The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus

by Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen

  Before that I made repeated attempts to get to my feet, but the lieutenant colonel kept me pinned to the bed with threatening looks. I sensed how a fellow can lose heart completely when caught in the act. I knew how a thief must feel when, having just broken into a place, he’s taken prisoner before pilfering anything. I thought of better days when, confronted by the lieutenant colonel and two such Croats, I’d have seen the three of them off with ease. Now I simply lay there like a miserable coward, incapable of speech, let alone of lifting a finger in my own defence. ‘Take a look at this, Reverend,’ he said. ‘A fine sight, I must say, which I’ve had to call you to witness as proof of my shame!’ Scarcely had the charge left his lips in due form before he resumed his rant. I could just make out the phrases ‘breaking their necks’ and ‘washing my hands in blood’. He was foaming at the mouth like a wild boar. I really thought he was losing his wits and that any minute he’d put a bullet through my head. However, the priest took great pains to see that nothing fatal occurred – nothing the old soldier might regret. ‘Look, sir,’ he said, ‘don’t upset yourself. Calm down. Remember: what’s done is done. Look on the bright side. These two young people (and you won’t find a handsomer couple in the land) aren’t the first and won’t be the last to be swept off their feet by the tide of love. They erred, if you like, but if it was perhaps an error it’s easily corrected. I don’t condone this way of getting married, but nor do the pair deserve to hang. And the lieutenant colonel need feel no shame if he conceals the mistake (which in any case no one yet knows about), forgives the couple and gives his consent to their marriage – and then has the marriage publicly confirmed by the usual church ceremony.’ ‘What are you saying?’ he retorted. ‘Am I to bypass due process and treat them with honour instead? I want to see them roped together before sunrise and drowned in the Lippe! Why do you think I sent for you? I need you to splice them this minute, that’s why! Otherwise I’m going to wring their necks like chickens.’

  That’s it, I told myself. You’ve no choice. Also, you needn’t be ashamed of the girl. In fact, given your background, you’ve no right to tie her shoes. Aloud, I still swore up and down that we’d done nothing wrong. Ah, but we oughtn’t to have placed ourselves under suspicion, I was told. Suspicion like that can never be removed, they said. So there we were, sitting up in bed, having said priest join us in matrimony. And afterwards we were urged to get up and leave the house together. At the door, the lieutenant colonel swore a solemn oath: he never wished to set eyes on either of us again. However, by this time I’d pulled myself together a bit and, with my rapier strapped on again, answered lightly, ‘What does my father-in-law think he’s doing, acting in this contrary fashion? When other couples are joined together, their nearest relations escort them to bed. He, however, following the ceremony, not merely turfs me out of bed but boots me out of his house. And far from wishing me luck for my marriage, he wishes upon me the misfortune of never seeing his face again, nor rendering him due service. Certainly, if the custom spreads, weddings will stop bringing much friendship into the world.’

  Twenty-Two

  How the wedding banquet passed off, and what he thought he’d get up to next

  The blokes in my billet were amazed when I came home with such a girl. They were even more amazed to see how straightforwardly she went to bed with me. The farce I’d been involved in had given me plenty to think about, but I wasn’t such a fool as to spurn my bride. I took her in my arms, of course I did, but it was with a thousand thoughts whirling around in my head. What should my next step be? One minute I thought, ‘Serves you right!’ Next minute I felt I’d suffered the world’s worst insult, and if I left it unavenged I’d never live it down. However, when I reflected that any such vengeance was going to have to target my father-in-law and hence also my blameless beloved, all my plans fell apart. So ashamed did I feel, it might be best (I reckoned) if I kept my head down and wasn’t seen around for a while. However (I then decided), if I did that I’d be making the biggest mistake of all. I resolved eventually to try first to regain my father-in-law’s friendship, come what might; for the rest, I’d behave towards everyone as if nothing untoward had happened and my wedding had been arranged in the normal way. What I told myself was: ‘Given that the whole thing both began and turned out in an odd and unusual fashion, that’s how you must present it. If they thought this marriage was a burden to you and you entered it against your will like a tender young virgin being wed to a rich old scrote who can’t get it up, just think how you’d be teased!’

