translator

In the first example, 10 to 0 means that the word Address (in the sense of “to lead”) occurs 10 times in Shelton’s portion, and 0 times in the anonymous translator’s portion.

Address (lead) 10 to 0 Affect (feel affection for) 4 to 0 Ambages (equivocal courses) 3 to 0 Answerable (corresponding to) 3 to 0 Apaid (pleased) 4 to 1 Apparalled 20 to 0 Arabical 5 to 0 Argument (indication) 17 to 0 Artificial (constructed according to the rules of art) 14 to 0 Attending (waiting for) 4 to 0 Canvassing (being tossed i a blanket) 4 to 0 Careful (anxious) 4 to 0 Certes 5 to 0 Commark (district) 6 to 0 Crupper 6 to 0 Damosels 5 to 0 Depended (hanging, suspended) 4 to 0 Detect (reveal) 8 to 0 Dight (array) 6 to 0 Dilate (expound) 4 to 0 Disastrous (suffering disaster) 5 to 0 Disgrace (misfortune) 5 to 1 Disventures (misadventures) 3 to 0 214 James H. Montgomery Cervantes

Eftsoons 7 to 0 Empannel (saddle an ass) 5 to 0 Emulate (regard as a rival) 3 to 0 Exigent (demanding action) 5 to 0 Forcible (inevitable) 12 to 0 Gratify (be thankful for) 12 to 0 Hotpen 5 to 0 In resolution (finally) 7 to 0 In such sort 39 to 1 Inhabitable (uninhabitable)` 3 to 0 Intercur (intervene) 2 to 0 Leasings (lies) 3 to 0 Lecture (reading) 4 to 0 Malet (wallet) 8 to 0 Minuity (detail) 3 to 0 Occurred (ran up to) 3 to 0 Of all which 4 to 0 Opinion (reputation) 10 to 0 Pannel 36 to 0 Paragon with (rival) 2 to 0 Prevent (anticipate) 5 to 0 Price (esteem) 4 to 0 Prosecuted (continued) 19 to 0 Quader (square with, fit in) 2 to 0 Quitasoll (parasol) 2 to 0 Recchelessness (thoughtlessness) 3 to 0 Reduce (bring back) 6 to 0 Rumour (noise) 6 to 0 Runagates (renegades) 3 to 0 Securely (without anxiety) 7 to 0 Succeeded (occurred) 9 to 1 Thereunto 14 to 1 Thou beest 16 to 1 To wit 40 to 2 Travails (labors) 2 to 0 Vent (tavern) 8 to 0 Well-nigh 6 to 0 Whereunto 15 to 1 Wights 3 to 0 Wistly (wistfully) 3 to 0 Volume 26 (2006) Was Shelton the Translator of Don Quixote II 215

Wood (mad) 3 to 0 Yesteryear 8 to 0

I find it hard to understand how Shelton would use the phrase ‘to wit’ 40 times in the first seven tenths of the translation and only twice in the final three tenths; or ‘in such sort’ 39 times in the first seven tenths and only once in the final three tenths. The same holds for all the other examples above.

2) Grammatical forms:

I do [followed immediately by the main verb with no intervening words] e.g. I do imagine ... ; [Excluded forms: I do not imagine ... ; I do only imagine ...]

I do ... 69 to 1 Thou dost ... 24 to 1 She doth ... 3 to 0 He doth ... 5 to 0 We do ... 4 to 0 You do ... 8 to 0 They do ... 24 to 1 I did ... 21 to 1 Thou didst ... 11 to 0 She did ... 2 to 0 He did ... 27 to 2 We did ... 4 to 1 You did ... 1 to 0 They did ... 10 to 2 213 to 9

Because Shelton’s text constitutes 71 % of the entire Quixote, I have multiplied the 9 instances of the anonymous translator by 2 1/2. The results are still an astounding 213 to 23.

3) Syntax I have not analyzed the syntax as I would liked to have done, but the most superficial examination of the text will show that the portion containing 216 James H. Montgomery Cervantes

Shelton’s “fine old crusted English,” to borrow Ormsby’s famous phrase, is more reminiscent of Robinson Smith’s eccentric translation, whereas the anonymous portion reads almost as though it were from the pen of Charles Jarvis. Beginning with Part Two, Chapter Forty-One, there is a distinct change from the tortured, convoluted style of Shelton to a more flowing, modern style. Admittedly a writer’s style will undergo a gradual development over the course of ten years but not to the extent of the drastic transformation that is exhibited between two single chapters, in this case Chapters Forty and Forty-One of Part Two. I believe the intrusion of a second author in Part Two accounts for the lack of authorial attribution in the “Second Part” of 1620. The publisher possibly did not want to publicize the fact that the second publication contained Shelton’s work only through Chapter Forty. Apparently the deception worked, and it has continued to work with both casual readers and scholars. To my knowledge, no one to date has pointed out the abrupt change of literary style in Part Two. Surely someone has and I have simply overlooked it. The fact that there are two translators (at least) involved in Part Two would also explain the differing opinions of the critics as to the relative literary merits of the 1612 and 1620 publications. For example, Duffield says in his 1881 translation: “Part II ... cannot be by Thomas Shelton, although it is invariably ascribed to him; unless it can be conceived that a scholarlike gentleman, of quick discernment and fine taste, could lose within the space of half a dozen years his knowledge of the Spanish tongue, his fine old English, his poetic fancy, his modesty, and his delightful manners.”1 Duffield is obviously focusing upon the latter half of Part Two and then generalizing to include the whole “Second Part.” John Ormsby takes the opposite position: “It has been asserted that the Second [Part], published in 1620, is not the work of Shelton, but there is nothing to support the assertion save the fact that it has less spirit, less of what we generally understand by ‘go’, about it than the first.”2 Though

1 P. xliii of The ingenious knight Don Quixote de la Mancha / composed by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; a new translation from the originals of 1605 and 1608 [sic] by Alexander James Duffield, with some of the notes of the Reverend John Bowle, Juan Antonio Pellicer, Don Diego Clemencín, and other commentators. [1st ed.]. London : C. Kegan Paul, 1881. 3 v. ; 24 cm. 2 P. 17 of Don Quixote, the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha / by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra ; the translation by John Ormsby, with a new introduction by Irwin Edman ; and the illustrations by Edy Legrand. New York : Heritage Press, c1950. Volume 26 (2006) Was Shelton the Translator of Don Quixote II 217 unaware of the fact, he is basing the first part of his statement on the portion translated by Shelton, and the second part of his statement on the portion translated by the unknown translator. To do justice to Shelton, it should be recognized that chapters 41 to 74 of Part Two were by a different hand, and their shortcomings should not be attributed to Shelton. Another accepted “fact” is Shelton’s statement that he made the translation of the First Part (1612) in a mere 40 days. Highly doubtful— if one were to copy the entire 1612 Quixote using a quill pen, one would be hard pressed to accomplish this sole task in as little as two weeks time, much less while simultaneously translating. Shelton is obviously being ironic in making such a statement, or, as Duffield comments: “This is a merry jest.”3 It is anyone’s guess as to why he would make such an assertion, unless possibly by claiming that the translation was made in only forty days, he was absolving himself of any errors it contained, thereby boasting (to paraphrase Cervantes) that if he could do such a thing in 40 days, what couldn’t he have done in a more reasonable length of time. I see no indications that his translation was done in haste. It does contain some sentences and clauses that are unworthy of his talents, but in the very next sentence he will produce a jewel. What is most astounding is that his monumental translation is accomplished without benefit of a dictionary of the Spanish language, an authoritative Spanish textual edition, or a single philological work on Don Quixote. And no less significant was his lack of any prior English translation to help guide him. In summation, I would hope that studies critical of the 1620 publication would distinguish between the work of Thomas Shelton and that of the unknown translator. It is bad enough that the world knows so very little about this consummate translator, but even worse that he is blamed for a portion of the Quijote that he did not even translate.

11206 Hidden Bluff Austin, Texas 78754 [email protected]

3 Op. cit, p. xliii.

On the Rhetoric Within and Without Don Quixote1

______James A. Parr

ith due deference to Umberto Eco and Miguel de Cervantes, this brief amble through the fictional woods is Wdivided into four parts. The first is a preamble; the second is a stroll through the text; the third is a foray into issues relating to the text but essentially extra-textual; the fourth and last summarizes some of my own commentary, focusing on the implicit rhetoric concerning the unreliability of oral and written transmission.

Preamble. Stanley Fish makes the astute observation that the times in which it has fallen our lot to live are the age of a new form in the development of the species, a form of life that he calls homo rhetoricus. Truth is not only relative, therefore; it is whatever one can be convinced of by those who are gifted at manipulating the spoken and written word. The person who succeeds in this brave new world of words is the one who can prevail through the force of his or her rhetoric. Facts are less important than feelings; overstatement trumps understatement; cool, calm, and collected are upstaged by fiery, frenetic, and flustered. This is not a surprising insight for those of us in academe, of course, for we frequently see this

1 This is the slightly modified text of the lecture delivered at the meeting of the Cervantes Society of America during the convention of the Modern Language Association of America, on December 29, 2006. I want to thank my esteemed colleagues Frederick De Armas, Vice- President of the Society, for inviting me to deliver the lecture, and Daniel Eisenberg, editor of Cervantes, for publishing it. This lecture marked the end of my three-year term as President of the Society and it was immediately preceded by Barbara Simerka’s presentation of an homage volume titled Critical Reflections: Essays on Spanish Golden Age Literature in Honor of James A. Parr (see Works Cited). It was a memorable day. 219 220 James A. Parr Cervantes scenario play out at departmental and committee meetings. It is easily verifiable, nevertheless, that the preponderance of intellectual endeavor since time immemorial has been dedicated to the search for a more stable kind of truth. This is, of course, a laudable enterprise. Who could question its merit? The problem arises when we find Truth and convince ourselves that we have found it, for then we become a true believer, and we stop searching. A sometime side effect is that this supposed enlightenment may lead not only to a closed mind but also to obsession or even fanaticism. If someone else has come to different conclusions about life, literature, or the universe, that person must be wrong. There can hardly be two versions of the truth about matters of consequence, and since I have achieved enlightenment, perhaps as part of a group, you and your group are surely misguided if you have come to different conclusions. One of us will have to shun the other, perhaps banish the other, or take even more extreme measures, because we see things differently. The mindset that I have only begun to describe is one that we can gaze upon with dismay every single day by simply picking up the newspaper or turning on the TV. Sad to say, it exists also in academe, for who among the general populace is more devoted to the quest for truth than college and university professors? The word veritas“ ” is not unusual on our institutions’ escutcheons. What happens when academics in our little corner of the universe reach illumination? They may bond in special sessions at the MLA, or they may establish a journal that will reflect and espouse their perspective, or they may publish a volume of essays that give voice to their version of the truth, or they may band together in their department in order to head that fossilized entity in a more enlightened direction, doubtless one that is interdisciplinary, transcending traditional boundaries and borders. It is paradoxical, certainly, that as knowledge expands dramatically in every field, there are nevertheless intrepid souls who do not hesitate to speak with authority about a variety of areas in which they may have no real expertise. You may recall that this posture was identified by Ortega y Gasset as one of the hallmarks of a certain type of hombre masa, the specialist in one area who tries to pass as a specialist in all areas (161-62). Be that as it may, I fully anticipate that, any day now, one of these interdisciplinary sages will achieve the grand synthesis of all knowledge that we have been questing after for centuries. In December 2006, my university announced a search for just such a person, who is to be burdened with the imposing title of the “Chancellorial Chair for Innovation in Teaching across Disciplines.” I Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 221 wish the Chosen One every success. If we have something to be greatly concerned about in this world, it is not so much the dilettante as it is the true believer, however. It is worth noting that the terrorists of recent vintage are all true believers. Following Miguel de Unamuno’s take on religion, from his essay “Mi religión,” and the instincts of a sometime editor, I have always found a certain diver- sion in questioning reductive readings or formulaic discourse thought to provide all the answers, or even to pose all the essential questions. My credo would be to search for the truth, yes, but to assume that the journey is more important than the arrival, and that the process is one of constant deferral. All truths are relative and provisional. As a corollary, I urge those who have miraculously reached some center of enlightenment to reconsider. To those who need facile, all-purpose answers, I would say, along with Unamuno, “que si quieren soluciones, acudan a la tienda de enfrente, porque en la mía no se vende semejante artículo” (14). What does Cervantes offer us and our students in this regard? He gives us a main character who is a true believer of anything in print and a text that questions the authority of books, including his own. The main character reads secular texts as though they were sacred scriptures; he can quote chapter and verse from those scriptures, but when he adopts his new identity, he sets out not as a “soldado de Cristo” but as a “soldado de Amadís.” In addition, Cervantes offers us narrators who undermine the authority of other narrators, pseudo-authors who do the same, and an editorial voice who subverts all of them, only to have his own discourse subverted by his loss of aesthetic distance and the egregious errors he makes at the end of both parts. This questioning of authority and of the printed page has obvious implications for all books, whether classified as poetry, history, or scripture. Not for nothing are the pseudo-author Cide Hamete and the mock-hero Don Quixote associated with two cultures of the book. Only the Bible is mentioned by name, but the ramifications of the untrustworthy scriptor of a certain culture and faith are surely transparent with regard to that other culture and faith and, more specifically, its foundational book, the Koran.

On the rhetoric within. There are a select few articles that may well be more important than some books. Within one of my own special interests, George Haley’s pioneering piece on the narrative voices in a 1965 issue of MLN naturally comes to mind. This is an essay to which all of us who have dealt with the diegetic dimension of the Quijote are indebted. A lesser-known sta- 222 James A. Parr Cervantes tement that opened new vistas to me in the matter of characterization is Mary Mackey’s Hispanic Review article of 1974, titled simply “Rhetoric and Characterization in Don Quixote.” Here the author makes a striking comparison between Don Quixote’s peroration on the golden age and Marcela’s soon-to-follow defense of her independence and freedom to choose. Mackey shows that the protagonist’s ruminations on the fantastical days of yore are replete with rhetorical transgressions and reminds us that it is totally inappropriate to its unwashed audience. Marcela’s defense, in contrast, is carefully structured according to the norms of classical rhetoric and is well suited to the audience assembled for Grisóstomo’s burial. It clearly has a positive impact on Don Quixote, which is more than we can say about the soporific effect his own earlier speech had on Sancho and the goatherds. Themago who is manipulating this discourse does not do the main character any favor by assigning him a rambling and untimely speech, but he clearly presents Marcela in a positive and forceful manner by means of the carefully-crafted rhetoric he assigns to her. Like biography, talk about characters is all too often gossip. The proper purview of the literary critic is characterization, not characters. Following this principle, it is worth noting how the narrator presents the resident ecclesiastic at the summer palace of the duke and duchess in a way designed to orient reader response, causing us to be negatively disposed toward this personage even before he opens his mouth to disparage Don Quixote. In addition to what the narrator tells us about him, which is also damaging, the insistent anaphora of “destos que” complements the negative content of the message, so that, as Joaquín Casalduero was fond of putting it, sentido y forma work together, in tandem. The rhetoric assigned to characters and used to describe characters is not haphazard. When Don Quixote sets out for the first time and, as part of the process, attempts to influence his chronicler in the description of that momentous event, his rhetoric rises to the occasion, influenced, of course, by the style of his preferred reading material:

Apenas había el rubicundo Apolo tendido por la faz de la ancha y es- paciosa tierra las doradas hebras de sus hermosos cabellos…, cuando el famoso caballero don Quijote de la Mancha…dejando las ociosas plumas, subió sobre su famoso caballo Rocinante y comenzó a cami- nar por el antiguo y conocido campo de Montiel. (I, 2)2

2 Quotes from the text are from the edition of Salvador J. Fajardo and James A. Parr. Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 223

Our first narrator or pseudo-author is not amused. He immediately bursts this bubble of high-sounding foolishness with his laconic summation: “Y era la verdad que por él caminaba.” Hereafter, this sort of rhetorical exuberance will be used very seldom and only for purposes of parody. Since it is a potential style introduced into the text, then rejected in favor of a more prosaic manner, we can say that it is effectively reassig- ned to the disnarrated (see Prince). Disnarration is an important rhetorical recourse that has hardly begun to be studied in relation to the Quijote. My favorite instance of this technique occurs in Part II en route to Barcelona:

Sucedió, pues, que en más de seis días no le sucedió cosa digna de ponerse en escritura, al cabo de los cuales, yendo fuera de camino, le tomó la noche entre unas espesas encinas o alcornoques; que en esto no guarda la puntualidad Cide Hamete que en otras cosas suele. (II, 60)

This is far finer and more subtle than the classical configuration followed by Marcela in her speech. If she looks back to the five-part rhetorical structure advocated by Cicero (exordium, narratio, confirmatio, refutatio, and peroratio), our narrator at this juncture will look forward to Gerald Prince’s two sub-categories of the disnarrated, namely the unnarrated and the unnarratable. The activities and dialogues of six entire days are left unnarrated, or elided, while the detail concerning the kind of tree under which they took shelter constitutes the unnarratable, which is to say a detail so insignificant that it does not rise to the level of narration. The irony implicit in this ordering and valuation of what finds its way into the discourse is doubtless transparent. We pass over six days’ worth of happenings in order then to focus instead on an insignificant detail. This masterful juxtaposition of unnarrated and unnarratable—in a single sentence, let it be noted—looks forward to theoretical formula- tions of our own day rather than looking backward to the prescriptions of Cicero or Quintilian.

On the rhetoric without. “Without” can mean outside the text, external, extra-textual, or it can mean without taking the text into consideration, except as a pretext. I mean for it to mean both. All criticism occurs outside the text, and is therefore without, but there are certain kinds of critical rhetoric that 224 James A. Parr Cervantes seem to eschew the text in order to launch into discussions of whatever is of particular interest to the critic of the moment. It should not be necessary to cite instances of this latter phenomenon. Everyone knows what is involved and how the process proceeds, and we know that we are all guilty at times to some degree. At issue here is the role and function of the literary critic. The notion that the critic is subservient to the text and that his or her role is essentially a parasitical one was eloquently refuted by Northrop Frye, among others. The critic is largely autonomous, inhabiting a conceptual universe that is limited only by knowledge of literature, literary theory, the pertinent accumulated criticism, and the practice of criticism. I hope we do not assume therefore that we are totally free to subordinate texts to ideology. We are constrained by the text and the discipline. If we show no discipline in our commentary, there will eventually be no discipline. Autonomy is liberating but it is not license. One of the terms that certain critics bandy about with abandon is “novel.” Even more rhetorically exuberant is “first modern novel.” It comforts and consoles us, I suppose, to assure ourselves that we are dealing with a text of consequence, one that has had an impact in the world of fiction and one that belongs to, perhaps even initiates, the most pres- tigious literary genre of modern times. All of this serves to elevate us a notch in our own eyes and, we hope, in the eyes of others. Who would care to be associated with other literary forms when we can immerse ourselves in a panoramic form like the novel? It would be tedious to belabor the point, but it has seemed to me for some time that the Quijote has more in common with postmodern narrative than with the modern novel. Like the postmodern novel, the Quijote experiments with narrative strategies and is multi-leveled; it largely disregards linear time, is replete with metalepses, and is highly self- conscious and self-referential, frequently baring its devices. It is fair to say that the postmodern novel focuses more on the diegetic, whereas the modern, realistic novel concentrated more on the mimetic. The rhetoric of the text itself, in particular the self-deprecating irony of the first prologue; the festive, mock-heroic manner that permeates both the diegetic and mimetic planes, beginning with the 1605 title; the frequently stylized language, manifested in the recourse to anaphora, polysyndeton, bimembration, zeugma, Cesarean veni, vidi, vici cons- tructions, and other devices; the malleable main characters, who can be adapted to whatever form the plot demands of them—all of these serve to set the Quijote apart from the modern, realistic novel and bring it clo- Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 225 ser to the postmodern free-form narrative of more recent times. Carroll B. Johnson (Don Quixote: The Quest), Edward H. Friedman, and José María Paz Gago have also addressed this matter, and I would refer you to them for a more detailed treatment. Another insufficiently-examined critical term that some of us seem quite taken with is perspectivism. This is a notion that might add philosophical freight to the enterprise. If our author has significant insights into the nature of reality and if we are the purveyors of that wisdom, then, once again, we can feel both privileged and proud. Unfortunately, philosophically-based perspectivism in the Quijote is difficult to find. Only the mock-hero sees things differently from others, and that primarily in Part I. His reasons for seeing helmets instead of basins, giants instead of windmills, armies instead of flocks of sheep, castles instead of inns, and princesses instead of prostitutes are all easily explained and understood. When he spies his fantastical yelmo de Mambrino, Sancho is not fooled, nor is the narrator—who clarifies the situation expedi- tiously—nor, of course, is the barber in question. Concerning the baciyelmo conundrum, it is Sancho who coins this clever hybrid as a way of resolving a conflictive situation. That certain critics should fasten upon it with such tenacity is quite remarkable, for the speaker is common sense personified, with no pretensions to philosophical insight. How seriously can we take an offhand remark aimed at maintaining harmony with his master and perhaps also restoring harmony at a very contentious moment when Sancho is not even privy to the joke being played on the aggrieved barber, indeed does not understand it (see I, 44-45)? Second, there is some question whether we should take seriously anything Sancho says, given his background and his role in the scheme of things. The sharp simpleton is a staple of carnivalesque literature, but will his words carry real philosophical freight? Finally, there is a context that must be taken into account, although it tends to be ignored. Don Quixote counsels Sancho about the relativity of things, telling him, for instance, that what Sancho perceives as one thing, he, Don Quixote, might see as something else, and someone else might see it as yet another thing. This outline of perspectivism would seem to be potentially profound—until we stop to consider that the speaker predicates it all on the evildoings of enchanters, who, he maintains, are loose among us and intent on transforming one thing into another to confuse us. So much for the philosophical underpinnings of perspectivism. There is linguistic perspectivism in Don Quixote, as Leo Spitzer demonstrated many years ago, but it does not rise, in my estimation, to the level of philosophical 226 James A. Parr Cervantes insight. The romantic approach was fine for its time and place, but Anthony Close is quite right in arguing that it has had an unfortunate effect on subsequent generations, including some in our own materialist moment, a time for which it is singularly unsuited. The cautionary approach has more to recommend it than either its perspectivist or romantic counterparts, but much depends on what we decide we are being cautioned against. Is it reading in general, naïve reading in particular, or reading certain kinds of literature? Is it the misguided attempt to live literature? Is it the pernicious influence that simulacra of reality can have, both then and now, on the naïve consumer? As you know, there are those today who write letters to soap opera and sitcom characters, thinking they are real people. The lessons of the Quijote have yet to be assimilated by the public at large.

The implicit rhetoric surrounding the unreliability of both oral and written transmission, or the rhetoric of one critic in particular. When we read or teach Don Quijote, there are two plots that should concern us. One is the mimetic-represented action, centering on the characters, their interactions and misadventures. The other is the diegetic plot, having to do with the confection, transmission, and narration of that mimetic action. It is this second and largely neglected plot that concerns me here. Since it is in fact a plot in its own right, with a full cast of characters, it seems quite proper to speak of the motivation or lack of motivation of these characters, just as we might with characters enmes- hed in a mimetic action. Cervantes must have enjoyed the game of wearing multiple masks: that is to say, the strategy whereby he distances himself from the festive, carnivalesque world inhabited by Don Quixote and Sancho, while simultaneously slipping in and out unobtrusively among the interstices of the text. Certainly he does it often and well. The authorial presence I infer upon completion of the reading and after due consideration of the generic dominant, point of view, characterization, the continuous questioning of authority, tone, texture, and stable irony, is a presence that can properly be called the inferred author or the author-in-the-text. The rules of the game dictate that the historical author, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, be relegated to the margins in any serious study of narratology. Such a move on the part of the commentator is only prudent if one is to enjoy the requisite autonomy, avoid the intentional fallacy and—Heaven Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 227 forbid!—biographical determinism. We do the author no good service, for instance, when we make the “Captive’s Tale” depend overly much upon lived experience, for such a linkage necessarily diminishes the powers of imagination upon which an author’s reputation must ultimately depend. The suggestion of biographical determinism is therefore limiting and, ultimately, unflattering to an author’s imagination and creativity. As for the intentional fallacy, the strictures of Northrop Frye and Wimsatt and Beardsley have been challenged, needless to say, sometimes by clever coinages like “the intentional fallacy fallacy,” but sometimes more seriously, as occurred when Anthony Close brought to bear in 1972 Austin’s and Grice’s notions of speech acts and their contexts, taking this composite as a reliable indicator of Cervantes’s intention in the Quijote. One can certainly infer some aspects of intention, for instance that Cervantes intended to write parody, replete with irony, in a mildly satirical vein, but what troubles me is that some critics try to assign intended authorial meanings to the speeches of his characters. It is a dubious critical gambit to do that, or, for that matter, to sift through a work in search of related observations, whether by characters or narrators, and to infer from the evidence thus marshaled—usually without taking into account context, who is speaking and with what relative authority, or whether the comment may be ironic or untrue—then to conclude from this systematic rifling of the text that we now know the mind of the author (which would surely include his intentions), in the way Américo Castro did in El pensamiento de Cervantes. I shall never forget a conversation with José Luis Abellán in Barcelona in 2004 in which I made a similar comment, adding that I was not at all sure whether what was originally Castro’s doctoral dissertation at the Complutense would be accepted if presented today, precisely because of its lack of critical rigor. Suffice it to say, this remark created some consternation. This historical author, who remains generally outside or on the margins of the text, comes closest to expressing himself directly in the titles assigned the 1605 and 1615 volumes and, to a somewhat lesser degree, in the two prologues, where he appears as a dramatized author. These paratextual structures, called seuils by Gérard Genette and parerga by Jacques Derrida, exist in a kind of narrative Limbo, neither fully inside nor fully outside the frame—a situation Derrida quite aptly describes in his inimitable style by pointing out that “il y a du cadre, mais le cadre n’existe pas” (La Vérité 93), or, in General American, there is a process of framing that we can identify and perhaps describe, but the frame in this case is porous, sometimes shifting, perhaps even illusory. The au- 228 James A. Parr Cervantes thor I infer seems to thrive on these paradoxes. Certainly he created a fair quantity of them. Others of like nature are Sancho’s clever coinage, the baciyelmo, and the antithetical coupling of “hidalgo” with “don” and “don” with “Quixote,” the likely derivative of a surname, as part of the 1605 title. Beyond these ingenious but superficial juxtapositions, there is, nevertheless, a more substantive binomial around which much of the story is structured, and that is orality versus literacy. The dichotomy is beautifully personified in the two main characters, of course, but it also finds frequent expression in the continuing quest for grounding on the part of the written text. Often a “dicen que” or a formulaic expression such as “hay fama, por tradición de padres a hijos” (II, 12) is trotted out, whether in jest or in earnest is sometimes hard to say, as the ultimate authority for what we are reading. To my mind, the most interesting of these is the curious beginning of II, 44, where orality and literacy are inextricably conjoined and shown to be mutually dependent—to be, in fact, two sides of the same coin. It reads:

Dicen que en el propio original desta historia se lee que llegando Cide Hamete a escribir este capítulo, no le tradujo su intérprete como él le había escrito, que fue un modo de queja que tuvo el moro de sí mismo por haber tomado entre manos una historia tan seca y tan limitada como esta de don Quijote… (366)

