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Title: Swiss Heroes
       An Historical Romance of the Time of Charles the Bold

Author: A. A. Willys

Translator: George P. Upton

Release Date: April 8, 2020 [EBook #61788]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

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          [Illustration: _After the capture of Castle Granson_
             (_After a woodcut in an old Swiss chronicle_)]

                    _Life Stories for Young People_




                              SWISS HEROES


                   AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE OF THE TIME
                          OF CHARLES THE BOLD

                     _Translated from the German of
                             A. A. Willys_

                                   BY
                            GEORGE P. UPTON
                    _Translator of “Memories,” etc._

                        WITH THREE ILLUSTRATIONS

                    [Illustration: A · C · M^cCLURG]

                                CHICAGO
                          A. C. McCLURG & CO.
                                  1907

                               Copyright
                          A. C. McClurg & Co.
                                  1907
                      Published September 21, 1907

                THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.




                          Translator’s Preface


The period of the “Swiss Heroes” romance is in the days of Charles the
Bold, Duke of Burgundy; and the sentiment of its title is to be found in
the careers of the three heroes, Hans Vögeli, his brother Heinrich
Vögeli, who gave his life to establish his Swiss citizenship, and Walter
Irmy. A short sketch of the relations of Charles the Bold to the Swiss
is all that is needful as a preface to the stirring story which the
German author has told so well and so accurately.

Charles the Bold, son of Philip the Good, of Burgundy, and Isabella of
Portugal, one of the most conspicuous figures at the close of the Middle
Ages, was born in 1433. He became Duke of Burgundy in 1467 and shortly
afterwards took as his second wife Margaret, the sister of Edward IV of
England. After years of war with Louis of France, which eventually ended
in his success, and urged on by his inordinate ambition, he determined
to erect an independent kingdom under his own sovereignty. With this end
in view he entered into negotiations with Emperor Frederick, offering to
marry his daughter to the Emperor’s son, in case he himself were elected
king of the Romans. The Emperor proposed, however, to make him king of
Burgundy at Treves, but the scheme was thwarted by the Electors, who
persuaded the former to leave the city secretly. Four years previously
(1469), Sigismund, Duke of Austria, had sold Alsace to Charles, and the
latter appointed Peter von Hagenbach its governor. His career of cruel
oppression and the vengeance which the people wreaked upon him are
vividly described in this little romance. Charles was so enraged that he
gave up the country to waste and slaughter. But meanwhile powerful
allies were united against him. Louis of France had secured the alliance
of the Swiss; and Sigismund, who was anxious to get Alsace back, joined
the French. The English deserted him and signed a treaty of peace with
Louis. Battle after battle was fought, in which the Swiss were
victorious; and at last the troops of René, the dispossessed duke of
Lorraine, aided by the Swiss troops, won a great victory under the walls
of Nancy, January 5, 1477. The Burgundians were routed and Charles was
killed. The heroism of the Swiss stands out conspicuously in this
romance; but among all the characters in the stirring drama none is more
alluring, more pathetic, more glorious, than Heinrich Vögeli, who won
his restoration to citizenship by his heroic death.

                                                                G. P. U.

Chicago, June, 1907.




                                Contents


  Chapter                                                           Page
  I Saint Jacob’s Day                                                 13
  II At The Bears                                                     31
  III The Entry of the Princes                                        47
  IV The Lost Found                                                   59
  V The Emperor’s Flight                                              69
  VI The Rising at Brisach                                            76
  VII Death of the Governor                                           98
  VIII The Battle of Granson                                         105
  IX The Hero of Murten                                              112
  X Faithful unto Death                                              123
  XI Death of Charles the Bold                                       130
    Appendix                                                         139




                             Illustrations


                                                                    Page
  After the Capture of Castle Granson                     _Frontispiece_
  The Battle of Saint Jacob                                           28
  Hagenbach’s Execution                                              100

                          [Illustration: Swiss Heroes]




                               Chapter I
                           Saint Jacob’s Day


On the twenty-sixth of August, in the year 1473, a lively party passed
out through the gate of the old city of Basle[1] and briskly took their
way along the road to Saint Jacob, following the course of the river
Birs. First came two sturdy burghers, Councillor Hans Irmy, a merchant
of some consequence, and the head of a large and wealthy house, the
revenues of which were constantly being increased by agents in Venice,
Genoa, Augsburg, and Nuremberg; and Ulrich Iseli, landlord of The Bears
of Basle, the largest tavern in the city. Iseli was a good customer of
Irmy’s in foreign wines and provisions. Following them was a band of
youths, led by a young apprentice of the house of Irmy, Heini Süssbacher
of Aarau.[2] Walter, the Councillor’s only son, was the central figure
of this group, the others crowding closely about him. He was a lad of
some sixteen years, with a frank, good-natured countenance, and of a
size and strength beyond his years.

Up hill and down dale they went, till perspiration streamed from the
brow of the corpulent Councillor and he could scarcely keep pace with
his more youthful companion Iseli, who, unlike the most of his calling,
was tall and spare and had preserved much of the elasticity of youth.

“Gently! gently! my friend,” said Irmy at length. “Make haste slowly. We
shall still reach our journey’s end before night.”

“As you please,” replied the other, “but I would fain be home again in
good season. The dignitaries of the town will mark my absence from the
guests’ room and, doubtless, distinguished persons will have arrived by
the time we return. Methinks you are wont to be quick enough in other
respects.”

“That indeed,” returned Irmy, “and well has my quickness served me in
life; wherefore it troubles me the less that I can no longer follow you
either with my legs or with my hopes and thoughts.”

“Nay, let us not return to the French,” said the innkeeper, “for on that
point we shall never agree. I maintain that Switzerland cannot do better
than to place herself under the protection of the French crown. Never
has the house of Austria dealt fairly by us, nor should we forget what
Tell and his companions did for their country.”

“True,” replied the magistrate; “but I greatly doubt if we should meet
with any better treatment from France than we did from Gessler and his
accomplices in those days. Moreover, you must remember ’tis but thirty
years since Austria and France formed an alliance against us that might
have proved our destruction. You should be ashamed to speak the word
‘France’ on this day, the anniversary of the battle of Saint Jacob.
Those who sleep here would turn in their graves, could they hear you
talk so. Think you I bear these scars in vain? Never can I forget the
wrongs France has inflicted upon our Confederation, and if need be I
will prove to her that my arm is still of use, not only to keep account
books and handle pepper sacks, but also to smite French helms till the
sparks fly.”

“Methinks that will scarcely be needful,” answered his companion; “your
Walter here is already quite capable of taking your place should
occasion demand.”

“I should be glad to have him at my side,” said Irmy; “he is a good lad,
and it pleases me not a little that he seems to take as kindly to the
use of arms as I did in my younger days.”

The youths by this time had overtaken them.

“Father,” called Walter, “are those vineyards we see over yonder on the
hill?”

“Truly, my son; and they yield a wine more precious to us Swiss than any
in all the world, for upon that hill some of the noblest sons of
Switzerland lie buried. From the vines that grow above them is made a
wine we call ‘Switzer’s blood’ and drink in remembrance of the battle of
Saint Jacob, to honor the fallen and as an inspiration to the present
generation to emulate their fathers in courage and devotion to the
Fatherland.”

“You have often promised to tell us,” said Walter, “what happened thirty
years ago, when you were so sorely wounded by the French.”

“Come then; let us go up the hill and seat ourselves; from there we
shall have a better view of the battle-field,” replied the Councillor.
When this had been done he began as follows:

“Thirty years ago matters stood with us much as they now do. The
Confederates were never in harmony: cities and cantons conspired against
one another, and the nobles were the enemy of both. Schwyz was at strife
with Zurich over some hereditary question; and Zurich, being powerless
to cope single-handed against the older cantons, did not scruple to ally
herself with Austria, the hereditary foe of the Confederation. Civil
strife, the worst of all wars, broke out; many towns and castles were
destroyed. One of our most formidable enemies was Thomas von
Falkenstein, who from his stronghold at Farnsburg committed constant
depredations upon us Confederates, and at last seized upon one of my
father’s pack-trains going from Genoa to Basle, laden with Indian
spices. This roused the people to fury, and together with a force from
other cantons we young men of Basle camped before Farnsburg, toward
which we sent salute after salute with our carbines.

“Then a report reached us that the Dauphin of France was approaching
with a vast army, some said of a hundred thousand, others a hundred and
fifty thousand, and still others two hundred thousand men, fierce
marauders who had grown wild and lawless during the Thirty Years’ War
between France and England. ‘Arme Gecken,’[3] or miserable beggars, the
people called them, because though they subsisted on pillage and plunder
they still looked ragged and half starved. Wild confusion arose in camp
at this news, and all were eager to rush at once against the foe. There
were six thousand of us stout Switzers; why should we fear one hundred
thousand Frenchmen? The leaders had hard work to make us listen to
reason and consent that the main part of our force should remain before
the beleaguered castle, while twelve hundred of us went down into the
valley of the Birs to learn the truth of the report.

“Hemmann Seevogel was placed in command, and we rode briskly off down
the hill. When we reached the Birsthal we were warned that the enemy was
much too strong for us, but we laughed to scorn all caution, and the
mighty herdsmen of Schwyz and Uri smote the trees as they passed with
their iron-spiked clubs till great pieces flew from them, to show how
much stronger they were than any foe could possibly be. A few of the
leaders would have turned back, but the scoffs and jeers of their
comrades forced them to keep on.

“At Pratteln we found the vanguard of the enemy posted, eight thousand
strong, under Count von Dammartin, but it was not long before they
abandoned the position and took to their heels, leaving a thousand dead
and wounded on the field. They fled to Muttenz, where ten thousand
Armagnacs were waiting to receive the fugitives. But we were close
behind, and our gigantic herdsmen laid about them with their heavy
weapons so lustily that the hearts of the Frenchmen sank into their
tattered hose. Out of Muttenz we twelve hundred drove these eighteen
thousand so easily there was little pleasure in it.

“Our leaders now were for making a halt, declaring we had won enough and
should only lose by a further advance, for the Dauphin with the main
army was stationed beyond the Birs at Saint Jacob; and as the bridge
over the river had been destroyed, it would be foolhardy to attempt to
cross. But intoxicated with our previous successes, we were determined
to push on.

“‘We will sup in Basle to-night, cost what it may!’ we shouted. ‘The
Evil One with all his legions shall not keep us from the town. He who
hangs back is a traitor! No commands shall turn us from our duty to the
Fatherland!’

“The Armagnacs had long since disappeared from view. We reached the Birs
unmolested, waded through the stream, and gained the further bank.
There, however, we were met by such a hail of iron from the French guns
that it was impossible to keep our ranks, while all attempts to rally
the scattered forces were quickly defeated by the enemy’s heavy
horsemen. Many now repented their rash determination, but there was no
help for it—retreat was no longer possible with honor. Forward we must
go to meet the forty thousand men opposed to us. They offered a stout
resistance. German knights fought in their front ranks, and there were
traitorous noblemen of our country among the enemy; but they did us no
harm.

“Five hundred of our number retreated to a meadow which was protected by
the river from attack by horsemen, but they were shot down one by one.
Another five hundred took refuge in the leper hospital of Saint Jacob,
which was over yonder where the little chapel now stands. About the
building lay a large orchard surrounded by a wall, which would check for
a time the enemy’s assault. I was with this party, and glad enough to
find myself safe, as I thought, behind this barrier. Soon, however, the
muzzles of their guns were pointed toward us; the garden wall and
building were quickly demolished, and when the firing had ceased we were
attacked by the German knights, who had sworn to slay us all, burgher
and peasant. Thrice indeed we repulsed them, and many a high-born lord
lay weltering in his blood; but our number was fast diminishing, and as
I received the blow on the head to which this scar still bears witness,
the enemy burst into the burning hospital over the bodies of the five
hundred Switzers.

“When I came to my senses again it was dark; above me shone the stars,
and all was silent save for an occasional groan from one of the wounded,
or the crackling of flames, which still fed upon the heavy timbers of
the building. The night was cold, but by good fortune I lay in such a
position among the ruins of the garden wall that I was somewhat
sheltered from the wind and almost hidden from sight. Gradually the
events of the past day came back to me, and my bosom swelled with pride.
We had shown how men should fight who are guardians of their fatherland,
their homes, and their families. Not a man lay there that was not
covered with wounds: each had fought as long as strength remained in him
to smite the foe. Had I not been so weak and faint I could have shouted
aloud because of the victory won by the Swiss burgher-folk over the
political craft and power of princes. The overwhelming odds had been too
much for us, but even in death and defeat we had shown that something
higher than the Armagnacs’ lust for spoil, or the pride and ambition of
the knights, had urged us to battle.

“I had plenty of time to indulge these thoughts, for I was not disturbed
for many long hours. At last, toward morning, it seemed to me I heard
stealthy footsteps among the debris. Nearer and nearer they came, till
in the dim light I saw quite near to me the figure of a man stooping
down to give water to one of my wounded comrades. Parched with fever
from my wound, I also feebly besought him for a drink. He took a few
steps to the angle of the wall where I lay, and stopped short, unable to
suppress a low cry of astonishment. ‘You here, young sir,’ he exclaimed,
‘and in such a plight?’

“‘Quick! give me some water,’ I begged; ‘my father will reward you for
it. Greet him for me and tell him I died as all true citizens of a free
State should die—on the tottering bulwark of freedom and justice.’

“‘Nay, you are a long way yet from death,’ replied the man; ‘with good
fortune I shall fetch you safely back to Basle this very night.’

“‘Who may you be,’ I asked, ‘that talk of such impossibilities?’

“He laughed. ‘That, methought, you would have known long since, for we
have met many times in your father’s house. I am Gerard, the smuggler of
Neuchâtel, and have carried many bales of merchandise to him. Indeed I
have a pack with me now, which I have just brought through the French
camp; but perchance he will not take it amiss if I leave that here and
carry you to Basle in its place. Once under your mother’s wing you will
soon forget these thoughts of death.’

“By this time I had satisfied my thirst, and Gerard stole softly away to
reconnoitre, as he said. It was now light, and from my corner I could
look over all the surrounding country. The battle-field was deserted
save for a few scattered bands of horsemen moving hither and thither.
Three of them at length drew near my hiding-place, whom I quickly
recognized as Swiss nobles, traitors to their country, and rejoicing in
the sufferings of their fellow-countrymen. One, named Werner von
Staufen, laughed scornfully as he surveyed the ruins piled with corpses,
when suddenly one of my mortally wounded comrades started up, seized a
stone from the shattered wall, and with a last effort flung it full at
the knight, hurling him to the ground, where he expired together with
his assailant.

“The others now began to pry about among the debris to see if there
might be other Switzers still alive. Burghard Mönch, of Landskrön,
stepped forward and, pointing to the crimson blood-stains, cried to his
companion, ‘Look at the roses that have blossomed in the night!’ At
this, Captain Arnold Schick of Uri lifted himself painfully, a heavy
stone in his right hand. ‘Here—take this rose!’ he cried, and dashed it
at the head of the knight, who fell headlong, his armor clanging sharply
against the stones. The third quickly abandoned the pleasures of a
search for still breathing foes, and, mounting his horse, galloped away
so swiftly that the sparks flew.

