I replied that I was a pilgrim from the Holy Land; and that instead of thinking it an impertinence for me to beg from them, they ought to consider it a distinction to have in their community a mendicant with an iron collar around his neck.
But the Brandenburgers are inclined to believe themselves more clever than the rest of the world. The bailiff seized me, dragged me to the market place, where he proceeded to question me for the benefit of the whole city.
"Who are you?" he inquired.
"I am hungry," I said in reply.
"Where do you come from?"
"From Jerusalem."
"Don't you attempt to deceive me, sirrah! I know the way to Jerusalem. Through what provinces did you journey?"
"Through Marcomannia, and Scythia; through Bess Arabia, and Arabia Petræa; through Bactria, and Mesopotamia; and now I come direct from Caramania—"
"Stop, stop! You are saying what is not true," interrupted the bailiff. "Praise be to God! we Brandenburgers have maps, and know how to get to foreign countries. The way to Palestine is through Zingaria, Paflagonia, Cappadocia, and cinnamon-scented India.
"Well," I explained, "I did travel through those countries too, but it was at night, when I couldn't see to read their names on the guide-boards."