The craze of Don Quixote seems, in some instances,
to have communicated itself to his critics, making
them see things that are not in the book and run full
tilt at phantoms that have no existence save in their
own imaginations. Like a good many critics now-a-days,
they forget that screams are not criticism, and that
it is only vulgar tastes that are influenced by strings
of superlatives, three-piled hyperboles, and pompous
epithets. But what strikes one as particularly
strange is that while they deal in extravagant eulogies,
and ascribe all manner of imaginary ideas and qualities
to Cervantes, they show no perception of the quality
that ninety-nine out of a hundred of his readers would
rate highest in him, and hold to be the one that raises
him above all rivalry.
To speak of “Don Quixote” as if it were
merely a humorous book would be a manifest misdescription.
Cervantes at times makes it a kind of commonplace
book for occasional essays and criticisms, or for the
observations and reflections and gathered wisdom of
a long and stirring life. It is a mine of shrewd
observation on mankind and human nature. Among
modern novels there may be, here and there, more elaborate
studies of character, but there is no book richer
in individualised character. What Coleridge said
of Shakespeare in minimis is true of Cervantes; he
never, even for the most temporary purpose, puts forward
a lay figure. There is life and individuality
in all his characters, however little they may have
to do, or however short a time they may be before the
reader. Samson Carrasco, the curate, Teresa Panza,
Altisidora, even the two students met on the road
to the cave of Montesinos, all live and move and have
their being; and it is characteristic of the broad
humanity of Cervantes that there is not a hateful
one among them all. Even poor Maritornes, with
her deplorable morals, has a kind heart of her own
and “some faint and distant resemblance to a
Christian about her;” and as for Sancho, though
on dissection we fail to find a lovable trait in him,
unless it be a sort of dog-like affection for his master,
who is there that in his heart does not love him?
But it is, after all, the humour of “Don Quixote”
that distinguishes it from all other books of the
romance kind. It is this that makes it, as one
of the most judicial-minded of modern critics calls
it, “the best novel in the world beyond all
comparison.” It is its varied humour, ranging
from broad farce to comedy as subtle as Shakespeare’s
or Moliere’s that has naturalised it in every
country where there are readers, and made it a classic
in every language that has a literature.
SOME COMMENDATORY VERSES
URGANDA THE UNKNOWN
To the book of Don Quixote of la Mancha
If to be welcomed by the good,
O Book! thou make thy steady aim,
No empty chatterer will dare
To question or dispute thy claim.
But if perchance thou hast a mind
To win of idiots approbation,
Lost labour will be thy reward,
Though they’ll pretend appreciation.
