Arnold of Winkelried, the Hero of Sempach

In June, 1386, Duke Leopold went to Baden, where he was assembling an army of knights. Besides his own vassals, knights came from adjoining countries with their horsemen, as well as the Margrave of Baden and the counts of Würtemberg. The army was nine thousand strong, including a large contingent of foot soldiers. The League naturally armed its followers and barricaded the cities. Zurich was the first point threatened. It was only a few miles from Baden and was the bulwark of the League. Its people soon learned that the Baron of Bonstetten, one of the ablest of the Austrian generals, was advancing against the city to lay siege to it. Although Zurich at that time was supplied with good walls and gates, it had not sufficient fighting men to withstand a siege any great length of time, and so had to send to the Four Forest Cantons for help. As soon as the request was received fourteen hundred men were sent. Rather than remain in idleness the League’s auxiliaries undertook expeditions into Kiburg and Thurgau and captured supplies in these unfriendly places, which would be needed during the siege.

Not far from Zurich and a little off the road leading to Baden, there was a wretched inn which served as a lodging house for all kinds of lawless adventurers and a rendezvous for the robber knights of the neighborhood. On the night of June third, during a fearful thunder storm which had raged for hours, there was a knock upon its rickety window. The hostess, an ill-favored old woman, opened the door and found two knights dismounting from their horses.

“Put our steeds in your stable, Mother Ruschen, and give them some fodder,” said one of them, addressing her familiarly. He and his companion then entered the apartment, whose entire furnishings consisted of a few wooden tables and benches, and shelves upon which were filthy bottles and glasses. The two newcomers were our old acquaintances, Jörgel of Reienstein and Conrad of Waltihof.

“He has not come yet,” said the latter, glancing around the miserable place which was so dimly lighted by a half burned candle that only objects close at hand could be discerned. “I begin to think we have come too late.”

“This beastly storm may have detained him, as it did us,” said Jörgel.

“No storm could stop him, even if it rained rocks and poured down fire from the sky,” replied Conrad. “I am afraid he was angry at our delay and has gone on his way home alone.”

“Mother Ruschen,” said Jörgel to the old woman, who had just come in, “has the Mörsperger been here?” She replied in the negative. “Then bring us some wine, the best you have,” said Jörgel.

“And the dice,” added Conrad.

The old woman set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table at which her guests were seated, and brought the dice; whereupon the two began playing and soon forgot everything else, while the old woman, as was her usual practice, sat by the fireplace and dozed. Suddenly she awoke. The quarrelling of the two players, and their shouts of exultation or curses, as one lost and the other won, had not disturbed her in the least, but the tramp of horses outside, which the excited players had not noticed, the old woman heard plainly. She arose and notified them that the man they were expecting had come. She then left the room, found Veit and his attendants just dismounting, and informed him his friends were waiting for him.

“Good,” said Veit. “I cannot stay long with you this time. Just give the horses a bundle of hay; and a good stout drink to the men.”

As the men were leading the horses to the stable the old woman noticed that one of them was very lame. Veit went inside and was greeted by both the young men. They were still under the excitement of play and prepared to resume it.

“Put up your dice,” exclaimed Veit, harshly. “A pest upon it! Do you not know I have come straight from Baden, and that, too, on matters of importance, and here you two fools are courting the wench Fortune? I am bringing great news.”

The two laid aside the dice. Veit sat down on the bench and replied to their questioning glances: “The day after to-morrow we must join the army.” The news did not seem to surprise either of them. Jörgel, indeed, said with a yawn, “It’s an infernally doubtful pleasure, this going to Zurich!”

“There is nothing in it for us,” said Conrad.

“Blockheads!” said Veit, with a twinkle in his eye. Then he resumed in a lower tone: “The siege is only a sham manœuvre, if you must know. Bonstetter’s plan is simply to keep the Zurichers busy and to decoy the Waldstätters, who have been running all over Kiburg and Thurgau, back into the city.”

Jörgel and Conrad looked at each other. “And the Duke?” they asked, in one voice.

“Wait! Here is the real business,” said Veit. “With the large part of the army and the flower of the nobles, among whom we shall be, the Duke will secretly and quietly march past Wellingen and Bremgarten to Sempach, on the left bank of the Reuss, and afterwards advance upon Lucerne, to give the burghers a needed chastising, and set the League a terrible example. He will deal lightly with the peasant rabble, but Zurich will have to make the best bargain it can.”

“We will be there,” exclaimed Jörgel.

“A masterpiece of generalship,” said Conrad.

