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Digitized by the Internet Arciiive

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IVIicrosoft Corporation

http://www.arcliive.org/details/donquixotesomewaOOgrieuoft

THE ENGLISH ASSOCIATION

Pamphlet No. 48

Don Quixote
Some War-time Reflections

on

Its Character and Influence

BY

HERBERT J. C. GRIERSON, LL.D.

January, 1921

DON QUIXOTE

SOME WAR-TIME REFLECTIONS ON ITS CHARACTER
AND INFLUENCE

The war proved for most of us a great trier of the spirits of books
as well as men. Some which we had read with amusement, even with
apparent profit, failed us in our need. A few found their most
complete escape in the region of pure science, detached intellectual
inquiry. One friend of mine and scholar sat apparently unmoved
through the weeks from Mons to the Marne and the Marne to Ypres,
absorbed in the collation of manuscripts of Pelagius. Others, like
Mr. AVells, felt themselves impelled to an attempt to re-read the
riddle of a painful world and invent, if they could not discover,
a God to clear up the mess sometime and somehow. Mysticism and
the occult claimed a larger following ; hence, among other causes, the
popularity for a time of Dostoievsky and the Russians and the much
greater popularity of Raymond and the literature of communication
with the dead. Pious souls were sustained and comforted by what
seemed to others the strangest husks, the least illuminating, consoling
or ennobling revelations of Life behind the veil. For some of us, on
the other hand, the most readable books were just those which were
most entirely human, neither philosophical nor mystical, sentimental
nor cynical, but simply human, pictures of the normal life of men and
women, illuminated with playful irony but a light that is also warmed
by a genial though not too obtrusive sympathy. Of all such books
Don Quixote proved itself yaci/^ princeps. Not even Shakespeare,
and certainly no other. Fielding or Jane Austen or Dickens or
Charles Lamb, furnished quite the same armour of proof against
outrageous fortune, provided quite the same blend of amusement
with that affection and respect for humanity which alone seemed
worthy of an epoch of such appalling sacrifice and suffering. To seek
complete distraction at such a moment in science or art or amusement
required qualities that are superhuman or inhuman ; but without
obscuring altogether our consciousness of the tragic background of
reality Don Quixote enabled us to endure by transferring us in

a2

4 DON QUIXOTE

imagination to a happier and yet a quite human world, a world
where fighting and misadventure are not ignored or forgotten, but
all is sweetened by the humanities of love and laughter and good
fellowship and good cheer, which relaxes without unbracing the
muscles of endurance and passionate resistance to cruelty and injustice.
' Delight in several shapes ' is the title which James Mabbe gave to
his Elizabethan version of six of the Novelas Exemplares. Delight in
manifold form is the lot of the peruser of Don Quixote at a time like
the present, a work whose satire on human natui'e is held in solution
by a stream of unfailing humour and kindliness, whose two heroes are
not more absurd than they are admirable and lovable, in all whose
varied characters, from knight and priest, duke and duchess, to
innkeeper and convict, none is wholly hateful.

The centenary of Cervantes fell in the middle of the world-war
and evoked in this country at least two interesting appreciations.
Professor Fitzmaurice Kelly's learned address and Professor W. P. Ker's
characteristically subtle analysis of the various strands which are
interwoven in the great masterpiece. The present writer is not
a Spanish scholar, but is tempted to record some of the impressions
which a restudy of this great comedy, under war conditions, and
a reconsideration of its echoes in English and European literature,
have renewed and deepened. The first of these is the impression of
Don Quixote as the parent of the modern novel. So much has been
written about the slow evolution of the novel in the century and
a half which followed, till all the currents united in Clarissa and
Tom Jones, that it comes upon a reader as something of a surprise to
realize that here, in Do7i Quixote, are all the essentials of the genre.
Here is the proper style, theme, and material. The style, as the
author himself says, ' runs musically, plainly, and pleasantly, with clear,
proper, and well-placed words.' Malory's style is one of rare quality
and beauty, but it is the style of romance, not of the novel. Cervantes
is the first great master in prose of that pleasant mode of narrative
in which the author seems to take you by the hand and to converse
with you agreeably on the road — apostrophizing, commenting,
digressing, a style in which Fielding and Thackeray have been among
his happiest followers ; George Meredith too, were it not that
Meredith's colloquial gambols are sometimes as awkward as they are
fantastic. What delightful digressions those of Cervantes are them-
selves and have been the occasion of in others — the priest and the
barber in Don Quixote's library, Parson Adams upon Homer, Fielding
on the comic epic in prose ! Even the more poetic flights, the
descriptions of dawn, the eloquence of the knight when he dilates to

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 5

Sancho or the canon, do not disturb but enhance the harmony of the
whole, and found an amusing and variously toned echo in Fielding
and Meredith, as at the introduction of Sophia, or the meeting of
Richard and I^ucy.

But Cervantes'' enchanting style is the natural and beautiful
vesture for his subject-matter, and that is again just the proper
subject of the novel, human nature and the ordinary everyday life of
men. It would have been so easy for Cervantes, in revolting from
the unrealities of romance, in seeking to bring romance into ludicrous
contact with reality, to slip either into mere burlesque or into the
tedious violence and sordid details of the picaresque romance as
that had ah'eady taken shape in Lorenzo de Toiines. He did neither ;
but, instead, he invented, as by a divine accident, the comic epic in
prose which is just the modern novel of life and manners. The
world of romance lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and
its epoch is that of good Haroun Alraschid or brave King Arthur.
The world of burlesque has features of real life at a definite era,
England under the Commonwealth, or Italy in the sixteenth century;
but that world is conceived in an abstractly ludicrous and satirical
fashion. No one rises from the perusal of Hudibras or of the
Secchia Rapita with any such impression of life in Puritan England
or Italian city politics and wars as Don Quixote conveys of Spanish
life and character in the reign of Philip the Fourth. The sunny
atmosphere of the whole does not falsify the details.

