The Adventurous Simplicissimus

often would he convince me black was white or white black; so it came about that at first I believed him in everything and at last in nothing. Once on a time I blamed him for his dirty inkhorn: so he answered ’twas the best piece of furniture in his office, for out of it he could conjure whatever he desired; his fine ducats of gold, his fine raiment, and, in a word, whatsoever he possessed, all that had he fished out of his inkhorn. Then would I not believe that out of so small and inconsiderable a thing such noble possessions were to be had: so he answered all this came from the Spiritus Papyri (for so did he name his inks), and the inkhorn was for this reason named an ink-holder, because it held matters of importance. Then I asked, how could a man bring them out since one could scarce put a couple of fingers in. To that he answered, he had an arm in his head fit to do such business, yea, and hoped presently to fish out a rich and handsome wife, and if he had luck he trusted also to bring out land of his own and servants of his own, as in earlier times would surely have happened. At these tricks of craft I wondered, and asked if other folk knew such arts.

“Surely,” says he, “all chancellors, doctors, secretaries, proctors or advocates, commissaries, notaries, traders and merchants, and numberless others besides, which commonly, if they do but fish diligently in it, become rich lords thereby.” Then said I, “In this wise the peasants and other hardworking folk have no wit, in that they eat their bread in the sweat of their brow, and do not also learn this art.” So he answered, “Some know not the worth of an art, and therefore have no desire to learn it: some would fain learn it, but lack that arm in their head, or some other necessary thing; some learn the wit and have the arm, but know not the knack which the art requireth if a man will be rich thereby: and others know all and can do all that appertains thereto, yet they dwell on the unlucky side and have no opportunity, like me, to exercise this art properly.”

Now as we reasoned in this fashion of the ink-holder (which of a truth reminded me of Fortunatus his purse) it happened that the book of dignities came into my hand and therein, as it seemed to me then, I found more follies than had ever yet come before mine eyes. “And these,” said I to the secretary, “be all Adam’s children and of one stuff, and that dust and ashes? Whence cometh, then, so great a difference;⁠—his Holiness, his Excellency, his Serenity! Be these not properties of God alone? Here is one called ‘Gracious’ and another ‘Worshipful.’ And why must this word ‘born’ noble or ‘well born’ be ever added? We know well that no men fall from heaven and none rise out of the water and none grow out of the earth like cabbages.” The secretary must needs laugh at me, and took the trouble to explain to me this and that title and all the words separately. Yet did I insist that the titles did not do men right: for sure ’twas more credit to a man to be called merciful than worshipful: so, too, if the word “noble” signify in itself all incalculable virtues, why should it when placed in the midst of the word “highborn,” which applieth only to princes, impair the dignity of the title. And as to the word “wellborn,” why ’twas a flat untruth: and that could any baron’s mother testify; for if one should ask her if he was well born she could say whether ’twas “well” with her when she brought him into the world.

And so we talked long: yet could he not convince me. But this favour of the secretary towards me lasted not long, for by reason of my boorish and filthy habits I presently, after his foregoing discourse, behaved myself so foully (yet without evil intent) in his presence that he must bid me betake myself to the pigs as to my best comrades. Yet his disgust would have been the easier to bear had I not fallen into yet greater disgrace; for it fared so with me as with every honest man that cometh to court where the wicked and envious do make common cause against him.

For my lord had besides me a double-dyed rascal for a page, which had already served him for two years: to him I gave my heart, for he was of like age with myself. “And this is Jonathan,” I thought, “and thou art David.”

But he was jealous of me by reason of the great favour that my lord showed me, and that greater day by day: so he was concerned lest I should step into his shoes; and therefore in secret looked upon me with malicious and envious eyes, and sought occasion how he might put a stumbling-block for me and by my fall prevent his own. Yet were mine eyes as doves’ eyes7 and my intent far different from his: nay, I confided to him all my secrets, which yet consisted in naught else than in childish simplicity and piety. But he, innocent as I was, persuaded me to all manner of folly, which yet I accepted for truth and honesty, followed his counsels, and through the same (as shall not fail to be duly treated of in its proper place) fell into grievous misfortunes.

XXVIII

How Simplicissimus Got Two Eyes Out of One Calf’s-Head

The next day after my discourse with the secretary my master had appointed a princely entertainment for his officers and other good friends; for he had received the good news that his men had taken the strong castle of Braunfels without loss of