Mountains Are Free

Front matter

MOUNTAINS ARE FREE

BY JULIA DAVIS ADAMS

ILLUSTRATED BY THEODORE NADEJEN

Preface

PREFACE

Instead of dwelling upon the familiar details of the story, this treatment of the legend of William Tell endeavors to place it in its historical setting, and to show the difference in ideals and manners between the Swiss and the people against whom they were struggling. That is to say, between the feudal system and the first faint stirrings of democracy.

In 1295, thirteen years before the events herein related, Rudolf of Hapsburg had been elected Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. “Look out, Great God!” cried the alarmed Swiss, “or Rudolf will ascend Thy throne!” The Emperor was their hereditary lord, but the Hapsburgs, proud nobles threatening from the Hawk’s Nest on the River Aar, were hereditary enemies. Rudolf reassured them. He left the three cantons, Uri, Schwyz and Unterwalden, unmolested in their ancient liberties. “Rudolf’s plain dealing” became a proverb.

Then he died. After the usual bickering, Albert his son was elected to succeed him. The Swiss were fearful again, for Albert was a harsh, violent man, more interested in extending Hapsburg territory than maintaining imperial peace. That their fears were well grounded, this story will show.

Chapter 1

MOUNTAINS ARE FREE

CHAPTER I

It was spring and no time for working. Bruno lay on a high crag over the pass with his nose against the moss. Sweet anemones and violets spread around him; soft branches mingled with the dark pines of the forest. Little round clouds scudded over the mountain tops; an eagle wheeled and soared above his head. In the distance below, beyond the brown hamlet of Burglen, the folded mountains dropped into the blue of Lake Lucerne.

Bruno stretched in the sun, lifted his nose out of the moss, kicked his bare legs through the crisp air, looked at the far white range of the Rigi beyond the Lake. It had been young William Tell’s turn that morning to take the goats up to the peaks. Bruno was glad, perhaps because of the spring wind blowing up from Italy, for he was not usually a lazy boy.

He and his grandfather had made a living together until the old man had died in January’s blizzard leaving Bruno alone with the cottage, a few bare fields, and the two goats, Rosa and Rhena. William Tell and his wife, neighbors, had insisted that Bruno come to live with them, and not knowing what else to do, he had gone, reluctantly. It was not that he did not love them. There was no more respected man in all the cantons than Goodman Tell, the best shot, the best boatman, the wisest head of them all. Wife Emma was motherliness itself, young William and Walter good playmates, but Bruno was old enough to know that every extra mouth to feed meant extra work for someone, and that the chores he could do hardly paid for his living.

“We are all freemen in Uri,” grandfather used to say. “That means we stand on our own feet and are beholden to nobody.”

It was to make a plan that Bruno had climbed to the crag, his favorite spot in all the mountains. But it was no day for thinking. The sun-drenched air was too clear, the flowers too sweet. Rhododendrons blazed along the path below the crag.

The path was part of the road from Italy to Austria. People often passed on it. The men of the cantons, driving cattle, the women with fagots on their heads, swinging their short full skirts. Once Bruno had seen a pilgrim, a man who had been to the far hot Holy Land. His grandfather had watched the Crusaders pass over.

There were two specks on the path now. As they came nearer Bruno could see that they were men on horseback.

“It must be Bernard von Attinghausen, back from the Emperor’s wars,” thought Bruno excitedly. The old Baron of Attinghausen had a castle in the valley, and was the respected Landamann of Uri. He lived in friendship with his neighbors, holding his fief directly from the Emperor, to whom his son was doing service. There was no one else in Uri likely to wear armour or ride horses.

Bruno jumped up, and yodelled a welcome. The horsemen did not answer. As they rode on, their long-nosed helmets flashed silver. The one in front wore a red velvet tunic over his armour, the one behind, green leather. Only the black hooves of the prancing horses showed beneath their red velvet caparisons. Bernard von Attinghausen had gone off in a pieced chain mail of his father’s and a rusty iron cap. Any Swiss would answer a yodel. Bruno began to feel doubtful. Now he could see the hated peacock feather of Austria floating from their crests.

A dove whirred up out of the rhododendrons. Forgetting everything but a chance for supper, Bruno unslung his bow, fitted an arrow, and loosed. The bird whirled over, dropped past the crag, and landed with a thud, stone-dead on the path below. Goodman Tell had taught Bruno to be a fine shot for his age.