This is the aspect of Cervantes' work which floods the imagination
with most surprise and delight when one returns to it remembering
chiefly one's earl}' naive pleasure in the fantastic adventures. Here
is God's plenty ! We linger with the same pleasure among the people
who meet us on every page as we do with the pilgrims who rode to
Canterbury, or as we make the acquaintance of the peasants and
beggars and lawyers and ministers and gipsies who crowd the best
chapters of the Waverley Novels. Don Quixote sets out to achieve
heroic exploits, worthy of Don Amadis, deeds that are ' to obliterate
the memory of the Platii's, the Tablantes, Olivantes and Tirantes, the
Knights of the Sun and the Belianises with the whole tribe of the
famous knights-errant of times past.' He sees everything through
the glamour of romance, but the romance eludes him, melting into
reality, and that reality is to us who read more delightful than any
romance. Here are innkeepers, themselves readers of romances, but
not disposed therefore to approve of Don Quixote's omitting to pay
his bill on the ground that he is a knight-errant and the inn a castle;
frail but good-hearted chambermaids like Maritornes ; jovial souls

a3

6 DON QUIXOTE

who toss Sancho in a blanket, ' four cloth-workers of Segovia, three
needle-makers of the horse-fountain of Cordova, and two butchers of
Seville, all arch, merrv, good-hearted, and frolicsome fellows \ We
listen to the priest and the barber as in Don Quixote's library they
talk learnedl}' and critically of romances and pastorals and poems,
Spanish and Italian, before they deliver them over to the secular arm
of the housekeeper. We take the road with Don Quixote, and
traverse meadows dotted with white-sailed windmills which he takes
for armed giants, or hear by night the roar and clanking of some
monster and find as day breaks that the monster is a fulling-mill
turned by a water-fall, or, entering a boat, like Lancelot and
Galahad, in quest of adventure, we are borne down a swift stream
and only saved from drowning by a flour-miller and his men. We
see the village barber scouring the plain, leaving his ass as booty for
Sancho, his basin to become Mambrino's helmet on the head of him
of the Sorrowful Countenance. We interview convicts on their way
to the galleys and hear their own account of their crimes ; or
companies of mounted carriers who visit on Sancho and the knight
the amorous indiscretions of Rozinante. We dine in the open air
with shepherds and goatherds, and listen to their songs and ballads
and stories of unhappy lovers. The pastoral element is, indeed, the
only one not perfectly adjusted to the realism of the setting, but the
effect is not inharmonious. ' That piping of shepherds and pretty
sylvan ballet which dances always round the principal figures is
delightfully pleasant to me', says Thackeray, who was reading Don
Quixote while he was writing of Colonel Newcome. Everything else
is real — the ladies in coaches on their way to Seville to meet husbands
returning from the Spanish Indies ; Benedictines on mules protected
from the dust by face-masks and glasses ; a funeral that passes by
night with mounted torch-bearers and mourners ; a cart driven
by a hideous devil carrying Death and an angel with coloured wings,
and a crowned Emperor and Cupid with his bow and quiver — in short
the actors in a Corpus Christi play, for this is Spain, and Spain is still
in the Middle Ages. Or again it is a cart conveying a present of lions
to the king at Madrid ; or the puppet-show where a boy interprets
as Hamlet offered to interpret to Ophelia. Always there is abundance
of good eating and drinking, with much pleasant conversation, at
Camacho's wedding, or the house of the wealthy franklin Don Diego,
or the palace of the duke or the inn, or in the open air, where Don
Quixote and Sancho and the Bachelor and Tom Cecial eat and talk
and sleep in the warm Spanish night by the river-side. All the rich and
varied life of Spain flows past us as we read, giving everywhere the

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 7

same impression that this fantastic story has for setting neither
the unreal world of romance nor the harsh brutalities of picaresque
story, but the genial happenings of everyday, normal human life.

But this truthful, vivid picture and setting only deepens our
admiration of the art with which Cervantes has drawn his two heroes
and adjusted them to their setting, made them real and lovable
persons in a real world, allowing for the element of exaggeration and
abstraction inseparable from comedy, not fantastic, or, as the shepherds
are, poetic intrusions from another plane. The depth of Cervantes'
picture is not less admirable than its breadth and variety ; and it is
worth while considering what are the qualities which give his two heroes
their hold at once on truth and on our affection and admiration, make
them not only realities in a world of realities but two of the great
symbolic characters of literature, like Faust and Hamlet, types of
humanity whose dreams no disillusionment can altogether destroy,
humanity so material and gross, yet so prone to faith and hero
worship.

The first great quality of Don Quixote, natural and admirable,
is his impeccable courage. No danger daunts him, no disaster
dismays, and yet there is no suggestion of exaggeration. He remains
a plain, simple Spanish gentleman, lean, cadaverous, and of a sorrowful
countenance. For his courage has its roots in two qualities of human
nature, and not least of Spanish character. His is the traditional
courage of a class and a people, the courage of those who have learnt
to think of cowardice as for them impossible. ' A gentleman \ says
Montesquieu, ' may be careful of his property, never of his life.' The
moral of a battalion, it is said, depends on its traditions. To
the splendid courage of the Spanish gentlemen of the sixteenth century
no one has borne witness more whole-heartedly than their great
enemy Sir Walter Raleigh : •

Here, I cannot forbear to commend the Spartan fortitude of the
Spaniards. We seldom or never find that any nation has endured so
many adventures and miseries as the Spaniards have done in their
Indian discoveries ; yet persisting in their enterprises with inviolable
constancy, they have annexed to their kingdom so many goodly
provinces as bury remembrance of all danger past. Tempests, ship-
wrecks, famine, overthrows, heat and cold, pestilence, and all manner
of diseases, both old and new, together with extreme poverty and
want of all things needful, have been the enemies wherewith everyone
of their most noble discoverers at one time or other hath encountered.
Many years have passed over some of their heads in the search of not
so many leagues ; yea, more than one or two have spent their labour,
their wealth, and their lives, in search of a golden kingdom, without
getting further notice of it than what they had at their first setting

a4

8 DON QUIXOTE

forth. All of which notwithstanding, the third, fourth and fifth have
not been disheartened. Surely they are worthily rewarded with those
treasures and paradises wliich they enjoy, and well they deserve to
hold them if thev hindor not the like virtues in others ; which (perhaps)
will not be found.

But Don Quixote's courage has in it a finer element than that of
\^ the adventurer for El Dorado. It is also the courage of the Spanish
saint and tnartyr, like St. Teresa, the courage of one who follows
a spiritual vision through every peril and perplexity. But a saint
could not well be the hero of a comedy ; and Cervantes had to make
him what the saint sometimes verges on, or appears to the world to
be, a madman, the victim of a fixed idea, yet no less fundamentally
sane than the great saints from St. Paul (' I am not mad, most noble
Festus ! ') to St. Francis. Don Quixote combines all the forms of
madness which Shakespeare records — the lunatic's, the lover's, and the
poet's. If he does not see ' more devils than vast hell can hold ', he
discovers the hand of magicians in every misadventure which befalls
him. The envy and evil arts of magicians are his solution of every
perplexity, his refuge in every assault which threatens his illusion.
He is a lover, too, in the old high way, one of those lovers

who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books ;

and 'he discovers Helen's beauty' in a country lass who 'can pitch
the bar with the lustiest swain in the parish.' He is a poet whose
imagination clothes the most ordinary objects and occurrences in such
vivid colours of illusion as compel belief. Nothing in the romances
Cervantes was parodying is so enchantingly romantic as Don Quixote's
descriptions to Sancho Panza of the achievements and adventures
which await him (c. xxi) or the Apologia for the credibility of his
beloved romances with which he overwhelms the sceptical canon who
' stood in admiration to hear the medley Don Quixote made of truth
and lies, and to see how skilled he was in all matters relating to
knight-errantry ' (cc. xlix, 1). It is vain to argue with him, for the
glowing pictures which his imagination evokes overflow the pales and
forts of reason with such a flood of enchantment that the knight is
swept away on the high tide of his own eloquence, with Sancho Panza
following in his wake like a clumsy coble in the tow of a swift-winged
yacht. But in thus building belief upon imagination and desire Don
Quixote is typical of nine-tenths of mankind. The fiction and poetry
we read has more effect in shaping our early anticipations of life than

