the Schöffen of the court. Whoever should shelter or even warn him was
himself to be brought before the tribunal. The members of the court were
bound by a terrible oath, to be enforced by death, not to reveal the
sentence of the Holy Vehm, except to one of the initiated, and not to
warn the culprit, even if he was a father or a brother. Wherever the
condemned was found, whether in a house, a street, the high-road, or the
forest, he was seized and hanged to the nearest tree or post, if the
servants of the court could lay hands on him. As a sign that he was
executed by the Holy Vehm, and not slain by robbers, nothing was taken
from his body, and the knife was thrust into the ground beneath him. We
may further say that any criminal taken in the act by the Vehmic
officers of justice did not need to be brought before the court, but
might be hanged on the spot, with the ordinary indications that he was a
victim to the secret tribunal.
A citation to appear before the Vehm was executed by two Schöffen, who
bore the letter of the presiding count to the accused. If they could not
reach him because he was living in a city or a fortress which they could
not safely enter, they were authorized to execute their mission
otherwise. They might approach the castle in the night, stick the
letter, enclosing a farthing piece, in the panel of the castle gate, cut
off three chips from the gate as evidence to the count that they had
fulfilled their mission, and call out to the sentinel on leaving that
they had deposited there a letter for his lord. If the accused had no
regular dwelling-place, and could not be met, he was summoned at four
different cross-roads, where was left at the east, west, north, and
south points a summons, each containing the significant farthing coin.
It must not be supposed that the administration of justice in Germany
was confined to this Vehmic court. There were open courts of justice
throughout the land. But what were known as _Freistuhls,_ or free
courts, were confined to the duchy of Westphalia. Some of the sessions
of these courts were open, some closed, the Vehm constituting their
secret tribunal.
Though complaints might be brought and persons cited to appear from
every part of Germany, a free court could only be held on Westphalian
ground, on the red earth, as it was entitled. Even the emperor could not
establish a free court outside of Westphalia. When the Emperor Wenceslas
tried to establish one in Bohemia, the counts of the empire decreed that
any one who should take part in it would incur the penalty of death. The
members of these courts consisted of Schöffen, nominated by the graf, or
presiding judge, and composed of ordinary members and the Wissenden or
Witan, the higher membership. The initiation of these members was a
singular and impressive ceremony. It could only take place upon the red
earth, or within the boundaries of Westphalia. Bareheaded and ungirt,
the candidate was conducted before the tribunal, and strictly questioned
as to his qualifications to membership. He must be free-born, of
Teutonic ancestry, and clear of any accusation of crime.
This settled, a deep and solemn oath of fidelity was administered, the
candidate swearing by the Holy Law to guard the secrets of the Holy Vehm
from wife and child, father and mother, sister and brother, fire and
water, every creature on whom rain falls or sun shines, everything
between earth and heaven; to tell to the tribunal all offences known to
him, and not to be deterred therefrom by love or hate, gold, silver, or
precious stones. He was now intrusted with the very ancient password and
secret grip or other sign of the order, by which the members could
readily recognize each other wherever meeting, and was warned of the
frightful penalty incurred by those who should reveal the secrets of the
Vehm. This penalty was that the criminal should have his eyes bound and
be cast upon the earth, his tongue torn out through the back of his
neck, and his body hanged seven times higher than ordinary criminals. In
the history of the court there is no instance known of the oath of
initiation being broken. For further security of the secrets of the
Vehm, no mercy was given to strangers found within the limits of the
court. All such intruders were immediately hung.
The number of the Schöffen, or members of the free courts, was very
great. In the fourteenth century it exceeded one hundred thousand.
Persons of all ranks joined them, princes desiring their ministers,
cities their magistrates, to apply for membership. The emperor was the
supreme presiding officer, and under him his deputy, the stadtholder of
the duchy of Westphalia, while the local courts, of which there were one
or more in each district of the duchy, were under the jurisdiction of
the grafs or counts of their districts.
The Vehm could consider criminal actions of the greatest diversity,
cases of mere slander or defamation of character being sometimes brought
before it. Any violation of the ten commandments was within its
jurisdiction. It particularly devoted itself to secret crimes, such as
magic, witchcraft, or poisoning. Its agents of justice were bound to
make constant circuits, night and day, with the privilege, as we have
said, if they caught a thief or murderer in the act, or obtained his
confession, to hang him at once on the nearest tree, with the knife as
signal of their commission.