He slung the bow over his shoulder and scrambled down the steep face of the cliff. He had a good head for heights and knew his way about. He found handholds and ledges where no one else would have seen them, and jumped into the path just as the two horsemen came up to the fallen dove.

“Get down and pick it up, Sigismund,” shouted the man in red. “We’ll have it for supper.”

The one in the leather tunic had it in his hand when Bruno ran past the horse’s nose.

“Here! That’s my dove!”

“Boy,” said the man in leather, “this dove belongs to Sir Rupprecht von Lowenhohe who wants it.”

“But I shot it. That’s my arrow.”

The man on horseback leaned over and clamped Bruno’s shoulder in a hard steel glove, whirling him around.

“I shall have to teach this young serf manners,” he said.

Bruno began to get slowly and thoroughly angry.

“I’m not a serf. I’m a freeman of Uri.”

The knight stared with his hard black eyes into Bruno’s round blue ones, and suddenly burst out laughing.

“By Our Lady, here’s a pretty spirit! We’ve caught a little Swiss bear!”—It was still cool and Bruno had on his winter bearskin tunic, although his arms and legs were uncovered. The knight slapped him on the shoulder, which turned black and blue later.—“He can shoot, and climb like a fly. He’d be more amusing than that falcon which died in the snows, wouldn’t he, Sigismund? I’ll tell you what I’ll do, little bear, I’ll take you along with me.”

“I don’t want to come,” said Bruno.

For a minute the dark knight glowered, then shook again with silent laughter.

“I never heard such nonsense,” he said. “I’m offering you good employment and a chance to see the world. You don’t look as though there were too many bones in your dinner pot. It is not every day a boy like you could become page to a knight like me.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the Duke of Valberg on the Wutach.”

“Where is that?”

“The Wutach is a tributary of the Rhine, the Rhine is the greatest river in the world, the Duke is the greatest noble on the Wutach, and holds his fief directly from the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire himself, and I am the richest vassal of the Duke. Now what do you say?”

“The men of the cantons hold directly from the Emperor too.” The knight scowled but Bruno, intent on an idea, did not notice. “What would you want me to do if I came with you?”

“That’s more sensible. Wait on me at table, where you will see all the lords and ladies, help my squire here with the armour and the horses, run errands, and amuse us by climbing and shooting, and hooting in that strange way of yours.”

“I could do that,” said Bruno thoughtfully.

“Of course. Take him up in front of you, Sigismund, and we’ll be off.”

Bruno could not make his mind go fast enough. He had heard stories of the world beyond the mountains, from the Attinghausens, but he had never been farther than the village of Schwyz in the next canton. Werner Stauffacher, a friend of Tell, lived there. This would be a way to earn his living for the next few years until he was strong enough to till his own fields. It would be easier for the Tells.

“I couldn’t go without saying good-bye to my friends, they are just down there in Burglen.”

“Now, by the bones of Saint Sebastian, my patron!” roared the knight, touching the hilt of his sword and crossing himself in a fury, “how long am I to argue with this peasant? Mount, Sigismund. We’ll waste no more time on him.”

“Oh please!” cried Bruno. “It’s just there on your way. If you would only stop a minute as you pass. I can’t go without seeing them. I can run down the mountains and be there before you.”

“Very well,” answered the knight shortly.

“Could I please have my dove? It’s for supper.”

The knight shrugged his shoulders and nodded to Sigismund who tossed Bruno the dove. He caught it and ran off, bare arms and legs flying. His spiked shoes gave him a sure footing, he knew the woods and rocks, knew the short cuts, so that when he arrived panting at the little cluster of houses, he saw the horses carefully rounding a curve some distance above him.

Mother Tell was spinning in her sunlit doorway. Behind her in the dark cottage a fire burnt on the wide hearth. A lovely smell of baking came out. The Tells had a nice cottage, a big room with a table, some chairs as well as benches, a great bed built into the corner where William and Emma slept behind sliding wooden shutters and the three boys crawled into a smaller hole at the foot. Rhena and Rosa and the other goats lived, when at home, in a leanto at the back, with the ox and a few chickens.

Bruno ran up. “Mother Tell! I’ve a dove for supper!” He couldn’t make himself say the rest of it.

“What a good boy!” she answered over the hum of the wheel. “Hang it on the hook by the fire and I’ll pluck it when I finish.”

Bruno stood first on one foot, then on the other. Out of the tail of his eye he saw the horsemen turning the last curve above the village. He had to say it.

“I am going away to the Rhine.”

