From Rome to Stralsund, by Viterbo, Florence, Mantua, Trent, Innspruck, Ratisbon and Nuremberg--Various adventures

On the morning of July 6, 1546, in my twenty-sixth year, I left Rome with my faithful companion Nicholas. My gold was sewn up in my neck collar, the chain in my small clothes. In the way of luggage I had a small satchel containing a shirt and the poems composed by my brother at Spires and in Rome; slung across my shoulders I wore a kind of strap to which I tied my cloak in the day. I had my sword by my side and a rosary dangling from the belt, like a soldier joining his regiment. We had agreed (it being a question of life and death) that I should pretend to be dumb; hence Nicholas did not stir from my side for a moment wherever I went. The landsknechten, who spoke to me on the road without receiving an answer, were informed by him of my pretended infirmity. "What a pity," they said; "and such a handsome fellow, too. Never mind," they added, "he'll none the less split those brigands of Lutherans lengthwise." "You may be sure of that," replied my comrade, and thanks to this stratagem we got across the lines of the Welch soldiery.

On the morning after our leaving Rome, Duke Octavius went by, posting. He was accompanied by five people. When we got to Ronciglione, about two miles from Viterbo, we made up our minds to sup there, and go to bed afterwards, in order to arrive early in the city fresh and hearty, though not before daylight, inasmuch as we wanted to lay in a stock of things. Scarcely had we sat down to table when a turbulent crowd of soldiers invaded the inn; the host told us to remain quiet, for he was shaking in his shoes for himself. The bandits commenced by flinging him out of his own door; the larder was pillaged, and after having drunk to their heart's content, they staved in the barrels and swamped the cellars with the wine. It was an abominable bit of business and unquestionably the Welch, and Latin mercenaries are greater ruffians than the German landsknechten; at any rate, if we are to judge from what they did in a friendly country, and virtually under the very eyes of the pope. They invited us to accompany them to Viterbo, in spite of Nicholas pointing out to them that night was coming on apace, and that the gates would be shut. "We'll get in for all that," they said. We were bound to follow them. We got there about midnight, and they were challenged by the guard. "Who goes there?" he asked. "Soldiers of Duke Octavius," was the answer, and thereupon the gate was opened.

I recommend the following to the meditation of my children; let them compare my adventure with that of Simon Grynaeus, related at length in the writings of Philip Melanchthon, Selneccerus, Camerarius, Manlius and other learned personages. In 1529 Grynaeus, then professor of mathematics at Heidelberg, came to see Melanchthon at the diet of Spires; he heard Faber, one of his old acquaintances, emit from the pulpit many errors in connexion with transubstantiation. Having gone up to him when they came out of church, they started a discussion, and Faber, on the pretext of wishing to resume it, invited him to come to his inn the next morning. Melanchthon and his friends dissuaded Grynaeus from going. The next day, at the dinner hour, a weakly-looking old man stopped Manlius at the entrance to the hall asking him where Grynaeus was to be found, the process-servers, according to him, being on the look out to arrest him. Thereupon the various learned men who had foregathered there immediately conducted Grynaeus out of the town, and waited on the banks until he had crossed the Rhine; they had come upon the law-officers three or four houses away from the inn; luckily the latter neither knew them nor Grynaeus. As for the old man, there was no further trace of him; they made sure it was an angel. I myself am inclined to think it was some pious Nicodemus who, having got wind of the wicked designs of Faber, made it his business to frustrate them without compromising himself. Now for my own adventure.

