The royal quarters in the castle had been newly ordered by the town at his Majesty’s desire, and they were indeed bravely decked; yet never had the like show pleased me less.  The Queen was giving audience to the Pope’s Legate, to their excellencies the envoys from the Greek Emperor, to my Lord Conrad the Elector of Maintz, and many more nobles.  She had made so bold as to declare that the German maidens were no less skilled in the art of song than the damsels of Italy, and had bidden me to her in such hot haste that I might let the notables there assembled hear a few lays.  I might not say nay to the royal behest; for better, for worse, I must fain take my lute and sing, at first alone, and then with my lord Conte di Puppi.  Our voices presently brought the King to the chamber, and in truth I won praise enough if I had best cared to hear it.  Nay, for the first time it was a torment to me to sing, and when the notables had all been sent forth, and I was alone with the Queen and her ladies, I knew not what ailed me but I burst into tears, hot and bitter tears.  The gracious Queen took me in her arms with womanly sweetness, but while she gave me her phial of vinegar to smell, and spoke words of comfort, I was suddenly scared at hearing close behind me right woeful sobbing and sighing, as from a woman’s breast.  I looked about me, and beheld Porro, the jester, who had cast himself on a couch and was mocking me, pulling such a grimace the while that his smooth, long, thin face seemed grown to the length of two lean faces.  The sight was so merry that I was fain to laugh.  Whereas he nevertheless ceased not from sobbing, the Queen reproved him and bid him not carry his fooling too far.  Whereupon he sobbed out:  “Nay, royal and gracious Coz, thou art in error.  Never have I so shamelessly forgotten to play my part as Fool, as at this moment.  Alack, alack! what a thing is life!  Were we not one and all born fools, and if we did but measure it as it is now and ever shall be, with the wisdom of the sage, we should never cease to bewail ourselves, from the nurse’s rod to the scythe of death.”

Whether Porro were in earnest I could not divine; his face, like a mystic oracle, might bear manifold interpretations; verily his speech went to my heart.  And albeit hitherto life had brought me an hundredfold more reasons for thanksgiving than sorrow, meseemed that it had many griefs in store.  The Queen indeed replied full solemnly:  “Peradventure it is true.  Yet forget not that it is not as Sage that you attend us.—­Moreover I, as a good Hungarian, know my Latin, and the great Horatius Flaccus puts your dismal lore to shame; albeit, as a Christian woman, I am fain to confess that it is wiser and more praiseworthy to bewail our own sins and the sins of the world, and to meditate on the life to come, than to live only for present joys.  As for thee, sweet maid, for a long time yet thou may’st take pleasure in the flowers, even though venom may be hidden in their cups.”