But whilst the songs of the Silesian "Swans and Nightingales" were held in honour by the other German races, and the fame of the Silesian poets rose high, the worldly position of the Silesians themselves was lamentable. The Thirty years' war was followed by a century of persecution and oppression, which so diminished their energies, that at last it appeared as if they would fall into the same condition as that in which they had found the Sclaves,--a death-like apathy, and a future without hope. The Silesians never became utterly downcast, for they took every opportunity of enjoying themselves, but it was only in feasting and revelry. When, however, the misery of the country was at the highest, the Prussian drum sounded on the frontier from Müncheberg, and the trumpets of the Ziethen hussars pealed along the same roads on which five hundred years before the first song of the German colonists had resounded with the good words, "We come in God's name."
The Germanizing of the country was not thoroughly accomplished till it was conquered by Prussia; it is only since that time that the Silesians have become conscious of being an integral part of the German nation. What was begun by the Sclave Piastens of the thirteenth, was concluded by the German Hohenzollern of the eighteenth, century.
Many incidents may be found in the descriptions of the struggles between the Silesians and Hussites, which are characteristic of the minds and manners of the people in their epic period. We are made sensible of the great dissimilarity between the past and present by the style of Martin's narration. In his scanty yet graphic description he gives us the facts, but makes no reflections on them. The writer undoubtedly feels how noble and manly was the death of the Pastor Megerlein; but he does not consider it necessary, and, indeed, seems to want the facility and confidence requisite, to give expression to his judgment.
Decisions hastily taken were on the impulses of the moment as hastily given up. The pastor, even when abandoned by his flock, still advised resistance to the young men that remained, though there was little hope of saving himself; but he rejected the proposal of his Hussite friend, and met death like a man. Little value was set upon human life: hard hearted and cruel, the people murdered each other without compunction; yet the infuriated Bohemians kept respectfully out of the sick woman's room, and the plunderers with touching zeal requited past kindness. We find unbridled egotism together with heroic self-denial, rude levity with the deepest religious convictions: the minds of individuals moved in a narrow circle, but with firmness and decision.
An insight into the mental struggles of the fifteenth century may be supplied by another narrative, in which the life and feelings of a clever and strong-minded woman are made known. The circle in which she moved was the court of the German emperor's daughter. Few of our court officials are aware, how much their office has increased in comfort, honour, and decorum since the days of their predecessors, at whose heads the Emperor Wenzel threw his boots, or on whom Margaret Maltash used to inflict blows with her clenched fist. It was necessary for the men and women of a court in former centuries to have strong nerves and good health, to bear heat and cold, to endure in winter the draughts of badly constructed dwellings, and in summer whole days of riding on rough hacks: men had to drink deep and yet keep sober longer than their worthy masters, if they would not be blackened with coals, and trodden under foot by them and other drunken princely guests; the women of the court had to jest with crowds of drunken men with rough manners, or to have their nights' rest disturbed by the clashing of naked swords, or by the cries of an excited multitude. It actually happened once at the Imperial court, that there was no money in the chest for the purchase of new shoes, and frequently the honest citizens declined to furnish the court with the necessary supplies of bread and meat. Most of the great courts led a wandering life, and on their journeys, bad inns, worse roads, and scanty fare were by no means their greatest discomforts: the roads were unsafe, and the reception at the end of the journey was often doubtful.
The scenes we are about to portray are of a Hungarian court, but the royal family and the narrator are German. It is the court of Queen Elizabeth, daughter of the Emperor Sigismund, widow of Albrecht of Austria, king of Hungary, who died in the year 1439. The German Imperial race of Luxemburg was, after Charles IV., the least worthy of renown of all who have ruled over central Europe, and the Emperor Sigismund was one of the worst of his race. His daughter Elizabeth suffered under the curse of her house: it was her fate to throw Hungary into confusion and weakness; but as she must be judged from history, it appears she was somewhat better than her father or her reprobate mother: she had a feeling of her own dignity, and was, unlike her parents, a person of distinguished manners. This did not hinder her committing, for political purposes, unworthy actions, which every age has stigmatized as mean; but she attached people to her by that fascination of manner which often takes the place of better qualities.
It was thus that one of her attendants, Helen Kottenner, was devoted to her with the most unshaken fidelity; she was bed-chamberwoman and governess to the young princess, a child of four years old, and at the same time she was confidante and counsellor of her mistress. Her ardent loyalty and motherly love for the little king Ladislaus made her the most zealous partisan of his family. She secretly stole for her sovereign the Hungarian crown, and she carried the little Ladislaus through the swamps of Hungary and the rebellious magnates to his coronation, and became his instructress when fate separated him from his mother. It was remarkable that this woman, in a stirring time, when writing was troublesome and difficult even to men, recorded the important events of her life and her share in politics in the shape of a memoir. Our surprise at so unusual a circumstance increases, when we examine closely the fragment of her memoirs which is preserved to us. Her narrative is strikingly detailed, clear, and graphic.
There is no doubt that the fragment is genuine: it was published at Leipzig, 1846, with some explanatory remarks by Stephen Endlisher, from the manuscript still preserved in the Imperial Library at Vienna (No. 2920), under the title, 'From the Memoirs of Helen Kottenner, 1439, 1440.' The principal event recorded is the theft of the Hungarian crown, by which the coronation of the child Ladislaus was effected.
To enable the reader to understand this, we must mention that up to the present time a mysterious importance has been attached by the Hungarians to the crown of the Holy Stephen, "die heilige," without which no one could become rightful King of Hungary; and this mysterious importance has, as is well known, added many romantic adventures to the long and sorrowful history of this crown. When King Albrecht died, his widow Elizabeth had not given birth to the heir who was to secure the succession of the throne of Hungary. Amid the fierce and egotistical quarrels of the nobles who then decided the fate of the country, two large parties may be distinguished,--the national and the German. The national party was desirous of giving the throne to the King Wladislaus of Poland, whilst the Germans sought every means of preserving it to the royal family of Germany. Helen Kottenner writes as follows:--
"Her highness the noble Queen came to reside at Plintenburg,[11] and many Hungarian lords with her. These went down to the vaults and brought up from thence a chest in which was kept the holy crown, which they took out with its case: there were many seals to this, which they broke open, and looked to see that it was all right. I was present. Then they placed the holy crown in a small chest. This was standing near a bed in which lay the noble Queen, about to be confined, and in the same room with her were two maidens, one called Barbara, the daughter of a Hungarian lord, the other called Ironacherin, and there was a wax taper for a nightlight, as is the custom amongst princesses. One of these maidens got up in the night, and upset the light without perceiving it; and a fire broke out in the room, and was burning so near the chest that it was singed, and a hole as large as a hand's breadth was burnt in a blue velvet cushion that layover the chest. Now observe this wonder: the King who was to wear the holy crown was yet within his mother's womb, and they were scarcely two fathoms apart from the chest, and the evil one would gladly have injured them by the fire; but God was their protector, and caused the Queen to awake at the right time. I was then with the young princess. Then came the maidens and bade me quickly rise up, as there was fire in the chamber wherein lay my honoured lady. I was sore afraid, rose up hastily, and went into the room, which was full of smoke: having extinguished the fire, I let in fresh air to clear away the smoke, so that the noble Queen might be able to remain there. In the morning the Hungarian lords waited on my honoured lady. Her highness told them what had happened in the night, and how nearly both she and the holy crown had been burnt. Then the lords were much amazed, and they advised that the holy crown should be replaced in its chest, and carried again down to the vault from whence it had been taken; which was done at once. The door was sealed again as before, but with fewer seals. And the Hungarian lords desired that the castle might be given over to her cousin, Lassla Wan von Gara,[12] which was also done. Herr Lassla Wan took possession of the castle, and placed it under the superintendence of a Burgrave.
