family became extinct upon the death of Isabel de Saavedra in 1652. Cervantes was no bloodless ascetic, no incarnation of dreary righteousness: we do him wrong, if we present him in that crude, intolerable light. With some defects of character and with some lapses of conduct, he is a more interesting and more attractive personality than if he were—what perhaps no one has ever been—a bundle of almost impossible perfections. He was even as we are, but far nobler—braver, more resigned to disappointment, more patient with the folly which springs eternal in each of us. This inexhaustible sympathy, even more than his splendid genius, is the secret of his conquering charm. He is one of ourselves, only incomparably greater. His life was gentle, and the elements So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, ‘This was a man.’ But it is not for us to write his epitaph. He needs no marble sepulchre, and he has none, for the precise spot where he rests is unknown. He has built himself a lordlier and more imperishable monument than we could fashion for him—a monument which will endure so long as humour, wisdom, and romance enchant mankind. CHAPTER VI THE WORKS OF CERVANTES The best and wisest of men have their delusions—especially with respect to themselves and their capabilities—and Cervantes was not free from such natural infirmities. He made his first appearance in literature with a sonnet addressed to Philip II.’s third wife, Isabel de Valois, and as this poem is not included in any Spanish edition of his works, I make no apology for quoting it (in an English version by Norman MacColl which has not yet been published). Most Gracious Queen, within whose breast prevail What thoughts to mortals by God’s grace do come, Oh general refuge of Christendom, Whose fame for piety can never fail. Oh happy armour! with that well-meshed mail Great Philip clothed himself, our sovereign, Illustrious King of the broad lands of Spain, Who fortune and the world holds in his baile. What genius would adventure to proclaim The good that thine example teaches us; If thou wert summoned to the realms of day, Who in thy mortal state put’st us to shame? Better it is to feel and mutter ‘hush,’ Than what is difficult to say, aloud to say. This is not a masterpiece in little, nor even a marvel of adroitness; but it is highly interesting as the earliest extant effort of one who was destined to become a master, and, moreover, it supplies us with his favourite poetical formulæ. In his description of the Queen as the general refuge of Christendom, Whose fame for piety can never fail; in his allusion to the Illustrious King of the broad lands of Spain, Who fortune and the world holds in his baile;