  It was in this mood that I rose early – although I’d rather have lingered in bed, believe me! The first thing I did was to get a message to my brother-in-law, the man who’d married my wife’s sister. Reminding him how closely related we now were, I asked him to send his better half round to help prepare the food I wanted to serve folk at my wedding breakfast. Would he also, I asked, put in a good word for me with the family? Then I could start drawing up a guest list for a banquet to seal the truce between me and my father-in-law. This he undertook to do, and off I trotted to see the commandant, to whom I gave an entertaining account of how I and my father-in-law had launched a new fashion for splicing couples. This involved everything happening so fast that inside an hour I had signed a pre-nup, attended church, and come out a married man. The only trouble was, my new father-in-law had skimped on the wedding breakfast. That had given me the idea of offering the leading townsfolk a slap-up supper, to which he was humbly invited. The commandant was tickled to bits by my account. In fact, seeing him in such a good mood made me feel able to push my luck even further. I even apologized for my unavoidable facetiousness. Other bridegrooms, I said, were not in full command of their wits for a fortnight before and a fortnight after their wedding day. To put it another way, they’d had an entire month to gloss over most of their less judicious moments and conceal their foolish side. Whereas I, overwhelmed by this marriage business, had had to shed every one of my tics at once, as it were, if I was to slip rather more sensibly into the wedded state. He quizzed me as to what sort of marriage contract I’d signed; how much of my father-in-law’s not inconsiderable estate had the old skinflint let me have in dowry? I replied that our agreement had contained only one point, which was that his daughter and I shouldn’t darken his door again. However, neither notaries nor witnesses had been present, so I hoped it could be revoked. Marriage, surely, is always dedicated to promoting good fellowship – unless of course it had been a case of him marrying off his daughter as Pythagoras had done his? However, that I couldn’t believe since I’d never to my knowledge given the man cause for offence.

  With such quips and allusions, which folk were not used to hearing from my lips in that town, I got the commandant to promise that he and my father-in-law (whom he was confident of persuading) would attend the wedding banquet. He also had a butt of wine and a stag sent to my kitchen immediately. Meanwhile I got everything ready for a right royal feast. I managed to assemble a substantial company, who not only made thoroughly merry together but also (and this was the main thing) so effectively reconciled my parents-in-law with myself and my spouse that they drank even more toasts to our good fortune than they’d hurled curses at us the night before. It became the talk of the town that we’d deliberately given our splicing so quaint a form. We’d not wanted any ill-wishers playing tricks on us both. Actually, a quick wedding had suited me well. If I’d got married in the usual way with everything announced from the pulpit in advance, I’m afraid a number of trollops might have made things difficult for me. There must have been a good half-dozen daughters of respectable local families who’d known me a little too well.

  The next day it was my father-in-law’s turn to entertain my wedding guests, though he didn’t do it half as well as me, being something of a stinge. This was the first time anyone had asked me what profession I was going to take up and how I thought of earning my living. And another ‘first’ struck me: my fine freedom was a thing of the past, I suddenly realize
d; I was going to have to change my ways. With a pretence of humility, I said I’d first ask my vastly experienced father-in-law for his trusty advice, then go along with that. The commandant, pleased with my answer, said, ‘Well, he’s a fresh young soldier. It would be the height of stupidity if now, with this war going on all around us, he were to swap the soldier’s trade for a different one. You’re far better off stabling your horse with someone else than paying for its fodder yourself. So far as I’m concerned, I’ll make him an officer whenever he likes.’ My father-in-law and I both thanked him, and the idea was as welcome to me then as it had been before. However, showing the commandant the letter from the merchant who was holding my hoard in Cologne, I said, ‘I must go and fetch this before I take up Swedish arms, because if anyone finds out I’m fighting for the other side they’ll dub me a traitor in Cologne and sequestrate my property, which after all is not something you’d stumble across ordinarily.’ I was right, they conceded, so the three of us, after talking the matter over, agreed as follows: I should leave for Cologne in the next few days, collect my hoard there, return to the citadel, and take up my promised commission then. A day was set for my father-in-law to receive his own company in the commandant’s regiment (as well as being restored to his former rank). Count von Götz and a contingent of Imperial troops were currently in Westphalia, based in Dortmund. Yet the commandant expected to be besieged that spring, so was keen to recruit good soldiers. However, his concern was groundless, since said Götz, following Johann de Werth’s defeat in the Breisgau, was obliged to quit Westphalia that same spring and move into the Upper Rhine against the Duke of Weimar, who’d laid siege to Breisach.

