Pellicanus still believed
him to be the son of a knight, and this at last became unendurable to
the lad.

One evening, when they were both in bed, he summoned up his courage and
told him everything he knew about his past life.

The jester listened attentively, without interrupting him, until Ulrich
finished his story with the words "And while I was gone, the bailiffs
and dogs tracked them, but my father resisted, and they killed him and
the doctor."

"Yes, yes," murmured the jester. "It's a pity about Costa. Many a
Christian might feel honored at resembling some Jews. It is only a
misfortune to be born a Hebrew, and be deprived of eating ham. The Jews
are compelled to wear an offensive badge, but many a Christian child is
born with one. For instance, in Sparta they would have hurled me into
the gulf, on account of my big head, and deformed shoulder. Nowadays,
people are less merciful, and let men like us drag the cripple's mark
through life. God sees the heart; but men cannot forget their ancestor,
the clod of earth--the outside is always more to them than the inside.
If my head had only been smaller, and some angel had smoothed my
shoulder, I might perhaps now be a cardinal, wear purple, and instead of
riding under a grey tilt, drive in a golden coach, with well-fed black
steeds. Your body was measured with a straight yard stick, but there's
trouble in other places. So your father's name was Adam, and he really
bore no other?"

"No, certainly not."

"That's too little by half. From this day we'll call you in earnest
Navarrete: Ulrich Navarrete. That will be something complete. The name
is only a dress, but if half of it is taken from your body, you are left
half-bare and exposed to mockery. The garment must be becoming too, so
we adorn it as we choose. My father was called Kurschner, but at the
Latin school Olearius and Faber and Luscinius sat beside me, so I
raised myself to the rank of a Roman citizen, and turned Kurschner into
Pellicanus...."

The jester coughed violently, and continued One thing more. To expect
gratitude is folly, nine times out of ten none is reaped, and he who is
wise thinks only of himself, and usually omits to seek thanks; but every
one ought to be grateful, for it is burdensome to have enemies, and
there is no one we learn to hate more easily, than the benefactor we
repay with ingratitude. You ought and must tell the artist your history,
for he has deserved your confidence.

The jes