The Autobiography of Thomas Platter, a schoolmaster of the sixteenth century.

by Thomas Platter

Then the gooseherd came running after, shouting through the village, "The urchin has robbed me of a goose." I and my fellow fags ran off, and the feet of the goose hung out from under my little coat. The peasants came out of their houses with halberds, and followed us. When I now saw that I could not escape with the goose, I let it fall. I jumped aside into a thicket outside the village; but my two comrades ran along the road and were overtaken by two peasants. They then fell down on their knees and begged for mercy, for that they had done them no harm. The peasants therefore seeing that he was not there who had let the goose fall, went back into the village and took the goose along with them. When I saw how they ran after my companions, I was in a great fright, and said to myself, "O God! I believe that I have not blessed myself to-day:" as I had been taught that I should bless myself every morning. When the peasants came into the village they found our Bacchants in the public-house; for they had gone before, and we came after. Then the peasants thought that they ought to pay for the goose, which would have made about two bats (four-pence), but I do not know whether they paid it or not. When they came to us again they laughed, and asked how it had happened. I excused myself with saying, that I thought such was the custom of the country; but they said that it was not yet time. When, however, some of the Bacchants behaved themselves very rudely towards us, some of us, with Paul, determined to run away from the Bacchants, and go by way of Dresden to Breslau. On the way we had to suffer much from hunger, so that several days we ate nothing but raw onions with salt; some days roasted acorns, crab-apples, and wild pears. Many a night we lay in the open air, because no one would suffer us in the houses, no matter how early we might ask for lodging. Now and then the dogs were set at us. When however we came to Breslau there was an abundance of every thing; yes, every thing was so cheap that the poor fags used to eat too much, and often made themselves sick. At first we went to school in the cathedral of the Holy Cross; when however we heard that in the principal parish of St. Elizabeth there were several Swiss, we went thither. There were there two from Bremgarten, two from Mellingen, and others, besides a number of Suabians. There was no difference made between the Suabians and the Swiss; they addressed one another as countrymen, and protected one another. The city of Breslau has seven parishes, each a separate school: and no scholar was allowed to go singing into another parish; else they immediately shouted "Ad idem! ad idem!" Then the fags ran together, and beat one another very sorely. There were, as was said at that time, several thousand Bacchants and fags in the city at once, who all lived upon alms. It was said also that there were some that had been there twenty, thirty, or more years, who had had their fags that were obliged to wait upon them. I have often in one evening carried my Bacchants five or six loads of provisions home to the school where they lived. People gave to me very willingly, because I was little, and a Swiss; for they were uncommonly fond of the Swiss. They also felt great compassion with the Swiss, because just at that time they had suffered sorely in the great battle at Milan; so that the common people said, "The Swiss have now lost their Pater-Noster." For before that, they imagined that the Swiss were quite invincible.

I one day went up to two gentlemen or country squires in the market-place, (I heard afterwards that the one was called Benzenauer, the other Tucker,) who were walking there, and asked alms from them, as poor fags were accustomed to do. Tucker said to me, "From whence are you?" and when he heard that I was a Swiss, he was surprised, together with Benzenauer, and said to me, "But are you really a Swiss? If that is the fact, I will adopt you as a son, and I will assure you of that here before the council in Breslau; but, in return, you must promise to remain with me, and accompany me wherever I go." I answered, "In my native place I was given in charge to a certain person; I will ask him about it." But when I asked my relation Paul about it, he said, "I have conducted you out of your own native place, and I will conduct you to your own friends again, and then whatever they bid you, that you can do." I therefore declined this offer. But whenever I came before the house I was not allowed to go empty away. Thus I remained for a time in Breslau; was also three times ill in one winter, so that they were obliged to bring me into the hospital, for the travelling scholars had a particular hospital and physicians for themselves. Sixteen hellers were also paid weekly from the Town-house for each sick person, by which one person could be well supported. Care was then taken of the patients, and they had good beds, only they were not clean; so that I rather lay upon the floor than in the beds. During the winter the fags lay upon the floor in the school; but the Bacchants in small chambers, of which there were several hundreds at St. Elizabeth's. But in summer, when it was hot, we lay in the church-yard: collected grass, such as is spread in summer before the doors on Sunday in the gentlemen's streets,[^[2]] and lay in it, like pigs in the straw. When however it rained we ran into the school; and when there was thunder we sang responsories and other sacred music the whole night, with the Subcantor. Now and then after sapper, in summer, we went into the beer-houses to beg for beer. And the drunken Polish peasants would then give us so much, that I was often unable to find my way to the school again, though only a stone's throw from it. In short, there was plenty to eat here, but there was not much study; and of true piety no one had an idea. In the school at St. Elizabeth's, indeed, nine Bachelors of Arts read lectures at the same hour, and in the same room; still the Greek language had not yet made its way anywhere in the country; neither had any one printed books, except the Preceptor, who had a printed Terence. What was read had first to be dictated, then pointed, then construed, and at last explained; so that the Bacchants had to carry away thick books of notes when they went home.

