The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus

by Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen

  I didn’t sleep much that night, as you can imagine. My mind was a whirl. However, in the morning a group of officers came to see me, bringing the cornet who’d captured me. They seemed to have come to chew the fat, but the real reason for their visit was to tell me that the colonel was thinking of having me tried as a sorcerer. Nothing else would bring me to heel. The intention was to give me a scare – see what I was made of. But my conscience was clear. I just sat there coolly, not saying much at all. I soon realized that the colonel simply didn’t want me returning to Soest. I’d hardly be willing to quit a place where my hopes of promotion lay. Plus I had two fine horses there and plenty of other expensive stuff as well. Next day he had me summoned again and demanded to know what I’d decided. I answered, ‘My decision, esteemed colonel, is this: I’d sooner die than break oath. However, if the colonel sets me free and lays no obligations on me regarding military service, I can promise him heart and soul, sealing the promise with lips and hand, that for the space of six months I shall neither wield not bear arms against Swede or Hessian.’ Instantly liking what he heard, the colonel offered to shake on it. He cancelled my ransom demand there and then, and had his secretary draw up, in duplicate, an agreement that we both signed. In it he undertook to provide me with shelter, protection and every freedom in said citadel, while I, for my part, made two declarations: so long as I stayed put I should refrain from either performing any action designed to disadvantage or actively injure the garrison/commandant of said citadel or covering up any action so designed. Instead, I should promote the benefits and appurtenances of the town, do my utmost to avert harm thereto, and, if the place came under enemy attack, voluntarily assist in the defence of same.

  Afterwards he invited me back to lunch and did indeed do me greater honour than I could ever have wished for from the Imperial side. As a result, he gradually won me over to the point where I’d not have gone back to Soest if, by releasing me from my promise, he’d let me.

  Sixteen

  How Simplicius became a gentleman of leisure

  What will be will be, so they say. Lady Luck, it seemed, had wed me, or at least attached herself to me so firmly that even the least desirable events could not help turning out for the best. I was sitting at the commandant’s table when I learnt that my servant had arrived from Soest with my two fine horses. I didn’t know then (as I’ve found out since) that the fickle Sirens have a way of handing out the worst fortune to those who’d seemed to enjoy their greatest favour – while causing those to rise higher who are doomed to fall farther.

  This servant, whom I’d captured from the Swedes earlier, was quite exceptionally loyal to me, for the simple reason that I treated him well. Each and every day he’d saddled my horses and ridden some way out of Soest to meet up with the bloke who’d been sent to fetch us. He didn’t want me either walking all that way or arriving in Soest naked or dressed in rags (for he was under the impression that I’d been stripped of everything). In consequence, when he did meet the drummer coming back with the prisoners, he’d packed my best clothes for the occasion. However, on seeing that I wasn’t there and being told that I’d been kept back to fight for the opposition, he said, ‘Farewell, bandsman; hallo, corporal! My place, you see, is with my master.’ And off he rode, reaching me just as the commandant, having ordained my release, was doing me such honour. The commandant arranged for my horses to be stabled at an inn until I’d decided where I wanted to live, at the same time saying how lucky I was to have so loyal a servant. He expressed surprise that a common dragoon (and one so young!) could afford such fine horses and costly tack. He also praised one of the horses just as I was taking my leave to go to said inn – praised it so highly, in fact, that I saw immediately he’d have liked to buy it for himself but was too polite to make me an offer. So I told him I’d be greatly obliged if he’d do me the honour of accepting it as a gift. He declined, though, not so much because he thought he could actually do without the beast, more because I was well sloshed at the time and he was keen to avoid gossip about him sweet-talking a drunk into a deal the drunk might later regret.

  That night I pondered how to shape my future. I decided that for six months I’d stay where I was. Winter was just around the corner, and I’d spend it resting. I had enough money to see me through, even without touching my hoard in Cologne. In that time, I told myself, you’ll grow to maturity and reach your full strength. Then spring will be here and you can return to the Imperial ranks refreshed.

  Early next morning I dissected my saddle, which was much better stuffed than the one I’d given to the cornet. After that I had my best horse brought to the colonel’s quarters, informing that officer of my decision to spend the six months during which I’d agreed to refrain from fighting living quietly here under the colonel’s protection. I’d have no use for horses, I told him, but it would be a shame to see them go to rack and ruin, so would he be so good as to find room among his own mounts for (I gestured towards the magnificent animal) this wretched nag? And would he kindly accept same in token of my grateful acknowledgement of favours received? The colonel thanked me courteously, and that same afternoon sent his chief steward round with a live fatted ox, two plump pigs, a tun of wine, four casks of beer and twelve cartloads of firewood – all to welcome me to the new lodgings I had just taken for six months. Along with the gift he sent word that, noting my decision to stay in his town for a while and finding it easy to imagine that the food situation might be awkward to begin with, he was sending me a drop of drink and a bite to eat, together with something to cook it on. He added that, if there was any way he could be of assistance, he’d be happy to oblige. I thanked the commandant (I hope, adequately) in return, tipped the steward two ducats, and asked him to give his master my best wishes.