“Scarcely had he disappeared when Gerard returned. ‘We must be quick,
young sir,’ he said, ‘for in another half-hour the whole army will be
back again to avenge the death of yonder knights. I have hidden my pack
and will come for it again in a few days. Quickly, now, and hold tight
to my neck, for I must needs run if we are to reach the Birs in safety.’

“So saying, he lifted me carefully upon his back and started off,
picking his way cautiously over the stones. He must have been about
thirty years old at that time, and was as strong as a giant; yet I
doubted much if we should escape, for a couple of horsemen not more than
a thousand paces away caught sight of us and gave chase. Luckily the
Birs was not far, and Gerard well-nigh flew over the ground with me.
Almost swooning, I still heard clearly the thundering hoof-beats behind
us, as even now after all these years I often hear them in my dreams.
Suddenly Gerard stumbled, and I fell heavily to the ground and rolled
down a short declivity into the river. I thought all was over, but the
cold water instantly restored me to consciousness. I was dipping it up
with both hands and pouring it over my fevered brow and wounds, when my
pursuer appeared above me on the bank. Finding his horse unable to
clamber down the steep incline he dismounted. Again I took to flight and
struggled on till the water rose to my breast; but by that time Gerard
was once more at my side. Gaining the farther shore we looked back and
found that our pursuer had not ventured into the water at all, but had
already remounted and was making his way back to the camp. But my last
remnant of strength was exhausted. My senses left me; and when I awoke
to consciousness some days later under my father’s roof, my mother told
me how Gerard had borne me along the river bank to a thicket, where he
had waited till darkness fell; then, crossing the stream once more, he
had brought me safely to the gates of the town.

“The French had experienced quite enough of Swiss valor, and the Dauphin
ordered a retreat, having no wish to sacrifice his people in a war which
brought them small thanks from Austria, in whose behalf it was
undertaken.”

“Father,” asked Walter thoughtfully, “why did not the people of Basle
come to your aid? Surely there were enough men there to help you, and
together you could have defeated the enemy.”

“At first,” replied the Councillor, “they did not know of our approach,
and when the news reached them the Burgomaster and Council hastily met
to decide what should be done. But some of the Councillors at that time
were not of the bravest, and their first thought was for the safety of
their own town. The report of our victories at Pratteln and Muttenz was
said to have been spread by the enemy to draw away from Basle all who
were capable of defending it. The burghers sat too long in debate,
however. A workman in the public square snatched the banner of the town
from the banneret’s hand in the corn market, shouting to the assembled
throng, ‘Follow me, all who are true citizens of Basle!’

“More than three thousand burghers hastened to join him, and the rest
soon followed. Hans Roth, the Burgomaster, placed himself at the head of
this valorous band, each of whom had stuck a wisp of straw in his belt
as a badge, and away they marched through the Saint Alban’s Gate to
attack the foe. Anxiously the magistrates and remaining citizens watched
their departure, for none were left within the walls that could wield a
weapon or had courage enough to look the enemy in the face. Who was
there to protect the town in case of sudden attack? Scarcely a quarter
of an hour had passed, when one of the Councillors galloped madly after
the champions, with word that an assault had been made on the city and
an ambuscade laid for them by the enemy. Thereupon they turned back,
only to learn, when too late, that the faint-hearted Council had
deceived them. Truly it was no great honor in those days to be a
Councillor in the good city of Basle, and it is only within a few years
that they have earned the right to be held in respect once more.”

“Shame on them!” exclaimed Walter. “Father, if the French should come
now, I do not believe _you_ would hold the burghers back. You would let
me go with them.”

“Aye, and go myself withal,” said Hans Irmy. “We have that within us
which time cannot destroy or change. They thought to tear away a portion
of our Confederation, and not the worst part either; but we kept faith
with the German Empire and held fast to the soil from which we sprung.
No Frenchman shall take that from us, not even our language, which like
ourselves has been German from the beginning.”

               [Illustration: _The Battle of Saint Jacob_
                           (_After Holbein_)]

“Do not be too hard upon the French,” interposed Iseli; “the French
language is by no means to be despised, while French wines and
manufactures suit us very well. Nor should we scorn the profit that
comes to us therefrom.”

“That may all be,” said Irmy; “everything in its proper place and
manner; but as to your liking for the French, it does not please me. We
are still citizens of the German Empire; and deeply as the house of
Austria has injured us, we should not forget from what stock we spring,
and that cat and dog will sooner be friends than a German and a
Frenchman. In individual cases it might happen,—there are good men in
both countries,—but in our hearts and in our politics we shall never be
one with France.”

“Something may be said on that point also,” replied Iseli. “What of the
Duchy of Burgundy? Are not French and Germans united there under one
rule?”

“True, my friend; but if you think it is a voluntary union you greatly
err. Nothing but the iron hand of Charles the Bold holds them together.
They would separate in an instant, should the powerful Duke chance to
close his eyes.”

“Well—at least,” said Iseli, “I am glad to find you are an admirer of
this great man, who appears to me like a rising star in the firmament of
the world’s history.”

This conversation had brought them back to the gate of the good city of
Basle, and at the first turning the friends took a kindly leave of each
other, their difference of opinion having no effect upon a friendship
which had united them for years. Walter was full of curiosity and
interest. He wanted to hear more of Charles the Bold, and besieged his
father with questions till he could stand it no longer and sent the boy
to bed.




                               Chapter II
                              At The Bears


An unwonted stir pervaded the streets of Basle, as if some festival were
being celebrated. No signs of traffic were visible, and the people were
in holiday attire. The streets were full of strangers, who were easily
distinguished by the curious glances with which they regarded the houses
and public buildings; while at every corner burghers might be seen
directing men-at-arms with swords at their sides through the maze of
narrow lanes.

Two horsemen slowly made their way through the throng, the foremost of
whom wore the uniform of an officer and displayed the badge of the Duke
of Burgundy. The other, a few paces behind, was a groom. At length they
reined in their steeds.

“Ho there! my friend,” cried the officer in good Swiss dialect to a
citizen, “can you direct me to an inn called The Bears?”

“Aye, truly, sir,” was the answer; “you have only to ride up this
street, then turn to the right; again to the left at the next cross
street, and you cannot miss it.”

“Thank you,” said the officer as he rode off followed by his servant,
the horses carefully picking their way over the rough pavement, through
the centre of which a row of large stones had been laid. Indeed, it was
scarcely safe for the riders themselves to leave the middle of the
passageway, for long iron bars protruded from the houses, bearing signs
denoting the trade of their occupants, such as glass work for a glazier,
the horseshoe for a smith, and the key for a locksmith. At one place the
signboard of an alehouse almost carried away the officer’s iron helm.
They turned to the right and then to the left, according to their
directions, and found themselves in a street somewhat wider than the
rest, where they soon discovered The Bears, a new and well-built tavern,
over the door of which hung a sign emblazoned with the beasts that gave
the inn its name. A serving man sprang from the huge gateway to assist
the officer to dismount, and led his horse away to the stables, while
the host himself, Ulrich Iseli, came forward to escort his guest up the
stairs.

“This is a fine place you have here,” said the latter. “Inns like this,
whether Swiss or German, are seldom to be found.”

“You are quite right, sir,” replied the landlord. “I conduct my business
after the French fashion. Having been much in Paris in my younger days,
I learned how distinguished guests should be accommodated; and I try to
keep my own house accordingly. Will you go to the public room for the
time being? The private parlor is unfortunately occupied by some
deputies from the various Swiss States who are holding a council there,
and they would doubtless be ill pleased were I to bring a stranger in
upon them. A chamber shall be made ready for you at once. I have a
houseful of guests, to be sure, but room shall be found for you, depend
on it.”

He pushed open the door of the public room. “Here, Werni!” he called to
a servant, who was engaged at that moment in delivering one of the
latest patriotic songs to a number of country people, who crowded about
him with shouts of applause, “come and place yourself at this
gentleman’s service.” Then, taking leave of the newcomer, he hastened
away to see about a lodging for his guest.

The officer’s attendant soon appeared, bringing his master’s luggage,
and after depositing it in the neatly appointed room assigned to him,
went back to the stables, where, ranged in long rows, stood a hundred
horses enjoying their fodder. When the latest arrival had also been
provided for, the groom betook himself to the public room, where he
found his master already partaking of a good breakfast. The officer
ordered something to be brought for him at once, and he modestly seated
himself at another table where two Burgundian soldiers were vainly
endeavoring to enjoy the sour Swiss wine.

Meanwhile it was getting very noisy up in the private parlor, the envoys
disagreeing violently in their views regarding France, Germany, and
Burgundy.

“We are sent here,” declared Hans Vögeli, the deputy from Freiburg, “to
welcome the Emperor in the name of our country. What is it to us what
schemes he may be entertaining? Let him answer for those himself. We
will defend our own lives if they attempt to meddle with us.”

“That is what you are always saying,” objected another of the envoys,
who was said to be secretly in the pay of the King of France. “I claim
that it is far from being a matter of indifference to us whether the
Emperor and Burgundy agree or no. Think of the force they could assemble
on our borders, and the Burgundian is a violent man. It would almost
seem that he intended to insult us by sending the Governor, Hagenbach,
hither to welcome the Emperor in his name, for he must know how we hate
him. Did you hear of the insulting speech Hagenbach made against the
Bernese? He declared he would strip the skins from their bears to keep
himself warm therein.”

“Those were indeed insolent words,” declared the deputies from Berne,
“and he shall yet make amends to us for them. Moreover we will make
complaint of him to the Emperor.”

“Much good will that do!” retorted the lame magistrate, Heinrich
Hassfurter, of Lucerne. “In truth you had best be on your guard against
this Hagenbach. I had somewhat to do with him at Salz, when I was sent
there a short time ago to negotiate certain matters. What think you? He
declared scornfully that the Confederates must lack able-bodied men,
since they made envoys of cripples and hunchbacks! ‘That I am a
cripple,’ I answered, ‘is the will of God; but I shall yet prove myself
able-bodied enough for you.’”

“Nay, be not so sure,” interposed another, “that the Emperor is in
league with Burgundy. It is true indeed that he would gladly marry his
son Maximilian[4] to the Duke’s only daughter Maria for the sake of
acquiring Burgundy as her marriage portion, but Charles the Bold asks
too much in return. To be King of Burgundy is not enough; he would fain
extend his kingdom to the banks of the Rhine and claim as his own Alsace
and Lorraine, which he now holds in fee only.”

“It is shameful,” yet another declared, “the way the Alsatians are
treated. A worse Governor than Hagenbach could not be found; and to add
to that, the Duke employs none but foreign mercenaries there, who abuse
the people cruelly.”

“There are many Switzers also among them,” said Hans Vögeli; “indeed my
runaway brother Heinrich is said to command a body of Hagenbach’s
soldiers.”

“It is disgraceful,” cried old Hassfurter, “that so many Switzers should
desert their own land to seek service in foreign armies.”

“Who can blame them for it?” replied Iseli the innkeeper. “Are they to
sit idle here at home and increase the number of those who find it hard
enough already to gain a livelihood in this impoverished land? What
would have become of your brother, Herr Vögeli, had he stayed at home? I
do not know the gentleman myself, it is true, but travellers have told
me that he is popular among the Alsatians, and stands high in the favor,
not only of Hagenbach, but also of Duke Charles himself. It is well
known to foreign princes that there are no more loyal people to be found
than we Switzers.”

“And we well know,” burst out Vogeli, “that these foreign lords never
repay our loyalty. French, Burgundian, or Austrian, they would not long
keep their hands off us, had they not so great a respect for our ability
to protect ourselves.”

“Is it true,” asked a deputy, seeking to put an end to the discussion,
“that the Emperor and the Burgundians are to unite in an expedition
against the Turks?”

“So it is said,” replied old Hassfurter, “but who can tell whether it
will come to pass? You know how vacillating the Emperor is, and it is
certain Charles the Bold will not join him in this enterprise, unless he
be made King; and that the princes of the Empire will not consent to,
for fear that the Electorate of Treves and other portions of their
domains might be included in the new kingdom.”

“Once more I say,” interrupted Vögeli, “that all this is nothing to us.
Let the princes do as they will; we are a free and independent people,
and should take no part in their affairs.”

“But we already belong to the German Empire,” some one objected.

“Even so,” retorted Vögeli; “but that does not compel us to comply with
all the Emperor’s demands. Let us not burn our fingers meddling with
things that do not concern the safety of the Confederation.”

“He is a poor citizen,” said old Hassfurter, “who will not help to
extinguish the fire that is consuming his neighbor’s house. If the
Burgundians treat Alsace in this manner, it will not be long before they
attempt to crush us also. Might we not be added to the kingdom that is
to be formed for Charles the Bold?”

Thus the discussion went on, while below in the large public room the
country folk who had assembled from far and near discussed the same
subjects after their own fashion. Coarse as these peasants were in
appearance, their great size and strength lent them an air of proud
self-consciousness, and they wore their patched hose and jerkins and
heavy hobnailed shoes with as much dignity as many a nobleman his silken
doublet. Here, too, the conversation soon became heated, and frequent
hostile glances were cast toward the Burgundian officer as well as his
servant and the two soldiers at the other table; some even hummed to
themselves the song Werni had been singing—which contained various
contemptuous allusions to Burgundy and its Duke.

These soldiers, who from their appearance might have been Switzers also,
were in uniforms of fine gray cloth. They seemed to ignore the scoffs
and jeers of the peasants, and as if in defiance of them, turned the
sleeves of their jerkins about to show more plainly the badge of the
Duke of Burgundy, a pair of dice, displaying the two spots and the five
spots. At length, however, as the peasants became more and more
audacious, one of the two imitated the lowing of a heifer. This form of
insult was familiar to the Switzers and roused them to instant fury. One
tall fellow rose, and crossing over to the table where the men in gray
were sitting, intentionally stumbled over the legs of one of them, and
assailed him with a torrent of abuse. The soldier merely shrugged his
shoulders indifferently, which seemed to infuriate the peasant still
more; with legs outspread, he planted himself before the Burgundian.

“Truly!” he drawled, “that is a curious ornament you have there on your
sleeve! Perchance there was not cloth enough and your lord put those
dice on for patches!”

“You scoundrel!” burst out the man in gray, “I will teach you respect
for my noble master’s arms; and as for patches, look at your own jerkin,
you Bärenhäuter[5]!”

The bold mountaineer looked abashed, and was about to turn away without
reply, when another Switzer strode to his side. “And those French words
above your noble master’s arms, what do they signify?”

“_Je guette_,” replied the Burgundian; “that is to say, ‘I watch.’ One
could hardly expect cow-herds to understand French.”

“Now you shall not watch long for a flogging!” shouted the Switzer
furiously. “Up, all who call themselves men! We will soon put a stop to
his insolence.”

“Good friend,” said the other, slowly drawing his sword, “take your
milking stool between your horns and get you gone, else I will hack that
hide of yours till it looks as patched as your jerkin.”

“Am I a bull,” roared the herdsman, “that I should have horns to carry a
milk stool? You shall pay dearly for that, you dog!”

At this moment the officer brought the flat blade of his sword down upon
the table with such a clang that all turned to look at him. He sternly
bade the soldiers hold their peace and ordered them from the room. But
the passions of the Switzers were now fully aroused. One of them seized
a heavy oaken stool. “Here, you good for naught!” he cried, “take this
milking stool between your horns!” and dashed it violently at the head
of the Burgundian. At the same instant the officer flung himself between
the combatants just in time to receive the full weight of the blow,
which stretched him bleeding on the floor. A wild tumult at once arose
that speedily brought the landlord to the spot, closely followed by a
throng of curious deputies. Peace was at once restored, and the
Burgundians with Iseli rushed to the relief of the victim, Hans Vögeli
following.