We entered Viterbo in the middle of the night. Prudence dictated the avoidance of the mercenaries' lodgings, for a meeting with Petrus would have been fatal to us; as it happened, the soldiers swarmed everywhere. Wandering from house to house, and devoured with anxiety, we invoked the Lord, our last hope. And behold a man of forty and of excellent appearance accosted us. We had never seen him, and not a syllable had fallen from our lips. We were dressed in the Welch fashion; everybody, even in plain daylight, would have taken us for soldiers. Well, without the slightest preamble, he addressed us in our own language. "You are Germans," he said, "and in a Welch country; don't forget it. If the podesta lays hold of you, it means the strappado, and perhaps worse. You are making for Germany." (How did he know, except by reading our thoughts?) "Let me put you into the right road." Dumb with astonishment, we followed him in silence as far as the gates of the town; he exchanged a few words with the custodian, who, in his own gibberish, said to us: "For the love of you, friends, I'll disobey my orders, which expressly forbid me to open the gates before dawn. You'll find nothing in the faubourg, I warn you; the soldiers have pillaged and burnt everything, but you'll not die for being obliged to do one night without food and drink." Saying which he showed us out and promptly shut the gates upon us.

Who had been our guide? I am still asking myself the question. As for us, reassured by the consciousness of the Divine presence; and in our hearts we gave praise for this miraculous deliverance. The faubourg, destroyed by fire, was simply a mass of ruins. We slept in the open air on the straw of a barn where the wheat is threshed out by oxen and horses. It was daylight when we opened our eyes, and the first thing we saw was a gallows. Towards midday we got as far as Montefiascone, a pretty town famed for its Muscat wine. Thanks be to God, we continued our journey without being again alarmed, and we did not catch sight of any mercenaries until we came to Bologna.

We halted at Montefiascone until the evening and enjoyed the roast fowls and savoury dishes, but the oppressive heat interfered with our appetite, though the bottle was more frequently appealed to. A story is told a of traveller who was in the habit of getting his servant to taste the wine at every hostelry they stopped.^[36] "Est," said the latter if the wine was bad, "Est, Est" if it was passable, "Est, Est, Est" if it was good. And his master either continued his route or dismounted according to the signal. At Montefiascone, however, the servant did not fail to cry: "Est, Est, Est," and his master drank so long as to contract an inflammation, of which he died. When the relatives inquired about the cause of his death, the servant replied: "Est, est, est facit quod dominus meus hic jacet," and in his grief he kept repeating: "O Est, est, est, dominus meus mortuus est."

On July 9 we reached Acquapendente, where my brother died, I visited the church without being able to discover his burial place. To ask questions would have been tantamount to betraying ourselves, considering that the Germans were the butt of public hatred.

Sienna, an important town with a celebrated university, is called Siena Virgo, though it lost its virginity long ago. From a neighbouring mountain one notices two small burghs; the one is called Cent, the other Nonagent. The pope being at Sienna, a monk undertook to show him Centum nonaginta civitates. When he got his Holiness to the top he showed him the two places in question.

Lovely Florence is the pearl of Italy. At the entrance to each town they said to us, "Liga la spada" (Tie the hilt to the sheath). At Florence we had to give up our weapons. If we had only crossed the city a man would have accompanied us to restore them at the other gate, but on our declaring that we were going to stay until the evening our swords were taken from us, and the hilts provided with a wooden label, part of which they gave us to keep. Besides, some one came into the city with us, and, among other useful information, showed us a beautiful hostelry where they treated us remarkably well for our money. A magnificent palace, a church entirely constructed of variegated marble, adjusted with marvellous skill and art, a dozen lions and lionesses, two tigers and an eagle, that is all I remember. There were ever so many other curiosities to see, but our heads were full of Germany. When the heat of the day abated we pursued our journey; our arms were restored to us on our presenting part of the label.

After having crossed Mount Scarperia, which fully deserves its name, seeing that it constitutes the most fatal passage of Italy to shoeleather and feet, we got to Bologna in the morning of July 13. Bologna is a big city belonging to the pope (Bononia grassa, Padua la passa), and endowed with a famous university. The town was teeming with mercenaries, so we were not particularly anxious to stop in it.