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 9

the critical intellect. If we do not believe what we desire we are
prone to fall into the worse delusion of believing only what we fear.
Scott selected the same type of hero for his first romance, Edward
Waverley, misled by an early indulgence in romance and poetry. In
each case there was something of the author in the hero. Lockhart's
Apologia, in the last chapter of his great biography, for the errors
which involved Scott's financial disasters is a sympathetic but candid
appreciation of the day-dreams which shaped the world of Scott's
activities, activities at first glance so practical, his ' romantic ideali-
zation of Scottish aristocracy \ Scott was himself a Don Quixote
dreaming of the past as still present or capable of being revived,
'a scheme of life, so constituted originally, and which his fancy
pictured as capable of being so revived as to admit of the kindliest
personal conduct between (almost) the peasant at the plough, and the
magnate with revenues rivalling the monarch's. It was the patriarchal,
the clan system that he thought of.' But Scott's portrayal of the
dreamer in Edward Waverley is restrained by didactic considerations
— he wishes to warn others against his own errors ; and the character
is, like most of Scott's heroes, but half alive. Cervantes poured him-
self into his creation in a torrent of sympathy and humour, and made
of his hero the perennial symbol of dream- ridden humanity.

But even as Scott's dreams interest us because they were the dreams
of a man of sound common sense, wise judgement, and genial humour,
so Don Quixote is great because he is neither a mere dreamer nor
a hateful buffoon, like Hudibras, but a man of high character and fine
sanity, a gentleman and a scholar. If the knight's madness moves us
to laughter, it is his sanity and nobility which extort our admiration
and love, and Cervantes has achieved this combination without any
suggestion of unreality or sentimentality such as would inevitably
have marred a character drawn on deliberately preconceived lines.
On every one who encounters Don Quixote, he produces the same im-
pression of folly and sanity inextricably blended. ' The canon gazed
earnestly at him and stood in admiration of his strange and unaccount-
able madness, perceiving that in all his discourses and answers he
discovered a very good understanding, and only lost his stirrups when
the conversation happened to turn upon the subject of chivalry !
' Don Quixote went on with his discourse in such a manner and in
such proper expressions that none of those who heard him at that
time could take him for a madman.' ' Ah ! Signor Don Quixote,
have pity on yourself, and return into the bosom of discretion, and
learn to make use of those great abilities Heaven has been pleased to
bestow upon you by employing that happy talent you are blessed with

10 DON QUIXOTE

in some other kind of reading.' ' Pray, sir,' says Don Lorenzo to his
father, ' who is the gentleman you have brought us home? For his
name, his figure, and your telling us he is a knight-errant, keep my
mother and me in great suspense.' ' I know not what to answer you,
son,' replied Don Diego, ' I can only tell you that I have seen him
act the part of the maddest man in the world, and then talk so
ingeniously that his words contradict and undo all his actions.'

On no theme does Don Quixote discourse more sanely or more
noblv than the motive of all his extravagances. The romantic and
fantastic aspects of his adventure are naturally those on which the
knight most often expatiates to Sancho Panza — glory, and the
gaining of kingdoms, and the wedding of beautiful princesses, and
rewarding of squires, for Cervantes' work is a comedy, not a piece of
sentimental symbolism like The Blue Bird. But in the great discourse
at the inn his hero rises to a higher conception of his task. Cervantes
affords a glimpse of the high and pure idealism which underlies
the knight's absurdities, of that aspect of his creation which Fielding
and our own eighteenth-century novelists were to emphasize in its full
significance. The hero defines his aim in words that seem to be almost
a conscious echo of Dante's De Monarchia.

In truth, gentlemen, if it be well considered, great and unheard of
things do they seek who profess the order of knight-errantry. . . .
There is no doubt but that this art and profession exceeds all that
have ever been invented by men, and so much the more honourable is
it by how much it is exposed to more dangers. Away with those
who say that letters have the advantages over arms ; I will tell them,
be they who they will, that they knoAv not what they say. For the
reason they usually give, and which they lay the greatest stress upon,
is that the labours of the brain exceed those of the body, and that
arms are exercised by the body alone ; as if the use of them were the
business of porters, for which nothing is necessary but downright
strength ; or as if in this, which we who profess it call chivalry, were
not included the acts of fortitude, which require a very good under-
standing to execute them ; or as if the mind of the warrior who has
an army, or the defence of a besieged city, committed to his charge,
does not labour with his understanding as well as his body. It being
so then that arms employ the mind as well as letters, let us next see
whose mind labours most, the scholar's or the warrior's. And this
may be determined by the scope and ultimate end of each ; for that
intention is to be the most esteemed which has the noblest end for its
object. Now the end and design of letters. (I do not now speak of
divinity, which has for its aim the raising and conducting souls to
heaven ; for to an end so endless as this no other can be compared),
I speak of human learning, whose end, I say, is to regulate distributive
justice, and give to every man his due, to know good laws and cause

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 11

them to be strictly observed, an end most certainly generous and
exalted, and worthy of high commendation, but not equal to that
which is annexed to the profession of arms, whose object and end is
peace, the greatest blessing men can wish for in life. Accordingly
the first good news the world received was what the angels brought
on that night which was our day, when they sang in the clouds.
Glory he to God on high^ and on earth peace to men of goodwill^ and
the salutation which the best master of earth or heaven taught His
followers and disciples was that, when they entered into any house,
they should say. Peace he to this house : and many other times He said,
My peace I give unto you. My peace I leave with you. Peace he amongst
you. A jewel and legacy worthy of coming from such a hand ;
a jewel without which there can be no happiness either in heaven or
earth. This peace is the true end of war ; for to say arms or war is
the same thing.^ (C. xxxvii.)

This is Don Quixote at his best; but the same fine sanity, the
same high Christian spirit colours much that he has to say on many
and diverse themes — parents and children (c. Ixviii), marriage (c. Ixix),
the duty of a governor (c. xciv), to say nothing of his critical discourses
on poetry and the drama.