  Twenty-Three

  Simplicius comes to a town (giving it the name ‘Cologne’ only for form’s sake, of course) with the purpose of collecting his hoard

  Things can turn out in different ways. One person’s bad luck comes bit by bit; another’s comes all at once. Mine began so gently and agreeably that it didn’t feel like bad luck at all but the height of bliss. Little more than a week after marrying my lovely wife I donned my hunting outfit, shouldered my gun, and took my leave of her and her friends. I knew the whole route so the journey was trouble-free. In fact, no one saw me till I reached the barrier at Deutz which lies on this bank of the Rhine opposite Cologne. I saw plenty of folk myself, notably a peasant in the Bergisches Land who reminded me of my dad back in the Spessart, while his son was the spitting image of me at that age. The boy was herding the pigs as I tried to get past him, and the animals, sensing my presence, began to grunt, making him start swearing at them. He wished for thunder and hail to come down on their heads and for the devil to take them. Hearing this, the milkmaid shouted at him to stop that swearing or she’d tell his father. The lad then replied she should lick his arse and go fuck her mum, whereupon the farmer, also overhearing his son, came running out of the house with his stick and shouted, ‘Belt up, you little so-and-so! Button your filthy lip!’ And he grabbed him by the collar and started thrashing him like a dancing bear, yelling as each blow landed, ‘Take that, you sinner! Fuck your mum, is it? I’ll learn you, so I will!’ The firm discipline took me back to the old days; of course it did. However, if I lacked the self-knowledge or fear of God’s wrath to thank him daily for having led me out of such ignorance into the light of a higher understanding, what right had I to expect my present good fortune to last? On reaching Cologne I called in to see my Jupiter, who by then had entirely recovered his wits. I told him what had brought me to town, and he promptly informed me that I’d had a wasted journey. The merchant I’d left my hoard with had declared bankruptcy and scarpered. OK, my things had been placed under official seal and the merchant sternly recalled, but since he’d taken the best stuff with him he was not expected to return. Besides, by the time the case came up, much water would have flowed under the bridge. You can imagine how the news delighted me. My language was more colourful than a coachman’s. But what was the use? My hoard had gone, and there wasn’t a hope of getting it back. I’d brought only ten thaler with me, which was nowhere near enough to finance such a long stay. Anyway, as a member of an enemy garrison I risked being informed on – and landing in worse trouble than simply losing my property. On the other hand, returning empty-handed (i.e. deliberately abandoning my property) didn’t strike me as a good idea either. I decided in the end to remain in Cologne until the case had at least been heard, notifying my beloved of the reason for my absence. I hired a lawyer who was also a notary public, told him what I’d done, and asked for his advice and assistance. Plus I promised him a hefty bonus on top of his fee if he could sort matters out ASAP. He took on my case without hesitation, hoping to turn a good profit (he provided bed and board as well, you see). The very next day he accompanied me to the bankruptcy department, showed the officials the merchant’s original letter, and left a certified copy with them. They in turn informed us that we must wait until the whole case had been discussed in detail; not all the things mentioned in the letter were to hand.