"After all this had happened, the noble widow, my honoured lady, departed for Ofen, in great anxiety of mind, because the Hungarian lords wished her to take another husband; and the King of Poland was the one whom her cousin Lassla Wan was desirous she should choose. This, however, she would not do, as her doctors had assured her she would bear a son: she hoped that this might prove true, but not having any certainty thereof, she was undecided how to act. Then the noble Queen had begun to consider and devise how she could get the holy crown from the Hungarian lords. These Hungarian lords would have been glad for the confinement of the noble Queen to have taken place at the Plintenburg; but that did not please her highness, and she would not return to the castle; for having weighed the matter well, she had reason to fear that were she there, she and her child might be forcibly detained; still less could she think of going there now, as she was endeavouring to obtain possession of the holy crown. The noble Queen had taken her youngest daughter, Princess Elizabeth, with her from the castle, as also myself and two young maidens, and left all the others there. Every one was astonished that her highness should leave the remainder of the court up at the castle; the reason was known only to God, her highness, and myself.
"The noble Queen went with her youngest daughter, Princess Elizabeth, to Komorn. Here Count Ulric von Eily[13] came to visit her highness,--a faithful friend, with whom she consulted by what means she could bring away the holy crown from the Plintenburg. Then came my honoured lady to me, desiring that I should undertake it, as there was no one else she could trust, or who knew so well the locality. This sorely troubled me; for it was a dangerous venture for me and my little children, and I turned it over in my mind what I should do, for I had no one to take counsel of but God alone; and I thought if I did it not, and evil arose therefrom, I should be guilty before God and the world. So I consented to risk my life on this difficult undertaking, but desired to have some one to help me. Then I was asked whom I should consider fit for this: I proposed a Croat whom I thought faithfully devoted to my lady. He was called into secret council, and we laid before him what we desired of him: the man was so terrified that he changed colour, and became as one, half dead: he would not consent, and went forthwith to the stable for his horse. I know not whether it came to pass through his own awkwardness, or if it was the will of God, but an account was received at court that he had had a bad fall from his horse, and as soon as he recovered he made the best of his way to Croatia; so the plan was delayed, and my honoured lady was very sorrowful that one who was so weak hearted should know of the affair, and I also was in great anxiety.
"When the time came that the Almighty had ordained that this great work should be done, He sent us a Hungarian who was willing to undertake to obtain the holy crown; his name was the....[14]; he set about it in a wise and manly manner. We arranged what we should require, and took certain keys and two files. This man who was about to venture his life--as I was mine--in this affair, put on a black velvet dressing-gown and a pair of felt shoes, and in each shoe he placed a file, and he hid the keys under his dress. I took my honoured lady's little seal and the keys of the front door; at the side of the door there was a chain and hook; we had before we left put on a lock, so as to prevent any one else from putting another. When we were ready, my honoured lady sent forward a messenger to the Plintenburg, to let the Burgrave and the maidens know that the latter were to prepare themselves to join her highness at Komorn, as soon as the carriage arrived. When the carriage which was to be sent for the maidens, and also the sledge which was to convey me and my confederate were ready, two Hungarian noblemen were directed to accompany me. We proceeded, and information was given to the Burgrave, that I had arrived for the maidens. He and the other courtiers were surprised that I had left my young mistress, because she was so little, and they all knew well that I was rarely allowed to do so. The Burgrave was ill, and had intended to place his bed near the first door of the place where the holy crown was kept; but God ordained that his illness should increase, and he was unable to sleep there, and he could not place servants there, it being in the women's apartment; therefore he placed a cloth over the padlock, which we had placed on the chain, and sealed it up.
"When we arrived at the Plintenburg, the maidens were right glad to find they were to rejoin my honoured lady: they immediately made preparations, and had a trunk made for their clothes; this occupied a long time, even up to the eighth hour. My confederate came also into the apartment of the women, and jested with the maidens. Now there was a little heap of fire-wood lying near the stove, under which he hid the files; but the servants who waited on the maidens observed this, and began to whisper among themselves. I heard them, and forthwith told him; this frightened him so much that he changed colour, but he took the files away and concealed them elsewhere, and said to me, 'Woman, take care that we have a light.' And I begged of the old woman to give me some tapers, because I had many prayers to say, for it was the first Saturday night after the carnival. I took the tapers and hid them near me. When the maidens and every one else slept, there remained in the small room besides myself, only the old woman whom I had brought with me, who did not know a word of German, nor anything about my business; she had also no knowledge of the house, and lay there sleeping soundly. At the right time my confederate came through the chapel and knocked at the door, which I opened and closed again after him. He had brought a servant with him to help him, who was called by the same Christian name as himself, and was bound to him by oath. I then intended to give him the tapers, but they had disappeared. I was in such terror that I knew not what to do, and the business had well-nigh miscarried only for want of the lights. Then I bethought me that I would go and quietly awake the woman who had given me the tapers; and I told her the tapers were lost, and I had yet some time to pray; so she gave me more. Then I was glad, and gave them to him with the keys and the little seal of my honoured lady, that he might fasten and seal everything up again. I gave him also the three keys which belonged to the first door. He took off the cloth with the seal of the castle, which had been placed on it by the Burgrave, opened the door and went in with his servant, and worked so hard at the other locks that the noise of the knocking and filing became alarming. But though the watchers and the Burgrave's people were more than usually vigilant that night in the care of the crown, yet Almighty God stopped their ears, so that they did not hear the noise. I however heard it all, and kept watch in great trouble and anxiety. And I devoutly prayed to God and the Holy Virgin that they would support and help me; yet I was in greater anxiety for my soul than for my life, and I prayed to God that He would be merciful to my soul, and let me die at once there, rather than that anything should happen against his will, or that should bring misfortune on my country and people. Whilst I was thus praying, I heard a loud noise and rustling, as if many armed men were at the door through which I had admitted my confederate, and it appeared to me as if they desired to break open the door. In great fear I rose from my knees, and was about to warn him to desist from his work, when it occurred to me to go first to the door, which I did; when I came to the door, the noise was at an end, and no one seemed to be there; then I bethought me that it was a spirit, and went again to my prayers; and I vowed to our dear lady a pilgrimage to Zell[15] barefooted, and until I could fulfil it, I would every Saturday night forego my feather bed, and also as long as I lived would make an especial prayer to the Holy Virgin, thanking her for her favour, and begging her to express my gratitude to our dear Lord Jesus Christ, for the great mercy which out of his compassion He had shown me. Whilst I was still at my prayers, I thought again that there was a great noise and rustling of armour at the other door, which was the special entrance into the women's room; and this frightened me so much that I trembled and perspired all over, and thought it was surely not a spirit, but that they had gone round to this door whilst I was still standing at that of the chapel. I knew not what to do, and listened to find out whether the maidens had heard anything. But I heard no one, then I went slowly down the small stairs through the chamber of the maidens, to the door which was the usual entrance into the women's apartments; when I came to the door there was no one. Then was I glad, and thanked God, and went again to my prayers, and bethought me it was the devil who wished to hinder our business.
