The Adventurous Simplicissimus: being the description of the Life of a Strange vagabond named Melchior Sternfels von FuchshaimGrimmelshausen, Hans Jakob Christoph von
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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
So must the roots of these trees suffer and endure toil and misery in
the midst of trouble and complaint, and those upon the lower boughs in
yet greater hardship: yet were these last mostly merrier than the first
named, yea and moreover, insolent and swaggering, and for the most part
godless folk, and for the roots a heavy unbearable burden at all times.
And this was the rhyme upon them:
"Hunger and thirst, and cold and heat, and work and woe,
and all we meet;
And deeds of blood and deeds of shame, all may ye put to
the landsknecht's name."
Which rhymes were the less like to be lyingly invented in that they
answered to the facts. For gluttony and drunkenness, hunger and thirst,
wenching and dicing and playing, riot and roaring, murdering and being
murdered, slaying and being slain, torturing and being tortured,
hunting and being hunted, harrying and being harried, robbing and being
robbed, frighting and being frighted, causing trouble and suffering
trouble, beating and being beaten: in a word, hurting and harming, and
in turn being hurt and harmed--this was their whole life. And in this
career they let nothing hinder them: neither winter nor summer, snow
nor ice, heat nor cold, rain nor wind, hill nor dale, wet nor dry;
ditches, mountain-passes, ramparts and walls, fire and water, were all
the same to them. Father nor mother, sister nor brother, no, nor the
danger to their own bodies, souls, and consciences, nor even loss of
life and of heaven itself, or aught else that can be named, will ever
stand in their way, for ever they toil and moil at their own strange
work, till at last, little by little, in battles, sieges, attacks,
campaigns, yea, and in their winter quarters too (which are the
soldiers' earthly paradise, if they can but happen upon fat peasants)
they perish, they die, they rot and consume away, save but a few, who
in their old age, unless they have been right thrifty reivers and
robbers, do furnish us with the best of all beggars and vagabonds.
Next above these hard-worked folk sat old henroost-robbers, who, after
some years and much peril of their lives, had climbed up the lowest
branches and clung to them, and so far had had the luck to escape
death. Now these looked more serious, and somewhat more dignified than
the lowest, in that they were a degree higher ascended: yet above them
were some yet higher, who had yet loftier imaginings because they had
to command the very lowest. And these people did call coat-beaters,
because they were wont to dust the jackets of the poor pikemen, and to
give the musqueteers oil enough to grease their barrels with.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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