My master was also keen to tease me, saying, ‘I notice that, not expecting to attain nobility yourself, you scorn titles.’ I answered, ‘Master, if I were elevated to your rank at this moment, I should refuse.’ The governor laughed and said, ‘That I believe! The only thing oxen want is straw. Still, with the sort of mindset the noble is said to have, you’d be scrambling after the highest honours and titles all the time. I personally consider it no small thing that good fortune has given me status.’ Sighing deeply, I said, ‘Ah, the bliss of the work burden! You know what, sir? No one in Hanau is to be pitied more than you.’ ‘How so?’ asked my master. ‘What do you mean, calf, what are you getting at? I don’t feel that way at all.’ And my reply? ‘The fact that you ask, sir, proves your blindness to the many cares that being the governor of Hanau sets on your shoulders. Sheer arrogance – and it draws nourishment from your position! Either that or you’re made of iron and have no feelings. Granted, you issue the orders, and everyone under you has to obey. But do they bow and scrape for nothing? Aren’t you their slave, in effect? Aren’t you expected to look after each and every one of them individually? Think about it. Right now enemies surround you, and responsibility for holding the fort is yours and yours alone. It’s for you to decide how to weaken the other side. At the same time, you have to make sure no one betrays your plans. And there are times, are there not, when you yourself must do sentry duty like the lowest infantryman. It’s your job, too, to see that no shortages occur, whether of money, arms, food or men. And that means keeping the contributions coming in. You’re constantly having to raise tolls and levies on the entire region. And when you send parties out to collect your income, what they do mainly is pillage, ransack, burn and kill. Only recently they sacked Orb, seized Braunfels, and torched whole towns. All right, they brought home some lovely plunder, but at the cost of massively increasing your debt of guilt in God’s eyes. OK, pleasure may also be to your taste, just as position is. But tell me this: who’s going to share that pleasure? Even supposing you stay rich (and that’s by no means guaranteed), you’ll be leaving your wealth behind when you go; all you’ll be taking are the sins that gained it. Anyway, say you’re lucky enough to benefit from your booty; you’ll only be squandering the sweat and blood of the poor, who live in squalor when they’re not actually starving to death. If I’ve seen it once I’ve seen it a hundred times: how your wits, distracted by the cares of office, keep you awake while I and my fellow calves can settle to sleep in peace without a worry in the world! If you don’t take this or that action, curtains; if you do, you’ll be failing to deal with something else that should have been done if your subjects and the citadel itself are to survive. Look at me: I’ve no such concerns! I know I owe nature a death, so I don’t worry. Let men storm my byre or force me to slog in the fields all day! If I die young – well, I’ll have escaped the hard life of most oxen, that’s all. For you the struggle looks endless: day after day of anxiety, nights of broken sleep. You’ve to suspect every friend as you fear every foe. The thing is, they all think like you: how can I shorten that fellow’s life, steal his money, trash his reputation, undermine his command, or otherwise do the man harm? From foes one expects hatred; it’s only natural. And self-styled friends will secretly envy your success. But you – you’re not even safe from underlings. To say nothing of how ambition drives you on day after day, constantly looking for ways of winning greater glory, higher rank, mounting wealth, playing the next trick on the enemy, taking a key location by surprise – in a nutshell, doing almost anything to hurt others, harm your own soul, and offend the Almighty! And the worst of it is, you’re so surrounded by flattery you no longer know your own mind. Your arse-lickers have so deadened your wits, you can’t see the risks of the path you’ve chosen. Whatever you do, they nod their approval. Your every vice they hail as a virtue. If you’re harsh, they call it justice. And if you scorch the Earth and exterminate the inhabitants, they call you a bold soldier, egging you on to inflict further pain – so keen are they to retain your favour and go on stuffing their purses.’
‘Hark at smarty-pants!’ my master said. ‘Who taught you to sermonize like that?’ ‘But it’s true, master, isn’t it?’ I replied. ‘By blowing in your ear while sitting on their backsides, your toadies have spoilt you so rotten you’re almost past saving. Not to worry. Others will soon see through you. They’ll find plenty to criticize – not just on big issues; on minor matters, too. Look at the greats of old (they’ll say). Is their example nothing to you? The Athenians used to moan about their Simonides, simply because he always shouted. The Thebans complained of their Paniculus’ habit of spitting. The citizens of Sparta rebuked their Lycurgus for the way he kept his head lowered the whole time. In Rome they objected to Scipio snoring so loudly; they even took exception to Pompey scratching himself with only one finger; and Julius Caesar they mocked because he didn’t wear his belt with sufficient style. Uticans slated the great Cato because, as they thought, he chewed too greedily, filling both cheeks. And the men of Carthage criticized Hannibal for always going about bare-chested. What do you say now, master – do you still think I’d want to swap places with a man who on top of having to eat with a dozen or so smarm merchants and scroungers has hundreds, perhaps thousands of clandestine or overt enemies, parasites and jealous rivals? Just think how fulfilled a ruler should feel under whose protection so many folk shelter! Yes, but remember: everyone needs watching over individually, am I right? Every grievance must be listened to. That alone would be labour enough, surely, even without such hostility, such envy? I can see how bitter it must make you, the sheer amount of discontent that lands on your shoulders. And what, dear master, does it bring you in the end? Where does it all get you? If you can’t answer that, let others do so for you. Take Demosthenes the Greek, who boldly and loyally advanced and protected the common good by upholding his fellow Athenians’ rights; contrary to all law and justice, he met with a most cruel misdeed, being banished from the land and reduced to penury. Socrates was even forced to take poison, while Hannibal was treated so badly by his fellows that he had to roam the world as a penniless exile; Roman Camillus likewise. In Greece, Lycurgus and Solon suffered a similar fate: one they stoned, the other first had an eye put out and was then condemned to life banishment as a murderer. So you can keep your command and all you hope to gain. I want none of it. In the best possible case you’ll come away with nothing but a bad conscience. But if you listen to your conscience you’ll be relieved of your command as being incompetent – just as if, like me, you’d been turned into a stupid calf.’
THE ADVENTURES OF SIMPLICIUS SIMPLICISSIMUS
HANS JACOB CHRISTOFFEL VON GRIMMELSHAUSEN
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