THE CAPUCHIN'S OATH.
A great festival was to be celebrated at Brixen today. It was the
2nd of August, the day of St. Cassian, and not only were the bones
of this saint, which reposed in the cathedral adorned with two
splendid towers to be exhibited as they were every year to the
devout pilgrims, but the pious bishop had resolved that these sacred
relics should be carried in solemn procession through the whole
city, that all might have an opportunity to see the saint's remains
and implore the assistance of God in the sore distress which bad
befallen the Tyrol again. Therefore, since early this morning the
peasantry had been flocking from all sides toward the gates of
Brixen. Women and children, young and old men, came from all parts
of the country to take part in the solemn procession and the devout
prayers for the welfare of the country.
Among those who were wandering along the road to Brixen, was a monk
of strikingly bold and martial appearance. His tall, broad-
shouldered form was remarkable for its military bearing; his long,
well-kept red whiskers and mustache did not correspond to the
tonsure on his head, which was covered with thin reddish ringlets;
and in striking contrast with it were likewise the broad red scar on
his healthy sunburnt countenance, and the bright, defiant glance of
his eyes, which indicated boldness and intrepidity rather than piety
and humility. He had tucked up his brown robe, and thus exhibited
his stout legs, which seemed to mock the soft sandals encasing his
broad, powerful feet. In his hand he held a long brown staff,
terminating at its upper end in a carved image of St. Francis; and
the Capuchin did not carry this staff in order to lean upon it, but
he brandished it in the air like a sword, or held it up triumphantly
as though it were a victorious banner.
But however strange and unusual the Capuchin's appearance might be,
no one laughed at him, but he was greeted everywhere with
demonstrations of love and reverence; and when he passed some slow
wanderers with his rapid step, they looked after him with joyful
surprise, and said to each other, "Look at old Red-beard, look at
brave Father Haspinger! He has fought often enough for the
fatherland. Now he is going to pray for the Tyrol."
"Pray, and fight again, if need be," said the friar, turning to the
speakers.
"You think, then, reverend father, that there will be war again?"
asked many voices; and dense groups surrounded the friar, and asked
him anxiously if he advised them to allow the enemy to re-enter the
country; if it would not be better to drive him back forcibly, or if
be thought it would be preferable for them to keep quiet and submit
to stern necessity?
"I think there is a time for every thing--for keeping quiet as well
as for fighting, for praying as well as for politics," said Father
Haspinger, shrugging his shoulders. "If you wish to pray and confess
your sins, come to me. I am ready to teach you how to pray, and
exhort you with true earnestness. But if you want to fight and expel
the enemy from the country, why do you not apply to your commanders,
and consult, above all, the brave and pious Andreas Hofer?"
"We cannot find him anywhere," shouted several voices. "He is not at
home, and even his wife does not know where he has concealed
himself."
"Do you, impious wretches, think that the most pious man in the
whole Tyrol, Andreas Hofer, has concealed himself because he is
afraid of the Bavarians who are re-entering the country?" asked the
friar, in a thundering voice.
"No, your reverence, we do not. We know well that Andreas Hofer will
not act like Ashbacher, Sieberer, Teimer, Eisenstecken, and
Speckbacher, and abandon us in our sore distress."
"He who does not extricate himself from his sore distress will not
be saved by others," cried the friar, indignantly.
"Do you not know the eleventh commandment you white-livered cowards,
who think you are lost when there is no leader to put himself at
your head? Do you not know the eleventh commandment, saying that he
who trusts in God and fights well will overpower his enemies? But
you will never overpower your enemies; you do not trust in God, and
hence you can not fight well."
"But we will fight well, your reverence," replied the men, with
bold, defiant glances; "only our leaders do not stand by us. Every
one cannot fight alone and at random, but there must be some one at
the lead to lead the whole movement. Since Andreas Hofer cannot be
found, pray put yourself at our head, your reverence, and become our
leader!"
"That request is not so stupid," said the Capuchin, smiling, and
stroking his red beard. "You know very well that old Red-beard does
not stay at home when an effort is to be made to save the
fatherland, and perhaps I may soon be able to accept your offer and
call upon you to defend the Tyrol."