Of the origin of this strange court we have no certain knowledge.
Tradition ascribes it to Charlemagne, but that needs confirmation. It
seems rather to have been an outgrowth of an old Saxon system, which
also left its marks in the systems of justice of Saxon England, where
existed customs not unlike those of the Holy Vehm.
Mighty was the power of these secret courts, and striking the traditions
to which they have given rise, based upon their alleged nocturnal
assemblies, their secret signs and solemn oaths, their mysterious
customs, and the implacable persistency with which their sentences
sought the criminal, pursuing him for years, and in whatever corner of
the empire he might take refuge, while there were none to call its
ministers of justice to account for their acts if the terrible knife had
been left as evidence of their authority.
Such an association, composed of thousands of men of all classes, from
the highest to the lowest,--for common freemen, mechanics, and citizens
shared the honor of membership with knights and even princes,--bound
together by a band of inviolable secrecy, and its edicts carried out so
mysteriously and ruthlessly, could not but attain to a terrible power,
and produce a remarkable effect upon the imagination of the people. "The
prince or knight who easily escaped the judgment of the imperial court,
and from behind his fortified walls defied even the emperor himself,
trembled when in the silence of the night he heard the voices of the
_Freischöffen_ at the gate of his castle, and when the free count
summoned him to appear at the ancient _malplatz_, or plain, under the
lime-tree, or on the bank of a rivulet upon that dreaded soil, the
Westphalian or red ground. And that the power of those free courts was
not exaggerated by the mere imagination, excited by terror, nor in
reality by any means insignificant, is proved by a hundred undeniable
examples, supported by records and testimonies, that numerous princes,
counts, knights, and wealthy citizens were seized by these Schöffen of
the secret tribunal, and, in execution of its sentence, perished by
their hands."
An institution so mysterious and wide-spread as this could not exist
without some degree of abuse of power. Unworthy persons would attain
membership, who would use their authority for the purpose of private
vengeance. This occasional injustice of the Vehmic tribunal became more
frequent as time went on, and by the end of the fifteenth century many
complaints arose against the free courts, particularly among the clergy.
Civilization was increasing, and political institutions becoming more
developed, in Germany; the lords of the land grew restive under the
subjection of their people to the acts of a secret and strange tribunal,
no longer supported by imperial power. Alliances of princes, nobles, and
citizens were made against the Westphalian courts, and their power
finally ceased, without any formal decree of abrogation.
In the sixteenth century the Vehm still possessed much strength; in the
seventeenth it had grown much weaker; in the eighteenth only a few
traces of it remained; at Gehmen, in Münster, the secret tribunal was
only finally extinguished by a decree of the French legislature in 1811.
Even to the present day there are peasants who have taken the oath of
the Schöffen, whose secrecy they persistently maintain, and who meet
annually at the site of some of the old free courts. The principal signs
of the order are indicated by the letters S.S.G.G., signifying _stock,
stein, gras, grein_ (stick, stone, grass, tears), though no one has been
able to trace the mysterious meaning these words convey as symbols of
the mystic power of the ancient _Vehm gericht_.
_WILLIAM TELL AND THE SWISS PATRIOTS._
"In the year of our Lord 1307," writes an ancient chronicler, "there
dwelt a pious countryman in Unterwald beyond the Kernwald, whose name
was Henry of Melchthal, a wise, prudent, honest man, well to do and in
good esteem among his country-folk, moreover, a firm supporter of the
liberties of his country and of its adhesion to the Holy Roman Empire,
on which account Beringer von Landenberg, the governor over the whole of
Unterwald, was his enemy. This Melchthaler had some very fine oxen, and
on account of some trifling misdemeanor committed by his son, Arnold of
Melchthal, the governor sent his servant to seize the finest pair of
oxen by way of punishment, and in case old Henry of Melchthal said
anything against it, he was to say that it was the governor's opinion
that the peasants should draw the plough themselves. The servant
fulfilled his lord's commands. But as he unharnessed the oxen, Arnold,
the son of the countryman, fell into a rage, and striking him with a
stick on the hand, broke one of his fingers. Upon this Arnold fled, for
fear of his life, up the country towards Uri, where he kept himself long
secret in the country where Conrad of Baumgarten from Altzelen lay hid
for having killed the governor of Wolfenschiess, who had insulted his
wife, with a blow of his axe. The servant, meanwhile, complained to his
lord, by whose order old Melchthal's eyes were torn out. This tyrannical
action rendered the governor highly unpopular, and Arnold, on learning
how his good father had been treated, laid his wrongs secretly before
trusty people in Uri, and awaited a fit opportunity for avenging his
father's misfortune."