At some distance from Bologna begins a canal dug by the hand of man. There the Lord caused us to meet with an inhabitant of Mantua who had just enlisted. We proposed to hire a boat as far as Ferrara together. "Whither are you going?" he asked. As we had the appearance of soldiers, and as he might conceive some surprise at seeing us turn our backs on headquarters, we hit upon the idea of telling him that our master was at the Council of Trent. "Oh," he remarked, "you are going farther, then?" We said neither "yes" nor "no." He knew a little Latin, like myself, and so I no longer kept up my part of a dumb man before him. He professed but small regard for the pope and papism. "How dare you," I exclaimed, "talk in that way in Italy, and on the very territory of the Church? And why, if these are your opinions, do you take service against the Evangelicals?" "What does it matter?" he replied; "I am not risking the loss of a cardinal's hat. I am a fighting man, and fight for those who pay me." When we got near to the PÔ, he said: "Ferrara lies no doubt in your most direct road to Germany, but what could you see there of interest? It is only a big town of the old style. You had better come to Mantua, the country of Virgil, a handsome, pleasant, and strong city, with a superb castle. The rest you are likely to get in the boat will compensate for your coming out of your way. I'll go on shore just before Ferrara, and will get a boatman; the place is famed for its fat geese, which, at this season of the year, one eats smoking hot from the spit. I'll bring one back with me, together with bread and wine, and I shall only be gone a little while."

Ferrara, with its famous university, its actual importance, and ancient origin, unquestionably aroused our curiosity. Nevertheless, the advice of our soldier-friend was not to be despised, because by going up the PÔ, we advanced in spite of the heat. Our guide soon came back, bringing with him everything he had promised. The boatman whom he brought was simply in his shirt sleeves, and drank at one draught a whole measure of heavy wine we offered him; then, flinging the towing rope over his shoulder, he towed us to Mantua, Ostiglia being our halting place for the night. Having got to Mantua in the morning of July 15, we were enabled to wander through the town before dinner time. Our expectations were in no way disappointed. After having shown us the castle and the principal buildings, our amiable soldier-friend insisted upon entertaining us at the inn. "Are you provided with small change that is current everywhere?" he asked us. "The fact is," he went on, "that the landlords pursue a regular system of cheating. They refuse to take your small money, so that you are obliged to change a crown, and then at the next inn they decline to accept the coin given to you except under its value. Give me a crown, and I'll get you money for it which is current as far as Trent." He brought back good pieces of silver, not to the amount of one crown, but of two crowns, asking us to accept the value of the second as a present, "because," he said, "I consider you very honest and straightforward companions." When we were outside the walls, he gave us full particulars of the route we were to take, recommended us to the safeguard of all the angels, and gave us his blessing. "It is worth more in the sight of the Almighty and against the devil than the blessing of Pope Paul at Rome by his own sacred hands." This was indeed a happy meeting, and we had reason to be grateful to the Lord.

Not far from Mantua, at a spot where the road branches off into four different directions, we came upon two travellers coming from Verona. If we had said one pater more or less with our good friend we should have missed them, which would have been a pity, for they turned out to be my former fellow-travellers from Kempten to Rome, who, having pushed as far as Naples, had returned by way of Venice; they were making for home by Milan and France. They wished me to go their way, and I was very willing; but as Nicholas was altogether of a different mind, it would have been wrong to vex the comrade God had so marvellously provided for me.

When I told them all about Petrus, my interlocutors had no doubt about the danger I had incurred by my imprudent confidence. Italians are not of much account. Germans, after a long stay in that country, end up by not being worth anything at all; and the proverb to that effect is a true one: "Tedesco Italianato È un diavolo incarnato." I learnt later on, both from writing and from oral news, about the troubles between France and the Low Countries, and about the obstacles we should have encountered if we had selected the route of Milan. It gave me a new subject for being grateful to the Lord.

We passed near enough to Verona to catch a glimpse of the buildings, to judge by which it must be a big town. At Trent, where both languages are spoken, and even more German than Italian, my pretended infirmity ceased, and it was Nicholas' turn to be mute, for the Lubeckian dialect is not understood until one gets to Brunswick.