"Do so, do call upon us," shouted the men enthusiastically. "We will
not permit the French and Bavarians to murder our people and burn
our houses as they did last May; we will fight rather until we have
driven them from the country or perished to a man!"
"These are brave and pious sentiments," said Father Haspinger, his
eyes flashing for joy; "and we will speak further about them. Come
up to the church of Latzfons to-morrow, and hear me preach; and
after the sermon we will confer as to the state of the country. But
now keep quiet, for you see we are at the gate of Brixen; turn your
souls, therefore, to God, and pray St. Cassian to have mercy upon
you, and intercede for you with God and the Redeemer."
And Father Haspinger's face became suddenly very grave and devout;
he lifted the rosary hanging at his belt, and, while entering the
city by the gate, he commenced praying a Pater-noster in an
undertone.
The city meanwhile was already in great commotion. The bells had
begun to ring their solemn peals, and all devout worshippers,
consisting on this occasion of the whole population of the city,
were flocking to the cathedral. All at once the doors of the
cathedral were thrown open, and under a gold-embroidered baldachin
borne by four priests appeared the pious bishop, carrying in his
uplifted right hand the casket containing the bones of Saint
Cassian. Behind the bishop came the priests bearing wax-lights, and
singing soul-stirring hymns. Next followed the long line of acolytes
with smoking censers; and pious worshippers, carrying torches, and
repeating the hymns intoned by the priests, closed the pro cession.
This procession gained strength at every step as it advanced, and
soon it had been joined by the whole population of the city and the
hundreds of pious pilgrims who had flocked to Brixen to take part in
the holy festival.
Haspinger, the Capuchin friar, was likewise in the procession; he
walked in the midst of the brave peasants with whom he had
conversed, singing with head erect and in a tone of solemn
earnestness the hymns with which the holy relics were being invoked.
Only it seemed to the peasants who heard his powerful voice as
though he somewhat changed the passage imploring Saint Cassian to
grant the Tyrolese peace, protection, and tranquillity, and prayed
for the very reverse. The passage was as follows: "Have mercy upon
our weakness, and grant us peace and tranquillity." But Father
Haspinger, brandishing his staff with the image of Saint Francis,
sang in a tone of fervent piety: "Have mercy upon our valor, and
grant us war!" To those who looked at him wonderingly on account of
this change of the text, he nodded with a shrewd twinkle of his
eyes, and murmured: "Come tomorrow to the church of Latzfons. We
will hold a council of war there!"
The procession had not yet finished one-half of its route, and had
just reached the market-place when a horseman gal loped up the
street leading from the gate to the market-place. It was probably a
belated worshipper, who intended to take part in the procession. He
alighted hurriedly from his horse, and tied it to the brass knob of
a street-door, and then walked close up to the procession. However,
he did not join it, but stood still and contemplated every passer-by
with prying eyes. Now he seemed to have found him whom he sought,
for a smile illuminated his sunburnt face, and he advanced directly
toward Father Haspinger, who was singing again: "Have mercy upon our
valor, and grant us war!" But on perceiving the young lad who was
approaching him, he paused, and a bright gleam of joy overspread his
features.
"It is Andreas Hofer's servant, Anthony Wild," murmured Father
Haspinger, joyfully, holding out his hand to the lad. "Say, Tony, do
you come to bring me a message from brother Andreas?"
"I do, reverend sir. The Sandwirth sends me to you, and as I did not
meet you at your convent of Seeben near Klausen, I followed you to
Brixen; for my master instructed me to deliver my message as quickly
as possible into your hands and return with your answer."
"What message do you bring me, Tony?"
"This letter, reverend sir."
The friar took it and put it quickly into his belt. "Where is
brother Andreas?" he asked.
"In the cave which is known only to him, to you, and to myself,"
whispered Anthony Wild, into the friar's ear. "He awaits your reply
there, reverend sir."
"And you shall have it this very day, Tony. Now, however, we will
not forget our divine service, but worship God with sincere piety.
Take the place behind me in the procession; and when we return to
the cathedral, follow me where-ever I may go."
And the friar commenced singing again; his hand, however, no longer
held the rosary, but he put it firmly on the letter which was
concealed in his belt, and whose contents engrossed his thoughts:
At length the procession had returned to the portals of the
cathedral. Father Haspinger signed to the Sandwirth's servant, who
was walking behind him, and instead of accompanying the other
worshippers into the church, he walked along the procession until he
reached a tall, slender young man, with whom he had already
exchanged many a glance. "Martin Schenk," said the friar to him,
"will you go home now?"
