The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus

by Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen

  I thanked him for this information and said, ‘So your kind, you say, uses such lakes to supply water to springs and rivers all over the world? In that case you can presumably tell me why not everyone experiences such bodies of water in the same way – not only as to their smell, taste, etc., but also in terms of their power and effect, since they all (as you say) come back up from the deepest depths of the Great Ocean, into which they all ultimately pour. The fact is, certain springs are life-giving acidic mineral springs, beneficial to health; others are acidic but in a non-beneficial way (i.e. they’re harmful to drink). There are springs that are even fatally toxic, like the one in Arcadia that Iollas used to poison Alexander the Great. Some are tepid, others boiling hot, yet others ice cold. Some eat through iron like aqua fortis (one in Zepusio, for instance; another in Zips county in Hungary); conversely, other springs heal any kind of wound – there’s said to be one of these in Thessaly. Some turn to stone, others to salt or vitriol. The lake at Zircknitz in Carinthia has water only in winter; in summer it’s dry. The spring at Engstlen flows only in the summer months, and then only at certain times, like when cattle come down to drink. The Schändlebach, a stream near Ober-Nähenheim, flows only when some disaster threatens the district. And the Fluvius Sabbaticus in Syria dries up every seventh day. All of which, when I think about it and can’t work out the cause, really makes me wonder.’

  Again, the prince supplied the answer. All these things had their natural causes, he told me, which from the different odours, tastes, forces and effects of such liquids humanity’s natural historians had, severally and in detail, deduced, worked out, and made widely known up on the Earth’s surface. If, between where the water sprites live and the spot where a watercourse emerges at the surface (what we call sources), the water itself flows through rock of any kind – all right, it may remain cool and soft, but if on its way it passes through or between metallic strata (the vast belly of the Earth was by no means uniformly constituted, he stressed), whether containing gold, silver, copper, tin, lead, iron, mercury, etc., or semi-minerals such as sulphur, the various salts: plain salt, sal gemmae, sal nativum, sal radicum, sal nitrum, sal ammoniac, saltpetre, etc., which come in white, red, yellow or green forms, vitriol, marchasita aurea, argentea, plumbea, ferrea, lapis lazuli, alum, arsenic, antimony, risigallum, electrum naturale, chrysocolla, sublimatum, and so on, then such water takes on the taste, odour, type, power and effect of those materials, making it either beneficial or harmful to humans. That’s why we have all those different salts, he told me – some good and some bad. I remember his words: ‘At Cervia and Commachio the water tends to be dark, while at Memphis it’s reddish; in Sicily, bright white. At Centuripe it’s purple in colour; in Cappadocia it has a yellow tinge.’ He went on: ‘Hot springs, on the other hand, take their heat from the actual fire that burns inside the Earth. As well as our lake, the Earth has its air holes and chimneys here and there. Examples are the famous Mount Etna in Sicily, Hekla in Iceland, Gumapi in Banda, and others. You were wondering about Lake Zircknitz: well, in summer this body of water is found at the Carinthian antipodes, while the Engstlen can be seen at certain times of day and seasons of the year elsewhere on Earth’s surface, doing the same job as it does for the Swiss. The Schändlebach at Ober-Nähenheim likewise. All these sources are controlled and managed in this way by us water sprites according to the will and express dictates of God, the purpose being to bolster his praise among you. As for Syria’s Fluvius Sabbaticus, we who live below are in the habit of celebrating the seventh day by taking our rest in its channel as being the loveliest spot in our entire equatorial region. That’s why said river cannot flow on that day: we’re honouring the Creator by lying in its bed.’

  When the prince had finished I asked him: might it also be possible for him to take me back via a different lake than Lake Mummel, coming out somewhere else on Earth’s surface? ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Why not – if that’s God’s will? It’s how in the distant past our ancestors escorted a bunch of Canaanites to America after they’d escaped Joshua’s sword and in desperation jumped into just such a lake. To this day their descendants can point to it and say, “Our forebears emerged from there originally.” ’ I was struck by his surprise at my surprise – quite as if his story had not been surprising enough in itself. So I asked him: didn’t he and his kind themselves receive a surprise when they learnt something strange and unusual about us humans? He replied, ‘What we find most surprising about you is that, created as you are for eternal salvation and everlasting celestial bliss, you nevertheless allow yourselves to be so bewitched by temporal, earthly delights – which are as rarely unaccompanied by listlessness and pain as roses come without thorns. As a result, you forfeit heaven’s promise, lose all chance of gazing in joy on God’s all-holy countenance, and along with the fallen angels plunge headlong into eternal damnation. Ah, if we sprites were only in your place! How earnestly we’d strive, each one of us, in the split second of your temporal existence, to pass the test with a higher grade than you have obtained! The life you have is not your own. Your life, your death, only become yours with the passing of your experience of temporality. What you call life is a mere instant, loaned to you in order that in it you may acknowledge and come closer to God and he draw you into his embrace. That is why we look upon the world as a divine touchstone, enabling God, as the rich man assays his gold and silver (what shade is the mark the stone makes, or can the object be refined by fire?) for their value, to assay you and place the good and fine varieties of precious metal among his celestial hoard while consigning the evil and false to eternal flame. Your Saviour and our Creator gave you sufficient foreknowledge of this in the parable of the wheat and the tares.’