This is, without doubt, one of the more provocative sentences of the entire book, for it is the most overt expression of the interdependence of the two forms of expression. What is called into question is grounding itself, whether in speech or in writing, and also, by implication, the quest for origins. Here, I submit, there are anticipations of both Genette and Derrida, but primarily the latter. As I suggested earlier, the Quijote also presents what we might call motivated and unmotivated narrators. It does so early in Part I in the persons of the first and second pseudo-authors. It is noteworthy that these writers are in fact speakers—for that is what narrators do: they speak, in the sense that they imitate oral discourse, as they address their respective narratees. Here again, there is a suggestion that orality and literacy are inseparable. But what interests me at the moment is the negative attitude displayed toward the main character by the first author, which will find its counterpart in the effusive encomia of the second author in chapter 9. It is by no means clear what motivates the first author to undertake the story of a human subject for whom he clearly has so little use, since Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 229 he presents him invariably in a bad light, showing failures, gratuitous violence, confusions of identity, deflating the knight’s literature-inspired rhetoric, and going so far as to suggest that he hasn’t a brain in his head. Since no reason for taking up the story is given, and since his attitude is so negative, he can only be considered an unmotivated narrator. Why does he bother? And how might we characterize the intended recipient of his discourse, his narratee? Should we assume a conspiratorial pact between them, at the expense of the main character? Elsewhere in the text we find three versions of pastoral presented sequentially, along with juxtaposed episodes suggesting the fallibility of two of the senses (hearing and sight), and, of course, the sequential conjoining of orality and literacy in the “Dicen que…se lee” noted previously. So it should not surprise us to find that the appearance of the second author offers the juxtaposition of a highly motivated narrator hard upon the heels of the abdicating unmotivated narrator. How is it that the second author is so favorably disposed toward the main character, in contrast to his predecessor? And what shall we say of his narratee? Apparently this speaker assumes a narratee who shares his enthusiasm and peculiar perception of events to this juncture. Of course, the next author and sometime speaker to appear on the scene is Cide Hamete, a seemingly unmotivated writer if ever there was one. Why would someone of a different faith, language, and culture be interested in an aging, monomaniacal hidalgo from a village in La Mancha? And to whom is he addressing a discourse in Arabic about that good Christian gentleman? Carroll Johnson’s new historical and “realistic” reading suggests that Cide Hamete’s text was likely written in Spanish, using Arabic characters, or, in other words, in Aljamiado (“The Virtual Don Quixote”). This is quite plausible if we assume a materialized Cide Hamete living in Spain at that time (prior to 1609), for such a person would be more properly Morisco than Moor. However we decide the question of the “original” language—and it is ultimately undecidable—the points I have tried to make here would seem to hold, and, as E. C. Riley remarked quite rightly, Cide Hamete would remain a compelling example of inverismili- tude, in this as in every other regard (Cervantes’s Theory 210). Of course, Cide Hamete’s presence in Spain becomes even more inverisimilar in 1615. (Irrelevant speculation: possibly our “real-life” fictional historian had completed Part II prior to being expelled, or perhaps he returned, like Ricote.) Fortunately, there is encoded within the text a generally dispassiona- te editorial voice that serves to show the limitations of each point of view, 230 James A. Parr Cervantes the unmotivated and predominantly negative as well as the highly motivated and overly effusive. This voice, that of the editor figure, addresses his narratee in quasi-oral fashion, as narrators are wont to do, in contrast to Cide Hamete, who is a writer almost exclusively, and who, when he infrequently resorts to direct address, does so in reference to a reader. Cide Hamete is a surrogate writer for the real author, not a surrogate speaker. The Moor represents all the dangerous deferral inherent in the supplement we call writing (that is, considering writing as a supplement to speech), along with the equally real risks of indiscriminate dissemination (see Derrida, Dissemination). The fact that it is difficult to identify a proper audience for his discourse serves to emphasize that the dissemination of stories, made possible by writing, is fraught with risks and dangers, because one can never know who will come upon that piece of writing, perhaps have it translated, perhaps misconstrue it as badly as the second author seems to have done with the first author’s text. It is a commonplace nowadays to say that the Quijote is a book about readers and reading. It is also true that it is a book about writers and writing. Cesáreo Bandera remarks that “the first great modern novel is a warning against the reading and the writing of novels—which, at first sight, is indeed a most unlikely inauguration” (3). The affinity between Don Quixote and Cide Hamete is that the former is a decoder of texts, while the latter is an encoder. In a very real sense, they are mirror images of each other. Cide Hamete’s “foreignness” is highly appropriate, for he stands for an alienated medium of expression that has traditionally been suspect, since Plato at least, and his alterity is therefore the perfect complement to that supplement to orality called writing. Cide Hamete is a part of a larger whole, writing, while Don Quixote is a whole character closely connected to a much smaller—but not insignificant—part, the piece of defensive armor that protects the thigh, called the quixote. The quasi-historical mode employed in Don Quijote derives largely from the books of chivalry Cervantes is parodying, but its roots reach back to late Classical times, as William Nelson maintains:

A great mass of medieval narrative, both religious and secular, is in this quasi-historical mode. From late classical times and throughout the Middle Ages storytellers assert, often with great energy and circumstance, that their narratives are historically true, based on the most reliable of authorities. (22)

In order to parody this quasi-historical mode, he invents a menda- Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 231 cious Moorish historian as his “most reliable of authorities,” then com- plicates further the notion of verdadera historia by having the Arabic (aljamiado?) text translated (transliterated?) into Spanish by an unnamed Morisco of dubious qualifications. Several other intermediaries— first pseudo-author, second pseudo-author, third pseudo-author (Cide Hamete), an editor (or supernarrator), the pen itself, to say nothing of the much-put-upon typesetters—further attenuate authority and reliability, leading to the logical inference that auctoritas is not to be found in either story or history. Riley is quite correct in observing that “todos estos autores, fuentes y autoridades sirven para borrar la claridad de la historia en cuanto se refiere a ciertos datos, algunos de ellos fundamentales” (“El Quijote en 1992” 30)—such as, shall we say, the first and family names of the main character, his village, and the correct name of Sancho’s wife. A parlor game of years past was called “How the Story Grew,” and it began by having someone whisper a very brief anecdote to the person seated to the right, who then did the same for the person to his or her right, and so on around the room. The story that reached the end of the line, after being relayed by several intermediaries, had invariably grown to be almost unrecognizable. The ironic commentary we find on all this in Don Quijote has to do with the friendship between Rocinante and Dapple, which, we are told, was handed down by oral tradition from father to son. Don Quijote makes light of the quest for origins with some frequency, beginning with the place of origin of the main character, continuing with the pedantic obsessions of the Primo who shows the way to the Cave of Montesinos, and culminating in II, 44 with the amusing attempt to ground writing in orality, the infamous “dicen que…se lee que” construction mentioned previously. The ironic treatment of oral transmission, based on memory (for instance, in Sancho’s tale of the 300 goats that have to be taken across a river one by one), in conjunction with the equally ironic presentation of the record offered by writing, has implications for other printed texts— especially texts that derive from oral tradition—and it resonates well beyond the boundaries of the work that is our primary focus here. In my 1988 Anatomy of Subversive Discourse, I suggested that another significant book is implicated in the questioning of authority, and that is the Bible. One basis for this assertion is the use of the tag line “no puede faltar un átomo en la verdad,” applied first to the Bible in reference to giants (II, 1), but then applied to the fabrication we have been reading, the story of Don Quixote, a few chapters farther on (II, 10) in these terms: “sin añadir ni quitar a la historia un átomo de la verdad.” These 232 James A. Parr Cervantes are the only times that tag line appears in the two volumes, so there is clearly an insinuation that the two books are similar in terms of their reliability. It is Don Quixote, that paragon of naïve readers, who applies the line initially, referring to Goliath, and it is the narrator who subsequently applies it to the story we are reading. What I did not mention in the 1988 Anatomy was the even more obvious implicating of the Koran. The oral substratum is what links the two sacred scriptures, plus the telling fact that our resident historian is a representative of that particular culture of the book and, furthermore, that he is said to be somewhat less than truthful. The problem with the transmission of the Old and New Testaments and the Koran is that all three have their origins in orality. Less time passed between the preaching of Mohammed and the trans- cription by his disciples than is the case for the Old and New Testaments, but there is nevertheless room for doubt about accuracy and authenticity in all three. There is, of course, no way to verify oral tradition. One takes it on faith or one does not. Raymond Willis was on the mark when he made the following observation in 1953:

In Arabic historiographical works, many of which the Westerner would deem semi-fictional, at the beginnings of portions of text, call them chapters or what we will, there recurs an expression, qāla… which we might render “Says the historian,” or “Says the narrator.” This is no mere stereotype: it has an important traditional function, for it is the vestigial form of the isnād, the chain of authorities that introduces and authenticates the text of a hadīth, or record of an action or saying of the Prophet. (101)

Of course, the phrase “dice la historia” is found also in the books of chivalry, as Willis himself is careful to point out, but it seems to me that it has a peculiar resonance in the Quijote, since the written text is attributed to a Muslim historian. What I find to be characteristic of theQuijote is its questioning of authority in all its dimensions, but specifically the reliability of the oral and written transmission of deeds and discourse from the past. The implications for the three cultures that coexisted in Spain for several centuries are fairly evident, but this is particularly so for Islam, because of the recourse to Cide Hamete Benengeli and all the cultural baggage our puntualísimo historiador brings with him. One item of that baggage that might add a final stroke to our verbal portrait is the pen mentioned at the very end. Luce López-Baralt offers the in- Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 233 sightful comment that the words assigned the pen in order for it to assert its unique relationship to the main character necessarily conjure up the “Supreme Pen” (al-qalam al-a‘lā) of the Koran (68:1), which writes on the “Well-Preserved Tablet” (al-law.h al-ma.hfūz.), inscribing “the inexo- rable destiny of human beings” (506). Carroll B. Johnson, to whom I am indebted for this reference, has remarked that: “López-Baralt explains the disconcerting phrase ‘somos para en uno,’ which normally refers to a betrothal, by observing that ‘the Supreme Pen and the Well-Preserved Tablet constitute in Islam an inviolable “spiritual marriage” (511)’” (“The Virtual Don Quixote” 184). That all of this allusiveness is supremely ironic is surely clear, for it serves to underscore the undeniable relationship established in Cervantes’s text between Cide Hamete’s spurious manuscript and the Koran. In conclusion, Cervantes offers us in the Quijote a guide for the perplexed in matters of aesthetic distance and the unreliability of oral and written transmission. Some implications have been presented here. The lesson in reading offered by the Quijote aligns nicely with Horace’s advice to aspiring poets: “Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, / Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo” (Ars Poetica 343-44). By Cervantes’s day, deleitar enseñando had become a moral imperative, as is well known, and there can be little doubt that our author took that dic- tum seriously. If we would adopt the distanced and questioning attitude implicit in the rhetoric of the Quijote, there might be less tribalism and sectarianism based on supposedly authoritative written texts, whether sacred or secular, and, as a consequence, there might one day be a chance for peace on earth, and perhaps even a truce in the culture wars.

Department of Hispanic Studies University of California, Riverside Riverside, CA 92521 [email protected]

Works Cited

Bandera, Cesáreo. The Humble Story of Don Quixote: Reflections on the Birth of the Modern Novel. Washington: Catholic University of America P, 2006. Casalduero, Joaquín. Sentido y forma del Quijote, 1605-1615. Madrid: Ínsula, 1949. Castro, Américo. El pensamiento de Cervantes. 1925. Ed. Julio Rodríguez-Puértolas. Barcelona-Madrid: Noguer, 1972. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Ed. Salvador J. Fajardo and James A. Parr. Revised edition. Asheville, NC: Pegasus, 234 James A. Parr Cervantes

2002. Close, A. J. “Don Quixote and the ‘Intentionalist Fallacy.’” The British Journal of Aesthetics 12.1 (1972): 19-39. Rpt. On Literary Intention. Ed. David Newton-de Molina. Edinburgh: U of Edinburgh P, 1976. 174-93. Derrida, Jacques. Dissemination. Trans. Barbara Johnson. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1981. —. La Vérité en peinture. Paris: Flammarion, 1978. Eco, Umberto. Six Walks in the Fictional Woods. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1994. Fish, Stanley. “Rhetoric.” Critical Terms for Literary Study. Ed. Frank Lentricchia and Thomas McLaughlin. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1990. 203-22. Friedman, Edward H. “Insincere Flattery: Imitation and the Growth of the Novel.” Cervantes 20.1 (2000): 99-114. (25 March 2006). Frye, Northrop. “Literary Criticism.” The Aims and Methods of Scholarship in Modern Languages and Literatures. Ed. James Thorpe. 2nd ed. New York: MLA, 1970. 69-81. Genette, Gérard. Seuils. Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1987. Haley, George. “The Narrator in Don Quijote: Maese Pedro’s Puppet Show.” Modern Language Notes 80 (1965): 146-65. Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus). The Ars Poetica of Horace. Ed. Augustus S. Wilkins. London: Macmillan, 1939. Johnson, Carroll B. Don Quixote: The Quest for Modern Fiction. Boston: Twayne, 1990. ———. “The Virtual Don Quixote: Cide Hamete Benengeli’s Manuscript and Aljamiado Literature.” Critical Reflections: Essays on Golden Age Spanish Literature in Honor of James A. Parr. Ed. Barbara Simerka and Amy Williamsen, asst. ed. Shannon Polchow. Lewisburg: Bucknell UP, 2006. 172-88. Lentricchia, Frank, and Thomas McLaughlin. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1990. 203-22. López-Baralt, Luce. “The Supreme Pen Al-Qalam( Al-A‘lā) of Cide Hamete Benengeli in Don Quixote.” Trans. Marikay McCabe. Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 30 (2000): 506-18. Mackey, Mary. “Rhetoric and Characterization in Don Quijote.” Hispanic Review 42 (1974): 51-66. Nelson, William. Fact or Fiction: The Dilemma of the Renaissance Storyteller. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1973. Ortega y Gasset, José. “La rebelión de las masas.” Ortega y Gasset: sus mejores páginas. Ed. Manuel Durán. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1966. 129-63. Parr, James A. Don Quixote: An Anatomy of Subversive Discourse. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 1988. Revised as Don Quixote: A Touchstone for Literary Criticism. Kassel: Reichenberger, 2005. ———. Don Quixote, Don Juan, and Related Subjects: Form and Tradition in Spanish Volume 26 (2006) On the Rhetoric in Don Quixote 235

Literature, 1330-1630. Selinsgrove, PA: Susquehanna UP, 2004. Paz Gago, José María. “El Quijote: de la novela moderna a la novela postmoderna (nueva incursión en la Cueva de Montesinos).” Actas del XII Congreso de la Asociación Internacional de Hispanistas. Birmingham 1995. Vol. 3, Estudios áureos 2. Ed. Jules Whicker. Birmingham: Dept. of Hispanic Studies, University of Birmingham, 1998. 108-20. Prince, Gerald. “The Disnarrated.”Style 22 (1988): 1-8. Riley, Edward C. “El Quijote en 1992: el texto como tema.” Atti delle Giornate Cervantine. Ed. Carlos Romero et al. Padua: Unipress, 1995. 25-37. ———. Cervantes’s Theory of the Novel. 1962. Reprinted, with new introduction and corrections. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 1992. Unamuno, Miguel de. “Mi religión.” “Mi religión” y otros ensayos breves. Colección Austral, 299. 5th ed. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1968. 9-15. Willis, Raymond. The Phantom Chapters of the Quijote. New York: Hispanic Institute in the United States, 1953. Wimsatt, W. K., and M. C. Beardsley. “The Intentional Fallacy.” 1954. On Literary Intention. Ed. David Newton-de Molina. Edinburgh: U of Edinburgh P, 1976. 1-13.

Review Articles______

Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote

______Tom Lathrop

he spectacular success of Edith Grossman’s translation is the best thing that has ever happened to Cervantes in this coun- Ttry. It was published on October 21, 2003, and two months later, on Christmas Eve, 2003, it rose to be the ninth-best-selling book at Amazon.com. What this means is that thousands, or even hundreds of thousands of people, have experienced reading this book in recent months, a great boon to cervantistas’ (or at least my) desire to see a Quijote on everyone’s bookshelf. Our collective hats should collectively be tipped in the direction of New York’s Upper West Side to congratulate Edith Grossman on her achievement. This is a trade book destined for the general reader, and in this role Grossman’s text is ideal—you read it, you get the story, you get lots of footnotes—in an altogether readable format. In the first two paragraphs of the novel itself, it matters little to the man in the street whether don Quijote’s lance was stored on a shelf (as the translation says [19])1 or on a lance rack, or if Don Quijote’s greyhound was used for racing (as in the translation) or if he was merely swift. (A parallel with “galgo corredor” is in II, 41, where “cohetes trona- dores” was translated as just “fireworks” [724].) It equally doesn’t make any difference to that same fellow if don Quijote lived “Somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember” (as the translation says), or “In a village in La Mancha, whose name I do not care

1 Numbers in parentheses or brackets refer to page numbers in the Grossman translation. No page numbers are given for the original Spanish texts when cited—too many editions. 237 238 Tom Lathrop Cervantes to remember” (italics are mine), because villages are places after all. But these little details should be a caveat about the translations’s familiarity with the Golden Age idiom, where “lugar” in this context, does mean ‘village.’ There has been a flood of “reviews” of this translation, all favorable, and none with much, if any, analysis: some of these are those of James Wood (The New Yorker), Tania Barrientos (The Philadelphia Inquirer), The San Francisco Chronicle, Carlos Fuentes (The New York Times, with a rebuttal by Roberto Carlos Echevarría in a letter to the editor), Craig McDonald (This Week, UK), Jay Tolson (U.S. News), Julian Evans (The Daily Telegraph, UK), Max Gross (Forward), Robert McCrum (The Observer, UK), Terry Castle (The Atlantic Monthly), and Richard Eder.2 I hope to give quite a bit of analysis here. Part of the problem Don Quixote translators face is that of which edition to use to translate from.3 Grossman says that she used “Martín de Riquer’s edition”—but Riquer has done two different editions, the one from 1955 and the one from 1980, the latter of which he (naturally) considers superior. Looking at the footnote on p. 67 of the translation, where “Benengeli” is associated with “berenjena” and the Moors’ predi- lection for dishes made with eggplant, it seems to reflect the use of the 1955 edition instead of the 1980 edition, which no longer insists on the Moors’ culinary tastes. An example of how the edition leads the translator astray is in the Captive’s Tale, where the renegade decides to take on a partner with whom he can buy a boat, a certain “Moro Tangerino” (folio 242v in the 1605 princeps) ‘A Moor from Tangier.’ Since the same fellow is called a

2 These reviews are archived on the h-Cervantes Web site, . 3 Don Quixote, through the ages, has been plagued by editors who think they are smarter and more clever than Cervantes, and most have felt obliged to “correct” supposed errors and contradictions that are built into the work, as a “service” to the reader. Some of these mistakes and contradictions are so blatant and obvious that many are “repaired” without annotation. These editors don’t realize, however, that Cervantes put them all in his book to imitate a careless writing style used in the romances of chivalry. He certainly didn’t have a bad memory—just look at all the historical, biblical, literary, and mythological references in the text. So, the unsuspecting translator, putting faith in the edition used, is duped by the falsifications inherent in the base text, then is lulled by the many footnotes that point out how Cervantes has forgotten this and has erred in that, and they unwittingly continue into their translations the misrepresentations of the edition and the attitude of the annotator. I have discussed this topic in more depth in the articles and introduction listed under “Works Cited.” Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 239

“Tagarino” ‘Moor from Aragón’ later, almost everyone considers the Tangier reference to be an error and homogenize the text so that both are “Tagarinos.” So, “Tagarino” it is in Riquer, with no note about the change, and “Tagarino” it is in the translation (351). Again, when don Quijote and others arrive at an inn, the famous “cousin,” who was leading don Quijote to the Cave of Montesinos, is suddenly identified as the “sobrino” in the Spanish text. It looks like dopey old Cervantes has made another obvious gaffe! Virtually all editors “fix” it silently back to “cousin,” doubtless thinking they are doing Cervantes a favor. Riquer changes it to “primo” without a note, which Grossman translates in all innocence. So, where Riquer has gone astray, so has Grossman unsuspectingly gone astray as well. Finding the right word in a second language for plays on words in the original can be sticky. Here is a successful translation of a tricky passage. The muleteer in I, 3 goes to get water for his animals: “The muleteer cared nothing for these words [of admonishment by don Quijote]—and it would have been better for him if he had, because it meant caring for his health and well being” (32). Spanish: “No se curó el arriero destas razones (y fuera mejor que se curara…” (italics in both texts are of course mine). How to fix the problem of “tantas letras tiene un no como un sí” in I, 22 is handled in this way, which works just fine: “they say no has even fewer letters than yes” (165). Proverbs are another problem, and the translation handles some of them very well by giving appropriate English equivalents. Sancho says: “the proverb fits: birds of a feather flock together” (610) for the Spanish “dime con quien andas; decirte he quién eres.” After Maese Pedro’s ape escapes, he says: “It would be like pulling teeth to get him back” (653). This is a good English equivalent for the Spanish, which says: “me han de sudar los dientes.” In a scene where Sancho apologizes to don Quijote, he says: “If I talk too much, it comes more from weakness than from malice, and to err is human, to forgive divine” (646). A fine equivalent for “quien yerra y se enmienda, a Dios se encomienda.” On the other hand, the translation sometimes misses the boat, such as when Ginés de Pasamonte says that demanding that the galley slaves go to El Toboso is “like asking pears from an elm tree” (172) with similar variants of the same expression on pp. 726 and 799. Wouldn’t “trying to get blood from a turnip” be the best equivalent? Similarly, when don Quijote speaks of Durandarte, he says that he was “of pure flesh and pure bone” (606)—wouldn’t “pure flesh and blood” be better? And as for “Zamora was not won in an hour” (922), wouldn’t “Rome was not built 240 Tom Lathrop Cervantes in a day” be more logical? I like it when the flavor of the Spanish is kept by using Spanish words that everyone knows, instead of their translations. Andrés in I, 4 says: “I won’t do it again, Señor, by the Passion of Christ” (36). Similarly, Sancho’s promised ínsula is kept as “ínsula” in the translation. When other characters are named, it is very good that their Spanish names are kept, such as Grisóstomo and Ambrosio (81). I also like it when Spanish currency is used instead of foreign money, such as dollars and farthings. Footnotes can explain what they are worth. “Don Quijote calculated the sum and found that it amounted to seventy-three reales” (36). (And we should be grateful that “seventy-three” was retained as well; some editions correct Don Quixote’s “mistaken” arith- metic.) Later, don Quijote explains to Dorotea that he wanted to make Juan Haldudo pay Andrés “down to the last maravedí” (265). When the text says that our narrator was “en el Alcaná de Toledo,” just what is this “Alcaná”? The translation edifies by saying “One day when I was in the Alcaná market in Toledo” (67). The clarification is good and called for. The problem of “your grace” can be a vexing one. John Rutherford always used “you,” but that seems to dilute the flavor of the text. The solution here is to use “your grace” once and then change other references to “you” (rather than the grammatical but confusing “he” or “him”), as in this example: “I’ll entertain your grace by telling you [instead of “him”] stories until daylight, unless you want [instead of “he wants”] to dismount and sleep” (144). It keeps the spirit of the text and makes it easy to read. This translation is very clean typographically. I found just one mis- print: “Teuán” for “Tetuán” (365).

Having said this much, I have a warning to make: serious students of literature in translation should consider looking elsewhere for more faithful translations, such as Starkie and the discontinued and lamented Ormsby-Douglas-Jones version. There are just too many things that just are not right, or are confusing, in this translation. It is stated that don Quijote “often felt the desire to take up his pen and give it [Belianís] the conclusion it promised there; and no doubt would have done so, and even published it” (20). The original Spanish text for the final words says “saliera con ella,” which means that ‘he really would have done it.’ Don Quijote found “some armor that belonged to his great-grandfa- Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 241 thers” (22), but “bisabuelos” means “forefathers.” Regarding Dulcinea, don Quijote was “searching for a name that would not differ from his,” (23) “que no desdijese mucho del suyo,” but “suyo” here means “hers”. Aldonza is phonetically similar to Dulcinea: where d, l, z-sound, n and a are all common. “Dulcinea” is quite different phonetically from “Quijote” (or “Quijano”). Something I consider very nettling is the matter of Dulcinea’s home town, “El Toboso.” The article, which is part of the name, is left off in every instance: “he decided to call her Dulcinea of Toboso” (24). It’s like saying: “I used to live in Hague but moved to Bronx.” Other cities and regions with articles in Spanish also omit the article: “he’s Juan Haldudo the rich man, and he lives in Quintanar” (37) (= El Quintanar); “the empresses and queens of Alcarria” (40). “el Alcarria” is what it’s called in the Spanish original text, “la Alcarria” in modern Spanish. In the episode of the Captive, he explains, in the original version, how the Grand Turk “acometió la Goleta.” The translation has the article, but in English: “he attacked the Goletta” (338), “I lost my freedom at the Goletta” (371). It would have been better to say “he attacked La Goletta” and “I lost my freedom at La Goletta,” with the Spanish article. Similarly, in the braying episode, one of the villages is called “the Reloja” (640). I’d use “La Reloja” in the translation. A like thing is done with certain names: the young girl who chases after Lope Ruiz, the goatherd, in Sancho’s story, is called just “Torralba” (instead of “La Torralba”) (145). When don Quijote is worried because he hasn’t been dubbed a knight, “he resolved to have himself dubbed a knight by the first person he met” (24). Only knights, not regular persons, can dub others a knight. The Spanish says: “propuso de armarse caballero del primero que topase,” where “primero” refers back to the nearest masculine noun, “caballero.” As don Quijote arrived at the first inn, “At the moment a swineherd who was driving his pigs—no excuses, that’s what they’re called” (26). The original Spanish says: “En esto sucedió acaso que un porquero que andaba recogiendo de unos rastrojos una manada de puercos (que sin perdón, así se llaman).” “Pig” was a taboo word in Spain, for several reasons, and it was a custom to beg one’s pardon when mentioning them, but our ironic narrator says he asks for no one’s pardon because that’s what they are. “No excuses” is not quite right here. In that inn, don Quijote is offered “truchuelas” ‘codfish,’ which he mistakes for a diminutive of “trucha” ‘trout.’ There is a confusing translation: “there was nothing but a few pieces of fish that in Castilla is called cod…. They asked if his grace would like a little smoked cod, for there was 242 Tom Lathrop Cervantes no other fish to serve him. ‘Since many little cod,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘all together make one large one, it does not matter” (28–29). So far, so good, but then a few paragraphs later it says that don Quijote thought that “the cod was trout.” But this trout business was never set up; not having explained in a note that truchuela was another name for ‘codfish’ and that trucha means ‘trout,’ the reference to “trout” is very mysterious indeed. The first innkeeper “had retired to Castilla, where he lived on his property and that of others,” which doesn’t seem to make much sense. The Spanish says: “donde vivía con su hacienda y con las ajenas” (30). “Hacienda” means ‘income,’ which does make sense. Don Quijote was grateful to the prostitutes who helped him dress before leaving the inn: “Don Quixote asked her name, so that he might know from that day forth to whom he was obliged for the benison he had received” (34). “Benison” is a little-used word that means ‘blessing.’ Cohen, Raffel, Ormsby, and others, have the commoner and correct “favor.” Don Quijote calls Juan Haldudo a “ruin villano” (36), which is translated as “base varlet.” Once again to the dictionary! ‘Page’ or ‘low fellow.’ Cohen’s “boor” seems pretty good. In the Inquisition of the Books (I, 6), one book is called Felixmarte de Hyrcania in Grossman’s translation, Florismarte de Hircania in Riquer, and Florimorte de Hircania in Cuesta’s princeps. The translation changes Riquer’s version of the title, seemingly naturally enough, because that is what the book is called in the real world. But Cervantes must have had a reason for calling the book with that odd title because the priest then repeats it: “¿Allí está el señor Florimorte…?” Given the variance and contradictions in names, I would hesitate to change them here, although I would footnote it. In the same chapter, when Tirante el blanco is discussed (and as Riquer properly has in his edition, copied from the Cervantine original), the translation calls it Tirant lo Blanc [sic], which is, of course, the original Valencian name for the book.4 Now, here, you have to pay strict attention. Earlier in that same chapter, the priest declares that Amadís de Gaula is the first romance of chivalry printed in Spain, which is true for romances in the Castilian language. The Valencian Tirant was really the first romance of chivalry printed in Spain, but the Spanishtranslation [1511]—the one in Don Quijote’s library—was published after Amadís.

