Simplicissimus (41 page)
They don’t stand guard, they don’t dig trenches, they don’t line up in battle formation, they don’t storm ramparts, and they still get fed! But the harm a large number of such vermin can do their general, their comrades and the army itself is beyond description. The most bungling raw recruit who can do nothing but forage is more use to his commander than a thousand Merode’s Brethren who make a profession of malingering and spend all their time sitting on the backsides doing nothing. They get captured by the enemy (in some places even the country folk give them what-for), thus weakening the army and strengthening the opposing side. And if one of these dissolute rogues (I don’t mean soldiers with genuine wounds or illnesses, but troopers who have lost their mounts through not taking proper care of them and join Merode’s Brethren to have an easy life) survives the summer, all that means is that the army has to go to the expense of re-equipping him during the winter so that he has something he can lose during the next campaign. They ought to be leashed together like greyhounds and sent to the garrisons to learn how to fight, or even chained to the galleys, if they refuse to do their bit with the infantry until they get a new mount. All this is without mentioning the many villages they carelessly or deliberately burn down, the soldiers from their own side they unseat, plunder, rob and even murder, and any spy can hide among them as long as he can give the name of one regiment and company in the army.
This, then, was the honourable brotherhood I now joined, and I stayed with them until the day before the Battle of Wittenweier, when our headquarters were in the monastery at Schuttern. My comrades and I went to the county of Geroldseck, to steal cows or oxen as was our wont, and were taken prisoner by Weimar troops who knew just how to deal with the likes of us. They gave us muskets and dispersed us among various regiments; I was put in Colonel Hattstein’s.
That was the time when it became clear to me I was born to misfortune. About four weeks before the above-mentioned battle took place I had overheard some officers from Götz’s regiment discussing the war and one of them said, ‘We won’t get through this summer without a battle. If we defeat the enemy, we’re sure to occupy Freiburg and the four Forest Towns, and if we get beaten, we’ll still end up in winter quarters.’ I drew my own conclusions from this prophecy, telling myself I could look forward to drinking good Lake and Neckar wine next spring and everything else the Weimar troops would win. Unfortunately this was well wide of the mark. Now that I was a Weimar soldier myself, I was destined to take part in the siege of Breisach, which was started immediately after the Battle of Wittenweier. Like all the musketeers I had to dig trenches and stand guard day and night and all I got from it was that I learnt how to use approach trenches to undermine a town, something I had not paid much attention to at the siege of Magdeburg. Otherwise conditions were pretty wretched; we slept two or three to a tent, my purse was empty, wine, beer and meat a rarity and my greatest delicacy some apples or a half portion of bread.
I found this hard to put up with when I thought back to the fleshpots of Lippstadt with its Westphalian hams and sausages. I didn’t think of my wife at all, except when I was lying in my tent half-frozen. Then I would say to myself, ‘Well Simplicius, and can you complain if someone does to you what you did to others in Paris?’ I was tormented by this thought like any jealous cuckold, even though I had no reason to believe my wife was anything other than faithful and virtuous. At last I became so impatient that I told my captain what my situation was and sent a letter by post to Lippstadt. Colonel Saint Andrée and my father-in-law wrote to the Duke of Weimar who ordered my captain to give me a pass and let me go.