“Good God!” cried the latter suddenly, “it is my brother Heinrich. I
might have known the vagabond would come to some such end.”

“For shame!” said old Hassfurter, “to speak in such a way of your own
brother.”

“Nay, preach not to me,” retorted Vögeli; “this man who lies here before
us is no longer my brother. I long ago cast him from my heart, and the
city of Freiburg has banished all who did not return when they were
summoned thither.”

“That was no loss to you, methinks,” answered Hassfurter, “since you
thereby acquired sole possession of your father’s house and properties,
to which otherwise Heinrich would have been entitled to a share.”

“Nonsense!” cried Vögeli furiously; “all the world knows that my father
had already disinherited Heinrich.” The old man made no reply. He knelt
down by the wounded officer, and after carefully examining his injury
shook his head gravely, to the innkeeper’s great alarm.

“Merciful Heaven!” he cried, “the town guard will soon be here, and I
shall be punished for permitting this affray in my house. Hagenbach,
too, will not fail to remember what has happened here to his officer.”

“Have you no friend?” asked Hassfurter; “I mean one on whom you can
rely, who would take care of this fellow for you? As for the
Burgundians, gold will keep them silent concerning the affair. They are
not altogether guiltless themselves, and would not escape punishment if
the facts were known.”

“I have indeed such a friend,” replied the innkeeper in a tone of
relief, “Hans Irmy, a magistrate of our town. Our places adjoin, and we
can easily carry the man thither.”

The peasants lent willing aid, and Irmy gladly offered the use of a
secret room in his house to the wounded officer. There he lay
unconscious for three days; but nature finally triumphed, and his
progress toward recovery was rapid, thanks to Walter, Irmy’s son, who
tended him with the greatest care.

“It does not please me,” said the father one day, “that you should sit
the whole day at that foreign soldier’s bedside; such service could be
performed quite as well by the servants.”

“But, father,” cried Walter, “he is such a fine fellow and can tell such
splendid tales of war and the battles he has fought in. It almost makes
one long to go away with him.”

“Has the stranger suggested that to you?” asked Irmy.

“No, not he,” was the answer; “but Iseli, your friend, is always saying
that I might make a great success if I were to go out into the world; he
seems to think there is something unusual about me.”

“Iseli is a fool,” growled the old man, “to put such ideas into your
head. Stay in your own country and earn an honest living, that is my
advice; and if you must be a soldier, no doubt there will be
opportunities enough for you to begin your career in the service of the
Fatherland, instead of entering that of any foreign prince.”

Crestfallen, Walter slipped away, but half an hour later he was sitting
beside the officer again, listening with eager interest to his tales.
Heini Süssbacher was often in the sick chamber also, and the two boys
soon determined to follow their hero out into the world to seek their
fortunes. Not long after this the Captain took leave of the Councillor,
with kindly thanks for his hospitality, and set out for Treves to join
the Governor, who had already reached Strassburg with the Emperor. He
was a considerable distance away from Basle, when suddenly the lads
sprang out from the roadside and besought him to take them with him to
the ducal court that they too might become soldiers like himself,
promising to do their best. Heinrich Vögeli reproved them sharply; but
what was he to do with them, as they absolutely refused to return home
even if he sent them away? There seemed no alternative except to take
them along. At the next town, therefore, he hired two horses for them,
that the journey to Strassburg might be more quickly accomplished, and
also despatched a messenger secretly to old Irmy to reassure him as to
his son’s whereabouts.

But old Irmy was not to be appeased so easily; he stormed and grumbled
continually about the runaways. “And Heini, too,” he always ended with,
“that rascal! as if his father had not already injured me enough in my
business by selling his goods at a loss, that he must now lead my son
astray, the only child I have in the world, and induce him to become a
vagabond and a traitor like that Vögeli!”

But as week after week passed and the boys did not return, the
Councillor at length determined, come what might, to go in search of
them; he set out also for Treves, where in a few days the Emperor
Frederick, with his son Maximilian and Duke Charles the Bold, was to
make his formal entry.




                              Chapter III
                        The Entry of the Princes


Irmy’s journey was not accomplished so easily as he had expected; he was
frequently obliged to wait, as all the horses obtainable were needed for
the use of those travellers who, as members of the Emperor’s household
or as envoys or functionaries of the Empire, could claim first
consideration. Nor was this a small matter, for fully seven hundred
deputies from the various cities assembled at Treves to greet the
Emperor, all of noble birth, not to mention the curiosity-seekers.

It was late in the evening of the twenty-ninth of September when the
Councillor at last entered Treves. The Emperor had already arrived that
morning, and the city was so crowded with strangers that only by paying
a large sum was Irmy able to secure even the poorest kind of a lodging.
Charles the Bold was expected to appear the following morning, when the
Emperor was to ride out to meet him, and the people were eagerly looking
forward to the coming spectacle.

“It is there I shall be most likely to find the lad,” thought Irmy. “I
will rise early and go out to meet the procession; Vögeli will be with
the Duke, and wherever he is, Walter will surely not be far away.”

He was the first to awake in the house the next morning; quickly rising,
he peered out through the round leaded window panes, as well as their
dinginess would permit, at the gray sky above. “Everything is dirty
here,” he growled—“the bed and the furniture as well as the room; and
these panes might be any color.”

He flung open the sash in a rage and thrust his head out into the cool
morning air. Nothing was stirring as yet in the street below, and he
might still have enjoyed several hours of slumber without losing
anything; but anxiety for his only child had disturbed his natural
serenity of mind and made him restless.

“Now I can make my way through the town easily,” he thought. He dressed
himself and went carefully down the dark stairs of his lodging house,
the garret of which had never before been honored by a guest of Irmy’s
wealth and standing. When he reached the sidewalk he looked up once more
at the dark gray sky, then took his way through the deserted streets
that reëchoed to the sound of his footsteps. No one was in sight but a
watchman pacing his rounds.

“It is an old city,” said Irmy to himself, “and not so badly built, but
it cannot compare with Basle.”

At the gate of the town, a small fee procured him ready egress, and the
guards showed him the way to the camp that had been pitched for the Duke
and his followers. Slowly he wandered about among the tents, sure that
here he must find his son, since Hagenbach and his officers had already
taken possession of the quarters assigned to them as part of the Duke’s
retinue. As yet, however, all was still both without and within the
tents, and the Councillor turned his steps toward a sutler’s wine shop,
on the wooden front of which was a large shield bearing in Italian the
name and calling of its occupant. A servant with black hair and
unmistakably Italian cast of countenance was brushing away the dried
leaves from before the door and strewing the path with white sand.
Addressing him in his own tongue, Irmy asked for a breakfast of meat,
bread, and porridge, with a draught of good wine.

“I ought not to give you anything,” replied the Italian, “since you are
not of the Burgundian soldiery nor yet in the Duke’s service, it is
plain. But since none of the soldiers are stirring, belike you may
enter.”

This the Councillor gladly did, and to pass the time chatted with the
friendly waiter, who had been much in Venice and Genoa in former days,
and knew of many of the great mercantile houses with which he was
connected. He asked him about two lads who must have arrived in camp
with one of the Burgundian captains, but the Lombard could tell him
nothing of them.

“We came hither with some Italian cuirassiers, levied for Duke Charles
in Italy,” he replied, “and know nothing of his other followers. But if
you will station yourself by the roadside against yonder tree, no part
of the procession can escape you.”

By this time signs of life began to appear about the camp. Tents were
thrown open here and there, and the soldiers could be seen busied with
the various offices of their toilet. But none had any news to give of
Vögeli and the two boys. One man remembered that the Captain had been
sent to Basle, but further than that he knew nothing.

Soon a trumpeter emerged from one of the tents and sounded a call,
whereat the whole camp instantly sprang to life. All was bustle and
activity as each man bestirred himself to make ready for the day—a more
difficult task than usual, for on this occasion everything must appear
at its very best. The cuirassiers had already burnished their arms and
mail to spotless brilliancy on the previous day, but there still
remained more to be done than could well be accomplished in the short
time left them. Swiftly they rubbed down the horses, standing in long
rows tethered to a rope. The horses of the Italians were magnificent
creatures, and each was the individual property of its rider. These
cuirassiers were for the most part men of quality; each was entitled to
a mounted esquire and one foot-soldier as his escort. None but the rich
were permitted to join their ranks; and many nobles, survivors of the
old knighthood, were to be found serving in this troop of mercenaries,
whose pay was at least thrice that of a lieutenant in these days.

At length all was finished, and it was an imposing array that rode past
the wine shop toward the high-road along which the train of the Emperor
was already seen approaching. A band of drummers and musicians led the
way, and next, preceded by waving banners and pennons, came Frederick
himself, followed by a long and brilliant cavalcade, among which Irmy
looked in vain for Vögeli. Hagenbach was there indeed; but even had the
merchant forced himself to ask for the Captain he would have met with no
reply from the haughty Governor, who, riding to-day in attendance on the
Emperor, looked even more arrogant and pompous than usual. The
Burgundian cuirassiers brought up the rear of the procession, during the
passage of which Irmy maintained the position pointed out to him, beside
the tree, which afforded him an excellent view.

By this time he was no longer the only spectator. Crowds had been
pouring out from the gates of the city and assembling from all the
surrounding villages, until the whole road on both sides was lined with
sightseers. For hours they waited cheerfully while the two princes, who
had met after half an hour’s ride, were engaged in a friendly dispute
over a question of honor. Frederick wished the Duke to ride at his side,
while Charles insisted that he as the lesser potentate should modestly
follow. At length the heavens, which had lowered for a full hour upon
this ceremonious pretence, opened their flood gates and deluged Duke and
Emperor, noble and henchman alike; for Nature at such times is no
respecter of persons. Especially inopportune was it now, however, for
all were in their most sumptuous array; and many looked upon it as an
evil omen.

But sunshine followed close upon the rain, and fair weather smiled upon
their entry into the city, their approach to which was greeted by a
clashing peal of bells from every church tower, and heralded by the
blare of trumpets and the rattle of drums long before anything could be
seen of the procession. On it came at last,—first, the musicians, then a
long train of archers brought by the Duke of Somerset from England, with
whose royal house Charles the Bold was connected through his wife. These
were followed by a group of heralds. And now, amid the deafening shouts
and acclamations of the multitude, appeared the Emperor and the Duke,
riding side by side.

Old Irmy’s somewhat elevated position enabled him to look over the heads
of the intervening spectators. That rider glittering with gold and
jewels, his embroidered doublet thickly set with pearls, sitting his
horse so stooped and carelessly—the man with the listless, indifferent
expression and heavy, protruding under lip—could he be the ruler of the
Holy Roman Empire? Alas! what could be hoped for from one whose utter
lack of strength and firmness was so evident? It was far pleasanter to
look on the youthful figure behind him, the Grand Duke Maximilian, whose
handsome and intelligent face was framed with a mass of fair curling
hair. Clad all in velvet and silver, he rode between the Archbishops of
Mayence and Treves. Accompanying these Princes of the Church was a
singular companion, designated by the onlookers as “the Turk.” This was
a son of the Sultan, who had been taken captive by the Christians and
received the baptismal name of Calixtus. He lived at the Austrian court
and was fond of appearing in costumes of startling gorgeousness. These
personages did not claim attention long, however, for all eyes quickly
turned to the centre of interest, the man who rode at the Emperor’s
side.

Charles the Bold could certainly never have been called handsome,
whatever his flatterers might claim; but fire and energy gleamed in his
dark eyes, proud self-confidence, inflexible will, and haughty defiance
were stamped upon his countenance. The personality of the Prince denoted
an overbearing imperiousness that seemed to challenge at once admiration
and repugnance, affection and antipathy. Magnificent, indeed, was the
Duke’s attire. Over the breastplate of polished steel he wore a cloak so
covered with pearls, diamonds, and rubies that the merchant from Basle
estimated its value at two hundred thousand gold florins, while in his
velvet cap sparkled a single jewel that was priceless. The Duke’s
charger also called forth universal admiration. It was a black horse of
matchless strength and beauty, equipped in full mail and decked with
gold and jewelled housings that swept the ground. Behind the princes
followed a long train of German and Burgundian nobles, among them the
privy councillors of the Emperor and of the Duke, and the envoys of
Albert of Brandenburg, who was called Achilles.[6]

“Why is he not there himself?” the people asked of one another; “he is
deemed the bravest and wisest prince in all the Empire, and they say the
Emperor can do nothing without him.”

“How think you,” asked another, “it would please the Elector to ride
modestly behind the Burgundian among all those princes and counts?”

There seemed no end to the cavalcade. Following the Duke’s bodyguard,
all sumptuously arrayed, both horse and man, came the flower of the
Burgundian army, every man clad in new and glittering armor, their
banners floating above them in the blaze of the Autumn sunlight, the
whole making a scene of splendor such as the people had never before
beheld. Pennon after pennon passed old Irmy, and still the end was not
yet in sight, although the two princes had already entered the market
place in Treves. There a second discussion arose between them as to
which should have the honor of escorting the other to his lodgings, the
Emperor as governor of the city wishing to act the part of host, and the
Duke protesting. At length they agreed to separate at the market place,
and the Duke rode at full speed back to the gates, which the last of his
followers were just entering.

Once more the Duke passed Irmy while on his way to the Abbey of Saint
Maximin, of which his ancestors had been patrons, and where he had taken
up his quarters rather than in the town. This time, however, he rode too
swiftly, and the people were too full of all the sights they had seen
for him to excite the attention that he had received half an hour
before. His retinue, the English archers, the Italian cuirassiers, and
the native Burgundians with their varied equipment, followed through the
gates. Six culverins were also included in the train, mounted on the
wooden carriages which the Duke was accustomed to carry with him in the
field, and which had been set up here in the camp also.

Dejected and disheartened, the old man turned his steps toward the camp
once more. He had seen nothing of Captain Vögeli nor of his son, and had
small hope of finding them here now. Exhausted with the fatigues of the
day, and faint with hunger, for he had eaten nothing since morning, his
first thought was to seek rest and refreshment, and then continue his
search. Slowly he walked on through the camp. Artisans of all sorts had
set up their workshops near the tents, bakers and butchers were offering
their wares for sale, and there were tap-houses by the dozen. The
cuirassiers had removed the trappings from their horses and with
handfuls of straw were busy rubbing the foam and sweat from their
flanks. The Italian’s hospitable wine shop stood open; but the tables
were already well filled with soldiers, and the Councillor was about to
pass on when the friendly servant beckoned to him and, leading him
around to the rear, whispered: “This way; enter with me and seat
yourself behind the counter; the soldiers will take you for one of us
and make no objection to your presence.”

The tired and hungry Irmy gladly followed this suggestion. A good and
substantial meal revived his strength; but his unwonted exertions proved
too much for him, and he offered the waiter a good sum if he would
provide him with a place where he might rest for a short time.

“Come right in here, sir,” replied the Italian, leading him to a small
compartment; “you can lie down on my bed and no one will disturb you.”




                               Chapter IV
                             The Lost Found


As old Irmy slept, the wine shop gradually filled, while in the large
tavern room the landlord was kept equally busy supplying the Burgundian
officers with wine, cards, and dice. Duke Charles would permit no
gambling among the common soldiers, and regarded it with great disfavor
for the officers also; but to-day the players had no fear of discovery.