Such was the prologue to the tragic events which we have now to tell,
events whose outcome was the freedom of Switzerland and the formation of
that vigorous Swiss confederacy which has maintained itself until the
present day in the midst of the powerful and warlike nations which have
surrounded it. The prologue given, we must proceed with the main scenes
of the drama, which quickly followed.
As the story goes, Arnold allied himself with two other patriots, Werner
Stauffacher and Walter Fürst, bold and earnest men, the three meeting
regularly at night to talk over the wrongs of their country and consider
how best to right them. Of the first named of these men we are told that
he was stirred to rebellion by the tyranny of Gessler, governor of Uri,
a man who forms one of the leading characters of our drama. The rule of
Gessler extended over the country of Schwyz, where in the town of
Steinen, in a handsome house, lived Werner Stauffacher. As the governor
passed one day through this town he was pleasantly greeted by Werner,
who was standing before his door.
"To whom does this house belong?" asked Gessler.
Werner, fearing that some evil purpose lay behind this question,
cautiously replied,--
"My lord, the house belongs to my sovereign lord the king, and is your
and my fief."
"I will not allow peasants to build houses without my consent," returned
Gessler, angered at this shrewd reply, "or to live in freedom as if they
were their own masters. I will teach you better than to resist my
authority."
So saying, he rode on, leaving Werner greatly disturbed by his
threatening words. He returned into his house with heavy brow and such
evidence of discomposure that his wife eagerly questioned him. Learning
what the governor had said, the good lady shared his disturbance, and
said,--
"My dear Werner, you know that many of the country-folk complain of the
governor's tyranny. In my opinion, it would be well for some of you, who
can trust one another, to meet in secret, and take counsel how to throw
off his wanton power."
This advice seemed so judicious to Werner that he sought his friend
Walter Fürst, and arranged with him and Arnold that they should meet and
consider what steps to take, their place of meeting being at Rütli, a
small meadow in a lonely situation, closed in on the land side by high
rocks, and opening on the Lake of Lucerne. Others joined them in their
patriotic purpose, and on the night of the Wednesday before Martinmas,
in the year 1307, each of the three led to the place of meeting ten
others, all as resolute and liberty-loving as themselves. These
thirty-three good and true men, thus assembled at the midnight hour in
the meadow of Rütli, united in a solemn oath that they would devote
their lives and strength to the freeing of their country from its
oppressors. They fixed the first day of the coming year for the
beginning of their work, and then returned to their homes, where they
kept the strictest secrecy, occupying themselves in housing their cattle
for the winter and in other rural labors, with no indication that they
cherished deeper designs.
During this interval of secrecy another event, of a nature highly
exasperating to the Swiss, is said to have happened. It is true that
modern critics declare the story of this event to be solely a legend and
that nothing of the kind ever took place. However that be, it has ever
since remained one of the most attractive of popular tales, and the
verdict of the critics shall not deter us from telling again this
oft-repeated and always welcome story.
We have named two of the many tyrannical governors of Switzerland, the
deputies there of Albert of Austria, then Emperor of Germany, whose
purpose was to abolish the privileges of the Swiss and subject the free
communes to his arbitrary rule. The second named of these, Gessler,
governor of Uri and Schwyz, whose threats had driven Werner to
conspiracy, occupied a fortress in Uri, which he had built as a place of
safety in case of revolt, and a centre of tyranny. "Uri's prison" he
called this fortress, an insult to the people of Uri which roused their
indignation. Perceiving their sullenness, Gessler resolved to give them
a salutary lesson of his power and their helplessness.