"I will, and I request you, reverend sir, to accompany me," said the
young man, hastily. "I believe you will find a number of friends at
my house. Peter Kemnater, the innkeeper of Schabs, and Peter Mayer,
the innkeeper of Mahr, will be there. I invited them, and had I
known that you would be here, I should have invited you too."
"You see that I come without being invited, for I think the
fatherland has invited us all; and I believe we will not partake of
an epicurean breakfast at your tavern to-day, but confer as to the
terrible calamities of our country. We are the cooks that will
prepare a very spicy and unhealthy breakfast for the French and
Bavarians, and I believe I am the bearer of some salt and pepper
from Andreas Hofer for this purpose. See, Martin Schenck, in my belt
here, by the side of the rosary, is a letter from our dear brother
Andreas Hofer."
"And what does he write to you? I hope he does not want us to keep
quiet and permit the enemy to re-enter the country, as all prudent
and cautious people advise us to do?"
"Hush, hush, Martin! do not insult our commander-in-chief by such a
supposition. I have not read the letter yet, but I believe I know
its contents, and could tell you beforehand every word that the good
and faithful Andreas has written to us. Ah, here is your tavern, and
let me ask a favor of you now. The lad who is following us is
Andreas Hofer's faithful servant, Anthony Wild, who brought me the
letter from his master, and who must wait for my answer. Give him a
place where he may rest, and a good breakfast, for he must set out
for home this very day."
"Come in, Anthony Wild; you are welcome," said the young innkeeper,
shaking hands with Hofer's servant.
"Thank you, but I must first fetch my horse which I tied to a pole
somewhere down the street. I rode very fast, and must first attend
to the Horse, afterward I will request you to let me have some
breakfast."
And Hofer's servant hastened down the street. The innkeeper and the
friar entered the house and stepped into the large bar-room. Two men
came to meet them there.
One of them, a man about forty-five years old, dressed in the simple
costume of the Tyrolese, and of a tall, powerful form, was Peter
Mayer, known throughout the Tyrol as one of the most ardent and
faithful patriots, and a man of extraordinary intrepidity, firmness,
and energy.
The other, a young man of scarcely twenty-two, slender yet well
built, and far-famed for his fine appearance, boldness, and wealth,
was Peter Kemnater, the most faithful and devoted friend of the
fine-looking and patriotic young innkeeper, Martin Schenk.
The two men shook hands with the new-comers and bowed to them, but
their faces were gloomy, and not the faintest gleam of a smile
illuminated them.
"Have you come hither, Father Joachim Haspinger, only to join in the
peace-prayers?" asked Peter Mayer in his laconic style, fixing his
dark, piercing eyes on the friar's face.
"No, Peter Mayer," said the Capuchin, gravely; "I have come hither
because I wanted to see you three, and because I have to say many
things to you. But previously let me read what our pious and
patriotic brother Andreas Hofer has written to me."
"You have a letter from Andreas Hofer!" exclaimed Mayer and
Kemnater, joyfully.
"Here it is," said the friar, drawing it from his belt. "Now give me
a moment's time to read the letter, and then we will confer upon the
matter that brought us here."
He stepped to the window and unfolded the letter. While he was
reading it, the three men looked at him with rapt suspense, seeking
to read in his features the impression produced by Andreas Hofer's
words on the heart of the brave Capuchin. Indeed, the friar's
features brightened more and more, his forehead and face colored,
and a smile illuminated his hard features.