4 Tirant lo Blanc is repeated on p. 88, even when the original text says Tirante el Blanco. Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 243

Thus, since the priest didn’t know about the Catalan original [1490], his earlier claim remains true only if Tirante el blanco is kept in its Spanish form. The change of the title falsifies things a bit for thecognoscenti . The footnote about Juana Gutiérrez and Mari Gutiérrez on p. 57 (echoing Riquer) says that: “Presumably, through an oversight on the part of Cervantes, Sancho’s wife has several names.” How can Cervantes forget the name of Sancho’s wife within a few lines? Isn’t all this just another of the name confusions—Quijote, Quijada, Quesada, Quijana, Quijano—Ginés de Pasamonte, Ginesillo de Parapilla, Ginesillo de Paropillo—Vicente de la Rosa/Roca confusion that pervades the book? When one of the Benedictine friars says to don Quijote “we are two religious of St. Benedict” (62) (“no somos…sino dos religiosos de San Benito”). “We are two religious…” makes no sense, at least to me. A noun is needed instead: “We are two Benedictine friars….” Page 65 has another dubious footnote about the “segundo autor,” again taken from Riquer: “The ‘second author’ is Cervantes (that is, the narrator) who claims, in the following chapter, to have arranged for the translation of another (fictional) author’s book.” That the second author is the narrator, there is no doubt, but that the narrator is Cervantes is quite false. In the created world, the narrator says that he did research in the archives to find out about don Quijote, and that at the end of Part I, he could not find anything else about the man. If the narrator were Cervantes, all Cervantes needed to do was start writing and make everything up (which he did, of course, in the real world). The narrator is a real character within the book, Cervantes is outside the book. And, as for having “claimed to arrange for the translation of another author’s work,” there is no claim; we read in Chapter 9 how the narrator found the real manuscript and had it translated, how long it took to translate and what he paid for the translation. In the created world there is a real narrator and a real Cide Hamete Benengeli; in the real world there was only Cervantes. I don’t understand, on p. 66, where a maiden “went to her grave as pure as the day her mother bore her” when the original Spanish text ironically says “se fue tan entera a la sepultura como la madre que la parió.” How does “day” fit in? The chapter title for I, 9 “De lo que más le avino a don Quijote y el vizcaíno y del peligro en que se vio con una turba de yangüeses,” is rendered here as “with a band of Galicians from Yanguas” (70). What hardly anyone recognizes is that this erroneous title was concocted by Cervantes on purpose. Cervantes knows better than anyone that the ad- 244 Tom Lathrop Cervantes venture of the Basque is over and that the Yangüeses don’t appear until later. He is just trying to have fun, and hardly anyone will let him! The Royal Academy of the Spanish Language in their 1780 edition completely changed this title, and influenced both future editors and translators alike who based their work on the Academy’s edition. I mean, if you can’t trust the Academy, who can you trust? In any case, this “Galicians from Yanguas” is a new twist. There is a footnote that explains that “Cervantes apparently divided this portion of the text into chapters after he had written it, and he did so in haste….” There is a germ of truth here: that chapter titles (of other books, not this one) were made up after the book was written, and sometimes in haste, sometimes carelessly, but to think that Cervantes was careless is far from the truth. He was imitating a careless style, that’s all. When talking about the horn filled with wine, “sometimes full, sometimes empty, like the bucket at a well” (76) (“ya lleno, ya vacío, como ar- caduz de noria”), it would be better to say “like buckets of a waterwheel,” since “noria” means “waterwheel.” When Grisóstomo’s papers are discussed, the translation says that “his papers were both open and closed” (92) (“muchos papeles, abiertos y cerrados”). Wouldn’t it be better to say “both sealed and unsealed”? At the point where Marcela talks about beauty and ugliness, the translation says: “since ugliness is worthy of being avoided” (99) I can’t see why “aborrecido” ‘despised’ is translated as “avoided.” Now we get to Chapter 15, where the yangüeses come in earnest (or are they gallegos?). After don Quijote says he is worth a hundred men, “he grasped his sword and rushed at the Yanguesans” (103) when the original says “echó mano a su espada y arremetió a los gallegos.” There is a footnote which says: “in the first edition, Cervantes calls the drovers ‘Galicians.’ For the sake of clarity I have called them ‘Yanguesans,’ which is how they are referred to in Part II.” Let’s let Cervantes be careless on purpose! This type of falsification simply cheats the clever reader. (I must say that in the Rico edition of Don Quijote, which is supposed to be authoritative, it states: “echó mano a su espada y arremetió a los yangüeses” [160]. That edition is so sure this is a mistake, there is no note at the bottom of the page, not even a hint of one, although there is a blind note about it in the second volume.) After Sancho is beaten, he “struggled to his feet, remaining bent double like a Turkish arch” (“como arco turquesco,” 108). It’s really a Turkish bow, of the type that has one end pushed into the ground before the arrow is released, thus giving more power and accuracy. When you imag- Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 245 ine this bow sticking in the ground, you see how bent over Sancho is. On p. 111, where Sancho tells the innkeeper’s wife that they’ve been on the road only a month, a footnote, echoing Riquer, states that Sancho is mistaken or lying, since they’ve been out only three days. The problem of time is a major theme built into the work. Amounts of time are always contradicted one way or another. “No querer” can mean ‘to refuse’ in any tense, as it does in I, 17, when Sancho said that since his master “no ha querido pagar, que tampoco él pagaría.” but the translation says that “since his master had not wanted to pay, he would not pay, either” (121). Another instance is when the goatherd says he never touched Cardenio’s valise or cushion: “I never wanted to pick them up or go near them” (179). Wouldn’t “I refused to pick them up” be better? Similarly, when Agi Morato’s daughter is described, the Captive says that “she never wanted to marry” (249), “ella nunca se había querido casar.” It would be better to say: “she had always refused to marry.” Finally, in the Retablo de Maese Pedro, the translation says: “Gaiferos…asks his cousin Don Roland for the loan of his sword, Durindana, and see how Don Roland does not want to lend it to him” (629). “…how Don Roland refuses to lend it” would be much better. Another confusion of names built into the work is when the two armies are readying to do battle. In the original, Alifanfarón is also called Alefanfarón, and Pentapolín is also called Pentapolén (or vice versa, in both cases), but Riquer, Rico, and almost everyone else, will not let the confusion stand, so the translator is also deceived (127), and all we see is Alifanfarón and Pentapolín. In I, 19, when the two see the torches coming, the translation says that Sancho began to “tremble like a jack-in-the-box” (135). The Cuyás dictionary says that “temblar como un azogado” is ‘to shake like a leaf.’ Good equivalent. The allusion in the original is to the trembling of people do suffer from mercury poisoning, “azogue” being mercury. When don Quijote meets the encamisados in that same chapter, in the translation he says: “Halt, O knights, or whomsoever you may be, and give an account of yourselves: from whence you come” (136). Since “to be” is a copulative verb, isn’t “whosoever,” or better, “whoever,” called for? And isn’t “from whence” a pleonasmo or worse, a barbarismo? “Whence” by itself means “from where.” You might argue that it could be Don Quijote’s mistake, but in the original Spanish, there is no mistake to be reflected here. On p. 139, where the wounded friar returns from out of nowhere, Schevill’s invented sentence is included in the translation, “Then the 246 Tom Lathrop Cervantes bachelor returned and said to Don Quixote,” because Riquer also included it, although accompanied by a footnote. This comment out of the blue is a mini-version of the theft of Sancho’s donkey—all of a sudden, there it is, with no explanation. Adding Schevill’s invented introductory sentence seems to weaken the intent of the text. When La Torralba is chasing Lope Ruiz in I, 20, the translation says that she was “walking barefoot, with a staff in her hand and some saddlebags around her neck” (146). It is true that the Spanish text does say that she had “alforjas.” Cuyás defines that word as “Saddlebags, [and] knapsack.” The second one seems more apt here. When don Quijote discusses Mambrino’s helmet, he suggests that someone “melted down one half to take advantage of its high price” (155). Wouldn’t “melted it down for what it might be worth” be better? In the galley slave episode, don Quijote says that “If they throw men in the galleys for being lovers, I should have been rowing in one long ago” (164). Why “long ago” when the text says: “días ha que pudiera yo estar bogando en ellas”? “Days ago” is quite appropriate, particularly since his becoming a knight with a lady to love didn’t happen long ago, but just days earlier. When don Quijote advises Sancho to cut broom branches to find his way back to where he is doing penance, he says, correctly translated, “and they will serve as markers and signs, as did the thread of Perseus in the labyrinth, so that you can find me when you return” (204). But there is a note, following Riquer, that says: “In an apparent oversight, Cervantes wrote ‘Perseus’ instead of ‘Theseus.’” There is no oversight. Cervantes is not mistaken, Don Quijote is! At least, for once, don Quijote was allowed to make his mistake. When Sancho says he is illiterate, in the translation he says: “I don’t know the first letter of the alphabet,” (211) which is not amusing at all, whereas a more literal translation of the ironic “no sé la primera letra del ABC” is. The chapter titles for 29 and 30 were reversed for comic effect by Cervantes. The Academy, seeing this foolish error reversed them (to do that careless old Cervantes a favor), Riquer followed suit, and so does this translation, although with a note similar to Riquer’s. I know there is a controversy about the passage where the innkeeper in I, 32 says: “Luego ¿quiere vuestra merced quemar más libros?” when no reference had been made in that chapter to the Inquisition of the Books. Riquer keeps the original “más libros,” but the translation changes it to “my books” (269), without any note. Some people think that there Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 247 had been a mention of the inquisition, previous discussion about the books, but just not recorded in that chapter. When the Captive explains how his father’s money was distributed, he says that the second brother would go to the Indies and would use “his portion to buy goods” (335), “escogió el irse a las Indias, llevando empleada la hacienda que le cupiese.” It’s more that he decided to go to the Indies and invest his money (his “hacienda”). There is also the problem of the meaning of “caballero,” which can mean ‘gentleman’ and ‘knight.’ Where don Quijote explains to Sancho about when he, Sancho, can help his master in fights, don Quijote says that he can’t help “if they are gentlemen” (61) (in the original “si fueren caballeros”). What is meant, though is “if they are knights.” Also, when don Quijote says in I, 45: “if he is a gentleman, I shall show him that he lies, and if he is a squire, that he lies a thousand times over” (391). Isn’t it important that this be “knight” here? When the Canon of Toledo says that he has written “más de cien ho- jas” of a book of chivalry, isn’t that really “more than 200 pages”? (What with the expense of paper, both sides were used.) The translation says: “more than a hundred pages” (414). Not a big deal, but it does show that the Canon’s work is more substantial the original way. When Sancho asks don Quijote if he needs to relieve himself, he asks “si le ha venido gana de hacer aguas mayores o menores.” Riquer doesn’t annotate what that means, and so neither does the translation, but Rico feels he has to explain it. If it’s obscure to the modern Spaniard, then “have you had the desire to pass what they call major and minor waters?” (420) would be obscure to English speakers. One translator along the way suggested something like “have you felt the need to do number one or number two?”—and this fits in with what Sancho later said about that “even schoolboys know that.” When Eugenio, the goatherd, appears, he is invited to join the party for food and drink, “Tomad este bocado y bebed una vez, con que templaréis la cólera,” it is translated “Eat something and have a drink to cool your anger.” “Cólera” was properly translated as “hunger” on p. 157: “having pacified their hunger.” “To cool your anger” makes no sense here; “Relieve your hunger” would be better. Regarding Vicente de la Rosa/Roca—another Cervantine confusion of names that editors and translators will not let him keep—the translation opts to change both names to Rosa, following Riquer, and translates Riquer’s 1955 footnote verbatim. In Part II, 1 where the barber gives his word to don Quijote that he 248 Tom Lathrop Cervantes won’t reveal the plan about how to conquer the Turks, the translation says that he learned a vow “in the tale of the priest who, in the preface, told the king about the thief who had stolen one hundred doblas from him” (461). Preface to what? Wouldn’t it be better to say “in the introit to the mass”? In II, 2, when don Quijote explains to Sancho, in the translation, “when the head aches, all the other members ache… for this reason, the evil that touches or may touch me will cause you pain, and yours will do the same to me” (470), but “mal” doesn’t mean ‘evil’ here–it just means ‘pain.’ There is a continuing problem with “mal” in the translation. Here is another example: the title of II, 63 says: “Of the evil that befell Sancho on his visit to the galleys…” (875). There was no evil; it was just something like: “About Sancho Panza’s ordeal during his visit…” When Sansón tells don Quijote which episodes different people liked, in the translation it says: “some prefer the adventure of the windmills…, others, that of the waterwheel” (475) “otros, la de los batanes.” The fulling hammers are correctly identified on p. 150. Surely lots of readers will wonder about the waterwheel. The only other time a waterwheel was mentioned was cited above, and that wasn’t an adventure. When Sancho talks about don Quijote’s entry into battle, he says, in translation, “not everything’s ‘Charge for Santiago and Spain!” (483). A very odd way to translate “Santiago, y cierra, España,” where Santiago— St. James, Spain’s patron saint—is being invoked to help the Spaniards in battle. Oops. When don Quijote asks Sansón to compose an acrostic poem in honor of “Dulcinea of Toboso,” Sansón balks, saying the name has seventeen letters (484), which it does in the Spanish original, thus making an acrostic difficult.5 But here it has only sixteen, thus an acrostic is easy, since there are plenty of poetic formats that add up to sixteen. When don Quijote explains to his niece about different kinds of knights, he says, that “some are gold, others, alchemical” (493). But “otros de alquimia” means that ‘others are of fool’s gold.’ The madman who burned down the Temple of Diana is given as “Erostratus” (505) in the translation, but it is properly spelled “Herostratus.” Maybe someone will want to look it up, and you can’t do it if it’s spelled wrong. In the episode of the actors’ cart, Rocinante is frightened and “dio a

5 Of course, Part I ends with those laudatory poems, one of which is a seventeen-line son- net (4 + 4 + 3 + 3 + 3). Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 249 correr por el campo con más ligereza que jamás prometieron los huesos de su notomía.” The translation says “the bones of his anatomy” (524), but “notomía” means ’skeleton.’ In that same chapter, when the jester hits Sancho’s donkey with the inflated bladders, the translation says that it “made the donkey fly across the countryside to the town where the fes- tival was to be held” (534). But the donkey didn’t get that far since the original says just “hacia el lugar,” which make more sense since the donkey came back after only a hundred yards or so. When don Quijote sees the Tobosan vats at Diego de Miranda’s house, he recites two lines by Garcilaso: “O sweet treasures, discovered to my sorrow, / sweet and joyous when God did will them so!” There is a note that says that they are from Garcilaso. Fine, but the circumstances should also be explained: the treasures that Garcilaso was talking about was a lock of hair taken from his deceased lady, and to compare that highly charged emotional memory with clay vats is both ludicrous and amusing. But here, again, Riquer’s note is translated as is. At Camacho’s wedding, the translation says that the bride and groom were arriving “in the midst of a thousand different kinds of musical instruments and inventions…” (591). As explained in Rico and elsewhere, it’s more like “a thousand kinds of instruments and people wearing masks…” The same problem on the next page with “dances and dramatic inventions” (= pantomimes). Later, when Quiteria “heard someone say that the wedding… would not be valid, she said that she confirmed it again” (595). I think it is better to say “marriage”—the legal act—than “wedding,” which is more of a festive event. And later, when don Quijote says that “Basilio has only this sheep” (596), referring to Quiteria, wouldn’t “ewe” be better? As don Quijote tells about his adventure in the Cave of Montesinos, he starts by saying, in Spanish, “A la obra de doce o catorce estados de la profundidad desta mazmorra…,” which came out in translation as: “In this dungeon, at a depth of twelve or fourteen escudos” (604). “Escudos” is italicized, as if it came directly from the Spanish version, but “escudo” doesn’t mean “estado” ‘the height of a man.’ In the braying adventure, the banner reads, in translation, “Two mayors of two towns; / they brayed but not in vain” (638). The Spanish says: “No rebuznaron en balde / el uno y el otro alcalde.” But why “two towns”? They were both from the same town. Won’t this confuse readers? In trying to figure out a pay schedule, Sancho says that when he worked for Tomé Carrasco, “I earned two ducados a month, and food 250 Tom Lathrop Cervantes besides” (644). I think “lunch” is more appropriate for “comida.” When Sancho says he thought that the washing of his beard would be better than it was proving to be, he said, “ceremonies and soapings like these seem more mockery than hospitality for guests” (675). On the next page, the duchess says to Sancho: “Don Quijote… must be the cream of courtesy and flower of ceremonies, or cirimonies, as you call them.” Riquer does transcribe “cirimonias” for the first speech, which the translation should respect in order to allow what duchess says on the next page to make sense. When Sancho refuses to whip himself to disenchant Dulcinea, he says: “whipping myself? I renunce thee!” (693). This “renunce” would be pretty good if it were a deformation of a Spanish word, but Sancho uses “abernuncio” (for the Latin “abrenuntio”). I’d keep Sancho’s Latin deformation and put in a little footnote. (Latin quotes were used elsewhere: ”florentibus occidit annis” [682]; “Quia talia fando temperet a lacrymis” [711]; “dubitat Augustinus” (789), “tantum pellis et ossa fuit” [22].) Later, on that same page, when “Dulcinea” reviles Sancho for being unwilling to whip himself, she says that “there’s no boy in catechism class…who doesn’t get that many [lashes] every month.” “No hay niño de la doctrina” isn’t “a boy in catechism class,” but rather “an orphan.” When Sancho says the proverb, in translation, “I’m in a hurry and you demand virginity” (720), it make no sense. The Spanish “En priesa me vees, y doncellez me demandas” means “You see me pregnant and you demand virginity.” In that same episode, Sancho asks everyone to “help him in his hour of need with some Our Fathers and Hail Marys” (722). In Spanish, it is with “sendos paternósteres y sendas avemarías,” that is everyone should say “one each” of those prayers. Don Quijote advises Sancho to divide uniforms between his pages and the poor, and in that way “you will have pages both in heaven and on the ground,” “así tendrás pajes para el cielo y para el suelo” (733). Better “in heaven and on earth.” On Sancho’s ínsula, he says he’ll “answer them the best I can, whether or not people go into mourning or not” (748), “ora se entristezca o no se entristezca el pueblo.” “Entristecerse” is ‘to grieve,’ to be sure, but here it is much simpler: “whether it makes the people sad or not,” or more dar- ingly: “whether they like it or not.” Riquer blames this next item on the typesetter for an error when there was none; just more Cervantine games. This is where the text claims that “Si la sentencia pasada de la bolsa del ganadero movió a admiración Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 251 a los circunstantes,” when in reality, that episode has yet to happen. The translation “fixes” it to “If the subsequent verdict concerning the herder’s purse…” (749). Please, let’s let the artist have his way, and change it back to “if the previous verdict…” When don Quijote found a vihuela in his room, the translation says that “he tested it” (754), “templóla,” but it should be “he tuned it.” This is confusing, I know, because a sentence later he tunes it again! But all this is in the Cervantine plan, where things happen more than once, as in the inn with Cardenio, Luscinda, don Fernando, and Dorotea, where Dorotea is supposed to be in a faint, yet there she is talking; and where they eat dinner three times, if my count is correct. As don Quijote’s pinchers are about to identified, the translation says that “since all duennas are fond of knowing, understanding, and inquir- ing” (782). I don’t think that “knowing” is the correct word. “Saber” can mean ‘to find out’ in any tense. The Spanish text, “las dueñas son amigas de saber, entender y oler,” might be better rendered “since all duennas are eager to pry into things.” When the duchess’s page tells the priest and Sansón about Sancho’s government, “the priest and barber saw clearly enough that the page was speaking sarcastically” “socarronamente” (788). There was no sarcasm. “With great irony” might be better. In a scene where don Quijote is reviling Sancho, he says, in the translation, “Dulcinea perishes; you live in negligence” (850), “tú vives en descuido.” “You are carefree” might be better. When don Quijote and Sancho arrive in Barcelona, “they saw the ocean, which they had not seen before” (862). “Mar” means both ‘ocean’ and ‘sea’—the latter is better here, for obvious reasons. When the renegade goes off to rescue Pedro Gregorio, he has “a very valiant crew of oarsmen” (885), “valentísima chusma,” but ‘robust’ or ‘powerful’ is a better translation in this context. Another thing no one lets Cervantes keep is the matter of King Minos referring erroneously to Lis (instead of Dis)—it’s Minos’ mistake, not Cervantes—, yet virtually no editor (Gaos is an exception) will let Minos keep his mistake! They all think it’s another error by Mr. Dopey, but bear in mind that this is one of the duke’s pages who is speaking, coached in his lines, and doubtless with an imperfect knowledge of classical mythology. Riquer makes the correction, and the translation follows (909), both with the same footnote. As Sancho sees his town, he says, in the translation: “Open your eyes, my beloved country, and see that your son Sancho Panza has come 252 Tom Lathrop Cervantes back…” (928) “Abre los ojos, deseada patria…” “Patria” means ‘country,’ to be sure, but Cuyás assures us it also means ‘home’; how about “Open your eyes, my longed-for home…”? I’m surprised at how few people know how to spell Sannazzaro (the translation uses only one z [934]). I know how because I looked it up when I needed to know. Riquer simplifies it to Sanazaro, but the Gran Enciclopedia Larousse uses the correct spelling. When don Quijote says, once he is miraculously cured of his crazi- ness, “My judgment is restored…” (935), “yo ya tengo juicio.” Wouldn’t “sanity” be much better?

Finally, Harold Bloom wrote an introduction to the translation which, when you read its title, would seem to be just the ticket. It is called: “Introduction: Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra.” So it looks like we’re promised something about the main characters and the author, something we hope will introduce us to the text and its author, maybe something to help us understand the text better. Instead, seemingly, the Introduction expects us to know the book already, and be familiar with the vast panorama of Western Literature as well, most particularly Shakespeare. Not much about Cervantes’ novel is really explained or even talked about. So, what’s the Introduction for? The first sentences are these: “What is the true object of Don Quixote’s quest? I find that unanswerable. What are Hamlet’s authentic motives?” (xxi). Two comments: First, I thought that don Quixote’s quest was really easy to define—to help the needy in trouble. Don Quixote says it many times. In fact, the Introduction later states: “Don Quixote says that his quest is to destroy injustice” (xxii), in which case why is the nature of the quest so mysterious? Later, the Introduction says: “In Kafka’s marvelous interpretation, the authentic object of the Knight’s quest is Sancho Panza himself ” (xxxiv). I don’t see it myself, but it’s another proposed answer to the question. Finally, the Introduction ends suggesting that: “We cannot know the object of Don Quixote’s quest unless we ourselves are Quixotic” (xxxv). (I guess the author of the Introduction is himself not Quixotic.) Second, regarding the comments dealing with “Hamlet’s authentic motives”: just what do Hamlet’s motives have to do with “Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, and Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra”? There is, in my opinion, much too much in the Introduction which has nothing to do with what an introduction to this novel should have. I gathered some data from the Introduction: Cervantes is mentioned 50 times, Don Quixote is mentioned by name, as “the Knight,” Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 253 or as Alonso Quijano, 65 times. Sancho Panza is mentioned 29 times, Dulcinea twice and as Aldonza Lorenzo once. The only other characters in the book who are named are Ginés de Pasamonte (10 times), also as Maese Pedro (6 times); Durandarte once, Belerma twice. Are these an appropriate array of characters to introduce the novice reader of Cervantes’ novel? On the other hand, Shakespeare is named 31 times, and among his literary characters, Hamlet is mentioned 28 times, Falstaff 13 times, and nine other Shakespearean characters are also mentioned (Iago, Shylock, Othello, Antony, Coriolanus, Malvolio (2), Edgar (2), King Lear, and Cleopatra). There are more Shakespearian characters mentioned than Cervantes’! Other authors, critics, and musical people with at least one mention in the Introduction are these: W. H. Auden (2), Erich Auerbach, Avellaneda, Balzac, Calderón, Chaucer, Dante (5), Dickens (4), Dostoevski, George Eliot, Henry Fielding, Gustave Flaubert (3), John Fletcher, Sigmund Freud, Goethe (2), Glen Gould (!), G. Wilson Knight, Henry James, Ben Johnson (4), James Joyce (2), Franz Kafka (2), Harry Levin, Lope de Vega (5), Thomas Kyd, Thomas Mann (2), Christopher Marlowe, Herman Melville (3), Milton, Vladimir Nabokov (2), Ortega y Gasset (2), Marcel Proust (2), the translator John Shelton, Stendhal, Laurence Sterne, Jonathan Swift (2), Tolstoi, Mark Twain, Unamuno (3) (Bloom’s favorite Quixote commentator), Mark van Doren, Verdi (!), and W. S. Merwin. Don’t be deceived into thinking that there are lots of solid citations from the literary critics, either, for most of the people mentioned are just names bandied about. Erich Auerbach, for example, who had a lot to say about Don Quixote in his Mimesis, is limited to a two word quote: “Erich Auerbach argued for the book’s ‘continuous gaiety,’ which is not at all my own experience as a reader” (xxvii). But where are there references to the great works of Quixote criticism? Where are Allen, Avalle-Arce, Cruz, Eisenberg, El Saffar, Flores, Friedman, Hathaway, Herrero, Johnson, Mancing, McGaha, Murillo, Predmore, Riley, Rivers, Russell, Selig, Stagg, Sullivan, Wardropper, Weiger, and dozens of others, all of whom write (at least sometimes) in English? The Introduction laments, out of nowhere, that “We do not have Cardenio, the play Shakespeare wrote, with John Fletcher, after reading Thomas Shelton’s contemporaneous translation of Don Quixote. Therefore we cannot know what Shakespeare thought about Cervantes, though we can surmise his delight” (xxiv). Of course, if we haven’t read Cervantes’ novel yet, we have to wonder who this Cardenio fellow is. 254 Tom Lathrop Cervantes

But aside from that, and much more importantly, we do indeed have Shakespeare’s Cardenio: Charles Hamilton, ed., Cardenio, or the Second Maiden’s Tragedy, Lakewood, CO: Glenbridge, 1994. There is also a full- length study of the play by Henry Salerno (2000). (I knew about the edition already, but it wasn’t difficult to locate the bibliographical details—I got them all instantly from amazon.com.) I confess that I never read that play, but I wonder, since it is a listed as a tragedy, if it will reflect Shakespeare’s delight. If readers ponder “What is this Introduction about?” they are not alone.

Edith Grossman is a translator of modern Latin American works, by authors such as García Márquez, Vargas Llosa, and Mayra Montero. As such, I imagine, at least, she opens the book, dictionary nearby, and gets to work. Cervantes’ text is quite a bit different. There is so much controversy about it to begin with—so many words and expressions that have changed in meaning or have fallen into disuse (my students say that no one uses “paciencia y barajar” anymore, for example), so many cultural, literary, historical, biblical, and mythological references, so many puns, so many sayings, so many contradictions and seeming mistakes, so many variant readings—that relying on a single source, especially a fifty-year old one, is simply not sufficient. I would advise—too late, of course— that modern editions with lots of footnotes be used, as many as possible: Rico’s two-volume edition (Crítica, 1998), Gaos’ three-volume edition (Gredos, 1987), Ferreras’s edition (Akal, 1991), all solve major and mi- nor linguistic and cultural problems with enormously useful notes. I’d also recommend keeping facsimiles of the 1605 and 1615 Cuesta princi- pes on hand for when all else fails. Had Rico (or Gaos, or Ferreras) been the only edition used, instead of Riquer 1955, the results would have been a lot better.

270 Indian Road Newark, DE 19711 [email protected] Volume 26 (2006) Edith Grossman’s Translation of Don Quixote 255

Works Cited

Lathrop, Thomas. “Un cajista examina varias ediciones del Quijote.” Actas del XVI Congreso de la Asociación Internacional de Hispanistas, en prensa. ———. “Contradictions in the Quijote Explained.” Jewish Culture and the Hispanic World. Ed. Mishael M. Caspi and Samuel Armistead. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2000. 242–46. ———. “Contradictions or Typical Exaggerations? More on the Contradictions in Don Quijote.” “Corónente tus hazañas”: Studies in Honor of John Jay Allen. Ed. Michael J. McGrath. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2005. 307–12. ———. “‘In Laudem Dulciniæ del Doboso’: More about Falsifications inDon Quijote.” BYU’s Book of Papers from the Symposium. Provo: BYU Press, 2006. 1–13. [[Correct Title of volume?]] ———. “Introduction.” Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. Don Quixote. Trans. Tom Lathrop. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2005. vii-xxx. ———. “The Mysterious Missing Title of Chapter 43 ofDon Quixote, Part I.” Cervantes y su mundo, III. Ed. A. Robert Lauer and Kurt Reichenberger. Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2006. 275–82. ———. “¿Por qué Cervantes no incluyó el robo del rucio?” Anales Cervantinos 22 (1984): 207–12.

Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote

______Charles D. Presberg

ames Parr’s Don Quixote: A Touchstone for Literary Criticism1 offers a slightly revised and expanded version of his Don Quixote: JAn Anatomy of Subversive Discourse (1988) as well as two appendices devoted, respectively, to selected book reviews that Parr wrote before and after this book’s original version. The new title of this book expresses two large claims: one explicit, the other tacit. I predict that the explicit one, however large, will spark little controversy from readers of this journal: namely, that Don Quixote is a touchstone for criticism on narrative fiction. The tacit claim of Parr’s title—never stated but developed throughout his text—strikes me as far bolder: namely, that both versions of Parr’s book jointly represent a touchstone for criticism on Cervantes’ Don Quixote. This inference follows not only from Parr’s assertion that his Anatomy has become over the course of seventeen years “something of a classic in its own right” (8) but also his stated purpose to enderezar the exegetical tuertos of other critics, or to embark on a solitary “quest to re-orient the Quixotic Establishment” (x). The first version or sortie of this ambitious quest is aimed, generally, at English-speaking critics, whereas the second one aims specifically at Hispanists. In both cases, Parr seeks to reorient criticism on Don Quixote toward an emphasis on the formal over the thematic, narratology over psychology, the playful over the solemn. This aligns with his concomi- tant emphasis on the achievement of the author as master storyteller and

1 James A. Parr. Don Quixote: A Touchstone for Literary Criticism. Kassel: Reichenberger, 2005. x + 290 pp. ISBN: 3-937734-21-X. 257 258 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes master satirist in the Menippean or Varronian tradition over the mock- heroic adventures of Cervantes’ mad protagonist. Parr therefore enlists a critical discourse that he describes as “more idealist than materialist,” reflecting less interest in “superficial contradiction and struggle [within Cervantes’ text] than in resolution of all the apparent tensions into a transcendent and atemporal logos” (3). Parr pursues his argument in four Parts, between a preface that he calls an “Overture” and concluding remarks that he calls a “Coda.” He devotes Part I, “The Diegetic Domain—Narration,” to what has proved to be his influential ranking of narrative voices and narrative “presences” that he discerns in Cervantes’ text. In “approximate descending order of credibility,” according to Parr, these fictional constructs encompass 1) the extratextual or “historical author” (a presence); 2) the “inferred author” deriving from all textual voices (a presence); 3) the “dramatized author” of both prologues (a presence in the fictional text); 4) the “supernarrator” who intrudes openly in I, 8, though controlling the whole fictional narrative from the start (the chief narrator or “voice”); 5) the “fictive historical author,” or a fictional analogue of the empirical Cervantes in his capacity as author of “El curioso impertinente” (a presence); 6) the “autonomous narrator” of “El curioso impertinente” (a narrator and voice); 7) the “ar- chival historian” who collates the first eight chapters of the fiction until the intrusion, or “metalepsis,” of the supernarrator (a narrator, voice); 8) the “translator” (narrator, voice); 9) Cide Hamete, both an emblem of writing and Cervantes’ transparently absurd parody of chroniclers ( a presence); 10) the “second author” (an ephemeral, transitional narrator, voice); 11) Cide Hamete’s “pen” (a presence). Besides introducing the major innovation of Parr’s supernarrator, this scheme addresses what our critic thinks the untenable practice of dubbing Cide Hamete a narrator, a role that far exceeds his supernu- merary “presence” within the text as a “red herring, [or] a joke played on unsuspecting readers in search of high seriousness” (34). Further, if these voices and presences that Parr adduces underscore Cervantes’ achievement in both their number and variety, they do so as well in the mutual interplay that leads them continually to discredit themselves and one another. Through them, Parr contends, Cervantes “subverts” the simulated “authority” of his fictional history. By extension, as Parr argues, our Spanish author subverts the authority of such spurious fictions as the romances of chivalry and, by further extension, all writing, including all histories and even the Bible. In this way, Parr re- casts Américo Castro’s thesis of “Cervantine hypocrisy” (49) to conclude Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 259 that the author of Don Quixote dramatizes his “revolutionary” view of sacred and profane writing with artful subtlety—accessible only to the “discreet” few—in a Spain “still basking in afterglow of the Council of Trent, with the Counter Reformation proceeding apace” (50). In Part II, “Point of View,” Parr draws on Susan Lanser’s The Narrative Act to ascertain Cervantes’ “authorial perspective” (53): the attitude and tone that our Spanish author expresses not only within his fictional text but also in such paratextual utterances as his two title pages, his two prologues, the preliminary verses of the Primera Parte, and the headings of all his chapters. From textual and paratextual utterances alike, readers come to perceive the “voice” of Don Quixote’s “inferred author,” a designa- tion that Parr prefers to the “implied author” of Wayne Booth. For Parr, the inferred author of Don Quixote adopts a consistent attitude of festive mockery toward the foolhardy adventures of his knight and squire, the competing cacophony of his narrative voices and presences within their respective levels, the sequential incoherence of events within his tale, the haphazard division and headings of his chapters, and the transparent, self-referential artifice of his fictional history. Indeed, Cervantes’ authorial attitude translates into a self-conscious artifice of what Parr calls “dialectical discourse,” which delights in the mutual interference between such contraries as “inner-outer, subject-object, author-reader,” or Cervantes author of the real Don Quixote–Avellaneda author of the false sequel (91). This authorial attitude and its consequent artifice invite a corresponding response of “alienation” in the reader toward the objects of the inferred author’s festive mockery, even as it invites “affinity” for the empirical author and his artistic ingenuity (92). Part III, “The Mimetic Domain—Characterization,” signals Parr’s preference for criticism that centers on the narrative aesthetics or rhetoric of Cervantes’ characterization instead of criticism that falls into the “mimetic madness” of inventing for Cervantes’ lunatic character a personal, familial, or psychological history. This is why Parr objects to Howard Mancing’s reconstructing what might have been the social milieu of Cervantes’ protagonist in the opening chapter of The Chivalric World of Don Quixote2. And this is why Parr objects more strongly to Carroll Johnson’s thesis, in Madness and Lust, that Cervantes’ hidalgo

2 [Ed. note: Mancing and Parr recently exchanged views in this journal. Mancing: “Cervantes as Narrator of Don Quijote,” Cervantes 23.1 (2003): 117–40. Parr: “On Narrative and Theory.” Cervantes 24.2 (2004): 119–35. Mancing: “Response to ‘On Narration and Theory,’” Cervantes 24.2 (2004): 137–56. All three are available online at the journal’s Web site, .] 260 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes protagonist becomes the knight Don Quixote in a desperate, psychotic effort to suppress incestuous desires for his recently nubile niece. Both these works by prominent members of the “Quixotic Establishment” ex- emplify, for Parr, a hermeneutical move into a “topsy-turvy world” where “extra-textual speculation may pass for critical commentary” (96). In keeping with what Parr deems a “more legitimate critical concern for characterization” (98), he analyzes information that Cervantes’ readers receive about Don Quixote from other characters, narrative voices, and presences, the inferred author of both text and paratexts, as well as the lunatic protagonist himself. Don Quixote emerges from Parr’s analysis as a “paradoxical polymorphous pharmakos” (111). Although Parr judges Don Quixote to be a crazed product of idleness, bad reading in the form of bookish literalism, and “utopian evasion”—hence “prideful, violent, cowardly, gullible, grotesque in both attire and action” (126)—he also finds him mildly “paradoxical,” since the knight has “good intentions,” even if they produce nothing good, acts with generosity “on occasion,” and shows “a certain complexity” that Cervantes develops in the fiction’s Part II (126). By contrast, Parr’s Don Quixote remains utterly “polymorphous,” not because he shows any transformation or psychological development, but only because he changes abruptly, whimsically, according to the satirical inventiveness of his creator. In short, Parr’s Don Quixote remains a scapegoat, pharmakos, of his author, his fictional world and sufficiently “discreet” readers. The high playfulness that Parr observes in Cervantes’ merger of narration (diegesis), point of view and characterization (mimesis) follows from his conviction that Don Quixote belongs chiefly to the tradition of Menippean satire, also called either Varronian or Lucianesque satire. For this reason, “paradox, parody, irony, and subversion—collectively and cumulatively—constitute the logos of the text” (92). The three related targets of satire in this text, according to Parr, are the aesthetic, personal vice of bad reading, the social vice of idleness, and the political vice— typifying bad, idle readers—of seeking to impose simplistic schemes of utopian evasion, like Don Quixote’s attempt to restore the Golden Age, as policy for all. Parr argues this point most forcefully in Part IV, “Genre.” On the one hand, he agrees with Northrop Frye’s assessment of Don Quixote as part novel, part romance, and part “anatomy” (Frye’s alternative name for Menippean satire). Yet Parr adds that romance informs Don Quixote primarily as the object of parody. And although Parr denies that Cervantes’ work represents an instance of the novel—there was no such genre in Cervantes’ time and one text does not a genre make—he Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 261 asserts that its narrative innovations provide “a model for both the realistic and [especially the] self-conscious novel” of modern and postmodern times (155). On the other hand, Parr cites influential studies on satire by Frye as well as Mikhail Bakhtin, Sheldon Sacks, and Gilbert Highet to illustrate that Cervantes’ masterpiece reveals virtually all the formal traits that, for these critics, delineate the genre. Drawing on Bakhtin’s classification of the menippea, Parr asserts that Don Quixote conforms to a fourfold poetics of “carnivalization”: 1) a serio-comic representation of its subject, situated in a setting that contemporary readers identify with their own social circumstance; 2) an attachment to empirical experience that entails inventive scorn aimed at common assumptions based on legend; 3) a mixture of frequently contrary styles, tones, and inserted genres; 4) hidden or open polemic with prevailing social currents and trends (135–36). In light of Sacks’ observations, our critic insists that Cervantes creates a fiction more devoted to ordering ideas than to ar- ranging or plotting action, with satirical characters that encourage feelings in the reader of ironic distance rather than care, identification or concern (140). Parr also finds in Don Quixote what Highet identifies as six marks of satire: 1) the work calls itself by that generic name, as the Prologue to Don Quixote, Part I, labels the subsequent tale an “invectiva” against chivalric romance; 2) Don Quixote loosens ridicule upon a contemporary target (i.e., utopian evasion of reality-based solutions to social problems); 3) Cervantes’ fiction abounds in comical, cruel and familiar language; 4) the fiction abounds, as well, in irony, violence, exaggeration, parody and paradox; 5) the work offends the sensibilities of readers, shocking them into awareness of reprehensible yet unquestioned beliefs that inform their society; and 6) the fiction elicits a response that balanc- es aversion with amusement, thus avoiding the extremes of either invec- tive or farce (141–45). From a formal standpoint, then, Parr argues that genre serves as a classificatory device, a “category.” But, more important, he also argues from a hermeneutic standpoint that genre serves as an in- terpretative device, as “communication.” Parr’s “competent consumer” of Don Quixote “remains alert to generic markers [parody, paradox, irony] as they materialize” and can therefore assimilate the complex message, or logos, of Cervantes’ “self-conscious, subversive anatomy” (161). The appendices devoted to book reviews, which Parr titles “Meta- Critical Commentary,” are too numerous to summarize here without testing my readers’ patience beyond human limits3. Even so, I believe

3 The books reviewed in Appendix I, in their order of appearance in Parr’s text, are as fol- 262 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes it worth commenting on how Parr’s reviews remain consistent with his mission, both before and after his Anatomy, to reorient criticism on Cervantes. In a review published in Appendix I, before the Anatomy, he criticizes Ruth El Saffar’s Distance and Control for an “intrinsic analysis” of Don Quixote—an analysis that fails to discuss historical background, mode, genre, or literary conventions—which thus “offers an unfortunately truncated perspective” (183). What is more, Parr asserts that this critic “misreads” Cervantes’ satire as a novel (183). Also in Appendix I, Parr writes that he would have preferred “to see more on characterization than on characters” in Mimesis y cultura en la ficción by Gonzalo Navajas (193); he faults Theatrical Aspects of the Novel by Jill Syverson-Stork for “an inconsistent critical discourse” arising from a failure to assimilate “basic concepts” of narratology (195); he finds unwarranted speculation not only in Howard Mancing’s Chivalric World (188), as already discussed, but also in Cervantes by Manuel Durán, where that critic writes: “Miguel was by then a handsome youth of seventeen. He must have enjoyed life in Seville” (Parr’s emphasis, 180). Parr has nothing but praise for Utopía y contrautopía en el Quijote by José Antonio Maravall, “more cautionary than romantic” (187), from which our critic draws the concept of “utopian evasion” that later appears in his Anatomy as an object of Cervantes’ lows: Cervantes by Manuel Durán; Distance and Control by Ruth El Saffar;Utopía y contrautopía en el Quijote by José Antonio Maravall; The Chivalric World of Don Quijote by Howard Mancing; Mimesis y cultura en la ficción by Gonzalo Navajas; Theatrical Aspects of the Novel: A Study of Don Quixote by Jill Syverson-Stork. In their order of appearance in Parr’s text, the reviews of Appendix II are as follows: In the Margins of Cervantes by John G. Weiger; Cervantes the Writer and Painter of Don Quijote by Helena Percas de Ponseti; Principios y fines delQuijote by Eduardo Urbina; Cervantine Journeys by Steven Hutchinson; Don Quixote and the Poetics of the Novel by Félix Martínez-Bonati; Cervantes’ Exemplary Fictions by Thomas R. Hart; Cervantes’s Novelas Ejemplares: Between History and Creativity by Joseph Ricapito; A Marriage of Convenience by Theresa Ann Sears; La verosimilitud en el Siglo de Oro by Rogelio Miñana; Semiótica del Quijote by José María Paz Gago; Cervantes and the Material World by Carroll Johnson; Cervantes, entre vida y creación by Jean Canavaggio; Cervantes, the Novel and the New World by Diana de Armas Wilson; Adventures in Paradox by Charles D. Presberg; Critical Images: The Canonization ofDon Quixote through Illustrated Editions of the Eighteenth Century by Rachel Schmidt; Cervantes, Raphael and the Classics by Frederick De Armas; The Crucible Concept: Thematic and Narrative Patterns in Cervantes’s Novelas ejemplares by E. T. Aylward; Discordancias cervantinas by Julio Baena; A Facsimile Edition of the First English Translations of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra’s ‘El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha’ (1605–1615), compiled by Anthony Lo Ré; Cervantes in Algiers by María Antonia Garcés; Myths of Modern Individualism by Ian Watt; Las Semanas del jardín de Miguel de Cervantes by Daniel Eisenberg; Cervantes and the Modernists by Edwin Williamson; The Novel According to Cervantes by Stephen Gilman; The Endless Text by Edward Dudley; La escena imaginaria. Poética del teatro de Miguel de Cervantes by Jesús G. Maestro. Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 263 satire (185). But, to avoid a false impression, let me hasten to add that Parr expresses more praise than criticism for the other works as well. He offers reasons why the book by El Saffar provides “a valuable addition to Quixote criticism” (184). He does the same for Navajas’ “noble effort” (194), Syverson-Stork’s monograph “that deserves an attentive audience” (196), Mancing’s “careful analysis and thought-provoking discussion” (189), and Durán’s “excellent introduction to the author [Cervantes], his times, and his work” (180). The reviews of the much larger Appendix II that Parr wrote as author of the Anatomy reveal the same core concerns and a similar, fair-minded blend of positive and negative evaluation, supported by reasoned argument, as found in the reviews of Appendix I. In the Margins of Cervantes by John Weiger provides further evidence, for Parr, of that book’s author as “one of today’s most close and competent readers of Cervantes” (197). The fictional voice that Weiger calls “the prologuist” and observes in the Prologue of Don Quixote, Part I, would supplant Parr’s supernarrator. To this Parr responds: “While this is a possibility, it would entail an extension of the extratextual into the textual” (197). In Don Quixote and the Poetics of the Novel, Félix Martínez-Bonati describes genres as “regions of the imagination” in a discussion that Parr thinks “indeed brilliant” (209). But Parr objects to Martínez-Bonati’s failing to identify the imaginary region or genre of Cervantes’ work, except to call it “rigorously sui gen- eris” (208). Semiótica del Quijote by José María Paz Gago, as Parr writes, “contends from beginning to end that the Quijote is the first modern novel, and he presents good evidence for that assertion” (217). Despite Paz Gago’s disagreement with Parr about the genre of Cervantes’ work, he does subscribe to Parr’s supernarrator (218). But Parr criticizes Paz Gago’s narratology for a “facile and simplistic” dismissal of Cide Hamete as nothing more than a “pseudo-author” (220). In a review of my own Adventures in Paradox, Parr describes that book as “an excellent study of its kind,” “meticulously researched” and “written with wit and verve” (229). But the argument of that book indicates, for Parr, a failure “to realize that paradox is one of several components informing satire” (228)—to realize that paradox, like irony and parody, “are properly seen as markers that point to satire as the dominant mode or genre” (229). This study therefore belongs to what Parr sees as a deficient “kind”: one so bound to its “portion of the total picture” that it “invariably sacrifice[s] perspective” (229). Along similar lines, in a review that Parr writes in Spanish of Eduardo Urbina’s Principios y fines del Quijote, he concludes that, because of this book, its author “merece ya un puesto entre los más 264 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes destacados críticos del Quijote” (203). Although Urbina asserts that Don Quixote belongs to the genre of romance, he argues that the structure and figuration informing Cervantes’ text owe their uniqueness less to that genre than to parody, a mode already central to medieval romance, which Cervantes refashions and enlarges to an unprecedented degree. In this context, Parr contends that parody “es ante todo un ‘indicador genérico,’” or a generic marker of satire (202). So, in light of Urbina’s position that all satire in Don Quixote remains subordinate or incidental to parody, Parr insists: “para mí, todo lo contrario” (202). As I hope is clear from the forgoing synopsis, both the main text and appendices of Parr’s book repay his readers’ attention with critical insight on almost every page. Because this is so, I think it unfortunate that Parr should blunt his insights—more in the main text than in the appendices—through what I perceive as a penchant for rhetorical excess at the level of both diction and argument. Regarding diction, I think that an author achieves an effective cap- tatio benevolentiae if he refrains from assuming the role of his review- ers or, in particular, from referring to his own book, however rightly, as “something of a classic in its own right.” I find more decorum in a critic’s endeavor to contribute to a field than to reorient an “Establishment.” I find no yield of surplus meaning to justify such over-priced terms as “Overture,” “Coda,” or “Meta-Critical Commentary” when terms like “Preface,” “Concluding Remarks,” or “Book Reviews” at the standard lexical price provide readers the same service or, sparing them the cost of needless puzzlement, serve them better. A discourse that, as described by its author, seeks “resolution of all the apparent tensions into a transcendent and atemporal logos” seems less suited to critical than to mysti- cal contemplation. In my view, such diction interrupts the argument of a fine critical intelligence and justifies invoking the only advice that Mark Twain presumed to address to other writers: “Murder your darlings.” In Parr’s critical argument about Don Quixote, I perceive an excess of formalist abstraction that leads in some instances to schematic in- flexibility. This needlessly weakens, without invalidating, his discussion- with-explanation of narratology in Part I (“The Diegetic Domain”) and his discussion of Menippean satire in Part IV (“Genre”), which together shape discussion in the middle chapters that belong to Part II (“Point of View”) and Part III (“The Mimetic Domain”). Although Parr and I are in substantial agreement on the issue of narrators in Don Quixote, my position also incorporates insights from John Weiger’s In the Margins of Cervantes, already summarized in refer- Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 265 ence to Parr’s review of that book. In my reading, Weiger’s “prologuist” in the Prologue to Cervantes’ Part I as well as Parr’s “supernarrator” and “ar- chival historian” in Cervantes’ fiction ultimately designate a single voice which I simply call “narrator.” I understand this voice to be a fictional analogue (a complex figment) of the empirical Cervantes in his capacity as author of the fiction Don Quixote. Now, it is true that, according to convention, one begins reading the Prologue to Don Quixote, Part I, assuming that the voice of that text belongs to the empirical author. But this assumption justifiably changes, I believe, when the subject of that voice threatens to leave the “history” of Don Quixote—already completed and less difficult to write than the Prologue—buried forever in the “archives of La Mancha.” With this verbal act of what Borges might call partial magic—or a uniquely Cervantine example of what Parr might call extratextual metalepsis—the uttering subject that we assume to be the empirical author implicitly claims to occupy the same ontological plane as the fictional protagonist, earlier dubbed “tan noble caballero.” In this way, Cervantes, as author of the fiction, becomes artistic material from which the same author creates a festive, mocking alternative “Cervantes,” fictional author of the “true history” about Don Quixote. This alternative “Cervantes” created in the first Prologue, the chief narrator, is the one who intervenes, I believe, at the close of Don Quixote, I, 8, to inform us about a certain “autor desta historia.” By inference, this “autor” is the narrator’s primary source until now, who in turn ran out of source material. This leads to what is indeed the complex joke involv- ing the surprise appearance of a “second author,” the nearly miraculous appearance of Cide Hamete’s manuscript, and the translator hired by the second author to render that manuscript into Spanish. The resulting proliferation of voices and fragmentary versions that suppress, embed, contradict, or claim to contradict other voices and versions combines with an endless swirl of hearsay about the protagonist to create the central joke of the text: the text itself as “true history,” or Cervantes’ fiction transparently masquerading as history. Consequently, “credibility” becomes part of Cervantes’ central joke. This eliminates the possibility of ranking Cervantes’ voices and presences, as Parr does, “in descending order of credibility,” within a careful hierarchy, according to an unspecified standard. If, as I have described here, Cervantes’ self-conscious discourse is what Parr calls “subversive,” that discourse also subverts its own subversions. It is discourse for, against, and about itself. By undermining its own authority, it proves its own authority to do so. In equal measure, this discourse denigrates and cel- 266 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes ebrates it own artifice. By seeking to fit Cervantes’ “dialectical discourse” within a taxonomical hierarchy, Parr tries to stop Cervantes’ continuing carnival, or to bring that dialectic to a semiotic halt. In this light, Parr’s claim that Cervantes simply subverts the authority of the written word and, in that way, all history and the Bible, tells less than half the story of the “true history.” Besides, reversing Parr’s argument, one can just as plausibly claim that Cervantes’ skepticism toward the written word, as put forth in his fiction, advances a critical rather than hypocritical argument against the Protestant theology of Sola Scriptura. In that case—and I find no reason to believe it is so—Cervantes’ subversive history bright- ens Spain’s Tridentine “afterglow” and hurries the pace of the Counter Reformation. Consequently, I would contend that Parr’s argument on this subject goes too far, beyond what the textual evidence will bear, in a linear rather than dialectical direction. From my perspective, Parr’s scheme of voices and presences suffers from an excess of taxonomical abstraction, which leads him to multiply unduly the number of Cervantes’ narrators. It also leads him to generate a series of “presences” for reasons that he fails to specify and that, in my opinion, remain unclear. How does it enhance our understanding of Don Quixote to learn that the “historical author” as well as Cide Hamete’s pen figure as presences in Cervantes’ work? What is the function of a presence in the text? What makes the “fictive author” of “El curioso impertinente” a separate entity (or presence) from, say, the “dramatized author” of the Prologues? Is it not more economical and more grounded in empirical fact to acknowledge that the historical person Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra acts in a social capacity as author of Don Quixote, in a related social capacity as author of “El curioso impertinente,” and in what amounts to the same social capacity as author of such extratextual utterances as the Prologues? If so, Cervantes’ text sometimes alludes to its own author, thus creating a fictional analogue of him in that specific authorial capacity, but without creating separate presences of him (whatever that may signify)as a result of such allusions. Does the allusion to “un tal Saavedra” in the Captive’s tale convert Cervantes as “fictive soldier” into another presence within the text?”Is Cervantes also a presence as“fictive friend” of the priest? And what about the unnamed sources of hearsay in the “true history,” as evidenced by such phrases as “dicen que” or even “dicen que dicen que”? Are they also presences akin to Cide Hamete’s personified pen? In short, since Parr offers no criteria by which one can identify a narrative presence or its function within Cervantes’ work, his use of this term constitutes either an act of non-reference or Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 267 an act of reference pointing to such a disparate class of objects as to serve no critical purpose. Along similar lines, Parr’s preference for “inferred author” over Booth’s “implied author” results in a distinction without a difference. Readers infer the authorial presence or authorial perspective that the text implies. “Implied autor” and “inferred author” therefore denote the same imaginary referent, though from different perspectives. Likewise, it seems that attachment to established categories of contemporary narratology leads Parr to balk at “an extension of the extra-textual into the textual,” and to look for an instance that matches the concept “metalepsis” solely within the “textual” fiction. By contrast, I would argue that, both within and from the first Prologue, Cervantes dramatizes the mutual interference between such apparent contraries as textual and extratextual or, in less formalist terms, between historical and poetic discourse. In less anachronistic terms, our Spanish author dramatizes—self-consciously and playfully—in both his Prologue and subsequent text the dialectic between contraries that Aristotle calls historical and poetic “truth.” This dialectic forms part of the larger, Aristotelian dialectic between nature and art, which Cervantes refashions and varies inventively in all rhetorical domains of his work: diegetic, mimetic, point of view, genre. Parr’s discussion of Menippean satire as the “dominant” genre of Don Quixote, with paradox, parody, and irony functioning as “markers,” offers another instance, I think, of an excellent point taken to untenable extremes. Our critic’s emphasis on the formal traits of the anatomy— his effort to rank genres and markers in a hierarchy of dominants and subordinates—gives short shrift to thematic features of the genre and to relevant literary history. This leads his argument about the genre ofDon Quixote in several places to resemble a theory in search of the facts. From a formalist, semiotic perspective, it is true that paradox, parody, and irony are markers of Menippean satire. But to accept the artificial limits of the italicized term is to accept the limits of a single critical perspective. A marker seems an object unworthy of critical attention. And these markers receive more mention than attention in Parr’s study. From a rhetorical perspective, however, paradox, parody, and irony together constitute the governing tropes of many, not all, instances of Menippean satire. Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy, for instance, rightly cited by Parr as an example of Menippean satire, shows only token commitment to paradox, a commitment insufficient to understand that trope as a marker or governing trope of the work’s genre. Moreover, from both a rhetorical and historical perspective, paradox becomes with parody and 268 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes irony a defining trope of anatomies in the Renaissance. To discover why this is so requires yet another perspective that studies Menippean satire within a tradition of paradox as both trope and, occasionally, genre. In Cervantes’ time the genre of paradox sometimes receives only the straightforward name “paradox,” as in Gutierre de Cetina’s praise of cuckoldry: Paradoja: trata que no solamente no es cosa mala, dañosa ni vergonzosa ser un hombre cornudo, mas que los cuernos son buenos y provechosos. Most often, however, works in this genre receive the name paradoxical encomium or mock encomium, signifying their status as rhetorical exercises that aim at praising the lowly or officially base. But not all works in this genre are satires, as Gutierre de Cetina’s is not. The paradoxical encomium reaches unprecedented complexity, refashioned as a short form of Menippean satire, in Erasmus’s doubly titled Stultitiae laus or Encomium Moriae, traditionally rendered into English as In Praise of Folly. In his Preface to that work, dedicated to Saint Thomas More (thus the pun in the second title), Erasmus cites sources of the paradoxical encomium from Classical antiquity to the Middle Ages as well as sources of Menippean satire from the same periods. Most important for my purpose here, he cites Lucian. Erasmus translated Lucian’s satirical works in collaboration with Saint Thomas More, author of the Utopia. This work by More also constitutes a Menippean satire with a paradox for its title, but it is not a paradoxical encomium and lacks a rhetorical commitment to paradoxy that finds expression in the Folly. This fusion of Lucianesque satire and paradoxical encomium by Erasmus invests Renaissance satire after him with a novel degree of paradoxy, as in works by Rabelais or Burton and, of course, Cervantes. If this novel degree of paradoxy justifies Parr’s calling that trope and assimilated genre a “marker,” his critical method obscures how paradoxy functions in Cervantes’ text. It obscures especially Cervantes’ complex dialectic between praise and censure (including praise in censure, censure in praise) and between wisdom and folly (including wisdom in folly, folly in wisdom). Hence the three objects of satire that Parr sees in Cervantes’ work: 1) bad readers and bad literature; 2) idleness; 3) utopian evasion. These are all wholly negative objects of censure; in much the same way that, for Parr, Cervantes’ imagery of narration in the “true history” aims at the denigration without celebration of writing, in a dialectic that arti- ficially stops at “subversion.” As Northrop Frye observes, though Parr does not cite him in this connection, themes in Renaissance anatomies center on “mental attitudes.” In my view, there is one mental attitude that Cervantes subjects Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 269 to both praise and censure as wisdom and folly, which differs in important respects from Parr’s threefold object of Cervantine satire. I would summarize that attitude in this way: “life on the aesthetic principle.” This phrase, unlike Juan Bautista Avalle-Arce’s “la vida como obra de arte” in reference to Don Quixote as “forma de vida,” encapsulates a central tenet of Renaissance humanism, especially the rhetorical basis of humanist educational reform. In Cervantes’ text, this attitude takes the specific form of life as a work of verbal art. Not all characters in Cervantes’ text are or remain bad readers or readers of bad literature. Not all Cervantes’ characters misuse their leisure time. Only Don Quixote, especially when he plays the arbitrista at the start of Cervantes’ Part II, indulges in utopian evasion of a political kind. Thus, in my view, the three vices listed by Parr fail to qualify as sustained targets of satire or Cervantes’ satirical theme. Yet Cervantes dramatizes and thematizes how all characters, with varying degrees of wisdom or folly—deserving varying degrees of praise or censure—make themselves out of language. More specifically, they imitate other models of verbal art, especially models found in books that they have read or heard about. In part II, of course, these models include Cide Hamete’s history. This jointly ethical and aesthetic endeavor of all Cervantes’ characters—a merger of moral and artistic exemplarity—is, in my view, the “folly” that remains the consistent, universal object of Cervantes’ mixed “praise.” As Menippean satire, Cervantes’ Don Quixote is also a sweeping paradoxical encomium of how human beings, indi- vidually and together, fashion their “true histories” and their poetics of history, how they negotiate the dialogue between nature (including human nature) and art. Lastly, Parr’s methodological inattention to paradox in Don Quixote at the level of genre causes him, in my opinion, to undermine the paradoxical quality of Cervantes’ protagonist. One example will suffice to illustrate my point. According to Parr, Cervantes’ knight inhabits a “degraded world suggestive of satire” (103). Claims about Don Quixote’s moral superiority with respect to other characters—for example, the duke and duchess or Sansón Carrasco—reveal, for Parr, a Romantic misunderstanding of Cervantes’ work. The same holds for claims that Don Quixote shows nobility and courage when he refuses to denounce Dulcinea under threat of death by Sansón Carrasco, disguised as the Knight of the White Moon: “Aprieta, caballero, la lanza, y quítame la vida, pues me has quitado la honra” (II, 64). In Parr’s reading of this episode, the mock-hero’s nobility and courage are only apparent: “It seems obvious that Cervantes is here using his 270 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes character, as he has throughout, to suit the need of the moment, and that need now is to continue the refutation of Avellaneda” (124). Obvious? This line of argument invites a tu quoque from scholars whom Parr criticizes for unfounded, extratextual conjecture like Howard Mancing, Carroll Johnson, and Manuel Durán, since Parr’s speculations here about Cervantes’ motives have supplanted critical analysis of textual evidence. It would seem that a restricted view of Cervantes’ satire makes it necessary to explain this passage by explaining it away. As I read this passage, it brings to a climax the paradoxical quality of Don Quixote, especially as he tries in the second volume to adjust his deluded life-poetics to demands of both his physical and human environment. Of course, for as long as our protagonist fancies himself the knight Don Quixote, he remains mad by definition—trapped within the laughable lunacy of his chivalric dreamland. But madness differs from malice. Here, Sansón Carrasco succeeds in a plan motivated by vengeance, as we read earlier in the text. And vengeance in the prevailing faith and morals of Cervantes’ time, to paraphrase Parr, is a clear marker of sinful wrath: indeed, one of the seven deadlies. Despite the intellectual folly that afflicts the protagonist from the moment he lost his wits (“perdió el juicio”), he shows the virtue of courage in this episode to a heroic degree, facing what he believes to be certain death. More important, he shows heroic virtue within and because of the chivalric folly that inspires his thoughts, words, and deeds. His actions therefore contrast favorably with the moral folly of his imagined adversary. Indeed, Cervantes’ paradoxical encomium aims primarily at his protagonist: lunatic model and laughable hero of humankind’s “life on the aesthetic principle.” To be sure, a heroic Don Quixote, especially a Don Quixote who playfully exemplifies the blend of wisdom and folly in every human being’s quest for a life-narrative with heroic meaning, undermines Parr’s thesis that satire remains the “dominant” genre of Cervantes’ narrative or that our fiction “incorporates anatomy as its very backbone” (156). If maintaining this thesis requires dismissing an example of the protagonist’s heroism as Cervantes’ refutation of Avellaneda, and reducing that refutation to surface changes of plot, it also requires dismissing Cervantes’s portrayal of his own art and disregarding relevant comments by critics whom Parr cites in support of his own thesis. In a famous passage of Viaje del Parnaso, Cervantes has an allegory of himself speak these words to Apollo: “Nunca voló la pluma humilde mía / Por la región satírica” (Chapter IV, vv. 34–35). For Parr, such dis- claimers by the author in a work other than Don Quixote “do not mat- Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 271 ter” (158). But Parr fails to point out that, in the Parnaso, the character Cervantes expresses this claim almost immediately after referring to himself as author of Don Quixote and his Novelas ejemplares (Chapter IV, vv. 23–27). As to Parr’s authorities on satire, Frye refers to Don Quixote as a blend of romance, novel and anatomy but nowhere refers to Cervantes’ work primarily as an anatomy (Anatomy 313). In this regard, Frye observes: “The picaresque novel is the social form of what withDon Quixote modulates into a more intellectualized satire” (Anatomy 229). Yet Frye also calls Cervantes’ protagonist “possibly the greatest figure in the history of romance, ” whose proper role is that of “social visionary”(Secular 179), within a work that gives birth to the novel as a new kind of fictional endeavor (Secular 39; Anatomy 306). Parr judges Frye’s comment about Don Quixote’s relation to the picaresque “much closer to the mark” than his comment about the protagonist as a figure of romance (Parr 167). Highet finds Don Quixote inconsistent in its satire of romance conventions, since it starts as a burlesque, ends as mock-heroic parody and alternates in its support for the protagonist and the world that laughs at his lunatic (romantic) adventures (Highet 116–20). Bakhtin dubs Cervantes’ fiction, though influenced by the menippea, one of the most “carnivalistic novels in world literature” (128; emphasis added). Parr never summarizes or cites Highet’s evaluation of Cervantes’ work and reproduces, without comment, the forgoing quotation by Bakhtin. It seems unlikely, in my view, that Parr understands the genre of Cervantes’ most famous work, or the tradition to which his most famous work belongs, better than Cervantes himself. If Cervantes creates an equivalent of himself to deny that he wrote satire—in reference to his own fiction, and with no sign of irony—it seems reasonable to assume that he knows what he’s talking about and that he may have a point. Further, I think it risky to assume that Parr is a better reader of Frye, Highet, and Bakhtin than Frye, Highet, and Bakhtin, or that these critics, cited by Parr as pre-eminent experts on satire, would fail to recognize satire as the dominant genre of Don Quixote. From the standpoint of genre, then, it seems less risky to assert that Don Quixote represents Cervantes’ premeditated act of disorderly con- duct, or multigeneric play. Thus, from one line of critical inquiry, the work emerges as an ingenious refashioning of romance; from another, as an ingenious refashioning of menippean satire; and from yet another, as an ingenious refashioning of the existing narrative tradition that yields the first example, the forerunner, or the sponsoring text of both the mod- 272 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes ern and postmodern novel. This position tallies with assessments ofDon Quixote by Frye, Bakhtin and Highet. What is more, it also agrees with Parr’s assessments of Cervantes’ narrative, if separated from the taxonomical excess that translates into Parr’s hierarchy of voices with presences, his reducing irony, parody and paradox to the status of generic markers, and his identifying menippean satire as the dominant genre, or figurative backbone, of Cervantes’ text. Our critic recognizes that it is “a distortion to speak of a work of such artistic complexity [like Don Quixote] as being a novel, a satire, or a romance to the exclusion of the other strands that are so evident within it” (156). He later adds: “We should not assume that its [Don Quixote’s] posture vis-à-vis romance is entirely negative” (156). And Cervantes’ work is also, for Parr, the “ger- minal text” of the novelistic tradition : “Thus, the Quixote stands in the same relationship to the novel as does Lazarillo with respect to the picaresque” (155). Moreover, this position about the complex, multigeneric form of Don Quixote accords with another claim by Cervantes in the Parnaso, stated just after he identifies himself as author of his most renowned fictions, and just before he denies ever writing satire: “Yo soy aquel que en la invención excede / a muchos” (Chapter IV, vv. 28–29). Here, “invention” occurs in its rhetorical and root sense as both discovery and recreation (invenire), as the power to probe a hidden mystery within a model of poetic imitation and to reveal or refashion that mystery under an innovative form and to an innovative degree. Although an analysis of how such invention relates to the genre of Don Quixote would require a separate article, let me simply suggest that, as this type of literary inventor, Cervantes refashions through his protagonist the tradition of romance as ballad or tale devoted to an adventurous quest for heroic identity. In doing so, he enlarges to an unparalleled degree that genre’s capacity for self-parody, already evident in the Orlando furioso by Ariosto. At the same time, an inventive Cervantes refashions and enlarges in Don Quixote the Erasmian tradition of menippean satire as both a survey and mock encomium of human life under the aspect of folly—a survey which includes, on a greater scale than what one finds in Erasmus, countless instances of folly in apparent wisdom, and the reverse. Cervantes’ power of invention allows him, as well, to refashion the verisimilar plot, character and milieu of, for him, a relatively new picaresque tradition. This tradition already refashions menippean satire and replaces its predecessor’s tendency to establish an external vantage on “civilized” society through fantasy with the equally external vantage of an outcast whose actions remain linked Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 273 to socio-political codes of identity, based on lineage, rank and wealth. But Cervantes’ invention moves beyond fiction, I believe, to refashion his period’s increasingly self-conscious practice of historiography, with its claim to narrate what Aristotle calls “historical truth.” In its playful merger of romance, satire and fictionalized history, Cervantes’ “true history” adopts a posture of detached irony with respect to all these narrative genres. It uses each of them—in dialogue and in conflict—to parody themselves and one another as adequate verbal means of attaining truth. This results in a dramatizedparadox ; a growing synthesis of seeming opposites at the levels of form and content alike; a continuing mock encomium of itself and other texts, alternating in its praise and censure of both poetic and historical discourse, whether written or recited, read or heard. In this way, the narrative forms of romance, satire and what later criticism would call the novel remain as inseparable from the genre of Don Quixote as the tropes of irony, parody and paradox remain inseparable from innovations in what Parr calls Cervantes’ mimetic and diegetic domains. Finally, in visual terms, I would contend that both the form and content of Don Quixote—from its genre to the narration of it most slapstick incidents—ingeniously refashions, enlarges and multiplies a favorite image of Erasmus. At the close of Folly’s mock declamation, she likens her discourse to a Silenus of Alcibiades: a statue of a portly lute player, most likely a satyr, that opens at its center to reveal the figure of a god. In Cervantes’ fiction, satire, romance and proto-novel contain and “open” to reveal variations of one another as seeming contraries, successively exchanging their generic masks as well as positions of subordination and dominance. In the work’s self-conscious amalgam of theme, character, point of view and incident, instances of the serious enfold and continually give way to the comic; the compliantly sane to the heroically mad; the laudable to the laughable, and to the reverse, and then to a varied reversal of that reverse, and so on. As a fiction,Don Quixote reflects and, thus, reveals the historical circumstance of both its actual and potential readers, figuratively opening before them with a mechanism that we may denote with the classical adage de te fabula. As a poetic utterance about literature and life, Don Quixote therefore reveals a unity that remains less hierarchical and schematic than carnivalesque and kaleidoscopic, less settled or complacent than perplexing and errant. If I have argued with parts of Parr’s study, that is because I believe that it ranks among the books on Don Quixote that most deserve reading, rereading, and reflection. I believe that the book would have benefit- 274 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes

ted from a broader critical-historical perspective and, in several senses, a bit more “classical” restraint. But I am confident, and hopeful, that it will influence studies on Cervantes’ masterpiece for years to come.

Department of Romance Languages and Literatures University of Missouri–Columbia Columbia, MO 65211 [email protected]

Works Cited

Aylward, E. T. The Crucible Concept: Thematic and Narrative Patterns in Cervantes’s Novelas ejemplares. Madison-Teaneck, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson UP, 1999. Baena, Julio. Discordancias cervantinas. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2003. Bakhtin, Mikhail. Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Trans. Caryl Emerson. Minneapolis: U Minnesota P, 1984. Boethius. The Consolation of Philosophy. Trans and ed. P. G. Walsh. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. Booth, Wayne. The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1961. Canavaggio, Jean. Cervantes, entre vida y creación. Alcalá de Henares: Centro de Estudios Cervantinos, 2000. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. A Facsimile Edition of the First English Translations of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra’s El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha (1605–1615). Thomas Shelton, Part I, London, 1612; Leonard Digges, Part II, London, 1620. Compiled and with an Introduction by Anthony Lo Ré. Chapel Hill, NC: n.p. [distributed by the Bull’s Head Bookshop], 2002. ———. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Ed. Vicente Gaos. 3 vols. Madrid: Gredos, 1987. ———. Viaje del Parnaso. Ed. Vicente Gaos. Madrid: Castalia, 1973. Cetina, Gutierre de. Paradoja: trata que no solamente no es cosa mala, dañosa ni vergonzosa ser un hombre cornudo, mas que los cuernos son buenos y provechosos. Obras. Ed. Joaquín Hazañas y la Rúa. 1895. Sepan cuántos, 320. México: Porrúa, 1977. 2: 207–39. Madrid: El Árbol, 1981. De Armas, Frederick A. Cervantes, Raphael, and the Classics. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. Dudley, Edward. The Endless Text: Don Quixote and the Hermeneutics of Romance. Albany: State U of New York P, 1997. Durán, Manual. Cervantes. New York: Twayne, 1974. Eisenberg, Daniel, ed. Las Semanas del jardín de Miguel de Cervantes. Salamanca: Volume 26 (2006) Hearing Voices of Satire in Don Quixote 275

Diputación de Salamanca, 1988. El Saffar.Distance and Control in Don Quixote: A Study in Narrative Technique. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina P, 1975. Erasmus, Desiderius. The Praise of Folly. Ed. and Trans. Clarence Miller. New Haven: Yale UP, 1979. Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1957. ———. The Secular Scripture: A Study of the Structure of Romance. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1976. Garcés, María Antonia. Cervantes in Algiers: A Captive’s Tale. Nashville: Vanderbilt UP, 2002. Gilman, Stephen. The Novel According to Cervantes. Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of California P, 1989. Hart, Thomas. Cervantes’ Exemplary Fictions: A Study of the Novelas Ejemplares. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 1994. Highet, Gilbert. The Anatomy of Satire. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1962. Hutchinson, Steven. Cervantine Journeys. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1992. Johnson, Carroll B. Cervantes and the Material World. Urbana and Chicago: U of Illinois P, 2000. ———. Madness and Lust: A Psychological Approach to Don Quixote. Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of California P, 1983. Lanser, Susan Sniader. The Narrative Act: Point of View in Prose Fiction. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1981. Mancing, Howard. The Chivalric World of Don Quixote: Style, Structure and Narrative Technique. Columbia: U of Missouri P, 1982. Maravall, José Antonio. Utopía y contrautopía en el Quijote. Santiago de Compostela: Pico Sacro, 1976. Martínez-Bonati, Félix. Don Quixote and the Poetics of the Novel. Trans. Dian Fox. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1992. Miñana, Rogelio. La verosimilitud en el Siglo de Oro: Cervantes y la novela corta. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2002. More, Thomas, Sir, Saint. Utopia. Trans and ed. Clarence Miller. New Haven: Yale UP, 2001. Navajas, Gonzalo. Mimesis y cultura en la ficción: teoría de la novela. London: Tamesis, 1985. Parr, James A. Don Quixote: A Touchstone for Literary Criticism. Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 2005. ———. Don Quixote: An Anatomy of Subversive Discourse. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 1988. Paz Gago, José María. Semiótica del Quijote: Teoría y práctica de la ficción narrativa. Amsterdam–Atlanta: Rodopi, 1995. Percas de Ponseti, Helena. Cervantes the Writer and Painter of Don Quijote. Columbia: U Missouri P, 1988. 276 Charles D. Presberg Cervantes

Presberg, Charles D. Adventures in Paradox: Don Quixote and the Western Tradition. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State UP, 2001. Ricapito, Joseph V. Cervantes’s Novelas Ejemplares: Between History and Creativity. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue UP, 1996. Sacks, Sheldon. Fiction and the Shape of Belief. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1964. Schmidt, Rachel. Critical Images: The Canonization of Don Quixote through Illustrated Editions of the Eighteenth Century. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queens UP, 1999. Sears, Theresa Ann.A Marriage of Convenience: Ideal and Ideology in the Novelas ejemplares. New York: Peter Lang, 1993. Syverson-Stork, Jill. Theatrical Aspects of the Novel: A Study of Don Quixote. Valencia: Albatros-Hispanófila, 1986. Urbina, Eduardo. Principios y fines del Quijote. Potomac, MD: Scripta Humanistica, 1990. Watt, Ian. Myths of Modern Individualism: Faust, Don Quixote, Don Juan, Robinson Crusoe. New York: Cambridge UP, 1996. Weiger, John G. In the Margins of Cervantes. Hanover, NH: UP of New England, 1988. Wilson, Diana de Armas. Cervantes, the Novel, and the New World. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. El Persiles hermético

______Isabel Lozano Renieblas

ichael Nerlich, con El Persiles descodificado, o la Divina comedia de Cervantes,1 nos propone leer Los trabajos de Persiles My Sigismunda en clave de Divina comedia. El Persiles, construido según fórmulas numérico-simbólicas similares a las de la obra de Dante, se articula sobre un triple viaje romano, visigótico y estelar. Se trata, además, para Nerlich, de una obra “histórica, política y filosófica a la vez” (20) que constituye el testamento humanista de Cervantes (20). La lectura de Nerlich consiste en catasterizar el Persiles siguiendo una “lógica estelar,” cuya dimensión trascendente se manifiesta en una serie de correspondencias históricas que tienen como objeto revelar el mensaje cifrado que Cervantes quería transmitir a sus lectores. Es decir, Cervantes con el Persiles quiere evocar “el norte, la dirección y el sentido de la existencia humana” (705), o, lo que es lo mismo para Nerlich, “el protestantismo como posibilidad del ser, o como una posibilidad de origen de seres excelentes, de humanistas virtuosos” (50). Esta aproximación alegórica a la novela de aventuras se inscribe en una larga tradición exegética que se remonta a la Edad Media. La preferencia por la alegórica puede explicarse por las tendencias estético-artísticas y ex- egéticas de cada época. Así los gustos y prácticas medievales propiciaron que Felipe de Filagato y Juan Eugénico escribieran comentarios alegóricos a las Etiópicas de Heliodoro. Pero esta aproximación, lejos de agotarse en su época, ha tenido su continuidad hasta nuestros días y no siempre como práctica minoritaria, como ocurre en el caso del Persiles. En el siglo XVII, Huet abogaba por una crítica esotérica de la novela de aventuras y más recientemente, Merkelbach interpretaba El asno de oro de Apuleyo como

1 Michael Nerlich. El Persiles descodificado, o laDivina comedia de Cervantes. Trad. de Jesús Munárriz. Madrid: Hiperión, 2005. 756 pp. ISBN: 84-7517-862-6. 277 278 Isabel Lozano Renieblas Cervantes un viaje iniciático. En esta línea Nerlich funde el concepto aventurero del viaje con una concepción esotérica y apologética. Esta continuidad indica que los gustos o prácticas exegéticas pueden ser un factor pero no explican por sí mismos esta preferencia. No carece de importancia para la interpre- tación alegórica la propia configuración temporal del género aventurero, muy alejada en términos estéticos de nuestra comprensión realista de la literatura, ya que las novelas de aventuras parecen transcurrir en un eter- no presente. Es, precisamente, este elemento convergente con la creación simbólica lo que propicia la necesidad de comprender la aventura como alegoría pero, también, hay que decirlo, la misma idea del viaje, que lleva en sí una fuerte carga simbólica. Un ejemplo oportuno, por el parangón que establece Nerlich entre el Persiles y la Divina comedia, es el viaje de Virgilio y Dante. Ambos poetas pertenecen a épocas históricas distantes pero se perciben como coetáneos. En el mismo espacio vemos convivir sin fisuras a Semíramis y Francesca de Rímini, unidas por el pecado de la lujuria. La diferencia con la novela de aventuras radica en que, mientras la creación simbólica reúne en un mismo plano diferentes épocas históricas, en aquella no se da esa convergencia, porque se rige por otra lógica temporal. La aproximación histórico-alegórica que nos ofrece Nerlich concibe el Persiles como una obra cifrada, una suerte de logogrifo, cuya miste- riosa significación precisa de una descodificación. La razón por la que Cervantes se vería obligado a cifrar su texto obedeció a la necesidad de evadir la censura inquisitorial (696). Este sentido oculto de la obra to- davía no ha sido ni comprendido ni desvelado por la crítica debido a “un extravío general y colectivo de la exégesis que—si se toma la monografía de Mayans y Siscar como punto de partida—a lo largo de sus 268 años de existencia no ha sabido descubrir una (o la) lógica estelar que estructura el texto” (19). De ahí que dedique la primera parte, de las veinte de que consta el libro, a revisar las principales tendencias críticas del Persiles para intentar explicar en qué consiste este extravío. Para Nerlich el éxito inmediato del Persiles no se explica por el del Quijote o el de las Ejemplares sino porque Cervantes con el Persiles compuso un “discreto alegato” “a favor de la coexistencia amistosa de las confesiones cristianas, a favor de una Europa fundamentada en un cristianismo ilustrado, y no dogmático” (51). En cuanto a sus conclusiones sobre la crítica del Persiles, Nerlich rechaza de la interpretación alegórica/realista la lectura del Persiles como un texto contrarreformista, y comparte su aproximación trascendente. De la lectura estética rescata su revisión del catolicismo, pero rechaza la idea de comprender el Persiles como una obra de entretenimiento. Opta, por Volume 26 (2006) El Persiles hermético 279 tanto, por una solución salomónica que sustituye el catolicismo de la lectura alegórico-realista por el protestantismo. El extravío general de la crítica lo explica Nerlich por el cambio que se produce en la identidad histórica de España con el declive del imperio, al menos desde la Guerra de los Treinta Años (20). La distancia temporal que nos separa de la obra sólo puede salvarse con una lectura que reconstruya el “probable saber cultural de un lector español” de la época (99), convencido de que sólo es posible llegar al sentido del Persiles mediante la reconstrucción del contexto de su producción y recepción. Y como Cervantes debió de escribir el Persiles con el diccionario de Covarrubias a mano, “el lector contemporáneo de Cervantes podía descodificar elPersiles consultando, cuando no entendía algo, el mismo Tesoro” (696). Llevado de esta certeza supone que si el lector de época podía consultar el diccionario nosotros, los lectores del siglo XXI, podemos salvar los cuatrocientos años que nos separan de la producción del texto de la misma manera. Detrás de este planteamiento ingenuo está la idea de que la interpretación más autorizada es la que se sitúa más cerca de la intencionalidad autorial. Se persigue contextualizar la obra y colocar al artista en su propia contemporaneidad, de modo que el posible saber de los lectores de época adquiere un enorme peso en la exégesis literaria. Esta aproximación, al primar la contemporaneidad, no reconoce el sentido histórico de las cat- egorías culturales que aporta tanto la época desde la que se valora la obra como las de la época de creación, categorías que escapan al saber de dic- cionarios y enciclopedias y que se han ido conformando durante milenios. La obra así concebida sólo puede reconocer las relaciones ideológicas que establece con su entorno. Por eso el mayor empeño de Nerlich es ver de- trás de cada suceso o personaje del Persiles una intención ideológica. El análisis del texto propiamente dicho parte de que Persiles y Sigismunda es un libro que tiene una profunda unidad determinada por la “lógica estelar” que, a su vez, remite a una serie de correspondencias históricas que encierran un mensaje. De ahí que su primera tarea sea reivindicar el Persiles como una obra histórica. En uno de los últimos capítulos afirma que Persiles y Sigismunda “es una historia, en el doble sentido de la palabra posible en la época, el de la historiografía y el de una narración ficticia” (693). Para demostrarlo dedica la parte segunda al pasaje del capítulo octavo del libro tercero donde Periandro invoca el pasado de Toledo. Se trata para Nerlich de una referencia histórica al pasado visigótico de España “evocando al mismo tiempo la dimensión religiosa de ese pasado godo que todo el mundo, en aquella época, conocía” (108), esto es, el arrianismo, que para Nerlich es el protestantismo de la época. 280 Isabel Lozano Renieblas Cervantes

En la parte tercera desarrolla lo que él entiende por “lógica estelar.” El Persiles es una historia septentrional desde la primera palabra hasta la última, cuyos protagonistas son septentrionales o godos. Esta denomi- nación, tanto si se refiere a septentrión como a septentrional, remite a las constelaciones de la Osa Mayor y de la Osa Menor (119–20). Su unidad se funda en una composición que sigue las leyes del simbolismo numérico con las dos Osas como ejes estructurales, cuyos dígitos son: el cuatro (el carro, formado por cuatro estrellas), el tres (las colas de las Osas, formadas por tres estrellas) y el uno (que puede ser estrella doble, una oscilación sideral, o una ilusión de óptica). La distancia existente entre astrología e historia le lleva, a Nerlich, a aproximar ambos conceptos. En la parte cuarta se ocupa del itinerario de los personajes que, lejos de consider- arlo religioso, explica como un viaje histórico y cósmico a la vez. Nerlich se pregunta por el hecho de que personajes de procedencia tan diversa hablen la misma lengua en la remota isla de Golandia. Explica este hecho argumentando que en Golandia los personajes reciben el bautismo en un ritual eucarístico, una suerte de resurrección que consiste en renacer como godos cristianos y, por eso, a partir de este momento hablarán todos español (187). Asimismo el itinerario de los personajes desde Golandia, hasta Gotholania–Cataluña pasando por el sur de Francia, es decir, la antigua Septimania goda, constituye un itinerario histórico-godo a través del espacio y del tiempo que tiene como objeto “evocar y glorificar el pasado heroico de la España visigoda” (200). Esta aproximación de astrología e historia tiene como objeto último fundamentar la supuesta heterodoxia del Persiles. Para Nerlich todo lo que tiene que ver con las liciones de los penitenciarios es lo suficientemente ambiguo como para admitir lecturas tanto ortodoxas como heterodoxas. Esto le induce a suponer que la am- bigüedad cervantina tiene como propósito evocar “los conflictos más pro- fundos y dramáticos que, en la época enfrentan a católicos tridentinos y protestantes, pero también la historia conflictiva de España (arriana y católica, aunque siempre cristiana) sin que la censura de la Inquisición pueda intervenir salvo, tal vez, para acusarle de ser…ambiguo” (233). Una vez establecido que el Norte o Septentrión es la clave, se trata de buscar las correspondencias históricas que permitan acceder al código cifrado para desvelar el mensaje que quiere hacernos llegar Cervantes. No plantean mayores problemas las continuas recomposiciones de las dos Osas, porque, dado el elevado número de personajes del Persiles, siempre es posible agruparlos en un número conveniente a la lógica estelar, y cuando esto no se cumpla se puede recurrir a la socorrida invisibilidad de la constelación. Más problemático resulta aceptar la concepción de la histo- Volume 26 (2006) El Persiles hermético 281 ria de un método, el histórico-alegórico, que ya cuestionó Juan Valera por su falta de rigor para la interpretación del Quijote. Este método consiste en establecer correspondencias entre los personajes o hechos de la ficción y la historia. El procedimiento para llevar a cabo tales correspondencias se basa en la casualidad y en la magnificación del detalle que adquiere categoría de prueba irrefutable. Emana de este procedimiento una lógica relacional forzada y forzosa muy discutible. No puede negarse la ingeni- osidad de algunas de estas correspondencias. Éste es el caso de la expli- cación del nombre de Ortel Banedre que, para Nerlich, es el anagrama alemán de Ortel van erde, es decir, Ortelius Terrarum u Ortel de la tierra, en homenaje a Abraham Ortelio, autor del Teatrum orbis terrarum, una de las obras más importantes de la cartografía del XVI (322). Pero las más de las veces una simple coincidencia es la base de la argumentación. En el prólogo del Persiles su autor cuenta su encuentro con un “estudiante pardal,” que se deshizo en todo tipo de elogios y alabanzas cuando oyó el nombre de Cervantes. Nerlich identifica al “estudiante pardal” con el amigo de Cervantes, Alonso Jerónimo de Salas Barbadillo, porque la palabra pardal aparece en la Peregrinación sabia de Salas Barbadillo. Satisfecho de tal hal- lazgo, apostilla Nerlich: “Hay que reconocer que—si se tratara de una casualidad—sería en cualquier caso enorme” (654). Y como el prólogo del Persiles es una despedida de sus amigos in articulo mortis, bien podría tratarse de un homenaje a su estimado amigo. Esto es como afirmar que Pancracio Roncesvalles, el poeta de la “Adjunta al Parnaso” (1614) con el que se encuentra Cervantes en circunstancias muy similares, es Bernardo de Balbuena, sólo porque escribió El Bernardo o Victoria de Roncesvalles. En otra ocasión, Nerlich propone explicar el nombre de Sigismunda en relación con los monarcas polacos que, a la sazón, eran Sigismundo III, príncipe heredero de un país protestante que llega a ser monarca de un país católico, y Constanza, prima de Felipe III, rey de España. La razón para decidirse por Polonia es que Cervantes incluiría al polaco Ortel Banedre porque quería evocar la presencia de este reino católico en su novela. Aquí Nerlich tropieza con un serio escollo y es que Sigismunda es mujer en la ficción y no hombre. Pero pronto lo soluciona apelando a la presencia del andrógino en el Persiles y recuerda que Sigismunda en el capítulo cuarto del libro primero aparece disfrazada de hombre, con lo que queda allanado el terreno para afirmar que estos nombres no sólo remiten a los contextos históricos señalados sino que “pienso incluso que Cervantes estaba pensando en ello” (700). La magnificación del detalle y la coincidencia como premisas metod- ológicas de la lógica relacional convierten la investigación en una aventura 282 Isabel Lozano Renieblas Cervantes cuestionando seriamente la credibilidad de los resultados. Y no se trata tanto de cuestionar la correspondencia histórica en sí (difícilmente verifi- cable) como las conclusiones que extrae Nerlich, derivadas de dicha correspondencia. En su análisis del episodio de Isabela y Alejandro Castrucho, Nerlich supone que el nombre Castrucho remite a Castruccio Castracani, el héroe gibelino que favoreció las aspiraciones al trono imperial alemán de Luis de Baviera, lo que le valiera la excomunión papal. La aparición de un nombre asociado a la causa gibelina le lleva a Nerlich a afirmar que la intención de Cervantes era transmitir un mensaje político: “a saber, que al poder imperial español (Carlos Quinto) y a sus sucesores (Felipe II y Felipe III) les interesaría mantenerse a distancia del poder papal y no dejarse ar- rastrar al juego político de la Contrarreforma bajo pretexto de artículos de fe, de rituales y de dogmas” (543). No acaban aquí las especulaciones de Nerlich, que supone que Cervantes debió de conocer la historia del héroe gibelino a través de los historiadores del siglo XV como Flavio Blondo, Marco Antonio Coccio Sabélico, Leandro Alberti, etc., o, más probablemente, a través de la Vita di Castruccio Castracani da Lucca de Nicolás Maquiavelo (1520). Y convencido de que Cervantes leyó a Maquiavelo (546), para remachar su argumento sugiere un paralelismo entre las con- vicciones políticas de Maquiavelo, que se inspiró en el personaje gibelino (El príncipe) y en el rey Teodorico (el príncipe virtuoso de las Historias flo- rentinas), y Cervantes, llegando a la conclusión de que ya es hora de releer el Persiles en relación a Maquiavelo (545). Esta manera de proceder parece gratuita. Y no es que sea impertinente relacionar el episodio del Persiles con la historia de Lucca. Todo lo contrario, se trata de una forma de am- bientar la novela. Es frecuente en el Persiles servirse de nombres históricos con el fin de crear una relación orgánica entre la historia que se cuenta y el lugar, pero ahí acaba su historicidad. En el Persiles hay suficientes ejemplos de esta técnica, como los personajes de Rosamunda, Manuel de Sosa, el duque de Nemurs, Francisco Pizarro, Juan de Orellana, etc. Es decir, el personaje que construye no tiene nada que ver con la persona real o con la historia y mucho menos debe interpretarse como una intencionalidad ideológica del autor. Pero además, pretender que un lector de la época conociera todo este cañamazo histórico al que remite Nerlich es como pedirle al lector contemporáneo que esté familiarizado con las repúblicas que se crearon tras el tratado de Campoformio, a no ser que Nerlich esté pensando en un lector universal y muy culto. La referencia para un lector español culto sería, por ejemplo, Pero Mexía, quien en el capítulo 21 de la cuarta parte de la Silva de varia lección cuenta la historia de Castrucho Castracani e incluye los historiadores mencionados por Nerlich, incluido Volume 26 (2006) El Persiles hermético 283

Maquiavelo. El lector, perplejo por esa incontenible necesidad de vincular a Cervantes con la Edad Media y con el Norte, se pregunta qué necesidad tenía Cervantes de rebuscar entre los historiadores italianos si tenía a mano una veintena larga de ediciones en castellano de la Silva de Mexía. Pero la mayor limitación del método histórico-alegórico es la par- cialidad, pues permite prescindir de la historia. Uno de los pilares en la interpretación de Nerlich es que la inclusión de personajes godos en la novela tiene el propósito de exaltar el pasado godo español. La invocación de Periandro del pasado godo de España ante la ciudad de Toledo sig- nifica, para Nerlich, evocar “al mismo tiempo la dimensión religiosa de ese pasado godo que todo el mundo, en aquella época conocía o podía conocer gracias a los libros, como nos explica Cervantes y como nos prueba el Tesoro de Covarrubias” (108). Y aquí hay algo que no funciona, porque con el Covarrubias en una mano y con el Quijote en la otra, en el siglo XVII, Toledo, más que de godos, es una ciudad de hebreos y musul- manes. Una interpretación rigurosa con el saber de un lector de época hubiera requerido tener en cuenta las ironías que circulaban sobre el origen de los habitantes de Toledo, una ciudad, por aquel entonces, sospechosa de tener abundancia de moriscos y conversos, según Covarrubias. Nerlich no logra convencernos porque no explica la disparidad que existe entre lo que dice Periandro y lo que para el lector de época significaba Toledo, que bien podría explicarse como una de estas ironías. Pero Nerlich no puede ni siquiera contemplar esta posibilidad porque su interpretación alegórica implica convertir la obra a la seriedad. El humorismo es para Nerlich una estética menor incapaz de expresar un sentido trascendente del mundo. Como prueba de ello baste ver su interpretación de la figura de Diego de Ratos, que representa “la burlesca encarnación castellana de Judas,” cuyo delito consiste en traicionar el sentido serio de las obras de Cervantes (673). El hecho de prescindir de la connotación morisca que tenía Toledo para un lector del siglo XVII indica que Nerlich no está interesado en los conflictos religiosos que no remiten al protestantismo, lo que hace que su lectura sea parcial. La misma actitud encontramos en el episodio del jadraque. Es revelador que lo analice como una nueva recomposición de la Osa Mayor, tra- tándose de la única confrontación religiosa explícita y clara que hay en el Persiles, y que para un español del momento era el mayor drama religioso y político que tenía planteado la política interior española. Acaso la escasa atención que le dedica al episodio se deba a que con el método analítico que practica Nerlich no se sostiene su tesis de que el Persiles sea una obra tolerante. 284 Isabel Lozano Renieblas Cervantes

Y no es que, a priori, la idea de incluir en el debate religioso del Persiles el “protestantismo como posibilidad del ser” sea disparatada, sobre todo teniendo en cuenta la sensibilidad de su autor hacia los grandes problemas de su tiempo. En todo caso habría que demostrarlo. Pero ello exige una conciencia crítica reflexiva y un método fiable, capaz de explicar en qué consiste ese debate religioso en términos estéticos. Es más, las dos mejores secciones del libro de Nerlich son aquellas en las que se ocupa de la religiosidad (el caso de Auristela y todo el asunto de los penitenciarios y el eremitismo) pero, una vez más, sus conclusiones son cuestionables, porque su método despierta una gran desconfianza en el lector. El objetivo que plantea Nerlich de interpretar la obra en la perspectiva de sus coetáneos desvaloriza estéticamente la novela y ni siquiera es respetado por sus propios argumentos. Finalmente no quisiera escatimar a Nerlich méritos por su conocimiento de la época y, sobre todo, por el gran esfuerzo que ha hecho en el rastreo de todo tipo de acontecimientos históricos, pero no ha sabido rentabilizar todo este saber para interpretar una obra de ficción. Lo diré con las palabras de Rabelais: todo el cañamazo histórico propuesto por Nerlich en su lectura no se acerca “ni a gatas” al sentido estético del Persiles y fue tan premeditado por Cervantes “como por Ovidio en sus Metamorfosis los sacramentos del Evangelio.” Nerlich no logra convencer al lector de la validez de su hermenéutica circular como propuesta interpretativa global. Tampoco nos convence la idea de encerrar al autor en el espíritu de su época porque con ello pierde su dimensión estética, al tiempo que su sentido se reduce a aspectos como la ideología o la política que sólo pueden captar sus coetáneos. Así que mientras llega esa edición del Persiles in-folio, que reivindica Nerlich, con acotaciones en los márgenes “de comentarios, indicaciones y explicaciones de los asuntos, acontecimientos y contextos a los que remite el texto del Persiles” (697), que logre convencernos de la necesidad de historiar y catasterizatar el Persiles, quien escribe estas páginas se guiará por el rumbo que señaló Cervantes en la dedicatoria al Conde de Lemos del Quijote de 1615. Allí dijo del Persiles que había de ser “o el más malo o el mejor que en nuestra lengua se haya compuesto, quiero decir de los de entretenimiento.”

