When Herzbruder saw how much I trusted him (as well as the sheer quantity of loot involved here, which without him I could have used to set myself up as quite some gentleman), he said, ‘Friend, for as long as I’ve known you you’ve shown the greatest love and loyalty towards me. But why? What makes you think I can ever repay you? I’m not talking simply about the money; the purely material debt I might eventually be able to redeem. I mean your love and loyalty. More: the trust you place in me is beyond all measure. In a nutshell, dear brother, such warm-heartedness makes me your slave. Your generosity towards me can only be wondered at; it can never be equalled. Good, honest Simplicius – who in these godless times, with all this wickedness around, wouldn’t even think that the indigent Herzbruder might simply make off with such wealth, leaving him the indigent one! I have to say, brother, this proof of true friendship binds me to you more tightly than the richest lord offering me thousands. My one wish, brother, is that you yourself should remain master, steward and dispenser of your own substance. For me, such friendship is all I desire.’ I replied, ‘What ringing words, dearest Herzbruder! I hear from your own lips how deeply you feel obliged to me, yet you decline to take steps to ensure that money belonging to us both is not squandered by me alone – and to the disadvantage of the pair of us.’ And so we went on, swapping quantities of such daft remarks, both of us blotto with mutual adoration. Herzbruder became at one and the same time my steward, my chancellor, my servant and my master. And since we’d nothing much else to keep us busy, we caught up: he recounted his life story and how Count von Götz had picked him out for promotion, while I told him what had happened to me since his late father’s demise. When he heard I had a young wife in L., he actually took me to task, saying I should have gone back to her rather than travel to Switzerland with him; that would have been more fitting, he opined, as well as being my duty. I excused myself by saying that I’d not been able to bring myself to abandon him, my absolutely best friend, in his wretched state. Herzbruder persuaded me to write to my wife, explaining my situation and promising to travel back to her just as soon as I could. I should also, he said, apologize for my long absence on the grounds of various adverse circumstances that had prevented me, much against my will, from rejoining her earlier.
Meanwhile Herzbruder had learnt from the newspapers that things were looking up for Count von Götz, who was about to be vindicated in the eyes of his Imp. Maj., released from custody, and even given command of an army again. He reported his own circumstances to Vienna as well as writing to the Elector of Bavaria’s army about the baggage he still had with them, and he began to hope that his own luck was on the turn. We therefore agreed to part in the spring, with him reporting to said count, me returning to L. and being reunited with my wife. Not wishing to spend the winter in idleness, however, we had an engineer teach us on paper more about fortifications than the kings of Spain and France had been able to build in bricks and mortar. I also got to know numerous alchemists who, smelling money, were willing to teach me how to make gold. All I had to do was put up the necessary capital. I think I’d have been persuaded, too, if Herzbruder hadn’t intervened with a polite ‘thanks, but no thanks’, saying to me, ‘Anyone with that sort of knack won’t go around like a beggar, cadging other people’s cash.’
While Herzbruder received a pleasant and extremely promising reply from said count in Vienna, I heard nothing from L., not a word, despite my sending duplicates by various posts. This pissed me off, frankly, and was the reason why, when spring came, rather than up sticks for Westphalia, I asked Herzbruder if he’d take me to Vienna with him and give me a taste of his hoped-for good fortune. Using my money, we kitted ourselves out like a couple of swashbucklers – complete with new outfits, horses, servants and weapons. We travelled via Constance to Ulm, where we embarked on a Danube river boat, reaching Vienna safe and sound a week later. En route I did nothing but eye the women who lived on the banks and who, when people sailing past called out to them, answered not with words but with proof positive – giving a fellow many a sight for (no longer) sore eyes.