On St. Jacob's day he had a pole erected in the market-place at Altdorf,
under the lime-trees there growing, and directed that his hat should be
placed on its top. This done, the command was issued that all who passed
through the market-place should bow and kneel to this hat as to the king
himself, blows and confiscation of property to be the lot of all who
refused. A guard was placed around the pole, whose duty was to take note
of every man who should fail to do homage to the governor's hat.
On the Sunday following, a peasant of Uri, William Tell by name, who, as
we are told, was one of the thirty-three sworn confederates, passed
several times through the market-place at Altdorf without bowing or
bending the knee to Gessler's hat. This was reported to the governor,
who summoned Tell to his presence, and haughtily asked him why he had
dared to disobey his command.
"My dear lord," answered Tell, submissively, "I beg you to pardon me,
for it was done through ignorance and not out of contempt. If I were
clever, I should not be called Tell. I pray your mercy; it shall not
happen again."
[Illustration: STATUE OF WILLIAM TELL.]
The name Tell signifies dull or stupid, a meaning in consonance with his
speech, though not with his character. Yet stupid or bright, he had the
reputation of being the best archer in the country, and Gessler, knowing
this, determined on a singular punishment for his fault. Tell had
beautiful children, whom he dearly loved. The governor sent for these,
and asked him,--
"Which of your children do you love the best?"
"My lord, they are all alike dear to me," answered Tell.
"If that be so," said Gessler, "then, as I hear that you are a famous
marksman, you shall prove your skill in my presence by shooting an apple
off the head of one of your children. But take good care to hit the
apple, for if your first shot miss you shall lose your life."
"For God's sake, do not ask me to do this!" cried Tell in horror. "It
would be unnatural to shoot at my own dear child. I would rather die
than do it."
"Unless you do it, you or your child shall die," answered the governor
harshly.
Tell, seeing that Gessler was resolute in his cruel project, and that
the trial must be made or worse might come, reluctantly agreed to it. He
took his cross-bow and two arrows, one of which he placed in the bow,
the other he stuck behind in his collar. The governor, meanwhile, had
selected the child for the trial, a boy of not more than six years of
age, whom he ordered to be placed at the proper distance, and himself
selected an apple and placed it on the child's head.
Tell viewed these preparations with startled eyes, while praying
inwardly to God to shield his dear child from harm. Then, bidding the
boy to stand firm and not be frightened, as his father would do his best
not to harm him, he raised the perilous bow.
The legend deals too briefly with this story. It fails to picture the
scene in the market-place. But there, we may be sure, in addition to
Gessler and his guards, were most of the people of Uri, their hearts
burning with sympathy for their countryman and hatred of the tyrant,
their feelings almost wrought up to the point of attacking Gessler and
his guards, and daring death in defence of their liberties. There also
we may behold in fancy the brave child, scarcely old enough to
appreciate the magnitude of his peril, but looking with simple faith
into the kind eyes of his father, who stands firm of frame but trembling
in heart before him, the death-dealing bow in his hand.
In a minute more the bow is bent, Tell's unerring eye glances along the
shaft, the string twangs sharply, the arrow speeds through the air, and
the apple, pierced through its centre, is borne from the head of the
boy, who leaps forward with a glad cry of triumph, while the unnerved
father, with tears of joy in his eyes, flings the bow to the ground and
clasps his child to his heart.
"By my faith, Tell, that is a wonderful shot!" cried the astonished
governor. "Men have not belied you. But why have you stuck another arrow
in your collar?"
"That is the custom among marksmen," Tell hesitatingly answered.
"Come, man, speak the truth openly and without fear," said Gessler, who
noted Tell's hesitancy. "Your life is safe; but I am not satisfied with
your answer."
"Then," said Tell, regaining his courage, "if you would have the truth,
it is this. If I had struck my child with the first arrow, the other was
intended for you; and with that I should not have missed my mark."
The governor started at these bold words, and his brow clouded with
anger.
"I promised you your life," he exclaimed, "and will keep my word; but,
as you cherish evil intentions against me, I shall make sure that you
cannot carry them out. You are not safe to leave at large, and shall be
taken to a place where you can never again behold the sun or the moon."
