The Beggar Monk
The Emperor Charles the Fourth died in the year 1378 and was succeeded
by his son Wenzel. Duke Leopold was made governor of Upper and Lower
Swabia, which gave him great power among the nobles and the cities. The
relations between the latter meanwhile had grown more and more strained.
The attendants of the knights flocked to the cities in ever increasing
numbers and were cordially welcomed. As their privileges continued to
diminish, the knights organized against the cities, and Duke Leopold
encouraged them in their action.
The Duke knew that the nobles were on his side to a man. He regarded it
therefore as a favorable time to break up the League and restore the old
authority of Austria. The warning voices of some well-meaning
counsellors were stifled by the embittered nobles of Aargau and Thurgau
and those aggrieved knights who had suffered so much at the hands of the
League.
In June, 1386, Duke Leopold went to Baden, where he was assembling an
army of knights. Besides his own vassals, knights came from adjoining
countries with their horsemen, as well as the Margrave of Baden and the
counts of Würtemberg. The army was nine thousand strong, including a
large contingent of foot soldiers. The League naturally armed its
followers and barricaded the cities. Zurich was the first point
threatened. It was only a few miles from Baden and was the bulwark of
the League. Its people soon learned that the Baron of Bonstetten, one of
the ablest of the Austrian generals, was advancing against the city to
lay siege to it. Although Zurich at that time was supplied with good
walls and gates, it had not sufficient fighting men to withstand a siege
any great length of time, and so had to send to the Four Forest Cantons
for help. As soon as the request was received fourteen hundred men were
sent. Rather than remain in idleness the League’s auxiliaries undertook
expeditions into Kiburg and Thurgau and captured supplies in these
unfriendly places, which would be needed during the siege.
Not far from Zurich and a little off the road leading to Baden, there
was a wretched inn which served as a lodging house for all kinds of
lawless adventurers and a rendezvous for the robber knights of the
neighborhood. On the night of June third, during a fearful thunder storm
which had raged for hours, there was a knock upon its rickety window.
The hostess, an ill-favored old woman, opened the door and found two
knights dismounting from their horses.
“Put our steeds in your stable, Mother Ruschen, and give them some
fodder,” said one of them, addressing her familiarly. He and his
companion then entered the apartment, whose entire furnishings consisted
of a few wooden tables and benches, and shelves upon which were filthy
bottles and glasses. The two newcomers were our old acquaintances,
Jörgel of Reienstein and Conrad of Waltihof.
“He has not come yet,” said the latter, glancing around the miserable
place which was so dimly lighted by a half burned candle that only
objects close at hand could be discerned. “I begin to think we have come
too late.”
“This beastly storm may have detained him, as it did us,” said Jörgel.
“No storm could stop him, even if it rained rocks and poured down fire
from the sky,” replied Conrad. “I am afraid he was angry at our delay
and has gone on his way home alone.”
“Mother Ruschen,” said Jörgel to the old woman, who had just come in,
“has the Mörsperger been here?” She replied in the negative. “Then bring
us some wine, the best you have,” said Jörgel.
“And the dice,” added Conrad.
The old woman set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table at which
her guests were seated, and brought the dice; whereupon the two began
playing and soon forgot everything else, while the old woman, as was her
usual practice, sat by the fireplace and dozed. Suddenly she awoke. The
quarrelling of the two players, and their shouts of exultation or
curses, as one lost and the other won, had not disturbed her in the
least, but the tramp of horses outside, which the excited players had
not noticed, the old woman heard plainly. She arose and notified them
that the man they were expecting had come. She then left the room, found
Veit and his attendants just dismounting, and informed him his friends
were waiting for him.
“Good,” said Veit. “I cannot stay long with you this time. Just give the
horses a bundle of hay; and a good stout drink to the men.”
[Illustration: _Winkelried’s Heroic Death at the Battle of Sempach_
(_From a painting by Karl Jauslin_)]
As the men were leading the horses to the stable the old woman noticed
that one of them was very lame. Veit went inside and was greeted by both
the young men. They were still under the excitement of play and prepared
to resume it.
