"We are brothers in calamity; one just like the other; a cart with a
broken wheel."

"His arm will soon heal," replied the artist, "but your tool"--here he
pointed to his own lips--"is stirring briskly enough now. The monks and
I have both made its acquaintance within the past few days."

"Well, well," replied Pellicanus, smiling bitterly, "yet they toss me
into the rubbish heap."

"That would be . . . . ."

"Ah, you think the wise would then be fools with the fools," interrupted
Pellicanus. "Not at all. Do you know what our masters expect of us?"

"You are to shorten the time for them with wit and jest."

"But when must we be real fools, my Lord? Have you considered? Least
of all in happy hours. Then we are expected to play the wise man, warn
against excess, point out shadows. In sorrow, in times of trouble, then,
fool, be a fool! The madder pranks you play, the better. Make every
effort, and if you understand your trade well, and know your master, you
must compel him to laugh till he cries, when he would fain wail for
grief, like a little girl. You know princes too, sir, but I know them
better. They are gods on earth, and won't submit to the universal lot of
mortals, to endure pain and anguish. When people are ill, the physician
is summoned, and in trouble we are at hand. Things are as we take them--
the gravest face may have a wart, upon which a jest can be made. When
you have once laughed at a misfortune, its sting loses its point. We
deaden it--we light up the darkness--even though it be with a will 'o the