  Clearly, my generosity towards the colonel had been much appreciated, so I decided to reward your common man, too; I didn’t want to seem niggardly. So in the presence of my new landlord I summoned my servant and said to him, ‘Dear Nicolas, you’ve shown me greater loyalty than a master can expect of his servant. Without wishing to sink further into your debt, and having no master myself these days and no fighting to do that might produce the income for your wages (plus I intend to live rather more modestly from now on so won’t really be needing a servant), I’d be grateful if you’d accept this other horse, complete with saddle, tack and pistols. That will do you, I hope, while you look around for a new master. If I can be of service to you at some future time, I trust you’ll look me up then.’ Speechless with grief, Nicolas kissed my hand. He refused outright to take the horse, suggesting I sell it and live off the proceeds. I did finally persuade him to accept it, but only by promising to take him back into service as soon as I needed someone. The landlord, witnessing our farewell, was so touched he even welled up a little, and while my servant sang my praises among the soldiery, the man who put a roof over my head praised me highly to the townsfolk. This was no ordinary fellow, he told them. As for the commandant, in his eyes I was so sound he could build whole castles on my word. Not only had I stuck by my oath to the Emperor; I was also adhering to the undertakings I’d made under oath to himself – to the extent, in fact, of getting rid of my splendid horses, my weaponry and my trusty servant.

  Seventeen

  How the Huntsman planned to spend the six months, plus a bit about the soothsayer of Soest

  I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who hasn’t got a screw loose somewhere. We’re all human, aren’t we? I can tell from the state of my own spuds when my neighbour’s are ready for lifting. ‘Twit!’ someone may answer. ‘Just because you’re a fool, you think everyone else is too?’ That’s not what I’m saying, no; that would be going too far. But I do think some folk are better than others at hiding their inner fool. Just having daft ideas doesn’t make you a fool. We all have those in our youth. However, if you let them out, you’ll be called a fool. So some of us never show the fool inside them; others only give glimpses. Folk who actually suppress their inn
er fool are the real sourpusses. While those who just let theirs make them listen a bit harder sometimes or allow it the occasional whiff of oxygen to stop it choking seem to me the best people – the most sensible. For my part, finding myself with so much freedom and more money than sense, I made my inner fool a bit too visible. I hired a youngster, dressed him up as a nobleman’s pageboy (in the most foolish colours, I admit, namely violet-brown and yellow – my favourites, so of course they had to constitute my livery), and had him attend on me as if I’d been a baron and not, as I had been recently, a dragoon or, six months back, a humble stable lad.

  That was the first silly thing I did in that town – quite a big thing, actually, but not one that was noticed particularly, let alone criticized. Not that that means anything. There’s so much silliness in the world that folk pay no heed. They’re so used to it, they neither laugh nor even show surprise. I was widely regarded as a shrewd, skilled soldier, not a childish fool of whom people said, ‘Time he grew up.’ I arranged for my landlord to provide board for myself and the boy, paying in instalments out of the meat and firewood the commandant had given me in exchange for my horse. However, so far as drink was concerned my page kept the key. I liked to give some to visitors, you see. Being neither townsman nor soldier and therefore having no natural companions, I mixed with both camps and always had plenty of callers, none of whom went away thirsty. Among the townsfolk, one of the most frequent visitors was the organist. I loved music and (not wishing to boast) had a remarkably good voice that I was anxious shouldn’t become rusty. The organist taught me composition and how to improve my clavichord and harp-playing. The lute I’d already mastered, so I bought an instrument of my own and had great fun with it almost daily. When I’d had enough music-making I invited the furrier, who’d taught me to use all weapons back in ‘Paradise’. With him I practised hard, honing my skills. I even obtained the commandant’s permission to pay one of his officers to teach me the art of gunnery and something about handling explosives. Otherwise, I lived a very quiet, retired life. In fact, folk were amazed to see me with my head in a book most of the time, like a student, when what I’d mainly indulged in before was looting and bloodshed.

  My landlord was one of the commandant’s spies as well as being my custodian, to all intents and purposes. I became aware that my every move was reported. I took that in my stride, though, because I didn’t give a thought to war, and if the subject came up I pretended I’d never been a soldier and was there simply to do my daily exercises, which I’d only recently been reminded of. True, I hoped my six months would soon be up, but I never let slip a hint as to which side I’d then wish to fight on. Whenever I saw the colonel he invited me to dine with him, and the conversation gradually turned to exploring my future intentions, but my answers were invariably so prudent, no one can have known what I had in mind. On one occasion he asked me, ‘How about it then, Huntsman – won’t you join us Swedes? I lost an ensign only yesterday.’ I answered, ‘Esteemed colonel, a woman is respected when, on losing her husband, she doesn’t immediately remarry. So why shouldn’t I wait out my six months in patience?’ I slipped the net like that each time, and each time I won more of the colonel’s favour. Eventually, I was free to roam not only within but outside the walls. He even let me hunt hare, partridges and other birds – a privilege withheld from his own soldiers. I fished in the River Lippe, too, and enjoyed such luck I might have been charming both fish and crayfish out of the water by magic. I had a simple hunting outfit made in which I slipped out at night (I knew every nook and cranny of the local countryside), collected up all my hidden hoards of treasure, and toted them back to said citadel. I made it look as if I had in mind to stay with the Swedes for ever.

