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shaking, kissing and caressing him. But there was no life left in him, since cruel, pitiless death had robbed poor Simplicius of his faithful companion. I watered or, to put it better, embalmed his lifeless corpse with my tears, and after I had spent some time running to and fro, wailing miserably, I started to heap the earth over him, more with sighs than with the spade. Scarcely had I covered his face than I jumped down into the grave to uncover it again, to see him and kiss him once more. This went on for the whole day until I had finished. These were all his funeral rites, his exequies, his funeral games, since there was no bier, coffin, shroud, candles, pall-bearers or mourners, nor any clergy to sing his requiem.

Chapter 13
     

Simplicius drifts along like a reed on the pond
     
    A few days after the hermit had died I went to the pastor I mentioned before and told him of my master’s death. At the same time I asked his advice about what to do at this turn of events. Yet despite the fact that he advised against staying in the forest any longer, I boldly followed in my predecessor’s footsteps and spent the whole summer living the life of a devout monk. But time changes all things, and the grief I felt for my hermit gradually lessened; at the same time the sharp winter cold quenched the inner fire of my firm resolve. The more I started to waver, the lazier I became at my prayers since, instead of contemplating divine and heavenly thoughts, I allowed myself to be overcome with the desire to see the world. As I was thus no longer capable of living a good life in the forest I decided to go back to the pastor and ask him if he still advised me to leave the forest. So I set of for his village, but when I got there I found it in flames, for a party of troopers had just plundered it, killed some of the peasants and driven off the rest, apart from the few they had taken captive, among them the pastor himself. Ah God, how full of trouble and adversity is a man’s life! Scarcely has one misfortune ended than we find ourselves in the next. It does not surprise me at all that the heathen philosopher, Timon, set up many gallows in Athens for people to hang themselves and bring their wretched lives to an end by inflicting one brief moment of pain on themselves.
    The troopers were ready to depart and were leading the pastor on a rope. Some of them were shouting, ‘Shoot the rogue!’ while others wanted money from him. He, however, raised his hands and begged them to remember the Last Judgment and spare him out of Christian compassion. But all in vain, for one of them rode him down and gave him such a blow to the head that he fell flat on the ground and commended his soul to God. The other villagers who had been captured fared no better.
    Just when the soldiers seemed to be going mad with murderous cruelty, a swarm of armed peasants came pouring out of the wood. It was as if someone had disturbed a wasps’ nest. They started to yell so horribly, to swing their swords and fire their guns so furiously that my hair stood on end, for never before had I seen such a brawl. The men of the Spessart and the Vogelsberg will not lie down and let themselves be trampled over on their own dung heap, no more than those of Hessen, the Sauerland and the Black Forest. This sent the troopers packing and they not only left behind the cattle they had taken, they cast off bag and baggage, throwing away all their plunder so that they themselves should not fall prey to the villagers. Even then some were captured.
    This entertainment almost took away my desire to see the world. If this is what goes on in it, I thought, then the wilderness is more pleasant by far. However, I still wanted to hear what the pastor would have to say about it. From the wounds and blows he had received, he was quite weak and feeble, and he told me he could neither help nor advise me, since he himself was in a situation where he would probably have to beg for his bread. If I were