  So I resigned myself to a further period of idleness. This gave me an opportunity of seeing what big-city life was like. As I said, my landlord was a notary public as well as an ordinary attorney. He also had some half-dozen lodgers. And he kept eight horses, which he hired out to tourists. He had two servants, a German and a Frenchman, both of whom could drive his hired carriages or escort riders and who together looked after the animals. With these three, or rather four strings to his bow, he didn’t just make a good living; he positively raked it in. And with no Jews permitted to live within the city limits, he could practise all the usury he wanted.

  I picked up a lot in the time I spent at his place, mainly in connection with identifying diseases, which is the greatest skill your medic possesses, apparently. Once properly diagnosed (my landlord assured me), a patient is halfway to being cured. Starting from the way he looked himself, I studied indispositions generally. I found people with fatal illnesses who were quite unaware of their condition. Other folk (even medical men) passed such wrecks as perfectly fit. I came across people who were sick with rage, and during fits of the disease they’d screw up their faces like demons, roar like lions, scratch like cats, lay about them like bears, bite like dogs, and to make themselves look more scary than rabid beasts grab whatever came to hand and fling things around like complete nutters. That kind of illness is said to spring from bile, but in my opinion it comes from a fool being arrogant. When you hear an angry person raving, for instance, particularly about nothing, two to one that person’s pride has got above his or her reason. It’s a condition that leads to endless misery, not only for the invalid personally but also for other folk. The victim will eventually suffer paralysis, gout and an early (not to say permanent) death. And although such sufferers are dangerously sick, they cannot in all conscience be described as patients, patience being what they most lack. I saw many struck down with envy who were said to be eating their hearts out, they looked so sallow and glum the whole time. This is the most dangerous illness of all, to my way of thinking, because it comes from the devil, albeit it brings some happiness, of course – to the victim’s enemies. The fact is, anyone curing such a victim deserves a pat on the back for bringing a lost sheep back to the Christian fold. It’s not a condition that afflicts proper Christians; only sinners suffer envy. I’d also call an addiction to gambling an illness. Folk call it the ‘gambling bug’, don’t they? Plus for those in its grip it acts as a real poison. It springs from idleness – not from greed, as so many insist. And if luxury and sloth are removed from the equation, the illness disappears by itself. I also found that over-indulgence in food and drink is an illness. It’s rooted in habit, not in excess. In this case poverty helps, though it doesn’t offer a radical cure. I’ve seen beggars feasting and wealthy misers forcing themselves to go hungry. Scoffing and boozing bring their own medicine with them, of course. It’s called ‘going short’ – not of food and drink but of physical health. In the end, sufferers inevitably heal them
selves; either indigence does this, or some other illness prevents them from over-indulging. Pride I’ve always seen as a kind of insanity stemming from ignorance. If a person genuinely possesses self-knowledge and is aware of his or her origins or eventual end, that person can never go on being an arrogant fool. No way. Every time I see a peacock or flashy French cockerel strutting his stuff, I have to admire the way a mindless beast can so artlessly mock poor mankind in his sick state. I’ve never been able to pinpoint the right drug for this illness. The fact is, without humility its sufferers can no more be cured than other fools can. I also discovered that laughing is an illness. Philemon died of it, of course, and Democritus carried the infection till his dying day. Even today you’ll hear women say they could have laughed themselves into the grave. The disease is said to originate in the liver, but I tend to think it stems from excessive stupidity. After all, since when has guffawing been a sign of wit? No need to prescribe a specific here. It’s a merry indisposition. Anyway, it usually wears off after a while – too soon, for some folk. Another thing I’ve noticed is that curiosity is also a disease; in the female sex it’s virtually innate. All right, it seems harmless enough, but actually it’s very dangerous. Our first mother was curious, remember, and we’re all still suffering the effects. For the rest, I’ll say nothing for now about sloth, wrath, envy, pride, lust and other diseases and sins; I never meant to cover such subjects anyway. I’ll go back instead to the subject of my landlord, who made me think about afflictions of that sort. Avarice consumed him to the very bone.