Chapter I

A certain Corporal, as I am told,Italian, and by birth a Perusine,In wit a Greek, and like a Roman bold,

Led by a whim, a worthy one, I ween,To mount Parnassus fain would set his face,To flee the court, its turmoil and chagrin.

Alone, on foot, he slowly reached a placeWhere an old mule he bought him for the tour,Of steel-grey colour, and of jog-trot pace;

So gaunt a spectre ne'er met timid boor,Nor one less fit to carry weight along,Its bones colossal, and its action poor;

Short was its vision, though its tail was long,Lean were its flanks, and eke its hide more toughThan those which to an ancient targe belong;

Its wit and temper were of such rare stuff,That, be it April month or January,It fell to work right pleasantly enough.

On this our poet, riding valiantly,Did reach Parnassus, and Apollo thereWith beaming visage gave him welcome free.

When to his home alone he did repair,Without a plack, from this to t'other poleFame bore the tale he told on wings of air.

I, who do toil and strain my being wholeTo shew, what Heaven's grace will not allow,The semblance of a poet's gracious soul,

Was minded greatly to dispatch mine nowBy post or through the air, and so to takeAnd plant it on far-famed Oeta's brow;

Thence haply spying, through the tangled brake,Where Aganippe's charming current flows,I might take one short leap, and forthwith slake

My lips with rich sweet draughts, and in reposeMight fill my paunch right full, and henceforth beA poet grand, or leastways grandiose:

But thousand stumbling-blocks appeared to meTo bar the way, and made my purpose slack—A fruitless, powerless, senseless thing to see;

For in the load I bear upon my back,Which Fortune there has placed with heavy hand,I read the hopes which all fruition lack.

The leagues full many of the journey grandMight well have filled my bosom with dismay,And brought my darling project to a stand:

Had not the fumes of Fame come in to playTheir part, to make me realize my vow,And point me out a short and easy way:

I inly said: "Could I succeed but nowUpon the top of that steep hill to stand,And press a laurel wreath upon my brow,

I'd envy not APONTE'S diction grand,Nor the acumen of GALARZA dead,With Rodomonte's tongue and woman's hand!"

But as at first we ever are misled,Urged on by my desire, my feet I gaveThe road, for to the wind I gave my head:

And so in fine, upon Fate's haunches grave,And perched upon its saddle with free-will,I made resolve the journey grand to brave.

If such a mount should men with marvel fill,Let him who knows not know, that it is usedThe whole world round, not merely in Castile;

No one can be, nor ever is excusedFrom taking seat upon that wondrous brute,Nor mortal traveller has e'er refused:

At times 'tis wont to go so swift, and shootLike shaft or eagle through the upper air,And then at times to jog with leaden foot;

But for the poet's travelling weight to bearThe task is light, and any beast is goodTo carry it; for no valise is there.

Yea, 'tis God's truth, that though a poet shouldInherit wealth, he straightway doth inclineTo lose it, not increase it; 'tis his mood.

The reason of this fact I do divine,That thou, great Sire Apollo, dost infuseInto their minds a goodly share of thine;

And as thou dost not mingle, nor confuseThe same with business matters of the day,Nor on the sea of commerce vile dost cruise;

So they, whate'er their themes, severe or gay,Concern them not with trade or balance-sheet,But o'er the spheres prefer to wing their way;

Limning, perchance, of Mars some bloody featOn foughten field, or else among the flowersThe deeds of Venus, amorous and sweet;

Bewailing wars, or piping in Love's bowers,With them life passes like a dream of earth,Or as the gamblers spend the fleeting hours.

Poets are made of clay of dainty worth,Sweet, ductile, and of delicacy prime,And fond of lingering at a neighbour's hearth;

For e'en the wisest poet of his timeIs ruled by fond desires and delicate,Of fancies full and ignorance sublime;

Wrapped in his whimsies, with affection greatFor his own offspring, he is not designedTo reach a wealthy, but an honoured state.

So let my patient readers henceforth mind—As saith the vulgar impolite and coarse—That I'm a poet of the self-same kind;

With snowy hairs of swan, with voice of hoarseAnd jet-black crow, the rough bark of my witTo polish down Time vainly spends its force;

Upon the top of Fortune's wheel to sit,For one short moment, hath not been my fate,For when I'd mount, it fails to turn a whit;

But yet to learn if one high thought and greatMight not some happier occasion seize,I travelled on with slow and tardy gait.

