His name was Magister Kochel and he lodged with the king's almoner, for whom he was acting as clerk.
The pallid man with the withered face, deep-set eyes and peculiar grin, which always showed the bluish-red gums above the teeth, did not please the boy, but the thought of being able to talk in his native language attracted him, and he went to the German's.
He soon thought that by so doing he was accomplishing something good and useful, for the former offered to teach him to write and speak Spanish.
Ulrich was glad to have escaped from school, and declined this proposal; but when the German suggested that he should content himself with speaking the language, assuring him that it could be accomplished without any difficulty, Ulrich consented and went daily at twilight to the Magister.
Instruction began at once and was pleasant enough, for Kochel let him translate merry tales and love stories from French and Italian books, which he read aloud in German, never scolded him, and after the first half-hour always laid the volume aside to talk with him.
Moor thought it commendable and right, for Ulrich to take upon himself the labor and constraint of studying a language, and promised, when the lessons were over, to give a fitting payment to the Magister, who seemed to have scanty means of livelihood.
The master ought to have been well disposed towards worthy Kochel, for the latter was an enthusiastic admirer of his works.

He ranked the Netherlander above Titian and the other great Italian artists, called him the worthy friend of gods and kings, and encouraged his pupil to imitate him.
"Industry, industry!" cried the Magister.

"Only by industry is the summit of wealth and fame gained.

To be sure, such success demands sacrifices.

How rarely is the good man permitted to enjoy the blessing of mass.