This, then, is Don Quixote as Cervantes conceived him ; but the
picture remains incomplete until we see him through the eyes of his
squire, for the greatest proof of Don Quixote*'s courage, sincerity, and
goodness is the completeness of the hold which he acquires over the
soul of Sancho. There is some carelessness of execution in the second
part, some sacrifice of truth to burlesque ; the author plays a little
down to his audience. But, in general, the picture is admirably con-
ceived and sustained. Sancho has not read chivalrous romances. He
cannot read at all. His stock of wisdom is an inexhaustible store of
proverbs, the peasant's philosophy of practical experience, the gnomic
wisdom of a peasant poet like Hesiod. He understands neither Don
Quixote's chivalrous courage nor his ideals of chivalrous love and
service. He cannot comprehend why his master should expose him-
self to unnecessary dangers, when there are no witnesses. When the
horrors of the fulling-mill break upon their ears by night and are

^ In mucli of this Cervautes is almost translating Dante, unless there is some
common scholastic source of these particular applications of texts : ' Unde mani-
festum est, quod pax universalis est optimum eorum, quae ad nostram beati-
tudinem ordiuantur. Hinc est, quod pastoribus de sursum souuit, non divitiae,
non voluptates, non honores, non longitude vitae, non sanitas, non robur, non
pulchritudo ; sed pax. Inquit euim coelestis militia ; ' Gloria in altissimis Deo, et in
terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis. ' Hinc etiam 'Pax vobis ' Salus liominum salu-
tabat. Decebatenim summumSalvatoremjSummamsalutationemexprimere. Quem
quidem morem servare voluerunt Discipuli eius, et Paulus in Salutationibus suis^
ut omnibus manifestum esse potest.' — Dante, Dc Monurchia (Oxford, 1904), i. 4.

12 DON QUIXOTE

interpreted by his master as indicating the presence of some terrible
monster or <riant of romance, Sancho is for beating a prompt retreat :
*Sir, I do not understand why your worship should, it is now night
and nobody sees ; we may easily turn aside and get out of harm's way
. . . and as nobody sees us, much less will there be anybody to tax us
with cowardice.' When he and his master are beaten nearly to death
by the Yangueses, and Don Quixote concludes that the misadventure
is (hie to his transgression of the laws of chivalry in fighting with
undubbed churls, and that in future Sancho shall do all such plebeian
fighting, the latter is by no means disposed to acquiesce. ' Sir," said
Sancho, ' I am a peaceable, tame, quiet man, and can dissemble any
injury whatsoever, for I have a wife and children to maintain and
bring up ; so that give me leave, Sir, to tell you, by way of hint, that
I will upon no account draw my sword either against peasant or
against knight ; and that from this time forward I forgive all injuries
anyone has done, or shall do me, or that any person is now doing me
or may hereafter do me, whether he be high or low, rich or poor,
gentle or simple, without excepting any state or condition whatsoever.''
He is equally far from comprehending the nature of Don Quixote's
attachment to the fair Dulcinea, the high theory and practice of
chivalrous love.

' You perceive not, Sancho, that all this redounds the more to her
exaltation . . . for you must know that, in our style of chivalry, it is
a great honour for a lady to have many knight-errants who serve her
merely for her own sake, without expectation of any other reward of
their manifold good deserts than the honour of being admitted into
the number of her knights.' 'I have heard it preached', quoth
Sancho, ' that God is to be loved with this kind of love, for Himself
alone, without our being moved to it by the hope of reward or the
fear of punishment ; though, for my part, I am inclined to love and
serve Him for what He is able to do for me.' ' The Devil take you
for a bumpkin,' said Don Quixote, 'you are ever and anon saying-
such smart things that one would almost think you had studied.'
' And yet, by my faith,' quoth Sancho, ' I cannot so much as read.'

Sancho is as frankly materialistic and practical as Don Quixote is
a romantic and ideal dreamer. Eating and drinking hold a high
place in his scale of values. He is not, indeed, a symbol of the claims
of the body against a monkish asceticism, like Gargantua and Panta-
gruel. He is not a bibulous and witty parasite, genial and good-
humoured, but shameless and incapable of an unselfish impulse, like
the great Sir John Falstaff, our affection for whom is a tribute to
Shakespeare's art rather than to any intrinsic amiability of the
knight's. We enjoy his company, as we do that of Mrs. Gamp, more

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 13

in imagination than we should in actuality, if we stood within the
range of his predatory activities. Sancho is neither parasitic nor
predatory, though he is not above picking up trifles and he does
meditate the possibility of selling the inhabitants of any island that
may come his way into slavery ; but like all the above-mentioned he
loves good living, and the highest epithet in his vocabulary is reserved
for that good creature wine. When he and Tom Cecial finished dis-
cussing the rabbit-pasty and that supposititious squire put the bottle
into Sancho's hand, he grasped it, ' and setting it to his mouth stood
gazing at the stars for a quarter of an hour ; and having done drink-
ing he let fall his head to one side, and fetching a deep sigh, said, " O
whoreson rogue, how catholic it is ! " ' One seems almost to hear the
voice of Mr. Belloc or Mr. Chesterton.

By what means, then, has Cervantes made credible Sancho's fidelity
to his master ? He has undeniably moments of doubt and hesitation.
He gets his full share of the drubbings. He cannot convince himself
that he has been tossed in the blanket by magicians.

' I too \ quoth Sancho, ' would have revenged myself if I could,
dubbed or not dubbed ; but I could not ; though I am of opinion that
they who diverted themselves at my expense were no hobgoblins, but
men of flesh and bone, as we are ; and each of them, as I heard while
they were tossing me, had his proper name : one was called Pedro
Martinez, another Tenorio Hernandez ; and the landlord's name is
John Palomeque, the left-handed ; so that. Sir, as to your not being
able to leap over the pales, nor to alight from your horse, the fault
lay in something else and not in enchantment. And what I gather
from all this is that these adventures we are in quest of will at the
long run bring us into so many misadventures, that we shall not kno%v^
which is our right foot. So that in my poor opinion the better and
surer way would be to return to our village, now that it is reaping
time, and look after our business, and not run rambling from Zeca to
Mecca, leaping out of the frying-pan into the fire.'

He sees that the priest and the barber and the Morld generally do
not believe in his master's pretensions and promises. At times he
joins them in playing upon his delusions. He parodies Don Quixote's
heroic speeches. ' This master of mine,' he says, ' by a thousand
tokens that I have seen, is mad enough to be tied in his bed ; and in
truth I come very little behind him, nay I am madder than he is to
follow and serve him, if there be any truth in the proverb that says,
" Show me thy company and I will tell thee what thou art " ; or in
that other, " Not with whom thou art bred but with whom thou art
fed"'. But Sancho does believe in his master, and it is just this
delightful blend of simplicity and shrewdness which makes him so
typical a character and so unique a creation of genius.

