Such was the tenor of the asseverations which he made, fortified by
numerous details, all tending strongly to confirm the truth of his
accusations, his own testimony once being relied on. There was something
so noble in this man’s action, so delicate, so impressive, so simple,
yet so grand; and the particulars which he gave were all so probably
arrayed, so well put together, and so seemingly in confirmation of other
circumstances drawn from the testimony of other parties, that all around
appeared fully impressed with the most perfect conviction that his
accusation was justly made. A short but painful silence followed his
narration, which seemed, for an instant, to confound the guilty noble.
The sad countenance of the monarch deepened to severity, while a smile
of triumph and exultation rose to that of the favorite behind his
throne. At this sight the accused person recovered all his audacity.
With half-choking utterance, and features kindling with fury rather than
faltering with fear, he demanded,
“Am I to be heard, your majesty?”
A wave of the monarch’s hand gave him the desired permission, and his
reply burst forth like a torrent. He gave the lie to his accuser, whom
he denounced as an impostor, as one who was the creature of his and the
king’s enemies, and tampering, himself, with the sovereign’s life while
pretending to minister to his ailments. He ridiculed, with bitterness
and scorn, the notion that any faith should be given to the statements,
though even offered on oath, of one whom he affirmed to be an unbeliever
and a Jew; and, as if to crown his defense with a seal no less
impressive than that of his accuser, he advanced to the foot of the
throne, grasped the sacred volume from the hands by which it was upheld,
and kneeling, with his lips pressed upon the opened pages, he imprecated
upon himself, if his denial were not the truth, all the treasured wrath
and thunder in the stores of Heaven!
The accuser heard, with uplifted hands and looks of holy horror, the
wild and terrible invocation. Almost unconsciously his lips parted with
the comment,
“God have mercy upon your soul, my lord, for you have spoken a most
awful perjury!”
The king looked bewildered, the favorite behind him dissatisfied, and
the whole audience apparently stunned by equal incertitude and
excitement. The eyes of all parties fluctuated between the accused and
the accuser. They stood but a few paces asunder. The former looked like
a man who only with a great struggle succeeded in controlling his fury.
The latter stood sorrowful, but calm. The little girl who had brought in
the holy volume stood before him, with one of his hands resting upon her
head. Her features greatly resembled his own. She looked terrified; her
eyes fastened ever upon the face of her father’s enemy with a
countenance of equal curiosity and suspicion. Some conversation, the
sense of which did not reach me, now ensued between the king and two of
his counselors, to which his favorite was a party. The former again
addressed the accuser.
“Have you any other testimony but that which you yourself offer of the
truth of your accusation.”
“None, your majesty. I have no witness of my truth but God, and it is
not for vain man to prescribe to him at what seasons his testimony
should be given. In bringing this accusation, my purpose was not the
destruction of the criminal, but the safety of my sovereign; and I am
the more happy that no conviction can now follow from my charge, as from
the dreadful oath which he has just taken, he places it out of the power
of human tribunal to resolve between us. For the same reason, sire, he
is in no condition to suffer death! Let him live! It is enough for me
that your majesty is safe from the present, and has been warned against
all future danger at his hands.”
“But not enough for me!” cried the accused, breaking in impetuously. “I
have been charged with a foul crime; I must free my scutcheon from the
shame. I will not rest beneath it. If this Jewish sorcerer hath no
better proof than his own false tongue, I demand from your majesty the
wager of battle! I, too, invoke God and the blessed Jesu, in testimony
of my innocence. This enemy hath slandered me; I will wash out the
slander with his blood! I demand the trial, sire, his arm against mine,
according to the laws and custom of this realm.”
“It cannot be denied!” was the cry from many voices. The favorite looked
grave and troubled. The eyes of the king were fixed sadly upon the
venerable accuser. The latter seemed to understand the expression.
“I am not a man of blood, your majesty. Strife hath long been banished
from this bosom; carnal weapons have long been discarded from these
hands.”
“Let him find a champion!” was the fierce answer of the accused.
“And of what avail to me,” returned the accuser, “the brute valor of the
hireling who sells for wages the strength of his manhood, and perils for
gain the safety of his life. Little should I hope from the skill of such
as he, opposed in combat to one of the greatest warriors of the realm.”
“Ah, sorcerer! thou fearest!” was the exulting cry of the accused; “but,
if thy cause be that of truth, as thou hast challenged the Most High to
witness, what hast thou to fear? The stars which thou searchest nightly,
will they not do battle in thy behalf?”
“Methinks,” said the favorite, who now advanced from behind the throne,
“methinks, old man, thou hast but too little reliance on the will and
power of God to assist thee in this matter. It is for him to strengthen
the feeblest, where he is innocent, and in the ranks of war to do
successful battle with the best and bravest. Is it not written, ‘the
race is not always to the swift, nor the triumph to the strong?’”
