The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus

by Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen

Twenty-Six

  Is the last in this fourth book, there being no more

  Our unexpected reunion meant that we hardly had time to eat or drink anything; we were both so busy finding out what the other had been doing since our last meeting. However, with the landlord (who was also the waiter) coming and going continually, we couldn’t exactly swap secrets. The landlord was astonished that I let such a fleabag sit next to me, but I assured him: that was quite normal in wartime, between two proper soldiers who were also friends. And because I also gathered that Herzbruder had been in hospital until recently, living from what he could beg, and that his wounds had been carelessly dressed, I booked a private room, put Herzbruder to bed, and had the best surgeon in town look him over from top to toe. I also sent for a tailor and a seamstress to make him new clothes and rescue him from the jaws of the bugs that were biting him so terribly. I had those dubloons that Olivier had removed from the dead Jew’s mouth, you see, so I slammed the purse down on the table and said to Herzbruder (in the landlord’s hearing), ‘Look, bro, there’s my money. I’m going to splurge it on you and we’re going to start by getting outside a hearty meal together.’ The landlord served up a copious spread, and later, as I showed the surgeon the ruby likewise supplied by said Jew and worth around twenty thaler, I told him that, having spent what little cash I had on the meal and on dressing my friend, I’d give him the ring if he put said friend back on his feet pronto. The surgeon agreed and set to work conscientiously.

  I lavished care on Herzbruder as if he’d been my alter ego. I had a neat little outfit run up for him out of grey fabric. But not before I’d been back to see the commandant about the pass and told him what had happened: I’d met up with an old friend who’d been knocked about a bit, and I wanted to wait until he was quite well before I left; I couldn’t answer for what might occur if I rejoined my regiment straight away. Praising my resolve, the commandant said I might stay as long as I liked; then, as soon as my friend was fit, he’d give us both passes that would get us anywhere.

  When I returned to Herzbruder and had a moment alone with him, sitting at his bedside, I begged him to tell me frankly how he’d got into that dreadful state. I thought he might have been toppled from his high perch for good reason, perhaps as a result of some error on his part, then been stripped of his rank and reduced to his present penury. But what he said was, ‘Look, brother, I was von Götz’s aide-de-camp, as you know, and secretly his best friend. You also know, I’m sure, what a disaster this last campaign under his generalship and with him in active command turned out to be. We not only lost the Battle of Wittenweier; we also failed to lift the siege of Breisach. Reports of what happened vary widely. Some have been most unfair. The count himself has been recalled to Vienna to answer for his conduct. Because of all this, in my shame and timidity I decided to lie low – very low, as you see. Many’s the time I’ve wished to die in this wretched situation. At the very least, I want to keep my head down until Count von Götz has proved his innocence. To my mind, his loyalty to the Holy Roman Emperor has been unimpeachable. The fact that he’s had no luck this past summer is due more, in my opinion, to divine providence (which awards victory to its own favourite) than to any negligence on the count’s part.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘our orders were to relieve Breisach, and since I could see we weren’t making much of a fist of it I prepared for battle myself and took part in the assault on the pontoon bridge personally as if mustard-keen to wind up the whole show on my own. This was neither my speciality nor my responsibility. I acted purely to set an example to the others – and because we’d got nowhere all summer. As luck would have it (bad luck, in the event), I was one of the first to see the whites of the enemy’s eyes as we stormed the bridge. It was quite a fight, I can tell you, and having been in the front rank in the attack, I was very much in the rear as we turned tail, faced with the frenzy of the French defence. Just before I fell into enemy hands, I took a shot in my right arm and another in the thigh. I could neither keep pace with the retreat nor wield my rapier, and the tightness of the battle site combined with the fierceness of the battle itself allowed little time for discussion of questions of giving and receiving quarter. A blow on the head knocked me to the ground, and since I was wearing fine clothes several men stripped me in an instant and rolled me into the Rhine as dead. In my distress I cried out to God and surrendered myself to his will, and as I blabbered various vows I sensed him coming to my aid. The river deposited me on the bank, where I stuffed moss into my wounds. I was close to frozen, yet somehow I found the strength (God’s aid, perhaps, because I was terribly wounded) to climb out of the water, where a bunch of Merode Brothers and soldiers’ wives took pity on me – amazingly; they didn’t know me from Adam! They’d already lost hope of the siege being lifted, which hurt more than my wounds. Nevertheless, they gave me something to wear and warmed me at their fire. Yet even before I’d had time to dress my wounds, I had to watch as our troops prepared to make an ignominious retreat, giving up the fight as lost. That pained me even more and made me decide on the spot to reveal my identity to no one, wanting none of that ignominy. I joined a party of wounded from our ranks who had their own sawbones with them. I gave the man a small gold crucifix that I still had around my neck, and in return he’s been tending my wounds up to now. That, dear Simp, is the sort of self-imposed penury I’ve been struggling with ever since. I’m determined not to show my face in public until I see how things turn out for Count von Götz. And your generosity and loyalty are a huge encouragement. God in his mercy has not abandoned me. The moment I came out of early Mass this morning and saw you standing outside the commandant’s quarters, I knew: God has sent you to me as his angel of mercy. You’re the one who will help me in my wretchedness!’ I gave Herzbruder what consolation I could and assured him that I’d more money than the dubloons he’d seen already. It was his, I told him. I also reported Olivier’s passing and how I’d been obliged to avenge the fellow’s death. All of which cheered Herzbruder up so much that his wounds began to heal more quickly and his general condition improved daily.