“You are on duty to-day, Vögeli?” asked one of the men from Freiburg.

“Yes; that is why I was not in the procession. It is a pity I was forced
to miss it.”

“Nay, waste no regrets on that,” was the answer; “between dust and sweat
we almost perished. What say you,—shall we have a game?”

“I do not care much for play,” replied Vögeli, “but as you please.”

They seated themselves accordingly and began to play, while the other
tables were lively with all kinds of sport.

“Do you know,” said one, “why the Duke sent that magnificent diamond
ring to his new page? Faith, it was because he wished the Prince good
luck in his pursuit of Fortune.”

“All do not get such rich rewards,” said another; “the Duke is often
displeased by such things.”

“Do you remember Lord de Comines?” asked a third; “he stood high in
Charles’s favor, was his private secretary, and presumed more than any
favorite ever had dared, yet even he once excited the wrath of the Duke.
After a banquet, one night, he bethought him ’twould be a rare jest to
sleep off his drunkenness in his master’s bed. But Charles soon awakened
him.

“‘Good friend,’ he said, ‘you have forgotten your boots,’ and kneeling
down he drew them off himself; then he flung them at the head of the now
sobered secretary, and ordered him from the room to finish his slumbers
in his own bed. Comines was known ever after as ‘Puss in Boots,’ and was
received with scoffs and jeers whenever he ventured to show his face.
Now he hobnobs in Paris with King Louis and weaves intrigues against
us.”

Vögeli had been winning steadily, and not wishing to take any more of
his comrade’s money, he arose and left the tavern to attend to his
duties as officer of the day. Meanwhile it had been getting very noisy
in the wine shop. The good Burgundy dispensed by Giacomo, the host, was
greatly enjoyed by the cuirassiers, and they applied themselves to it
industriously. Here, too, dice were thrown and cards dealt, but with
more caution than the officers displayed. At length the door opened and
six English archers entered, who quietly took their places at a table
and called for wine.

“What business have they here?” asked the cuirassiers of one another.
“Giacomo, you are our sutler and shall serve no others.”

As the tavernkeeper paid no heed to this, however, but prepared to
supply the wants of the newcomers, one of the esquires, a Lombard of
graceful but almost boyish figure sprang up from a table. “Hark you,
Giacomo!” he shouted, “if you dare to serve these English curs we will
run you through and afterwards burn your shop over your head!”

This threat was approved by loud shouts and vigorous oaths from all
sides.

“All honor to my countrymen!” said the Italian, deprecatingly, “but the
English must also live; nor do they lack good gold.”

“Nay—they have far too much, the dogs, the slanderers!”

The archers meanwhile, scarcely comprehending the import of this
discourse, sat waiting patiently for the liquor they had ordered.

“Ralph,” said one of them to his neighbor, “can you make out what that
little devil yonder is saying?”

“Never a word,” was the reply. “I only know I have a precious thirst and
am kept waiting too long for my wine.”

With some difficulty the host succeeded in making his way to the
Englishmen’s table; but before he could set down the jugs two Lombards
planted themselves before him and shouted threateningly: “The Devil take
you, Giacomo! Give them nothing, or it shall be the worse for you, do
you hear?”

At this Giacomo lost his patience. “Nay, go to the Devil yourselves,
dear countrymen,” he retorted, “or whither you please! As for me, the
Englishmen’s gold is as good as your own. Give way!”

By this time the archers had grasped the situation, for they had been
once praised by the Duke and held up as examples to the disorderly
Lombards, who ever since had been their bitter enemies; and when the two
cuirassiers proceeded to knock the jugs from Giacomo’s hand, spilling
the wine upon the floor, Ralph with another tall archer sprang up,
seized them by the throat in their iron grasp, and hurled them against
the door with such violence that it burst open, and the Lombards rolled
out head over heels just at the feet of Captain Vögeli, who was making
his rounds through the camp to see that all was in order. This
unexpected encounter was far from pleasing to the cuirassiers, for any
breach of peace was severely punished. They attempted to explain, but
the uproar within was so great, Vögeli did not stop to listen. Hastily
entering the tavern he found the Englishmen surrounded on all sides with
threatening fists and gleaming knives. Instant silence followed his
appearance, for the strictness of the Duke’s discipline was well known
among his followers, and the officer of the day was therefore a person
much to be feared. Each man gave a different account of what had
happened; but as all agreed that the two Lombards who had been flung out
of the door and who by this time had picked themselves up out of the
dust were the chief offenders, the Captain concluded to keep the affair
to himself for this once, and merely ordered the archers to leave the
wine shop. Before they had departed, however, the door of the servant’s
sleeping-room opened and old Irmy made his appearance, roused at last by
all the commotion.

“What! you here at last?” exclaimed Vögeli, holding out his hand to
greet the merchant. “Truly you have kept us waiting long. But how came
you here?”

“That is no concern of yours,” growled Irmy, refusing the proffered
hand. “Where is my child, whom you enticed away from me in return for
the hospitality I showed you?”

“My good sir,” said the officer, “’twas but in kindness to your friend,
the host of The Bears, that you took me in, for it would have fared ill
with him had news of that affair become known. As for your son, nothing
was farther from my thoughts than to persuade him to leave you. I did
not believe the lad would return to his home even had I refused to take
him with me, and then you might have searched for him, who knows where?
If you will go with me to the city, he shall be restored to you at once.
Moreover, I have managed already to disgust him with the idea of
soldiering. The other youth refuses to be converted, however, and is in
a fair way to become a pikeman.”

“I care naught for him,” replied Irmy, as they left the wine shop; “he
was always a good-for-naught. His father settled in the village of
Aarau, and thought to ruin us merchants of Basle by his low prices; and
when he finally died, himself a bankrupt, nothing would do but I must
have the boy brought up in my house. But he never could be taught
anything; he is as full of foolish pranks as a donkey is of gray hairs,
though not altogether bad at heart,—not so bad as his father was.”

“Now you are talking sensibly,” said Vögeli. “Methinks you might have
spared me your abuse just now.”

“Nay, do not judge me too harshly,” answered the old man; “it is my
nature to grumble, and in a large business like mine one is vexed by so
many people every day, one becomes used to quarrelling. Consider, too,
that I had lost my only child, the boy who is to succeed to my name and
to my business when I no longer have time or strength to carry it on. I
am glad to find him here with you, and thank you with all my heart for
the wisdom and prudence you have shown.”

“Truly that has a different sound,” declared the officer; “but let us
turn up this street. My lodgings are yonder on the market place, and
there we shall find the lad.”

Old Irmy hurried on in advance of his companion, till he reached the
doorway of the house Vögeli had pointed out; he rushed up the stairway,
and the next moment father and son were clasped in each other’s arms.
The Councillor’s forgiveness was easily won, for he had already given
his anger full vent, and when, half an hour later, the two Irmys found
themselves seated with the Captain at the well spread table of the best
inn the town afforded, the last trace of his resentment vanished.

“You ought to remain here with us a few days longer and see all the
festivities,” said Vögeli—“the tournament, at least.”

But Irmy refused, declaring he must return at once to look after his
people, who would be out of all bounds were he too long absent.

“It is a gay life you lead here,” he continued, “and one cannot much
blame a lad of sixteen for longing to join in it.”

“All is not gold that glitters,” replied the Captain. “I often feel a
distaste for my profession; indeed, I should never have left my native
land had I been on better terms with my brother Hans. He was always
domineering and, being the elder, determined to have his own way in
everything. Moreover, he well understood how to win over our father by
his flattery, while I with my straightforward disposition could not get
on with him at all. I was obliged to submit myself dutifully to my
brother’s orders and weigh raisins and pour vinegar in my father’s
grocery shop, with no prospect of ever becoming anything more than a
clerk—for Hans always reserved the profits for himself. So I said to
myself, ‘You had better try some other country,’ and though I well knew
how deserters were despised, I left my home and took service with
Burgundy. Nor have I reason to regret it, for in truth I have prospered
better than most. My father disinherited me, it is true, and the city of
Freiburg has banished all deserters, but I care little for that. I
willingly yield to Hans my share of our inheritance, and should I ever
return to Freiburg to visit the graves of my parents, as a Burgundian
officer, I shall enter and depart without question. Yet for many reasons
I do not like this service, for there is much wrong and injustice, and
it often revolts me to be forced to obey Hagenbach’s commands. Moreover,
it is a sad life to be always wandering among strangers, without a
country, without a home, without a family. Here one lives from hand to
mouth, and to save enough from one’s pay to return at last to the
Fatherland to end one’s days in peace is scarcely to be thought of.”

“Then why not quit this service and go with us?” said Irmy; “surely some
place can be found for you, in your own land, that will suit you.”

“Nay, I am forbidden to return to Freiburg, and you know I am a Switzer.
It must go hard with us before we abandon the masters to whom we have
pledged ourselves.”

So their talk ran on till the shades of evening began to fall, when they
parted, Irmy returning with Walter to what had hitherto been the
Captain’s lodgings, while the latter hastened back to the camp and took
up his quarters in the tent that had been assigned to him there.

On the following morning the merchant and his son bade farewell to their
friend and, riding out through the gate of the city, took their way
along the highroad that led from Strassburg to Basle.




                               Chapter V
                          The Emperor’s Flight


Festivities of all sorts, tournament, parades, and banquets followed in
rapid succession in the city of Treves. Even the festivals of the Church
afforded the clergy an opportunity of displaying their wealth and
magnificence. The Archbishop, however, was not altogether pleased with
what was going on within the walls of his court; for the people talked
openly of Charles’s coronation, an event as much opposed to the
interests of the ecclesiastical Elector of Treves as of all the princes
of the German Empire. Either the Elector of Brandenburg or the Elector
of Saxony could lay quite as just a claim to a king’s crown as could the
Burgundian. Moreover, was it not whispered that the Electorate of Treves
was to form part of the new kingdom? The Archbishop a vassal of Charles
the Bold! Nay, that must be prevented at any cost.

Meanwhile the negotiations between the two potentates made little
progress. Week after week went by, and still the Councillors could come
to no agreement concerning the Turkish war, as it was given out, but in
reality, as to the marriage of Maximilian and the coronation of Charles
the Bold, though this was known only to the initiated. At last, however,
the end seemed near: the Councillors met to complete the final
arrangements; that evening the contracts were to be signed; and the next
morning Charles would awake as King, Maximilian as the betrothed of
Burgundy’s heiress.

The Emperor reclined contentedly in his armchair. He had been repeatedly
annoyed by the Duke’s arrogance and extravagance of display, but
comforted himself with the reflection that all Charles’s wealth and
possessions would eventually fall to his own son and heir by marriage
with the much courted Maria of Burgundy. That here in this old city
events were to prove propitious to him had been foretold by the stars.
His entry had been made under a fortunate conjunction, and since then
there had been no change in the favorable aspect of the planets. Yet he
could not permit this night to pass without again consulting the heavens
as to the further progress of his affairs. Rising listlessly, therefore,
from the writing table upon which he was wont to scribble and had to-day
scrawled with especial conviction fully a hundred times the words, “The
whole earth is a vassal of Austria,” he was about to seek a private
conference with the court astrologer, when a light knock was heard at
the door, and the venerable Archbishop of Treves entered, evidently in
great agitation. Approaching the Emperor, he bowed respectfully and
said:

“May a faithful servant crave leave to speak a few words with Your
Majesty?”

“We were about to retire,” replied Frederick indifferently, “but will
not refuse you, if it be on a matter of great import.”

“Not otherwise, sire, would I have presumed to intrude myself in the
chamber of our most illustrious Emperor,” said the Archbishop. Then
standing erect before the monarch and assuming a resolute expression, he
began:

“For many weeks past, in our good city of Treves, great preparations
have been made both in the cathedral and on the market place, and people
in the streets talk of a coronation. The Princes and Electors of the
Empire have paid no heed to this idle chatter, nor deemed that aught
else was in question than another of those splendid pageants of which we
feel we have already seen more than enough. But reliable news has just
reached us that these rumors are not entirely without foundation, and I
have hastened hither to implore Your Majesty in the name of my
fellow-princes to put an end to our apprehensions with one word of
assurance.”

“What if we cannot speak that word?” asked Frederick calmly.

“Then God help the unhappy Empire, and the illustrious house of Austria
as well! But I can scarce believe that His Roman Majesty has formed a
decision or pledged himself as yet in so weighty an affair as this. To
create a King without a council of the chief members of the Empire! That
were unheard of. But no! pardon me, Your Majesty, if I have gone too
far.”

“Nay, go on,” replied the Emperor. “What you say is nothing new. All
these objections have been laid before us a thousand times by our loyal
subject and Privy Councillor, Count Werdenberg.”

Thus encouraged, Archbishop John continued: “Were it merely the question
of a new kingdom, of what countries would you form it? Powerful princes
of the Church forced to submit to Burgundian sovereignty? Lorraine?—I
cannot believe you would wrest that from the knightly young Duke René.
Nay, should Your Imperial Majesty permit such a crime against a minor,
’twould justify the pettiest freebooter’s unlawful depredations.”

Here Frederick looked away, unable to meet the stern glance of the
prelate, who continued: “And in the end, even should Your Majesty
succeed, contrary to all precedent, in forming a new kingdom, and making
the proud Burgundian your ally, would not all his enemies and backbiters
then become the foes of Austria likewise? I beseech Your Majesty to
consider: cut off from all the members of the Empire, menaced by foes
from without, the Lord of Christendom will be forced to yield to the
commands or desires of the King he has created.”

“That may all be true,” answered Frederick, quite unmoved; “but since
you discourse so sagely of these things mayhap you can show us some way
out of the tangle; for ourselves, we can find none.”

“Nothing easier,” returned the Archbishop. “Speak of this to no one: at
midnight we will take a boat and depart secretly from Treves. You will
thus escape from your dilemma. Duke Charles will not be crowned, the
Empire will suffer no wrong, and Your Majesty will be freed from all
obligations and once more master of your own actions.”

Frederick was speechless with surprise, but after some deliberation he
agreed to follow this counsel. An emissary was secretly despatched to
the Imperial Councillors, who were still arguing with the Burgundians.
To the amazement of the latter, Count Werdenberg suddenly declared
negotiations broken off, nor were all their efforts to secure a future
resumption of the discussion of any avail. Half an hour later the
Burgundian Chancellor stood beside the Duke’s bed in the Abbey of St.
Maximin and related what had passed, his report being frequently
interrupted by outbursts of fury from his lord.

Just at this time a door of the archiepiscopal palace in Treves was
softly opened and Archbishop John issued forth followed by young
Maximilian and Frederick, with a few attendants. Silently and cautiously
they crept away and betook themselves with all speed to the banks of the
Moselle, where a boat was waiting for them. Like fugitives the princes
silently embarked, and protected by the veil of night that still hung
heavy over the old city, the boat glided smoothly down the dark river
toward the green waters of the Rhine.

Half an hour after their departure a troop of horsemen approached the
spot where the skiff had been moored. They were Burgundian cuirassiers,
led by Captain Vögeli, who had been on guard in the Duke’s antechamber.
“The Devil!” he growled, “could I but have carried the Roman Emperor
prisoner to my Duke, I need have yearned no longer to end my days
comfortably in the Fatherland.”




