A knight of romance in the style of Amadis of Gaul facing a giant
Amadis of Gaul, the romance hero Quixote takes as his model. AI-generated dramatization art — not a historical depiction.

The Knight-Errant

Before Quixote tilted at them, the romances of chivalry ruled Europe's imagination.

The romances of chivalry

For a century before 1605, Spain devoured libros de caballerías — prose romances of wandering knights, giants, enchanters, and impossible loves. The genre's patriarch was Amadis of Gaul (Amadís de Gaula, printed 1508, older in manuscript): the perfect knight, constant to his lady Oriana, hero of a hundred enchanted adventures. Dozens of sequels and imitations followed — Palmerin of England, Belianis of Greece, the Esplandián cycle — each more extravagant than the last.

Alonso Quixano read them all, believed them all, and decided to live inside one. The prologue to Part I states Cervantes' aim plainly: to "undermine the authority" of the books of chivalry, which had bewitched readers and "wrought such mischief."

The scrutiny (Part I, ch. 6)

The priest and the barber — conducting the famous donoso escrutinio, the "facetious scrutiny" of Quixote's library — pass judgment book by book while the housekeeper burns the condemned. Their verdicts are Cervantes' literary criticism in disguise:

The scene is both parody and canon-making: Cervantes destroys the genre while preserving its one true classic.

The code Quixote lives by

From the romances he takes the whole operating system of knight-errantry:

The paradox

Cervantes set out to kill the romances. He succeeded — the genre withered after 1605 — and in the same stroke made their greatest hero immortal. Nobody reads Belianis of Greece now; everyone knows the man who read it. The parody outlived the thing parodied, because the parody turned out to be about something larger: the human habit of living inside stories.

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