  Fifteen

  What the king told Simplicius – and vice versa

  That was the end of our conversation since we were approaching the king’s residence, to which I was taken without pomp or delay. There I had ample reason to be astonished by His Majesty (his majesty included), for no hint of a lavishly appointed household nor any kind of outward show, no Lord High Chancellor or Privy Council representative, not one interpreter or bodyguard, not so much as a court jester, cook, waiter or page, not a single favourite or brown-noser was to be seen. Instead, the princes of all the world’s lakes thronged around him, each wearing the local costume of the region containing the lake over which he ruled, which extended from the centrum terrae outwards. Simultaneously I saw genuine Chinamen and Africans, troglodytes and natives of Novaya Zemlya, Tatars and Mexicans, Samoyeds and Moluccans – even ones who lived beneath the North and South Poles. It was not something you see every day. Actually, the two responsible for Lakes Wild and Schwarz were dressed much like the prince who’d brought me there, their lakes lying not far from Lake Mummel. The one in charge of Lake Pilatus wore a broad, impressive-looking beard and a pair of harem pants like a proper Swiss, and the one looking after the lake I mentioned in the last chapter, Lake Camarina, was costumed and waved his arms about just like a Sicilian; in fact, he’d probably never been off the island before and didn’t speak a word of German. It was like leafing through a costume book: I saw folk resembling Persians, Japanese, Muscovites, Finns, Lapps – every other nation in the whole entire world.

  There was no need for me to come out with a load of flowery compliments because the king himself addressed me immediately, speaking excellent German. He began by asking, ‘What made you start showering stones down on us in that mischievous fashion?’ I replied tersely, ‘Because where I come from anyone can knock on a closed door.’ At this he said, ‘What if you got your just deserts for such cheeky insistence?’ I retorted, ‘I can scarcely be punished with anything worse than death. And having heard tell of and witnessed as many wonders as few among millions have the luck to experience, death won’t bother me and my dying come as no punishment.’ ‘Pfui – such blindness!’ the king expostulated, turning his eyes up like someone appealing to heaven in amazement. ‘You humans’, he went on, ‘die onl
y once, and the Christians among you ought to face death without fear, assured by your faith and by your love of God of a certain hope that your souls will look directly upon the Almighty’s face as soon as the expiring body shuts its eyes. But on this occasion I want to talk to you about something quite different.’

  What he said then was: ‘I’ve had a report that folk on Earth (you Christians, in particular) expect Judgement Day imminently – not only because all prophecies (particularly those made by the Sibyls) have been fulfilled but also because everything and everyone that dwells on Earth is so dreadfully given to sin. Almighty God, it seems, is no longer prepared to put off bringing the world to an end. Since that means our kind will go down with the Earth, as it were, and be destroyed by fire (water being more our bag), the thought of that frightful time being brought closer gives us the willies. That’s why we’ve had you brought here: to find out whether we’re right to worry or whether there might be hope for us. We can’t read the stars from here, of course, but even up at the surface there’s no suggestion things might be about to change. So we’re reliant on hearing from folk who’ve received signs from their Saviour himself of what he has in mind. Please, therefore, may we know: does faith still exist on Earth? Because when the future judge comes he might have trouble locating it.’ In reply, I told the king his questions went well above my head. Knowledge of the future (the Second Coming in particular) was held by God alone. ‘Well, yes, of course,’ the king answered. ‘So tell me: how goes it with the various classes and callings in the world? If I know that, I can speculate as to whether the world and my people are doomed or whether, like I said, I and my people have years of happy government ahead of us. In return I’ll give you a glimpse of what few get to see, and afterwards I’ll give you a present that will bring you pleasure your whole life long. Just tell me the truth.’ I said nothing for a while (I was thinking), so the king resumed: ‘Come on, then; out with it! Start at the top of the social scale and work downwards to the bottom – that is, if you’re interested in getting back to the surface!’