                               Chapter VI
                         The Rising at Brisach


Since the days of Tell and Gessler there had been no alliance between
Austria and the Swiss Confederation. Occasionally, it is true, the Swiss
had shown a friendly spirit toward the Emperor, who was a member of that
royal house, and they had never really ceased to regard themselves as
belonging to the German Empire. About this time, however, a peace was
concluded between the two countries, called the “Everlasting Compact,”
which has never been broken from that day to this.

The Swiss States had advanced to the Austrian Archduke Sigismund the sum
required to redeem his Alsatian possessions, and notified Charles the
Bold, who held them in pledge, that it was awaiting his acceptance in
Basle. But Charles continually made evasions. While at Treves, he had
visited these mortgaged lands and concluded they would form a valuable
addition to his own dominions. He urged the Hapsburger to defer a
settlement of the affair until he should have time to receive the money
at Besançon or some other designated place; under no circumstances would
he come to Basle. This was brief and to the point; in reality he had no
notion of granting a release at any time.

The Alsatians themselves were far from content with this state of
things, for while Duke Sigismund was by no means a model sovereign, the
harsh rule of Peter von Hagenbach pleased them still less. The hated
Governor resided at Brisach, and on this particular evening had summoned
all his officers to a council. Striding restlessly up and down the
spacious apartment where a number of fierce bearded soldiers, Walloons
and Picards for the most part, were already assembled, he at last burst
out: “Where is that fellow Vögeli? Can he mean to play us false, as I
have been warned? Pah! I know my Switzers very well. They will lend
themselves to anything, provided they are but paid and managed
properly.”

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when Vögeli entered and, passing the
Governor and his fellow-officers with a respectful greeting, took his
place at the lower end of the table.

“Marry, sir!” cried Hagenbach smiling, “’tis plain you are no fool and
know how to make yourself of importance. By right you should no longer
be entitled to share our councils, for I have released your disorderly
followers from their oath.”

“Nevertheless, until they have been paid their arrears I am still their
Captain and yours,” quietly answered Vögeli.

Hagenbach darted an evil glance at the bold speaker, but made no reply,
and turning at once to the matter in hand, addressed his leaders as
follows: “You are all well aware of the mutinous spirit that exists
among the inhabitants of this cursed country. If we delay they will soon
be in open revolt. It is our business to maintain the allegiance due our
mighty lord, the Duke, may God preserve him, and to seize by force
whatever towns or castles may be necessary.”

The foreign captains here expressed their lively approval, but Vögeli
was silent. Hagenbach continued: “What these churls have in mind is
plain from the fact that even to-day, on the holy Easter festival, they
went fully armed to church. But, by my soul, it shall not be! This good
city of Brisach must be held for our lord at any cost. There is no lack
of provisions, and the stores would suffice for a year were there fewer
mouths to devour them. This, then, is my plan: Early on the morrow a
proclamation shall be made to the citizens, that their refusal to aid in
the work of fortification will avail them naught; all those who are not
outside the gates by midday prepared to labor in the trenches shall be
dragged thither by force, be they men or women. For the execution of
this order, gentlemen, you will answer to me, and if any one can suggest
a better plan—let him speak.” The Governor paused.

“Pardon me, my lord,” said Vögeli deprecatingly, “but if the burghers
are forced to do this work, will they not return to their homes
exasperated by the indignity inflicted on them and yet more determined
upon mischief?”

“Have no fear, my friend,” replied Hagenbach with a sinister smile,
“they will make no trouble for us in Brisach, for the reason that when
all are without the walls the gates shall be closed and none permitted
to return again at night.”

“And their children and their property?” inquired Vögeli.

“God-a-mercy! What does that concern you? Their brats shall be sent
after them, and their possessions serve as a reward to our brave
followers. Those who stay behind shall be strung up as rebels; and
should there be too many of these, faith, our good friend Joseph Broschi
[here he nodded to one of the officers] well understands how to dispose
of a superfluous population.”

The details of this cruel scheme were listened to in silence and without
a sign of disfavor from those present; no objections were made, for all
were accustomed to obey. Moreover, the Governor was in the right in one
respect. Only the most extreme measures could break the rebellious
spirit of the Alsatians; so the city of Brisach must be made a warning
example. The conference therefore was soon ended, and the captains
separated with many coarse jests. Hagenbach clapped Vögeli roughly on
the shoulder, saying:

“What is the matter with you to-day? You are as soft-hearted as an old
woman. But hark you, sir! I have no use for such officers, nor yet has
our lord of Burgundy.”

Vögeli looked inquiringly at the Governor. “Does that mean I am
dismissed, my lord?” he asked.

“Nay, methinks we shall stick together for some time yet; for if you
intend to remain in the Duke’s service till your men are paid, you are
like to wait till Doomsday!”

With these words Hagenbach turned abruptly to one of the Italians, with
whom he conversed for some time in an undertone.

“Keep a watchful eye on him,” said Hagenbach to the others, as Vögeli
left. “Heretofore I have turned a deaf ear to all whispers against him;
now I no longer trust him. I will consider the matter to-morrow. He is a
good soldier, and the people like him; but be on your guard as befits
the service of our most noble Duke.”

Thoughtfully Vögeli took his way back to the dwelling of his friendly
host, Hans Wild, where a cordial reception awaited him. The children
came running out to meet the soldier guest who could tell such fine
tales of war and adventure, and hailed him with shouts of joy; but
to-night he was gloomy and silent and paid no heed to them. Tearfully
the little ones hastened to their mother, who chided them gently for
troubling the Captain, although she herself was concerned at his
appearance, as he moodily bade her good-evening. Woman-like, she
endeavored by kindly questioning to discover the cause of his trouble,
and abused the Governor for denying his officers an Easter holiday, but
all to no purpose; Vögeli continued in a silent and gloomy mood. Indeed,
when Frau Katharine pressed him too closely his brow grew so dark that
saucy little Anne Marie cried out: “Oh see, mother! What an old growler
he looks like! He is not so nice after all. The Duke is wicked, and the
Governor is wicked, and now the Captain looks as if he wanted to eat us
all up, you and me and little Peter too!”

The mother would have punished the child for her pertness, but she fled
for protection to Vögeli, who stroked her smooth yellow locks as he
pacified Frau Katharine. “Children know not what they say,” he
graciously declared. “Alas! did we elders but know always what was best
to do or say—No!” he cried out suddenly, “I will not do it, come what
may!” And he brought his fist down on the table with such force that the
dishes rattled and Anne Marie and her mother looked at each other in
surprise. At that moment Hans Wild, a respectable rope-maker, entered.

“Let your family leave the room,” commanded Vögeli sternly. “I must
speak with you alone.”

“God help us!” wailed Frau Katharine, “our lives must be at stake. It is
true that my good husband went to the minister and did not lay aside all
his arms; but be merciful to him, sir! Surely he is not more to blame
than the other citizens.”

“If it be a sin to fulfil an honest man’s duty toward the welfare of our
good city, then I am guilty,” said Hans calmly. “Proceed! God sends no
man more than he can bear, and the God of our fathers still lives,
despite Hagenbach and his Duke.”

When the door was closed, Vögeli approached his host and held out his
hand, saying: “You have a stout heart, I know; how is it with the other
citizens?”

Hans gave him a searching glance. “Doubtless through you the Governor
seeks to find me out and ruin me. But this I tell you frankly: you may
do with me as you will; but when the others strike, the blow will be a
cruel one.”

Vögeli smiled kindly. “Rest assured, my friend, I mean you no harm. But
since you are already so certain of success, perchance you will not need
the aid of myself and my two hundred men—should you come to blows.”

“What!” cried Master Hans, in astonishment, “do you mean that you would
help us?”

“Certainly, and without delay—to-morrow, in truth, else it may be too
late,” replied the Captain quickly.

“To-morrow? Impossible! We are all armed, it is true, but must wait for
reënforcements from Ensisheim and other towns.”

“Very well then, wait, and perish! But first listen to what I tell you.
To-morrow morning you and your wives will be driven from the city to
work in the trenches. Once gone, you with all the rest will be forbidden
to reënter the gates; if you stay behind you will be slain. Your
property will be divided among the foreign mercenaries, and your
children perchance sent after you, should the spoilers see fit to spare
them. Take tender leave to-night of Anne Marie and Peter. You may never
see them again, Master Hans.”

In answer to his anxious questions, Vögeli explained the extent and
imminence of the danger.

“But what would you advise us to do? We are not yet prepared to strike,”
said Hans.

“Trust to our help, my friend; it shall not fail you. Early in the
morning, before the proclamation can be published, I will go to the
Governor and once more demand of him the pay for my men. If he refuse,
as he surely will, sound the great drum and be ready. We will take him
prisoner.”

“If that is done,” cried Hans joyfully, “you will have the city’s
lasting gratitude. You may depend upon us to do our part. For some weeks
we have had a secret understanding among ourselves, so that any news,
good or bad, can be spread throughout the town like wildfire. I will see
to that, but do not leave us in the lurch, sir Captain!”

Vögeli repeated his assurances, and the two men parted with a firm
hand-clasp, the one to seek his fellow citizens, the other to kindle the
increased anger of his men, who were already quarrelling in a tavern
over their discharge.

The citizens spent an anxious night. Would the morrow bring freedom or
ruin?—Scarce had the iron tongues of the bells sounded their first
summons to the faithful, when Vögeli betook himself to Hagenbach’s
quarters. The guard at the door refused to admit him, but Vögeli with
one sweep of his muscular arm hurled the man aside and walked
unannounced into the bedchamber of the Governor, who, reclining half
dressed in a deep armchair, was meditating upon his plans for the day.
His thoughts had just turned to Vögeli and he was debating whether it
would not be best to have him placed under immediate arrest, when
suddenly the Captain himself stood before him.

“In God’s name, Vögeli,” he shouted, “what are you doing here at this
hour? and why do you enter unannounced? In future wait till you are
summoned.” The veins on his forehead swelled and his voice shook with
rage. But Vögeli did not move.

“Be not angry with me, my lord,” he said. “I come not of my own will,
nor on my own errand; but my men will give me no peace.”

“Send them to the Evil One, whose children they are!” roared the
Governor.

“It would be a hard task to get the two hundred ready,” retorted Vögeli
with seeming good-nature; “moreover the evil one of dice and drink, to
whom I should send them, loves full pockets, as your lordship well
knows.”

“How should I know that, scoundrel? You are hounding me again for your
fellows’ beggarly pay. Know, sir, that our lord Duke has not a farthing
for lukewarm or treacherous servants like yourself. But I will give you
and them the kind of pay you well deserve!”

“So? What will you give us?” asked Vögeli deliberately.

“Something that will proclaim you all vile curs,” shouted Hagenbach.
“And now begone, if you would not have the Evil One take you likewise!”

Vögeli looked steadily at the Governor. He was inwardly raging and on
the point of uttering a fatal threat, but controlled himself in time,
and merely answered: “May you never repent this, my lord. I go as you
command.”

The Governor hurled some furious oaths after him, then flung himself
back in his chair and pondered afresh. “’Twere better, methinks, had I
kept the fellow here. Who knows what mischief he may breed?” Sir Peter
on this occasion seemed to have lacked his wonted decision, for he
hesitated and delayed putting his scheme against the people into
execution, until much precious time had been irrevocably lost.

After leaving the Governor, Vögeli repaired directly to the market
place, where his followers were anxiously awaiting him. “Have you
brought us our pay?” shouted one boisterous fellow, as soon as he caught
sight of the Captain.

“Fine pay indeed,” was the reply. “Our noble lord told me to send you
all to the Evil One.”

A storm of angry shouts arose. “Let us go and get it ourselves!” yelled
one.

“He shall give us a ton of gold and his life to boot!” cried another.

“Peace!” commanded Vögeli. Silence ensued, when lo, a singular spectacle
presented itself. At the beat of a drum throngs of armed citizens began
to issue from all the houses; rapidly the number increased, being
swelled by women and half-grown lads also, bearing any sort of implement
that would serve as a weapon.

“To the Governor! To Hagenbach’s quarters!” was the general cry. “Long
live the illustrious House of Austria!” and therewith the Hapsburg
banner floated lightly in the breeze. Renewed shouts greeted the
well-known emblem—“Long live our noble lord, Duke Sigismund! hurrah!
hurrah!” On they moved toward their destination, when suddenly a troop
of glittering horsemen blocked the way. They were nobles from the
surrounding country on their way to complain to the Governor of injuries
on the part of the Burgundian officers.

“Stay, in God’s name!” shouted the foremost of the riders. “What would
you do?”

“Long live Austria! Long live Archduke Sigismund!” was the only
response.

“The Archduke himself would be the first to condemn such action on your
part. Bethink you how long he has been allied to Burgundy. He is Duke
Charles’s friend and would never countenance any act of hostility toward
him.”

“He will not readily pardon the use of his name for your unlawful
purposes,” added another of the nobles. “Desist, I charge you, nor
presume to lay violent hands on the Duke’s most distinguished officer,
else you will—”

Here his words were drowned by a roar of indignation from the populace;
and Hans Wild, raised aloft by two of his fellow tradesmen, shouted in
ringing tones: “Give way, my lords! You have lent us no aid in the past,
nor will we brook interference from you now. Our crime, if such you deem
it, be on our own heads. Long live Austria, say I, and down with the
Governor!”

Thundering applause greeted these words. The horsemen fell back
dismayed, and on swept the throng. Soldiers stood in the doorways
looking on in amazement, at first unable to comprehend the meaning of
it. They had received no orders. Access to Hagenbach’s quarters was
already cut off; and finally, seeing what was afoot and that they stood
no chance against the infuriated citizens supported by Vögeli’s
followers, they deemed it best to abandon the scene of their offences,
and took to their heels, singly or in small companies, without even
stopping to gather up their belongings or their booty. The insurgents
paid no heed to them, intent only on capturing the person of the
detested Governor. He should be made to atone for all his crimes and
cruelties, and woe to him if he should be found in his quarters!

Greatly to their rage and chagrin, however, the nest was empty.
Hagenbach had been warned in time to make his escape by a side door.
Could he be already beyond their reach? The discovery of the open wicket
left no doubt as to the direction of his flight; and some of the more
active burghers, quickly mounting, hastened in pursuit, the others, with
the soldiers, following and carefully searching every house along the
roadside.

Suddenly a triumphant shout arose: “We have him, we have him!” and at
the same moment the Governor, accompanied by one faithful attendant, was
seen dashing out from a farmyard. Forcing his way through the crowd, he
crossed the road and set off at full speed across the fields, thinking
to escape that way. A lively chase followed; but Hagenbach, who had
flung himself on an ordinary cart horse, had small chance against the
better mounted burghers, and was soon overtaken. A few powerful but
well-parried sword strokes, and he was a prisoner. But even then his
insolence did not desert him.

“Make haste and fling me to the bloodthirsty dogs that they may gorge
themselves! Marry, ’tis far too noble game for such folk,” he cried.
Then turning on Vögeli, who with a dozen of his followers had hastened
to the spot, he sneeringly exclaimed: “So this is Swiss loyalty and
valor, sir Captain! A hundred against one! And for a few paltry florins
you forsake the colors to which you swore allegiance. I wish you joy of
the reward this peasant rabble will doubtless pay you for your
treachery.”