“Pst!” warned Veit, for the old woman was returning. She was about to provide them with wine, but Veit beckoned to her and said: “We have no wish for a carousal this time, Mother Ruschen. I will quench my thirst with a good drink from my own cellar, and don’t care to spoil the taste of it now.” Turning to his companions, he added: “You shall be my guests to-night. We must leave for home to-morrow at an early hour. We will make preparations for a little ride; it is bad luck that I cannot ride the black horse. The beast went suddenly lame, and that is why I wait here so long. It must have been bewitched.”

“Yes, yes!” said Jörgel, “I have no doubt witchery is back of it. I wonder who could have done it!”

“What is bewitched once is likely to be bewitched again,” said Conrad.

“That is what is troubling me,” said the knight.

“Why not depend upon the church’s ban and consult your chaplain? The priests understand this witchery business.”

“To be sure! I never thought of that,” said the old woman, who had listened to the conversation. “I know a pious father who can help your horse, noble sir.”

“Where is he?” all three exclaimed together.

Mother Ruschen pointed to a dark corner of the room. They went there and found a figure stretched out on the bench apparently sound asleep.

“Ho! wake up, reverend father,” cried the old woman, shaking him roughly. As he raised himself and looked up, the knights forgot all about the horse, and with furious execrations dragged him to his feet. His face was half hidden in a cowl.

“Who are you? and how did you come here?” thundered Veit.

“You ought to know who I am by my attire,” was the quiet answer. “I belong to the Dominican beggar order, and wander round seeking alms for the poor. The storm overtook me and I came to this place and found shelter by chance.”

“We have had bad luck with our secrets lately,” said Veit, with a significant glance at his companions.

“Why should we care whether he lay there with open ears, or slept like a marmot?” said Jörgel.

“We will not let this one off with an oath,” said Conrad, gesticulating furiously.

“No, that will not do this time,” said Veit, grimly. With that he tore off the monk’s cowl and looked him sharply in the face. “I think I have seen this pious man before. I cannot tell where or when. It may have been some time ago, but we have met before, and it could not have been a very pleasant meeting, I fancy, from the effect your face has upon me. Nevertheless, good father, you must go along with us. As foresight is the parent of wisdom, I will find a safe and cosy place for you in my castle, where you can remain until the storm of war has subsided and Duke Leopold is once more established in the land which rightfully belongs to him. Pray fervently that it may be soon accomplished, for you will not see the sun again until it is. You understand me.”

During these words the monk, who was tall and powerful, quickly glanced at the speaker and his companions and assumed an air of defiance. A wild gleam of wrath shot from his eyes, and he appeared as if about to attack them; but prudence prevailed, for the struggle would have been too uneven. He offered no resistance when they took him from the house. The horses were brought out and mounted. Veit rode ahead and the monk between the other two. The attendants brought up the rear, leading the lame horse slowly along.

The storm had ceased, but the sky was still overcast with dark clouds. Two hours later they reached castle Mörsperg and entered by a drawbridge lowered across a deep moat. The keep was below the watchtower, and an opening with a grated door, which also served as window, led into it. The monk was placed in this dungeon without further ado, and the robber knights betook themselves to the principal castle apartment, where the lady of Mörsperg had spread a repast of roasted venison.

Greatly as Veit was feared on the highroads, and careful as his best friends were not to anger him, this barbarian was little respected in his own castle. His energetic spouse managed things there to suit herself. Of late he had been forced to submit humbly to her strong sceptre. He was under the minor ban of the Church for his evil doings. The bishop had kept him subject to it for three years; and the noble lady, who sought to make reparation for his wickedness by her own piety, suffered even more than if she had been under the ban herself, for the chaplain who used to perform service there came no longer. Since that had happened, Veit hardly dared look his wife in the face and meet her injured, reproachful expression. He had also felt her displeasure in other ways. He was restrained in eating and drinking when guests were at the castle, and she strictly forbade dicing. But to-day the mistress’s flinty heart apparently relented. She lavished the best wine in the cellar upon the guests, and even brought the dice for them. The astonished husband attributed this change to his approaching departure, but there was an entirely different reason for it.

The noble lady had heard of the monk’s imprisonment from the servants. She could not endure such an indignity to a servant of the Church. She was not actuated by piety so much as by the fear that the ban would be prolonged by this new outrage, should it become known. She had played the part of a generous housewife only to divert the attention of her husband, and as soon as Veit and his companions were absorbed in gormandizing, she took a huge bunch of keys and hastened to the dungeon.

The monk had heard of the ban resting upon the castle, and when the lady implored him to celebrate mass and hear confession, from which she had already been barred a year and a day, he became embarrassed. “I dare not violate the stern decree of the Church. You know you have no right to ask for any of its sacred offices, and I have no right to perform them,” was his answer.

