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By Root 918 0

in affliction to find someone who mourns with you. And if my good intentions deserve to be thanked with some courtesy, I entreat you, Señor, for the sake of the great courtesy I see in you, and I implore you, for the sake of the thing you have loved or do love most in this life, to tell me who you are and the reason that has compelled you to live and die in this desolate place like a wild animal, for you dwell among the beasts estranged from your true self, as demonstrated by your dress and your person. And I swear,” Don Quixote added, “by the order of chivalry which I have received, though unworthy and a sinner, and by the profession of knight errantry, that if, Señor, you satisfy me in this, I shall serve you with the devotion to which I am obliged by being the man I am, whether to remedy your misfortune, if it has a remedy, or to help you lament it, as I have promised you I would.”

The Knight of the Forest, who heard the Knight of the Sorrowful Face speak in this way, did nothing but look at him, and look at him again, and look at him one more time, from head to toe; and after he had looked at him very carefully, he said:

“If you have any food to give me, then give it to me in the name of God, and after I have eaten, I shall do all you ask, in gratitude for the goodwill you have shown me here.”

Then Sancho from his sack and the goatherd from his pouch took out food with which the Ragged One satisfied his hunger, eating what they gave him as if he were stupefied, and so quickly that one mouthful followed immediately on the other, for he gulped them down instead of swallowing them; and while he ate, neither he nor those who were watching him said a word. When he had finished eating, he signaled to them to follow him, which they did, and he led them to a small green meadow just beyond a nearby crag. When he reached it he lay down on the grass, and the others did the same, all of this without a word, until the Ragged One, after settling comfortably in his place, said:

“If, Señores, you wish me to tell you briefly about the immensity of my misfortunes, you must promise not to interrupt the thread of my sad history with any question, or with anything else, because the moment you interrupt will be the moment my narration ends.”

These words of the Ragged One brought to Don Quixote’s mind the story his squire had told him, when he had not kept an accurate count of the number of goats that had crossed the river, and the story was never finished. But let us return to the Ragged One, who continued:

“I give you this warning because I would like to pass quickly through the tale of my misfortunes, since bringing them to mind only serves to add new ones, and the less you ask me, the sooner I shall finish telling you about them, though I shall not fail to relate anything of importance to the complete satisfaction of your desire.”

Don Quixote promised, in the name of all the others, not to interrupt, and with this assurance the Ragged One began, saying:

“My name is Cardenio;1 my home, one of the finest cities in Andalucía; my family, noble; my parents, wealthy; my misfortune, so great that my parents had to weep and my family grieve, but their wealth could not alleviate it, for worldly possessions can do little to remedy the afflictions sent by heaven. In that same city there lived a heaven, in which love placed all the glory I could desire: such is the beauty of Luscinda, a maiden as noble and as wealthy as I, but more fortunate and less firmly resolved than my honorable intentions merited. I loved Luscinda, I worshiped and adored her from my earliest youth, and she loved me with all the simplicity and innocence of her tender years. Our parents knew of our intentions and were not troubled by them because they saw clearly that, in time, these intentions could have no other end but our marriage, something that was practically guaranteed by the equality of our families and our fortunes. We matured, as did our love, until it seemed to Luscinda’s father that, in deference to public opinion, he was obliged to deny me entrance to his