Vögeli was silent, but one of the soldiers shouted angrily: “Why do we
stand gaping here? Is there no one to silence the scoundrel’s vile
calumnies? If not, I will teach you to insult my master!” Raising his
arm he was about to deal the Governor a mighty blow, when one of the
burghers restrained him, saying: “Nay, my good friend, to make such
short work of it were to lose half the pleasure. This is matter for the
executioner.”

At these words Hagenbach turned pale and said no more. But he was not to
go immediately to the scaffold. With frenzied shouts of joy, they took
their way back to Brisach, which had been entirely deserted by its
inhabitants, women and children, who now accompanied the procession with
jeers and taunts at the prisoner.

“Hagenbach, you Judas! you bloodhound! at last we have you safe where
you can no longer torment us.” The executioner, usually an object of
aversion, was now hailed in the most friendly manner by all. “Master
Peter,” they shouted to him, “this is work for you!” and Peter,
grinning, tucked up his sleeves and struck at the air with his sword,
before the eyes of Hagenbach.

“It seems I am to do that man one more favor,” he declared with a
sneering laugh.

When they reached the gates of the city, the excited populace would have
conducted the prisoner at once to the place of execution, but some of
the more cool-headed citizens succeeded in dissuading them. “We are
Austrians,” they said, “and our lord Duke Sigismund must pronounce
sentence upon the Governor. It is not for us to judge him.” Accordingly,
four soldiers, four burghers, and four of the nobles were chosen to
guard the prisoner, while Vögeli with some of the citizens hastened to
Basle to acquaint Duke Sigismund with what had occurred.

Two days later, toward evening, the Captain rode slowly through the
streets of that city on his way to the inn of The Bears. How things had
changed since he had come this way for the first time! Then he was an
honored and honorable officer, favored by the Duke, and a loyal servant
to Hagenbach. To-day he was a rebel. The Duke would never pardon his
disloyalty, and Hagenbach, who had formerly valued him for his ability,
was now his mortal enemy, and through his agency a prisoner. And all
this for a few paltry florins, as the Governor had said. Yet though he
well knew not one of his former comrades would credit him with any other
reason for his defection, he could not altogether reproach himself. Were
it all to be done again he knew he should act no differently.

This time Iseli himself came out to meet his guest and assist him to
dismount. “I am glad,” said he, as they ascended the stairway together,
“to find that you bear me no ill will for what befell you in my house,
though truly it was through no fault of mine.”

“Why should I be angry with you for that?” asked Vögeli. “But what news
of your neighbor, the good Councillor Irmy?”

Thereupon the innkeeper proceeded to give a detailed report concerning
the welfare of his friend and Walter. “And you, Captain,” he continued
inquisitively, “what brings you to us again? Perchance you have been
sent by your Duke to collect the sum advanced by the Swiss States for
the redemption of Alsace?”

“Hardly that,” said Vögeli; “but tell me, is it true that Duke Sigismund
comes hither to-morrow?”

“So it is said,” replied Iseli. “Doubtless you have matters of
importance to lay before the Archduke?”

Vögeli would fain have concealed his errand, but the innkeeper plied his
questions so adroitly that he soon succeeded in extracting the whole
story; and when the Captain, wearied with his long ride, retired to his
chamber to rest, the news quickly spread through the town that
Hagenbach, the oppressor of the Alsatians, the enemy of Switzerland as
of every right-minded man, had been taken prisoner and the Archduke was
to pronounce judgment on him.

When Sigismund drew near the town the following morning, he found the
magistrates already at the gates to welcome him.

Vögeli had been riding at the Duke’s side for half an hour, having gone
out earlier to meet him with the news of Hagenbach’s capture, and when
Sigismund dismissed him kindly, he turned his horse’s head toward The
Bears once more. But the acclamations that had followed the Duke were
now centred on the Captain, and his horse could make but slow progress
through the densely packed throngs that filled the streets. When he at
last dismounted he was raised aloft on the shoulders of the sturdy
burghers and borne into the inn, where a number of the patricians and
citizens of Basle had assembled to meet him. Among these were old Irmy
and Walter, with whom Vögeli soon retired to his own chamber to escape
the praise and adulation so distasteful to his modest nature.

“Iseli shall bring us some wine,” said the Councillor, “and then I have
something to propose that I hope will please you.”

The host soon appeared with brimming tankards and Irmy began: “First of
all, Captain, I beg you will do me the honor to make my house your home
as often and as long as you may chance to be in Basle. I have learned to
esteem you highly, and greatly desire that our friendship and our
relations in life should become closer. Walter is now seventeen years
old, and ever since I brought him back from Treves he has been faithful
and industrious, and has learned something of business. But he lacks a
knowledge of much that cannot be acquired by the fireside; the lad must
travel, first to Italy,—Genoa and Venice,—and when he has mastered the
Italian language and method of book-keeping I shall send him to
Nuremberg and Augsburg, to Anton Fugger. This will mean an absence of
some years; but I am still active and can perform the duties of my
position without difficulty. Walter is so young, however, that I am
unwilling to send him out into the world alone, and I should be very
glad if you would go with him and keep a curb on the reckless fellow so
that he shall not fall into bad company or play any foolish pranks. As
to money, you shall have all that is needful, and when you return there
will be room for you both in the business. Your experience in Freiburg
will serve you in good part there. I know Walter is attached to you and
will obey you as willingly as he does me. If you are agreed, let us
shake hands on it!”

Vögeli gladly grasped the merchant’s extended palm, and the next morning
he took up his abode in the house, under whose hospitable roof he had
once been carried wounded and bleeding. The landlord of The Bears flatly
refused to accept any pay for board and lodging, declaring he was
already far too much in the Captain’s debt.




                              Chapter VII
                         Death of the Governor


Archduke Sigismund decreed that Hagenbach should be publicly tried for
his offences. Among the judges appointed from Basle were Hans Irmy and
Ulrich Iseli, and with them came old Hassfurter representing the city of
Lucerne.

The judges assembled at Brisach, where they were welcomed by Sigismund,
who had already been there for a fortnight inquiring into the case of
the prisoner. Full confession had been extorted from Hagenbach by means
of the rack, but there were few proofs obtainable, even of his plot
against the lives and property of the citizens of Brisach. Multitudes
flocked thither from Switzerland, Alsace, and the Black Forest to
witness the trial of the hated Governor. Along the whole length of the
Rhine from Basle to Strassburg he had not a single friend. Little mercy
could be expected from his Alsatian judges, and even among the strangers
invited there were many whom he had greatly wronged.

A platform had been erected in the public square for the judges and the
accused; and facing it a bench was placed upon which, shunned by all,
yet objects of universal interest, were seated seven headsmen, rivals
for the honor of executing sentence upon the country’s oppressor. Clad
alike in long red cloaks, they were in their places long before the
judges appeared. When these had finally assembled, Swiss, Alsatians, and
Sundgauers,[7] the accused was led thither, escorted by his guard and
surrounded by surging crowds. He walked with a firm step, not heeding
the taunts and jeers heaped upon him save by an occasional contemptuous
glance at the people.

“Now you shall reap your reward,” shrieked a woman’s voice, “for
plotting to sink all the women and children to the bottom of the Rhine
in leaky boats!”

“Ho! you would give our possessions as booty to your mercenaries, would
you?” cried a well-to-do baker, whose property was of considerable
value. “It shall go ill with you for that!”

Pursued by such speeches, Hagenbach reached the market place and took
his seat while the tribunal was forming. The Austrian deputy appointed
Ulrich Iseli as advocate for Archduke Sigismund, while Peter von
Hagenbach himself chose Irmy, whose impartial love of justice was well
known to him. Thomas Schütz, the magistrate of Ensisheim, opened the
proceedings. About him were ranged the twenty-six judges, among whom
were included sixteen knights, though to judge by their looks the
presence of these equals in rank lent the prisoner but small hope of
their clemency. Slowly the trial proceeded. The advocate for the accused
did his best, but the verdict of death was certain from the beginning.

A storm of applause rent the air as the magistrate of Ensisheim
announced the result. The executioners, who had hitherto remained
passive, almost indifferent spectators, suddenly became all attention to
learn in what manner the vengeance of their countrymen was to be wrought
upon Hagenbach. Meanwhile the knights present required that the
condemned should be publicly stripped of the dignities of his rank.
Whereupon the Imperial herald advanced and, causing the Governor to be
brought before him, demanded:

“Who stands before me?”

“The knight, Sir Peter von Hagenbach,” was the answer.

                [Illustration: _Hagenbach’s_ execution_
             (_After a woodcut in an old Swiss chronicle_)]

Thrice the herald repeated: “That is false. No knight see I here, but a
miscreant and a liar. Let his sword be broken and his shield dragged in
the dust at a horse’s tail.” Then turning to the accused, he said:

“Peter Hagenbach, your conduct has been far from knightly. It was your
duty to render justice; to protect the widow and orphan; to honor the
Church and its holy servants; to restrain all violence and outrage: but
you have yourself committed those crimes which you should have punished
in others. Having broken, therefore, the oaths which you have sworn, and
forfeited the noble order of knighthood, the knights here present have
ordained that you shall be deprived of its insignia. Let a true knight
come hither and take from him his arms and honors.”

Sir Hermann von Eptingen advanced. “Peter Hagenbach, I proclaim you
unworthy knight of the holy order of Saint George, and deprive you of
your sword, ring, collar, poniard, and spurs.” Then seizing a gauntlet,
he struck the Governor on the right cheek, saying: “I pronounce you
dishonored and disarmed, and so shall you remain until your death.”

Turning to the knights, he added: “Noble sirs, I have, according to your
decree, deprived Peter Hagenbach of his insignia and caused him to be
publicly degraded. May this punishment serve as an example to you, and
may you ever live in accordance with the dignity of knighthood and the
honor of your name.”

At the conclusion of this scene, the composure displayed by the Governor
throughout the whole trial forsook him. The scornful gleam in his eyes
died out, his head sank upon his breast, and he seemed to lose all
consciousness of his surroundings. But as he clearly realized the
discussion concerning the mode of his death, he broke down completely,
groaning: “Mercy, mercy, your worships! Grant me honorable death by the
sword!”

Shouts of triumph again rose from the people when they beheld the proud
nobleman bowed humbly to the dust, but some of those in the front ranks
were moved to pity, and many secretly shed tears. The judges unanimously
agreed on death by the sword. Preparations were made at once for the
execution of the sentence, which, greatly to his joy and the envy of his
fellows, was intrusted to the headsman of Colmar, a short, thickset
fellow, accounted an expert with the sword.

Night had long since fallen and darkness covered the earth, when Peter
Hagenbach was conducted to the scaffold. The judges rode in advance. Two
priests walked beside the condemned man, urging him to confess his sins
that his soul might not perish with his body. Torches illuminated the
dismal scene. A vast crowd hemmed in the sad procession, which, passing
out through the Cooper’s Gate, reached an open meadow, where it halted.
Hagenbach conversed earnestly with the priests for some moments, openly
declared his repentance, and bequeathed to the church of Brisach his
sixteen horses, his valuables, and his gold chain, for absolution from
his sins. With a firm step he mounted the scaffold and, facing his
judges and the people, spoke thus with manly courage:

“I fear not death. Too often have I faced it on the battle-field. I
regret alone the blood which mine will cause to be shed; for think not
my master will permit this day to pass unavenged. Grant me your
forgiveness, for Christ’s and Our Lady’s sake. I am not guilty of all
you have charged against me, yet I humbly confess myself a sinner. Pray
for me!”

He knelt and received the death stroke. The executioner of Colmar
performed his duty well, but not a shout arose, not a murmur of applause
was heard. Peter Hagenbach had shown he knew how to die, and his death
atoned for all.




                              Chapter VIII
                         The Battle of Granson


For a time it appeared as if the death of Hagenbach were to remain
unavenged. His brother, it is true, made some attempt at retaliation and
laid waste parts of the country, but the cities felt secure behind their
walls, and laughed at the threats of the Burgundians. Charles himself
was occupied with other matters and had no time to punish the judges of
his faithful servant. With his whole army of sixty thousand men he lay
encamped for nine long months before the town of Neuss on the Lower
Rhine, wasting his time and his forces in a vain endeavor to reduce its
brave garrison to submission. The Emperor meanwhile collected an army
and, crossing the Rhine, advanced to meet him. But Frederick had no
intention of fighting; after a few skirmishes he deserted his allies,
the King of France, Duke René of Lorraine, and the Swiss Confederates,
and made peace with the Duke of Burgundy. Possibly he was not unwilling
to abandon them to Charles’s vengeance; moreover, Burgundy would thereby
acquire valuable additions to her territory; and Burgundy—so ran the
treaty—was to be the inheritance of Princess Maria, betrothed to the
young Archduke Maximilian.

Charles’s first move was to take possession of Lorraine, after which he
marched into Switzerland and laid siege to Granson.[8] A large part of
his court had followed him to the camp, where the utmost luxury and
extravagance prevailed. The Duke’s table was laid with massive gold
plate, the costliest wines were drunk from golden beakers, and the
Burgundian knights and nobles vied with one another in splendor of
display.

Far otherwise was it in the beleaguered town, where the wretched fare
and scanty rations grew daily less, and still the promised relief did
not appear. The commander lacked firmness and decision, moreover, while
the garrison, which consisted chiefly of the soldiers that had formerly
revolted at Brisach, looked back longingly on the flesh-pots of the
Burgundian camp. Meanwhile the Confederates were assembling their forces
with a deliberation strongly opposed by the more sagacious leaders, but
they were powerless against the obstinate independence of the free
Swiss. When the army finally moved to the relief of Granson, and was but
a day’s march from the enemy, it was only to learn that the town had
already surrendered, and that the entire garrison had been hanged, in
direct violation of the terms of the capitulation.

Overwhelmed with shame and fury at the consequences of their delay, they
swore vengeance on the Duke; and the next day a battle was fought, in
which the Burgundians were totally defeated and driven out of
Switzerland in confusion, leaving the camp and all its treasures with
four thousand wagon-loads of provisions in the hands of the Swiss. The
first duty of the victors, however, was to bestow honorable burial on
the murdered garrison. By tens and dozens the Burgundians had hanged
them to the branches of trees,—here father and son or brothers side by
side, there friends and relatives together. In solemn procession the
bodies were borne to the monastery of the barefooted friars and laid in
a common grave, each with his arms beside him, according to an old
custom.

On the following morning the spoils were divided; and great was the
amazement of the Confederates at the richness and splendor that
everywhere met their gaze. Here, piled in great heaps, was the massive
plate that had adorned the Duke’s board at Treves; there stood the
silver chair heavily inlaid with gold, valued at eleven thousand
florins, in which he was wont to receive foreign envoys; Charles’s
headpiece, and his magnificent sword set with priceless gems: all these
treasures were tossed about by the rough hands of the Switzers. Curious
throngs forced their way into the royal pavilion and marvelled at the
costly hangings interwoven with gold and silver, upon which were
depicted scenes from Roman mythology. Upon the wall gleamed Burgundy’s
escutcheon, emblazoned with the cross of St. Andrew, and above it the
Duke’s proud motto, “I Watch.” Watched? Aye, and lost! was but too
plain.

“Who wants tin plates?” cried an honest countryman, contemptuously. “I
have plenty of those at home,” and he sold the silver plates that had
fallen to his share for two silver groschen apiece; while an archer
proudly exhibited a shirt of mail he had just received in exchange for a
jewelled diadem, saying, “What could I have done with such trumpery?”

