Chap. xxiii.: IS VERY SHORT AND CONCERNETH SIMPLICISSIMUS ALONE
Once did I read how the oracle of Apollo gave as answer to the Roman deputies, when they asked what they must do to rule their subjects in peace, this only, "Nosce teipsum," which signifieth, "Let each man know himself." This caused me to reflect upon the past and demand of myself an account of the life I had led, for I had naught else to do. So said I to myself: "Thy life hath been no life but a death, thy days a toilsome shadow, thy years a troublous dream, thy pleasures grievous sins, thy youth a fantasy, and thy happiness an alchemist's treasure that is gone by the chimney and vanished ere thou canst perceive it. Through many dangers thou hast followed the wars, and in the same encountered much good and ill luck: hast been now high, now low: now great, now small: now rich, now poor: now merry, now sorry: now loved, now hated: now honoured, now despised: but now, poor soul, what hast thou gained from thy long pilgrimage? This hast thou gained: I am poor in goods, my heart is burdened with cares, for all good purposes I am idle, lazy, and spoilt; and, worst of all, my conscience is heavy and vexed: but thou, my soul, art overwhelmed with sin and grievously defiled; the body is weary, the understanding bemused; thine innocence is gone, the best years of youth are past, the precious time lost: naught is there that gives me pleasure, and withal I am an enemy to myself. But when I came, after my sainted father's death, into the great world, then was I simple-minded and pure, upright and honest, truthful, humble, modest, temperate, chaste, shame-faced, pious and religious, but soon became malicious, false, treacherous, proud, restless, and above all altogether godless, all which vices I did learn without a teacher. Mine honour have I guarded not for its own sake, but for mine own exaltation. I took note of time not to employ it well for mine own soul's welfare, but for the profit of my body. My life have I often put in jeopardy, and yet I have never busied myself to better it that I might die blest and comforted; for I looked only to the present and to my temporal profit, and never once thought on the future, much less remembered that I must some time give an account before the face of God Almighty."
With such thoughts I tormented myself daily; and just then there came into my hands certain writings of the Franciscan friar Quevara, of which I must here set down some; for they were of such power as fully to disgust me with the world.
Chap. xxiv.: WHY AND IN WHAT FASHION SIMPLICISSIMUS LEFT THE WORLD AGAIN
The first part of the chapter is a fair translation, extending to many pages, of Quevara's somewhat trite reflections on the vanity of a worldly life. It is taken from Albertini's translation of a book called "Of the burden and annoyance of a courtier's life." 8vo. Amberg, 1599. The only part of the chapter which concerns the story is as follows.
All these words I pondered carefully and with continual thought, and they so pierced my heart that I left the world again and became a hermit. Fain would I have dwelt by my spring in the Muckenloch, but the peasants that dwelt near would not suffer it, though it had been for me a wilderness to my taste; for they feared I should reveal the spring and so move their lord to force them to make highways and byways thither, especially now that peace was secured. So I betook myself to another wilderness and began again my old life in the Spessart; but whether I shall, like my father of blessed memory, persevere therein to the end, I know not. God grant us all His grace that we may all alike obtain from Him what doth concern us most, namely, a happy
END
APPENDICES
APPENDIX A
The success of "Simplicissimus" induced Grimmelshausen to publish a "Continuatio" or sequel, which certainly does not seem to have been contemplated when he wrote the last chapter of the original work. It, as well as three lesser "continuations" which were published later, is entirely unworthy of the author, though all four seem to be genuine products of his pen. It is a string of allegories, ghost stories, fables, and monotonous chronicles of adventure, not redeemed from dulness by occasional gross filth. For one reason only it deserves our attention; viz., the curious anticipation of the story of Robinson Crusoe which is contained in chapters xix. to xxii. A subjoined "relation" of Jean Cornelissen of Harlem gives an account of his finding Simplicissimus and leaving him on his island well provided with necessaries: but this narrative is so overloaded with childish stories of the castaway's miraculous powers and performances that an abstract of it only is here given at the end.