The Robber Knights
Zurich, which had long been a free imperial city, held an important
position among the municipalities. Its trade and commerce flourished,
nor was it lacking in intellectual activity. It was enjoying a rest from
the domination of the great property-holders and nobles, known as the
patricians. The guilds had now grown strong enough to assert their
opinions. Under the new constitution the Council was composed of
thirteen patricians and thirteen members of the guilds. An able and
judicious man named Rudolph Brun, leader in the revolt, was appointed
burgomaster, and administered his office with a strong, sure hand.
It was natural that the patricians, who had exercised such absolute
authority, should not relish the new order of things. They had a
numerous following among the nobles outside the cities. These nobles
scrupled not to attack and rob city merchants travelling in the mountain
regions and levy tribute upon them. They were not on good terms with the
cities. Life in the castles grew constantly quieter and more lonesome;
the attendants demanded higher remuneration, and if their demands were
not granted they would take themselves off and seek shelter behind the
city walls, where they were protected and had greater freedom and more
privileges than in the castles. For these reasons the nobles were
naturally incensed at the cities, which were continually growing
stronger, while the castle power was continually growing less.
Castle Reienstein had experienced these depressing changes. It had been
left in a wretched plight to the young nobleman Jörgel, by his father.
We behold him sitting one day at a window which commanded a wide
prospect, engaged in fitting a new leash for his falcon. “You accursed
bird,” he growled, “I feel like flinging you away for your obstinacy. If
you go hungry for a time and have to look out for yourself perhaps you
will come to your senses.”
With these words he threw the hood over the falcon’s head and went to an
inner apartment, the only one which was fit for occupancy in his present
circumstances, and which served alike for kitchen and sleeping room.
“Jörgel, come to table,” said Brigitte, his old aunt, who shared with
him the poverty of castle Reienstein. After removing several things
which littered up the rickety old table, she placed upon it a mess of
lentils in a not over clean dish, and brought two plates and rusty
knives and forks from a shelf. Jörgel reluctantly seated himself and
sniffed at the little piece of sausage which his aunt fished out of the
lentils and divided with him.
“A feast for the gods,” growled Jörgel. “I tell you, Aunt, I can’t stand
this kind of thing much longer.”
“You are always complaining about your lot,” replied Brigitte, as she
poked the lentils with her fork. “It would be more reasonable if you
would try to better it. Fine chances are open to you. Why do you not
open your eyes like other folks?”
“What can help such a poor devil as I am?” replied Jörgel. “The
Mörspergers and Waltihofners have fast, stout horses which can make ten
miles on the road without hurting a hoof; my nag can scarcely go from
here to Zurich in a day, and if I hurry him he is winded. All my
neighbors have money and can pay handsomely for service, but I have to
put up with a ragged, ignorant journeyman, as you well know. When we
come to divide, I get the leavings. I must get about in all kinds of
weather, attend to affairs, and go half starved, while others who are
not a whit more deserving can live in clover. I am sick of such
injustice, plague upon it.”
“You are very hard to satisfy, Jörgel, and a lazy lout besides,” said
Brigitte. “Think of others who are no better off than you are, and yet
have wives and children to look after, while you are single, and have a
careful, economical aunt to run your house! You can go and come when you
please, and always find something to eat and sometimes an abundance, for
your affairs do not always turn out badly. When the highways fail you,
the forests supply plenty of game. At home you can stretch out on your
straw bed, or train your falcon, or fix things when they need it. You
have always something to wear, so—”
“Have I? Just take a look at my coat,” interrupted Jörgel. “There is a
hole in the elbow of the right sleeve.”
“Is that so?” said Brigitte. “Hand me my needle and thread from the
window shelf, and I will soon fix that.”
Jörgel betook himself to a small grindstone in a corner of the room to
sharpen his hunting-knife. “I tell you what, Aunt, sing me a song to
drive away the blues and make the stone turn more easily.”
“Certainly, my Jörgel,” assented Brigitte. She hung the mended coat upon
a hook in the wall, and after giving the cat the scanty bits left from
the meal, she sang, while clearing up the dishes, a ballad about Count
Rudolf of Hapsburg—how he besieged the city of Glanzenburg and floated
huge wine-casks down the Rhine, out of which armed men suddenly sprang;
and how the Count took advantage of the confusion of the people to storm
the unprotected walls.