From Breslau eight of us migrated again to Dresden; had however to suffer much from hunger on the way. We then determined to separate for one day; some went to see after geese; some after turnips, and carrots, and onions; some about a pot; we little ones however were to procure bread and salt in the neighbouring town of Neumark. In the evening we intended to assemble again outside the city, and there take up our lodging, and cook what we might have. About a gunshot distant from the city there was a well, by which we wished to remain during the night; but when the fire was seen, they fired at us; still no one was hit. We therefore took ourselves off behind a ridge to a little rivulet and thicket. The bigger companions hewed branches down, and made a hut; others plucked the geese, of which they had managed to get two; others cut the turnips into the pot, and put the head and feet and the like in also; others made two wooden spits, and began to roast; and as soon as it was a little brown, we took it from the spit and ate it, and the turnips too. To none of us did it occur that we were partaking of stolen provisions, and so were worthy of punishment in the sight of God and man. In the night we heard something making an odd noise. There was a wear near us from which the water had been let off the day before, and the fish were springing up to the wall; we therefore took as many as we could carry in a shirt, and on a stick, and set off for the nearest village. There we gave part of them to a peasant, that, in return, he should boil the others in beer for us.

From Dresden we went to Nuremberg. On the way, not far from Dresden, it happened that I went into a village to request alms, and came before a peasant's house. Then the peasant asked me where I came from. When he heard that I was a Swiss, he asked, if I had any companions. I answered, "My companions are waiting for me outside the village." "Desire them to come hither," said he, and he got a good meal ready for us; also beer enough to drink. When we were comfortable, and the peasant with us, he said to his mother, who was lying in bed in the room, "Mother, I have often heard from you, that you would like to see a Swiss before you die: there you see several; I have invited them for your sake." Then the mother raised herself up, thanked the son for bringing such guests, and said, "I have heard so much good of the Swiss, that I very much desired to see one: methinks that I will now die more willingly; therefore make yourselves merry." Whereupon she laid herself down again, and we set out again after we had thanked the peasant. From thence we came to Munich, where Paul and I found lodging with a soap-boiler of the name of Hans Schräll, who was a Master of Arts of Vienna, but an enemy to the clerical state. Him I helped to make soap, rather more than I went to school; and travelled about with him to the villages to buy ashes. Paul at length determined to pay a visit to our home, for we had not been at home during five years. Accordingly, we went home to St. Gall. My friends were then unable to understand me, and said, "Our Tommy speaks so profoundly, that no one can understand him:" for, being young, I had learned something of the language of every place where I had been.

CHAPTER III.

MASTER THOMAS BEGINS TO STUDY.

My stay at home was not long. We soon set out again towards Ulm. Paul then took another boy With him, whose name was Hildebrand Kälbermatter; he was also very young. Some cloth, such as was made in that country, was given to him for a little coat. When we came to Ulm, Paul desired me to go about with the cloth, and beg the money to pay for the making. With it I earned a great deal of money; for I understood begging well, because the Bacchants had always kept me to it. To the schools on the contrary, they did not draw me, not even so much as to teach me to read. Thus it was at Ulm too: when I ought to have gone to school, I was obliged to run about with the cloth. I suffered great hunger at this time; for all that I got I had to bring to the Bacchants, and did not dare, for fear of stripes, to eat even a morsel. Paul had taken another Bacchant to live with him, of the name of Achatius, a native of Mayence; and I, with my companion Hildebrand, had to wait on them both. But my companion ate almost all that was given him at the houses himself. The Bacchants on that account went after him into the street, and found him eating: thereupon they threw him on a bed, covered his head with a pillow, so that he could not cry, and beat him with all their might. That made me afraid, so that I brought home all that I got. They had often so much bread that it became mouldy; they then cut off the mouldy outside, and gave it to us to eat. I was often very hungry, and frost-bitten too, because I had to go about in the dark till midnight, to sing for bread. Now there was at that time a pious widow at Ulm, who had a son, Paul Reling, and two daughters. This widow during the winter often wrapt my feet in a warm fur, which she laid behind the stove, to warm them when I came; gave me also a basin full of vegetables, and then allowed me to go home. I was indeed sometimes so hungry, that I drove the dogs in the street away from their bones, and gnawed them; I also sought together the last crumbs out of the bags, and eat them.