In Italy the scorpions slip in everywhere; into the rooms, under the beds, in the sheets. Hence they place before the windows scorpion oil, that is oil in which one of these reptiles has been drowned. When put on the sting the oil stops the effect of the poison. Personally, I never caught a glimpse of a scorpion during the whole of my stay in Italy.

On July 18 we reached Botzen, a town of importance, famed for its rich mines. On the 19th we were at Brixen, a pleasant burgh, prettily situated. Its chapter enjoys great consideration. Dr. Gaspard Hoyer was its canon, and died there.

The Augsburg troops under the orders of Sebastian Schaertlin^[37] had carried the castle of Ehrenberg. King Ferdinand tried to enter the place with the aid of the miners of Botzen, but the pay ran short, and, greatly vexed, the savage horde, which, though by no means devout, after all preferred Luther to the pope, made its way home. Between Brixen and Sterzing we had the misfortune of falling in with them. At the sight of our Italian dress, and our soldier-like equipment, they shook their spears. "Kill the papists; down with the Welch scum," they cried. Nicholas, who was accustomed to enact the spokesman, uttered a few words in his own dialect; thereupon the imprecations grew louder. "They belong to the Low Countries; they are no better than the Italians." "Brothers," I shouted, "you make a mistake. We are faithful Germans, Lutherans and Evangelicals like yourselves. Hence, no violence."

Thereupon we fell a-talking to each other. They complained bitterly of the king, and of his pretensions to carry on a war without a red cent. "Kicks instead of pay," they said. "We are much obliged. We are going back to our mines, where, at any rate, we can earn something." We parted quite cordially, and I once more recommended my faithful Nicholas to hold his tongue for the future, and to let me do the talking.

Innspruck, the capital of the Tyrol, is a moderately big town with long streets, consisting largely of stables for some thousands of horses, for the kings, the Austrian archdukes and their suites frequently halt there. The objurgations of the miners of Botzen induced us to change our dress according to the German fashion.

Our most direct route lay by Ulm, Cannstadt, Spires, Frankfurt, then by Hesse and Brunswick. There are, as it happens, two routes from Innspruck, the one for Bavaria, the other for Swabia. Having met at the city gates some people who professed to be going to Germany, we followed them without further inquiry. What then was our surprise at getting, not into Swabia, but into Bavaria, to Hall and to Ratisbon. Well, as we learnt later on, at that very moment the numerous troops the emperor was expecting from France and Spain were preparing to enter Swabia; the papal troops, whom the Imperial messages left little or no truce, arrived at Landshut, while all the Protestant forces, with the Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse at their head, occupied the country. But for the Lord constituting Himself our guide we should have run innumerable perils.

We intended to go from Hall to Ratisbon on a raft, but on the overladen craft there was a horse stamping about in a most disquieting manner, causing the water to well up between the disjointed timber. We preferred to land and to tire our legs to swallowing more water than was necessary to our thirst. Half a league down the stream, the pole-men having got rid of the horse, drew near the shore once more to renew their offers of service. We remained faithful, however, to solid earth.

When we got to the beautiful monastery of Ebersberg, our curiosity tempted us to get an idea of the results of a mendicant's life. As such we humbly and contritely addressed the chancellor, when we entered the abbot's presence. "We have come all the way from Rome; our resources are exhausted," we said. After having promised us to do what he can, the chancellor begins to inquire about the Italian army. "We left it at Bologna," we replied; "it was being reviewed. You'll see it very shortly." This had the effect of turning the saintly dwelling upside down. The monks crowded round the abbot and took to running hither and thither as if bereft of their senses, because for a monastery situated as this was, in the open country, Roman mercenaries or Schmalkalden soldiers were practically one and the same thing.

And inasmuch as our humble persons were forgotten in all this confusion, I said to Nicholas: "Let us go to the inn and show these 'frocked' individuals that we can do without their soup. A snap for that business, unless we have been too inexperienced at it." We ordered the best dishes and washed them down with generous wine. The echoes of our gay repast must have reached the monastery, and when we had paid our reckoning, we pursued our journey.

