This year, whereof I write, many folks in the procession wore garments of the same color and shape; but among them there were some who loved a jest, and were clothed as wild men and women, or as black-amoors, ogres that eat children, ostrich-birds, and the like.  Last of all came the chief glory of the show, various great buildings and devices drawn by horses:  a Ship of Fools, and behind that a wind-mill, and a fowler’s decoy wherein Fools, men and women both, were caught, and other such pastimes.

My Herdegen had mingled with this wondrous fellowship arrayed as a knight crusader leading three captive Saracen princes; namely, the two young Masters Loffelholz and Schlebitzer, who had stirred him to dress in the fencing-school, mounted on horses, and between them my squire Akusch on the bear-leader’s camel, all in white as a Son of the Desert; and the three of them fettered with chains made of wood.

My grand-uncle had lent Herdegen the suit of mail he himself had worn in his youth at a tournament;

Cousin Maud had provided his white cloak with a red cross, and as he rode forth on a noble black steed in mail-harness with scarlet housings—­the finest and stoutest horse in the Im Hoffs’ stables-and his golden hair shining in the sun, many a maid could not take her eyes off from him.

Kunz, in the garb of a fool, hither and thither, nay, and everywhere at once, doubtless had the better sport; but Herdegen’s heart beat the higher, for he could hear a thousand voices proclaiming him the most comely and his troop the most princely of all; from many a window a flower was shed on him, or a ribband, or a knot.  At last, when the dance was all over, the guilds with the town-pipers betook them to the head constable’s quarters, where they were served with drink and ate the Shrove-Tuesday meal of fish which was given in their honor.  When the procession was past and gone my grand-uncle bid Herdegen go to him, and that which the old man then said and did to move him to give up his love was shrewdly planned and not without effect on his mind.  After looking at him from head to foot, saying nothing but with no small contentment, he clapped him kindly on the shoulder and led him, as though by chance, up to the Venice mirror in the dining-hall.  Then pointing to the image before him:  “A Tancred!” he cried, “a Godfrey!  Richard of the Lion-heart!  And the bride a miserable scrivener’s wench!—­a noble bride!” Thereupon Herdegen fired up and began to speak in praise of Ann’s rare and choice beauty; but his guardian stopped him short, laid his arm round his shoulders, and muttered in his ear that in his young days likewise youths of noble birth had to be sure made love to the fair daughters of the common citizens, but the man who could have thought of courting one of them in good faith. . . .

Here he broke off with a sharp laugh, and drawing the boy closer to him, cried: 

“No harm is meant my Tancred!  And you may keep the black horse in remembrance of this hour.”