"When I had ended my prayer I got up, and determined to go to the vault and see what they were doing: the man met me, and told me to rejoice, as it was all accomplished. They had filed away the locks of the doors, but that on the case was so fast they could not file it, and were obliged to burn the wood. From this arose a great smoke, and I was again in much anxiety lest inquiry should be made about it; but God averted this danger. As we had now got the holy crown we closed the doors again, and fixed on other locks instead of those we had broken, and put on them again the seal of my honoured lady: we made fast the outer door, and replaced on it the cloth with the seal of the castle, as had been done by the Burgrave, and as we had found it. And I threw the file into the privy that was in the women's apartments; and if it were broken open, the file would be found in evidence of the truth of all this. The holy crown we carried out through the chapel, wherein rest in God the remains of St. Elizabeth; and I, Helen Kottenner, owe to this chapel a priestly garment for the mass, and an altar cloth, which shall be paid by my honoured lord, King Lassla. My confederate took a red velvet cushion which he opened, and taking a portion of the feathers out, placed the holy crown therein, and then sewed it up again.
"In the meanwhile it was almost daylight, the maidens and every one had arisen, and we were to depart: now the maidens had in their service an old woman, who my honoured lady had commanded should have her wages paid, and be left behind, that she might return home to Ofen. When she had received her wages she came to me, and told me that she had seen a curious thing lying before the stove, and did not know what it might be. I was much alarmed at this, for I saw plainly that it was part of the case in which the holy crown had been kept; and I did my best to persuade her not to believe her own eyes; but I went secretly to the stove, and threw the fragments that I found into the fire, that they might be entirely burnt; and I took the woman with me on the journey. Every one was surprised at my doing this; but I said that I intended asking my honoured lady for a benefice at St. Martins at Vienna for her, which I afterwards did.
"When the maidens and the retinue were ready to depart, my confederate took the cushion in which the holy crown was concealed, and commanded his servant to carry it from the house to the sledge on which he and I were to sit. Then the good fellow took the cushion on his shoulders, and threw over it an old cowhide with the tail on, which hung down behind, and every one who saw it began to laugh.
"When we arrived in the market-place we would gladly have had something to eat, but could find nothing except herrings. When we had eaten a little, and assisted at the usual mass in the Church, the day was far advanced, and we had to go that day from the Plintenburg to Komorn, which was full twelve German miles off. On mounting the sledge I took great care not to sit on the corner of the cushion in which the holy crown was concealed, and thanked God Almighty for all his mercies; yet I often turned round to see if any one followed us; and there was no end to my anxiety, for my thoughts troubled me much.
"On arriving at the inn where we intended to dine, the faithful servant to whom the care of the cushion was intrusted carried it into the chamber, and laid it on a table before me, so that it was under my eye the whole time that we were eating; and before starting, the cushion was replaced. We journeyed onwards, and about dark arrived at the Danube, which was still frozen over, but the ice in some places was very thin. When we were half way across the river the ice gave way under the carriage in which the maidens were, and it was upset; they raised a great cry, for it was so dark they could not see each other. I was in great fear that we, with the holy crown, should be lost in the Danube; but God was our help, so that no one got under the ice, but many things from the carriage fell into the water under the ice. Then I took the Duchess of Silesia and the principal maidens into the sledge with me, and we, with all the others, got safe over the river. When we arrived at the castle of Komorn, my confederate took the cushion with the holy crown, and carried it to a place of safety, and I went to my honoured lady the noble Queen, who received me graciously, and said, 'That with God's help, I had been a good messenger.'
"The noble Queen received me in bed, and told me how she had suffered during the day. Two widow ladies had come from Ofen to her highness, bringing with them two nurses, one was the midwife, the other the wet-nurse; and the latter had brought her child with her, which was a son, for the wise people think that the milk which comes with a son is better than that which comes with a daughter. These women were to have gone with her highness to Presburg, where she was to have been confined, for according to their reckoning her highness had yet another week to go; but either the reckoning was wrong, or, as I said to the noble Queen, it was God's will: her grace told me that the women from Ofen had given her a bath, after which her pains had come on. I discovered from this that the birth was now approaching. The women from Ofen were staying in the market-place, but we had a midwife with us, called Margaret, who had been sent to my honoured lady by the Countess Hans von Schaumberg, as being particularly good, which she was. Then I said, 'Honoured lady, it seems to me that you will not go to-morrow to Presburg;' so her highness got up and began to prepare herself for the event. Then I sent for the Hungarian housekeeper who was called Aessem Margit, who came immediately, and also the maiden called Ironacherin, and I hastened to call the midwife whom the Countess von Schaumberg had sent. She was in the room with my young lady,[16] and I said, 'Margaret, rise quickly, for the hour of my honoured lady is come;' the woman being heavy with sleep answered, 'By the holy cross, if the child is born to-night we shall hardly go to Presburg to-morrow;' and she would not get up. The contest between us appeared to me so long that I hastened back to my honoured lady, lest anything should go wrong, as those who were with her did not understand such things; and she inquired, 'Where is Margaret?' and I gave her the foolish answer of the woman; and her highness said, 'Go again quickly, and bid her come, for this is no jesting matter.' I hurried back in great anger, and brought the woman with me; and in less than half an hour after she came to my honoured lady, Almighty God sent us a young King. The same hour that the holy crown came from the Plintenburg to Komorn, the King Lassla was born. The midwife was sharp-witted, and exclaimed, 'Honoured lady, grant me my wish, and I will tell you what I have in my arms.' The noble Queen answered, 'Yes, dear mother;' and the nurse said, 'I have a young King in my arms.' This made the noble Queen very happy: she raised her hands to God, and thanked Him for his mercy. When she had been arranged comfortably in her bed, and no one was with her save I alone, I knelt down and said to the Queen, 'Honoured lady, your Highness must thank God as long as you live for his great mercy, and for the miracle which He has wrought in bringing the crown and the King together in the same hour.' The noble Queen replied, 'It is indeed a great miracle of God Almighty, the like of which has never happened before.'
"When the noble and faithful Count Ulric von Eily heard that a King and friend was born to him, who was both his lord and cousin, he was overjoyed, as were also the Croats, and all the lords and attendants on the court. The noble Count von Eily had bonfires made, and they had a procession on the water with torches, and amused themselves till after midnight. Early in the morning they sent for the Bishop of Gran to come and christen the young King: he came, accompanied by the pastor of Ofen, Master Franz. And my honoured lady desired that I should be godmother; but I answered, 'Honoured madam, I am bound to obey your Highness always, but I beg of you to take the Aessem Margit instead of me,' which her Highness did. When the noble King was to be baptized, we took off the black dress from the young princess, which she had worn for the great and dear prince, King Albrecht, and put on her a golden dress woven with red; and the maidens were all gaily dressed to the honour and praise of God, who had given an hereditary King to the people and country.
"Not long after, there came certain intelligence that the King of Poland was approaching, and had designs upon Ofen, which proved true. It became therefore necessary to make secret and hasty preparations for the coronation; and my honoured lady sent to Ofen to get cloth of gold for the coronation dress of the little King Lassla; but this took so long a time that we feared it would be too late, for the coronation must take place on a high festival, and Pentecost, which was the first, was near at hand, so that it was necessary to make haste. Now there was a rich and beautiful vestment for the mass which had belonged to the Emperor Sigismund; it was red and gold, with silver spots worked on it; this was cut up and formed into the first dress of the young King that he was to wear with the holy crown. I sewed together the small pieces, the surplice and the humeral, the stole and the banner, the gloves and the shoes; and I was obliged to make these secretly in the chapel with bolted doors.