Four
How Herzbruder and Simplicius get sucked into war again, and how they get out
How oddly things go in this changeable world! People often say, ‘Anyone who knew everything would soon be rich.’ What I say is, ‘Anyone capable of embracing his present consistently would soon be great and powerful.’ Because it’s a fact: many a scoundrel or cut-throat (two honorary titles often awarded to greedy bastards) will quickly accumulate wealth if he spots and exploits some opportunity, but that won’t make him great. He’ll be less well thought of – in fact, he’ll always remain less well thought of than in his former wretched state. But if he can make himself great and powerful, riches will inevitably follow. Luck (the usual bringer of power and riches) was very much a lady and gave me every opportunity, once I’d been in Vienna for a few days, to shin up the ladder of power. But I didn’t. Why not? Probably because fate, my fatum, had something else in mind – fatuity, maybe.
Count von der Wahl, under whose command I had earlier become a familiar figure in Westphalia, happened to be in Vienna himself when Herzbruder and I arrived. At a banquet attended by various members of the Imp. War Council, as well as by Count von Götz and others, talk turned to all kinds of oddbods, different individual soldiers, notorious leaders of raiding parties, etc. Von der Wahl recalled the Huntsman of Soest and told a string of stories about him, praising him so highly that some of those present, amazed to learn that the Huntsman was so young, regretted that the crafty Hessian colonel, S. A., had in effect shackled him with a woman and forced him to choose between laying down his arms and going over to the Swedes. The fact was, the estimable Count von der Wahl had made exhaustive enquiries regarding what the aforesaid colonel in command of L. had put me through. Herzbruder, who happened to be standing nearby and was keen to further my cause, humbly begged permission to speak. He knew the Huntsman of Soest better than anyone in the whole wide world, he explained. The man was not only an excellent soldier (Herzbruder continued), a fighter in thrall to the smell of gunpowder, but also a formidable horseman, a tip-top fencer, a fine gunsmith and bomb-maker, and a match for any sapper he was put up against. Leaving behind him in L. not only his wife (in connection with whom, Herzbruder further explained, he’d been so abominably deluded) but all his worldly goods, he had tried to rejoin the Imperial camp, become entangled in the unsuccessful campaign led by Count von Götz, and when taken prisoner by the Weimarers attempted once again to re-enlist with the Emperor’s forces. In the process he and one other had outfought a corporal and six musketeers detailed to bring him in. He’d come away with quite a haul of booty, which he’d used to get the two of them to Vienna, intending once again to place himself at HRE’s service in the fight against his enemies – should he be offered conditions acceptable to someone who no longer wished to fight as pure cannon fodder.
By this time the noble company had reached a level of drink-fuelled enthusiasm that would be satisfied with nothing less than seeing the Huntsman in the flesh, so Herzbruder was dispatched in a carriage to fetch me. On the way back he gave me instructions as to how I should behave towards folk of such eminence. My luck depended on it, he said. So back at the banquet I gave very brief, concise answers to all questions. Folk began to goggle slightly when they looked at me: here was a man of few words, which must mean I was making a clever point. In toto, my appearance seemed to please everyone, and anyway Count von der Wahl had already praised me as a good soldier. I began to feel tipsy myself. I think I may at some point have given the impression (quite rightly) that I was unused to such a posh audience. It ended up with a colonel of infantry suggesting I take command of a company in his regiment – which I didn’t refuse, thinking, ‘Bloody hell, I’ve got a captaincy. Well done! Not what you’d call child’s play.’ However, next day Herzbruder criticized my fecklessness. If I’d held out longer, he said, I might well have received a better offer.
That, then
, is how I became captain of a company. True, with me at its head the company had a full officer corps. However, all told it boasted a mere seven pairs of boots on the ground. Added to which, most of my officers were well tottery. That gave me pause for thought – as well as making us easier to wipe out during the brisk skirmish that soon followed. In that encounter Count von Götz lost his life, my mate Herzbruder lost his balls (a musket shot), and I took a bullet in the thigh (a relatively minor injury, you might say). We fell back on Vienna, partly to get treatment but also because we had our stuff there. Our wounds healed fast, but Herzbruder fell into a dangerous condition that the medics hadn’t spotted immediately. He lost the use of all four limbs as a choleric does with gall-poisoning. My friend was not in the least choleric by temperament. Nevertheless, he was advised to visit a spa, Griesbach in the Black Forest being recommended.