14 DON QUIXOTE

Saucho's confidence is in the first place a reflection of Don Quixote's.
Had the latter for one moment doubted of his mission, had his
courage been less impeccable, Sancho's faith must have dissolved
in incredulity and contempt. But Don Quixote's faith and courage
are unfailing, and Sancho may well ask himself who he is, an unlearned
jjeasant, to discredit such confidence backed by so much knowledge,
so much practical good sense, such vivid descriptions. When Don
Quixote launches into a rich and glowing account of adventures to
come, and the glorious rewards that must ensue, Sancho's imagination
kindles at his master's, and he takes up the running, though his
anticipations are of a more uniformly material character. For the
strongest hook in Sancho's nose is baited with an island. He may
not know much about ruling, but in the last resort he can sell the
inhabitants into slavery with the Moors.

' This is what I denounce, Senor Sampson,' quoth Sancho, ' for my
master makes no more of attacking a hundred armed men than
a greedy boy would do of half a dozen melons. Body of me !
Signor Bachelor, there must be a time to attack and a time to
retreat; and it must not be always Saint lago and charge Spain!
I would not have him run away when there is no need of it, nor
would I have him follow on when too great superiority requires
another thing . . . But if my Lord Don Quixote, in consideration of
my many good services, has a mind to bestow on me some one island
of the many his worship says he shall light upon, I shall be beholden
for the favour ; and though he should not give me one, born I am
and we must not rely upon one another but upon God, and perhaps
the bread I shall eat without the Government may go down more
savourily than that I could eat with it . . . yet for all that, if fairly
and squarely, without much trouble or danger, Heaven should chance
to throw an island or some such thing in my way, I am not such
a fool as to refuse it, for it is a saying, when they give you a heifer
make haste with the rope, and when good fortune comes be sure
to take her aid.'

It may be, Sancho argues in his confused fashion, that the whole
quest is an illusion, but it may not be so, and meantime there are
occasional prizes, as the hamper on the dead mule, the skimmings of
the pot at Camacho's wedding, the plentiful fare at the house of Don
Diego or the castle of the duke.

Sancho's faith in his master is thus, it must be confessed, a hope of
good things to come. The faith of the common man is seldom
entirely devoid of such material ingredients. But it would have been
neither true to nature, nor likely to evoke our sympathy for Sancho,
to represent this as the sole or principal motive for his loyalty. But
Cervantes has taken good care not to do so. The tie which binds

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 15

Sancho to his master is simply in the last resort that he loves him.
Cervantes has not laboured this. He is writing pure comedy with no
such blend of sentiment as colours, for example, Dickens's account
of the charming relations, doubtless suggested by Cervantes' master
and man, between Pickwick and Sam Weller. But the affection is
there, and radiates through the light gaiety and irony of the story.
When Tom Cecial, the squire to the Knight of the Looking Glass,
who is the humorous Bachelor of Salamanca, declares that his master
is crack-brained and valiant, but more knavish than valiant, Sancho
replies with warmth, 'Mine is not so, I can assure you he has nothing
of the knave in him ; on the contrary, he has the soul of a pitcher ;
a child may persuade him it is night at noonday; and for this simplicity
I love him as my life, and cannot find in my heart to leave him, let
him do never so many extravagances.' When, in the second part,
the Duchess challenges Sancho's sincerity his reply is the same : ' By
my faith. Madam,' quoth Sancho, 'this same scruple comes in the
nick of time ; please your ladyship bid it speak out plain ; for I know
it says true, and had I been wise, I should have left my master long
ere now, but such was my lot and such my evil errantry. I can do no
more ; follow him I must, we are both of the same town ; I have
eaten his bread ; I love him ; he returns my kindness ; he gave me his
ass colts ; and above all I am faithful, and therefore it is impossible
anything should part us but the sexton's spade and shovel.' And if
Sancho may not have the island there are innumerable proverbs
to console him, and warn him of the vanity of gratified ambitions :

' They make as good bread here as in France ; and. In the dark all
cats are grey ; and No stomach is a span bigger than another, and may
hejilled, as they say, with straic or zvith hay ; and, Of the little bii-ds
in the air God Himself takes the care ; and, Four yards of coarse cloth
of Cnen^a are warmer than as many of fine Segovia serge . . . and
the Pope's body takes up no more room than the sexton's, though the
one be higher than the other; for when we come to the grave we
must all shrink and lie close, or be made to shrink and lie close
in spite of us ; and so good night 4 and therefore I say again that,
if your ladyship will not give me the island because I am a fool,
I will be so wise as not to care a fig for it ; and I have heard say.
The devil lurks behind the cross ; and, All is not gold that glitters ; and
Bamba the husbandman was taken from among his plows, his yokes
and oxen, to be king of Spain ; and Roderigo was taken from his
brocades, pastimes and riches to be devoured by snakes, if ancient
ballads do not lie.'

16 DON QUIXOTE

II

The popularity of Cervantes' great work, not in Spain only but in
other countries of Western Europe, was immediate, and in its influence
on the literature of our own country is traceable as early aj; 1611.
But in none of the English imitations of the seventeenth century,
including the greatest of these, Samuel Butler's Hudibras, is there
any sign that the work was regarded as more than an amusing
extravagance. The apprehension of a higher significance in Don
Qnirote, a significance perhaps higher than the naive genius of
Cervantes himself had descried, though once or twice, as I have
indicated, he seems to apprehend and suggest it, began with the great
English novelists of the eighteenth century. The debt of Fielding's
Joseph Andreics and Tom Jones to Don Quixote in respect to structure,
incident, e. g. adventures on the road and at inns, dialogues upon all
sorts of subjects not always relevant to the plot, inset tales, manner,
style, and spirit, can hardly be over-estimated. But Cervantes' work
was more for Fielding than a burlesque of a romance, more even than
a great comic epic in prose, a model for his own genial and humorous
picture of English life ; and if there never was work, as Professor
Fitzmaurice Kelly tells us, more heartily national than Don Quixote,
more native to the heroic soil that gave it being, it is equally true
,that his first great literary son was the most English of all Englishmen.
' Of all the works of imagination, to which the English imagination
has given origin,' says Sir Walter Scott, 'the writings of Henry
Fielding are, perhaps, most decisively and exclusively her own. They
are not only altogether beyond the reach of translation, in the proper
sense and spirit of the work, but we even question whether they can
be fully understood, or relished to the highest extent by such natives
of Scotland and Ireland as are not habitually and intimately acquainted
with the characters and manners of old England.' Do7i Qtdxote was
for Fielding not merely a novel but a great and humorous satire on
human life, and the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance a type of
the central figure in his own humorous and satirical picture of English
life. For what, after all, one may ask, is the hero of Cervantes'
,/ romance ? Is he not a type of the Christian whose Christianity
is more than a speculative belief or a magical means of personal
salvation, a lofty if fantastic idealist whose practical faith in his ideals
no ignominy and no rebuff can destroy. ' For verily,' says St. Paul,
' when we were with you we told you beforehand that we are to
suffer afflictions ; even as it came to pass and ye know,' 'This I can
say for myself,' declares Don Quixote, ' that since I have been