After she had finished singing, the old woman remarked: “The cat has
scratched herself several times behind the ear and my nose itches all
the time. These things betoken a visitor.”
“I hope it is not an unwelcome one,” said Jörgel, “that Waltihofener
whom I still owe ten shillings lost at dice, or that laborer whose hay I
carried off from his rick, or—”
“Have no fears on that account, Jörgel,” replied his aunt. “You can get
rid of the Waltihofener with fine words, and you can pitch the laborer
downstairs. Now, my left hand begins to itch, and that means good luck,
or money, which amounts to the same thing.”
Jörgel’s wheel flew so fast that it emitted sparks, and the falcon upon
its perch fluttered its feathers in affright. Suddenly a young man, who
lived in the lower part of the tumble-down building, called out at the
door: “Noble sir, my father bids me tell you that a gentleman from
Mörsperg has just arrived, and is even now putting his horse in the
stall.”
“Did I not prophesy rightly?” triumphantly exclaimed Brigitte. “All the
signs pointed to a visit, and the itching of my left hand meant good
luck.”
“We shall see,” replied Jörgel. He rose from his rough wooden seat, drew
on his boots, and put on his waistcoat. His aunt hastily set things in
order, and had hardly finished when steps were heard on the stairs, and
the herculean figure of Veit of Mörsperg entered and saluted them with a
roaring “Good day!” He shook Jörgel’s hand and roughly slapped Brigitte
on her bent back.
“I bring you good news,” he said, stroking his great beard.
Jörgel’s face brightened up. “You look as happy as if you were breaking
into some rich merchant’s treasure box,” said Jörgel, with difficulty
restraining his curiosity.
“It is something better than that,” said Veit, as he sat down upon the
bed. “The Zurich oligarchy has come to an end.”
“Is that true?” shouted Jörgel. “Then the mob of the workshops may be in
the Council.”
“Seven hundred patricians have united against the aristocratic city
regime,” replied Veit.
“They are few compared with the crowds in the guilds and corporations,”
said Brigitte.
“Be patient! I know still more,” said Veit. “The patricians have very
wisely united with the counts of Rupperschwyl, who will invade the city;
and other knights near by are to join them.”
“And I fancy that you will have the same honor,” said Jörgel.
“You are right,” replied Veit; “and as I am going to join, I advise you
to do the same.”
“It is very good of you,” said Jörgel, “but if this movement is intended
merely to help the patricians to regain their seats in the Council, I
have no desire to risk my head.”
“Blockhead!” shouted Veit. “Do you suppose that I am going to help pull
chestnuts out of the fire for others without making sure of a good slice
for myself? I intend to profit by the confusion of the others.”
“Ah! now I understand,” said Jörgel, with a cunning laugh. “Go ahead! I
am with you. But when will the dance begin?”
“When the clock strikes ten to-morrow the gates will be secretly opened
and the Rupperschwyls and their following will enter the city and fall
upon their opponents, who little dream what is in store for them. In the
meantime, friend Jörgel, we shall have been waiting our chance. We shall
leave our armor at home so as not to arouse suspicion. A good dagger
will be enough for our purpose. But we must be off at once, for your nag
needs plenty of time for a ride to Zurich.”
“For Heaven’s sake, be off,” muttered Aunt Brigitte, as she went to a
corner of the room and took down Jörgel’s riding cloak, which ordinarily
served to conceal Brigitte’s old and torn best dress.
Jörgel girded on his rapier belt, stuck his dagger in it, put on his cap
and plume, and threw the cloak over his shoulder. Then he took a hasty
leave of his aunt, and promised her a new dress if everything went well.
Whereupon she invoked the blessing of all the saints upon him. When
everything was in readiness the two robber knights set off for the city
at an easy trot.
Upon the following day we behold Veit striding into the smithy of an
armorer which resounds with the lusty hammering of his workmen. The
bellows groans, the hammers ring, and songs in Swiss, Swabian, and
Bavarian dialects are heard on all sides. One is piling coal upon the
fire; another cooling the glowing metal in water from which clouds of
steam ascend; others are polishing the steel smooth and bright, while
the apprentice is riveting a neckband. In the midst of the busy crowd
stands the stately master, examining a steel headpiece, just finished.