About a week, or maybe four days before Christmas I set off from the camp with a good musket to make my way through the Breisgau and down to Strasbourg, assuming I would find the twenty thalers my father-in-law had sent waiting there for me at the Christmas fair. Then I intended to attach myself to some merchants and go down the Rhine with them, since there were many imperial garrisons en route. However, as I was passing a lonely house beyond Endingen, there was a shot which nicked the brim of my hat and a strong, burly man came dashing out of the house, shouting to me to put my gun down. ‘Not on your life, mister’, I said, and cocked my musket. At that he drew something that was more like an executioner’s sword than a soldier’s blade and came running towards me. Now that I saw he was in earnest I pulled the trigger and hit him full on the forehead so that he staggered and fell to the ground. To make the most of my advantage I ran up to him, pulled the sword out of his hand and tried to run him through. However, it didn’t even pierce his skin and he suddenly jumped back on his feet and grabbed me by the hair. I dropped the sword and did the same to him. Then began a desperate struggle in which each in his fury showed what he was capable of, but neither could gain the upper hand. Now I was on top, now he, then we were both back on our feet again, but not for long since we were each determined to kill the other. My nose and mouth were bleeding, and since he was so clearly after my blood, I spat it out into his face, half blinding him. We spent an hour and a half rolling around in the snow like this until we were both so weak and weary that neither could finish off the other without the aid of a weapon. I had often practised wrestling in Lippstadt and it served me well here, otherwise I would quickly have lost, since my opponent was much stronger than I and proof against steel. When we were both almost dead from exhaustion he finally said, ‘ Stop, brother, I surrender.’
‘You should have let me pass in the first place’, I said.
‘What will you get out of killing me?’ he answered.
‘And what would you have got out of shooting me?’ I asked. ‘I haven’t a penny on me.’
At that he begged my forgiveness, and I gave in, allowing him to get up after he had solemnly sworn that not only would he not attack me again but he would be a loyal friend and servant to me. If I had known then all the evil deeds he had already committed, I would have neither believed nor trusted him.
When we were both back on our feet we shook hands, agreeing to forget what had happened. Each of us was surprised to have found his master in the other, and my assailant assumed that I, like him, had a magic spell to make my skin proof against all weapons. I did not disabuse him so that when he got his sword back he would not bother trying to use it against me. He had a huge bruise on his forehead from my bullet and I had bled a lot, but it was our necks that were worst; we had grabbed each other so fiercely by the throat that now neither of us could hold his head up straight.
Night was beginning to fall and my adversary told me I wouldn’t find a cat or a dog, never mind another human being until I came to the Kinzig. He had a decent joint of meat and a good drop of wine in an isolated cottage not far from the road, he said, so I let him persuade me to accompany him. As we made our way there he kept sighing and saying how sorry he was he had attacked me.
A resolute soldier who has accepted that he is risking his life and holds it cheap must be a stupid beast! You could take a thousand men and not one would dream of accepting an invitation from someone who had just tried to kill them to go and stay with them in an unknown house.
On the way I asked him which side he was on, to which he replied that at the moment he served no one, but just fought for himself. Which side was I on? I told him I had been with the Weimar army but had got my discharge and intended to go home. At that he asked me what my name was. When I answered Simplicius he turned round (for I still didn’t trust him and made him walk in front of me), looked me straight in the face and asked ,‘Is your surname Simplicissimus.’
‘Yes’, I replied, ‘only a rogue would deny his own name. What are you called?’
‘Why, brother’, he replied, ‘I’m Oliver. Surely you remember me from the camp outside Magdeburg?’ Having said that, he threw his musket to the ground and went down on his knees begging my forgiveness for trying to harm me. He couldn’t imagine a better friend in the world than I would be, he said, since according to old Herzbruder’s prophecy I was to bravely go and avenge his death. I was amazed at this strange coincidence but he said, ‘That’s nothing new at all, it’s only mountains and valleys that never meet. What I do find strange, though, is how much we have both changed, I from a secretary to a bandit, you from a fool to a brave soldier. I tell you, brother, if there were ten thousand like us we could relieve Breisach tomorrow and make ourselves masters of the whole world.’
Talking like this we reached a small, isolated labourer’s cottage just before nightfall. I didn’t like his boasting but said I agreed with him because I knew his crafty, double-dealing ways, and I went with him into the cottage even though I didn’t trust him an inch. The farm labourer was just lighting the fire. ‘Have you cooked anything?’ Oliver asked.
‘No’, replied the labourer, ‘I’ve still got the roast leg of veal I brought back from Waldkirch today.’
‘Well go and get out what you have’, said Oliver, ‘and bring out the cask of wine too.’
