Don Quixote a painting of master Júlio Pomar and Soldier of Urbina a poem of Jorge Luis Borges. Beginning to fear his own unworthiness for campaigns like the last he fought, at sea, this soldier, resigning himself to minor duty, wandered unknown in Spain, his own harsh country. To get rid of or to mitigate the cruel weight of reality, he hid his head in dream. The magic past of Roland and the cycles of Ancient Britain warmed him, made him welcome. Sprawled in the sun, he would gaze on the widening plain, its coppery glow going on and on; he felt himself at the end, poor and alone, unaware of the music he was hiding; plunging deep in a dream of his own, he came on Sancho and Don Quixote, riding. ( Cervantes was a soldier in Urbina’s army. How perfect that a sense of “unworthiness” should produce one of the greatest works of literature ever written, a work often described as the first novel. In retrospect, that sense of “unworthiness” probably was essential in creating Don Quixote, one of the most charming failures ever created. What a fine line there is between failure and success. )
Posted on: Wed, 19 Mar 2014 23:29:11 +0000
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