Seeing Veit, who was one of his customers, he came forward and asked
what he wished.
Veit drew a dagger from his cloak. “Here, Master Hildprand,” said he,
“the hilt of my dagger needs fastening. Fix it and send it as soon as it
is done to the Rebstock, but be sure to send it to-day, for I must
return home before night.”
Master Hildprand took the dagger and promised to do his utmost to
accommodate him, although his work was very pressing.
“That is fine work,” said the knight with a well pleased glance at the
headpiece in the master’s hand.
“This kind is coming more and more into use, and is replacing the
helmet,” said the smith.
“But I still stick to the helmet,” replied Veit. “It is better fitted
for resistance. I have no use for these new-fangled inventions.”
“And yet we are still far behind the times,” said the master with a
smile. “When I was working in France they had already gone over to
steel. There is no longer any chain armor.”
“But how do the French protect the shoulders?”
“With a broad iron band reaching from the neck to the upper part of the
arm. That enables the wearer to move the head more freely, which he
could not do with the old, awkward style of armor.”
“Zounds! There is no end to these improvements,” blurted out Veit. “It
must take all of ten years to make a new suit of armor now. One needs to
be as rich as Crœsus to keep up with them.”
“Some of the wealthy gentlemen are just beginning to wear the cuirass.”
“Desist, Master Hildprand,” said the knight, “else I shall have to stop
my ears.”
With these words Veit turned to several of the workmen and watched them
a short time. Then he stepped up to the apprentice, who was engaged in
polishing a headpiece.
“This kind of headpiece is also fast disappearing,” said the master.
“They are now replacing it with the brigantine, which gives much better
service.”
“Don’t trouble yourself to explain, Master Hildprand! You can’t make me
believe in your improvements,” replied Veit. “But be sure that I get my
dagger before night at the Rebstock, do you hear?”
“My boy shall take it to you. Do you know where the Rebstock is,
Florian?”
“Yes! that is where the baker’s boy was killed,” said the apprentice.
“It is not my usual resort,” said Veit, vexed at the remark which was
far from complimentary to the knight’s choice of lodging, “but I am
visiting an old acquaintance there.” Giving the apprentice a smart slap
on the shoulder, he added: “You seem to have a glib tongue of your own,
my boy, but you do good work, I see, and you are quick about it too.”
“Oh, he can polish that kind much better than the old-fashioned ones,”
said the smith, with a glance of pride at the lad. “He is my sainted
sister’s son and was born at Stans. He lost his father, mother, and all
six sisters by the plague.”
“Ah! that evil plague,” sighed Veit; “it found victims in our family
also. Now, good-bye, Master Hildprand.”
“Wait a moment, noble sir,” said the smith. “I will show you some more
new things, among them a movable arrangement turning upon a pivot under
the vizor. It protects the chin and neck, and will—”
“Curse you and your improvements. I have heard enough about them
already,” said the knight as he hurried away.
The Rebstock stood in a blind alley, obscured by overhanging buildings.
The reputation of the place was none of the best. It was patronized by
the lower classes, and it was reported that its keeper received and sold
the plunder stolen by the robber knights of that vicinity. In a little
room which gave upon the narrow back yard, and was reserved for noble
guests, sat Veit and Jörgel with a third companion. The latter was the
young nobleman, Conrad of Waltihof, who is already known to us by name
and who was invited to come there by Veit and participate in their plans
during the great surprise which was to happen in the good city of Zurich
that day.
It was already dark. A pair of tallow candles shed a feeble light upon a
table near the window on which were some glasses of Alsatian wine and at
which the three were passing away the time throwing dice. The faces of
the players were flushed with the excitement of the game and their
varying luck rather than by the effects of the wine, of which each could
carry a heavy load. They disputed several times, gave vent to curses,
and gesticulated as if they were about to fly at each others’ throat,
but their quarrels invariably ended in words, not blows. Jörgel at first
had won many times the ten shillings he owed Conrad, but he also
frequently lost, and at last his losses increased so fast that his debt
was very large. He cursed the caprices of the fickle goddess of fortune
but consoled himself with the thought that these losses were trifling
compared with the treasures he would soon acquire. “Ha! ha!” he roared,
“there will soon be such a game as Zurich has never seen before.”