Department of Spanish and Portuguese Dartmouth College Hanover, NH 03755 [email protected] Reviews ��

Eric J. Kartchner. Unhappily Ever After: Deceptive Idealism in Cervantes’s Marriage Tales. Documentación cervantina, 22. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2005. 153 pp. ISBN: 1-58871-075-0.

This pithy and attractively bound book consists of “Introduction” and “Conclusion,” plus an additional eight chapters treating the five Novelas ejemplares which the author considers marriage tales. Three chapters—3, 4, and 6—are re-workings of publications found in Romance Languages Annual 7 (1996), 10 (1999), and 9 (1998), respectively (9). Chapter 1, “Metafiction: The Word and Concept,” is Kartchner’s introduction to the subject and what he understands by these terms, citing as he does his influences in arriving at this understanding. An intelligent discussion of the matter, it would make an excellent point of departure for classes, graduate or undergraduate, in which metafiction forms one of the course topics. Chapter 2, “Approaches to the Novelas ejemplares,” is a fine review of what has been written on the topic, critiquing to a greater or lesser degree Casalduero, Amezúa, El Saffar, Rodríguez-Luis, Forcione, Hart, Ricapito, Clamurro, and others. He admittedly excludes the works by “Aylward, Mancing, Rey Hazas, and Zimic,” admonishing that they “should not be omitted” (62 n. 3), without explaining why he himself has done so. That he notes them, however, is commendable. As Kartchner himself indicates, a fuller treatment of the writings of Ricapito and Clamurro can be found in his reviews of their works in Cervantes (9). Aside from this, again, anyone wishing to treat the Novelas ejemplares would do well to consult this chapter as a point of departure. Chapters 3–7 treat, in this order, the following marriage tales: “Las dos doncellas,” “La ilustre fregona,” “La señora Cornelia,” “La fuerza de la sangre,” and “La española inglesa.” He considers them all as flaunting a “self-conscious literary expression” (26), one of the various ways the author defines metafiction. His goal is to examine their metafictional aspects as a preview of the writings of María de Zayas, and also to counter the omission of these idealistic tales from the canon, an omission which the author explains as a result of their being considered “less interesting, qualitatively inferior, or too far removed from positivistic definitions of literary reality” (12). It is his hope that his “endeavor will demonstrate that the marriage tales are not only interesting because of their metafictional qualities, but that they are intellectually stimulating, entertaining, and worthy of scholarly attention”

285 286 Reviews Cervantes

(16). Kartchner examines the various devices that manifest the self-consciousness of these works. In brief, these include: the narrator and characters undermining their own stories and, thus at times, their authority; wordplay with words and names; ironic and parodic discourse; and in general, the instability of the sign. In Chapter 8, “Negative Exemplarity in Marriage Plots: Cervantes and Beyond” he takes up the matter of María de Zayas as a literary heiress of Cervantes: “María de Zayas, a close contemporary of Cervantes and one of the first to comment on his writing indirectly, appears to have understood the embedded tensions in Cervantes´s idealistic fiction. She reworks many of the same plot devices used by Cervantes, com- plicating the outcome, heightening the irony” (132). In essence, he agrees with Edward Friedman, whom he cites, that Zayas continues the Cervantine mode of narration. As regards the deceptive idealism in the marriage work, Kartchner concludes that Cervantes, like Zayas, “seems to see marriage as a proper outcome for a relationship,” although Kartchner himself here seems to emphasize the deception involved in these relationships. As he states with regard to Don Quijote, for the novelas ejemplares he examines, “the wrap-up discourse is at odds with the story” (133). The endings seem to be a matter of convenience and as such are unrealistic and unsatisfactory to a modern reader. Marriage as a deus-ex-machina literary solution, however, is rampant throughout this period, as the denouements in Lope’s comedia substantiate. It seems that Kartchner revels in the self-consciousness of these stories, but then balks at their unrealistic endings, perhaps the same factor that has made critics shy away from favoring them as much as they have the more realistic of the Novelas ejemplares. It may be worth noting here that although Don Quijote’s repentance at the end belies the challenging of church and state which went before, as Kartchner ably elucidates, and although Alonso Quijano did come to his senses, finding salvation in the process, he still did what he did. Kartchner, nevertheless, does point out how Cervantes ably handles the tensions in his works, preventing him from becoming exclusively an advocate for the patriarchal status quo. In closing, although one might take issue with minor details of Kartchner’s translations of Spanish texts, and point out minor issues such as occasional misspellings— problemetize (132), jealosy (137), suspition (137), for example—, in all, he has produced an intelligent treatment of metafiction in the marriage tales, helping subsequent readers thereby to a greater appreciation of them, despite their deceptive endings.

Anthony J. Cárdenas-Rotunno Department of Spanish and Portuguese University of New Mexico Albuquerque, New Mexico 87131 [email protected] Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 287

Alberto Rivas Yanes, ed. El hidalgo fuerte: Siete miradas al Quijote / L’hidalgo fuerte: Sept regards sur Don Quichotte. Luxemburg: Círculo Cultural Español Antonio Machado, 2005. 237 pp. ISBN: 2-9599777-2-6.

The 400th anniversary of the publication of the first part of Don Quijote gave rise to innumerable colloquia, conferences, public readings of the novel, and—of course— publications of all types. In this way, the commemoration of the anniversary fomented a truly international conversation about Cervantes’ work and its impact on modern literature and culture. The essays inEl hidalgo fuerte represent yet another contribution to this conversation, published under the aegis of the Círculo Cultural Español Antonio Machado, an organization founded in 1975 by a small group of Spanish expatriates living in Luxemburg. Luxemburg may not be the first country that leaps to mind when one thinks of hotbeds of Cervantine criticism, but the Círculo Cultural crafted a strong program to celebrate the anniversary of Don Quijote’s appearance, and the seven essays that make up this book represent a selection of the critical analyses that formed part of that program. Although not all the selections are equally strong, the book contains many worthwhile examinations of Don Quijote—its structure, its impact on other creative and literary forms, and its critical reception. Each of the essays is published here in a bilingual (French and Spanish) format, with the French version appearing on the left-hand pages and the Spanish on the right. The book begins with a prologue by Jean Canavaggio, which consists almost entirely of summaries of the essays that follow. Readers expecting Canavaggio to delve deeper into, or to engage with, the content of the essays will be disappointed, but the prologue does provide a helpful overview of the critical frameworks that inform the essayists’ contributions. The essays themselves are divided into three sections. The first, and most substantial, “La mirada crítica,” contains three essays that focus on the novel itself. The first essay of the section, Guillermo Serés’s “Las grandes líneas de la composición del Quijote,” is, as its name suggests, grand in its scope and in its scholarly ambitions. Serés focuses on four aspects of the novel (dialogue, monologue, description, and the novelas interpoladas) and the role that they play as Cervantes advances three great themes: love, literature (or literary theory), and justice. Dialogue and monologue serve to advance theoretical ideas, while the novelas exist to put those abstract ideas into concrete human action, which immediately problematizes the “purity” of the theoretical. Or, as Serés notes, “las ‘novelas’ insertas en la historia de caballero y escudero funcionan a modo de defectuosos exempla de tales ideas” (45). Cervantes demands that his reader participate actively in the process of the creation of meaning from text: “De modo que el ritmo narrativo del Quijote está definido, en esencia, por la alternancia de momentos de acción (principalmente narrados en tercera persona) y de momentos de reflexión (muchas veces presentados o re-presentados), lo que obliga al lector a un permanente ir 288 Reviews Cervantes

y venir de los hechos a los pensamientos de los personajes” (33). The second essay in this section, Pedro Javier Pardo’s “El Quijote, la novela y la metanovela,” is (as its author admits) another effort at unpacking the old cliché, frequently tossed out by well-meaning critics, that Don Quijote is the first modern novel. Pardo agrees with this statement, and asserts that the novel’s “modernity” is a consequence of its realism and its self-consciousness as an artistic form: “O, en otras palabras, la obra de Cervantes se interesa no sólo por la realidad sino también por la represen- tación, es decir, por sí misma como representación, y en este sentido no es sólo novela sino también metanovela” (109). Following Bakhtin, Pardo declares that the novel’s “realism” is best understood as being a function of its dialogic nature, and in fact uses the term realismo dialógico to describe the relativistic, skeptical, questioning nature of Cervantes’ treatment of reality. He also suggests that the book’s many meta-novelistic characteristics (multiple levels of narration, insertion of narrators’ comments into the “story,” etc.) likewise reinforce the need for an active reader, one who is equipped to handle the complex linguistic and narrative labyrinths of the text and (at the same time) negotiate “reality.” “Cervantes no quiere que seamos Quijotes,” says Pardo (135), which is clever and (mostly) true. The third essay in this section is the least ambitious but perhaps the most intriguing. Muhsin Al-Ramli’s “Mahoma en el Quijote: Una interpretación distinta” considers both the influence of Islam on the writing and content of the novel, and also compares Don Quijote with the prophet Mohammed. Al-Ramli emphasizes the humanistic nature of Cervantes’ worldview: “En el Quijote se encuentra un mensaje de libertad de conciencia, de respeto al prójimo, de entendimiento y de los distintos caminos apropia- dos para el diálogo entre culturas y civilizaciones diferentes” (147). Cervantes’ descrip- tions of Muslim characters—their dress, feelings, and ideas—are detailed, compelling, and convincing, says Al-Ramli. He points out that Mohammed is mentioned six times in the course of the novel (more than any other prophet). Al-Ramli’s most intriguing contribution is his assessment of the ways in which Don Quijote and Mohammed are similar: both figures evince a shared idealism, and both are misunderstood by their peers. Neither is able to resort to miracles, and both believed that the best way to live is “[tomando] las riendas de su caballo en el camino de Dios” (161). Perhaps the strongest evidence supporting a connection between the caballero andante and the prophet of Allah is, of course, the fact that Cervantes spent five years in daily contact with Muslims during his captivity in Algiers. Al-Ramli suggests that, albeit in a subtle fashion, this prolonged experience with representatives of Islam permeates the characterization that Cervantes lends to the protagonist of his novel. The concluding sections of El hidalgo fuerte—“Creación y recreación” and “Vida soñada, vida filmada”—consist of five essays that take up only about one-third of the book’s length, some 70 pages (really only 35 if one takes into account the bilingual format of the book). Although the two sections are separate, both consider the influence that the novel has had on other artistic forms, ranging from the novel to film. These essays, while enjoyable and thoroughly creative, will perhaps be less useful for seasoned Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 289 cervantistas. The two essays found in “Creación y recreación” focus on the impact that the Quijote has had on the work of novelist Luis Landero. Landero himself is the author of the first essay, “Ante todo me apresuro a decir,” in which he echoes Al-Ramli’s emphasis on Cervantes’ humanism, and follows in the footsteps of fellow novelist Carlos Fuentes in describing the Quijote as a source of endless creative inspiration: “A veces me canso de Quevedo, y necesito desquevedizarme, y desgongorizarme, y desfaulknerizarme, y desvalleinclanizarme…, pero del Quijote no me canso nunca. Cuando no tengo ganas de leer, cuando me saturo de letra impresa, y llego a aborrecerla, siempre me queda el Quijote” (169). Isabel Castells follows with “La guitarra de los sueños: realidad y ficción en la narrativa de Luis Landero,” an assessment of the impact of Cervantes’ writing on Landero’s fiction which (like Pardo’s earlier essay) revolves around the dialogic nature of both novelists’ work. In a nice turn of phrase, she suggests that both writers seek to “hacer convivir la escritura de una aventura con la aventura de una escritura…de abolir las fronteras entre vida y página logrando que narradores y personajes salgan y entren a su antojo de las cubiertas de los libros para intercambiar constantemente sus roles respectivos” (185, emphasis in the original). Like Pardo, as well, Castells points out the metanarratives that occur in both Cervantes’ and Landero’s writing—the metaphors of Teatrum mundi and Liber mundi come to mind, as Don Quijote and Sancho Panza become aware of themselves as characters written about by others and (in a sense) performing for others. The final section of El hidalgo fuerte (“Vida soñada, vida filmada”) is the briefest (about 20 pages). Claude Frisoni offers up a one-page rumination (“Don Quijote, vivir los sueños o soñar la vida”) contrasting the supposed insanity of the great dreamer Don Quijote with the true insanity of “militarotes que perpetran matanzas en nombre de causas inverosímiles a las que llaman cruzadas, caballería, fidelidad, fe o incluso amor cortés” (207). Claude Bertemes’s “Citizen Quijote,” for its part, examines Orson Welles’s never-completed film Don Quixote. Welles, like Cervantes, was an insatiable innovator, and his unfinished film (shot in pieces over two decades) remained a fragmentary collage, encapsulating what Canavaggio calls “tres universos esencialmente extraños entre sí” (19): the mythic horizon of Don Quijote and Sancho, the modern horizon of twentieth-century Spain, and Welles’s own enormous, egotistic self (in the film, he appears from time to time on-screen as what Bertemes [221] calls “un ser semi- irónico y extraterritorial”). Deliberately, aggressively, even “quixotically,” Welles saw his Don Quixote as a rejection of the Hollywood system and as a means to re-create himself as what Canavaggio calls “un Quijote de segundo grado” (21). The strengths of El hidalgo fuerte include the diverse perspectives that it offers to the reader—contributors range from Spanish novelists, to French academics, to an Iraqi émigré now living and working in Spain. Although the contributions are un- even—in length, in scope, in tone, and in style—this fact does not necessarily work against the overall success of the book. To be sure, I have a few minor quibbles—the essays lack bibliographies, the book lacks an index, and there are a few typographical errors sprinkled throughout. Nevertheless, El hidalgo fuerte is a welcome addition to 290 Reviews Cervantes

the ever-increasing corpus of Cervantine studies, and it stands out both for its unusual point of origin and for the quirkiness of its content. One can spend a good deal of time working through Serés’s analysis of the large-scale structures of the novel, or one can enjoy Landero’s more personal reflections on the novel. The international community of cervantistas can look forward to more contributions from this ambitious group of Luxemburgers.

Michael W. Joy Modern Languages and Literatures Northern Michigan University Marquette, MI 49855 [email protected]

Barbara Fuchs. Passing for Spain: Cervantes and the Fictions of Identity. Urbana: U Illinois P, 2003. xi + 142 pp. ISBN: 0-252-02781-7.

In Partial Magic: The Novel as a Self-Conscious Genre (Berkeley: U California P, 1975), Robert Alter informs us that Don Quixote “presents us a world of role-playing, where the dividing lines between role and identity are often blurred” (5). He could continue to argue (or, at least, I would argue) that much if not all Cervantes’ writing is self-conscious, a type of fiction “that systematically flaunts its own condition of artifice and that by so doing probes into the problematic relationship between real- seeming artifice and reality” (Alter x). By “reality” I would suggest that Alter does not refer merely to verisimilitude but to the actual contemporary world of the author. Generations of critics have readily acknowledged the social implications of Cervantes’ “realist” fiction, particularly of Don Quixote, although they have been more reluctant, until recently—especially with the rise of new historicism and cultural criticism—to plumb the historical depths of his “idealist” fiction. Many critics, have, nonetheless, convincingly demonstrated the historical underpinnings and implied social criticism of Cervantes’ generically and culturally subversive romances. Although Barbara Fuchs makes no direct reference to Alter and little to recent scholarly investigations on historically grounded, self-conscious, and metafictional aspects of Cervantes’ romances, her work follows this critical approach and brilliantly channels it, taking cues from the efforts of Carroll B. Johnson, William H. Clamurro, and others in order to examine “playfulness with genre” and “slipperiness of disguise” in selections from a variety of Cervantine texts (Fuchs ix). In order to fully appreciate Fuchs’ study, the reader must come to grips with two terms: “passing” and “transvestism.” Although not exactly synonyms, the two words work together to refer broadly to the same concept: the ability to disguise essence with superficiality. With delightful prose and appealing argumentation, Fuchs demonstrates that these concepts, as applied to Cervantes’ writings, enhance our understanding of Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 291 the fictions of seventeenth-century Spanish identity; in particular, of the artifice of honor and blood purity (3), and, by extension, of gender, ethnicity, and religious af- filiation. Spain found herself in a period of identity crisis at the beginning of the seventeenth century. Conquest, colonization, expansion, and defense—with all of their political, social, economic, and religious implications—created a series of physical and social frontiers or boundaries, both literary and real, that people and characters regularly subverted, manipulated, and defied, rendering the limits ineffectual in practice, if still mythically maintained. Fuchs’ book is comprised of a brief preface; an introductory chapter (Chapter One); chapters on Don Quijote (Chapter Two), “Las dos doncellas” (Chapter Three), “El amante liberal” and La gran sultana (Chapter Four), the Persiles and “La española inglesa” (Chapter Five), and a short “Afterword.” It has 22 pages of endnotes and a six- page index, but no bibliography. The second chapter,“Border Crossings: Transvestism and Passing in Don Quijote,” argues that transvestism deconstructs Spanish binarisms: “male versus female, Christian versus Moor, masculine versus effeminate” (22). Fuchs suggest that Cervantes destabilizes gender and religious identities by exploiting traditional romance cross-dressing conventions in narrated, rather than dramatized, scenes. If, Fuchs claims, in the comedia transvestism was eventually “corrected” to produce the reintegration of the transvestite into his or, more often, her “proper” role, cross-dressing in narrative texts has no clear temporal boundaries and introduces the speculation that “any beautiful young man may be a woman in disguise” (22–23), or that any handsome woman may be a young man in disguise. One cannot imagine, of course, that either the priest or the barber would have fooled anyone but Don Quixote when they planned to place their poorly improvised female costume on almost assuredly less-than-shapely bodies, nor, for that matter, was anyone sane fooled by the barber’s beard. As Fuchs suggests, however, these episodes underscore the constructed nature of gender, particularly of masculinity, in the case of the beard, which, she claims, represents not only man’s traditional honor but also his sexual virility. Fuchs also shows that these episodes reveal the dependence of masculine identity on women: Dorotea rescues the priest and the barber; the innkeeper’s wife recovers his/her tail from the barber, thus restoring her husband’s “thing” to him along with his “masculine potency” (27). Fuchs also explores the cross-dressing of the brother and sister who swap clothes on Sancho’s “island” and set off to see the world. She describes this episode as more disturbing of conventions, since there is no logical explanation for the brother to dress as a woman. Thus Fuchs determines that the “brother’s transvestism seems motivated mainly by an irreducible desire to occupy a ‘feminine’ subject position” (34). Not all female cross-dressers allow themselves to be reinscripted into patriarchal society. For example, Claudia Jerónima challenges conventional denouements by refusing to allow men to accompany her to the convent after she abandons her masculine role. Ana, the daughter of Ricote, saves Don Gregorio from sodomy by dressing him as a woman; she is in control, leaving him, a “damsel in distress,” to wait for her (or “him,” since she is cross-dressed) to rescue him/“her.” Fuchs suggests that Cervantes’ depic- 292 Reviews Cervantes

tion of the relative ease of transition between genders and religions undermines “the prevailing patriarchal modes of racialized homogeneity and masculinity in the novel” (44) and also suggests that sodomy is not as foreign as Spanish orthodoxy pretends to believe. In Chapter Three, “Empire Unmanned: Gender Trouble and Genoese Gold in ‘Las dos doncellas,’” Fuchs claims that the Spain depicted by the novella is a “nation embarked upon increasingly untenable imperial campaigns while plagued by internal strife” (49). In addition to the much commented cross-dressing of the not-so-virgin- al damsels Teodosia and Leocadia, this chapter focuses on Marco Antonio Adorno’s Genoese ancestry, assuming that his economic ties to Genoa remain strong, as might be evidenced from his choice of Italy as a destination for his flight from his spousal obligations. Adorno’s escape parallels the rapidity with which gold and silver from the New World passed from Spain to Genoa. Fuchs bolsters her argument by speculating that the battle at the waterfront may well have been a result of the animosity between mercantile rivals—Catalans and Genoese—the townspeople of Barcelona protecting their business interests and the sailors on the galleys shielding a likely cargo of Genoese funds. Fuchs concludes that, although a superficial reading of this novella may suggest that young men should not enlist in the army, that Spanish gold should remain in the country, and that young men and young women should attend to domestic and religious duties, the implicit critique is the opposite: Spain is a country in turmoil, overrun by corruption, foreigners, and social breakdown. Chapter Four, “Passing Pleasures: Costume and Custom in ‘El amante liberal’ and La gran sultana,” takes the reader away from Spain to the frontier of the other, “stressing the porosity of borders in the eastern Mediterranean” while simultaneously mounting “a critique of Spanish empire in disguise [sic] by transforming the trope of cross-cultural transvestism into a powerful ironic device” (64). In “El amante liberal,” Fuchs suggests, Cervantes shields himself from censors by setting his critique of Spain in a Hispanized Sicily, where Christian characters serve as doubles for Spanish counterparts. Religious and national identity for both Christians and Muslims becomes fluid in this exotic setting, apparently more determined by expediency than by conviction, the renegade, perhaps, representing the epitome of transvestism or passability. Fuchs suggests that Sicily’s open reception of self-declared Christians—regardless of their previous religious or ethnic provenance—without submitting them to interrogation and forcing them to produce witnesses as to the sincerity of their conversion, depicts a critique of contemporary Spanish intolerance. Fuchs also returns to the topic of sodomy, suggesting that Cornelio functions as a homeland-bound, emasculated male, unperverted by foreign experience or desire, thus, indicating, by analogy, that sodomy can be found home-grown in an ever-more-effeminate Spain. La gran sultana, similarly, serves to underscore Spanish intolerance. In this play, the Muslims gladly allow the Christians to practice their religion, thus highlighting their “ability to incorporate difference and transform it into a source of strength” (82). The final chapter, “‘La disimulación es provechosa’: The Critique of Transparency Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 293 in the Persiles and ‘La española inglesa,’” suggests that these two texts promote the concept that little is to be gained by searching for a hidden identity underneath the one that is apparent. In both texts, for example, when the heroines are poisoned and lose their superficial beauty, their lovers remain true to them, refusing to abandon— or, worse, to expel—them, undaunted by the ugliness that lies only on the surface. In the same vein of tolerance, the Queen of England seems to have no qualms about recognizing the loyal Roman Catholic faith of Isabela, who, were she in Spain, as the daughter of a merchant, might be suspected of converso origins and would be considered a tainted Christian. Fuchs suggests that Clodio, in the Persiles, represents a slanderer, who attempts to question and denigrate Auristela’s origins and the truthful- ness of her explanations. Arnaldo refuses to act on Clodio’s warnings, stressing that her lineage is unimportant; rather, her worth comes from within. To ensure that we as readers comprehend the significance of the episode, Cervantes punctuates it with a swift death administered to Clodio by an arrow through the mouth. Tolerance is also demonstrated when Ricaredo as well as Sigismunda and Persiles are readily welcomed into the Church at Rome, despite their potentially “heretical” upbringing. Fuchs outlines clear objectives, argues them with elegant style and plausible hy- potheses, and presents them without forcing the Cervantine texts. Although her topic—transvestism and passing—often tempts critics to transgress taboos, Fuchs playfully skirts erotic zones, revealing sufficient evidence to suggest a clear understanding of her subject, but leaving the object tantalizingly covered enough to keep our desire piqued. In the Afterword she calls for further exploration of this topic, acknowledging that she has merely scratched the surface of the Cervantine corpus, let alone of the entire body of Golden Age literature. Appropriate for undergraduates, graduates, and professionals alike, this book is a valuable and vibrant addition to the vast bibliography of criticism on Cervantes.

Eric J. Kartchner English and Foreign Languages Colorado SU-Pueblo 2200 Bonforte Blvd., PSY 156 Pueblo CO 81001-4901 [email protected] 294 Reviews Cervantes

Ciriaco Morón. Para entender el Quijote. Madrid: Rialp, 2005. 348 pp. ISBN: 84-321-3540-2.

