Hereupon Ursula steps forth to speak the address; but sooner may a man hear a cricket in a thunderstorm than a maid’s voice amid that pealing of bells and shouting and cries of welcome.  Meseems verily as though the fluttering handkerchiefs, the flying pennons, and the caps waved in the air had found voice; and Ursula turns her head to this side and that as though seeking help.

Emperor Sigismund signs with his hand, and the two heralds who head the train uplift their trumpets with rich embroidered banners.  A rattling blast procures silence:  in a moment it is as though oil were poured on a surging sea.  Men and guns are hushed; the only sounds to be heard are the brazen tongue of the bells, the whinnying of a horse, the dull mutter of men’s voices in the far-off lanes and alleys, and the clear voice of a young maid.

Ursula made her speech, her voice so loud at the last that it might have seemed that the honeyed verses were words of reproof.  The imperial pair gave each other a glance expressing surprise rather than pleasure, and vouchsafed a few words of thanks to the speaker.  His Majesty spoke in German; but in his Bohemian home and Hungarian Kingdom he had caught the trick of a sharper accent than ours.

A chamberlain now gave the signal, and we maidens all went forth towards our Sovereign lord and lady.  Two and two—­Tucher and Schilrstab—­Groland and Stromer; and the sixth couple were Ann and I—­Ann as the daughter of a member of the council—­and my godfather it was, besides her sweet face, who had done most to get her chosen.

Noble youths clad as pages in velvet and silks had received the flowers offered by the damsels; but as Ann and I stood forth, the Emperor and Empress looked down on us.  I could see that they gazed upon us graciously, and heard them speak together in a language I knew not; and Porro, the King’s fool—­and I say the King’s, inasmuch as it was not till later that Sigismund was crowned Emperor at Rome, and by the same token it was at that time that my Hans’ brothers, Paul and Erhart, were dubbed Knights—­Porro, who rode at his lord’s side on a piebald pony spotted black and yellow, cried out:  “May we all be turned into drones, Nunkey, if the flowers which have given this town the name of the Bee-garden are not of the same kith and kin as these!”

And he pointed to us; whereupon the King asked him whether he meant the damsels or the posies.  But the jester, rolling on his nag after a merry fashion, till the bells in his cap rang again, answered him:  “Nay, Nunkey, would you tempt a Christian to walk on the ice?  An if I say the damsels, I shall get into trouble by reason of your strict morality; but if I say the posies, I shall peril my poor soul’s health by a foul lie.”

“Then choose thee another shape,” quoth the Queen, “for I fear lest the bees should take thee for a stinging wasp, Porro.”

“True, by my troth,” said the fool, thinking.  “Since Eve fell into sin, women’s counsel is often the best.  You, Nunkey, shall be turned into a butterfly, and not into a drone, and grace the flowers as you flutter round them.”