We stopped four days in the big and beautiful city of Ratisbon. King Ferdinand, his wife, his daughters and the court ladies in gorgeous dresses, lodged in the principal square, the houses of which where elegantly decorated. We saw the carriage sent by the Duke of Mantua to his betrothed. It was entirely white, and perfectly built; the iron was replaced everywhere by silver, even for the smallest nail. The team consisted of four magnificent white mares, without the tiniest spot; the harness was of silver, and their crups were ornamented with three rings of the precious metal. Dressed in white silk, with boots and whip of the same colour, and silver spurs, the coachman slowly drove thrice round the square.

It was very evident that both the emperor and the king were using all their energy. Night and day, at home and beyond the frontier, strict guard was kept. The army of Bohemia was encamped beyond the Danube, while the Germans occupied the head of the bridge on the side of the city. We were warned of the danger of venturing among the Bohemians; between these madmen and the German soldiers there was nearly every day a fresh dispute resulting in wounds which often proved fatal. On the other hand, the Protestant troops were on the move, and it was most difficult to cross their lines. We could, however, not remain in Ratisbon. So we plucked up our courage and started, decided not to lose our heads in case of arrest, but to ask to be taken before the superior officer, for, after all, we had no need to fear an interrogatory. What was the danger of saying whence we came and whither we were going? Our lot was, moreover, in the hands of Him who in Italy had confided us to the protection of his angels.^[38] We trudged straight on to Nuremberg. The weather was fine, the roads good, and the inns well provisioned.

Nuremberg is the oculus Germaniae. "Germany," according to the Italians, "has but one eye, Nuremberg." Nuremberg harbours the tradesmen, Augsburg the big merchants. We stayed three days in this interesting city, the study of whose civil and ecclesiastical institutions is by no means a waste of time. We there completed our German attire by doublets with short waists. It seemed to me unnecessary to hide the gold and jewels any longer in my clothes, for in spite of the eighty miles from our own native land, we already fancied ourselves in it.

The lord of Plawe had taken up his quarters at our hostelry. He was a Bohemian of important station, an experienced soldier, and a cool-headed, prudent, and clever personage, enjoying much favour with the electors and the princes. He was known by all the dignitaries of France, Germany, and Italy. His history may prove interesting to my children. The lord of Plawe had no children, and to prevent the lapse of his fiefs to the suzerain lord, he prevailed upon his wife to pretend being pregnant, and arranged with a shepherd of the neighbourhood, a strong, robust fellow, whose wife was genuinely in that condition. The newborn being of the male sex, it was carried clandestinely to the castle, where they had great rejoicings, a magnificent christening with high-born godparents. Seven years later, however, the lady of Plawe really gave birth to a son; the two children were brought up like brothers. When he came of age the elder visited the courts, and received a cordial welcome everywhere. The father died, and the elder, feeling himself cramped at home, abandoned the property to the younger in consideration of a yearly allowance. The mother is taken ill in her turn, and before her death reveals to her own child the whole of the secret. The elder, whose allowance is stopped, institutes a claim, and is answered that he is the mere son of a shepherd. The affair is referred to King Ferdinand, the suzerain lord, the lords of Prawe bearing the title of Burgrave of Mesnia, and first chancellor of the kingdom of Bohemia. To prove his parentage he produced the many letters in which his father recommended him in special terms to the emperor, and to the princes as his lawful heir. Several important personages, the majority belonging to the Evangelicals took an interest in his case, and provided largely for his maintenance. The principal Welch and German universities all declared that he proved his affiliation. King Ferdinand, though, leant to the other side, no doubt ratione papisticae religionis.

Under these difficult circumstances, this gentleman considered it better not to take service in the war between the emperor and the League of Schmalkalden, inasmuch as he would neither be unfaithful to his master nor to his conscience. The catastrophe which he dreaded nevertheless overtook him. About six months after the termination of the war, when, probably, he felt exceedingly pleased with himself on account of his clever abstention, he was laid by the heels by order of King Ferdinand, shipped on a raft, and taken to Hungary; and from that time he was no more heard of.