  I replied, ‘If I’m to start at the top, I ought to begin with the clerics. Whatever their persuasion or profession, most of them are as Eusebius describes them: real busybodies, shunning pleasure, beavering away at what they do, keen to pour scorn, less keen to offer praise, poor in cash and possessions, rich in certainties, humble in the matter of their own merits, coming down hard on others’ sins. They act as if they alone strive to serve God, though as regards bringing men into God’s kingdom their influence lies more in what they practise than in what they preach. In the same way our secular heads and leaders have their eyes fixed on justice, sweet justice, which they hand down straight from the bench and arrange to have executed upon all persons, rich and poor, quite irrespectively. Top churchmen are all Jeromes and Bedes, cardinals right Borromeos, bishops without exception Augustines, abbots Hylarions and Pachomiuses reincarnate, while other religious collectively resemble the congregation of hermits in the Theban wilderness! Merchants do business not because they’re greedy or wish to make a profit but in order to benefit their fellow men by importing goods from distant lands. Innkeepers ply their trade not in pursuit of wealth but to refresh the hungry, the thirsty, the traveller; catering they see as a work of charity bringing solace to a weary public. Your medic is interested not in his own good but in bettering the health of his patients; pharmacists have the same aim. Craftsmen aren’t interested in lining their pockets, telling porkies, and pulling a fast one; they aim only to do solid, proper work for their clients. Tailors and dressmakers never cut their cloth over-generously. All weavers are honest, ergo permanently poor; no mouse will enter a weaver’s house in search of food and have to have a bobbin thrown at him. Usurers are unknown; the rich give to the poor out of pure Christian love, entirely unasked. And if the poor man can’t pay without seriously damaging his health or having to go hungry, the rich man settles the debt of his own free will. No one acts hoity-toity because they all say, “There but for the grace of God …” Envy is unknown because everybody was created in God’s image and is loved by him equally. Folk never lose their rag with one another, knowing that Christ suffered and died for them all. You never hear of unchaste behaviour or inordinate fleshly lusts; sex is all about people wanting to breed. Nor do you come across any soaks; if two mates want to clink glasses, they’ll take things no further than a little Christian tipsiness. There’s no falling asleep in church, either; everyone bustles, burgeons, aspires to serve God like a good’un. In fact, that’s precisely why there’s so much fighting going on just at the moment: some folk always think the others aren’t worshipping God the right way. There’s less penny-pinching than there was; it’s all thrift now. No wastrels – only big spenders. No warmongers who rob and murder people – only soldiers defending the fatherland. No wilfully idle beggars – only folk who spurn riches and opt for voluntary poverty. No corn-Jews or wine-Jews, speculating in commodities futures – only cautious folk, people of foresight, scraping together surpluses to meet future emergency requirements.’

  Sixteen

  News from the fathomless depths of the Mare del Zur, the Peaceful Ocean, otherwise known as the Pacific

  Here I paused for a moment, wondering what else to report, but the king said he’d heard so much already, he didn’t wish to know any more. If I liked, his people would take me straight back to the place they’d brought me from. If I preferred (‘Because I can see you’re not incurious,’ he said) to take a look around his realm (‘an opportunity that probably comes the way of few of your kind’), I’d be escorted in safety wherever I wanted to go within his jurisdiction, after which he’d like to present me, by way of farewell, with a pleasing gift. I dithered a bit, not sure how to answer him, so he turned to a party of sylphs who were just leaving for the bottom of the Mare del Zur to fetch victuals (like popping out to the garden or going off hunting) and said, ‘Here – take him with you. Bring him back soon, though; I want him returned to the surface today.’ Turning back to me, he said that would give me time to think of what he could offer me as a thank-you present (‘anything within my power’) to take back as a permanent reminder of my visit. So I and the water sprites slipped down a tunnel several hundred miles long that came out on the bed of said Pacific Ocean. From corals as tall as oak trees they harvested the still-soft, colourless parts (which they eat like immature antlers). There were also snail shells as high as castle walls and as broad as barn doors, pearls as big as your fist (egg substitutes, for them), and even rarer maritime wonders – more than I can say, actually. The seabed was strewn with emeralds, turquoises, rubies, diamonds, sapphires and other gemstones, mostly the size of the pebbles we sometimes see on streambeds. Dotted around were towering cliff faces, many miles high, some sticking out of the water as funny little islands. These bore strange and marvellous undersea growths teeming with creepy-crawlies – much as humans and animals crowd all over Earth’s surface. And of course there were fish of all types and sizes, large and small, cruising about in the water above our heads – reminiscent, incidentally, of the flocks of birds we see at home, joyfully airborne in the spring and autumn skies. Also, since it was full moon and a very light time of year anyway (the sun was above our horizon at the time, which meant that while our antipodes had night we in Europe had day), looking up through the water I was able to see the moon and stars. I could also identify the polo antarctico. It all filled me with wonder, I have to say. However, the water sprite who’d been detailed to stay with me said that if we’d had both day and night at one and the same time I’d have found everything even more wonderful. Then you could see, in the distance, that both the seabed and the land above had beautiful mountain scenery – more beautiful (he told me) in the former case than the finest views to be had in the latter. And when he also saw that he and his companions filled me with equal wonder, hailing as they did from Peru, Brazil, Mexico and the Marianas but speaking such excellent German, he said they only spoke the one language but it was o
ne that everyone, no matter where they came from on Earth, could understand; so could the sylphs. The reason was, they’d escaped all that nonsense at the Tower of Babel; that had not been a problem for them.