“Ah! do I not know this, my lord. Do not think that I question the power
of the Lord to do marvels, whenever it becomes his will to do so; but
who is it, believing in God’s might and mercy, flings himself idly from
the steep, with the hope that an angel’s wings shall be sent to bear him
up. I have been taught by the faith which I profess, to honor the Lord
our God, and not to tempt him; and I do not readily believe that we may
command the extraordinary manifestations of his power by any such vain
and uncertain issue as that which you would now institute. I believe not
the truth is inevitably sure to follow the wager and trial of battle,
nor will I lean on the succor of any hireling weapon to avouch for
mine.”
“It need be no hireling sword, old man. The brave and the noble love
adventure, for its own sake, in the paths of danger; and it may be that
thou shalt find some one, even in this assembly, noble as him thou
accusest, and not less valiant with his weapon, who, believing in thy
truth, shall be willing to do battle in thy behalf.”
“Thyself, perchance!” cried the accused, impetuously, and turning a
fiery glance upon the speaker. In this glance it seemed to me that I
could discover a far greater degree of bitterness and hate than in any
which he had shown to his accuser. “It is thyself that would do this
battle? Ha! thou art he, then, equally noble and not less valiant art
thou? Be it so! It will rejoice me shouldst thou venture thy body in
this quarrel. But I know thee—thou lovest it too well—thou durst not.”
“Choose me for thy champion, old man,” was the further speech of the
favorite, with a difficult effort to be calm. “I will do battle for
thee, and with God’s mercy, sustain the right in thy behalf.”
“Thou shalt not!” exclaimed the king, vehemently, but feebly, half
rising as he spoke, and turning to the favorite. “Thou shalt not! I
command thee mix not in this matter.”
More was said, but in such a feeble tone that they failed to reach my
senses. When the king grew silent, the favorite bowed with submissive
deference, and sunk again behind the throne. A scornful smile passed
over the lips of the accused, who looked, with a bitter intelligence of
gaze, upon a little group, seemingly his friends and supporters, who had
partly grouped themselves around him. Following his glance, a moment
after, toward the royal person, I was attracted by a movement, though
for a single instant only, of the uplifted hand of the favorite. It was
a sign to the accused, the former withdrawing the glove from his right
hand, a moment after, and flinging it, with a significant action, to the
floor behind him. The accused whispered to a page in waiting, who
immediately stole away and disappeared from sight. But a little while
elapsed when I beheld him approach the spot where the glove had fallen,
recover it adroitly, and convey it, unperceived, into his bosom. All
this by-play, though no doubt apparent to many in the assembly, was
evidently unseen and unsuspected by the king. I inferred the rank
luxuriance of the practice of chivalry in this region, from the nicety
with which the affair was conducted, and the forbearance of all those by
whom it had been witnessed, to make any report of what they had beheld.
The discussion was resumed by the accuser.
“I am aware, your majesty, that by the laws and practice of your realm,
the wager of battle is one that may be freely challenged by any one
accused of treason, or other crime against the state, against whom there
shall be no witness but the accuser. It is not the fear of danger which
makes me unwilling to seek this conflict; it is the fear of doing wrong.
Though the issues of battle are in the hands of the Lord, yet who shall
persuade me that he has decreed the combat to take place. Now I do
confess that I regard it as unholy, any invocation of the God of Peace,
to be a witness in a strife which his better lessons teach us to
abhor—a strife grossly at variance with his most settled and divine
ordinances.”
“I am grieved, old man, to hear you speak this language,” was the grave
censure of one who, from his garments, seemed to be very high in
authority, and the church. “What thou sayest is in direct reproach of
holy church, which has frequently called in the assistance of mortal
force and human weapons to put down the infidel, to crush the
wrong-doer, and to restore that peace which can only owe her continued
existence to the presence ever of a just readiness for war. Methinks
thou hast scarcely shown thyself enough reverent in this, thy bold
opinion.”
“Holy father, I mean not offence! I do not doubt that war, with
short-sightedness of human wisdom, has appeared to secure the advantages
of peace. I believe that God has endowed us with a strength for the
struggle, and with a wisdom that will enable us to pursue it with
success. These we are to employ when necessary for the protection of the
innocent, and the rescue and safety of those who are themselves
unwilling to do harm. But I am unwilling to believe that immortal
principles—the truth of man, and the value of his assurances—are to
depend upon the weight of his own blows, or the address with which he
can ward off the assaults of another. Were this the case, then would the
strong-limbed and brutal soldier be always the sole arbiter of truth,
and wisdom, and all moral government.”
We need not pursue the argument. It has long since been settled, though
with partial results only to humanity, as well by the Pagan as the
Christian philosopher. But, however ingenious, true, or eloquent, was
the venerable speaker, on this occasion, his arguments were entirely
lost upon that assembly. He himself soon perceived that the effect was
unfavorable to his cause, and exposed his veracity to question. With a
proper wisdom, therefore, he yielded promptly to the current. But first
he asked:—
“And what, may it please your majesty, if I decline this ordeal?”
“Death!” was the reply of more than one stern voice in the assembly.