  END OF BOOK FOUR

  Book Five

  * * *

  One

  How Simplicius becomes a pilgrim and goes on pilgrimage with Herzbruder

  Once Herzbruder was himself again and his wounds had healed up, he told me that in his hour of need he’d vowed to make a pilgrimage to Einsiedeln. Now he was so close to Switzerland, he thought he’d keep that vow, even if it meant getting down on his knees and begging me. I liked the idea very much, actually, so I offered him money and my company and said I’d go out immediately and buy us a couple of nags for the trip. I was motivated less by piety than by a desire to see the Federation itself, that being the only country in which peace still reigned. So I was delighted to be of service to Herzbruder for such a journey, particularly since I loved him almost more than myself. However, he turned down both offers: that of help and that of company. His pilgrimage had to be made on foot, he said – with dried peas in his footwear into the bargain. And if I came along, I’d only get in the way of his devotions; plus I’d be very bored with the slow pace of his progress. The real reason for his refusal, though, was that he felt bad about so holy an enterprise being funded with money obtained through murder and robbery. He was also reluctant to put me to such expense, saying straight out that I’d already done more for him than he deserved, let alone felt able to repay. In fact, we got into something of a ding-dong about the whole business. I’d never experienced anything quite so delightful: two friends haggling over peanuts. All we were saying was that we hadn’t even come close to doing what mates ought to be doing for each other the entire time. Even then, I couldn’t persuade him to accept me as a travelling companion – until I realized that it wasn’t just Olivier’s money that disgusted him; it was also my godless existence. So I resorted to another porkie: I told him it was my determination to change my ways that moved me to visit Einsiedeln. If he held me back from performing
this good work and I died as a result, how could he ever forgive himself? That convinced him. He permitted me to accompany him to said place of pilgrimage, particularly in view of the twin facts (both lies) that I regretted my wicked existence and would perform the penance of, like him, walking to Einsiedeln with dried peas in my boots.

  Hardly was the spat over before we fell into another. Too conscientious by half, Herzbruder refused to let me accept a pass from the commandant that said I was returning to my regiment. ‘How can you do that,’ he asked, ‘when we’ve decided to turn our lives around and go on a pilgrimage to Einsiedeln?’ He quoted, ‘ “he that denieth me before men shall be denied before the angels of God,” says Christ. And now, for God’s sake, you want to start off with a deception, pulling the wool over people’s eyes. How mealy-mouthed is that? If all martyrs and self-confessed Christians had done that, there wouldn’t be many saints in heaven! No, let us in God’s name and under his protection step out in the direction in which our pious resolve and our hearts’ desire both guide us. Let us profess the Lord in all things that he may lead us to the place where our souls shall find rest.’ I pointed out a couple of things: (a) we shouldn’t take God for granted; we should fall in with the zeitgeist and use the basic tools to hand, particularly since going on pilgrimage is not something soldiers are in the habit of doing. And (b), if we did disclose our intentions, we were more likely to be fingered as deserters than taken for pilgrims, particularly in the light of St Paul the Apostle (with whom we weren’t to be compared, far from it; he fitted into the ways of his time quite wonderfully). Herzbruder eventually relented, letting me obtain a pass to return to my regiment, and as the gate of the citadel closed behind us we followed a trusty signpost out of the town in the direction of Rottweil. However, we soon turned off the main road and, using byways, crossed into Switzerland that same night. In the morning we came to a village where we kitted ourselves out with long black cloaks, pilgrims’ staves and rosaries. We sent the guide back with his purse jingling.