A wheaten-loaf, with eight small scraps of cheese,Was all the stock my wallet did contain,Good for the road, and carried with great ease;

"Farewell," quoth I, "my humble home and plain!Farewell, Madrid, thy Prado, and thy springsDistilling nectar and ambrosial rain!

Farewell, ye gay assemblies, pleasant thingsTo cheer one aching bosom, and delightTwo thousand faint, aspiring underlings!

Farewell, thou charming and deceitful site,Where erst two giants great were set ablazeBy thunderbolt of Jove, in fiery might!

Farewell, ye public theatres, whose praiseRests on the ignorance I see becrownThe countless follies of unnumbered plays!

Farewell, St. Philip's broadway of the town,Where, as in Venice fly-sheet, I can knowWhether the Turkish dog be up or down!

Farewell, some lordling's hunger, keen and slow;For sooner than drop dead beside thy door,This day from country and from self I go!"

At last I reached the port, with travail sore,To which the men of Carthage gave their name,Shut in from all the winds that scourge the shore:

Before whose clear renown and peerless fameBow down whatever ports the sea doth lave,The sun illumes, or sailors make their aim.

And, as I cast mine eyes across the wave,The briny plain brought back to mind and heartThe glorious action of Don Juan the brave;

Wherein, with soldier's fire, and soldier's art,And valour of mine own, on that great dayI bore a certain though a humble part;

When, with a baffled rage they could not stay,And mortal spite, the haughty OttomanSaw power and prestige shattered in the fray.

All hopeful, then, and fearless, I beganTo look about to find some frigate near,Wherein to carry out my lofty plan;

When on the sea, so blue and silvery clear,I saw approach a barque, with sail and oar,Which right into the grand old port did steer.

Of all that Neptune's shoulders ever bore,More gallant and more sightly none, I wis,None that could rank beside it or before:

Yea, never on the main swam barque like this,Not even in the Armada's proud array,Which vengeful Juno whelmed in the abyss:

Not Argo's self, upon that famous dayIt went to fetch the fleece, was rigged so rare,Or with such wealth of grandeur made display!

As into port she sailed, Aurora fairPassed through the Eastern gates the world to cheer,With amorous locks and sweetly waving hair;

When lo! a loud report struck on mine ear,The royal galley giving welcome roarThat woke the town, and filled the folk with fear.

The clanging sound of clarions filled the shoreWith sweetest harmony, wherewith did blendThe merry songs of those who plied the oar;

The rosy Hours did on the day attend,Whose light a great distinctness and more clearDid on the barque and all its splendour send.

The men dropped anchor, and made fast their gear,And launched a spacious skiff on the calm sea,To sound of music, shouts, and lusty cheer.

With such array as sailors love to seeThey crowned the poop with carpets o'er and o'er,All woven with silk and gold embroidery;

Soon as the wealthy skiff had touched the shore,There sallied forth a man of high degree,Whom four great chiefs upon their shoulders bore;

In whose attire, and gesture firm and free,Mercurius' living figure I divined,The envoy of the gods of fable he;

With gallant mien, and bearing most refined,With wingèd feet, Caduceus in his hand,Symbol of prudence and of wit combined;

It was the self-same paranymph so bland,Who, from the lofty Empyrean seat,Brought lying messages to many a land.

Scarce had I seen him plant his winged feetUpon the yellow sands, that smiled in gleeThe treading of such feet divine to greet,

When hundred thousand fancies came to me,As there I stood, and straightway I was fainTo kneel before that form, so grand to see.

The spokesman god quick bade me rise again,And, in sonorous measured verse like Dante's,Began to parley with me in this strain:

"O Adam of the poets! O Cervantes!What wallets and attire be these, my friend,Which plainly manifest thy wit but scant is!"

I blandly said, that I might not offend:"My lord, I'm poor, and to Parnassus bound,And thus accoutred seek my journey's end!"

"O superhuman mind," he cried, "and sound,Raised high above Cyllenian spirit too,May fame and plenty aye with thee abound!

Thine is the answer of a soldier true,Of antique valour, testified arightTo all by that maimed hand which now I view:

I know that, in the naval bloody fight,Thy left hand shattered lost the active powerIt once possessed, for glory of the right!

Yet not in vain is Sire Apollo's dowerOf gifts to thee, the rare inventive art,The instinct which transcends the passing hour;

Thy works, through all the world in every part,Which Rozinante on his crupper bears,Are known, and stir to strife the envious heart.

Pass, rare inventor, subtle in affairs,Pass on before, and to Apollo lendThy timely aid, so needful in his cares;

Before the vulgar squadron thither wendOf seven-month poets, twenty thousand told,Whose being is a riddle without end.