“Death by fire, by the burning pincers, by the tortures of the screw and
rack.”
The venerable man replied calmly.
“Life is a duty! Life is precious!” he spoke musingly, looking down as
he spoke, upon the little girl who stood before him, while the big tears
gathered in his eyes as he gazed.
“Do you demand a champion?” was the inquiry of the king.
“No, Sire! If, in behalf of my truth, this battle must be fought, its
dangers must be mine only.”
“Thine!” exclaimed the favorite.
“Ay, my lord, mine. None other than myself must encounter this peril.”
A murmur of ridicule passed through the assembly. The accused laughed
outright, as the exulting warrior laughs, with his captive naked beneath
his weapon. A brief pause followed, and a visible anxiety prevailed
among the audience. Their ridicule afforded to the accuser sufficient
occasion for reply:
“This murmur of surprise and ridicule that I hear on every hand, is, of
itself, a sufficient commentary upon this trial of truth by the wager of
battle. It seems to all little less than madness, that a feeble old man,
like myself, even though in the cause of right, should oppose himself to
the most valiant warrior in the kingdom. Yet, if it be true that God
will make himself manifest in the issue, what matters it whether I be
old or young, strong or weak, well-skilled or ignorant in arms? If there
be a just wisdom in this mode of trial, the feeblest rush, in
maintenance of the truth, were mighty against the steel-clad bosom of
the bravest. I take the peril. I will meet this bold criminal, nothing
fearing, and will, in my own person, engage in the battle which is thus
forced upon me. But I know not the use of lance, or sword, or
battle-axe. These weapons are foreign to my hands. Is it permitted me to
use such implements of defense as my own skill and understanding may
invent, and I may think proper to employ?”
“Thou shalt use no evil arts, old man,” exclaimed the Churchman who had
before spoken, anticipating the answer of the monarch. “No sorcery, no
charms, no spells,—no accursed devices of Satan. I warn thee, if thou
art found guilty of arts like these thou shalt surely perish by fire.”
“None of these, Holy Father, shall I employ. My arts shall be those
only, the principles of which I shall proclaim to thyself, or to any
noble gentleman of the king’s household. My weapons shall be those only
which a human intelligence may prepare. They belong to the studies which
I pursue—to the same studies which have enabled me to arrive at truths,
some of which thou thyself hast been pleased to acknowledge, and which,
until I had discovered them, had been hidden from the experience of men.
It cannot be held unreasonable and unrighteous that I employ the weapons
the virtues of which I know, when my enemy uses those for which he is
renowned?”
Some discussion followed, the demand of the accuser being strenuously
resisted by the friends of the accused.
“The weapons for knightly encounter,” said they, “have long since been
acknowledged. These are sword, and battle-axe, and spear.”
“But I am no knight,” was the reply; “and as it is permitted to the
citizen to do battle with staff and cudgel, which are his wonted
weapons, so may it be permitted to me to make use of those which are
agreeable to my strength, experience, and the genius of my profession.”
Some demur followed from the churchman.
“Holy father,” replied the accuser, “the sacred volume should be your
guide as it is mine. My claim is such as seems already in one famous
instance, to have met the most decisive sanction of God himself.”
Here he unfolded the pages of the Holy Scriptures.
“Goliah,” said he, “was a Philistine knight, who came into battle with
the panoply of his order. David appeared with staff, and sling, and
stone, as was proper to the shepherd. He rejected the armor with which
Saul would have arrayed him for the combat. The reproach of the
Philistine knight comprises the objection which is offered here—‘Am I a
dog,’ said Goliah, ‘that thou comest to me with staves?’ The answer of
David, O king! shall be mine: ‘And all this assembly shall know that the
Lord saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord’s, and
he will give you into our hands.’—Such were his words—they are mine.
God will deliver me from the rage of mine enemy. I will smite him
through all his panoply, and in spite of shield and spear.”
He spoke with a momentary kindling of his eyes, which was soon succeeded
by an expression of sadness.
“And yet, O king! I would be spared this trial. My heart loves not
strife. My soul shrinks in horror from the shedding of human blood.
Require not this last proof at my hands. Suffer me to keep my conscience
white, and clear of this sacrifice. Let this unhappy man live; for as
surely as we strive together, so surely must he perish.”
“Now this passeth all belief, as it passeth all human endurance!”
exclaimed the accused with irrepressible indignation. “I claim the
combat, O king, on any condition. Let him come as he will, with what
weapons he may, though forged in the very armory of Satan. My talisman
is in the holy cross, and the good sword buckled at my thigh by the
holiest prince in Christendom, will not fail me against the devil and
all his works. I demand the combat!”
“Be ye both ready within three days!” said the king.
“I submit,” replied the aged man. “I trust in the mercy of God to
sustain me against this trial, and to acquit me of its awful
consequences.”
“Ready, ay, ready!” was the answer of the accused, as with his hand he
clutched fiercely the handle of his sword, until the steel rung again in
the iron scabbard.