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.