"In the evening, when every one had gone to rest, my honoured lady sent for me to come to her immediately; this made me fear that something had gone wrong. The noble Queen's thoughts had been wandering to and fro, and she said to me, 'What would you advise? our affairs are not going on well; they desire to stop us on our way; where shall we conceal the holy crown? It will be a great misfortune if it falls into the hands of the enemy.' I stepped aside for a little while, wishing to reflect and to pray to the mother of all mercy to intercede with her Son, that we might manage our business so that no evil should accrue from it. Then I returned to the noble Queen and said, 'Honoured lady, with deference to your wisdom, I will advise what seems good to me: your Highness knows well that the King is of more importance than the holy crown; let us lay the holy crown in the cradle under the King, so that wherever God leads the King there will the crown be also.' This counsel pleased her Highness, who answered: 'We will do so, and thus let him take care of the crown himself.' In the morning I took the holy crown and packed it carefully in a cloth, and laid it in the mattress of the cradle, for his Highness did not yet lie on a feather-bed; and laid there also a long spoon, such as we use for mixing the child's pap. This I did to make any one who felt in the cradle, believe that what lay therein was the vessel in which the pap for the noble King was prepared.
"On the Tuesday afternoon before Whitsunday the noble Queen set out with the young King, the noble Count von Eily, the Croatian counts, and the Dukes of Lindbach. A large boat had been prepared for the noble Queen, her son, and daughter; and many good people went on board with them, so that the boat being heavy laden was scarce a hand's breadth above the water: there was much fear and danger, especially as the wind was high; but God took us prosperously over the river. The young King was carried in the cradle by four men, most of them armed, and I myself rode by the side of it. He had not been carried far when he began to cry violently, and would not remain in the cradle; so I descended from my horse and carried him in my arms: and the roads were bad, for there had been much rain; but there was a pious knight there, Herr Hans of Pilach, who conducted me through the swampy ground.
"We went on in great anxiety, for all the peasants had fled from their villages into the wood, and most of them were vassals of the lords who were our enemies; therefore, when we came to the mountains, I dismounted from my horse and took the noble King out of his cradle, and placed him in the carriage, wherein sat the noble Queen and her young daughter Elizabeth; and we women and maidens formed a circle round the noble family, so that if any one fired at the carriage we should receive the shots. And there were many foot-soldiers who went on both sides of the carriage, and searched in the underwood, lest there should be any enemies there who might injure us. Thus, with God's help, we crossed the mountain without hurt. Then I took the noble King again out of the carriage, and placed him in his cradle, riding by the side of it: we had not gone far when he began again to cry; he would not remain in the cradle or carriage, and the nurse could not quiet him. Then I took him up in my arms and carried him a good bit of the way; the nurse also carried him till we were both tired, when I laid him again in his cradle; thus we continued to change during the whole of our journey. Sometimes it rained so that the noble King was quite wet. I had brought a fur pelisse with me for my own wear, but when the rain was very heavy I covered the cradle with it, till it was wet through, I then had it wrung out, and again covered the cradle with it as long as it was wanted. The wind also was so high that it blew the dust into the cradle, so that the King could hardly open his eyes; and at times it was so hot that he perspired all over, and from that a rash broke out upon him afterwards. It was almost night when we arrived at the inn; and when every one had eaten, the gentlemen placed themselves round the house in which the royal family were, and made a fire, keeping watch all night, as is the custom in the kingdom of Hungary. The next day we journeyed to Weissenburg.
"When we arrived near Weissenburg, Miklosch Weida of the free city rode to meet us, accompanied by full five hundred horse.
"When we went through the marshy ground the young King began again to cry, and would not remain in the cradle or carriage; and I was again obliged to carry his Highness in my arms, till we arrived in the city of Weissenburg. Then the gentlemen sprang from their horses, and formed themselves into a wide circle of armed men, holding naked swords in their hands, and I, Helen Kottenner, had to carry the young King in the midst of this circle; and Count Bartholomä of Croatia went on one side of me, and another on the other side, to do honour to the noble King; thus we went through the city till we arrived at the inn. This was on Whitsun eve.
"On our arrival my honoured lady sent for the elders of the city; she showed them the holy crown, and gave directions to prepare everything that was meet for the coronation, according to the old usages. And there were certain burghers there, who remembered the coronation of the Emperor Sigismund, having been present at it. On Whitsun morning I got up early, bathed the young King, and dressed him as well as I could; then they carried him to the church, where all the Kings were crowned, and there were many good people there, both ecclesiastics and laymen. When we arrived at the church they carried the young King to the choir, but the door of the choir was closed; the citizens were within, and my honoured lady was outside the door with her son, the noble King. My honoured lady spoke Hungarian with them, and the burghers answered her Highness in the same language: her Highness took the oath instead of her son, for his Highness was only twelve weeks old that day. When all this was accomplished according to the old customs, they opened the door and let in their rightful lord and lady, and all the others who were summoned, both ecclesiastics and laymen. And the young Princess Elizabeth stood up by the organ, that her Highness might not be injured in the throng, as she was only just four years old. When the service was about to begin, I had to raise up the young King that his Highness might be confirmed. Now Miklosch Weida had been appointed to knight the young King, because he was a genuine Hungarian knight. The noble Count von Eily had a sword which was thickly ornamented with silver and gold, and on it was a motto that ran thus: 'Indestructible.' This sword he gave to the young King that his Highness might be knighted with it. Then I, Helen Kottenner, raised the young King in my arms, and the knight of the free city took the sword; and he gave the King such a blow that I felt it on my arm. This the noble Queen, who stood near me, remarked, and said to the knight of the free city: 'Istemere nem misertem!' that is to say, 'For God's sake do not hurt him!' to which he replied: 'Nem;' that is to say, 'No,' and laughed. Then the right reverend prelate, the Archbishop of Gran, took the holy oil, and anointed the noble child, King; and the dress of cloth of gold, such as is worn by kings, was put on the noble child; and the archbishop took the holy crown and placed it on his head; and thus he, King Albrecht's son, grandson of the Emperor Sigismund, who throughout all holy Christendom is recognized as King Lassla, was crowned at Weissenburg by the Archbishop of Gran, with the holy crown, on Whitsunday. For there are three laws in the kingdom of Hungary which must not be departed from, as without them no king is deemed legally crowned. One of these is, that a king of Hungary must be crowned with the holy crown; another that it must be done by the Archbishop of Gran; and the third, that it shall take place at Weissenburg. When the archbishop placed the crown on the head of the noble King Lassla, he held his head quite upright with the strength of a child of a year old, which is seldom to be seen in children of twelve weeks. After the noble King, seated in my arms, had been crowned at the altar of St. Stephen, I carried him up a small staircase to a high gallery, according to custom, and the prescribed ritual for the festival was read; but there being no golden cloth for the King to sit on, after the old usage, I took for the purpose a red and gold cover lined with ermine from his cradle; and whilst the noble King was held upon the golden cloth, Count Ulric von Eily held the crown over his head during the chanting of the office.
"The noble King had little pleasure in his coronation, for he wept aloud, so that all in church heard him; and the common people were astonished, and said, 'It was not the voice of a child of twelve weeks; it might be taken for that of a child of a year old, which, however, he was not. Then knighthood was conferred by Miklosch Weida on behalf of the noble King Lassla. When the office was completed I carried the noble King down again, and laid him in the cradle, for he was very tired from sitting so long upright. Then he was borne to St. Peter's church, where I was again obliged to take him out of his cradle and place him on a chair, as it is the custom for every king when crowned to be seated there. Again I carried his Highness down and laid him in his cradle; and he was taken from St. Peter's church, followed by his noble family on foot, back to the inn. The only one who rode was Count von Eily, for he had to hold the holy crown over the head of the noble King, that every one might see it was the holy crown which had been placed on the head of the holy St. Stephen and other Hungarian Kings. Count Bartholomä carried the orb, and the Duke von Lindbach the sceptre; a legate's staff was borne before the noble King, because he did not hold any part of Hungary on feudal tenure from the holy Roman Empire; and the sword with which his Highness had been knighted was also carried before him, and pence were scattered among the people. The noble Queen was so humble and showed such respect to her son, that I, poor woman, had to walk before her, next to the noble King, because I had held his Highness in my arms at the anointing and coronation. When the noble King had arrived at the inn, he was put to rest, as his Highness was very tired. The lords and all others went away, and the noble Queen remained alone with her son. Then I knelt down before her, and reminded her of the service which I had rendered to her Highness and the noble King; and also to her other children and members of the royal family. Thereupon the noble Queen gave me her hand and said, 'Rise up, and if please God our affairs prosper, I will exalt you and your whole race. You have well deserved it, for you have done for me and my children what I myself could not have done.' Then I inclined myself humbly, and thanked her Highness for her kind encouragement."