Turning to his guards, he bade them seize the bold marksman, bind his
hands, and take him in a boat across the lake to his castle at Küssnach,
where he should do penance for his evil intentions by spending the
remainder of his life in a dark dungeon. The people dared not interfere
with this harsh sentence; the guards were too many and too well armed.
Tell was seized, bound, and hurried to the lake-side, Gessler
accompanying.
The water reached, he was placed in a boat, his cross-bow being also
brought and laid beside the steersman. As if with purpose to make sure
of the disposal of his threatening enemy, Gessler also entered the
boat, which was pushed off and rowed across the lake towards Brunnen,
from which place the prisoner was to be taken overland to the governor's
fortress.
Before they were half-way across the lake, however, a sudden and violent
storm arose, tossing the boat so frightfully that Gessler and all with
him were filled with mortal fear.
"My lord," cried one of the trembling rowers to the governor, "we will
all go to the bottom unless something is done, for there is not a man
among us fit to manage a boat in this storm. But Tell here is a skilful
boatman, and it would be wise to use him in our sore need."
"Can you bring us out of this peril?" asked Gessler, who was no less
alarmed than his crew. "If you can, I will release you from your bonds."
"I trust, with God's help, that I can safely bring you ashore," answered
Tell.
By Gessler's order his bonds were then removed, and he stepped aft and
took the helm, guiding the boat through the storm with the skill of a
trained mariner. He had, however, another object in view, and had no
intention to let the tyrannical governor bind his free limbs again. He
bade the men to row carefully until they reached a certain rock, which
appeared on the lake-side at no great distance, telling them that he
hoped to land them behind its shelter. As they drew near the spot
indicated, he turned the helm so that the boat struck violently against
the rock, and then, seizing the cross-bow which lay beside him, he
sprang nimbly ashore, and thrust the boat with his foot back into the
tossing waves. The rock on which he landed is, says the chronicler,
still known as Tell's Rock, and a small chapel has been built upon it.
The story goes on to tell us that the governor and his rowers, after
great danger, finally succeeded in reaching the shore at Brunnen, at
which point they took horse and rode through the district of Schwyz,
their route leading through a narrow passage between the rocks, the only
way by which they could reach Küssnach from that quarter. On they went,
the angry governor swearing vengeance against Tell, and laying plans
with his followers how the runaway should be seized. The deepest dungeon
at Küssnach, he vowed, should be his lot.
He little dreamed what ears heard his fulminations and what deadly peril
threatened him. On leaving the boat, Tell had run quickly forward to the
passage, or hollow way, through which he knew that Gessler must pass on
his way to the castle. Here, hidden behind the high bank that bordered
the road, he waited, cross-bow in hand, and the arrow which he had
designed for the governor's life in the string, for the coming of his
mortal foe.
Gessler came, still talking of his plans to seize Tell, and without a
dream of danger, for the pass was silent and seemed deserted. But
suddenly to his ears came the twang of the bow he had heard before that
day; through the air once more winged its way a steel-barbed shaft, the
heart of a tyrant, not an apple on a child's head, now its mark. In an
instant more Gessler fell from his horse, pierced by Tell's fatal shaft,
and breathed his last before the eyes of his terrified servants. On that
spot, the chronicler concludes, was built a holy chapel, which is
standing to this day.
Such is the far-famed story of William Tell. How much truth and how much
mere tradition there is in it, it is not easy to say. The feat of
shooting an apple from a person's head is told of others before Tell's
time, and that it ever happened is far from sure. But at the same time
it is possible that the story of Tell, in its main features, may be
founded on fact. Tradition is rarely all fable.
We are now done with William Tell, and must return to the doings of the
three confederates to whom fame ascribes the origin of the liberty of
Switzerland. In the early morning of January 1, 1308, the date they had
fixed for their work to begin, as Landenberg was leaving his castle to
attend mass at Sarnen, he was met by twenty of the mountaineers of
Unterwald, who, as was their custom, brought him a new-year's gift of
calves, goats, sheep, fowls, and hares. Much pleased with the present,
he asked the men to take the animals into the castle court, and went on
his way towards Sarnen.