The Adventurous Simplicissimus: being the description of the Life of a Strange vagabond named Melchior Sternfels von FuchshaimGrimmelshausen, Hans Jakob Christoph von
General
The Adventurous Simplicissimus: being the description of the Life of a Strange vagabond named Melchior Sternfels von Fuchshaim
Grimmelshausen, Hans Jakob Christoph von
German fiction -- Translations into English; Thirty Years' War, 1618-1648 -- Fiction
Before nightfall we came to our companions, where I took my clothes and
arms again, told the captain my story, and chose out six stout fellows
to bring the bread home. At midnight we came to the village and took
the bread out of the oven: for we had a man among us that could charm
dogs; and when we were to pass by the parsonage, I found it not in my
heart to go further without bacon. In a word, I stood still and
considered deeply whether 'twere not possible to come into the priest's
kitchen, yet could find no other way but the chimney, which for this
turn must be my door. The bread and our arms we took into the
churchyard and into the bone-house, and fetched a ladder and rope from
a shed close by. Now I could go up and down chimneys as well as any
chimney-sweep (for that I had learned in my youth in the hollow trees),
so on to the roof I climbed with one other, which roof was covered with
a double ceiling and a hollow between, and therefore convenient for my
purpose. So I twisted my long hair into a bunch on my head, and lowered
myself down with an end of the rope to my beloved bacon, and fastened
one ham after another and one flitch after another to the rope which my
comrade on the roof most regularly hauled up and gave to the others to
carry to the bonehouse. But alack and well-a-day! Even as I shut my
shop and would out again a rafter broke under me, and poor
Simplicissimus tumbled down and the miserable huntsman found himself
caught as in a mouse-trap: 'tis true, my comrades on the roof let down
the rope to draw me up: but it broke before they could lift me from the
ground. And, "Now huntsman," thought I, "thou must abide a hunt in
which thy hide will be as torn as was Actaeon's," for the priest was
awakened by my fall and bade his cook forthwith to kindle a light: who
came in her nightdress into the kitchen with her gown hanging on her
shoulders and stood so near me that she almost touched me: then she
took up an ember, held the light to it, and began to blow: yet I blew
harder, which so affrighted the good creature that she let both fire
and candle fall and ran to her master. So I gained time to consider by
what means I could help myself out: yet found I none.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account