[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.