“There you were wise, my friend,” declared the dealer, who had willingly
made the trade, for the crown was worth thirty thousand thalers; “and if
any others find these shining things somewhat heavy to carry, come to
me. I will give you good round coin for them.”

“So? Then mayhap we may strike a bargain,” said a Strassburger. “Would
ten florins be too much for these twelve bright goblets? They are much
too heavy for gold, but any one not knowing would easily buy them of you
for that.”

The trader weighed the cups in his hand. They might have been worth
eighty marks in gold. “Truly they are heavy enough,” he said doubtfully,
“and I dare not overload my cart, for who knows what profitable bargains
are yet to be made? Yet I would not have your ill will, and since it is
you I will do the best I can for you. Come, let us say half a guilder
apiece.”

The Strassburger looked doubtfully at his companions. “If they should be
gold, though—”

“Nay, be not a fool, Thomas. You are not likely to have another offer as
good as that. What if they be really gold? Gold is as cheap here as
hazel nuts with us at Martigny.” At this the Strassburger hesitated no
longer, but gladly pocketed his six guilders, and the trader went on his
way.

“’Tis like the masqueraders at carnival time,” he said to himself as he
met a group of cowherds with costly garments of velvet, silk, and cloth
of gold flung over their smockfrocks.

“Look at Ruodi! Is he not fine?” gleefully shouted one, pointing to the
leader of the band, who wore on his head a costly cap with waving
plumes, while upon his breast gleamed the gold chain of the noble order
of the Golden Fleece. In another part of the camp a party of victorious
Switzers quarrelled and shouted over some casks of Burgundy which they
were drawing into gold and silver flagons. “Will you hold your
good-for-nothing tongues or shall I read you a text?” shouted one
drunken fellow, waving aloft the Duke’s own prayer-book, bound in red
velvet.

“Give us a song, Werni,” cried several voices, “that will stop their
noise. Come, strike up!”

“‘Strike up—strike up!’ That is easily said,” growled Werni; “for my
part I would rather drink than sing.” Nevertheless he felt flattered by
the challenge, and without further protest began:

  “Your camp with all its treasures rare
  Has fallen to the Switzers’ share:
  Oh fie! Duke Charles, for shame!”

  “Yes—fie! Duke Charles, for shame!”

all joined in rousing chorus.

  “Should such disgrace not break your pride,
  Come back, fresh armies at your side,
  We’ll serve you just the same.”

  “We’ll serve you just the same,”

echoed the singers enthusiastically. Then others gathering about the
rude minstrel took up the strain, till far and wide resounded the
triumphant notes of the ballad of the battle of Granson. How every heart
swelled as Werni, hoarse and weary, concluded:

  “The Confederation, whate’er betide,
  Doth ever fast and firm abide,
  As this day well hath proven;
  The fame of Granson’s martial band
  Shall ring triumphant through the land,
  With praises interwoven.”




                               Chapter IX
                           The Hero of Murten


Before midsummer Charles the Bold had repaired his losses as well as his
means would permit, and levied a new army. His subjects had begun to
murmur and lose faith in his success, but the Duke himself remained
undaunted. He had advanced dangerously near to the Cantons of Berne and
Freiburg, and was now laying siege to Murten, a strongly fortified town
on the lake of that name. He expected it to share the fate of Granson;
but the commander, Adrian von Bubenberg, was a very different sort of
man from the leader of that ill-fated garrison. In vain the besiegers
shot arrows into the town wound with slips of paper bearing such
inscriptions as: “You are shut up here like rats in a hole. The Bernese
churls cannot save you, and all the gold in the world would not buy you
escape.”

Threats and promises were alike of no avail. “The perjurers of Granson
will never find credence in Murten,” was the commander’s reply to all
proposals of surrender; nor was he less firm in suppressing all signs of
wavering within the walls. Summoning the citizens and soldiers before
him, he addressed them sternly:

“Hark ye, all! I hereby proclaim that he who dares to whisper of
surrender, be he of the town or of the garrison, is a dastard and a
poltroon, and shall be struck down on the spot. So shall we separate the
wheat from the chaff. And if one word of fear or weakening escape my
lips, let me be made the first example.” This effectually silenced all
murmurs or complaints; and the Confederates at last assembled an army
and advanced to their relief.

Rough, mountainous country and thick forests separated the Swiss from
the Burgundian camp, which had been pitched on the plateau of Grisach
behind rising ground, and was protected by a so-called “hedge,” a
palisade surrounded on the outside by a wide trench, while within the
earth had been thrown up to form a sort of breastwork for the defenders,
and only the narrowest openings were left for outlet in case of need; to
break through it in face of the mounted guns would seem well-nigh
impossible. Moreover, behind this fortification stood the English
archers ready with their deadly shafts to repulse any attempt at
approach. The position was not badly chosen, and was disadvantageous
only in that it afforded the cavalry no proper field for action.

Through these mountains two travellers were making their way. One of
them was evidently laboring under some stress of mind, for he
alternately spurred on and abruptly reined in his fiery steed, which was
covered with foam, while the animal ridden by his more youthful
companion still appeared fresh. He spoke little and kept his eyes fixed
gloomily on the road that led to the camp of the Confederates. Soon they
were challenged by the outposts, and the elder rider asked to be guided
to the forces furnished by the city of Freiburg. A servant conducted
them to that part of the encampment, and Hans Vögeli, the Captain of the
band, stepped forward to learn their errand. Speech forsook him,
however, when his eyes fell upon the older of the two horsemen, who
reached down his hand kindly, saying, “You know me, then, brother Hans?
I have come hither to fight beside you. That I am an exile from my
native city, I well know, but to-morrow I hope to win back with my sword
my right to citizenship.”

A scornful look came over the face of Hans Vögeli. “So!” he said
contemptuously, “now that your master is on the verge of destruction,
you deem it well to work with us for the Fatherland! Now the vagabond
comes back and expects us to believe that he means fairly by us—as
fairly, no doubt, as by his Duke and by the Governor whom he betrayed
for the sake of a few months’ pay.”

Heinrich made no reply to these harsh words. He knew it was useless to
attempt to change his brother’s sentiments toward him, but turning to
his countrymen he reminded them of their boyhood days together;
explained his reasons for entering the service of Burgundy, and besought
permission to join them in the coming struggle, declaring he would prove
himself not unworthy to fight in their ranks. Many were inclined in his
favor, but Hans Vögeli cut matters short by roughly ordering both the
riders to leave the camp at once. Perceiving the fruitlessness of his
efforts, Heinrich turned his horse’s head.

“Come, Walter,” he said simply, and they made their way back through the
camp to the outposts again. Walter Irmy, for he it was, did not venture
to address his moody companion, and they galloped off in silence to the
nearest farmhouse, where they obtained lodgings for the night. Early the
next morning they were again in the saddle and rode back to the camp,
only to find it already broken up and the army advancing to meet the
enemy. From some horseboys Vögeli learned that the Freiburgers were in
the vanguard and were to begin the attack that day. Slowly they followed
after, and soon overtook the Confederates, who had halted where a thick
forest concealed them from the eyes of the enemy, to observe their old
custom of knighting before battle those most deserving of the honor. The
first to receive it was René the dispossessed Duke of Lorraine, who had
joined the Confederates with three hundred faithful followers to fight
against Charles the Bold.

The impatient Switzers loudly protested against this delay, the more so
as a heavy rain had been falling for some time. But the solemn
ceremonies were not to be curtailed, nor was Duke René, the new knight,
sparing in conferring the coveted honor. Many an honest fellow, indeed,
without the necessary means to maintain his dignities, was forced to
submit to the stroke of knighthood. It came to an end at last, however,
and the handsome young prince remounted and rode slowly back to join his
friends, followed by the admiring gaze of the Swiss.

“’Tis a pity,” they declared, “the noble lord is not of German blood: we
cannot understand a word of his French gabble.” The delay that had been
so irksome to the Swiss proved to their advantage in the end, for the
Burgundians, after getting drawn up for battle in the drenching rain six
long hours, with no sign of the enemy’s approach, had been ordered to
return to the camp, where they quickly laid aside arms and armor and
dispersed in search of rest or refreshment. The jaded chargers were also
divested of their trappings and fed; even the Duke himself, usually so
vigilant, retired to his pavilion at some distance from the camp and
seated himself with his officers at the board.

Suddenly the Confederates issued from the forest which had concealed
their approach and, halting once more, after the custom of their
forefathers, knelt to invoke the aid of the God of Battles. An old
gray-beard made the short prayer, all devoutly joining in the “Amen.”
Just at that moment the sun broke through the clouds.

“Heaven has heard our prayer!” shouted the leaders joyfully. “Comrades,
be stanch and bold! Think of your wives, your children, and your
sweethearts! Forward, Confederates!”

They fling themselves furiously against the breastwork, but the enemy’s
guns tear great gaps in their ranks, and arrow after arrow is sped with
deadly aim by the English bowmen. Vainly the assailants strive to
surmount or demolish the sharp palisades. The bannerman of Freiburg is
struck down. Suddenly the sound of galloping hoofs approaches, and the
powerful voice of Heinrich Vögeli is heard shouting encouragement to his
wavering countrymen. Hailing his appearance with shouts of joy, they
rally, and like a torrent the Swiss vanguard sweeps through a gap in the
“hedge,” Vögeli at their head. Hans is forgotten; all eyes are fixed on
the gallant soldier fighting so bravely in the foremost rank, as gun
after gun is captured and turned against the enemy’s camp. On clatter
the squadrons of Lombard cuirassiers, but the deadly fire of their own
guns, and a furious assault from the Swiss foot soldiers, led by Vögeli,
soon put them to rout.

Still the Confederates pour through the intrenchment. Charles retreats,
hoping to obtain a better position, but close upon him press the
Freiburgers, Vögeli bearing their banner aloft in his left hand while
with the right he wields his victorious sword. The English archers rally
once more; but their ranks are thinning fast, and when their leader, the
Duke of Somerset, is slain they break and give way. Only one band still
holds its ground, the Swiss pikemen, who will not yield. Vögeli, loath
to continue this unnatural warfare, promises them pardon, but they
reject his offer and fight on more fiercely than before. Suddenly one of
them, whom both he and Walter Irmy—who has never left his side—recognize
as Heini Süssbacher, springs at Vögeli.

“Traitor!” he shouts, and with one blow brings Heinrich’s horse to the
ground. Others now have recognized the Captain, and he and Walter are
instantly surrounded and cut off from their comrades. Heini’s hand is
already outstretched to seize the banner when Vögeli’s sword cleaves his
helm and down he falls. Like a wounded boar, the Freiburger struggles to
defend his standard, and Walter keeps stoutly at his side, while the
Swiss strive to come to their rescue. Hacking and hewing madly, they cut
their way through the throng that presses about the two heroes, and
reach them just as Heinrich, mortally wounded, sinks beside his horse,
still clutching firmly the banner of his native city, while the enemy
turn and flee.

Hans Vögeli kneels beside his dying brother and, taking the hand that
holds the banner, implores forgiveness for all the wrongs he has done
him. Tightly clasping the other, young Irmy, speechless with grief,
awaits the death of the man who for two years has been the best and
kindest of friends to him.

“Hans,” says Heinrich faintly, “will you acknowledge now my right to
citizenship?”

“Aye, truly, Heinrich,” his brother assures him, sobbing, and in hushed
tones the Freiburgers standing by confirm the promise. With a sigh of
content the dying man sinks back and soon expires, his pallid features
lit with a smile of blissful peace.

Meanwhile the victorious Confederates had reached the shore of Lake
Murten, where a singular spectacle met their eyes. The Burgundians,
finding their retreat by the south shore cut off, were endeavoring by
wading and swimming to reach the other side and join the Count de
Romont’s force, which had been lying before the city of Murten, but was
now skirting the shore of the lake in rapid retreat. It was a mad
attempt. Already hundreds of the heavily armed soldiers were sticking
fast in the oozy bed of the lake, while those who succeeded in reaching
deep water soon sank or were slain by the arrows despatched at every
head that showed above the surface. Even the trees afforded no safety.
Many of the despairing Lombards had sought concealment among the dense
foliage, but they were soon discovered.

“Ho, look at the crows,” shouted the pursuers, jocularly, “and yonder
are some squirrels!” and the unfortunate fugitives were remorselessly
shot down, despite their prayers for mercy.

That night the conquerors camped upon the field of battle, rejoicing
over their easy and decisive victory, but much disappointed at the lack
of plunder. The following morning the Freiburgers and all who had loved
Captain Vögeli assembled about his bier. Supported by a band of his
faithful followers, the body was borne in solemn procession to Freiburg,
whither news of the event had already preceded them. Beside the bier
rode Hans Vögeli and Walter Irmy. Tolling of bells greeted their
approach to the city, at the gates of which the Mayor and Council
awaited the return of the wanderer; and when some days later all that
was mortal of Heinrich Vögeli was laid to rest in the family vault, the
banner of Freiburg was draped about his coffin, while at the dead man’s
head lay a certificate of citizenship placed there by order of the
Council. Thus was Vögeli’s dearest wish accomplished, and in his beloved
Fatherland he rested forever from the storms of life.




                               Chapter X
                          Faithful unto Death


Duke René was pacing restlessly to and fro in the guest room of the inn
of The Bears at Basle. “Nancy will surely hold out,” he murmured half
aloud; “it must. The burghers know I am coming to their relief as soon
as possible. In truth it has been no easy matter to induce the Swiss to
repay the assistance I have lent them; but at last all is ready, and I
must find some way of warning my good subjects of Nancy that relief is
at hand. But neither Siffrein nor yet the youth from Basle shall risk
his life in such an attempt.”

At that moment the door opened and Siffrein de Baschi, the Duke’s
faithful steward, entered. He was dressed as for a journey, and his dark
eyes gleamed triumphantly as he said to his master: “How does my new
travelling costume please Your Highness? Truly, ’tis somewhat soiled;
but a minstrel must not be too fine, and tarnished finery will attract
the less suspicion.”

René gazed in astonishment at the transformation. Had not every feature
of the handsome face with its winning smile been so familiar to him he
would never have recognized the knight.

“In travelling dress! What means this, Siffrein? Surely you will not
persist in your mad resolve to go to Nancy? Abandon it, I charge you.
Think of the grief it would cause me were any harm to befall you!”

“Nay, gracious lord,” entreated Siffrein, “grant me leave to go. Even
should they capture me I shall not lose my head upon the spot, and they
will do well if they catch me, I promise you. Young Irmy waits without.
Will you not hear his plan at least?”

Without waiting for an answer he flung open the door and beckoned to
Walter to enter. The Duke’s eyes rested approvingly on the youth’s
stalwart figure and honest German face. Extending his hand to him, he
said kindly: “Methinks, sir, we are already acquainted. I saw you fight
beside Heinrich Vögeli at Murten.”

“As I, too, saw Your Highness,” replied Walter; “and there is not a
Switzer but would gladly serve you.”

“For those fair words I give you thanks,” said the Duke, “but this
service you now would render me I cannot accept; ’tis a foolish and a
useless risk.”

“Craving Your Highness’s pardon, I do not think it so,” answered the
youth. “Old Gerard has agreed to get us safely into Nancy, and he may be
depended on to keep his word. He is a smuggler by trade and has often
fetched merchandise for my father through the enemy’s camp. The
Burgundian mercenaries know him well, and he is quite safe among them.”