Already doth this useless rabble boldThrong all the paths and roads, to storm the hillWhose shade they are not worthy to behold.

So arm thee with thy verses and thy skill,And make thee ready to embark with me,And gird thee for the service with good will;

With me thy passage shall be safe and free,No pother needst thou make, nor question raise,About thy needful provender at sea;

And to convince thee that I do not phrase,Come with me to my galley, and strange sightThou'lt see, to fill thy fancy with amaze!"

I, though I deemed the whole fictitious quite,Went on with him into the galley fair,And saw what thrilled my senses with delight.

From keel to main-mast top, O wonder rare,A swarm of verses formed the whole array,No single bit of prose did mingle there!

The port-holes were a curious compound gayOf Glosses, made to order and designedTo grace Malmaridada's wedding day;

The bank of oars was with Romances lined,A daring folk, but needful as a change,And fit for active work of every kind;

The poop was of material wondrous strange,Of Sonnets bastard and legitimate,Of cunning work withal, and varied range;

Two Tercets, each of power exceeding great,Composed the stroke oars of the left and right,A wider oar-sweep to effectuate;

The rowers' gangway came before my sight,Formed of a long-drawn Elegy and drear,Designed for wailing, not for song's delight;

So might I understand what strikes the ear,When sorrows on some wretch's head do pour:"He runs the gangway!" 'tis the phrase we hear:

The solid main-mast, that aloft did soar,Was fashioned of a stiff and prolix Lay,Six fingers deep, pitch-plastered o'er and o'er;

It, and the lateen yard that crossed its way,Of hard dry Couplets, to the view did bringTheir wooden substance with a clear display:

The parrels, prattling with the vessel's swing,Were Redondillas, and in rows arrayedTo tinkle forth an easy rattling ring;

The cordage was of Seguidillas made,Bright with a thousand fooleries and more,That titillate the soul in serenade;

The prow-ribs, Stanzas honest to the core,Formed tablets large, and ponderous as could be,With this and t'other poem garnished o'er;

The flags and streamers were a sight to see,That waved and fluttered with the moving air,Of varied rhymes, a trifle loose and free;

The sailor boys, that flitted here and there,Seemed to me coupled verses in one stave,Though each did work with free and jaunty air;

The bulwarks were composed of Sextains grave,Or verses blank, and to the galley brightA stouter and more firm appearance gave!

At length, with manners gentle and polite,Mercurius, seeing my inspection end,(Herewith thy praise, O reader, I invite,)

Took seat by me, and to my ears did sendHis voice with reasons forcible and fair,Wherewith the sweetest harmony did blend,

And said to me: "'Mong matters that are rareAnd novel in this world, and strange to hear,Thou'lt see, if thou dost note and mark with care,

That such a barque, as thou beholdest here,Hath highest claims the reverence to commandOf all the wondering nations far and near.

It sprang to being by no wizard's hand,But by divine Apollo's wit supreme,Whose will and power achieved a work so grand:

He fashioned it that I, though strange it seem,Should bear therein as many poets greatAs dwell 'twixt Tagus and Pactolus' stream.

Malta's grand master, who hath heard of late,From secret spies, that hordes of Eastern bandsSharpen their barbarous shafts for onslaught great,

In fear hath summoned from the neighbouring landsThe Knights that bear the white cross on the breast,To gain the confidence such force commands;

Like him, Apollo now hath given behest,All famous seers shall to Parnassus hie,Which stands this day beleaguered and distressed.

I, looking on the case with pitying eye,Put on my winged cap, and learning plainWhat should be done, with quickened pace did fly;

I coasted all along the Italian main,The shores of France I saw, but did not land,My mission having sole respect to Spain;

But with this meeting, fortunate and bland,I'll bring to happy issue my affairs,And straight dispatch them with an easy hand.

Thou, though I see scant power in thy grey hairs,Shalt be the paranymph of my design,And rid me of the burden of my cares;

Set out, nor let delay be fault of thine,And to those written on this list conveyThe message of Apollo, line for line!"

He shewed the list; and 'mong the vast arrayOf poet's names I saw Yanguesians there,Coritos too, and dwellers in Biscay;

Of Andalusians many a name and rare,And of Castilians saw I not a fewWhose dwelling poesy delights to share.

Mercurius said: "This most distinguished crew,Since thou dost know them, pray, describe the same,And with their names their height of genius too."

I made response: "Of those of loftiest nameI'll tell thee what I know, that thou may'st deignBefore Apollo to exalt their fame."

He listened: and I answered in this strain.