“Put up your dice,” exclaimed Veit, harshly. “A pest upon it! Do you not
know I have come straight from Baden, and that, too, on matters of
importance, and here you two fools are courting the wench Fortune? I am
bringing great news.”
The two laid aside the dice. Veit sat down on the bench and replied to
their questioning glances: “The day after to-morrow we must join the
army.” The news did not seem to surprise either of them. Jörgel, indeed,
said with a yawn, “It’s an infernally doubtful pleasure, this going to
Zurich!”
“There is nothing in it for us,” said Conrad.
“Blockheads!” said Veit, with a twinkle in his eye. Then he resumed in a
lower tone: “The siege is only a sham manœuvre, if you must know.
Bonstetter’s plan is simply to keep the Zurichers busy and to decoy the
Waldstätters, who have been running all over Kiburg and Thurgau, back
into the city.”
Jörgel and Conrad looked at each other. “And the Duke?” they asked, in
one voice.
“Wait! Here is the real business,” said Veit. “With the large part of
the army and the flower of the nobles, among whom we shall be, the Duke
will secretly and quietly march past Wellingen and Bremgarten to
Sempach, on the left bank of the Reuss, and afterwards advance upon
Lucerne, to give the burghers a needed chastising, and set the League a
terrible example. He will deal lightly with the peasant rabble, but
Zurich will have to make the best bargain it can.”
“We will be there,” exclaimed Jörgel.
“A masterpiece of generalship,” said Conrad.
“Pst!” warned Veit, for the old woman was returning. She was about to
provide them with wine, but Veit beckoned to her and said: “We have no
wish for a carousal this time, Mother Ruschen. I will quench my thirst
with a good drink from my own cellar, and don’t care to spoil the taste
of it now.” Turning to his companions, he added: “You shall be my guests
to-night. We must leave for home to-morrow at an early hour. We will
make preparations for a little ride; it is bad luck that I cannot ride
the black horse. The beast went suddenly lame, and that is why I wait
here so long. It must have been bewitched.”
“Yes, yes!” said Jörgel, “I have no doubt witchery is back of it. I
wonder who could have done it!”
“What is bewitched once is likely to be bewitched again,” said Conrad.
“That is what is troubling me,” said the knight.
“Why not depend upon the church’s ban and consult your chaplain? The
priests understand this witchery business.”
“To be sure! I never thought of that,” said the old woman, who had
listened to the conversation. “I know a pious father who can help your
horse, noble sir.”
“Where is he?” all three exclaimed together.
Mother Ruschen pointed to a dark corner of the room. They went there and
found a figure stretched out on the bench apparently sound asleep.
“Ho! wake up, reverend father,” cried the old woman, shaking him
roughly. As he raised himself and looked up, the knights forgot all
about the horse, and with furious execrations dragged him to his feet.
His face was half hidden in a cowl.
“Who are you? and how did you come here?” thundered Veit.
“You ought to know who I am by my attire,” was the quiet answer. “I
belong to the Dominican beggar order, and wander round seeking alms for
the poor. The storm overtook me and I came to this place and found
shelter by chance.”
“We have had bad luck with our secrets lately,” said Veit, with a
significant glance at his companions.
“Why should we care whether he lay there with open ears, or slept like a
marmot?” said Jörgel.
“We will not let this one off with an oath,” said Conrad, gesticulating
furiously.
“No, that will not do this time,” said Veit, grimly. With that he tore
off the monk’s cowl and looked him sharply in the face. “I think I have
seen this pious man before. I cannot tell where or when. It may have
been some time ago, but we have met before, and it could not have been a
very pleasant meeting, I fancy, from the effect your face has upon me.
Nevertheless, good father, you must go along with us. As foresight is
the parent of wisdom, I will find a safe and cosy place for you in my
castle, where you can remain until the storm of war has subsided and
Duke Leopold is once more established in the land which rightfully
belongs to him. Pray fervently that it may be soon accomplished, for you
will not see the sun again until it is. You understand me.”