"Listen, men," he exclaimed triumphantly, waving the paper as though
it were a flag; "listen to what Andreas writes to me!" And the friar
read in a clarion voice:
"Dear brother Red-beard! Beloved Father Joachim Haspinger: You know,
brother, that all has been in vain; the Austrians are evacuating the
country, and the emperor, or rather not the emperor, but his
ministers and secretaries, stipulated in the armistice concluded
with Bonaparte, that the French and Bavarians should re-enter the
Tyrol and recommence the infamous old system. But I think, even
though the emperor has abandoned us, God Almighty will not do so;
and even though the Austrian soldiers are crossing our frontiers,
our mountains and glaciers remain to us; God placed them there to
protect our frontiers, and He gave us strong arms and good rifles
and keen eyes to discern the enemy and hit him. We are the
inhabitants of the Tyrol, and the Austrian soldiers are not, hence
it is incumbent on us to protect our frontiers, and prevent the
enemy from invading our territory. If you are of my opinion, gather
about you as many brave sharpshooters as you can, call out the
Landsturm where it is possible, tell the other commanders to do the
same, and advance, if possible, at once toward the Brenner, where I
hope you will meet me or hear further news from me. Joseph
Speckbacher did not leave the country either; he is enlisting
sharpshooters and calling out the Landsturm in his district. It is
the Lord's will that the Tyrol be henceforth protected only by the
Tyrolese. Bear this in mind, and go to work.--Your faithful Andreas
Hofer, at present not knowing where he is." [Footnote: Andreas Hofer
signed all his letters and orders in this strange manner while he
was concealed in his cave.]
"Well," asked the friar, exultingly, "do you think that Andreas
Hofer is right, and that we ought not to allow the enemy to re-enter
the country?"
"I think he is," said Peter Kemnater, joyously. "I think it will be
glorious for us to expel the French and Bavarians once more from our
frontiers."
"Or, if they have already crossed them, drive them ignominiously
from the country," added Peter Mayer.
"I have passed, during the last few days, through the whole of
Puster valley," said Martin Schenk. "Everywhere I found the men
determined to die, rifle in hand, on the field of battle, rather
than stay peaceably at home and bend their necks before the enemy.
'It is a misfortune,' said the men, 'that the Austrians are
abandoning us at this critical juncture; but it would be a greater
misfortune still for us to abandon ourselves and consent to
surrender at discretion.'"
"And I say it is no misfortune at all that the Austrians have left
us," cried the Capuchin, vehemently. "The cause of the fatherland
has not suffered much by the retreat of the Austrians. Who assisted
us at the battle of Mount Isel? Who helped us to drive the enemy
twice from the country? Not an Austrian did! We accomplished all
that was great and glorious in the short and decisive struggle. Let
us not complain, then, that no one stands by us now, and that we
know that no one will help us but God and we ourselves. But we must
not plunge blindly and furiously into the struggle; on the contrary,
we must consider whether we are able to defeat the enemy. The French
and Bavarians are sending large forces on all sides to the poor
Tyrol. I cannot conceal from you that the enterprise which we are
going to undertake, and to which Andreas Hofer invites us, is a
dangerous one. Let me tell you that that miserable assassin and
ruffian Lefebre, whom they call the Duke of Dantsic, is approaching
from the north with twenty-five thousand men, and is already close
to Innspruck. General Deroi, too, is coming; he intends to march
through the whole Vintschgau, and force his way over the Gerlos
Mountains to the district of Innspruck. Rusca's wild legions are
already near Lienz; General Pery is moving up from the south with
his Italian troops; and the exasperated Bavarians, under Generals
Wreden and Arco, are already at Salzburg. In short, more than fifty
thousand men are coming up from all sides to trample the poor Tyrol
under foot. They are veteran soldiers; they have got artillery and
better arms than we, and are superior to us in numbers, equipments,
and strength. Consider, therefore, whether you are willing to
undertake the heavy task nevertheless; consider that you risk your
property, your blood, and your lives, and that, if you should be so
unfortunate as to fall into the enemy's hands, he would perhaps
punish you as criminals and rebels. It is true, you are ready to
risk your property, your blood, and your lives, for the fatherland
and the liberty of the Tyrol; but then you have also duties to your
families, your parents, your brides; you have a duty to yourselves--
that of not endangering your lives recklessly. It is true, even
though the enemy should punish you as rebels, you would die the
beautiful death of martyrs for your fatherland, and the halo of your
virtue and love of country will immortalize your names; but you must
consider, also, whether your death will be useful to the country,
and whether you will not shed your blood in vain. Ask your hearts,
my friends, whether they will be courageous and strong enough to
brave cheerfully whatever reverses and calamities may befall us, and
whether they really will risk death, imprisonment, and the scaffold,
without flinching and trembling? That is what I wished to say to you
before concerting measures with you and sending an answer to Andreas
Hofer. Consider it all, my friends, and then speak."