“Can I not enter the chapel just once, for brief devotion? It would not be wrong for you to pray for me. I can set you free, and it shall be done this very night if you will not refuse me this consolation. The attendant who keeps the watch is a pious soul, and is entirely devoted and obedient to me. At my command he will open the gate and let down the bridge for you.”

At these words the monk’s scruples vanished, for great results depended upon his speedy release. He gladly followed her into the desolate little chapel, which was directly over the dungeon. Half an hour later he breathed the air of freedom and was greeted by the morning star in a cloudless sky. With flying steps he rushed back over the same course he had come, past Mother Ruschen’s wretched inn, and thence through a narrow pass to the highroad which led to Zurich. It was broad daylight when the monk entered the city, but without stopping to rest, he hastened to the shop of Florian Häbli, the smith.

“Why, Arnold!” exclaimed Florian, in surprise at the sudden appearance of the supposed monk. “I have been very anxious about you,” he added. “God be praised that you are safe back from your daring journey. I did not expect you so soon.”

“I have not been far,” replied Arnold. “A thunder storm drove me to an inn on the way, and there I learned all the plans of the Duke without the trouble of going to Baden. I have been very fortunate. I will tell you the rest another time. Now procure me a fast steed while I take off this mummery and leave it with you. I must summon all our people back from Thurgau. Every hour’s delay is dangerous. The fate of the League hangs upon a hair.”

Chapter IX
Winkelried’s Heroic Death

On the eighth of July, Duke Leopold appeared before the little city of Sempach with fourteen hundred knights and horsemen and several thousand foot-soldiers. He pitched his camp at the edge of a forest on a height facing the city. Before subduing Lucerne, he had resolved to teach Sempach a terrible lesson and punish it for its rebellious spirit. For use in the forthcoming attack he had brought with him huge machines, the first to throw heavy missiles. Partly to find a place where they could be set up, and partly to cut off the supplies of the besieged, he sent his infantry to drive off the peasants, after compelling them to cut their ripening corn. The nobles took great delight in mistreating the harvesters and jeering at the besieged. Veit of Mörsperg would ride up to the walls and contemptuously order them to bring out breakfast for the harvesters; and Jörgel would point to the loaded wagons, with the threat that all of them should be hanged.

How those in Thurgau learned Duke Leopold’s plans is no secret to the reader. They quickly left for their menaced homes, marched day and night, and on the way were assured of the good-will of Zug, Glarus, and other places. On the morning of July ninth they reached a wood, called the Meierholz, and there occupied a strong position. Just as Duke Leopold had issued orders for the attack upon Sempach to begin in earnest, he was surprised by the news of the arrival of the Confederates, whom he supposed to be far away from there. He called a council of war to decide whether battle should be given at once or be deferred. The older and more experienced knights, who knew the courage and iron resolution of the Confederates, voted for the latter plan, and advised the Duke first of all to get into communication with Bonstetten’s division. The young hot-heads outvoted them, however, and the Duke made the fatal decision to give battle at once. He took up his position on a piece of meadow land, gently sloping toward Sempach. At the request of those knights who were so certain of victory, and who wanted to secure the honor of the day for themselves alone, the foot-soldiers were placed in the rear near the baggage trains. The larger part of the horsemen were formed in three divisions, and as each came into action they were to dismount and fight on foot. The first of these divisions was formed in a square, twenty or thirty ranks deep, and armed with harpoon-shaped spears, about five metres in length, so arranged that one overlapped the next, thus apparently making the square impenetrable.

It was now midday. The sun beat fiercely down upon the heavily armored knights. Some in the middle ranks fainted; some died from suffocation. In all other ways the Austrian position was advantageous, for they occupied the higher point and could hurl themselves down upon the enemy. The Confederates, fearing the arrival of Bonstetten, rested a brief spell in the Meierholz and then advanced for immediate attack. They were between fifteen and sixteen hundred strong and were armed with swords, pikes, and halberds. Their leader, Schultheiss of Gundoldingen, formed them in wedge shape, the point toward the enemy. In this order they fell upon their knees and implored divine help. The haughty knights, supposing that they were begging for mercy, taunted them. They soon discovered their mistake, for hardly had they risen to their feet, before they rushed forward with a mighty shout and the fearful blasts of their battle-horns. The Lucerners formed the point of the wedge and attempted to force a way through the enemy, but the Austrians stood as immovable as a wall, helm to helm, mail to mail, shield to shield, and between the shields a forest of spears, which resisted the attack. The Urners next advanced. “Break down their spears; they are hollow!” shouted their leader; but the broken spears were replaced by those behind them, and the Urners gave way as the Lucerners had done. The brave Schwyzers fared no better, and in falling back suffered severe loss from the showers of arrows shot at them from behind hedges and bushes.