Thus far Helen Kottenner. History tells us in what consternation the party of King Wladislaus of Poland was placed by the robbery of the crown, and also how the crown itself was mortgaged by the Queen to the Emperor Frederick III., but of the after life of Helen Kottenner we know nothing.
What interests us most in this narrative is the night scene in which the holy crown of Hungary is purloined, and the mental struggles of a strong female character. But these inward struggles and scruples of conscience assume to the daughter of the fifteenth century a palpable form: they become to her an outward reality that mysteriously assails her. Her soul is not tormented with thoughts alone that accuse and excuse each other, but with delusive appearances that strike her with terror.
This activity of the senses, which clothes with an appearance of outward life all that rises in the soul, of the fearful and incomprehensible, is generally and peculiarly characteristic of the early life of every people. The souls of individuals are not sufficiently free to enable them to understand the inward struggles of their own minds: they begin by contending against what torments them, as if it were an outward form or enemy. Such were the noble struggles of Luther; and when the incomparable English poet of the sixteenth century caused his tragic hero to struggle with the apparitions of murdered men, and with the dagger which was the implement of his crime, this conception, which we consider as a highly poetical and spiritual creation, had a far deeper truth for him and his spectators.
The fifteenth century passed away. To us Germans it appears an introduction to the great events of the following one,--a period of earnest but imperfect striving towards improvement. The excitement of the masses in the great half-Sclave population of the Roman empire had brought death and destruction over the German provinces, and the fanaticism of the Hussites had appeared to exhaust itself in the burning ruins of hundreds of cities and villages; but the same feeling had stirred the hearts of two generations, and in the next century the flame again blazed forth, more powerful and unquenchable, a pillar of fire to all Europe. The house of Luxemburg had passed away; its last heirs had mortgaged the Hungarian crown to the Austrian Hapsburgers, and bequeathed to them their claims to the wide and insecure acquisitions of their race. In the next century Charles V. made them the greatest dynasty of the world. It was a century of strife and reckless egotism, and on all sides arose knightly associations and confederacies; but it was also a time when the German mind, having become more practical in its tendencies, arrived at the greatest of all new discoveries,--the art of printing; when, in spite of fighting on the highways and bloody quarrels within the cities, commerce and trade began to flourish; when citizens and peasants acquired the habits of regular soldiers; when the German merchant established his supremacy on the northern seas, while the Italian navigator pressed on through the mists of boundless oceans, to unknown regions of the earth; finally, it was the time in which the Alpine mules bore, together with the spices of the East and the papal bulls, the manuscripts of a foreign nation, by means of which a new enlightenment was spread over Germany,--the early dawn of modern life.
With the sixteenth century began the greatest spiritual movement that ever roused a nation. This century has for ever impressed its seal on the spirit and temper of the German people. A wonderful time, in which a great nation anxiously yearning after its God, sought peace for the burdened soul, and a moral and mental aim for a life hitherto so poor and joyless.
This effort of the popular mind to found a new collective life by a deep apprehension of the eternal, produced a political development in Germany which is strikingly distinct from that of other nations. The whole powers of the nation were so engrossed in this passionate struggle, that it sank into a state of extreme exhaustion: the political concentration of Germany was delayed for centuries; most fearful civil wars were followed by a deathlike lassitude; German was divided from German, and a deep chasm was formed between the new and the middle ages. The result was, that a large portion of the German people, who might carry back their history in uninterrupted continuity up to the struggles of Arius and Arminus, now regard the time of the Hohenstaufen, and even the imperial government of the first Maximilian, as a dark tradition; for their state polity, their rights, and their municipal laws are hardly as old as those of the free states of North America. The oldest of the proud nations that arose from the ruins of the Roman empire, is now in many respects the youngest member of the European family. But whatever may have been the influence of the sixteenth century on the political formation of the fatherland, every German should look back to it with respect, for we owe to it all which now is our hope and pride; our power of self-sacrifice, our morality and freedom of mind, an irresistible impulse for truth, our art, and our unrivalled system of science, and lastly, the great obligation which our ancestors have imposed upon us of accomplishing what they failed in. It is especially now, in the midst of a political struggle for German national life, that it would be useful to us to consider how this struggle began three centuries and a half ago.
Whoever attempts to examine the German mind at the beginning of the sixteenth century, will observe a secret restlessness, something like that of migratory birds when spring approaches; this indefinite impulse reproduced frequently the old German love of wandering. Many causes combined to make the poor restless and desirous of novelty. The number of vagrants, young and old, such as pedlers, pilgrims, beggars, and travelling students, was very great; many of the adventurers went to France, but the greater part to Italy.
Wonderful reports came from distant lands. Beyond the Mediterranean, in the countries contiguous to Jerusalem (which was annually visited by the German pilgrims), a new race and a new and obnoxious religion had spread itself. Every pilgrim who came from the south related in the hostelries tales of the warlike power of the Turks, of their polygamy, of the Christian children whom they stole and brought up as slaves, and of danger to the Christian islands and seaports. On the other hand the fancy was led from the terrors of endless seas to the new gold lands,--countries like paradise, coloured tribes who knew nothing of God, and endless booty and dominion for believing Christians. To this was added the news from Italy itself,--how discontented the inhabitants were with the pope, how wanton the simony, and how wicked the princes of the Church.
And those who brought these tidings into the city and country were no longer timid traders or poor pilgrims, but sunburnt hardy troopers, bold in aspect, and well accoutred; children of neighbours, and trustworthy men, who had accompanied the Emperor as mercenaries to Italy, where they had fought with Italians, Spaniards, and Swiss, and now returned home with all kinds of booty, gold in their purses, and the golden chains of knighthood round their necks. The youths of the village gazed with respect on the warrior who thrust his halberd into the ground before the inn, and took possession of the rooms for himself and his guests, as if he were a nobleman or a prince; for he, the peasant's son, had trodden under foot Italian knights, and dipped deep into the money coffers of Italian princes; had obtained full dispensation from the Pope for his deeds, and, it was even whispered, a secret blessing which made him invulnerable. The lower orders began for the first time to have an idea of their own strength and capacities; they felt that they also were men; the hunting-spear hung in their huts, and they carried the long knife in their belt. But what was their position at home? The use of their hands and their teams was required by the landed nobleman for his fields; to him belonged the forest and the game within it, and the fish in their waters; and when the peasant died, his heir was obliged to give up the best of his herd, or its worth in money. In every feud in which the nobleman was engaged they were the victims: the enemy's soldiers fell upon their cattle, and they themselves were shot down with arrows, and imprisoned in dark dungeons till they were able to pay ransom. The Church also sought after their sheaves and concealed money. Dishonest, cunning, and voluptuous were the deans, who rode through their villages, falcon on hand, with troopers and damsels; the priests, whom the peasants could neither choose nor dismiss, seduced their wives, or lived scandalously at home. The mendicant monks forced their way into their kitchens, and demanded the smoked meats from their chimneys, and the eggs from their baskets. All the communities throughout Southern Germany were in a state of silent fermentation, and already, at the end of the fifteenth century, local risings had begun, the forerunners of the Peasant war.
