going to
marry any king at all."

"My dear girl," said Amandus, "I really don't see what you have to
complain of. I consider you one of the luckiest women in the world."

"Oh, don't mock at me," she cried. "I am punished severely enough for
my absurd vanity in wishing to be a Queen."

"Really and truly, my dear girl," said Amandus, "I can't make you
out one bit. To tell you the real truth, your last letter drove me
stark, staring mad. I first thrashed my servant-boy, then my poodle,
smashed several glasses--and you know a student who's breathing out
threatenings and slaughter in that sort of way isn't to be trifled
with. But when I got a little calmer I made up my mind to come on here
as quickly as I could, and see with my own eyes how, why, and to whom I
had lost my intended bride. Love makes no distinction of class or
station, and I made up my mind that I would make this King Daucus
Carota give a proper account of himself, and ask him if this tale about
his marrying you was mere brag, or if he really meant it--but
everything here is different to what I expected. As I was passing near
the grand marquee that is put up yonder, King Daucus Carota came out of
it, and I soon found that I had before me the most charming prince I
ever saw--at the same time he happens to be the first I ever did see;
but that's nothing. For, just fancy, my dear girl, he immediately
detected the sublime poet in me, praised my poems (which he has never
read) above measure, and offered to appoint me Poet Laureate in his
service. Now a position of that sort has long been the fairest goal of
my warmest wishes, so that I accepted his offer with a thousandfold
delight. Oh, my dear girl, with what an enthusiasm of inspiration will
I chant your praises! A poet can love queens and princesses: or rather,
it is really a part of his simple duty to choose a person of that
exalted station to be the lady of his heart. And if he _does_ get
rather cracky in the head on the subject, that circumstance of itself
gives rise to that celestial delirium without which no poetry is
possible, and no one ought to feel any surprise at a poet's perhaps
somewhat extravagant proceedings. Remember the great Tasso, who must
have had a considerable bee in his bonnet when in love with the
Princess Leonore d'Este. Yes, my dear girl, as you are going to be a
queen so soon, you will always be the lady of my heart, and I will
extol you to the stars in the sublimest and most celesti