“Restrain yourself and don’t shout in that way,” said Veit, laying the
dice aside. “It is a long time yet before the clock will strike ten and
the gates open to the Rupperschwyls.”
“They ought to be all around the city before this time,” said Conrad.
“All my ten fingers are itching for our work,” said Jörgel, “but it is
too bad we cannot get at the rich goods of the merchants.”
“We ought to have had wagons to carry the plunder to our castles,” said
Conrad.
“Worse than that, we are expected to divide with the landlord,” said
Veit, “and the thought does not please me. Therefore I think it would be
better for us to take the money to the nearest bankers. And mark what I
tell you: if any one interferes with us we can then swear we have clean
hands. The Rupperschwyls and patricians can look after the slaughter,
for they will kill Burgomaster Brun and the entire new Council.”
“Did you hear that?” said Conrad, laughing. “Just think, Jörgel, of
Veit’s tender conscience. It is as easy as if he had never—”
Conrad suddenly ceased talking. A deep sigh was heard which did not come
from any of the three. They sprang from their seats and looked about
them. Jörgel had the most acute hearing of them all. He traced the
unaccountable sound to the vicinity of the door and soon found a figure
seated in a chair in a dark corner which the candles failed to light.
Uttering a terrible curse he dragged the witness of their conspiracy
into the light.
“Boy, you must die,” he cried furiously, at the same time holding his
victim by the throat so tightly that he could only emit a feeble groan.
“First let him tell how he came here, and let him say his prayers before
he dies,” said Veit.
“No,” said Conrad, “no mercy to a spy.” In his wrath he drew his dagger,
but he weakened some when he saw a dagger flashing in the uplifted hand
of the boy.
“Hold there!” exclaimed Veit. “This is Master Hildprand’s apprentice.
Let him loose, Jörgel, let him loose, or I will release the poor
fellow.” As Veit’s hand was already upon his weapon, and he was in no
mood to be refused, Jörgel obeyed.
“Now, confess,” said Veit to the boy in a severe tone. “Your master sent
you here with my dagger, but surely not to play the spy. Speak,
youngster!”
Florian Häbli threw himself at the knight’s feet and protested his
innocence. He said he was brought to the room by the landlord, and when
he entered the gentlemen were so excited over the dice that they did not
notice him. Then their furious dispute frightened him. He dared not
advance, and was so terrified that he took the seat in the corner. He
was speedily overcome by sleep, for he had been up all the previous
night and was deadly sleepy. When or how he awoke he could not say.
“What have you heard of our talk?” said Veit, harshly.
Florian did not instantly reply, but at last said: “Nothing, not the
slightest thing.”
“He is a lying knave,” said Jörgel. “Do you not see how he reddens at
every word?”
“Let’s make an end of him,” said Conrad, seizing him by the throat.
“Take your hand away,” said Veit. “This lad is Master Hildprand’s
apprentice and his favorite sister’s son, of whom he is very fond. We
must do nothing that will hurt the master, for we all need him. He knows
where he sent the boy, and if he does not return he will know where to
look for him. Supposing we kill the lad, how can we conceal his body
without taking the landlord into our confidence and placing ourselves
completely in his power?”
“Supposing, then, we shut him up until everything is over,” said Jörgel.
“Then he will raise an alarm,” replied the knight.
“We can keep him here if we bind and gag him,” suggested Conrad.
“But we cannot keep him without the knowledge of the landlord,” objected
Veit. “I would rather trust the lad than that throat-cutter.”
“What, then, shall we do?” asked the two conspirators.
“Let the boy take an oath that he will not reveal anything he has
heard.”
The other two laughed derisively. “How will an empty oath help us?” said
Conrad.
“Silence!” said Veit. “An oath is sacred to this lad.”