But more wonderful still was the influence of the new art, through which the poorest might acquire knowledge and learning. The method of multiplying written words by thousands was discovered on the banks of the Rhine in the middle of the fifteenth century. The printing of patterns by means of wooden blocks had been practised for many centuries, and frequently single pages of writing had in this way been struck off; at last it occurred to a citizen that whole books might be printed with cast metal type. Its first effect was to give intelligence to the industry of the artisan, and a way was thus opened to the people of turning their mental acquirements to profit.
The learning of the middle ages still occupied the professors' chairs at the German universities, but it was without soul, and consisted in dry forms and scholastic subtleties. There was little acquaintance with the ancient languages, Hebrew and Greek were almost unknown; the solid learning of the olden times was taught in bad monkish Latin; the Bible and Fathers of the Church, the Roman historians, institutes and pandects, the Greek text of Aristotle, and the writers upon natural philosophy and medicine, were found only in dusty manuscripts; nothing but the commentators and systematizers of the middle ages were ever expounded or learnt by heart. Such was the state of things in Germany. But in Italy, for more than a century, mental cultivation had begun, from the study of Roman and Greek poets, historians, and philosophers. The men of high intellect on the other side of the Alps rejoiced in the beauty of the Latin language and poetry, admired the acute logic of Cicero, and regarded with astonishment the powerful life of the Roman people. Their whole literature entwined itself, like the tendrils of a creeper, round the antique stem. It was soon after the invention of printing, and during the war carried on by the Germans in the Peninsula, that this new Humanitarian learning was gradually introduced into Germany. The Latin language, which appeared to the Germans like a new discovery, was industriously studied in the classical schools, and disseminated through the means of manuals. The close attention and long labour necessary in Germany to acquire the foreign grammar, acted as discipline to the mind. Acuteness and memory were strongly exercised; the logical construction of the language was more attended to than the phonetic; the grandeur and wisdom of the subject, more than the beauty and elegance of the style: the German mind required more exercise, therefore the result was more lasting, because the mastery had to be gained over two languages of different roots. A number of earnest teachers first spread the new learning; among these were Jacob Wimpfeling and Alexander Hegius, Crato of Udenheim, Sapidus, and Michael Hilspach. To these may be added the poets Henry Bebel and Conrade Celtes, Ulrich Zasius the lawyer, and others; in close union with them were to be found all the men of powerful talent in Germany; Sebastian Brand, author of Narrenschiffs, and also the great preacher John Geiler of Kaisersberg, although he had been brought up in the scholastic teaching.
They were sometimes led by their knowledge of ancient philosophy into secret speculations upon the being of God, and all were opposed to the corruptions of the Romish Church; but their opposition differed from that of Italy in this respect, that the German mind gave it more elevation. It is true that many of the Humanitarian teachers considered the German language as barbarous; they Latinized their names, and in their confidential letters took the liberty of calling their countrymen unpolished; they hated the despotic arrogance with which the Romish priests looked down upon them and their nation; yet they did not cease to be good Christians. Besides their unceasing attacks on the vices of the Italian priesthood, they ventured, though with hesitation and caution, upon an historical critique on the foundation of the claims of the Papacy. They were united in bonds of friendship, and formed one large community. Bitterly persecuted by the representatives of the old scholastic school, they nevertheless gained allies everywhere,--in the burgher houses of the Imperial cities, in the courts of the Princes, in the entourage of the Emperor, and even in the cathedral chapters and on the Episcopal thrones.
The mental culture of these men, however, could not keep a lasting hold on German life; its groundwork was too foreign to the real needs of the mental life of the people; its ideal, which it had gathered from antiquity, was too vague and arbitrary; its fantastical occupation with a bygone world, of whose real meaning they knew so little, was not favourable to the development of their character. Some indeed became forerunners in the struggle of faith, but others, offended by the roughness and narrowness of the new teaching, fell back to the old Church which they had before so severely judged. One of this school, the enthusiastic and high-minded Ulrich von Hutten, who was passionately German, and attached to the teaching of Luther, suffered for his devotion to the popular cause.
In the beginning of the century, however, the Humanitarians carried on almost alone the struggle against the oppression under which the nation groaned. They exercised a powerful influence on the minds of the multitude; even what they wrote in Latin was not lost upon them, and the rhymesters of the cities were never weary of propagating the witticisms and bitter attacks of the Humanitarians in the form of proverbs, jocose stories, and plays.
The desire for learning became powerful amongst the people. Children and half-grown boys rushed from the most distant valleys into the unknown world to seek for knowledge; wherever there was a Latin school established, there the children of the people congregated, often undergoing the greatest sufferings and hardships, demoralized by the uncertainty of their daily life; for though the founders and managers of the schools, or the burghers of the cities, gave these strangers sometimes a roof over their heads, and beds to lie on, they were obliged for the most part to beg for their daily subsistence. Little control was exercised over them; only one thing was strictly enjoined,--that there should be some method in the lawlessness of their life; it was only under appointed forms, and in certain districts of the city, that they were allowed to beg. When the travelling scholar came to a place where there was a Latin school, he was bound to join the association of scholars, that he might not make claims on the benevolence of the inhabitants, to the prejudice of the schoolmaster or of those already there. An organization was formed among these scholars, as was always the case where Germans assembled together in the middle ages, and a code was established, containing many customs and demoralizing laws, with which every one was obliged to comply; besides this there was the rough poetry of an adventurous life, which few could go through without injury to their characters in after life. The younger scholars, called Schützen, were, like the apprentices of artisans, bound to perform the most humiliating offices for their older comrades, the Bacchanten: they had to beg and even to steal for their tyrants, who in return gave them the protection of their strength. It was considered honourable and advantageous for a Bacchant to have many Schützen, who obtained gifts from the benevolent, on which he lived; but when the rough Bacchant rose to the university, he was paid off for all the tyrannical injustice he had practised towards the younger scholars: he had to lay aside his school dress and rude manners, was received into the distinguished society of students with humiliating ceremonies, and was obliged in his turn to render service and to bear rude jests like a slave. The scholars were perpetually changing their schools, for with many the loitering on the high roads was the main object; their youth was passed in wild roving from school to school, in begging, theft, and dissoluteness. Whilst we rejoice in finding a few individuals who, by strength of mind and ability, rose through all this to intellectual preeminence, we must bear in mind how many a pet child died miserably under some hedge, or in the lazar-house of a foreign city, whose youthful minds had looked forward with hope to reaching the same goal.
The instruction in the Latin schools was very deficient, for a book was a rare treasure: the boys had often to copy the text for themselves, and the old grammar of Donat still served as the groundwork by which they learned to read Latin. There was still much useless scholastic pedantry, and what was then admired as elegant Latin, has somewhat of a monkish flavour. But the great teacher Wimpfeling took every opportunity of selecting examples which might excite the boys to honesty, integrity, and the fear of God; he endeavoured to impart not merely the knowledge of forms, or the subtle distinctions of words, but the spirit that flows from the ancients. The mind was to be ennobled; intellect and faith were to be advanced; learning was to act as a preservative against war, to promote peace, the greatness of states, and the reformation of the Catholic Church, for its object was knowledge of the truth.
Some idea of the life of a travelling student has been preserved to us in the description of Thomas Platter, the poor shepherd boy from Visperthale, in the Valais, later a renowned printer and schoolmaster at Basle; his autobiography has been published by Dr. Fechter, Basle, 1840. In those days no travellers in search of the picturesque had begun to roam in the wild mountain valley from which the Visp rushes towards the Rhone, nor to visit Zermatt, the Matterhorn, and the glaciers of Monte Rosa. The shepherd boy grew up amidst the rocks, with no companions but his goats; his herd straying into a corn-field, or an eagle hovering threateningly above him, his climbing a steep rock, or being punished by his severe master, were the only events of his childhood; how he was cast out into the wide world from his solitude he shall himself relate.