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 17

a knight-errant, I have become valiant, civil, liberal, affable, patient,
a sufferer of toils, imprisonments, and enchantments ; and though it be
so little a while since I saw myself locl;ed up in a cage like a madman,
yet I expect, by the valour of my arm, Heaven favouring, and Fortune
not opposing, in a few days to see myself king of a realm in which
I may display the gratitude and liberality enclosed in this breast of
mine.'' Is that very different in spirit from the language of the great
Christian who in the service of his ideal had been ' in journeyings
often, in perils of mine own countrymen, in perils in the city, in
perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false
brethren, in weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in cold
and nakedness', and yet is a happier man than before he was the
slave of Christ ? And if Don Quixote"'s fantastic idealism needs
the support of a sure and certain hope of kingdoms yet to be
conquered, dreams of a golden day when he shall be received at the
city gates with music and by fair damsels who will escort him to the
right hand of the king whose throne and honour he has delivered
from the enmity of giants and magicians and evil knights, is not
St. Paul also sustained by a dream which never came true in the
form he anticipated: 'Then we which are alive and remain shall
be caught up together with them into the clouds to meet the Lord in
the air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord ' ?

In Don Quixote Fielding found an adumbration of the type of
Christian which the robuster minds of the century found more
essential than either the scheme-of-salvation theologian of the
seventeenth or the Puritan ideal (as that reappeared in Richardson"'s
novel, intent upon the personal virtues of chastity and temperance) —
the man for whom the first of Christian virtues were the social virtues
of justice and mercy ; and in Don Quixote"'s misadventures they saw the
fate of the man who endeavours to put into practice those principles of
Christian charity and benevolence to which we all assent on Sunday.
It was a strange delusion of Carlyle that the eighteenth century was
a waste chaos of scepticism in religion and politics, an age of universal
doubt. In fact, there was more foith in the little finger of some
of the greatest men of that century. Fielding and Johnson, Howard
and Wilberforee, Goldsmith and Burke (with all his fears), than
in the whole body of the Victorians except Dickens, Lord Shaftesbury,
and perhaps Browning. For intellectual scepticism is not so fatal an
enemy of faith as the spiritual pessimism of Jeremiahs like Carlyle and
Ruskin, such faint-hearts as Tennyson, or such epicures of melancholy
as Matthew Arnold. The great spirits of the eighteenth century
believed in their fellow-men. They recognized the evils of life without

]^

18 . DON QUIXOTE

preferring an indictment against Providence. They noted with clear
and amused eve the faults and follies of men without ceasing to love
and respect their virtues.

What, for example, is Fielding's Parson Adams but a muscular,
absent-minded Don Quixote ? He has his love of literature — of
Homer and Aeschylus rather than of Amadis and Palmerin (but
Don Quixote also knows his classics), and above all he has the same
impeccable courage, the same rigid adherence to the ideals he professes,
the same splendid unworldliness and immunity to disillusionment.
A crucial instance is the scene in which Adams and Joseph and
Fanny discover that they have no money wherewith to pay their bill
at the inn where Joseph has been cared for after his mishap with the
highwaymen. ' They stood silent for some few minutes staring at each
other, when Adams whipped round on his toes and asked the hostess
if there was no clergyman in that parish? She answered, "there
was." " Is he wealthy ? " replied he, to which she likewise answered
in the affirmative. Adams then, snapping his fingers, returned over-
joyed to his companions, crying out, " Heureka ! Heureka ! " which
not being understood he told them in plain English, they need give
themselves no trouble, for he had a brother in the parish who would
defray the account, and that he would just step to his house and
fetch the money and return to them instantly.' Parson Trulliber, to
whom he proceeds, imagines at first that he has come to see the fat
pigs of which he is a breeder, and it is only after an accident some-
what disastrous to Parson Adams's appearance that he is enabled to
explain the purpose of his visit. ' I think, sir, it is high time to
inform you of the business of my embassy. I am a traveller and am
passing this way in company with two young people, a lad and a
damsel. We stopped at a house of hospitality in the parish, where
they directed me to you as having the cure.' 'Though I am the
curate,' says Trulliber, ' I believe I am as warm as the vicar himself,
or perhaps the rector of the next parish too ; I believe I could buy
them both.' ' Sir,' cries Adams, ' I rejoice thereat. Now, sir, my
business is, that we are by various accidents stripped of our money,
and are not able to pay our reckoning, being seven shillings. I there-
fore request you to assist me with the loan of those seven shillings,
and also seven shillings more, which, 'peradventure, I shall return to
you, but if not, I am convinced you will joyfully embrace such an
opportunity of laying up a treasure in a better place than any this
world affords.' It is unnecessary to continue from the inimitable
scene. It is sufficient to say that Don Quixote was not more mistaken
when he took sheep for knights and windmills for giants than was

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 19

Parson Adams when he took for granted that a Christian pastor
would welcome an opportunity of laying up treasure in a better place
than any this world affords. Parson TruUiber is quite prepared to
take the risk of the moth and the rust.

The type of character represented by Parson Adams appears and
reappears in the works of the great eighteenth-century novelists, and
of those Victorian novelists whose work belongs to the same humani-
tarian and satiric tradition. In the same class are Roderick Random's
sailor uncle, Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield, and, in a manner which
is peculiar to Sterne, so is the tender-hearted, fantastic Uncle Toby.
Cervantes, as well as Smollett and Fielding, was among the authors in
the old library which Dickens found and read as a boy at Rochester ;
and certainly Mr. Pickwick, as he developed under the hand of his
creator, became a reincarnation of the same type, a Quixote of kind-
ness with a weakness for milk-punch and bottled beer, just as certainly
as the coupling of this simple, middle-aged, good-hearted gentleman
with the alert, knowing, ready-witted, good-hearted Sam Weller was
suggested by the relations between Don Quixote and his squire. The
same easy relations prevail between master and man, with the same
occasional fits of dignified self-assertion on the part of the master.
Thackeray read and comments with delight in a letter upon
Don Quixote, when he was preparing to write The Newcomes, and
certainly Colonel Newcome is perhaps the last appearance of
Don Quixote in the varying guise in which the eighteenth and
nineteenth century novelists had conceived him.

