XIII
How Oliver Conceived That He Could Excuse His Brigand’s Tricks
A determined soldier whose business it is to hold his life cheap and to adventure it easily, is but a stupid creature. Out of a thousand fellows you could hardly have found one that would have gone as a guest to an unknown place with one that had even now tried to murder him. On the way I asked him which army he was of. So he said, he served no prince but was his own master, and asked of what party I was. I answered I had served the Duke of Weimar but had now my discharge, and was minded to betake myself home. Then he asked my name, and when I said “Simplicius” he turned him round (for I made him walk before me because I trusted him not) and looked me straight in the face. “Is not thy name also Simplicissimus?” quoth he. “Yea,” says I, “he is a rogue that denies his own name: and who art thou?” “Why, brother,” he answered, “I am Oliver, whom thou wilt surely remember before Magdeburg.” With that he cast away his gun and fell on his knees to beg for my pardon that he had meant to do me an ill turn, saying he could well conceive he could have no better friend in the world than he would find in me, since according to old Herzbruder’s prophecy I was so bravely to avenge his death. And I for my part did wonder at so strange a meeting, but he said, “This is nothing new: mountain and valley can never meet, but what is truly strange is this, that I from a secretary have become a footpad and thou from a fool a brave soldier. Be ye sure, brother, that if there were ten thousand like us, we could relieve Breisach tomorrow and in the end make ourselves masters of the whole world.”
With such talk we came at nightfall to a little remote labourer’s cottage: and though such boasting pleased me not, yet I said “Yea,” chiefly because his rogue’s temper was well known to me, and though I trusted him not at all, yet went I with him into the said house, in which a peasant was even then lighting a fire: to him said Oliver, “Hast thou aught ready cooked?” “Nay,” said the peasant, “but I have still the cold leg of veal that I brought from Waldkirch.” “Well then,” said Oliver, “go bring it here and likewise the little cask of wine.” So when the peasant was gone, “Brother,” said I (for so I called him to be safer with him) “thou hast a willing host.” “Oh, devil thank the rogue,” says he, “I do keep his wife and child for him and also he doth earn good booty for himself; for I do leave for him all the clothes that I capture, for him to turn to his own profit.” So I asked where he kept his wife and child; to which Oliver answered, he had them in safety in Freiburg, where he visited them twice a week, and brought him from thence his food, as well as powder and shot. And further he told me he had long practised this freebooter’s trade, and that it profited him more than to serve any lord: nor did he think to give it up till he had properly filled his purse. “Brother,” says I, “thou livest in a dangerous estate, and if thou art caught in such a villainy, how thinkest thou ’twould fare with thee?” “Aha,” says he, “I perceive thou art still the old Simplicissimus: I know well that he that would win must stake somewhat: but remember that their lordships31 of Nuremberg hang no man till they catch him.” So I answered, “Yea, but put the case, brother, that thou art not caught, which is yet but unlikely, since the pitcher that goes often to the well must break at last, yet is such a life as thou leadest the most shameful in the world, so that I scarce can believe thou canst desire to die in it.”
“What?” says he, “the most shameful? My brave Simplicissimus, I assure thee that robbery is the most noble exercise that one in these days can find in the world. Tell me how many kingdoms and principalities be there that have not been stolen by violence and so taken. Or is it ever counted for evil of a king or a prince in the whole world that he enjoys the revenues of his lands, which commonly have been gained by his forefathers with violence and conquest? Yea, what could be named more noble than the trade that I now follow? I well perceive that thou wouldst fain preach me a sermon showing how many have been hanged, drawn, and quartered for murder and robbery: but that I know already, for so the laws do command: yet wilt thou see none but poor and miserable thieves so put to death, as they indeed deserve for undertaking this noble craft, which is reserved for men of high parts and capacity. But when hast thou ever seen a person of quality punished by justice for that he has oppressed his people too much? Yea, and more than that, when is the usurer punished, that yet doth pursue this noble trade in secret, and that too under the cloak of Christian love? Why, then, should I be punishable, I that practise it openly without concealment or hypocrisy? My good Simplicissimus, thou hast never read thy Machiavel. I am a
