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.
On my departure with my two brothers, as we were crossing the Letshi
mountain towards Gestelen, my brothers sat down upon the slopes on the
snow, and so slid down the mountain. I wished to imitate them, but
because I did not instantly put my feet asunder the snow threw me over,
so that I slid down the mountain head over heels. It would have been no
wonder if I had killed myself by knocking my head against a tree; for
there were no rocks. Three times I had the same mishap, for I always
thought that I should be able to do it as well as my brothers; but they
were more used to the mountains than I. Thus we travelled on together.
They both remained in Entlibuch, but I went on to Zurich. There I
lodged with the mother of the far famed, pious, and learned Mr. Rudolph
Gwalther, who is now pastor at St. Peter's. He was then in the cradle,
and I used often to rock him. I now visited the school in
Frauenmünster, in which Wolfgang Knaüel, a pious Master of Arts,
taught. I was quite in earnest in my desire to study, for I perceived
that it was high time. They said at that time, that a teacher would
come from Einsiedeln, a learned and faithful man, but extremely old. So
I made a seat for myself in a corner not far from the teacher's seat,
and said to myself, "In this corner you will study or die." When he
came into the school for the first time, he said, "This is a nice
school, but methinks there are stupid boys: still we shall see; only be
industrious." This I know, that had my life depended on it I could not
have declined a noun of the first declension, although I had learned
Donatus off by heart to a nicety. For when I was at Schlestadt, Sapidus
had a certain Bachelor of Arts, George von Andlau, a very learned man:
he plagued the Bacchants so grievously with the Donatus, that I
thought, "If it be such a good book, then you must learn it by heart,"
and as I learned to read it I learned it by heart at the same time.
That turned to good account for me in the opinion of Father Myconius,
my new teacher in Zurich; for he began at once to read Terence with us,
and then we had to decline and conjugate every little word of a whole
comedy. He used often to deal with me until my shirt was wet with
perspiration through fear, and my eyes grew dim; and yet he never gave
me a blow, except on one single occasion with the left hand on my
cheek. He also read lectures upon the Holy Scriptures, which were
attended by many of the laity; for at that time the light of the Gospel
was just beginning to dawn, although Mass and the idolatrous pictures
in the churches were continued for a long time after. Whenever he was
rough towards me, he afterwards took me to his house, and gave me a
meal; for he liked to hear me relate how I had travelled through all
the countries in Germany, and what I had suffered every where, which I
could much better remember then than now. Myconius without doubt was
already acquainted with the pure doctrine; but was obliged,
notwithstanding, to go to church at Frauenmünster with his scholars to
sing the Vesper, Matins, and Masses, and to direct the singing. Once he
said to me, "Custos,"[4] (for I was his Custos), "I would now rather
read four lessons than sing one Mass; do me a favour, and sometimes
attend to an easy Mass, a Requiem, and such like for me: I will not let
it be unrewarded." With that I was well content, for I was accustomed
to that sort of thing, not only at Zurich, but also at Solothurn and
elsewhere; for everything was still Popish. Many a one was to be found
who could sing better than expound a Gospel; and it was daily to be
seen in the schools that wild Bacchants went off and were ordained, if
they could only sing a little, though they understood nothing either of
grammar or Gospel. During the time that I was Custos, I was often in
want of wood for heating the school. One morning Zuinglius was to
preach before day in Frauenmünster; and as they were ringing the bell
for service, there being no wood for heating the school, I thought in
my simplicity, "You have no wood, and there are so many idols in the
church!" As no one was there I went into the church to the nearest
altar, seized a wooden St. John, hurried with him into the school, put
him into the stove, and said to him, "Johnny, now bend yourself; you
must go into the stove, even though you do represent a St. John." When
he began to burn, there were nasty great blisters from the oil paint. I
thought, "Now hold still; if you stir, which you however will not do, I
will shut-to the door of the stove, and you dare not come out, unless
the evil one fetches you." In the mean time the wife of Myconius came,
intending to go to church to the sermon, and said, "God give you a good
day, my son; have you heated the stove?" I closed the stove door, and
said, "Yes, mother; I am quite ready." I would not however tell it to
her; for if it had been known, it would have cost me my life at that
time. In the school Myconius said, "Custos, you have had famous wood
to-day," I thought, "St. John deserves the most praise." When we were
to sing the Mass two priests were quarrelling together, and one said to
the other, "You Lutheran knave, you have robbed me of a St. John." This
they continued a good while. Myconius did not know what the matter was,
but St. John was never found again. Of course I never told it to any
one, till several years after, when Myconius was preacher at Basle; I
then told it to him, and he wondered very much, and remembered well how
the priests had quarrelled together. Although it appeared to me then
that Popery was mere mummery, yet I still had it in my mind to become a
priest, and to do the duties of my office faithfully, and deck out my
altar smartly. For of real piety I understood at that time nothing; all
rested merely on outward ceremonies. When, however, Ulrich Zuinglius
preached severely against it, my scruples increased more and more in
course of time. Otherwise I had prayed much, and fasted rather more
than was agreeable to me; had also my saints and patrons, to whom I
prayed: our Lady, the Virgin Mary, that she would be my intercessor
with her Son; St. Catherine, that I might become learned; St. Barbara,
that I might not die without the sacrament; St. Peter, that he would
open heaven to me. What I neglected I wrote in a little book, and when
there was a holiday at school, as on Thursday and Saturday, I went to
Frauenmünster to a school: began and wrote all my offences upon a
chair, and paid one debt after the other with prayers, blotting them
out one after the other, and thought then that I had done right. Six
times I went with processions from Zurich to Einsiedeln; was diligent
in confession, and have often fought with my companions for Popery. One
day, however, Ulrich Zuinglius preached in Söllnau upon the Gospel of
St. John x., "I am the good Shepherd," &c.: that he explained so
pointedly, that I felt as if some one had pulled me up into the air by
the hair of my head, and made known to me how God would require the
blood of the lost sheep at the hands of the shepherds who are guilty of
their destruction. Then I thought to myself, "If that be the meaning,
then adieu to the priest's office! a priest I will never be!" I
continued however in my studies; began also to dispute with my
comrades; attended the sermons diligently, and was fond of hearing my
preceptor Myconius. Mass and the idolatrous pictures, however, were
still continued at Zurich.