“An old book that,” said the curate, “but I find no reason for clemency in it; send it after the others without appeal;” which was done.
Another book was opened, and they saw it was entitled, The Knight of the Cross .
“For the sake of the holy name this book has,” said the curate, “its ignorance might be excused; but then, they say, ‘behind the cross there’s the devil’; to the fire with it.”
Taking down another book, the barber said, “This is The Mirror of Chivalry .”
“I know his worship,” said the curate; “that is where Señor Reinaldos of Montalvan figures with his friends and comrades, greater thieves than Cacus, and the Twelve Peers of France with the veracious historian Turpin; however, I am not for condemning them to more than perpetual banishment, because, at any rate, they have some share in the invention of the famous Matteo Boiardo, whence too the Christian poet Ludovico Ariosto wove his web, to whom, if I find him here, and speaking any language but his own, I shall show no respect whatever; but if he speaks his own tongue I will put him upon my head.”
“Well, I have him in Italian,” said the barber, “but I do not understand him.”
“Nor would it be well that you should understand him,” said the curate, “and on that score we might have excused the Captain if he had not brought him into Spain and turned him into Castilian. He robbed him of a great deal of his natural force, and so do all those who try to turn books written in verse into another language, for, with all the pains they take and all the cleverness they show, they never can reach the level of the originals as they were first produced. In short, I say that this book, and all that may be found treating of those French affairs, should be thrown