He held his dagger hilt as a cross before the apprentice and recited the
words of the oath. He was to promise in the name of God and all the
saints, and as he valued his own soul, never to reveal to any one what
he had heard. He would call down upon himself terrible punishment in
this world and everlasting damnation in the next if he violated his
oath.
With visible emotion the boy repeated the words after him. Veit
expressed his satisfaction and let him go, with the injunction to return
to the smithy without delay.
When Florian found himself in the street once more his experience seemed
like a feverish dream, yet he remembered all that the three men had
said, notwithstanding he had denied it when death threatened him. The
danger which was hovering over the city and the fate of the people
weighed heavily upon his spirit. And yet his lips were sealed by a
terrible vow not to make any disclosures, even to a priest, without
bringing eternal condemnation upon himself. As he went homeward,
suffering with this agony of soul, his comrades were returning joyfully
from their work, and fathers were sitting upon the doorsteps with their
families, enjoying the beautiful moonlight. On this very day, in a few
hours, this peaceful scene would give place to murder and pillage and
the horrible work of bloody hands.
He was soon in front of the cathedral. It was still open, inviting the
repentant and suffering, and involuntarily he entered. Not a soul was to
be seen in the vast interior. The moon shone through the tall windows
upon the high altar. Seized by a sudden impulse, Florian knelt upon the
altar steps and prayed to God for help for the endangered city and
consolation for himself. After a fervent prayer he started to leave the
sacred place. As he did so, his ear caught the sound of low voices, and
looking in the direction from which it proceeded, he perceived a soft
gleam of light. He advanced unheard to the confessional. A dark figure,
whether man or woman he could not distinguish, was kneeling before it
and whispering confession to the priest, who after a few questions said
something in response. The white statue of a saint stood near the
confessional. An idea flashed through the boy’s mind like lightning. He
knelt before the statue, stretched out his arms imploringly and loudly
exclaimed: “Oh, thou blessed image, the greatest danger threatens the
city. The patricians have sworn to kill the burgomaster and Council, and
at ten o’clock the gates will open to the Rupperschwyls and their
followers. I am vowed to silence. I have sworn not to reveal this to any
one, but I can keep the secret no longer. Therefore I confide it to
thee, and if God, the Lord, does not perform a miracle and open thy
mouth, then my words will fall upon deaf ears. But God is my witness
that all I have said is true. Amen.” Florian noticed that the whispers
had ceased. He arose and hastened out of the church.
The night wore on and the streets grew more deserted and silent. The
three robber knights in the back room of the Rebstock were dicing again,
and in the excitement of the game had forgotten all about the smith’s
apprentice. A bell sounded in a neighboring tower and all three counted
its strokes.
“Nine o’clock,” said Veit; “only one hour more and the devil will be
loose.”
They resumed their dice-throwing, but suddenly the bell was heard again.
Its strokes followed in rapid succession, and now all the other bells in
the city began to ring. From the summits of the towers the watchmen’s
horns sounded clear and loud. The storm was about to break. The terrible
news spread all over the city that it would be attacked at ten o’clock
and given over to fire and sword. There was excitement in every house,
and lights suddenly flashed in the windows. The glare of pitchy torches
made the streets light as day. The soldiers’ quarters resounded with the
shrill din of trumpets, and the guilds in armor marched under their
banners to make such resistance as they could. At last the enemy poured
through the gates, but the Zurich nobles and their Rupperschwyl allies
went down in defeat.
Our three robber knights meanwhile had been warned by the signals and
wisely remained at the Rebstock, which they did not venture to leave for
several days. At last they returned empty-handed to their castles. At
first they swore they would kill the apprentice, for they had no doubt
that he was the traitor, notwithstanding his oath. The truth, however,
gradually dawned upon them and relieved Florian from suspicion. It was
everywhere related that the wife of one of the patricians had become
conscience-stricken and confided the secret to a priest, and that in
this way the burgomaster was warned of the approaching danger.
As the outcome of the “murder night,” Zurich joined the League. Lucerne
had already done so, and Berne, Zug, and Glarus soon followed, so that
the League spread to the confines of Burgundy and became very powerful.
Thus Uri, Schywz, Unterwalden, Lucerne, Zurich, Zug, Glarus, and Berne
were united in an offensive and defensive alliance. These are the eight
old cantons.