A change of fortune can come suddenly, you see. Only recently Herzbruder had been looking to have himself given a baronetcy and subsequently marry well while I was to be raised to the nobility. Now he had to rethink everything. Propagating was out (he’d lost the means), and since in consequence of his paralysis he might suffer a lengthy and tedious old age, he’d need good friends. Ergo, he drew up a will, making me his sole heir – mainly because he saw that my own future was likewise up in the air on his account. I’d be resigning my commission in order to free myself to accompany him to the spa and wait on him hand and foot until he was well again.
Five
Simplicius becomes a courier and learns, as Mercury, what Jupiter has in mind regarding war and peace
As soon as Herzbruder could get back on a horse we transferred our cash (because now we’d only one purse between us) to Basel, collected our mounts and our servants, and sailed back up the Danube to Ulm. From there we rode up to said spa. The month of May had come in and the weather was pleasant for travelling. On reaching our destination, we took rooms. I promptly rode on to Strasbourg, partly to collect some of our money (which we’d arranged to have forwarded from Basel) but also to look around for experienced medical men to prescribe drugs and a bathing schedule for Herzbruder. The doctors rode back with me and established that Herzbruder was suffering toxification. However, since the poison wasn’t strong enough to kill him instantly it had deposited itself in his limbs and would have to be removed by medicines, antidotes and sweat baths. Such a cure would take a week or so (eight, possibly). This immediately reminded Herzbruder of when and by whom he’d been poisoned – namely, by those who’d have hankered after his position in the army. And when he further gathered from the quacks that his condition didn’t require spa treatment, he became convinced that the same jealous rivals had bribed his field doctor to get him out of the way. Even so, he’d decided to stay on for the full cure. The air was good, he said, and his fellow spa visitors offered a variety of charms.
Not wishing to waste the time (I quite wanted to see my wife again, actually), and because Herzbruder had no particular need of me, I told my friend what I had in mind. He fell in with my plans enthusiastically, agreeing that I owed her a visit. In fact, he gave me many valuable items of jewellery to pass on to her with his apologies for having been one reason why I’d not come sooner. So off I rode to Strasbourg, where as well as seeing to certain money matters I made enquiries about how to arrange my journey in such a way as to make it as safe as possible. Travelling alone on horseback was out of the question, I was told. With so many garrisons attached to one side or the other, mutually hostile raiding parties made it anything but safe. I therefore obtained a Strasbourg courier’s pass and wrote a series of letters to my wife, her sister and her parents as if with a view to dispatching the courier with them to L. But then, pretending to have changed my mind, I persuaded the courier to hand over the pass, sent my horse and servant back, disguised myself in the appropriate red and white uniform, and sailed to Cologne, which at that time occupied a neutral position between the warring armies.
I called first on my Jupiter (who’d earlier decided that I was his Ganymede), keen to find out how matters stood with regard to the treasure I’d left there. However, Jupiter was in his usual foul mood – thoroughly pissed off with the whole human race. ‘Ah, Mercury!’ he said as soon as he saw me, ‘What’s new from Münster? Presumably folk are thinking about making peace without my say-so? Oh, no – I’m not having that again! Peace was theirs; why didn’t they keep it? Wasn’t every vice on Earth in full flower when they got me to send them war? What have they done since to deserve peace being restored? Have they seen the light in some way? Things are actually far worse for them now, surely? They strolled into war like folk going to the fair for a night’s fun. Maybe this inflation has given them second thoughts, with so many thousands starving. Or is it perhaps fear of a gruesome death (as suffered by millions) that’s made them change their minds? No, no, Mercury – those who’ve survived, seeing the misery and wretchedness with their own eyes, have not only refused to turn over a new leaf; they’re behaving worse than ever! If a hulking great cross (a burden of affliction if ever there was one) won’t make them mend their unholy ways, what will happen if I give them back the golden delights of peace? I ought to worry that, like the Titans of old, they’d storm heaven itself eventually. But I won’t. I’ll thwart such spite and let them stew in their own wicked juice.’