The knights felt sure of victory, and the Confederates were losing confidence. More than sixty of their bravest, among them their leader, were lying dead on the field; the knights had not yet lost a man, and their position remained unbroken. Every one in the Confederate ranks realized that it was a critical moment, and none more fully than Arnold of Winkelried, who led the men of the Nidwald. A decision must be made instantly, or Confederate blood would be uselessly shed and the fruits of the glorious victory of Morgarten would be wasted. Thus thought Arnold, and he made the decision at once. There are things more important than life. He had not shrunk from the poisonous breath of the plague. He had looked death in the face countless times in foreign wars. The time had now come for him to offer himself up for freedom and the fatherland.

“Brethren in arms!” he loudly shouted, “care for my wife and children. I will open a path for you. Follow me.”

With inevitable death before him he dashed forward, threw himself upon the enemy’s lances, and bent them down to the earth by the weight of his body. Pierced and gashed in every limb, he yielded up his heroic soul. His followers rushed into the gap and slashed right and left with their swords and halberds. In vain the knights attempted to close up, for other Confederates were constantly widening the gap. Strokes fell thick and fast; helmets and heads were split at a blow, and the victims fell and were trodden underfoot. Amidst this terrible slaughter the Confederates’ wedge steadily forced its way deeper and deeper into the square. It was soon in confusion. The victors forced their way through to the enemy’s standard. The Urners captured the Hapsburg lions; and the Lucerners, the standards of Alsace and Tyrol. As the Austrian standard-bearer fell, the standard was seized by Ulrich of Aarburg, who defended it with his life. “Austria to the rescue!” were his last words, as he fell bleeding from many wounds. The words reached the ear of Leopold, who was in command of the second division. No one could restrain him from plunging into the thick of the fight. “Better die with honor than live in dishonor,” he replied to those who were entreating him to save himself. He rushed forward, seized the blood-sprinkled banner and waved it high in air as the slaughter went on around him. In the midst of it he fell dead.

When the knights saw their leader fall, they gave up all hope and rushed, panic-stricken, to their horses; but their attendants had already mounted them and fled. The third division was not in the battle, and had made its escape when it realized all was lost. The foot-soldiers were driven in every direction by the Confederates. Thus was the great battle fought by the little army of the Four Cantons against this strong army of knights and nobles.

The battle had lasted all day, and the Confederates were too exhausted to pursue the defeated enemy. After kneeling on the field and giving thanks for the victory, they took possession of the enemy’s camp. Splendid arms and equipments fell into their hands, as well as eighteen standards. Victors and vanquished lost famous warriors, and among them nearly all their leaders. One hundred and twenty of the Confederates were killed, but the Austrian loss was much heavier, nearly two thousand having been slain. Besides Duke Leopold, three hundred and fifty princes, counts, great barons, and nobles had fallen, among them the Margrave of Baden-Hochberg, the count palatine of Würtemberg and Teck, and the counts of Hohenzollern, Fürstenberg, Aarberg, Schwartzenberg, and Thierstein. Several noble families were almost wiped out.

Following the old practice, the victors remained three days upon the field. The third day was devoted to the burial of the dead. Duke Leopold and twenty-seven knights and nobles were interred in the Church of the monastery of Königsfeld in Aargau. The bodies of other nobles were removed to their homes, and the rest of the dead were buried in a great trench.

A simple chapel was erected on the spot where Leopold’s body was found, which was dedicated July fifth, 1387. The titles and coats-of-arms of the nobles were placed upon the walls. In the centre stood a cross between two memorials, one representing Duke Leopold, the other the Lucerne leader, both in the act of prayer. A picture over the door commemorated Winkelried’s deed.

Hans Halbfutter of Lucerne, an eye-witness of the battle of Sempach, commemorated the victory in a poem, wherein Arnold of Winkelried’s heroic death is described. In the learned world it is still questioned whether he performed this deed; some historians have even denied the existence of William Tell and relegated him to the realm of legend. But the name of Arnold of Winkelried, the savior of his fatherland, still lives in the hearts of the Swiss people. A statue has been erected near the fountain in the market place of Stans which represents him at the moment of grasping the enemy’s spears. His birthplace and coat of mail are also shown in Stans, and a chapel has been erected to his memory.

On the ninth of July, 1886, five hundred years after the battle of Sempach, the Swiss held a national festival in honor of Arnold of Winkelried, the hero who exhibited a manly courage, self-devotion, and love of fatherland which secured the victory of the Confederates over their strongest enemy, and raised Switzerland to the position of a powerful Commonwealth.

Footnotes

Appendix

The following is a chronological statement of the principal events in Swiss-Austrian history connected with this narrative:

Transcriber’s Notes

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