During these words the monk, who was tall and powerful, quickly glanced
at the speaker and his companions and assumed an air of defiance. A wild
gleam of wrath shot from his eyes, and he appeared as if about to attack
them; but prudence prevailed, for the struggle would have been too
uneven. He offered no resistance when they took him from the house. The
horses were brought out and mounted. Veit rode ahead and the monk
between the other two. The attendants brought up the rear, leading the
lame horse slowly along.
The storm had ceased, but the sky was still overcast with dark clouds.
Two hours later they reached castle Mörsperg and entered by a drawbridge
lowered across a deep moat. The keep was below the watchtower, and an
opening with a grated door, which also served as window, led into it.
The monk was placed in this dungeon without further ado, and the robber
knights betook themselves to the principal castle apartment, where the
lady of Mörsperg had spread a repast of roasted venison.
Greatly as Veit was feared on the highroads, and careful as his best
friends were not to anger him, this barbarian was little respected in
his own castle. His energetic spouse managed things there to suit
herself. Of late he had been forced to submit humbly to her strong
sceptre. He was under the minor ban of the Church for his evil doings.
The bishop had kept him subject to it for three years; and the noble
lady, who sought to make reparation for his wickedness by her own piety,
suffered even more than if she had been under the ban herself, for the
chaplain who used to perform service there came no longer. Since that
had happened, Veit hardly dared look his wife in the face and meet her
injured, reproachful expression. He had also felt her displeasure in
other ways. He was restrained in eating and drinking when guests were at
the castle, and she strictly forbade dicing. But to-day the mistress’s
flinty heart apparently relented. She lavished the best wine in the
cellar upon the guests, and even brought the dice for them. The
astonished husband attributed this change to his approaching departure,
but there was an entirely different reason for it.
The noble lady had heard of the monk’s imprisonment from the servants.
She could not endure such an indignity to a servant of the Church. She
was not actuated by piety so much as by the fear that the ban would be
prolonged by this new outrage, should it become known. She had played
the part of a generous housewife only to divert the attention of her
husband, and as soon as Veit and his companions were absorbed in
gormandizing, she took a huge bunch of keys and hastened to the dungeon.
The monk had heard of the ban resting upon the castle, and when the lady
implored him to celebrate mass and hear confession, from which she had
already been barred a year and a day, he became embarrassed. “I dare not
violate the stern decree of the Church. You know you have no right to
ask for any of its sacred offices, and I have no right to perform them,”
was his answer.
“Can I not enter the chapel just once, for brief devotion? It would not
be wrong for you to pray for me. I can set you free, and it shall be
done this very night if you will not refuse me this consolation. The
attendant who keeps the watch is a pious soul, and is entirely devoted
and obedient to me. At my command he will open the gate and let down the
bridge for you.”
At these words the monk’s scruples vanished, for great results depended
upon his speedy release. He gladly followed her into the desolate little
chapel, which was directly over the dungeon. Half an hour later he
breathed the air of freedom and was greeted by the morning star in a
cloudless sky. With flying steps he rushed back over the same course he
had come, past Mother Ruschen’s wretched inn, and thence through a
narrow pass to the highroad which led to Zurich. It was broad daylight
when the monk entered the city, but without stopping to rest, he
hastened to the shop of Florian Häbli, the smith.
“Why, Arnold!” exclaimed Florian, in surprise at the sudden appearance
of the supposed monk. “I have been very anxious about you,” he added.
“God be praised that you are safe back from your daring journey. I did
not expect you so soon.”
“I have not been far,” replied Arnold. “A thunder storm drove me to an
inn on the way, and there I learned all the plans of the Duke without
the trouble of going to Baden. I have been very fortunate. I will tell
you the rest another time. Now procure me a fast steed while I take off
this mummery and leave it with you. I must summon all our people back
from Thurgau. Every hour’s delay is dangerous. The fate of the League
hangs upon a hair.”