"When I was with the farmer, one of my aunts, named Frances, came to see me; she wished me, she said, to go to my cousin, Herr Anthony Platter, to learn the Scriptures; thus they speak when they want one to go to school. The farmer was not well pleased at this; he told her I should learn nothing: he placed the forefinger of his right hand in the middle of the left, and went on to say, 'The lad will learn about as much, as I can push my finger through there.' This I saw and heard. Then said my aunt: 'Who knows? God has not denied him gifts; he may yet become a pious priest.' So she took me to that gentleman. I was, if I remember right, about nine or ten years old. First it fared ill with me, for he was a choleric man, and I but an unapt peasant lad. He beat me cruelly, and ofttimes dragged me by the ears out of the house, which made me scream like a goat into which the knife had been stuck; so that the neighbours oft talked of him as if he wished to murder me.
"I was not long with him, for just at that time my cousin came, who had been to the schools at Ulm and Munich, in Bavaria; the name of this student was Paulus of Summermatten. My relations had told him of me, and he promised that he would take me with him to the schools in Germany. When I heard this I fell on my knees, and prayed God Almighty that He would preserve me from the 'Pfaffs,'[17] who taught me almost nothing and beat me lamentably, for I had learned only to sing a little of the Salve, and to beg for eggs with the other scholars, who were with the Pfaff in the village.
"When Paulus was to begin his wanderings again, I was to go to him at Stalden. Simon, my mother's brother, dwelt at Summermatten, on the road to Stalden: he gave me a gold florin, which I carried in my little hand to Stalden. I looked often on the way to see that I still had it, and gave it to Paulus. Then we departed into the country, and I had to beg for myself, and to give of what I got to my Bacchant Paulus: on account of my simplicity and countrified language, much was given to me. At night going over the Grimsel Mountain we came to an inn; I had never seen a kachelofen,[18] and as the moon shone on the tiles, I imagined it was a great calf: I saw only two tiles shining, which were, I imagined, the eyes. In the morning I saw geese. I had never seen any before, and when they hissed at me I thought they were devils, and would eat me; so I cried out and ran away. At Lucerne I saw the first tiled roofs.
"Afterwards we went to Meissen: it was a long journey for me, as I was not accustomed to travel so far and to obtain food on the road. There were eight or nine of us travelling together; three small Schützen, the others great Bacchanten, as they are called; amongst all these I was the smallest and youngest. When I could not keep up well, my cousin Paulus came behind me with a rod, or little stick, and switched me on my bare legs, for I had no stockings, and bad shoes. I do not remember all that happened to us on the road. Once when we were talking together on the journey, the Bacchanten said it was the custom in Meissen and Silesia for the scholars to steal geese and ducks, and other such food; and nothing was done to them on that account, if they could escape from those to whom the things belonged. One day, when not far from a village, we saw a large flock of geese, and the herdsman was not with them; then I inquired of my fellow-Schützen when we should be in Meissen; as then I thought I might venture to kill the geese; they answered, 'Now we are there.' So I took a stone, threw it at one of the geese, and hit it on the leg; the others flew away, but the lamed one could not rise. I took another stone, and hit it on the head, so that it fell down. I ran up and caught the goose by the neck, carried it under my coat, and went along the road through the village. Then came the gooseherd running after me, and called aloud in the village, 'The boy has stolen my goose!' I and my fellow-Schützen fled away, and the feet of the goose hung out behind my coat. The peasants came out with spears to throw at us, and ran after us. When I saw that I could not escape with the goose, I let it fall, and sprang out of the road into the bushes; but two of my fellows ran along the street, and were overtaken by two peasants. Then they fell down on their knees, and asked for mercy, as they had done them no harm; and when the peasants saw that it was not they who had killed the goose, they returned to the village, taking the goose with them. But when I saw how they hastened after my fellows, I was in great trouble, and said to myself: 'Ah, my God! I think I have not blessed myself this day.' (For I had been taught to bless myself every morning.) When the peasants returned to the village, they found our Bacchanten in the public-house, for these had gone forward; and the peasants desired that they would pay for the goose: it would have been about two batzen; but I know not whether or no they paid. When they joined us again, they laughed, and asked how it had happened. I excused myself, as I had imagined it was the custom of the country; to which they said it was not yet the right moment.
"Another time a murderer came to us in the wood, eleven miles on this side of Nuremberg, who wished to play with our Bacchanten, that he might delay us till his fellows joined him; but we had an honest fellow amongst us called Anthony Schallbether, who warned the murderer to leave us, which he did. Now it was so late that we could hardly get to the village; there were very few houses, but there were two taverns. When we came to one of these the murderer was there before us, and others besides, without doubt his comrades; so we would not remain there, and went to the other public-house. As they themselves had already that night had their food, every one was so busy in the house, they would not give anything to us little lads; for we never sat at table to our meals; neither would they take us to a bedroom; but we were obliged to lie in the stable. But when they were taking the bigger ones to their bedroom, Anthony said to the host: 'Host, methinks you have strange guests, and are not much better yourself. I tell you what, place us in safety, or we will treat you in such a way that you will find your house too narrow for you.' When they had taken them to rest (I and the other little boys were lying in the stable without supper), some persons came in the night to their room, perhaps among them the host himself, and would have opened the door; but Anthony had put a screw before the lock inside, placed his bed before the door and struck a light; for he had always wax tapers and a tinder-box by him, and he quickly woke up the other fellows. When the rogues heard that, they made off. In the morning we found neither host nor servants. When they told us boys about it, we were all glad that nothing had happened to us in the stable. After we had gone from thence about a mile, we met with people, who when they heard where we had passed the night, were surprised that we had not all been murdered; for almost all the villagers were suspected of being murderers.
"Our Bacchanten treated us so badly that some of us told my cousin Paulus we should escape from them; so we went to Dresden; but here there was no good school, and the sleeping apartments for strange scholars were full of lice, so that we heard them at night crawl on the straw. We then left and went on to Breslau: we suffered much from hunger on the road, having nothing for some days to eat but raw onions and salt, or roasted acorns and crabs. Many nights we lay in the open air; for no one would receive us into their houses or at the inns, and often they set the dogs upon us. But when we arrived at Breslau, everything was in abundance; indeed so cheap that we poor scholars overate ourselves, and frequently made ourselves ill. We went at first to the chapter school of the Holy Cross, but when we found that there were some Swiss in the parsonage house at St. Elizabeth, we went there. The city of Breslau has seven parishes, and each its separate school: no scholar ventured to sing in another parish; if he did the cry of 'Ad idem, ad idem,' was raised, and the Schützen collected together and fought. It is said that there were at one time some thousands of Bacchanten and Schützen who all lived on alms; it is also said that some of them who were twenty or thirty years old, or even more, had their Schützen who supported them. I have often of an evening carried home to the school where they lived, for my Bacchanten, five or six meals. People gave to me willingly because I was little, and a Swiss, for they loved the Swiss.