  On one of those outings I ran into the soothsayer of Soest, the woman who’d told my fortune there. She said, ‘See how right I was, son, when I advised you once to hide your money outside Soest itself! Believe me: being captured was the best thing that could have happened to you. If you’d returned, certain fellows who’d sworn to get even with you because the womenfolk preferred you to them would have wrung your neck when you went out hunting.’ I answered, ‘But how can anyone be envious when women mean nothing to me?’ ‘Right,’ she said, ‘but you won’t always feel that way. And then, when you start to think differently, take it from me: women will drive you out of the country with their taunts and their name-calling. You rubbished my fortune-telling in the past; will you now do the same when I predict more of what your future holds? Tell me: where you’re living now, don’t you find folk liking you more than was the case in Soest? Damned if these people aren’t actually fond of you. Too fond, if you ask me! You’d better go with the flow of that affection; otherwise, you’ll be in trouble!’ My response was: if she knew all she claimed, how were things with my parents? Would I get to see them again before I died? ‘And don’t be so inscrutable,’ I demanded. ‘Speak plain.’ When I said that, she told me to ask about my parents when I happened across my foster-father leading my wet-nurse’s daughter behind him on a string. Then, gurgling with laughter, she added that she’d volunteered more about myself than she’d given to lots of folk when they too had asked her to tell their fortunes. However, at the first hint of a leg-pull on my part, she vanished in a flash, taking with her the several thaler I’d counted into her palm. I’d paid in advance, you see, having quite a bit of silver on me. I had a lot of money at the time, plus I’d collected together any number of expensive rings and bits and pieces of jewellery. Earlier, whenever I’d heard of soldiers having precious stones or had come across any out on raiding parties or elsewhere, I’d bought them up – often at less than half their true value. And they kept crying out, those precious stones, to be back among people. I was happy to oblige, of course, being something of a show-off, and I flaunted my jewellery with pride. Nor was I shy about letting my landlord see it, and he told others, tending to exaggerate what I had. What folk wanted to know was: where did it all come from? Everyone knew my hoard of treasure was deposited in Cologne; the cornet had found the merchant’s handwritten receipt when taking me prisoner.

  Eighteen

  How the Huntsman began wooing – and made a hobby of it

  The plan to use the six months perfecting my gunnery and fencing was a good one, I knew. However, it wasn’t enough to ward off boredom (that root of so much evil), particularly since I’d no one to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I did devour all sorts of books and learnt a lot of good stuff. But some of the books went through me a bit, as when dogs eat grass. The incomparable Arcadia, which I’d hoped might put me among the ‘better read’, was the first work that drew me away from proper history and into the world of romance, from true stories to more heroic sagas. I picked up any romances and tales of derring-do that came my way, and when one did I read it at a sitting, staying up all night if necessary. Books like that, rather than making me better read, taught me how to catch pretty birds. But wanting to catch birds wasn’t such a big thing with me that you might, with Seneca, have called it a divine frenzy or, as Tommaso Tomai describes it in his Idea del Giardino del Mondo, a serious disease. The fact is, so far as any amorous inclinations were concerned, I found it comparatively easy to get what I wanted. I couldn’t complain, in other words. I wasn’t like other would-be lovers and potential bird-catchers, i.e. chock-full of fancy dreams, strained yearnings, hidden sufferings, furies, jealousies, desire for revenge, secret rages, weeping, competing, strutting and suchlike myriad stupidities – in brief, so unrequited they wished themselves dead. I had money, and at this point in time I wasn’t mean with it. I also had a good voice and played all sorts of instruments, practising on them constantly. I’ve never liked dancing much, but I showed off the straightness of my limbs when fencing with my furrier. Moreover, I had a fine smooth phiz and had adopted a friendly manner. Even girls I didn’t find particularly attractive dogged me of their own accord more than I wanted, as Aurora pursued Clitus, Cephalus and Tithonus, as Venus pursued Anchises, Atys
and Adonis, as Ceres pursued Glaucus, Ulysses and Iasion, and even chaste Diana went after her Endymion.

  Around that time, Martinmas fell. That’s when we Germans start scoffing and boozing, some keeping it up until Shrove Tuesday. I received several invitations, from both officers and townsfolk, to help get outside the Martinmas goose. And sometimes, on such occasions, I met females. My lute-playing and singing made everyone look at me, and when they did I was able to enliven my latest love songs (originals, all of them) with such alluring looks and suggestive gestures that many a pretty young girl fell head over heels etc. And since I was anxious not to seem miserly, I threw a couple of parties myself – one for the officers and one for the leading townsfolk. That way I could keep in with and mix with both groups. And the fact was, I laid on a good spread. But I was interested only in the pretty girls, and although I didn’t always find what I was looking for (there were still quite a few capable of resisting) I called on them as well anyway. I didn’t want them shaming those who showed me greater fondness than a respectable virgin should. I wanted them all to think I was also visiting the latter for small talk only. Among the latter, too, I managed to persuade each one that she was the one.