On August 11 we only reached Nordhausen in the Harz mountains, just as they were closing the city gates, but sufficiently early, though, to notice ten corpses tied to as many posts. The guard, which had been reinforced, was inclined to leave us outside. They pointed to the men that had been executed. "If they are there, it is because they deserved it," we answered; "ours is a different case." When we got inside we could not find a shelter anywhere. I inquired for the dwelling of the burgomaster and found him at home.

After the few customary inquiries about our names, our place of birth and our destination, the burgomaster questioned us about the beginning of the hostilities. We told him what we knew, and then exposed our embarrassing situation to him. "Never during this painful journey, not even in Italy, had we met with such inhuman conduct," we said. "We are not asking for charity. We are willing to pay for what we get; nobody shall have cause to complain of us. We ask you, therefore, to direct us to a respectable place of shelter."

Our very sordid appearance did not prevent the burgomaster from considering us altogether inoffensive, and, like a man of sense, he explained apologetically, "Our citizens," he remarked, "are still under the influence of a strong alarm, for we know for certain that a band subsidized by the confederate of hell who reigns at Rome is scouring the Saxon country, poisoning wells and pastures and setting fire to everything else. The proof of it is in the ten executed men whom you must have noticed at your arrival. Their crime admits of no doubt." "Agreed," I replied, "but if our conscience were in the least reproaching us, do you think we should have the courage to present ourselves before the first magistrate of the town?"

The burgomaster told one of his servants to take us with his compliments to a certain private individual, who happened to be a butcher with a stock of beautiful, luscious meat. On the hearth the beef was simmering in a large pot, no doubt to be retailed hot next morning. We asked him for some of that; then inquired about the liquor he could offer us. "I have got some excellent Nordhausen beer," he said. We, however, were used to wine. "Cannot you give us some wine? That's what we want with our meat." "If you care to pay for it. It's so much per measure." "Here's the money." "Do you want any fish?" "Yes; let us have a comfortable evening after this rough day. Come and sit yourself down with us and keep us company." He stared at us very hard, not knowing what to think. In spite of his knowing look, he behaved very well to us.

When our hunger and thirst were appeased, the butcher asked us whether we would go to bed or remain where we were. "Bring us some clean straw, and that will be enough for us. We shall not have the trouble of dressing in the morning," we answered. Besides the straw he gave us pillows, downright excellent beds, and snowy sheets; hence, in wishing him good-night, we assured him that we were born to understand each other. Next morning, the one who was the first to rise found the door bolted; we were obliged to wait for our host. We settled the reckoning with him, and the servant who had prepared our couch got a tip.

We stopped a day and a half at Luneburg, which we reached on August 15, and in view of our approaching meeting with our nearest and dearest, we paid attention to our dress. We crossed the burgh of Moelln, where Eulenspiegel lies buried, but at Lubeck a messenger who caught us up informed me that my uncle Andreas Schwartz was living at Moelln with his wife and children, and begged of me to retrace my steps. I spent a whole day with him, and when we had chatted to our heart's content he provided me with a horse and attendant as far as Lubeck.

At the city gate I wanted to turn short; perhaps I was still feeling the effect of the stirrup cup. My horse gave way, and for a moment the rider and the animal lay motionless. They were under the impression that I had broken the left thigh bone; but I got up safe and well.

At Lubeck my faithful travelling companion loyally repaid his debt. I took the coach, and at last, after a journey of eight weeks' (eighteen days of which had been spent in resting at various places, the distance from Rome to Stralsund being 250 German miles, and consequently five times as many Welch ones), I heard the "welcome" from my father, mother, brother and five sisters, all of whom were in excellent health. Together with Dr. Hoyer's letter, I handed over the objects restored by Cardinal St. Flore according to the inventory. My parents gave me two of the rings. As I was as sore as the most foundered horse, my mother had a bath prepared for me twice a week, and she herself rubbed my thigh with curd soap, so that my limbs soon recovered their usual suppleness.