"There I remained for some time, as I was very ill that winter, and they were obliged to take me to the hospital; the scholars had their own especial hospital and doctors, and sixteen hellers a week are given at the town hall for the use of the sick, which provided for us well. We were well nursed and had good beds, but there were lice therein, beyond belief, as big as hempseed, so that I and others would much rather have lain on the floor than in the beds. It is hardly possible to believe how the scholars and Bacchanten were covered with lice. I have ofttimes, especially in the summer, gone to wash my shirt in the water of the Oder, and hung it on a bush to dry; and in the mean time cleared my coat of the lice, buried the heap, and placed a cross over the spot. In the winter the Schützen used to lie on the hearth in the school; but the Bacchanten lived in small rooms, of which there were some hundreds at St. Elizabeth; but during the summer, when it was hot, we lay in the churchyard, like pigs in straw, on grass which we collected from before the houses of the principal streets, where it was spread on Sundays; but when it rained we ran into the school, and if there was a storm we chanted almost all night the responsoria and other things with the succentor. We often went in summer after supper to the beerhouses to beg for beer: they gave us the strong Polish peasant beer, which, before I was aware of it, made me so drunk that even when within a stone's throw from the school I could not find my way to it. In short, we got sufficient nourishment, but little study.
"In the school of St. Elizabeth, nine bachelors always read together at the same hour in one room, for there were no printed Greek books in the country at that time; the preceptor alone had a printed Terence: what was read, therefore, had first to be dictated, then parsed and construed, and lastly explained; so that the Bacchanten when they went away carried with them large sheets of writing.
"From thence our eight went off again to Dresden, and fell into great want. We determined therefore one day to divide ourselves; some were to look out for geese, some for turnips and onions, and one for a kitchen pot; but we little ones went to the town of Neumarkt, to get bread and salt, and we were to meet together in the evening outside the town, where we were to camp out, and then cook what we had. There was a well about a stone's throw from the town, near which we wished to pass the night; but when they saw our fire in the town, they began to shoot at us, yet did not hit us. Then we retired behind a bank to a little stream and grove; the big fellows lopped off branches and made a kind of hut, some plucked the geese, of which we had two; others put the heads and feet and the giblets into the pot, in which they had shred the turnips, others made two wooden spits and roasted the meat; when it had become a little brown, we ate it with the turnips. In the night we heard a kind of flapping: we found there was a pond near us which had been drained in the day, and the fish were struggling in the mud; then we took as many of them as we could, in a shirt fastened on a stick, and went away to a village, where we gave some of them to a peasant, that he might cook the others for us in beer.
"Soon after we went again from thence to Ulm, there Paulus took with him another lad called Hildebrand Kalbermatter, son of a Pfaff: he was quite young, and had some cloth given to him, such as is made in that country, for a little coat. When we came to Ulm, Paul desired me to go about with the cloth begging for money to pay for its making up; in this way I got much money, for I was well accustomed to begging in God's name, for the Bacchanten had constantly employed me in this, so that I had hardly ever been taken to school, and not once taught to read. Going thus seldom to the school, and having to give up to the Bacchanten all I got by going round with the cloth, I suffered much from hunger.
"But I must not omit to mention that there was at Ulm a pious widow, who had two grown-up daughters; this widow had often, when I came in the winter, wrapped up my feet in a warm fur, which she had laid behind the stove on purpose to warm them, and gave me a dish of porridge and sent me home. I was sometimes so hungry that I drove the dogs in the streets away from their bones, and gnawed them; item, searched for the crumbs out of the bag, which I ate. After that we returned again to Munich: there also I had to beg for money to make up the cloth, which nevertheless was not mine. The year following we went once more to Ulm, and I brought the cloth with me, and again begged on account of it; and I remember well that some one said to me, 'Botz Marter! is not the coat made yet? I believe you are employed in knavish work.' We went from thence, and I know not what happened to the cloth, or whether or no the coat was ever made up. One Sunday, when we came to Munich, the Bacchanten had got a lodging, but we three little Schützen had none; we intended therefore to go at night to the corn market, in order to lie on the corn sacks; and certain women were sitting in the street by the salt magazine, who inquired where we were going. When they heard that we had no lodging, a butcher's wife who was near, when she saw that we were Swiss, said to her maid, 'Run and hang up the boiler with the remains of the soup and meat; they shall stay with me over the night; I like all Swiss. I served once at an inn in Innspruck, when the Emperor Maximilian held his court there: the Swiss had much business to arrange with him; and they were so friendly that I shall always be kind to them as long as I live.' The woman gave us good lodging, and plenty to eat and drink. In the morning she said to us, 'If one of you would like to remain with me, I would give him food and lodging.' We were all willing to do so, and inquired which she wished to have: when she had inspected us, as I looked more bold than the others, she took me, and I had nothing to do but to get the beer, to fetch the meat from the shambles, and to go with her sometimes to the field; but still I had to provide for the Bacchant. This the woman did not like, and said to me, 'Botz Marter! let the Bacchant go, and remain with me; you shall not beg any more.' So for a whole week I did not return to my Bacchant, nor the school; then he came to the house of the butcher's wife, and knocked at the door; and she said to me, 'Your Bacchant is there; say that you are ill.' She let him in, and said to him, 'You are truly a fine gentleman; you should have looked after Thomas, for he has been ill, and is so still.' Then he said to me, 'I am sorry for it, lad: when you can go out again, come to me.' Some time after, one Sunday, I went to vespers, and when they were over, my Bacchant came up to me and said, 'You Schütz, if you do not come to me, I will trample you under foot.' This I determined he should not do, and made up my mind to run away. That Sunday I said to the butcher's wife, 'I will go to the school and wash my shirt.' I dared not tell her of my intention, for I feared she would speak of it. So I left Munich with a sorrowful heart, partly because I was leaving my cousin, with whom I had gone so far (though he had been so hard and unmerciful to me), and also on account of the butcher's wife, who had treated me so kindly. I journeyed on over the river Isar, for I feared if I went to Switzerland, Paulus would follow me, and beat me, as he had often threatened. On the other side of the Isar there is a hill. I seated myself on the top, looked upon the town, and wept bitterly, because I had no longer any one to take an interest in me, and I thought of going to Saltzburg, or Vienna, in Austria. Whilst I was sitting there a peasant came with a waggon, which had carried salt to Munich: he was already drunk, though the sun had only just risen. I begged him to let me sit in it, and I went with him till he unharnessed the horses in order to give them and himself food; meanwhile I begged through the village, and waiting for him not far from it, fell asleep. When I awoke I again wept bitterly, for I thought the peasant had gone on, and it appeared to me as if I had lost a father. Soon, however, he came, and was still drunk, but called to me to sit in the cart, and asked me where I wished to go; I replied, 'To Saltzburg.' When it was evening, he turned off from the road, and said, 'Get down, there is the road to Saltzburg.' We had gone eight miles that day. I came to a village, and when I got up in the morning everything was white with rime, as if it had snowed, and I had no shoes, only torn stockings, no cap, and a scanty jacket. Thus I travelled to Passau, and intended to get on the Danube and go to Vienna, but when I came to Passau they would not admit me. Then I thought of going to Switzerland, and I asked the guard at the gate the nearest way to Switzerland: he answered by Munich. I said, 'I will not go by Munich, I had rather travel ten miles, or even more, out of the way to avoid it.' Then he pointed out the way by Friesingen. There was a high school there, and I found some Swiss, who inquired of me from whence I came? In the course of a few days Paulus arrived: the Schützen told me that the Bacchant from Munich was looking for me. I ran out of the gate as if he had been behind me, and travelled to Ulm, where I went to the widow's house, who had so kindly warmed my feet, and she received me, and I was to guard the turnips in the field, and did not go to school. Some weeks after, a companion of Paul's came to me, and said, 'Your cousin is here, and is seeking for you.' He had followed me for eighteen miles, as he had lost in me a good provider, I having supported him for some years. When I heard this, although it was night, I ran out of the gate towards Constance. I again wept bitterly, for I was sorry to leave the kind widow.