Ciriaco Morón Arroyo’s latest contribution to Cervantes studies is the result of a series of lectures on Don Quijote that he gave in February and October of 2004 as part of the Curso de Alta Especialización en Filología Hispánica, organized by the CSIC’s Instituto de la Lengua Española (Madrid). It is only fitting, then, that the most fundamental quality of Morón’s outstanding book is its impressive pedagogical value for students and scholars alike. In his introduction Morón states that “la mejor lectura es la que haga el texto más transparente” (27), a tenet of literary analysis that the critic is careful to maintain throughout his cogent study. The author’s lucid prose avoids intricate digressions that could hinder the understanding of his principal ideas. His structure and organization also pursue that pedagogical model by dividing the book into two complementary sections. In the first part of his book, “En el Quijote,” the author delves into the text “para explicar los pasajes difíciles de entender y los que tienen especial importancia para la inteligencia del valor humano y artístico del libro” (25). The following seven chapters make up this first section of 182 pages: 1. “Parodia y crítica (del prólogo al capítulo 6)”; 2. “Sarta de aventuras (capítulos 7–22)”; 3. “La aventura con final feliz (capítulos 23–37)”; 4. “Novelas: realidad y discurso (capítulos 33–52)”; 5. “Autoconciencia y gé- neros literarios (Segunda parte: de los preliminares al capítulo 29)”; 6. “El gran teatro (capítulos 30–57)”; 7. “Para mí tan sola nació don Quijote (capítulos 58–74).” Morón’s textual commentary stems from the theory of reading that he outlined in his 1998 publication, Las humanidades en la era tecnológica, and which he continues to practice here: “una lectura ideal del Quijote: Todo el texto, pero sólo el texto” (26). The author reads against the “impressionistic” (27) interpretations of both academics and non-academics, which run the risk of “divagando sobre la ‘mentalidad’ de Cervantes, las condiciones socioeconómicas en que surge la obra, o el Quijote como expresión o rechazo de los ‘valores de su sociedad’” (23). In this section, Morón is unambiguous about reading Don Quijote as a text and not as a context, and he centers his close reading on “la experiencia sobre la identidad y las aspiraciones humanas que Cervantes dramatiza” (27). In these seven chapters, Morón shines a light not only on his subject matter, but also on his method; we are guided through Don Quijote by a seasoned thinker and writer who teaches us what it means to read the humanities, and how to undertake such a formidable task. Morón launches his exegesis on the first two sentences of Cervantes’ prologue, in which the narrator a) reveals his intention and desire to create a book seemingly beyond his ability, and b) describes his work as “hijo del entendimiento.” This genealogy clearly places Don Quijote in direct opposition to books of chivalry, which are generated instead by “la fantasía loca” (31), and the declaration gives Morón a springboard for his weighty discussion on the faculties of the soul (understanding and will) and the bodily senses, both interior and exterior. Morón sees understanding as “uno de los signos de Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 295 mayor virtualidad significativa en todo el libro” (32), and he ably recaps the scholastic philosophy that underlies Cervantes’ use of this concept. Morón then follows the rhetorical link between ingenium and iudicium, derived from the senses attributed by Juan de Valdés to the terms inventio (corresponding to ingenio) and dispositio (corresponding to juicio), which Ernst Robert Curtius would later trace in his analysis of Gracián, although Morón does not cite any specific sources: “el entendimiento tiene dos funciones: la inventiva, que es el ingenio, y la facultad de selección y disposición, que es el juicio. La locura de don Quijote consiste en que se le queda suelto el ingenio—la capacidad de imaginar y de ilusionarse—porque pierde el juicio, o sea, la capacidad de distinguir entre la ilusión y la realidad” (34). Morón concludes his commentary on these first two sentences of the prologue by pointing out not only that Cervantes’ “libro no responde de manera exacta a su inten- ción,” but much more significantly, he reveals Cervantes’ perception on the phenomenon of writing: “Todo texto es el resultado de un lucha entre el querer (todos deseamos escribir el mejor libro del mundo) y el poder (el fruto de su ‘estéril y mal cultivado ingenio’)” (35). This leads to his second thesis on writing: “Todo texto es a la vez una cre- ación del esfuerzo del autor y un regalo de las musas. Por su esfuerzo, el autor es padre de su obra; en cambio, como receptor del regalo, es padrastro de un hijo que adopta” (35). However, this relationship quickly changes when the author/narrator discovers Avellaneda’s Don Quijote (II, 59), at which point “abandona el juego y proclama su ab- soluta y exclusiva paternidad” (35). Such meaty commentaries on passages of Don Quijote interlaced with some theoretical musings on the craft of writing make the first section of this book useful for readers approaching Don Quijote for the first time or for the twenty-first time. As is well known, Ciriaco Morón Arroyo brings a tremendous amount of erudition to his reading, yet his explanations are wholly digestible. And this is a view shared by my graduate students, who have found the present book to be a perfect complement to Cervantes’ novel. Naturally, Morón does not comment on each and every scene, whereby his selection process is implicitly underscored. Why, for example, does Morón not discuss the symbolism of the cricket cage and the hare, which Don Quijote himself interprets as images of Dulcinea (II, 73)? Don Quijote’s reading of these omens, as E. C. Riley has pointed out, demonstrates a marked shift in his interpretation of and his interaction with external reality, something that Morón’s readers might find worthy of his philosophical meditations. Or why does Morón not frame for his reader Sancho’s speech to the dying Don Quijote (II, 74)? It is clearly impossible to carry out in any literal sense a reading of “todo el texto” (26) in a book of this length, and Morón’s analyses seem to uphold Paul de Man’s theory of reading in which “blindness” (selective attention) and “insight” combine to produce a provocative text in its own right. The book’s second section, “Sobre el Quijote,” is theoretical in nature, and the following three chapters comprise the final 127 pages of Morón’s text: 8. “Síntesis”; 9. “Recepción y simbolismo”; 10. “Hacia la realidad histórica del Quijote.” Chapter 8 is 296 Reviews Cervantes

divided into three sections (“Estructura,” “Personajes,” and “Obra maestra de arte”), the second of which penetrates Cervantes’ theory of characterization, showing how the “personajes constantes del libro” (225)—Don Quijote, Sancho Panza, Dulcinea, and the author—are the fruit of “criterios ontológicos” and not “criterios psicológicos” (226). This section also reads against Salvador de Madariaga’s notion of a quijotización of Sancho and a sanchificación of Don Quijote, which Morón returns to in Chapter 10, where he attacks convincingly the ideas on “rivalidad mimética” (329) posited by René Girard and Cesáreo Bandera. Chapter 10 is particularly stimulating in that it challenges a series of concepts and received ideas that have become part of the canonical discussion on Cervantes’ mas- terwork, such as Don Quijote being the first modern novel (331), or its relation to the “problema de los conversos” (314). While the figure of Américo Castro appears repeatedly in Morón’s rereading of the text in light of certain clichés, Morón is not launching an attack on Castro but rather on the perpetuity of ideas that cannot be substanti- ated through a close reading of Cervantes’ text. For example, Morón traces the line of thought, based on an ardent desire to place the novelist within our own modernity, that produced a twentieth-century “tendencia a integrar a Cervantes en el racionalismo renacentista” (300). In Meditaciones del Quijote, Ortega y Gasset saw Cervantes’ novel as an example of rational modernity in clear opposition to the prerational culture of medieval life. The young Ortega inherited Hermann Cohen’s notion that religion and culture are diametrically opposite concepts, and Américo Castro would incorporate this system of thought into El pensamiento de Cervantes. With textual evidence from Don Quijote, Morón refutes such misreadings in Renaissance and Cervantine rational- ism, and points out that what such neo-Kantian readings fail to grasp is the presence of “la filosofía escolástica, que constituye el verdadero trasfondo del ideario de Cervantes” (302). This chapter goes on to revisit the age-old question of Cervantes’ purported Erasmianism. Again, the misreading traces back to Américo Castro, who would later recant this position, but novelists (e.g., Juan Goytisolo and Carlos Fuentes), Hispanists, and other professors of the Humanities (e.g., Harold Bloom) continue to give life to this “tópico mostrenco” (314), in spite of stronger readers such as Morón, who since his Nuevas meditaciones del Quijote (1976) has endorsed the belief that “hablar del eras- mismo cervantino es una ilusión quijotesca” (310). Morón lays out the basic features of Erasmianism: “1) Estudio del texto de la Biblia; 2) Antiescolasticismo; 3) Monachatus non est pietas; 4) Catolicismo de conducta frente a fórmulas; 5) La Moria y la ironía erasmiana” (310). He then proceeds to demonstrate the fallacy of linking Cervantes to Erasmus’s humanistic project. The reevaluation of these and other received ideas makes Morón’s book a perfect tool for beginners and rethinkers alike. His arguments are well supported and easy to Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 297 grasp, yet the ideas he tackles lie at the core of any close reading of Don Quijote. The bivalent nature of this book—“En el Quijote” and “Sobre el Quijote”—make it an extremely valuable secondary text for advanced students looking for a profound “guide” through Cervantes’ masterpiece. I certainly plan to put Morón’s book on the required reading list for my graduate seminar on Don Quijote again next year.

Vincent Martin Department of Foreign Languages and Literatures University of Delaware Newark, DE 19716 [email protected]

Carme Riera. El Quijote desde el nacionalismo catalán, en torno al Tercer Centenario. Barcelona: Destino, 2005. 241 pp.

He aquí un libro de crítica literaria, admirable por el minucioso trabajo de in- vestigación y la sucinta, clara y amena exposición del impacto del Quijote en el mul- tivalente mundo catalán. Las fuentes de Carme Riera son la prensa barcelonesa, los críticos catalanes, y las controversias suscitadas por la celebración del tercer centenario. Su estudio es modelo no sólo para cervantistas, sino para todo escritor, por la exhaustiva documentación en el mejor sentido de la palabra, la de la selectividad dentro de la abundancia, y por la revelación de las múltiples facetas del carácter catalán: sentido del humor, irónica seriedad, espíritu combativo e inesperada ecuanimidad. Lo antedicho se confirma también por la selección de ilustraciones desde la primera hasta la última. La primera representa, no sin ironía, “La influencia de Cervantes entre los escritores” mediante un dibujo aparecido en La Esquella de la Torratxa, que representa el cerebro del escritor como “tintero en que todos meten la pluma” (10). La última es una caricatura de Picarol, llena de picardía, aparecida en La Campana de Gracia representando a Don Quijote yéndose a dormir con una vela en la mano: “Buenas noches, señores, hasta dentro de cien años, si es que entonces tienen la humorada de acordarse de mí” (176). ¿Por qué dice esto don Quijote? Al final de este estudio veremos por qué. Comienza este estudio con un recorrido histórico-literario de lo que representa Don Quijote en España a fines del siglo XIX y principios del XX reflejado en el Tercer Centenario de su publicación: “el gran clásico nacional castellano” frente al creciente “nacionalismo catalán” (21). El capítulo, “La contribución de la prensa barcelonesa” recoge comentarios de siete publicaciones “a favor de la participación catalana en la celebración” (60–73). Se centra en exponer el valor universal del Quijote en un acto de solidaridad con Madrid, y exaltar el espíritu idealista de Cervantes quien aprecia a Cataluña y lleva el héroe a Barcelona. La ciudad ha contraído una deuda de gratitud con Cervantes. Los comentarios de la 298 Reviews Cervantes

prensa en contra de la celebración por razones que se exponen más adelante da origen a debates y controversias (73–81). Por tanto, lo que comienza con la celebración del Quijote de Cervantes acaba con- virtiéndose en confrontación con Madrid para continuar en una polémica dentro de Cataluña misma (82) y desviarse hacia “una interpretación política de la figura de don Quijote” (83) que acaba interviniendo en la política y la vida de países donde nunca puso los pies. La autora recorre la conmemoración de 1905 (60–73) sobre la base de una docu- mentación exhaustiva. Fue celebrada en enero coincidiendo con los académicos de la Academia de Buenas Letras de Barcelona por considerar que fue en enero cuando los libreros de Madrid pusieron a la venta la primera parte del Quijote (62). Entre la exal- tación por la universalidad de la obra de Cervantes asoma la rivalidad entre Barcelona y Madrid. La prensa exalta entre ironías y desprecios (70), la afición de Cervantes por Cataluña, evocando su supuesto paso por Barcelona en el séquito de Aquaviva (68) y aludiendo a los episodios de Roque Guinart pintando a los bandoleros catalanes con simpatía (68). En un artículo de Gabriel Alomar, político y escritor mallorquín, traducido al castellano en su libro Verba con prólogo de Azorín llama a Roque Guinart “el fantasma del futuro” (139). También, hay referencia a la supuesta casa del personaje Antonio Moreno, en la que, también supuestamente, se alojó Don Quijote (65). Uno de los principales propósitos de este centenario es considerar a Cataluña “honra de España” (68). En cuanto a la controversia entre los escritores sobre si estuvo o no Cervantes en Barcelona o pasó por la ciudad “fugitivo de la justicia tras su duelo con Antonio de Sigura,” o si fue o no en “el séquito de Aquaviva” o más bien en la “nave…que hizo escala en el puerto barcelonés,” o si conocía Cervantes muy bien a Barcelona como parece acre- ditar “la cantidad de ilustradores catalanes del libro” (84–86) así como los numerosos datos imaginarios y fantasías al respecto forman un séquito interminable (86–96). Carme Riera recoge en los siguientes capítulos la recurrente insistencia en la rela- ción del Quijote y de Cervantes con Barcelona, las traducciones al catalán, el Quijote y la política (98), desde la guerra de Cuba (98) hasta la actualidad (106) y la política local (118). Reúne, además, escritos que se han ocupado en abrir ventanas a aspectos de la vida de Cervantes, sus vicisitudes, fracasos y esperanzas como los Documentos cervantinos de Pérez Pastor (130), o “la ingratitud nacional” hacia Cervantes de Josep Roca (131). Otras publicaciones se oponen a la celebración del Tercer Centenario en enero (73), y El Diluvio, o el “tan anti-español” ¡Cu-Cut! (78) lo avanza a febrero, pero esta revista “fue objeto de una denuncia,” debido a “los dibujos político-quijotescos que lle- nan sus páginas” (74), así como comentarios y versos del “catalanismo radical” (74–77), sazonado, además, de dos caricaturas (81). El Tercer Centenario se convierte en “el rechazo a una situación determinada por la guerra con Estados Unidos,” marcando “distancias con España y más especialmente con Castilla” mientras las aventuras de don Quijote y Sancho encarnan “a diversos po- Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 299 líticos”(83). Carme Riera recoge la historia de las traducciones del Quijote al catalán desde el siglo XIX, comenzando por las parciales, siguiendo con la “primera traducción ínte- gra de Bulbena y Tusell” en 1891, la “curiosísima versión mallorquina” que apareció en Felanitx (97) además de invenciones tales la actuación de Don Quijote en la guerra de Cuba en donde aparece “una piara de cerdos con el nombre de yanquees [sic] y el “tío Sam” arremete “contra el león hispano” (98), para seguir con la política de confrontación con Inglaterra (106), y las luchas y antagonismos en la actualidad política de España, tanto como la local (118), acontecimientos internacionales, actitud ante el Vaticano (126), y el debate sobre la catolicidad de Cervantes (133). Son reveladores los siguientes análisis de Carme Riera. Nos dice que son escasos los artículos que examinan aspectos textuales, eruditos o estilísticos del Quijote (142). Gracias a la convocatoria de El Noticiero Universal a premios sobre motivos doctos el 7 de mayo de 2005, número extraordinario dedicado al tercer centenario del Quijote (142 y nota 274) recoge la autora una selección de trabajos eruditos aparecidos en la prensa, como el artículo de Rodríguez Marín refiriéndose al soneto “Al túmulo de Felipe II” con el comentario, “Una joyita de Cervantes,” otros sobre errores e incorrecciones de Cervantes, “siguiendo las pautas de Clemencín,” o el artículo de Díaz Escobar “Las cortes de la Muerte y sus autores” donde se nos dan referencias de Miguel de Carvajal (143–44).1 La figura de Don Quijote se vuelve multidimensional. Bajo la pluma de Alfredo Calderón Don Quijote es “anarquista,” se “parece a Zaratustra” (149); bajo la de Anselmo Lorenzo, “libertario,” como también bajo la de Federico Urales (150). Para otros, la comparación es con Cristo (152–53). Si a comienzos del siglo veinte Don Quijote es “símbolo de la raza,” al transcurrir el siglo degenera su grandeza y altruismo (154–57). Otros comentaristas escriben sobre aspectos del Quijote: por ejemplo, la ga- lería de mujeres que desfila por sus páginas (157–60). La sección, “El Quijote y la lectura” revela con triste humor y agridulces comentarios el desconocimiento del público lector español de su novela universal porque se lee cada vez menos. Lo comenta Lluís de Salvador en su romance irónico “Quijoterías,” como también Alegret en un chiste que produce hilaridad y tristeza. Frente al busto de Cervantes, pregunta uno a su compañero si conoce el Quijote. Contesta el otro, que no todo, y a la pregunta de hasta donde ha llegado, responde lo que se verá. Lo dejo en catalán porque se entiende perfectamente:

1 No puedo reprimir la necesidad de indicar que muchos de los supuestos errores e incorrecciones cervantinas que se siguen encontrando contienen el sentido crítico del autor. Desentrañé los indicados arriba en Cervantes the Writer and Painter of Don Quijote. Columbia, MO: U Missouri P, 1988, pp. 20–25 y en “Cervantes y Lope de Vega: Postrimerías de un duelo literario y una hipótesis,” Cervantes 19.2 (1999): 69–71. 300 Reviews Cervantes

–Pero vosté coneix el Quijote. –Tot, no. –Fins ahont ha arribat? –Fins aquell passatge que diu: “En un lugar de la Mancha de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme” (160–62).2

Otros humoristas aluden al desconocimiento del Quijote diciendo que “tampoco el librero, que recomienda entusiasmado la obra, la conoce” (162); insiste otro que en España no se lee; otro lo dice con una glosa humorística (163); el dibujante Pellicer Montseny pinta dos anaqueles que Carme Riera reproduce por curiosos: en uno, una estantería con diez libros de caballerías (o considerados como tales) que leían los Quijotes del pasado, y otra con diecisiete libros que nada tienen que ver con caballe- rías, que leen los Quijotes de hoy (164). En otro dibujo humorístico del pintor Pere Ynglada, firmado Yda, se ve un Don Quijote aplastado bajo el montón de libros que le ha caído encima (165). Las siguientes secciones, “El Quijote y el teatro,” de escritores que ganan premios escribiendo o celebrando a otros del siglo de Oro tangencialmente relacionados con el Quijote (166) y la de las “Rutas cervantinas,” recogen escritos, impresiones, declaracio- nes de lugares por donde pasó el héroe cervantino (167–68). Preceden a la conclusión en la que Carme Riera pone de relieve, magistralmente, la latente controversia de idea- lismos entre Castilla y Cataluña desde el tercero al cuarto centenario de la celebración del Quijote exponiendo el aumento de violencia lingüística en las plumas de Unamuno y de Josep Pijoan (169–74). En La vida de don Quijote y Sancho, Unamuno dice que Don Quijote encarna el idealismo de justicia trascendente, del sueño irrealizable, el idealismo de Castilla. Pijoan contrapone el idealismo práctico catalán. Concluye la autora “que la declaración de Pijoan es sintomática de que, a través de la interpretación del Quijote se pone de manifiesto el enfrentamiento Cataluña-España” (175). Carme Riera concluye diciendo que los catalanes deben hacer suya la celebración del Cuarto Centenario “ahora que los clásicos ya no soportan el peso terrible que el romanticismo les obligó a cargar” (175). Hasta cabe agradecer a los cervantistas catalanes del Tercer Centenario que, “en un clima tenso” declararan los méritos indudables de Cervantes,” contribuyeran “a la difusión del libro y, en especial, de la figura de don Quijote, aunque fuera, incluso, para rechazarla” (175–76). La caricatura de Picarol de don Quijote, retirándose a dormir con un “Buenas noches, señores, hasta dentro de cien años, si es que entonces tienen la humorada de acordarse de mí” (176), cobra ahora todo su sentido: la celebración se ha convertido en una guerra de conflictos y controversias ajenos a él. Este magnífico libro de rigurosa investigación de la gran novelista mallorquina

2 Las traducciones al castellano de las citas en catalán se encuentran en las notas, imagino que para mantener ese sentido único de la lengua original. Como dicen los italianos, “traduttore, traditore.” El traductor es un traidor. Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 301

Carme Riera, es un hito importante en la historia de los estudios cervantinos.

Helena Percas de Ponseti Grinnell College, Emerita 110 Oakridge Avenue Iowa City, IA, 52246 [email protected]

José Manuel González Fernández de Sevilla, ed. Cervantes y/and Shakespeare. Nuevas interpretaciones y aproximaciones comparativas. New Interpretations and Comparative Approaches. Alicante: Universidad de Alicante, 2006. 203 pp. ISBN 84-608-0448-8.

Cervantes and Shakespeare—two literary geniuses who are frequently the subject of comparative studies—are firmly rooted in the Western literary canon. Two contemporaries penning masterpieces with themes that transcend the test of time point to plausible commonalities, and this is what the contributors of Cervantes y/and Shakespeare explore. The end result of a conference held at the University of Alicante in honor of Don Quixote’s quadricentennial, the contributors to “Cervantes and Shakespeare: New Interpretations and Comparative Approaches” investigate interstices and disparities between the two authors and their major works. Initially, I was chary of a study of this nature. Yes, Cervantes and Shakespeare were able to transcend thematic boundaries, thereby securing positions in today’s canon. Yes, they did write during the same time frame, but the contrasting ideological envi- ronments which informed their work were quite dissimilar. Additionally, comparing a dramatist like Shakespeare with Cervantes, a narrative writer who could not penetrate popular theatrical circles, is like comparing apples and oranges. B. W. Ife, the lead-off author of this collection of six essays initially addresses my hesitations in “Cervantes and Shakespeare: Asymmetrical Conversations.” As Ife notes, the authors “are joined by difference as much as similarity, and we should beware of yoking them by violence together” (22). The majority of Ife’s article is spent speculating why the two emerged at the same time, but to do this Ife breaks his study down into smaller hypotheticals thereby giving his article a speculative but suggestive flair. For example, he ponders the possibility of Shakespeare and Cervantes ever meeting. If they had met, what would they discuss? What language would they use? With an encounter between the two unlikely, Ife contemplates what literature would be common between them. He explores what Spanish books, including Cervantes’ texts, were translated into English. With a paucity of English literature being exported and translated into Spanish, one can conclude that Shakespeare would have been more influenced by Spanish literature than Cervantes by English literature. Ife concludes his musings by showing why Cervantes, and not a 302 Reviews Cervantes

dramatist like Lope de Vega, deserves to be compared to Shakespeare. Antonio Rey Hazas retains the speculative but suggestive approach in his contribution, “Cervantes como dramaturgo.” As the title indicates, the article examines Cervantes’ dramatic production, focusing on the published collection of works: Ocho comedias y ocho entremeses nuevos, nunca representados. Sometimes a title is just that, a title, but Rey Hazas views the title as Cervantes’ method of protestation, an outlet for his frustration at not being able to have the pieces performed. Early in his career and during the beginnings of Spanish drama, Cervantes was able to see his works produced, but with the arrival of Lope de Vega, the possibility of theatrical success was thwarted and publication remained the only viable means of distributing his works. While “nuevos” could indicate that the works are recently written, Rey Hazas believes instead it refers to their originality, distinguishing him from Lope and the comedia nueva. However, due to Lope’s monopolization of the industry, Cervantes’ uniqueness would never be appreciated and he would be forever relegated to the outside, never encountering the success he once had. The remainder of the essay looks at the rivalry between Cervantes and Lope, specifically at the way in which Cervantes pokes fun at Lope in La entretenida. The two chapters in the volume’s second part examine the editing process of each author’s masterpiece. In “The Challenges of EditingHamlet ,” Ann Thompson notes the trials and tribulations of editing the play today, a project with which she is familiar. Today’s editor must reckon with the constant influx of new information, for as with Don Quixote, the number of critical studies produced yearly is intimidating. With more than 400 articles published yearly during the 1990s, Hamlet surpasses King Lear as Shakespeare’s most scrutinized play (82). In addition, an editor must reckon with previously published editions and the way in which they incorporated the three earliest, and very different, extant editions of the play. Thompson moves beyond the confines of the text to the stage as she provides an insightful glimpse at the staging of Hamlet. Actors and directors serve as editors in their own right as they decide upon which text to follow and how they want to represent the protagonist, following in the footsteps of the great Hamlets that preceded them or forging a new path. Florencio Sevilla Arroyo offers the companion piece as he analyzes the editing of Don Quixote in “Editar el Quijote según Cervantes.” The most thought-provoking piece of the collection, Sevilla Arroyo laments the loss of Cervantes’ original manuscript, with the closest document to an original being the first publication by Juan de la Cuesta. Without an authoritative original, editors just do not know which errors can be attributed to Cervantes and which to the publisher, and this lack of information creates two styles of editors (an idea borrowed from Ángel Rosenblat): the “cervánti- cos” and the “correctistas” (117-18). Thecervánticos create faithful reproductions of the first manuscript, errors and all, while the correctistas, as the title implies, correct the text. The folly of the latter is that, at times, the correctistas introduce so many corrections, sometimes bordering on unnecessary hypercorrections (118), that they subvert the assumed intentions of Cervantes. When creating an authoritative edition of the Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 303

1605 edition of Don Quixote, Sevilla Arroyo contends that we must follow the closest manuscript that we have to the original, that of the princeps. Richard Wilson’s “‘To great Saint Jaques bound’: All’s Well That Ends Well in Shakespeare’s Spain” transitions the collection into its third and final segment, “Comparando Cervantes y Shakespeare.” In spite of the section’s title, the essay does not compare the two literary figures per se, but instead examines the influence of Spain, particularly the references to Saint James, in Shakespeare’s play. While insightful and thoroughly researched, the study seems cumbersome at times, for in thirty-two pages, there are seventy-five footnotes, all of which are bibliographic references. Not included in the tally are references to the play itself, which would easily bring the total number of citations over one hundred. The collection concludes nicely with José Manuel González’s “What Else after Cervantes and Shakespeare?” Once again, the question of whether the two authors truly can be compared is presented and, in my opinion, he provides the best justification in support of the undertaking. One reads of the themes that Cervantes and Shakespeare share and how these themes are still able to influence us today. They will continue to remain viable in the modern world and “Their literary heritage will certainly prevail over human nonsense and disaster” (203). While my hesitations about comparing Cervantes and Shakespeare have not been completely resolved, Cervantes y/and Shakespeare should be lauded. I am leery of speculating about chance meetings between the two authors and hidden intentions behind a text’s title, but, overall, the book is insightful and successful at continuing a dialogue that has yet to be exhausted. José Manuel González Fernández de Sevilla should be congratulated for his editorial efforts.

Shannon M. Polchow Department of Languages, Literature and Composition University of South Carolina Upstate Spartanburg, SC 29303 [email protected]

Frederick A. De Armas. Quixotic Frescoes: Cervantes and Italian Renaissance Art. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006. 285 pp. ISBN: 0-8020-9074-5.