When he left I said to Oliver, ‘Brother’ – I called him that to keep on the right side of him – ‘you have a very willing landlord.’
‘The devil I have!’ he replied. ‘I feed him, and his wife and child, and he gets a decent haul for himself into the bargain; I give him all the clothes I take, to use as he sees fit.’
I asked him where he kept his own wife and child, and he said he had found them safe quarters in Freiburg where he visited them twice a week and brought back rations as well as powder and lead. He went on to tell me he had been a bandit for some time now, he preferred it to serving some master and intended to go on until he had filled his purse fit to burst.
‘Brother’, I said, ‘that’s a dangerous trade. You know what they’ll do to you if they catch you.’
‘Ha!’ he said, ‘I see you’re still the same old Simplicius. I know the risks, but nothing venture, nothing win. And let me remind you the authorities don’t hang a man unless they have him.’
‘Well then’, I replied, ‘even assuming you don’t get caught – which is pretty uncertain, there’s many a slip between cup and lip – this life you are living is the most dishonourable in the world. I can’t believe you want to die in it?’
‘What!?’ he said. ‘Dishonourable!? I assure you that robbery is the most noble occupation you can have nowadays. You just tell me how many kingdoms and principalities have been acquired by robbery and violence? Is there a king or prince anywhere in the world who is criticised for enjoying the revenues from his lands, which their forefathers generally conquered by force. Therefore what could be called more noble than my current activity? I can see you’re about to tell me how many men have been broken on the wheel, hung or beheaded for murder, robbery and theft. I know that myself already; that’s what the law prescribes. But you’ll only have seen poor, petty thieves executed, and quite right too! They shouldn’t have taken up this excellent profession, which is only suitable for men of courage and nerve. When did you ever see the law punish a person of rank for oppressing their country? And usurers who pursue that fine art under the cloak of Christian charity are never punished. Why should I deserve punishment when I do these same things openly, without any attempt at concealment or hypocrisy? I can see you haven’t read Machiavelli, my dear Simplicius. I have my principles, I follow this way of life openly and I’m not ashamed of it. I live by the sword and I risk my life doing so, just like the heroes of old. I know that all professions are permitted where those who pursue them endanger their lives, and so it is only logical that, since I put my life in danger, my occupation is allowed.’
To this I replied, ‘Leaving aside the question of whether robbing and stealing is allowed or not, I do know that it is against the law of nature, which says that one man should not do to another what he would not like done to himself. And it is against the laws of man as well, which ordain that thieves should be hung, robbers beheaded and murderers broken on the wheel. Finally, it is against the highest law of all, the law of God, which leaves no sin unpunished.’
‘It is just as I said’, replied Oliver. ‘You’re still the same old Simplicius who hasn’t read his Machiavelli yet. If I could establish a kingdom by such methods, I’d like to see who would preach a sermon against them.’ Our argument could have gone on for a long time, but the labourer came with the food and drink, so we sat down and concentrated on the inner man, which in my case was very necessary.
We had white bread and cold roast veal to eat, a good glass of wine to drink and a warm room to sit in. ‘Now Simplicius’, said Oliver, ‘this is better than sitting in a trench before Breisach, isn’t it?’
‘It certainly would be’, I said, ‘if one could enjoy a life like this with greater security and greater honour.’
At that he laughed out loud and said, ‘Are those poor devils in the trenches, worrying all the time about the next sortie, more secure than we are? I can see you’ve got rid of your fool’s cap, Simplicius, but you’ve still got that foolish head of yours, still can’t tell what is good from what is bad. If you weren’t that same Simplicius who, according to old Herzbruder’s prophecy, is going to avenge my death, I’d soon have you agreeing I lead a nobler life than any baron.’
Where’s all this leading? I thought. You’d better take a different tone, Simplicius, otherwise this monster might do away with you, especially given he’s got the labourer to help him. So I said, ‘Who ever heard of an apprentice being better at his trade than his master? Brother, if the life you lead is as happy-go-lucky as you claim, then share it with me, I’m in dire need of a bit of luck.’