"We are to ask our hearts if they will not flinch and tremble?" said
Peter Mayer, almost contemptuously. "When the enemy returned to the
Tyrol last May, he burned down eight houses which belonged to me,
and for some time I did not know but that my wife and children had
perished in the conflagration. Did you see me tremble--did you hear
me complain at that time? Did I not stand up cheerfully in the
battle on Mount Isel, without weeping or murmuring, and bearing in
mind only that I was fighting for liberty, the fatherland, and the
emperor? It was not until we had gained the victory, and obtained
our freedom, that I went home to mourn and weep on the smoking ruins
of my houses. But I found my wife and my children alive and well; a
friend had concealed them and taken care of them; and after thanking
God for our victory, I thanked Him for preserving my wife and
children; and only now, when we were happy and free, did I shed
tears. But since the enemy is re-entering the country, and fresh
misfortunes are to befall us, my tears are dried again; my heart is
full of courage and constancy; and I believe we must risk all,
because otherwise every thing that we have done hitherto will be in
vain. I love my wife dearly; but, if she came now to dissuade me
from taking part in the struggle, and if I felt that my heart was
giving way to her persuasion, I would strangle her with my own
hands, lest she should prevent me from serving the great cause of
the fatherland. It is true, our task is difficult, but it is not
impossible; and that which is not impossible should be tried for the
fatherland! I have given you my opinion; it is your turn now, my
young friends. Peter Kemnater, speak! Tell Father Red-beard whether
your heart is trembling and flinching, and whether you think we had
better keep quiet, because the enemy is so powerful and superior to
us."
"I have an affianced bride of whom I am very fond," said Peter
Kemnater, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes; "a girl whom I love
better than my parents, than anything in the world, and whom I
intended to marry a fortnight hence; but I swear to God and the Holy
Virgin that my wedding shall not take place until the Tyrol is free
again, and we have expelled the enemy once more from the country.
And if my bride should be angry at this, and demand that I should
think more of her than of the fatherland, and prefer living for her
alone to dying perhaps for the fatherland, I should break with her,
and never look at her again, never speak another word with her. I
have many houses and lands; but even though I knew that my fields
and meadows were to be devastated, and my houses burned down, like
those of Peter Mayer, I should say, nevertheless, we will fight for
the fatherland! We will defeat the enemy, even though we should all
become beggars, and even though I knew that I should die before
seeing my affianced bride again, and that she would curse me in my
grave. That is what I have got to say. Now you may speak, Martin
Schenk; tell the father whether your heart is flinching and
trembling."
"Yes, it is," cried Martin Schenk, "but only when I think the men of
the Tyrol could be so cowardly and mean-spirited as to keep quiet
and submit to their oppressors, because the latter are powerful and
superior to us in numbers. I have a young wife whom I married only a
year ago, and who gave birth to a little boy a week since, and I
assure you that I love her and her child with all my heart. But if I
knew that their death would be useful to the fatherland, and would
contribute to its salvation, I would shoot them with my own rifle,
and should not weep on seeing their corpses at my feet; but I should
rejoice and exclaim, 'I did it for the sake of the fatherland; I
sacrificed my most precious treasures for the beloved Tyrol.' Even
though the enemy is very strong and numerous, even though the
emperor has abandoned us, God stands by us. The mountains stand firm
yet; they are our fortresses, and we will fight in them until we are
all dead, or until we have defeated the enemy, and delivered the
Tyrol a third time. Now you know my opinion, Father Joachim
Haspinger."
The Capuchin made no reply. He stood with hands clasped in prayer
and eyes lifted to heaven, and two large tears rolled down his
bronzed cheeks into his red beard.