Knowing from experience how any such divinity needs delousing to put him in a good mood, I said, ‘Ah, Almighty One, but look: folk long for peace, and they promise to improve. Why keep them waiting?’ ‘Oh, they long all right; I hear them sighing. But not for my benefit – for their own. Not for the chance to praise God under their vines and under their fig trees but to be able to enjoy the good fruit of those shrubs undisturbed. I recently asked a grinch of a tailor whether he thought I should bestow peace. He didn’t much care, he replied; peace or war, he still had to fight for a living. I got a similar answer from a brass-founder: in peacetime he wondered where the next bell contract was coming from; in war his order books were full to bursting with muskets and cannon galore. A blacksmith told me, “I don’t get a lot of ploughs and farm carts when there’s a war on, but I do get plenty of farrier work and army wagons. You can keep your ceasefires.” No, Mercury, you look: why should I give them peace? OK, there are folk who prefer it, but only (like I said) for the sake of their bellies and for other pleasures. Others want to hang on to war, not because it’s my will but because it brings in money. Stonemasons and carpenters long for peace; then they can earn, putting up new buildings or restoring wartime ruins. Folk who worry about getting by, feeding themselves by the work of their hands, want war to continue. In war you can steal your grub.’
With my Jupiter so preoccupied I could well imagine that, given the tangled nature of the situation, he wouldn’t be able to tell me much about my stuff. So without reminding him who I was I took matters into my own hands. Keeping to the back roads I knew so well, I made my way to L. When I got there, I asked about my father-in-law – covertly, though, still posing as a perfectly ordinary courier. My enquiries revealed that both my parents-in-law had passed on some six months earlier, and that my better half, immediately after dropping a son (who now lived with her sister), had also quit the temporal realm. I then delivered to my brother-in-law the letters I’d personally written to my father-in-law, to my darling wife, and to himself. He insisted that I lodge with him, wishing to learn (from me as a courier) how things were with Mr Simplicius. For the same reason my sister-in-law interrogated me (as a courier), enquiring how I (as Simplicius) was getting on, to which I (speaking as the courier, of course) replied in the most flattering terms. You see, the pox had so ruined my once handsome phiz as to make me unrecognizable – except by von Schönstein, who as a loyal friend kept it buttoned.
I gave my sister-in-law a detailed account of how Mr Simplicius kept many fine horses and a servant to look after them; he also wore a black velvet cloak liberally decorated with gold braid. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I always thought his background was
better than he claimed. The commandant insisted to my late parents that they’d most advantageously saddled him with my late sister, an indubitably pious virgin for whom I’d never been able to predict a good end. Still, he submitted willingly enough and made up his mind to join the Swedish or should I say Hessian forces garrisoned in this town, accordingly travelling to Cologne to fetch the hoard he’d stashed there. Things dragged on a bit in Cologne, and during that time he was most wickedly tricked into going to France, leaving my sister (who’d had him less than a month) behind pregnant, along with half a dozen other girls of good family in L. These then dropped sons one after another (my sister coming last), and when father and mother passed away subsequently, my husband and I having found we couldn’t have children of our own accepted my sister’s child as our sole heir. With the assistance of the commandant we brought the child’s father’s hoard from Cologne. Altogether the estate is worth some 3,000 florins, which means that, when the lad comes of age, he won’t have to be classed as poor. Also, my husband and I love the child so much, we wouldn’t give him up to the father even if he came in person to take him away. Added to which, he’s far better-looking than his half-brothers – his father’s spitting image, in fact. And if the father ever found out what a perfectly lovely son he has in this place, he’d not be able to prevent himself from coming here in person (even if he shunned all his bastard sprogs) just for one glimpse of the little darling.’
The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus Page 39