In more ways than one, therefore, Cervantes in Don Quixote
builded better than he knew ; transcended the original intention of
his work. He invented the prototype of the novel of everyday life
and manners, the comic epic in prose, as that was to take shape
finally in the work of the great English novelists of the eighteenth
century ; and, in his hero, he depicted more than the victim of a taste
for romantic reading, he created a fantastic but yet honour-compelling
type of the idealism of the human heart rising superior to every
disillusioning experience in virtue of impeccable courage, indomitable
faith, and a vivid imagination. From the victim of a satire on
romance, Don Quixote became in the eighteenth century the hero of
a profounder satire, in which not he but the world that ridicules him,
not his ideals but the society which professes to honour them, is
arraigned, and made conscious of the interval which divides the pro-
fessions and the practice of a so-called Christian civilization. In
Don Juan Byron sums up the thought of the past century about
Cervantes' great work, but he does so in the more sombre tone that

20 DON QUIXOTE

denotes a change of temper which was to make the literature of the
nineteenth century more interested in another picture of the idealist
in conflict with reality and compelled in this harsh world to draw his
breath in pain :

I should be very willing to redress

Men's wrongs, and rather check than punish vice,

Had not Cervantes in that too true tale

Of Quixote shown how all such efforts fail.

Of all tales 'tis the saddest, and more sad
Because it makes us smile : his hero's ri^ht,
And still pursues the right : to curb the bad
His only object, and — 'gainst odds to fight
His guerdon, 'tis his virtue makes him mad.
But his adventures form a sorry sight :
A sorrier still is the great moral taught
By that real epic unto all who've thought.

Redressing injury, revenging wrong,

To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiff";

Opposing singly the united strong,

PVom foreign yoke to free the helpless native :

Alas ! nuist noblest views, like an old song,

Be for mere fancy's sport a theme creative.

The type of the idealist temperament in collision with reality
to which the century of Schopenhauer and Carlyle and Ibsen and
Tolstoi and the other great Russian novelists turned by preference
was that which Shakespeare had elaborated from an old revenge play
by Thomas Kyd in the years in Avhich Cervantes was writing the first
part of his novel, and which Moliere drew with sympathetic and
refined irony some sixty years later. Hamlet as Shakespeare con-
ceived him and Alceste in Le Misanthrope (1666) are representatives
of that type of idealist who at the first touch of disillusionment, the
first overthrow by the strong and indifferent windmills of actuality,
the first acute realization of the interval that separates what men do
from what they ought to do, loses at once and for ever that faith in
human nature in which idealism is rooted.

' Hamlet', says a German critic, commenting on Goethe's criticism,
*is indeed a lovely vase full of costly flowers, for he is a pure human
being penetrated by enthusiasm for the Great and Beautiful, living
wholly in the ideal, and above all things full of faith in a man. And
the vase is shattered into atoms from within ; this and just this
Goethe truly felt — but what causes the ruin of the vase is not that
the great deed of avenging a father exceeds his strength, but it is the
discovery of the falseness of man, the discovery of the contradiction
between the ideal world and the actual, which suddenly confronts him
as a picture of man : it is in fact what he gradually finds in himself

ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE 21

as the true portrait of the human nature which he deified — in short,
Hamlet perishes because the gloomy background of life is suddenly
unrolled before him, because the sight of this robs him of his faith in
life and in good, and because he now cannot act. Only that man can
act for others and for all who is inwardly sound, and Hamlet's mind
is out of joint after he has been robbed of his earlier faith. . . . The
great Protestant doctrine of man's need of faith, of faith as the con-
dition of peace, and of the fulfilment of his mission as a moral being
— this it is to which this profoundest of all the works of Shakespeare's
genius owes its origin.'

Whether this be entirely Shakespeare's Hamlet or not, it is the
Hamlet which the nineteenth century took to its heart, and which
found so many counterparts in the Russian and Scandinavian literature
of disillusionment. The Nihilist, as Prince Kropotkin has described
him, aimed at the same uncompromising sincerity as Alceste demands ;
the lack of which in Polonius and Ophelia and the courtiers deepens
Hamlet's aesthetic disgust of life. The Nihilist probing the mystery
of his own will and of the world, violating every inhibition that he
may find if there be a Will at all, other than his own, any power
behind the world of phenomena which has taken into its keeping the
cause of good against evil, if God really be — what is he, as Dostoievsky
describes him in Stavrogin the hero of The Possessed, but a Russian
Hamlet of the nineteenth century, finding no motive to act, no
meaning in anything ? Most interesting of all is Ibsen's Brand, for
it is a Don Quixote written by and in the spirit of a Hamlet, The
Lutheran pastor living out his creed of service and loyalty to his flock,
even to the last sacrifice of child and wife, is a Don Quixote without
any of his happiness, because in his heart is a great doubt, the doubt
of Stavrogin, not the faith of Don Quixote. He wills to pursue his
ideal of * all or nothing ', not because he believes, but in despairing
and passionate quest of assurance and belief.

Nothing is more significant in Don Quixote than the relation of
Sancho and his master. For what, after all, is Sancho ? A Spanish
peasant as typically Spanish as his chivalrous master, is he not,
allowing for national peculiarities and for the exaggeration of comedy,
just the common man of every country, whose intrinsic worth and
the charm of whose touching simplicity this war has revealed in camp
and hospital and hut, — shrewd like Sancho and practical, a humorist
and a little material in his aims and tastes, fond of eating and drinking
when the opportunity offers, but neither a selfish debauchee like the
witty but depraved Falstaff, nor a Rabelaisian Pantagruel, and with
an infinite capacity for faith and hero-worship .'' The common people
have always believed in and followed the idealist, Christ, Mahomet,

22 DON QUIXOTE

Joan of Arc, not always understanding the language he spoke, and
prone to interpret it literally and materially, but reverencing his high
and self-forgetting spirit. They have never understood or listened
to the sceptic. There is no character so solitary as the man who has
lost his faith in his fellow-men. And Don Quixote is the happiest of
books, the best of anodynes at a time like the present, because it
renews our faith in humanity, not only by its sunny but unsenti-
mental picture of normal everyday life and character, but because its
twin heroes are of all men the most happy — the idealist whose faith
no disappointment can altogether destroy, the common man who
takes life as he finds it, with no philosophy beyond that of experience
and proverbs, but who loves and believes in the master he follows.
Not even the necessary disillusionment of the close of Don Quixote's
fantastic career, despite some careless slips of the casual creator of all
this delight in many shapes, can quite take away the impression of
boundless belief and hope, for Don Quixote but wakens from one
dream to pass into another, the great dream of the Christian faith :
' But awake he did at the end of that time, and with a loud voice
said, "Blessed be Almighty God, who has vouchsafed me so great
a good ; in short His mercies have no bounds, and the sins of men can
neither lessen nor obstruct them '"■ \

Reprinted for private circulation from
The Library Quarterly, Vol. IX, No. 4, October, 1939

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

G. R. LOMER

0,

\

A SHORT LIST OF REFERENCES TO
THE VATICAN LIBRARY

COMPILED BY G. R. LOMER

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Bernhart, Joseph. The Vatican as a world power; translated by G. N.