At a time when Cervantes criticism has been increasingly “trans-Atlantic,” concerned with issues of Colonialism and the Americas, Frederick A. De Armas calls our attention back to the Mediterranean. Quixotic Frescoes focuses primarily on Part I of Don Quijote, discussing a number of key scenes and episodes as products of Cervantes’ engagement with the painting, sculpture, and architecture of Renaissance Italy. This 304 Reviews Cervantes

is appealing subject matter, and De Armas proposes his numerous connections as an alternative manner of discussing the rich generic and cultural content of the novel: epic and pastoral, pagan and Christian, ancient and early modern. Marcela, for example (I, 12-14), takes on new dimensions as De Armas relates her character to visual representations of Diana (chastity), Venus (eros), and the Virgin Mary (160-65). Due to his undoubtedly enthusiastic immersion in Italian art, De Armas himself becomes a sort of Quixote, interpreting every conceivable similarity—of mythological and geographic reference, of theme and form, of attribute and color—as proof of a particular painting’s presence within the landscape of Don Quijote (his brush strokes are brisk, and his imaginative connections accumulate, “thus” piling upon “thus,” at a dizzying pace). But the fruits of his inquiry, consisting of varied observations regarding “Empire,” the “Other,” “mercantile capitalism,” “desire,” “transgendering,” “gendered style,” “homoerot- ics,” “politics of imitation,” “sites of culpability,” the “monstrous,” etc., assure us that he is firmly grounded in the present concerns of academic discourse. De Armas builds upon the following premises: 1) Since Cervantes spent time in many Italian cities that housed the famous artworks, and since he occasionally expressed his admiration for these cities, one can assume he saw and appreciated many of the works in question; 2) Since the Arabic manuscript containing the continuation of Don Quijote’s adventures includes an illustration of the knight fighting the Basque (I, 9), and since numerous descriptive passages and interpolations occur in Don Quijote, Cervantes had an active interest in ekphrasis; 3) Since many of the references in Don Quijote (mythological, hagiographic, Homeric, and Virgilian) may also be found in visual arts of the Italian Renaissance, much of the novel constitutes ekphrasis: that is, verbal transposition of pictorial images. (De Armas also discusses how the term may apply to narrative digression and interpolation.) A peril of De Armas’ approach is that a good deal of the subject matter in question—references to Helen and Lucretia, to saints and giants, gods and emperors—is so prevalent in the print, oral, and visual culture of the period that the specific attributions sometimes seem quite speculative. For instance, in his argument regarding Cervantes’ adherence to the Pythagorean tetrad, in which he points out groupings of four throughout Don Quijote I (e.g., four parts, four heroes serving as models to Don Quijote, references to the four humors, the tetrad of “Day and night, wakefulness and sleep” that the knight fails to heed, 59), De Armas makes the following connection between Cervantes and Raphael:

Indeed, Hermann Iventosch tells us that the first chapter of the novel is onomastic in nature, dealing with the Platonic vision of the creation of a new world through naming (1963-4, 60). This Platonic vision proposed by Iventosch is represented by Raphael in his depiction of Plato holding the Timaeus in The School of Athens. Let us recall that this dialogue has a strong Pythagorean flavour. Thus, in the first chapter of Don Quixote, the Platonic vision is conflated with the Pythagorean notion of cosmos so as to establish this initial sequence as the foundation of creation, be it the creation of a poetic world or the hidalgo’s re-creation of himself as a Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 305

knight. (57)

The sequence of evidence, proceeding from what a critic “tells us” to the “flavour” of a book depicted in a painting, seems like rather tenuous proof of a Raphael-inspired conflation of a Platonic and Pythagorean “notion of cosmos” in Cervantes. Assuming one accepts De Armas’ point about the importance of names and numbers in Don Quijote, it is still difficult to see why such concepts were “triggered” (another frequent term in the study) by Cervantes’ possible study of The School of Athens rather than by other, textual sources. A cornerstone of De Armas’ attributions is Cervantes’ presumed reading of Vasari’s The Lives of the Artists. The presumption is based on the renown of the biography, and on chronology: “It is very likely that Cervantes had read Giorgio Vasari’s interpretation of the frescoes in the Stanza della Segnatura—after all, the revised and augmented second edition of the Lives was published in 1568, the year before Cervantes’ arrival in Italy” (41). Not many pages later, this probability becomes an established premise: “Cervantes certainly consulted Vasari’s Lives—its second and definitive edition was published in 1568, the year before his arrival in Italy” (76). Cervantes’ reading of Vasari is then presented as a major source for the prologue to Don Quijote, since Vasari praises Michelangelo’s David and maligns Baccio Bandinelli’s Hercules and Cacus: “I believe that the mention of David/Goliath and Cacus in Cervantes refers to the battles between Bandinelli and Michelangelo over the fashioning of giants” (76). The fact that the prologue contains two references to the Gospel of St. Matthew dealing with enmity and “evil thoughts” (80), and that both Raphael and Michelangelo created works depicting St. Matthew allow De Armas to extend his claims regarding Cervantes’ interest in the Italian masters:

One may thus superimpose Michelangelo’s St. Matthew upon the apostle of Raphael’s Disputa, thus inscribing the artistic rivalries between the two artists and between the two styles in the prologue. This double vision points to the prologue’s comic rejection of Raphael and the triumph of Michelangelo, whom Cervantes emulates in his break with so many of the genres and techniques of his time. (81)

This is a fairly ingenious way of looking at the prologue, and the subtlety of the connections requires reference to three types of ekphrasis: “allusive,” “fragmented,” and “veiled” (77-78). Interesting as it all is, one remains unsure why the major issues under discussion—the awareness of artistic precept and innovation, verbal illustration, authorial self-consciousness—are not more convincingly discussed in the context of, say, Ariosto and neo-Aristotelian literary theorists, which Cervantes read and discussed quite explicitly. Another complexity of De Armas’ study stems from his use of “ekphrasis” as an informing concept. In addition to allusive, fragmented, and veiled ekphrasis, he employs the following modifiers: “combinatory,” “dramatic,” “hagiographic,” “heraldic,” “notional,” 306 Reviews Cervantes

“quirky,” “transformative,” “true or actual,” and “ur”-ekphrasis. There is also “pseudoek- phrastic technique,” and other presumably less precise types of writing that refer to images, such as “narrative pictorialism,” “hidden allusion,” “vague reminiscences,” and “inscription” or “contaminatio” of a painting into a text. Other terms from the visual arts, such as “terribilitá [sic],” “theophany,” “teichoskopia,” and “anamorphosis” are used to describe aspects of Cervantes’ narrative technique. A risk of such terminological proliferation is that the reader may lose his or her bearings. Are we really being given evidence of influence, or rather an intriguing display of similarities, and ways to consider narrative by using visual terminology? The question also arises as to whether the multitudinous terms contribute to the making of fine distinctions, or rather serve to justify—by sheer accumulative force—what might otherwise seem somewhat dubious associations. Taking Don Quijote’s stonings as a basis for comparison with Giulio Romano’s Genoese painting of St. Stephen, De Armas offers the following flurry of nomenclature: “He [Don Quijote] would thus create a transformative, fragmented, and narrative ekphasis [sic] or picture of himself. The text goes beyond the painting to fashion a highly transgressive dramatic ekphrasis, where the saint becomes a deluded gentleman attempting to live out a fantasy” (98). In addition to Giulio Romano’s St. Stephen, De Armas claims that Don Quijote is modeled on David (Titian), Aeneas (Virgil’s “ekphrastic” Aeneid), Icarus, St. George (Raphael), and Charles V (Titian). The latter association builds on an assertion that “Quijada,” one of the hidalgo’s possible names, is a reference to the emperor’s famous jaw, and proceeds through numerous parallels: “Different segments keep being exhibited, such as the lance, the horse, the chivalric pose, the solar qualities of the emperor/ knight, his melancholy, etc.” (119). De Armas also affirms that Cervantes’ novel, like Titian’s painting, “eschews the allegorical” (119). But it seems to me that the bulk of this study is concerned with suggesting a multiplicity of decidedly allegorical readings: the knight’s adventures as a failed quest for empire, as degraded martyrdom, as a parody of the Christian saint defeating heretics, as subverted sexual conquest, etc. While describing five models behind Dulcinea, De Armas talks of “Don Quixote’s feminine map of empire” (186), which includes “allegorizations of Europe” in the references to Helen and Lucretia, and Aldonza Lorenzo, here a lesbian of Moorish ancestry, who “must represent the Spanish empire” (187). One can easily imagine De Armas providing stimulating visual supplements to the assigned reading in his courses. Many of us have surely enjoyed displaying Velázquez’s Las meninas in order to help our students conceptualize the fascinating involutions of Don Quijote, or comparing Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus with Murillo’s El mendigo to illustrate the contrast between idealizing and starkly realistic modes of representation. De Armas’s study suggests how one might add, perhaps with a greater degree of sophistication, to such an archive. His advocacy for an appreciation of frequently conflicting models behind Don Quijote, and his repeated reminders that the novel requires a careful, active reader, certainly underscore long-admired qualities of Cervantes’ masterpiece. However, in addition to my reservations about the speculative nature of Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 307 many attributions, I recall aspects of Don Quijote that receive little illumination from De Armas’ approach, such as virtuosic storytelling, brilliant and often hilarious dialogue, proverbs, games with etymology, and virtually every linguistic register and literary genre. Cervantes’ supreme work of imaginative literature is, after all, principally inspired by and about books, poems, and plays, not painting, sculpture, and architecture. It is concerned with the perils and pleasures of reading, and the particular ways in which reading can sustain us even as it deceives. De Armas has contributed to our understanding of how Raphael, Michelangelo, and Titian illustrate a number of themes and aesthetic developments pertinent to the period and appreciated by Cervantes. But this reader remains convinced that the roots of Don Quijote lie firmly in Boccaccio, ballads (romances), Celestina, Amadís, and Ariosto, alongside the playwrights and pastoral and picaresque authors.

Michael Scham Department of Modern and Classical Languages University of St. Thomas (Twin Cities) Mail 4021 2115 Summit Ave. St Paul MN, 55105-1096 [email protected]

Don Quijote en el arte y pensamiento de Occidente. Ed. by John J. Allen and Patricia S. Finch. Madrid: Cátedra, 2004. 243 pp. with 195 illustrations. ISBN: 84-376-2195-X.

The stunning appearance of this glossy hardcover should not deceive: it is much more than a gorgeous, coffee table book. Indeed, it is an impressive work prepared with extreme care, years of dedicated labor, and two lifetimes of knowledge about Cervantes and his legacy. The volume—which commemorated the 400th Anniversary of Don Quixote Part I—is a most welcome addition, augmentation and culmination of a project begun many years before and with which many readers will already be familiar. That is the authors’ 1999 essay “Don Quixote Across the Centuries” (included in Diana de Armas Wilson’s Norton edition of Don Quixote), in which the authors succinctly explored the history of responses to Cervantes’ masterpiece in a host of countries including England, France, Germany, and Russia. That essay, and the research on which it was based, were the necessary preliminary work for this more open-ended and suggestive book. Prefaced by two short introductory chapters—one on the project behind the book, the second on “Cervantes and the Quijote”—the splendidly simple and elegant mode of presentation of the next two hundred or so pages recalls Longinus’ prescrip- tion that great ideas should be left bare of artifice. On the left-hand face of each page, 308 Reviews Cervantes

the editors have selected a meaningful quotation on Cervantes’ Quijote authored by a luminary of Western thought and letters, while on the right-hand face, almost one hundred high-quality reproductions treat the reader’s eyes to a cornucopia of images conceived either as artworks with the Quijote as theme or as illustrations of the novel. The images are taken from a variety of media, including sculpture, painting, woodcut, and drawing, and range in date from an early illustrated frontispiece—that of Lisbon, 1605 (27)—to paintings from the late twentieth century. This book is such a feast for the eyes that it would be impossible to render it justice in just a few pages. Indeed, like Borges’ map, I would need to reproduce here the entire book, with every one of the illustrations. I will offer instead just a few observations, as a prelude to the reader’s leafing through its pages, pondering the quotations, and rumi- nating imaginatively about some of the lesser known works—such as André Masson’s Don Quijote y el carro, o carreta, de las Cortes de la Muerte (171), depicting the scene from II, 11 in vivid color and in a surrealist-inspired style. Don Quixote, with lance in hand, charges a skeleton on his steed while being attacked by a devil from the rear. Upon closer examination—or rather, keeping the image at a greater distance from the eyes—the viewer becomes aware that the primary plot material is used to construct a composite, slightly anamorphic image of Cervantes’ head in which Don Quixote’s shield makes up one of the author’s bespectacled eyes, while the almost three-hundred- and-sixty degree curve in Rocinante’s neck forms the other. The introductory part explains briefly the extensive research that took the duo to more than fifteen museums in at least six countries. The editors also reproduce a couple of pages from Edward Riley’s famous essay “Don Quixote: From Text to Icon” (in Spanish translation). Some of the included images—like Joaquín Vaquero Turcios’s ink drawing Panorama quijotesco (165)—bear out Riley’s cogent observation that Don Quixote and Sancho have become easily identifiable from even the most minimal visual allusion. Indeed, Vaquero Turcio’s drawing depicts a small, centered representation of the mounted pair with the horizon in the background and reeds and other plants in the foreground. Despite the fact that Cervantes’ two characters are tiny in relation to the size of the flora and are formed with just a few impressionistic strokes in monochro- matic ink, no one well-versed in Western culture could ever mistake that the object of representation was anything other than the errant knight and squire. I have only three criticisms. The first is the lack of functionality of the quotation index. While the visual images can all be easily located in the book by page number in the index of artists and works, there is no indication of how to find the quotations, even though there is a separate quotation index—alphabetized by author—containing pertinent bibliographic information. The second is a minor lament that the artistic media are not explicitly mentioned, although this is not a terrible problem because only a few of the works are ambiguous. For instance, Daumier’s Cabeza de don Quijote (81) is clearly an oil painting, but is Capdevila’s Don Quijote arremete contra los molinos de viento (93) an ink drawing, an etching, or something else? My third and final criticism is ideological and deals with an issue that seems to go unaddressed. Given that Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 309

Allen’s and Finch’s book clearly sets out, in part, to demonstrate the universality of Don Quijote—through the ages, through various spaces, in multiple media—the absence of works and quotations by women is somewhat disturbing in this light. Exceptions are Elvira Gascón’s painting of a Christ-like, suffering Quijote in her Don Quijote der- rotado, no vencido (135), and María Zambrano’s reflection on the similarities between Cervantes and Don Quixote (198). For the most part, whether they are from the seventeenth or the twentieth century, the overwhelming majority of those cited and reproduced are quotes and works by men. Does this absence of women’s writing and art point to a less than universal appeal of Don Quixote though the ages in Western art and literature? I’ll leave that for another author to uncover.

Steven Wagschal Department of Spanish and Portuguese Indiana University Bloomington, IN 47405 [email protected]

Jesús G. Maestro. La secularización de la tragedia. Cervantes y La Numancia. Madrid: Ediciones del Orto–Universidad de Minnesota, 2004. 91 pp.

Un precepto metodológico y ético para comprender la historia, señalaba Marc Bloch, era la necesidad de comprender el pasado a partir del presente. Toda historia, lo mismo que toda crítica literaria, es contemporánea, en el sentido que el pasado, o el tex- to, se interroga desde la última generación viviente. Pero, también, el mayor peligro de un historiador es el anacronismo, o, para el crítico literario la falta de sentido histórico que aleja de la objetividad deseada al intentar destacar la contemporaneidad del texto. El autor de este libro sobre La Numancia parte de este presupuesto: interpretamos desde lo que somos y urgidos por el presente histórico. Sin embargo, en mi opinión, en la interpretación el autor intenta situar a Cervantes como el escritor más moderno, que escribe una obra heterodoxa y excepcional en su tiempo como La Numancia, cercana a las tragedias más contemporáneas. Este libro de breve formato está dividido en tres partes. La primera es un cuadro cronológico que recorre la vida y la obra de Cervantes, para destacar aquellos acontecimientos literarios, culturales e históricos más relevantes que pueden ayudar a entender el contexto histórico y literario en que se desarrolla la obra. Los datos presentados son de sobra conocidos, pero, quizás, el autor cree necesario ofrecerlos para que el lector tenga un rápido acceso a una información esencial, aunque muy general. La segunda parte es el cuerpo del libro y nos ofrece un análisis de la obra cervantina. Finalmente, la tercera es una selección de los textos de La Numancia que apoyan la interpretación del autor. 310 Reviews Cervantes

En la segunda parte el autor presenta la interpretación de La Numancia como la secularización de la tragedia, siendo Cervantes el primer autor moderno y su obra la primera tragedia moderna. El autor destaca la importancia de la libertad en la obra en prosa de Cervantes, en el teatro y, en particular, en La Numancia, para desde ahí destacar tres contribuciones decisivas de Cervantes a la cultura: “una poética de la literatura basada en el concepto de libertad; una ética de la tragedia, basada en la idea de la secula- rización; y una política del estado, basada en la posibilidad de una utopía” (38). Desde estos tres puntos se desarrolla la interpretación de La Numancia. La novedad o la modernidad de Cervantes es presentar una tragedia deicida, sin dioses, e interpretar el suicidio de los numantinos como un acto contrario a la divini- dad, ya que se niega la trascendencia de su muerte, convirtiéndose en un acto voluntario cercano a la nada metafísica. Los dioses desaparecen en La Numancia para que el ser humano sea el dueño de su destino. Por otra parte, la Numancia anterior al cerco de los romanos es una sociedad “verdaderamente igualitaria y democrática” (62), un locus utopicus. Como consecuencia de esta existencia pasada y de la posible opresión roma- na, los numantinos se entregan voluntariamente a la inmolación para no renunciar a la libertad. Con este suicidio voluntario y con la falta de trascendencia de la muerte, Cervantes aboga “trágicamente por la utopía.” De esta manera se adelanta Cervantes a su tiempo, pues nos presenta lo que después serán los signos históricos de la modernidad: el progreso y la ruina. Por su parte los numantinos representan a todos los humildes del pasado y del presente y su comportamiento se encuentra muy cercano a los mineros de Asturias en 1934, los habitantes de Gaza, o a los inocentes asesinados el 11 de marzo en Madrid. Finalmente, tengo que decir que el lector puede encontrar más desarrollada esta interpretación en otro libro del mismo autor, La escena imaginaria, desde la perspectiva crítica hasta la interpretación de la tragedia. Este librito nos ofrece un resumen esencial, de rápida lectura, directo y sin notas a pie de página, de los elementos más importantes que constituyen el teatro de Cervantes y La Numancia.1

Francisco Vivar Foreign Languages and Literatures University of Memphis Memphis, TN 38152-3240 [email protected]

1 [Nota del ed.: En el último número de Cervantes, 25.2, apareció un ensayo de Maestro, “Cervantes y la religión en La Numancia.”] Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 311

Cervantes y / and Shakespeare. Nuevas interpretaciones y aproximaciones comparativas. New Interpretations and Comparative Approaches. Ed. José Manuel González Fernández de Sevilla. Alicante: Universidad de Alicante, 2006. 204 p. ISBN: 84-608-044-8.

La supuesta coincidencia de fechas para el encuentro con la muerte, la existencia de, al menos, el título de un Cardenio firmado por Shakespeare y Fletcher y la in- mensidad literaria e histórica de dos personajes como Miguel de Cervantes y William Shakespeare viviendo al unísono en la misma Europa del Renacimiento—y no pocas cosas más—se conjuran como una tentación casi irresistible para el crítico. ¿Quién será el guapo que se resista a tender un puente entre la Inglaterra isabelina y la España contrarreformista? Reunir el valor para afrontar la construcción del puente es un hecho loable por sí mismo; pero no siempre los resultados sirven de mucho a los lectores que verdaderamente quieran saber si hubo algo más en común entre don Miguel y sir William que una mera arbitrariedad de fechas convergentes. A ese meritorio intento responde la colección de ensayos Cervantes y/and Shakespeare. Nuevas interpretaciones y aproximaciones comparativas. New Interpretations and Comparative Approaches, que José Manuel González Fernández de Sevilla se ha encargado de coordinar y editar en las prensas de la Universidad de Alicante. Como se explica desde la introducción, el origen del libro hay que buscarlo en la celebración del cuarto centenario de la publicación de la primera parte del Quijote y en un seminario organizado por la misma Universidad de Alicante a principios del 2006. La explicación que ofrece el editor es la de que “hablar de Miguel de Cervantes, de sus logros e inno- vaciones literarias, remite casi inexorablemente a hablar de su gran rival y paradigma de la literatura moderna que no es otro que William Shakespeare” (11). Desde esa “Introducción,” se insiste en que “pocas han sido las publicaciones y estudios que han abordado con detenimiento y profundidad los aspectos comparativos y contrastivos que sus respectivas obras ofrecen, y que justifican y avalan la importancia y trascendencia de su legado literario” (11). Aun así, la extensión del Centenario ha dado para algún encuentro más, como el celebrado en la Universidad de Huelva en abril de 2004, publicado por Juan de la Cuesta y que, además, está en el origen de alguna de las ponencias aquí reproducidas.2 La recopilación alicantina está dividida en tres partes con títulos que corresponden a tres de los desafíos mayores que debiera afrontar cualquier crítico o espontá- neo que aspirase a transitar por estos campos: “Los géneros literarios en Cervantes y Shakespeare,” en la primera sección; “Editar el Quijote y Hamlet,” en la segunda; y en la tercera y última un peculiar gerundio que insta a ir “Comparando Cervantes y Shakespeare.” Cada una de esas partes se compone de dos capítulos, firmados por muy

2 Entre Cervantes y Shakespeare: Sendas del Renacimiento. Between Shakespeare and Cervantes: Trails along the Renaissance, ed. Zenón Luis Martínez y Luis Gómez Canseco. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2006. 312 Reviews Cervantes

destacados y lúcidos investigadores en la cosa shakesperiana y cervantina. La indagación en lo referente a los géneros literarios la resuelven Barry W. Ife y Antonio Rey Hazas, mientras que las cuestiones editoriales corresponden a Ann Thompson y Florencio Sevilla Arroyo y los intentos comparativos a Richard Wilson y al propio editor, José Manuel González. Barry W. Ife afronta un intento de definición genérica del Quijote a partir de la difusión en la Inglaterra isabelina y jacobea de la prosa de ficción española. El ensayo “Cervantes and Shakespeare: Asymmetrical Conversations” parte de un encuentro entre Shakespeare y Cervantes imaginado por Anthony Burgess en su cuento “A Meeting in Valladolid” publicado en 1989. Tras desechar cualquier posibilidad de trato personal entre ambos escritores, Ife se centra en la realidad de los textos literarios his- pánicos salidos de prensas inglesas durante el período. Sobre los datos obtenidos por Alan Paterson y Alex Samson en torno a las traducciones inglesas de libros españoles entre 1475 y 1700, concluye en la importancia que éstas tuvieron y subraya la difusión inglesa de Cervantes, cuyas obras sirvieron durante no poco tiempo de estímulo y fuente para el teatro británico (31). Todo ello conduce a dos objetivos bien definidos: en primer lugar, el de rebatir el libro de Jonathan Bate, The Genius of Shakespeare (1997), que ningunea a Cervantes y señala a Lope como el único escritor español lejanamente comparable a Shakespeare; y, en segundo lugar, el de definir el Quijote como “a book of plays,” esto es, ‘un libro de comedias,’ que sirvieron de modelo y ejemplo para otras, incluso en la lejana Inglaterra del rey Jacobo. Con su buen tino habitual, su sentido común y sabiduría, Antonio Rey Hazas aborda la trayectoria de “Cervantes como dramaturgo.” Partiendo del problema de haberse visto en la obligación de dar a un impresor y no a un comediante sus Ocho comedias y ocho entremeses nuevos, nunca representados en 1615, Rey Hazas sitúa a este Cervantes comediógrafo en el cambiante paisaje del teatro español entre finales del XVI y comienzos del XVII. El éxito, más o menos moderado, que pudo lograr con Los tratos de Argel, La Numancia, La Jerusalén o La confusa desapareció a partir de 1587, cuando dejó de escribir comedias y ocupó sus horas en la comisaría de abastos para la Armada Invencible. A la vuelta, fuera cuando fuera, se topó con la monarquía cómica de Lope y se sintió fuera de sitio, de ahí su interés por subrayar sus aportaciones más originales, como las de reducir las comedias a tres jornadas o la de representar el pensamiento por figuras morales, que declara en el prólogo de lasOcho comedias. Es en esa situación donde se cuece la contraria entre el Fénix y el manco, que no lo anduvo al poner de vuelta y media a su vecino en La entretenida y convertir la obra, como señala Antonio Rey, en “una parodia de la comedia de capa y espada instituida por Lope de Vega” (75). La rebeldía de Cervantes contra el poder de Lope se convertiría, a la postre, en un instrumento de renovación genérica. Los problemas editoriales en torno a Cervantes y Shakespeare se centran en Hamlet y el Quijote, y los encargados de plantearlos son Ann Thompson, reciente edi- tora en colaboración con Neil Taylor de los tres textos de la obra, y uno de los más sesudos, sabios y acertados editores cervantinos, Florencio Sevilla Arroyo. Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 313

La existencia de tres textos de Hamlet sustancialmente diferentes—los cuartos de 1603 y 1604 y la versión del infolio de 1623—convierte la tarea de editar Hamlet en opinión de Ann Thompson en un desafío que va más allá de decidir la supremacía de un texto sobre los otros. “The Challenges of EditingHamlet ” es en este sentido una jus- tificación de los argumentos que han llevado a la autora y a su colaborador Neil Taylor a llevar a cabo una “multiple-text edition” en dos volúmenes para la tercera serie de la prestigiosa colección The Arden Shakespeare.3 Thompson compara los retos que se presentan al editor con aquéllos que la tragedia plantea a directores, actores, escenógrafos, lectores, escritores de ficción, y críticos literarios. Todos ellos, argumenta Thompson, se enfrentan de un modo u otro al peso de la tradición (“the sheer depth and breadth of tradition,” 82). Emular a un ilustre predecesor sobre las tablas, dirigir una versión cinematográfica novedosa, o pergeñar una secuela que ilumine alguno de los muchos rincones oscuros del texto—el eje post-edípico Hamlet–Gertrudis–Claudio es sin duda uno de los aspectos más revisados, como bien nos muestran Franco Zefirelli en el cine, o John Updike y Margaret Atwood en la ficción literaria—son actividades sobre las que siempre se proyecta la poderosa sombra de una tradición interpretativa más interesada en sancionar que en cuestionar las verdades de la tragedia. Con todas ellas comparte dificultades el trabajo del crítico textual. Y es de elogiar la pericia de la que hace gala Thompson a la hora de justificar la necesidad de una edición sin duda ambi- ciosa con criterios nada pretenciosos y más que razonables. Una edición, nos dice, no es un manifiesto, y no requiere de teorías novedosas ni sensacionalistas para probar su necesidad. Basta con proporcionar al lector un sentido claro de por qué es posible dis- entir de casi cualquier decisión que se tome sobre esta obra (112). Para ello, los editores de Arden han optado por privilegiar Q2 en un volumen por separado argumentando la posibilidad de que provenga de un manuscrito del autor, así como la advertencia que el propio texto hace de que su publicación fue concebida para corregir y desplazar a

Q1 (92). El segundo volumen ofrece el infolio de 1623, texto que tradicionalmente se considera derivado de una revisión del autor, y el “corrupto” Q1, el único sin embargo que “plausiblemente podría haber sido representado en toda su extensión” (88), y que, a pesar de sus defectos, se ha ganado la atención de directores y editores en las últimas décadas. En definitiva, un Hamlet innovador en su pluralidad y en su utilidad al estudioso, más orientado a recabar todas las preguntas posibles que a aportarles soluciones definitivas. Si Ann Thompson afronta los retos de editar Hamlet, Florencio Sevilla Arroyo propone “Editar el Quijote según Cervantes.” El enunciado del título no es una opción buscada en vano. Ante los considerables problemas editoriales del libro, el complejo sistema editorial del Siglo de Oro y la conservación de sólo un texto, el primero de 1605, resulta casi imposible llegar a una reconstrucción fiable y a una edición crítica, tal

3 Véanse Hamlet–The Arden Shakespeare: Third Series, eds. Neil Taylor y Ann Thompson (Londres: Thomson learning, 2006) yHamlet: The Texts of 1603 and 1623, eds. Ann Thompson y Neil Taylor (Londres: Thomson Learning, 2007). 314 Reviews Cervantes

como se entiende actualmente. Por ello, se traza una historia de la trayectoria editorial del Quijote, para concluir en una división de los editores entre “cervánticos” y “correctistas,” según su voluntad de respetar como sagrado el texto de Cervantes o intervenir en él como en barbecho (117–18). La solución que Florencio Sevilla apunta es la de “recurrir al propio Cervantes” (129), y lo ejemplifica con la tan traída y llevada desapa- rición y aparición del burro de Sancho y las interpolaciones de la segunda impresión de Juan de la Cuesta. Como concluye el autor y si nos atenemos a lo escrito en 1615, “con independencia de lo que realmente ocurriese, la única certeza sostenible...es que Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra se responsabilizó exclusivamente de un Ingenioso hidalgo con los descuidos u olvidos mencionados, desautorizando así a cualquier otra edición que contuviese las addendas introducidas para remediarlos” (136). La prometedora tercera parte anuncia como fin propio la comparación entre Cervantes y Shakespeare. Sin embargo, la impresión que queda tras la lectura de sus dos capítulos es que el trabajo comparativo no va más allá de unas meras pinceladas. Difícil es para quienes reseñan juzgar las aportaciones de Richard Wilson en “To Great Saint Jacques Bound: All’s Well that Ends Well in Shakespeare’s Spain,” pues este mismo trabajo ya se incluyó en el volumen publicado por Juan de la Cuesta al que se hace men- ción en esta reseña. Ni que decir tiene que las reconocemos y las avalamos. Baste decir que en aquel libro este capítulo abría la primera parte, “Cruces de caminos/Crossroads,” la cual recogía trabajos en los que no se emprendía la comparación entre ambos autores, sino donde, entre otros asuntos, se examinaba la visión que uno de ellos tenía del entorno histórico y cultural del otro: la católica España que Shakespeare esboza en All’s Well that Ends Well conforma el territorio que Wilson analiza con maestría, y la Inglaterra reformada que Cervantes dibuja en finos trazos en “La española inglesa” el contrapunto que Wilson sólo bosqueja. Aun así, la conclusión razonada de que la curación del rey por parte de Helena en All’s Well está teñida de una fuerte simbología católica que da muestras del credo religioso de sir William (177–78), unida a la sugerencia de que Cervantes fue un lector agudo del mundo de Shakespeare (“he was an acute reader of Shakespeare’s world,” 168), abre estimulantes vías de análisis del imaginario de ingleses y españoles a la hora de intentar entender, de aceptar o denostar al otro en el Renacimiento. El libro se cierra con un ensayo firmado por el coordinador del volumen, José Manuel González, “What Else After Cervantes and Shakespeare?,” trabajo en el que el “más” y el “después” de su título parecen llegar demasiado pronto, sin dar tiempo para que el lector saboree el “qué,” el “antes” y el “mientras tanto” de una aproximación com- parativa que uno desearía más jugosa que la que aquí se entrega. González traza líneas temáticas relevantes para abordar la comparación entre estos dos “masters of wisdom” (182)—denominación que el autor toma prestada de Harold Bloom. Ambos, se nos dice, “manifiestan un interés inusual por problemas radicales que habitan en nosotros… [e] iluminan las tensiones y las contradicciones de nuestro tiempo” (186). El sentido trágico, la dicotomía apariencia-realidad, la locura, la violencia y el terror—con una insistencia excesiva, quizás oportunista, en el terrorismo—son los grandes temas que Volume 26 (2006) Reviews 315 unen al Quijote con Hamlet, King Lear, o Macbeth. Sin duda; y las interesantes propues- tas que González avanza necesitarían de un análisis más profundo. Sin embargo, se echan en falta asuntos como la visión cómica de nuestros autores, o sus convergencias y divergencias a la hora de formular una poética propia, o el fértil terreno de las lecturas y las fuentes literarias comunes. Y es que a veces el interés, quizás debido a las modas académicas, por presentar a Shakespeare y a Cervantes como nuestros contemporáneos puede llevarnos a olvidar que son cuatrocientos años los que hacen que no los merez- camos. Es difícil saber si la supervivencia de Cervantes y Shakespeare está sometida, como señala José Manuel González Fernández de Sevilla, a las visiones que nos brindan de la locura, la violencia o el terrorismo. Más bien parece que lo que separa a los humanistas—a quienes nadie lee ahora, a pesar de la modernidad de sus visiones—y a estos dos hombres está en lo literario, esto es, en la sabiduría—e insistimos en la idea de Bloom—con que supieron plasmar sus ideas en palabras y acercárselas a los lectores. No obstante, está más que justificado el esfuerzo por entenderlos juntos, como hijos de un solo tiempo y como autores de textos leídos con una emoción continuada, si no similar, por generaciones sucesivas. Este Cervantes y/and Shakespeare. Nuevas interpretaciones y aproximaciones comparativas. New Interpretations and Comparative Approaches es un libro razonablemente útil, firmado por investigadores tanto shakesperianos como cervantinos de valía contrastada y trayectoria seria, y con ensayos sin duda interesantes. No obstante, ha de ponérsele un pero: y es que don Miguel de Cervantes y don William Shakespeare, más que conectados, aparecen aquí superpuestos y lejanos uno del otro.

Luis Gómez Canseco (Departamento de Filología Española) y Zenón Luis Martínez (Departamento de Filología Inglesa) Universidad de Huelva Avda Fuerzas Armadas s/n 21071 Huelva [email protected] / [email protected]