Yesterday I received extreme unction, and to-day I write this. Time is short, fears increase, hopes diminish; yet, nevertheless, I could wish my life prolonged enough to be able once more to kiss your feet, so great would be my delight in seeing your Excellency once again in Spain, that it would almost be new life to me; but if it be decreed that I am to lose it the will of Heaven be done; and at least you shall know this wish of mine, and you shall know that in me you had a truly loving servant, who would have gladly done more than die for your service; and I rejoice in the prospect of your Lordship's arrival, I rejoice in seeing it even afar off, and again I rejoice to think that the hopes I have entertained of your Lordship's goodness will prove true. There still remain unfinished in my head certain reliques and fancies, "The weeks in a Garden," and of the famous Bernardo, if I were so happy (but it could not be without a miracle) that Heaven would prolong my life, you should see them, and also the end of the Galatea which I know your Lordship much admires. May God preserve your Lordship, as he alone can. Your Excellency's Servant, MIGUEL DE CERVANTES. _Madrid_, 19th of April, 1616. [Illustration] PROLOGUE. It happened then, dear Reader, that as I and two of my friends were coming from Esquivias,--a place famous for a thousand reasons, first on account of its many illustrious families, and secondly for its equally illustrious wines,--I heard some one behind me pricking along in great haste as if desirous of overtaking us, and even proving it by calling out to desire we would not go so fast. We waited, and a gray student mounted upon an ass came up to us, gray--because his whole dress was gray. He wore gaiters, round-toed shoes and a sword in a good scabbard (contera).[C] He wore a starched band, with equal braids; it is true he had but two, so that the band got every minute awry, and he took infinite pains and trouble to set it right. Coming up to us, he said, "To judge by the haste with which you travel, gentlemen, you must be going to court to look after some place or Prebendal stall; My Lord of Toledo, or the King must be there at least, for truly my ass has been famed for his paces more than once, and yet could not overtake you?" To which one of my companions replied, "It is the horse of Senor Miguel de Cervantes that is in fault, for he is a fast goer." Scarce had the student heard the name of Cervantes, than alighting from his ass, his portmanteau falling on one side, and the cushion whereon he sat, on the other (for he was travelling with all his comforts about him), he hurried to me and seizing me by the left arm, cried, "Yes, yes, this is the crippled sound one, the famous man, the merry author, the delight of the Muses."