From Ulm we went to Munich, where I still had to beg for money to make up the cloth, which however was not mine. A year after we came again to Ulm, intending to go once more to our native place. I brought the cloth again with me, however, and was obliged again to beg for money to make it up. I can still well remember that some said to me, "What! has the coat never been made? I believe that you are playing tricks." What became of the cloth, and whether the coat was ever made, I know not. From thence we made a visit to our native place, and after that returned again to Munich.

As three of us little fags had no lodging, we intended to go at night to the corn-market, and sleep upon the corn sacks. There were several women in the street standing before the salt-house, who asked where we were going. A butcher's widow was of the number, who, when she understood that we were Swiss, said to her maid, "Run, hang the pot with the soup and the remainder of the meat over the fire; they must lodge with me to-night; I am friendly to all Swiss. I served in an inn at Inspruck at the time the Emperor Maximilian held his court there. The Swiss had much dealing with him then, and were such good people, that I will be friendly to them all my life long." She gave us enough to eat and drink, and a good place to rest in. In the morning she said to us, "If one of you will stay with me, I will give him lodging, and meat and drink." We were all willing, and because I looked a little sharper than the others, she chose me. I helped her with her household and field occupations; but was still obliged, however, to wait on my Bacchant. The woman did not like to see that, and said, "Let the Bacchant alone, and stay with me, then you need not beg." For eight days, therefore, I went neither to the Bacchant nor to the school. He then came and knocked at the house-door. She said to me, "Your Bacchant is there, say that you are sick." I did what she desired me, for I did not know that a lie of that kind was a sin. When Paul came she said to him, "You are truly a fine gentleman, and should have looked after Thomas: he has been sick, and is so still." He said then, "I am sorry for it, boy: when you can go out again, come to me." Afterwards, on a Sunday, I went to vespers; then he said to me after vespers, "You fag, you do not come to me, I will trample you under foot some day." Then I resolved that he should not trample on me, for that I would run away. On Sunday I said to the butcher's widow that I wanted to go into the school and wash my shirt. I went, however, over the Iser, for I was afraid that if I went to Switzerland Paul would follow me. At the other side of the Iser is a hill; there I sat down, looked at the city, and cried bitterly, because I had now no longer any one to help me. I thought of going to Saltzburg or Vienna in Austria. As I sat there, a peasant came by with his waggon. He had brought salt to Munich, and was already drunk, although the sun had only just risen. I asked him to allow me to get up, and rode with him till he stopped to get something for himself and his horses to eat. In the mean time I begged in the village; and not far from the village I waited for him, and fell asleep. On awaking I cried heartily; for I thought that the peasant had driven away, and felt as if I had lost a father. However he soon came, quite drunk; told me to get up again, and asked whither I wished to go? I said to Saltzburg. When it was evening he drove side-ways off the highroad, and said, "Now you can get down, there is the road to Saltzburg." We had driven eight miles that day. I came into a village; when I got up in the morning there was a hoar frost, as if it had snowed, and I had no shoes, only torn socks; no cap, and a jacket without folds. I therefore went to Passau, and wished there to get a passage, and sail on the Danube to Vienna. In Passau they would not let me in. Then I determined to go to Switzerland, and asked the gatekeeper which was the nearest road to Switzerland. "By Munich," said he. "To Munich!" I answered, "I will not go. I would rather go out of my way ten miles to avoid it." He then directed me to Freissing, where there was a high-school or university. There I found Swiss. But before many days had elapsed Paul arrived with an halberd. The fags said to me, "The Bacchant from Munich is here, and is looking for you." Then I ran out at the gate as if he had been behind me, and went to Ulm, where I came to my saddler's widow, who had formerly warmed my feet by wrapping them in fur. After several weeks, one came to me who had been a companion of Paul's, and said to me, "Your relation Paul is here, and looking for you." So he had come eighteen miles after me; for in me he had lost a good benefice, because I had supported him several years. When however I heard this, although it was nearly night, I ran out at the gate, on the road to Constance; but lamented in my soul, for it was very grievous to me on account of the dear woman who had taken care of me like a mother. So I crossed the lake to Constance, and went over the bridge, and saw some little Swiss peasants in white jackets. Oh how glad I was! I imagined I was in the kingdom of