“If there is the slightest risk of danger I cannot consent to your
going,” declared the Duke, “for it is not needful.”

“Nay,” interposed Siffrein, “surely it is most imperative that the
citizens of Nancy be informed that relief is at hand; else they may
surrender the town, and so through our fault be delivered over to the
vengeance of Charles the Bold, who will not easily pardon them that the
siege has already lasted well into the winter.” Walter also continued to
urge the dependence that might be placed on old Gerard, till the Duke
finally yielded and reluctantly gave them leave to depart.

Siffrein had donned the garb of a troubadour with a lute slung over his
shoulder, deeming that the safest guise in which to make his way through
the enemy’s camp; but Walter convinced him that it would be of little
avail, since even a minstrel would scarcely be permitted to pass the
outposts. Accordingly, when they set out on their errand an hour later,
it was in ordinary travelling dress, but each was well armed. At
Vandemont they met Gerard with some of his comrades, who for high pay
had been engaged to smuggle powder into the besieged city, and were
therefore accustomed to risking their lives. The two newcomers were also
given a leather sack of powder to carry on their shoulders, and when
night had fallen the little band set forth. Following silently one
behind the other, they crept along sword in hand, ready to sell their
lives dearly if need were, until they reached an abbey in the depths of
the forest. Here Siffrein made himself known, and they were given a
ready welcome by the monks, who offered refreshments to the adventurers
to fortify them for the last stage of their perilous journey. Old Gerard
vanished, to reappear half an hour later with the information that there
were no sentries visible on that side of the camp, and there seemed a
good chance of their reaching the town unobserved.

Preparations for departure were hastily completed, and the little band
cautiously made their way to the camp. True enough, the sentries had all
vanished, either because the bitter cold had driven them into their
tents or because Gerard had won them over. The old man whistled softly
three times, which may have been a prearranged signal. At all events the
silent figures glided unmolested through the rows of tents. Not so much
as a head was thrust forth into the cold air to spy on the nocturnal
visitors, and they soon reached the outworks.

“Yonder is the spot,” whispered Gerard, pointing to a bulwark the dark
outlines of which stood out against the walls of the city. Now the moat
lay before them.

“Vive Lorraine!” shouted Siffrein, as Gerard carefully lowered himself
to its icy surface.

But the thoughtless cry aroused the sentries, who came running from all
sides. Walter and the smugglers were already climbing up the wall and
Siffrein had sprung upon the ice to follow them, when alas! it gave way.
Down he sank to his shoulders in the water, and before help from Nancy
could reach him the Burgundians had dragged him forth and borne him back
to the camp shaking in an ague from his icy bath.

Gerard tried to reassure Walter as to the fate of his companion. “Have
no fear,” he said soothingly; “he is a nobleman and Duke René’s steward.
They will not dare to harm a hair of his head. Had it been one of us,
now, they would have made short work of us.”

Great were the rejoicings in Nancy at the news of speedy relief, and at
daybreak one of the cannoniers loaded his gun with some of the powder
brought by the smugglers, muttering to himself: “It is long since I was
able to feed this big fellow. Much good may it do the Burgundians,” he
added, and thrusting a ball into the mouth of his cannon, took long and
careful aim. “In God’s name,” he said, doffing his cap, while a gunner
held the match to the touchhole. Crash! went the shot, and a cloud of
dust and splinters rose as it struck one of the enemy’s batteries. The
Burgundians were slow in responding, for they too were short of powder.
Charles’s army had suffered greatly. The siege of Neuss, and the battles
of Granson and Murten, together with the severity of the weather and the
lack of proper provisions, had reduced the number of his troops to six
thousand.

Toward evening a rumor spread through the city that Siffrein de Baschi
had been hanged by order of Charles the Bold. It was scarcely credited,
but the next morning brought melancholy proof. The Burgundians were
induced with difficulty to deliver up the corpse of the faithful
steward, which was drawn up the walls in a silken cloth amid the tolling
of bells, and buried with solemn ceremonies. Great was the mourning of
the people over his untimely end, for the favorite of their adored young
Duke was universally beloved and had no enemies.




                               Chapter XI
                       Death of Charles the Bold


Night had fallen and silence brooded over the Burgundian camp, upon
which the snow was falling in heavy flakes. In the forest near the abbey
a man stood leaning against a tree striving to penetrate the thick snow
clouds that filled the air. “Why does not Giacomo come?” he muttered to
himself in Italian. “It is too cold in this cursed country to wait
long.”

“You shall not have to,” replied a voice near him, “for I am here
already and have brought with me as much as I could carry away from my
canteen. It will soon be up with them over yonder,” he added, motioning
toward the camp, “and methinks we shall do well to join the Swiss. Then
at least there will be some hope of getting back to our own beautiful
land.”

The first speaker wore the uniform of a cuirassier, and was no other
than the former servant in the wine shop at Treves. “I wonder,” he said
musingly, “how long our comrades will stand by the Duke. It is long
since he gave us any pay. Our fare is wretched, and the cold unbearable
to us all.”

Giacomo produced some food from his bundle, and the two men walked on
through the forest, eating as they went. Suddenly they paused. Was that
the trampling of horses’ hoofs they heard? The cuirassier laid his ear
to the ground. Yes, there was no doubt a large body of horsemen was
approaching.

“Can they be following us?” asked Giacomo anxiously.

“Surely not,” replied his companion, “but something must be afoot. It
may be a night attack on the Swiss. In any case we shall do well to
conceal ourselves behind these juniper bushes.”

Nearer and nearer came the horsemen, the hard-frozen ground reëchoing to
the heavy tread of armored steeds. Deeper into the thicket shrank the
two deserters, as the clang of arms resounded so close to them they
almost feared to be trampled upon. But the troop passed on.

“Did you recognize any one?” asked Giacomo.

“No,” replied the other, “but it seemed to me I heard the voice of our
commander, Campo Basso.”

“So I thought too,” said the sutler. “Can it be that they are deserting?
It is said the Count has been mortally offended by the Duke of Burgundy,
and it is possible they are going over to the Swiss.”

They said no more but followed the riders along the road to Saint
Nicholas. On their arrival the next day they found the wildest
excitement prevailing. The Confederates had occupied the town on the
preceding day, and the Count of Campo Basso with one hundred and eighty
lances had come early that morning to proffer his services to Duke René.
The offer had been accepted, so Giacomo and his companion returned to
the society of their comrades.

At daybreak on the fifth of January, 1477, the Burgundians prepared for
battle, for Duke René and the Swiss were close at hand. As Charles the
Bold was arming himself, the golden lion of Burgundy fell from his helm
into the dust. “It is a sign from Heaven,” he said gloomily; and so
indeed it proved, for at the first onslaught of the enemy, panic seized
the Burgundians and they fled in confusion, while the citizens of Nancy
sallied forth to attack them in the rear.

Walter Irmy was one of the first outside the gates of the city and soon
found ample opportunity to prove his valor; for the combined forces of
the Swiss, with Duke René and the Alsatians, drove the whole of
Charles’s fast diminishing army back upon Nancy. Most of the faithless
mercenaries followed Count Campo Basso’s example; but the Burgundian
nobles, who formed a large part of the army, still fought on with the
courage of despair. Many a stroke did Walter parry and return ere the
burghers of Nancy could gain any advantage; but at last the foe began to
weaken. Smiting one of the Burgundian knights from his horse, Walter
swung himself into the empty saddle from whence he could overlook the
scene of conflict. The Swiss and Alsatians were now but a few hundred
feet away, and the enemy took to flight, hotly pursued by the conquerors
on horse and foot.

Suddenly the shout arose, “Yonder is the Duke! Stop him, stop him!” and
on still faster pressed the pursuers. But Charles was better mounted
than most of his foes, and soon but a handful of riders were left in
pursuit of the flying Prince, whose followers had by this time dwindled
to some thirty men.

“Can no one capture the Duke?” cried one of the Alsatian leaders in
despair.

“I will try,” said Walter; “he must reckon with me for the death of
Siffrein de Baschi,” and spurring to furious speed the superb animal he
had just captured, he soon overtook the fugitives. Paying no heed to the
others, he urged his steed close beside that of the Duke, and the next
moment their swords had crossed. In the frantic flight no one thought of
the Duke, and the two antagonists now found themselves on a meadow, the
icy surface of which had been thawed out by the noonday sun, so that the
horses’ feet sank deep into the ground at every step. Charles dealt one
mighty blow at his assailant, but it was his last, for the next instant
the Switzer’s blade had pierced his helm, and the great Duke sank
lifeless to the ground. Walter had no time to rejoice over his victory,
however; the Prince’s followers now attacked him, and after exchanging a
few blows he too fell sorely wounded.

By this time others of the pursuers had come up and a hand-to-hand
conflict began, in which fifteen more of the Burgundian nobles were
slain. But no one heeded the fallen, and when the survivors again took
to flight the conquerors raced after, still supposing the Duke to be
among them.

After sundown it grew bitter cold. Walter tried to shield himself from
it, but in vain. He was too weak even to loosen a cloak from the saddle
of a horse that lay beside him. Between cold and hunger and the pain of
his wounds he fell into a sort of stupor. Visions of the past floated
through his mind. Now he seemed to see his own father lying with his
brave comrades among the ruins of the hospital at Saint Jacob; again, he
was a boy at home in his own warm bed, while the mother, whom he had
followed to her grave seven years before, bent over her loved one to
kiss him good-night. He could see her eyes shining down upon him—but no!
it was not his mother’s warm breath he felt upon his cheek. He started
up in terror, and the wolf whose eyes he had seen shining above him in
the darkness slunk away scared. By good fortune Walter had his sword
beside him.

The visions and phantasies that had haunted his brain were swept away by
the frightful reality. He was lying wounded and alone amid a pile of
corpses, upon which the wolves had already begun to appease their
hunger. No longer conscious of pain or weakness, he sat upright and
grasped the handle of his sword, firmly resolved to defend his life to
the last against the horrible beasts. But the dead horses were
sufficient prey for the wolves, and it was only now and then that one
came to sniff at the wounds of some fallen knight. They held aloof from
the young Swiss, and as the morning light dawned at last, they slunk
away one after another to their lairs in the dark ravines of the
mountains. Walter fell back senseless, and was still unconscious when
some hours later he was lifted in strong arms and carried back within
the walls of Nancy, whither he had come a few weeks previously to bring
the glad tidings of relief.

It was long before the body of Charles the Bold was discovered. It had
been so mutilated by the wolves that none but a page and the Duke’s own
physician, who had been taken prisoner, could identify it. Enveloped in
a white cloth, the corpse was borne to the city on a bier by some of the
nobles of Lorraine. The following day all that remained of Charles the
Bold was laid upon a black velvet bed of state, ornamented with a cross
of white satin and six escutcheons. The dead man was wrapped in a white
satin robe, the jewelled ducal coronet upon his head, over which a red
cap had been drawn to conceal its disfigurement. The feet were encased
in scarlet hose, with golden spurs. Between two heralds stood two
magnificent stools, on which a consecrated cushion and a red cross were
placed. Four other heralds stood with lighted torches at the corners of
the bed of state. The room was hung with black, and two tapers burned on
an altar before which the services for the dead were to be performed.
Ranged about the walls were seats, also draped in black, for the use of
René and the nobles of Alsace and Lorraine, who were to assist at the
ceremonies.

Beside the bed, and bowed with grief, knelt Anton, a half-brother of
Charles. Though reviled by the Duke as a bad and ungrateful kinsman, he
now refused to be parted from the dead. His sobs, the outpouring of the
grief of a brave soldier, penetrated the hearts of all who entered the
room. Last came Duke René clad in deepest mourning, but wearing, in
accordance with the old knightly custom, a long beard of spun gold, in
token of victory over a princely foe who had fallen in battle. With deep
emotion he grasped the hand of the dead, saying in a low voice: “God
rest your soul, fair cousin! Much sorrow and trouble have you caused us,
yet ’twas by no will of ours that you were brought to this.”

After sprinkling the corpse with holy water he knelt before the altar,
where he remained in prayer while the knights and courtiers of Burgundy
and Lorraine paid the last honors to Charles the Bold.

On the twelfth of January, 1477, the last Duke of Burgundy was laid to
rest in St. George’s Church at Nancy, whence he was removed in 1550 by
his mighty great-grandson the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who wished that
the remains of his ancestor might be buried in his native town of
Bruges.

Freed at last from their bitterest enemy, and crowned with victory, the
Swiss returned to their homes and exchanged the implements of war for
those of peace. With his youth and strength, Walter Irmy was soon
restored to health and to the arms of his father, whose large business
he conducted to the entire satisfaction of the worthy Councillor.
Honored by his fellow-citizens and beloved by his people, he lived long
and happily with his good wife, surrounded by a group of children who
were the joy and delight of their grandfather.

Who knows? Perchance his spirit lingers yet about the good city of
Basle, ready to prove to the enemies of his country that the victors of
Granson and Murten have not perished, but still live on in the courage
and valor of their descendants.




                                Appendix


The following is a chronological statement of the principal events in
the life of Charles the Bold during the period described in this volume:

    1444     The French troops defeated at Saint Jacob.
    1469     Charles the Bold secures Sigismund’s possessions.
    1469     Charles appoints Hagenbach governor.
    1473     Sigismund becomes an ally of Louis of France.
    1473     Flight of Emperor Frederick from Treves.
    1474     The “Everlasting Compact” signed.
    1474     Hagenbach captured and put to death.
    1474     Swiss Confederates declare war against Charles.
    1476     Massacre of garrison at Granson.
    March 2, 1476     Charles defeated at Granson.
    June 9, 1476     Charles defeated at Murten.
    January 5, 1477     Charles defeated and killed under the walls of Nancy.




                               Footnotes


[1]Basle, or Basel, is the largest city in Switzerland. It has a
   university, and is the commercial and financial centre of the
   country. It is also noted for its art and literary culture.

[2]Aarau, the capital of the canton of Aargau, in Switzerland, is
   twenty-four miles southeast of Basle. Although a small town, it is of
   considerable manufacturing importance.

[3]“Arme Gecken” is evidently a play upon the word _Armagnac_. These
   Armagnacs were mercenaries from the county of Armagnac in France.
   Charles VII, wishing to get rid of them, sent them to aid Frederick
   III in enforcing his claims against the Swiss, at the time of this
   story.

[4]Maximilian, son of Frederick III, was born in 1459 and died in 1519.
   He married Maria, daughter of Charles the Bold, in 1477, and was
   elected King of the Romans in 1486, and Emperor in 1493. In 1499 he
   waged an ineffectual war with the Swiss Confederation which resulted
   in its practical independence.

[5]“Bärenhäuter, he of the bear’s hide, a nickname for a German private
   soldier.” Scott, “Anne of Geierstein.”

[6]Albert, Elector of Brandenburg, third son of Frederick I, was born
   November 9, 1414, and died March 11, 1486. He was the author of the
   ordinance providing for the separation of Brandenburg and
   Ansbach-Baireuth, and establishing primogeniture in each, which,
   according to the historians, is the first instance of the legal
   establishment of the custom of primogeniture. He was surnamed
   Achilles, and Ulysses, because of his valor and sagacity.

[7]Sundgau is a name given to the southern part of Alsace.

[8]Granson is a village in the Canton of Vaud, Switzerland, on the Lake
   of Lucerne, not far from Lausanne.




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