Don Quixote of the Mancha, Retold by Judge Parry

by Sir Edward Abbott Parry; Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

Then the stranger, whom we may call the Tattered One, addressed the Knight of the Rueful Countenance in the following words: 'Truly, good Sir, whoever you may be, for I know you not, I thank you with all my heart for your grace and courtesy towards me, and wish only that I could repay you some of the kindness you shower on me.'

'So great is my desire to serve you,' replied Don Quixote, 'that I was fully resolved never to part out of these mountains until I had found you, and heard from your own lips whether there was any remedy for your grief. For it is a consolation in sorrow to have some one to condole with you. And I entreat you, Sir, tell me who you are, and what has brought you to live and die in these solitudes like a brute beast. For I swear by the high honour of Knighthood which I have received, that if you will tell me everything, I will either help you in all good earnest to overcome your troubles, or, if that cannot be, then I will assist in lamenting them.'

The Tattered One looked at Don Quixote from head to foot, and stared at him in amazement for a long time. At length he said: 'If you have anything to eat, give it to me, and after I have eaten I will do all that you ask in return for the kindness you show me.'

Sancho and the Goatherd then gave him what food they had, and this he devoured with the eagerness of a wild beast, so that he seemed to swallow the food rather than chew it, and whilst he ate the others left him in peace. Having ended his dinner, he made signs to them to follow him, which they did, and he took them to a little meadow hard by that place at the back of the mountain.

Arriving there he laid himself down on the grass, the others doing the same, and he began as follows:—

'If it is your pleasure, Sirs, to hear of my misfortunes, you must promise me that you will not interrupt the thread of my sad story by questions or anything else, for directly you do I shall stop telling it.'

Don Quixote promised in the name of them all, and the Tattered One commenced his story.

'My name is Cardenio; the place of my birth one of the best cities in Andalusia; my lineage noble, my parents rich, and my misfortunes so great that I think no one was ever to be pitied as I am. There dwelt in the same city wherein I was born a damsel as noble and rich as I was, whose name was Lucinda. I loved, honoured, and adored Lucinda from earliest childhood, and she loved me with all the earnestness of youth. Our parents knew of our love, and were not sorry to see it, and so we grew up in mutual esteem and affection. Ah! how many letters have I written, and how many verses have I penned, and how many songs has she inspired! At length the time came when I could wait no longer, and I went to ask her of her father for my lawful wife. He answered that he thanked me for the desire I showed to honour him and to honour myself with his loved treasure, but that my father being alive, it was by strict right his business to make that demand. For if it were not done with his good will and pleasure, Lucinda was not the woman to be taken or given by stealth. I thanked him for his kindness, and, feeling there was reason in what he said, I hurried to my father to tell him my desires. At the moment I entered his room he was standing with a letter open in his hand, and before I could speak to him he gave it to me, saying as he did so: "By that letter, Cardenio, you may learn the desire that the Duke Ricardo has to do you favour." This Duke Ricardo, you must know, gentlemen, is a Grandee of Spain, whose dukedom is situated in the best part of all Andalusia. I took the letter and read it, and it was so very kind that it seemed to me wrong that my father should not do what he asked. For he wanted me as a companion—not as a servant—to his eldest son, and offered to advance me in life if he should find me worthy. I read the letter, and could see that it was no time now to speak to my father, who said to me: "Cardenio, thou must be ready in two days to depart, and to do all that the Duke desires, and be thankful that such a future lies open before thee."

'The time for my departure arrived. I spoke to my dear Lucinda and also to her father, and begged him to wait for a while until I knew what the Duke Ricardo wanted of me, and until my future was certain. He promised not to bestow his daughter elsewhere, and she vowed to be always faithful to me, and so I left.