heaven. From thence I came to Zurich, where I found some fellow-countrymen, natives of St. Gall, great Bacchants; to them I offered my services, if in return they would instruct me; but that they did as little as the others. After several months Paul sent his fag Hildebrand from Munich, to tell me that if I would return he would pardon me; but I would not, but stayed in Zurich, though indeed without studying. There was one Anthony Benetz there, out of Visp in St. Gall, who persuaded me to accompany him on a tour to Strasburg. When we arrived, there were a great many poor scholars there, and, as was said, not even one good school; we therefore went to Schlestadt. A gentleman met us, and asked, "Where are you going?" When he heard that we wished to go to Schlestadt he dissuaded us from it, by saying that there were many poor scholars there, and no rich people. Whereupon my comrade began to cry bitterly, because he did not know any other place to go to. I comforted him, and said, "Be of good courage! If there is one in Schlestadt who makes shift to live alone, I will manage to support us both." Whilst in a village outside of Schlestadt, where we got lodging in a mill, I got such a pain that I thought I must choke, and scarcely could get breath; for I had eaten a great many green nuts, which fall off about that season. Anthony then cried again; for he thought that he should lose his companion, and then not know how to help himself any more: and yet he had ten crowns secretly about him, and I not a halfpenny. When we came into the town, and had found lodging in the house of an aged married couple, of whom the man was stone blind, we went to the preceptor, Mr. John Sapidus, and begged of him to receive us. He asked us whence we came; when we said, "From Switzerland, from. St. Gall." He said, "There are wicked peasants there; they drive all their bishops away out of the country. If you intend to study properly you need not give me any thing; but if not, you must pay me, or I will pull your coats off your back." That was the first school which seemed to me to go on well. At that time the study of languages and sciences came into fashion. It was the same year that the diet was held at Worms. Sapidus had at one time nine hundred scholars, amongst whom were several fine learned fellows, who afterwards became celebrated men. When I entered the school I could do nothing, not even read the Donatus,[^[3]] and was nevertheless already eighteen years old. I seated myself among the little children, but was like the clucking hen among the chickens. When we had been there from Autumn till Whitsuntide, and there was a continual influx of scholars from all quarters, I was no longer able to procure sustenance for us both; we therefore went away to Solothurn, where there was a tolerably good school, and also a maintenance easier to be found. But as a set-off against this, we had to stay much in church, and lose time: so we went again to our native place, where I remained awhile, and went to school to a priest who taught me a little writing, and other things I know not what. Here I got the ague, and was nursed by my aunt Frances in Grenchen. At the same time I taught the little son of my other aunt, Simon Steiner, his A B C. He came to Zurich a year after, and studied by degrees: then he came to Strasburg, where he became Dr. Bucer's Famulus: and because he was attentive to his studies, he was made teacher of the thirds and afterwards of the second, class; and was very much regretted by the scholars at Strasburg when he died.

In the following Spring I left the country again, with two brothers. When we took leave of our mother, she cried and said, "God have mercy upon me, that now I must see three sons go into misery." Excepting that time I never saw my mother cry, for she was a courageous stout-hearted woman, but rather rough. When her third husband died, whom she had married in my absence, she remained a widow, and did all manner of work like a man, in order that she might be better able to bring up her youngest children. Hewing wood, hay-making, threshing, and other work which belongs more to men than women, were not too much for her. She had also buried three of her children herself, who had died in a time of very great pestilence; for in time of pestilence it costs a great deal to get persons buried by the gravediggers. Towards us her first children she was very harsh, for which reason we seldom entered the house. Once when I came to her again, after an absence of five years, in which I had travelled much in far distant lands, the first word she said to me was, "Has the devil carried you hither once more?" I answered, "The devil has not carried me, but my feet; I will not however be a burden to you long." She then said, "You are not a burden to me; but it grieves me that you go strolling backwards and forwards in this manner, and doubtless learn nothing at all. If you learned to work, as your late father did, that would be better;--you will never be a priest: I am not so lucky as to be the mother of a priest." So I remained with her two or three days. She was otherwise a respectable, honest, and pious woman, as was admitted by every body.