From Alpine Goatherd to Teacher of Greek – Thomas Platter (1499-1582)

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Thereafter we again went to Munich, where I also had to beg for money for making up the cloth, which, however, was not mine. After a year we came once more to Ulm, intending once more to go home. Once more I brought the cloth with me and begged for money to pay for making it up. I can still well remember that several said to me: “What! Has the coat never been made? I believe that you are deceiving me with tricks.” When we went from there, I do not know what became of the cloth, nor whether the coat was ever made up or not.

Once more we came home, and from there again to Munich. When we came to Munich, on a Sunday, the Bacchants had lodging, but we three little shooters had none; when it was night we intended to go in “die Schrane” – that is, the corn-market – to lie on the corn-sacks. There were several women sitting in the street in front of the salt-house; they asked us where we were going. And when they heard that we had no lodging, there was a butcher’s widow among them. When she heard that we were Swiss, she said to her house-maid: “Run, hang the kettle with soup and the rest of the meat over the fire; they must remain with me for the night, for I am friendly with all the Swiss. I served in an inn in Innsbruck, where Emperor Maximilian held court; there the Swiss had much to do with him, and were so friendly that I will be friendly to them my whole life long.” She gave us enough to eat and drink and a good place to sleep. In the morning she said to us: “If one of you will remain with me, I will lodge him and give him food and drink.” We were all willing, and asked which she would have; and as she inspected us, I was more pert than the others. I had had more experience than the others. Then she took me, and I had nothing to do except to fetch the beer, and to fetch the hides and the meat from the butcher-shop; also to go with her in the fields; but I still had to wait on the Bacchants. This did not please the woman, and she said to me: “Leave the Bacchants alone and stay with me; then you do not need to beg.” Then for eight days I went neither to the Bacchants nor to the school. Then Paul came and knocked on the butcher’s door. Then she said to me: “Your Bacchant is there. Say you are sick!” Then she let him in and said to him: “You are truly a fine gentleman, and should have inquired how Thomas was! He has been sick, and still is.” He said: “I am very sorry, boy! When you can go out again, then come to me.” Afterward, on a Sunday, I went to Vespers, and he said to me after Vespers: “You shooter, if you do not come to me, I will trample you under foot some day.” Then I determined that he should not oppress me any longer; I thought I would run away. On Monday I said to the butcher’s widow: “I want to go to the school to wash my shirt.” I dared not say what was in my mind, for I feared that she would tell on me.

I went away from Munich with a sorrowful heart, partly because I was running away from my cousin, with whom I had travelled so far, but who had been so severe and unmerciful towards me; partly, also, I felt badly on account of the butcher’s widow, who had kept me so kindly. I withdrew, however, over the Isar; for I feared if I went towards Switzerland that Paul would follow me; for he had often threatened me and the others that if one of us ran away he would follow him, and whenever he found him, would beat him till both arms and legs were off. On the other side of the Isar is a hill. There I sat down, looked at the city, and wept bitterly, that I no longer had anyone who would help me. I thought of going to Salzburg, or to Vienna, in Austria. As I sat there, a peasant came by with a wagon; he had brought salt to Munich, and was already drunk, although the sun had just risen. Then I asked him to allow me to get in. I rode with him until he unharnessed in order to feed himself and the horses. Meanwhile I begged in the village, and not far from the village I waited for him and went to sleep. When I awoke, I cried heartily, for I thought that the peasant had driven away. I felt as though I had lost my father. However, he soon came, but was drunk; told me again to get in, and asked me where I was going. I said: “To Salzburg!” Now, when it was evening, he drove from the road, and said: “Jump down, there is the road to Salzburg.” We had driven eight miles that day. I came to a village. When I rose up in the morning, a frost had fallen, as though it had snowed; and I had no shoes, only torn stockings, no cap, and a little jacket without folds. Then I went to Passau, and wished to sail on the Danube to Vienna. When I came to Passau they would not let me in. Then I thought that I would go to Switzerland, and asked the gate-keeper where I should go for the nearest road to Switzerland. He said: “To Munich.” I said: “I will not go to Munich; I would rather go around ten or more miles farther.” Then he directed me to Friesing, where there is a high school. There I found Swiss, who asked me whence I came. In two or three days, Paul came with a halberd. The shooters said to me: “Your Bacchant is here from Munich, and seeks you.” Then I ran out of the gate as if he had been behind me, and went to Ulm, and came to my saddler’s widow who had formerly warmed my feet by wrapping them in fur. She received me. For her I was to guard the turnips in the field. That I did instead of going to school. After some weeks, one came to me who had been a companion of Paul’s, and said: “Your cousin Paul is here, and seeks you.” So he had followed me eighteen miles; for he had lost a good living in me, for I had supported him for several years. When, however, I heard this, although it was nearly night, I ran out of the gate towards Constance, and wept once more heartily; for I felt quite badly on account of the good woman.