"Great God in heaven," he murmured in a voice tremulous with
emotion, "I thank Thee for letting me see this hour, and hear the
soul-stirring words of these patriotic men. What can I say now, what
have I to sacrifice to the fatherland? I have no wife, no children,
no property; I am but a poor Capuchin! I have nothing but my blood
and my life. But I will give it to the country, even though the
bishop and the abbot should excommunicate me for it and condemn my
soul to burn in everlasting fire. It is better that a poor
Capuchin's soul should burn in hell than that the fatherland should
groan with pain and wear the brand of disgrace and slavery on its
forehead. It is better to be a faithless son of the bishop and
abbot, than a faithless son of the fatherland. It is better to be a
bad Christian than a bad patriot. Therefore, whatever may happen, I
shall share every thing with you, danger or victory, triumph or
death. Henceforth I am no longer a Capuchin, but old Red-beard
Joachim Haspinger, the defender of his country; and I swear that I
will no more lay down my head and repose before we have delivered
the country from the enemy and concluded an honorable peace. If that
is your sentiment also, swear here before God that you will fight
henceforth for the country, devote your whole strength to it, and
perish rather than give up the struggle, make peace with the enemy,
and submit to the Bavarian yoke."
And the three men lifted their hands and eyes to heaven, and
exclaimed with one accord, in a loud and solemn tone: "We swear by
God Almighty, and by all that is sacred and dear to us on earth,
that we will fight henceforth for the country, devote our whole
strength to it, and perish rather than give up the struggle, make
peace with the enemy, and submit to the Bavarian yoke!"
"Benedictus! benedictus!" cried Father Haspinger, laying his hands
on those which the three men had joined on taking the oath. "The
Lord has heard and accepted your oath; the Lord will bless you, the
Holy Virgin will protect you! Amen!"
"And now let us concert measures for the struggle, and consider what
we ought to do," said the friar, after a pause. "In the first place,
we will inform Andreas Hofer that his wishes shall be complied with,
and that we will call out the Landsturm and all our forces. Let me
write to him, therefore, and then we will hold a council of war."
The council of war lasted until midnight; and while all Europe was
truckling to the "invincible Emperor Napoleon," while all Germany
was lying humbly prostrate at his feet, and while all the princes
were basking in the sunshine of his favor, four poor men, neither
learned nor even well educated, three peasants and a monk, were
concerting measures to bid defiance to "Bonaparte, the robber of
crowns," and expel his powerful armies from their mountains! All
Germany was subjugated, and had given up all further resistance to
the all-powerful conqueror; only the small Tyrol would not suffer
herself to be subjugated; only the brave sons of the German
mountains were still intent on braving the tyrant, and upholding
their liberty and independence, despite the formidable efforts he
was making to crush them.
Already on the following morning the tocsin sounded in all the
valleys and on all the heights, and called upon the men to fight for
the fatherland. After midnight the three brave men had left Brixen;
each had set out in a different direction to incite the men to
insurrection, inform them of Andreas Hofer's order, and implore them
in the name of the fatherland to take up their rifles again and risk
once more their lives for the deliverance of the Tyrol.
Father Haspinger had walked all night to Latzfons, and on the
following morning he preached to the people at the church of that
place an enthusiastic sermon, in which he called upon them to make
one more effort in behalf of their beloved country, and promised
entire absolution for one year to every one who should kill a dozen
French soldiers, and absolution for five years to any who should
kill twice as many. [Footnote: Mayer's "Speckbacher," p. 151.]
Carried away by the soul-stirring words and promises of the
Capuchin, full of ardor to serve the fatherland, and desirous of
obtaining absolution, the men took up arms, and even a company of
women was formed for the holy service of the fatherland.
At night on the same day three hundred sharpshooters had rallied
around the martial friar, and with them he marched toward Unterau,
constantly receiving re-enforcements on the road; for the
inhabitants everywhere rose again as one man, and with their
redoubted rifles on their shoulders descended every lateral glen and
ravine, and joined his command to conquer or die under him.
And joyful news arrived from all sides, announcing that the
inhabitants were rising throughout the Tyrol. Already Peter Mayer
and Peter Kemnater had gathered around them all the sharpshooters of
the neighboring towns and villages, and their four companies now
united with the friar's troops. News also came from Andreas Hofer:
he had emerged again from the cave, and at his call all the
sharpshooters of the Passeyr valley had rallied around him, and
companies had flocked to him from all parts of the country to fight
again under their beloved commander-in-chief. Andreas Hofer had
marched with them across the crest of the precipitous Janfen, and
his army gathering strength like a mountain-torrent from every
tributary stream which crossed its course, soon embraced all the
able-bodied men of Passeyr, Meran, and Algund.
The Tyrolese bad risen a third time to defend the independence of
their country.