The wheel stopped. “What’s that you are saying?”

“I am going away with that knight to be his page.” Bruno pointed up the path.

Mother Tell looked, then jumped to her feet, upsetting her stool. She could see the red and green of the horsemen’s tunics, the peacock feathers in their helmets. She caught Bruno in her arms.

“No! No! You can’t do that! What would Tell say? Why you’re like one of our own sons. That’s an Austrian knight!”

“I don’t want to leave you,” cried Bruno, hugging her, “but I’ll go for two or three years, and then I’ll come back and repay you for all you’ve done for me.” He choked. The words would not come. That was a long sentence for Bruno, who was a quiet boy.

“There is no telling what would become of you. You don’t know what it’s like out in the world with the great people. You mustn’t go.”

Bruno shook his head against her breast.

“As long as we have a crust of bread in the house you are welcome to share it. You know that.”

Bruno nodded. That was the trouble, but he couldn’t say it.

The knight came abreast of the door and reined in, looking at the tearful woman and the boy in her arms.

“I’ve not a minute to spare,” he shouted. “Come along, or stay on the mountain the rest of your life!”

Bruno tore himself away. “I’m coming. Keep Rosa and Rhena, and the boys can divide my arrows and my two woollen tunics, and Father Tell can use my fields, and William can have my big knife——”

At a sign Sigismund jumped down, caught Bruno around the waist and swung him up behind the red knight.

“Put your arms around me and hang on!” cried Sir Rupprecht. He touched the horse with a spur.

Bruno had never dreamed of such speed.

Bruno had never been on a horse before. It seemed very high. It stood on its hind legs and pranced. It came down and kicked its hind legs up in the air. It whirled. It surged and lunged under him. Bruno had a dizzy glimpse of Mother Tell flying out of the way screaming.

“Bruno! You’ll be killed. Get down! Get down!”

Bruno was afraid to get down, afraid to let go. Falling meant being trampled in the road. His whole heart was in hanging tight around Sir Rupprecht’s waist. His arms were nearly torn from their sockets. He set his jaw and hung on.

At a word from Sir Rupprecht the horse bounded forward and started down the road. Bruno had never dreamed of such speed. The air whistled past. He shut his eyes and held fast. The speed did not check. He peeped out once, then shut his eyes again. He knew the narrow road down to the lake with precipices at every turn. It was not a road to bound over. He heard Sigismund’s horse clattering behind, a last faint scream from Goodwife Tell, the dislodged stones rattling down to the Schachen River. Sir Rupprecht never moved in the saddle. Bruno found he could hang on with his knees as well as his arms. He tried to say a Paternoster and could not remember it. He got as far as Hail Mary and stuck there too. The horse leaped and leaned around the curves. Bruno’s stomach turned over and over. His arms were giving out.

Suddenly everything stopped.

Slowly Bruno opened his eyes. They were down in the gorge which led to the lake. The horse was panting.

“Was the freeman of Uri frightened?” asked Rupprecht.

“No,” said Bruno.

“You held on tight enough. I’m not sure you haven’t driven some of the links through my stomach.” He shook with silent laughter. When he could get his breath he continued. “Now, you know the country. What’s my best way to get to Schwyz?”

“The lake would be the quickest, if the horses would go in the boats. They take oxen.”

“Put him up in front of you, Sigismund. Radamante is tired of him. Let him arrange the crossing.”

“I hope he won’t give me fleas,” said Sigismund.

They went on quietly. Now Bruno could keep his eyes open and look around him. Riding was not unpleasant when you got used to it, he decided.

The boats were small. Sigismund and Bruno took one, Rupprecht the other. The boatmen, who had known Bruno all his life, shook their heads sadly when they heard he was going away. Sigismund talked a lot. He was a cousin of Rupprecht, he said, sent to the knight as a boy, to be “nourished.” He was twenty now. In another year he too would be a knight. Then he would not do Rupprecht’s bidding any more but would have a squire of his own if he could afford it which was not likely as he was very poor.

Sigismund was a long-limbed stout fellow, very tall, with a bland expressionless face on a tiny head, and golden curls of which he was inordinately proud. His eyes were like round bits of pale blue pottery.

He said that Rupprecht was returning from a pilgrimage to Rome. Rupprecht was very devout and fond of doing penance.

“What for?” asked Bruno.

“Well,” answered Sigismund, “he is a trifle hasty. When he has been in a rage and killed someone, especially if it is a priest or a woman, or destroyed someone’s property in peace-time, then he likes to do a heavy penance and set himself right with our Lord and His Mother and all the Blessed Saints.”