  The country looked odd to me after the German states. We might have been in Brazil or China. People were going about their business in peace. Cattle sheds stood full of livestock, farmyards teemed with hens, geese and ducks, inns with people having a good time; the roads were safe to travel on, no man went in fear of the enemy or of being attacked and robbed or of losing his property or well-being or even his life; everyone lived in safety under his vine and under his fig tree. In fact, compared with other German-speaking areas all was merriment and delight. To me, it was like heaven on Earth, except that the manners were a little rough. One result was that I spent much of the journey gawking at my surroundings, while Herzbruder walked bent over his rosary in prayer – with frequent mutterings in my direction. He wanted to have me praying the whole time, just like him, which I couldn’t get used to doing.

  In Zurich he caught me cheating and gave me no end of a ticking-off. He pulled no punches. Yet he was quite right. You see, when we’d stopped at Schaffhausen the night before my feet had been giving me gyp on account of the dried peas. Dreading the next day’s torture, I’d had the peas boiled before putting them back in my boots. That got me to Zurich in relative comfort, but he took it badly. ‘Brother,’ he’d been saying, ‘God has bestowed great grace on you, allowing you to make such progress despite the dried peas in your boots.’ ‘Ah, yes, my dear Herzbruder,’ I said. ‘That’s because I boiled them first; otherwise I’d never have got this far.’ ‘God have mercy!’ he replied. ‘What have you done? If you’d left them out of your boots completely, that would have been better than having you send up the whole business. It may be now that God will punish us both in some way. Brother, don’t be offended if my brotherly love gives it to you straight, but I worry that, if your attitude to God doesn’t change, you’ll be placing your very salvation at risk. To be honest with you, there’s no one on Earth I love more than you. Yet there’s also no denying: unless you turn over a new leaf, I can’t promise such love will continue.’ I was dumbstruck. Quite literally. For some time, I couldn’t open my mouth. Eventually, I confessed: I’d put the dried peas in my boots not out of piety but in order to please him; I so much wanted to be allowed to come with him. ‘Oh, brother,’ he replied, ‘now I see it: how far you are from the path of redemption! Peas or no peas, God speed your recovery. Otherwise, I can’t see our friendship lasting.’

  From that day on I followed him sadly, like one being led to the gallows. My conscience weighed on me. I had all kinds of misgivings. All the villainies I’d ever committed passed before my eyes, and for the first time I rued my lost innocence – the innocence I’d brought out of the forest and forfeited in so many ways in the wider world. And what increased my misery was that Herzbruder talked to me less. Instead, he sighed whenever he set eyes on me. It was as if, knowing me damned, he was mourning me in advance.

