After the harvest our master wished to go partridge-hawking, for his hawks were well trained. As his dapple-grey was being brought round--the one that ambled so capitally--the unexpected visit of several strange horsemen interrupted the party; the commander gave me his hawk, telling me to go without him. Just as I am getting my right leg over the saddle the bird beat its wings, the horse frightened, gets out of hand of the groom, and I am caught in the stirrup; more concerned for the hawk than for my safety, I drop backward, the horse continues to plunge, drags me along, kicking me all the while, the commander and his frightened guests looking powerlessly on. Luckily my shoe and my left hose give way and stick to the stirrup, while I am left on the ground, with nothing more serious, though, than a couple of swollen limbs. Nevertheless, on that day I had a very narrow escape from death.
The Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse constantly raising levies against the Duke of Brunswick, the commandery swarmed with colonels and captains.[[32]] They offered me the post of secretary; the arrangement was, in fact, concluded, but I did not wish to go except with the consent of the commander. He granted me my leave, though giving me to understand that I should not expect to return to his service after the war. And inasmuch as the war was to be a short one, the warning gave me food for reflection. The winter was coming on; I certainly had no wish for a repetition of my privations at Worms. I remained, for the following lines recurred to my memory:
Si qua sede sedes, et erat tibi commoda sedes
Illâ sede sede, nec ab illâ sede recede.
Several companies of landsknechten were reviewed; and nothing could have been more diverting than to watch the inspector examine the weapons and the shape of the men, their dress and their gait. He made them march past him rather twice than once. How each man tried to hide his shortcomings, and how those who were "passed" as fit blew themselves, and swaggered and talked loud and boastfully like the hirelings they were. The war came to an end on October 21, with the capture of Duke Henry of Brunswick and his son, Charles Victor; his second son, Philippe, hastened to Rome to ask for help of the pope.
At the autumn fair Herr von Loewenstein took up his quarters at Frankfurt with the whole of his household for six weeks. My old chum, Franz von Stiten, coming across me once more, I told him everything about my position, and when I had given him the address of the House of the Knights of St. John, he arranged to come and pay me a visit one morning before the commander was stirring. And, in fact, he came, and had a long conversation with Marie, to whom he gave particulars about my parents, birth, and family circumstances. The information still further disposed the damsel in my favour; in short, I am bound to confess that I lost all claim to the meritorious reputation of Joseph the chaste. Since then I have acknowledged my sin to the Almighty, and I have sufficiently expiated it during my journey to Rome to count upon my pardon; besides, amidst the privations, dangers and trials which I am about to relate, however just the punishment may have been, the Divine mercy has never failed me, sending me protection and deliverance as it did in its admirable ways.
While my master drank and gamed with his guests (he was rarely alone, and in Frankfurt less than elsewhere) I read, in the quietude of my own room, the Institutes, which I nearly always carried about with me. In vain did Herr von Loewenstein tell me again and again not to expect to become a doctor of law while I was with him. I did not fear any opposition from that quarter.
In February 1546 my master having been summoned to Spires, the habitual residence of the superior of the Order for Germany, only left Marie and myself behind at Mayence. A letter from my parents, telling me of the death of my brother in Rome, made me decide upon my journey to Rome. There was not the slightest trace left of the sufferings I had undergone at Worms; my health was excellent, I had a well-stocked wardrobe, and my purse was fairly lined. On the other hand, the loose morals of the Knights of St. John were calculated to take me to hell rather than to heaven; the money earned in such a service could not bring luck; it was better to spend it on the high roads, and to cut myself adrift from such a reprehensible mode of life. Undoubtedly the time had come. Besides, it was absolutely necessary to ascertain the circumstances of my brother's death; I knew the sum of money he had with him, and the idea of his having spent it in so short a time was inadmissible. I told my reasons, though not all, to Marie; we parted on the most amicable footing. In the letter she gave me for the commander, she informed him of the sum she had given me at my departure, leaving it to him to increase it. Herr von Loewenstein wished me happiness and luck, and advised me, if I valued my life, to abstain in Italy, but above all in Rome, from all theological controversy; finally, he added a double ducat to Marie's gift. From Spires I went a little out of my way to see my friends at Pforzheim; after having said goodbye to them I began my long journey, alone and on foot, under the holy safeguard of the Almighty.
[CHAPTER VI]
Travels in Italy--What happened to me in Rome--I take Steps to recover my Brother's Property--I become aware of some strange Particulars--I suddenly leave Rome
I started from Mayence on April 8, 1546, and after crossing an unknown country by bad roads, I reached Kempten, an ancient imperial city at the foot of the Alps, and the see of an important abbey. The unpleasant parts of the journey hitherto had been solitude and fatigue, when at a quarter of an hour from Kempten there appeared two wolves of very good size. They were making for a plantation of oaks on the other side of the road, but when they got to the highway, at a stone's throw from where I was, they stopped "to take stock of me." Evidently they were going to make a mouthful of my poor, insignificant person. What was I to do? To beat a retreat was practically to invite their pursuit. To advance was to lessen at every step the distance dividing us. Trusting to God's good will, I kept marching on, and the wolves disappeared in the underwood. I hurried on, to escape the double risk of meeting the carnivora again or to find the city gates shut against me, for night was coming on apace. At the hostelry nobody seemed surprised at the meeting, for the neighbouring mountains swarmed with large packs of the animals. What they wondered at was the manner in which I got out of the danger. I offered thanks to the Lord.