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zig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1916.
Clark, J. W. "On the Vatican Library of Sixtus IV," Cambridge

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1899), 11-61.
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Tour des Anges," Memoires de r Academic de Vaucluse, 2d ser.,

XIV (1914), 151-71.
Della Vida, G. L. Elenco dei manoscritti ai'a bi islamica della Bib-
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Dorez, Leon. Un comjnencement d'incendie a la Vaticane en 160^.

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"Die Frangipani und der Untergang des Archivs und der

Bibliothek der Papste am Anfang des 13. Jahrhunderts," in
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Ehrle, Franz. "Zur Geschichte des Schatzes, der Bibliothek und des
Archivs der Papste im vierzehnten Jahrhundert," in Archiv Jur
Litteratur- und Kirchen-Geschichte des Mittelalters . Berlin: Weid-
mannsche Buchhandlung, 1885.

Farrell, C. J. "Vatican Library shows the way," Catholic library
worlds IX (1937), 20-22.

Faucon, M. La librairie des papes d' Avignon: sa Jormation, sa com-
position^ ses catalogues {ij 16-1420). Paris: E. Thorin, 1886-87.

Frank, Grace. "English manuscripts in the Vatican Library," Pub-
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98-102.

Galindo Romeo, Pascual. La biblioteca de Benedicto XIII {Don
Pedro de Lund). Zaragossa: Universidad de Zaragossa, 1930.
(Edicion especial de la revista Universidad, septembre-octubre,
1929.)

Giordani, Igino. "Modernizing the Vatican Library," Commonweal,
IX (1929), 428-29.

. "The new Vatican Library," Commonwea,l, XV (1932), 382-

83- ^^

"Les nouveaux catalogues de la Bibliotheque Vaticane," La

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-. "The Vatican Library during recent years," Library quarterly.

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-. "The Vatican Library: recent disaster," Commonweal, XV

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Hanson, J. C. M. "Cataloguing rules of the Vatican Library," Li-
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Haskins, Charles H. "The Vatican archives," American historical
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Hay, M. V. "The Barberini library," Library review, 111 (1931), 164-
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Hebbelynck., x'^d. "Inventaire sommaire des manuscrits coptes de la
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Hone, N. "Origin and development of the library of the Vatican,"
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Kaltenborn, H. V. "Modernizing the Vatican," Commonweal, XVII
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Koch, T. W. "The bibliographical tour of 1928," Library journal^

LIV (1929), 213-17, 249-52, 294-99.
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-. "The Vatican Library: an historical sketch," in Tisserant,

Eugene and Koch, T. W. The Vatican Library. Jersey City;
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Macdonald, Angus S. "The disaster in the Vatican Library," Scien-
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Manteyer, G. de. "Les manuscrits de la reine Christine aux Ar-
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(1904), 371-423-

Marini, C. Ruggieri. Memorie istoriche degli Archivi della Santa
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Matthews, M. A. "Recent experiences in the libraries of Paris, Ge-
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Mazzi, Curzio. "Leone Allacci et la Palatina di Heidelberg," //
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Mercati, G. "Per la storia della Biblioteca Apostolica," in Per Cesare
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MiJNTZ, Eugene. La Bibliotheque du Vatican au XVP siecle. Paris:
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MiJNTz, Eugene, and Fabre, Paul. La Bibliotheque du Vatican au
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NoLHAC, Pierre de. La bibliotheque de Fulvio Orsini. Paris, 1887.

[Oldys, William.] A critical and historical account of all the celebrated
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Pansa, Muzio. Della libraria Vaticana. Rome: Appresso G. Mar-
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Raffaelli, F. La imparziale e veritiera istoria delV unione della Bib-
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Rea, Francesco. "Clinic to save ancient books," Pacific bindery talk,

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T)e origine, historia, indicibus Scrinii et Bibliothecae Sedis

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Theiner, a. Schenkung der Heidelberger bibliothek durch Maximilian

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Tisserant, Eugene, and Koch, T. W. The Vatican Library. Jersey

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ViTTE, S. "Les manuscrits frangais du fonds Rossi a la Bibliotheque

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117-
VoRST, C. Van de. "Verzeichnis der griechischen Handschriften der

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(1906), 492-508.
WiLMART, A. Analecta Reginensia: extraits des manuscrits de la reine

Christine conserves au Vatican. ("Studi e testi," No. 59.) Rome:

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ANONYMOUS PERIODICAL ARTICLES

"Archives of the Vatican," Living age, CCCX (1921), 741-42.
"Book-hunting in the Vatican," Literary digest, XCIV (September 10,

1927), 29.
"Jottings," Library, III (i 891), :>,2>Z-

"Facts about Vatican collapse," Library journal, LVII (1932), 195-97.
"The library of the Vatican," Literary world, XV (1885), 214.
"Library of the Vatican," United States Catholic magazine, V (1846),

607.
"Lutto in Biblioteca," V illustrazione italiana, LIX (1932), lo-i i, 151.
"A new catalog for the Vatican Library," Libraries, XXXIII (1928),

74-75-
"Reconstructing the Vatican Library," Catholic world, CXXXIV

(1931), 364-
"Some famovis Vatican librarians," Catholic world, CXXXV (1932),

724-26.

"The Vatican catalogue," Living age, CCCXXXIII (1927), 838-39,

"The Vatican Library," Country life, LXXI (1932), 26.

"Vatican Library," Librarian, III (1912), 153, 191.

"The Vatican Library and Bramante's Cortile (Cortile di Belve-
dere)," Builder, CVIII, Part I (January 8, 1915), 26-28.

189006

4IO THE LIBRARY SiUARTERLY

"Vatican Library and international co-operation in library work,"

School and society, XXVII (1928), 414-15.
"The Vatican Library catalog," Library journal, LI I (1927), 927.
[Vatican Library disaster.] Illustrated London news, XC (January 2,

1932). 5; _

[Vatican Library disaster.] V Illustration, CXXCI (January 2, 1932),

I.
"The Vatican reference and catalogue rooms," Library Association

record, I (1934), 24-25.
"Worms imperil Vatican treasures," Literary digest, CXII (January

16, 1932), 17-18.

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