  Two

  Simplicius sees the light – after getting one hell of a fright

  With our relationship at this low ebb, we came at last to Einsiedeln. As we entered the church, a priest was exorcizing a man possessed. This was something new and strange to me. I left Herzbruder on his knees (he was quite happy; he’d have prayed till the cows came home) and moved closer to the spectacle, consumed by curiosity. However, as I approached, the evil spirit cried out from inside the poor fellow, ‘Hey, look what the cat brought in! Olivier said I might meet you here when I bumped into him recently in hell – where we share a room now. So this is where you were headed, you adulterous, murdering whore-chaser. Thought you could escape our clutches, eh? Don’t touch this one, rev. He’s a slippery customer – worse liar than I am myself. Fact is, the fellow’s a phoney. He simply pisses on God and religion!’ The exorcist commanded the spirit to shut up; as an arch-liar himself, he’d not be believed in any case. ‘Oh, yes?’ the spirit retorted. ‘Ask this jumped-up friar’s pilgrim mate – he’ll tell you: the unbelieving worm went to the lengths of boiling the dried peas he’d vowed to walk here on.’ At this, I came over all woozy, incapable of telling my up from my down as I heard the spirit ranting away and saw everyone staring at me. Except the priest, of course, who gave the spirit another tongue-lashing, albeit he was not, on this occasion, able to drive the ranter out. Meanwhile, friend Herzbruder had come up. Seeing me look more dead than alive, he was in two minds (half fearful, half hopeful) as to what he should do. He consoled me as best he could while assuring the bystanders (those of the cloth, particularly) that I’d never been a monk in my life; I was a soldier. OK, he conceded, I may indeed have performed more evil deeds than good ones, but he also pointed out that the devil was a liar and had made the business of the peas sound worse than it had been. Nevertheless, I was so confused emotionally that I felt I was already suffering the torments of hell. That was all the excuse the priests needed to offer me the solace of confession and communion, whereupon the spirit cried out again through the mouth of the possessed man, ‘Oh, yes, he’ll have some of that! No, but seriously – he doesn’t even know what the words mean. Why are you bothering with him, anyway? He’s a heretic; he’s one of us. His parents were more Anabaptist than Calvinist’, and so on and so forth. The exorcist once again ordered the spirit to belt up, telling him, ‘In which case you’ll be even more miffed if this poor, lost sheep is snatched back from the jaws etc. and returned to the body of Christ.’ Hearing this, the spirit began screaming in tones that were terrible to hear. To me, however, the sound couldn’t have been more reassuring: if I’d been beyond God’s grace, the devil wouldn’t have been half so upset.

  I wasn’t actually ready for the confessional. In fact, my whole life long I’d never troubled it with my presence, feeling as much shame at doing so as the devil feels fear of the Holy Cross. At the same time, I now repented so deeply of my sins and wished so fervently to atone for them and live a holier life that I asked for a confessor right away. Herzbruder was delighted by my resolve to turn my life around. He knew, I’m sure, that until then I’d adhered to no religious denom
ination. Now, however, I’d openly acknowledged Roman Catholicism, confessed, received absolution, and made my communion. Plus I felt unimaginably light of heart. The best of it was, afterwards the spirit in the possessed man left me in peace, whereas before my confession and absolution he’d brought up a whole lot of misdeeds that I’d committed in the past and flung them in my face – for no other reason, apparently, than to highlight my sinful nature. However, knowing him to be a liar, the bystanders hadn’t believed a word he said, particularly since my pilgrim image suggested the opposite.

  We spent a whole fortnight in that holy place, with me thanking God daily for my conversion and meditating on the miracle that had occurred there – all of which moved me to a good deal of piety and godliness. Yet although they lasted some time, these feelings, they sprang, like my conversion, not from love of God but from fear of damnation. Gradually, I sank back into idleness and apathy. Little by little, the fright the Evil One had given me faded in memory. And when we’d spent enough time in the church, rubbernecking the relics and the treasure and other sights, off we went to Baden, where we overwintered.

  Three

  How the two friends spend the winter

  There I rented a pleasant parlour and bedroom that were otherwise, particularly in the summer months, used by spa visitors. These were for the most part wealthy Swiss who came more to enjoy themselves and be seen than to bathe for the relief of personal infirmities. I also booked board for us both. However, when Herzbruder saw me splashing out like that he counselled thrift, reminding me how long and harsh the winter could be that we now had to survive. He feared my money would run out. I’d need some for the spring, he told me, when we’d be thinking of moving on. ‘Waste not, want not,’ he’d say. ‘The fatter the purse, the faster it empties’ – stuff like that. With so many well-meant reminders, I could no longer hide from Herzbruder how much money I actually had and that I meant to spend it on us both – the more so since its source and the way I’d got hold of it had made it unworthy of benediction. I couldn’t, for instance, think of using it to acquire any kind of buy-to-rent property, and I had no desire to invest it myself – even to provide an income for my dearest friend on Earth. So what more fitting than that Herzbruder should benefit from Olivier’s pelf to make up for the insult sustained at Magdeburg? Accordingly, knowing I was safe from prying eyes, I removed my improvised vest, extracted the ducats and pistoles, and told Herzbruder that he was free to invest or distribute the money as he wished and as he thought might be best for us both.