Excerpt: The sun sometimes shone brightly upon the little round panes of the ancient building, the Golden Cross, on the northern side of the square, which the people of Ratisbon call on the moor; sometimes it was veiled by gray clouds. A party of nobles, ecclesiastics, and knights belonging to the Emperors train were just coming out. The spring breeze banged behind them the door of the little entrance for pedestrians close beside the large main gateway. The courtiers and ladies who were in the chapel at the right of the corridor started. April weather! growled the corporal of the Imperial Halberdiers to the comrade with whom he was keeping; guard at the foot of the staircase leading to the apartments of Charles V, in the second story of the huge old house. St. Peters day, replied the other, a Catalonian. At my home fresh strawberries are now growing in the open air and roses are blooming in the gardens. Take it all in all, its better to be dead in Barcelona than alive in this accursed land of heretics! Come, come, replied the other, life is life! A live dog is better than a dead king, says a proverb in my country.