  When the party had collected enough food, we all went back from the ocean to centrum terrae via another cave. On the way I told some of them that I’d believed the centre of the Earth to be hollow, rather like a huge treadmill. Inside, a crowd of pygmies ran round and round to keep the whole globe turning, the idea being that the Sun, which Aristarchus and Copernicus tell us stands still at the centre of the sky, would then shine equally on every part of Earth’s surface. Such naivety met with gales of derisive laughter from the sprites, who suggested I should dismiss said scholars’ views as a pipe dream, likewise my own earlier beliefs, and instead think about what gift I should ask the king for – if I didn’t want to return to the surface empty-handed. My answer was that the many marvels I’d seen down here had so overwhelmed me, my mind was a blank; could they please advise me what to request? One idea I’d had (since he managed so many water sources all over the world) was to ask him for a healing spring in my own farmyard (like the one that had spontaneously burst through in Germany only recently, in fact), though that would of course require fresh water. The Prince or Regent of the Pacific and its Caves replied that that was something his king couldn’t do, and even if he had been able to (and had been willing to grant my request), healing springs like that didn’t last for ever, etc. ‘Please go on,’ I asked, ‘why is that?’ ‘Well,’ he answered, ‘there are these occasional hollows in the earth. Gradually they fill up with different metals that are themselves generated by vapours of various kinds (humida, viscosa and crassa). When such generation occurs, water forced through from the centre of the Earth, from where all springs are driven, gets in between gaps in the marchasitae aurea vel argenteae. This water then stays there for many hundreds of years, absorbing those noble metals and their healing properties. Then, as more and more water pushes out from the centro, looking for an exit, and one opens up at the surface, the water that’s been locked between the layers of metal for so many centuries (millennia, even), taking on their forces, bursts through – and at first has a miraculous effect on the human body, as we see when a new spa goes into business. However, as soon as the supply of such water is exhausted, ordinary water follows, which although it’s come up the same way has done so too quickly to imbibe any valuable qualities or strengths from the metals and perform the same cures.’ If (he went on) I attached such importance to health, I should ask his king to recommend me to a regular correspondent of his, the King of the Salamanders, for a cure. The King of the Salamanders was able to treat human corpora after using a certain gemstone to ensure that fire never burnt them (as we on Earth have a special fabric that, if it gets dirty, we use flame to clean). A soiled human being would be laid in the fire like a slimy, stinking old tobacco pipe. The fire would then burn off all nasty humours and harmful dampness, and the patient would emerge as bright as a button, looking as fully rejuvenated as if he’d swallowed a dose of Paracelsus’ elixir. Not knowing whether the bloke was having me on or speaking quite seriously, I thanked him for the tip anyway and said I was a choleric by temperament and the cure might be too hot for me. What I’d really like was to be able, on returning to the surface, to offer my fellow men a rare healing spring that would be of some use to them, bring honour to the water-sprite king, and make my name one that nobody would forget – ever. The prince answered me by saying: if that was what I was after he’d put in a word for me, although their king wasn’t fussed about what folk thought of him on Earth. Meanwhile we’d arrived back at the midpoint of the globe and were soon in the king’s presence once more. He and his princes were just sitting down to eat. This was more of a snack, really (nephaha, the Greeks called them), with no wine or strong drink being served; instead, you drank pearls that had yet to harden, like raw or soft-boiled eggs. These were extremely fortifying; they ‘put meat on your bones’, as countryfolk say.