The Adventurous Simplicissimus

so grievous that I sank at his feet as if I were dead. Yet did he raise me up and comfort me so far as time and opportunity did allow, and would show me mine own error, in that he asked, would I rebel against the decree of the Almighty? “and knowest thou not,” says he, “that neither heaven nor hell can do that? Nay, nay, my son! Why dost thou propose further to burden my weak body, which of itself is but desirous of rest? Thinkest thou to force me to sojourn longer in this vale of tears? Ah no, my son, let me go, for in any case neither with lamentation and tears, nor still less with my good will, canst thou compel me to dwell longer in this misery when I am by God’s express will called away therefrom: instead of all this useless clamour, follow thou my last words, which are these: the longer thou livest seek to know thyself the better, and if thou live as long as Methuselah, yet let not such practice depart from thy heart: for that most men do come to perdition this is the cause⁠—namely, that they know not what they have been and what they can or must be.” And further he exhorted me, I should at all times beware of bad company: for the harm of that was unspeakable. Of that he gave me an example, saying: “If thou puttest a drop of malmsey into a vessel full of vinegar, forthwith it turns to vinegar: but if thou pour a drop of vinegar into malmsey, that drop will disappear into the wine. Beloved son, before all things be steadfast: for whoso endureth to the end he shall be saved; but if it happen, contrary to my hopes, that thou from human weakness dost fall, then by a fitting penitence raise thyself up again.”

Now this careful and pious man gave me but this brief counsel, not because he knew no more, but because in sober truth I seemed to him, by reason of my youth, not able to comprehend more in such a case, and again, because few words be better to hold in remembrance than long discourse, and if they have pith and point do work greater good when they be pondered on than any long sermon, which a man may well understand as spoken and yet is wont presently to forget. And these three points: to know oneself: to avoid bad company: and to stand steadfast; this holy man, without doubt, deemed good and necessary because he had made trial of them in his own case and had not found them to fail: for, coming to know himself, he eschewed not only bad company but that of the whole world, and in that plan did persevere to the end, on which doubtless all salvation doth depend.

So when he had thus spoken, he began with his mattock to dig his own grave: and I helped as best I could in whatever way he bade me; yet did I not conceive to what end all this was. Then said he: “My dear and only true son (for besides thee I never begat creature for the honour of our Creator), when my soul is gone to its own place, then do thy duty to my body, and pay me the last honours: cover me up with these same clods which we have even now dug from this pit.” And thereupon he took me in his arms and, kissing me, pressed me harder to his breast than would seem possible for a man so weak as he appeared to be. And, “Dear child,” says he, “I commend thee to God his protection, and die the more cheerfully because I hope He will receive thee therein.” Yet could I do naught but lament and cry, yea, did hang upon the chains which he wore on his neck, and thought thereby to prevent him from leaving me. But “My son,” says he, “let me go, that I may see if the grave be long enough for me.” And therewith he laid aside the chains together with his outer garment, and so entered the pit even as one that will lie down to sleep, saying, “Almighty God, receive again the soul that Thou hast given: Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.” Thereupon did he calmly close his lips and his eyes: while I stood there like a stockfish, and dreamt not that his dear soul could so have left the body: for often I had seen him in such trances: and so now, as was my wont in such a case, I waited there for hours praying by the grave. But when my beloved hermit arose not again, I went down into the grave to him and began to shake, to kiss, and to caress him: but there was no life in him, for grim and pitiless death had robbed the poor Simplicissimus of his holy companionship. Then did I bedew or, to say better, did embalm with my tears his lifeless body, and when I had for a long time run up and down with miserable cries, began to heap earth upon him, with more sighs than shovelfuls: and hardly had I covered his face when I must go down again and uncover it afresh that I might see it and kiss it once more. And so I went on all day till I had finished, and in this way ended all the funeral; an exequiae and ludi gladiatorii wherein neither bier, coffin, pall, lights, bearers, nor mourners were at hand, nor any clergy to sing over the dead.

XIII

How Simplicissimus Was Driven About Like a Straw in a Whirlpool

Now a few days after the hermit’s decease I betook myself to the pastor above mentioned and declared to him my master’s death, and therewith besought counsel from him how I should act in