Don Quixote

by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

This living Death stood and, in a drowsy voice and with a tongue not fully awake, said: “I am Merlin, who, the histories say, was sired and fathered by the devil himself (a lie made true by the mere passage of time), I am the prince of Magic, king and fount of Zoroastrian science and lore, and enemy to those ages and times that attempt to conceal the gallant deeds of the brave and courageous errant knights whom I so dearly loved, and still do love. Although the disposition of enchanters, of mages and magicians always is flinthearted, harsh, and ruthless, mine alone is tender, soft, and loving, wanting no more than always to do good to everyone. Down in the dark mournful caverns of Dis,3 where my soul passed endless time in giving shape to certain forms, and characters, and rhomboids, the melancholy voice of the beauteous and peerless Dulcinea of Toboso reached my ears. I learned of her enchantment, her misfortune, her transformation from highborn lady into a peasant girl; my heart was moved, and I encased my spirit in the shell of this fierce and fearsome skeleton, and pored over a hundred thousand books of my diabolic and vicious lore, and come now with the remedy to cure so grievous a sorrow, so great an ill. O you, glory and honor of all who don tunics of adamant steel and diamond, light and lantern, pilot, polestar and guide of those who abandon the languor of...