Lange, 1993). Although Rosenthal's translation appeared in print first, the fact is that La Fontaine's more complete translation preceded it, lying in hibernation, much as my own manuscript, since 1974.

(5) Madrid: Alianza, 1969. Tr. by J. F. Vidal Jove. Introduction by Mario Vargas Llosa. Also, further editions of the 1511 translation by Martin de Riquer (1947-49; 1974) and by F. Buendia (1954).

(6) Henry Thomas, Spanish and Portuguese Romances of Chivalry (Cambridge: University Press, 1920), pp. 32-33. It should also be noted that El cavallero Cifar, although not in print until 1512, was probably composed at the beginning of the 14th century. Amadis de Gaula, the model for so many imitations, and not printed until 1508, was in manuscript form in the 14th century.

(7) p. 277

(8) See the English translation by William Caxton: The Book of the Ordre of Chyualry. Westminster: William Caxton, 1484? And reprinted several times. For these and other medieval translations from the Spanish, the reader may wish to consult my bibliography: The Literature of Spain in English Translation. New York: Ungar, 1975.

(9) See the English translation by Lady Goodenough: The Chronicle of Muntaner. London: Hakluyt Society, 1920-21.

(10) After his initial words of praise ("a treasure of delight, a mine of entertainment,… the best book in the world"), Cervantes adds this puzzling phrase: "the author deserves to be praised, for he did not deliberately commit all these follies, which had they been intentional would send him to the galleys for the rest of his life." [Starkie's trans., p. 90] Here, he is apparently condemning the book, although, in the next breath, the curate recommends the book to the barber: "Take him home and read him…" And in a later chapter Cervantes speaks of "the never enough to be praised Tirante the White." So what are we to make of this apparently condemnatory phrase about the "galleys"? Scholarship has provided some ingenious theories to negate the condemnation, to wit: it is not a statement, but a question; the galleys are less a punishment than a death sentence would be; it is not Cervantes' opinion, but the curate's; the word galleys actually refers to "galley-proofs" and mean that the work should remain in print forever, etc. (See, for example, Patricia J. Boehne, The Renaissance Catalan Novel [Boston: Twayne, 1989], Antonio Torres Alcala, El realismo del Tirant lo Blanch y su influencia en el Quijote [Barcelona: Puvill, 1979?], and the studies by Martin de Riquer.) Very interesting theories, but we are no more certain of the meaning behind Cervantes' words than when we first read them: they remain a puzzle. However, the novel Tirant lo Blanc also speaks to us: Do we feel that the novel is utter nonsense and badly written, or is it moving, at times exciting, often humorous? In short, is it good literature? Through our own eyes we can make a judgement about the meaning of those apparently incongruous words of Cervantes.

(11) Footnote: pp. 203-204.

(12) p. 90.

CHAPTER I

COUNT WILLIAM OF WARWICK

In the fertile, rich and lovely island of England there lived a most valiant knight, noble by his lineage and much more for his courage. In his great wisdom and ingenuity he had served the profession of chivalry for many years and with a great deal of honor, and his fame was widely known throughout the world. His name was Count William of Warwick. This was a very strong knight who, in his virile youth, had practiced the use of arms, following wars on sea as well as land, and he had brought many battles to a successful conclusion.

The count found himself at the advanced age of fifty-five, and moved by divine inspiration he decided to withdraw from the practice of arms and make a pilgrimage to the holy land of Jerusalem. This virtuous count wanted to go, because he felt sorrow and contrition for the many deaths he had caused in his youth.

That evening he told the countess, his wife, about his plans, and although she was virtuous and discreet, she became very upset at the news because she loved him so much. In the morning the count had all his servants, both men and women, come to him, and he said:

"My children and most faithful servants, it is the will of His Divine Majesty that I should leave you, and the time of my return is uncertain. Since the journey will be very dangerous, I want to pay each of you now for all the good services you have rendered to me."

He had a large chest full of money brought out, and to each of his servants he gave much more than he owed, so that they were all very satisfied. Then he gave the countess all his land and all his rights. And he ordered that a ring of gold be made with his and the countess's coat of arms on it, and this ring was made in such away that it was divided into two parts. Each part was a complete ring in itself, showing half the coat of arms of each of them, and when the two halves were joined together the entire coat of arms could be seen.

When all this had been done, he turned to the virtuous countess, and said kindly:

"I know that you will accept my departure with love and patience, and if it is God's will, my journey will soon be over. I am leaving in your charge everything I have. And here is half of the ring I had made. I beg you dearly to hold it in my stead, and to guard it until I return."

"Oh, dear!" cried the countess. "Then it's true, my lord, that you are leaving without me? At least allow me to go with you so that I can serve you. I would rather die than go on living without you. Just when I was thinking that all my misfortunes were over, I see that my unhappiness is only increasing. I'm left with only this poor son as a pledge from his father, and his sad mother must be consoled with him."

She seized her small son by the hair and pulled it, and then slapped his face, saying:

"Cry, my child, for your father's departure, and you will be good company to your mother."

The tiny infant, who had been born only three months before, burst out crying. The count, seeing both mother and child in tears, felt deeply grieved, and he could not hold back his own tears. And for some time he could not speak, while all three of them wept.

The count took his leave of her, kissing her again and again, tears running freely from his eyes. He said farewell to the other ladies, and when he left he took only one squire with him.

Leaving his city of Warwick, he boarded a ship, and sailed with a good wind, and as time passed he arrived safely at Alexandria. There he disembarked and made his way to Jerusalem. When he reached Jerusalem he confessed his sins, and with great devotion he received the precious body of Jesus Christ. Then he entered the holy sepulchre of Jesus Christ and prayed there fervently and tearfully, with great contrition for his sins.

After visiting all the other sanctuaries, he returned to Alexandria. Then he boarded a ship and went to Venice. When he was near Venice he gave all the money still in his possession to his squire who had served him well, and he arranged a marriage for him so that he would not want to return to England. Then he had his squire spread the news that he had died, and he arranged for merchants to write to England that Count William of Warwick had died while returning from the Holy Land of Jerusalem.

When the countess heard the news, she felt deeply grieved, and went into mourning, and she arranged for the funeral rites that such a virtuous knight deserved. With the passing of time, the count returned alone to his own land, having let his hair grow down to his shoulders, while his