“Oh,” said Bruno.

“He is a very religious man,” continued Sigismund, “and he has a holy relic, a bone of his patron saint, in the hilt of his sword where he can put his hand on it and say a prayer at any time.”

When they reached the other side, Bruno showed them the way to Schwyz. Sigismund made him some kind suggestions about riding and he felt rather proud. As they rode past the new house of Werner Stauffacher he could not help wishing that someone would come out and see him. It was a very fine house, white plastered between the beams, with two stories, the top one overhanging, and glass windows around which mottoes were painted in fancy lettering. Bruno could not read them, but Burgher Stauffacher had told him that one said, “Home is where the heart is.”

They went out of Schwyz and over the mountains and down through the pass of Morgarten with its steep hills on one side and its river on the other. The slanting sunshine was cooler now, and in spite of his excitement, Bruno felt hungry. The horses were tired although they had stopped now and then to crop the grass and drink from a brook.

“Sigismund,” said Rupprecht, out of a black silence. “Didn’t they say there was an abbey near here where we could spend the night?”

“Ein—something,” answered Sigismund.

“Einsiedeln,” said Bruno. “I’ve never been inside, for they are greedy monks.”

Rupprecht scowled at him.

“I’d give you a beating if I weren’t too tired. A boy like you daring to call monks greedy! I’ll teach you to respect the Holy Church if I teach you nothing else.”

Bruno was silent but he did not change his way of thinking. Everybody knew that the monks were trying to claim the pasture commons which had always been free to all Schwyzers. The monks thought that they could do anything because they held from the Hapsburgs and one of the Hapsburgs had happened to be elected Emperor. The Hapsburgs were always trying to make the free Swiss their vassals.

It was dark when Rupprecht knocked on the oaken gate of Einsiedeln. After a short parley through a little wicket they were admitted. Two of the lay brothers led the horses off to the monastery stables, and Bruno followed Rupprecht and Sigismund into the refectory where the monks met for meals. Bruno had never seen such a high huge bare room. It was empty. The brothers were at service.

Rupprecht had Sigismund help him off with his armour and stretched himself on a settle by the fire. Some of the monks brought water for washing, and two steaming fowl, a loaf of bread, a jug of sparkling yellow wine. Rupprecht told Bruno to stand behind the settle and wait. Bruno was faint with hunger and shaken in every bone. There were tears of fatigue in his eyes, but he remembered that he was earning his own living now, stiffened himself and stood quietly.

While they were eating, the Abbot came and sat down with them. He was a short man with a fat red face. Over the grey robes of the order he wore an enormous gold chain with a great green stone resting on his stomach. Rings with green stones adorned his fat white fingers. He rubbed his hands together as he talked. The rings struck each other and clinked richly.

In the end Rupprecht told Bruno that he might have what was left. Bruno caught up the platter and running around behind the settle squatted on the floor and began to pick the bones clean. He had never tasted such succulent birds before. He heard a soft rustling beside him, and looking up saw a monk with a pale gentle face, who nodded toward the settle, finger on lips, gave him a mug of wine cut with water, smiled at him and went away.

On the other side of the settle Bruno heard the thick soft voice of the Abbot, the brusque tones of Rupprecht, and Sigismund’s high laugh like a whinnying filly. They were discussing the Emperor. The Abbot was complaining.

“These are troublous parts. The Swiss are stiff-necked beyond reason. They actually sent a deputation to the Emperor, not long ago, stating that they owe allegiance only to his office, not to his person, and asking confirmation of what they are pleased to term their ancient rights. You can imagine that put him in a temper. He even came down on us for an extra impost in his rage at the whole district.”

“Fire and sword is the cure for that,” snapped Rupprecht.

“You may be sure,” said the Abbot, clinking his rings, “our good Albert will know how to deal with them. They’ll soon see whether they should put their ancient charters ahead of the mandates of God and his Church.”

The voices faded, ran together. It was warm behind the settle. The last bone slipped out of Bruno’s fingers. He was asleep.

He woke up lying on a pallet in a narrow whitewashed room. There was a crucifix on the wall, a high stand in the corner, a candle burning on the floor. Through a barred window the sky showed the uncertain grey of dawn. It was very quiet. Looking down at him stood the pale gentle monk whose face was like a wax mask with a light behind it.

“You must get up now.”

“How did I come here?”

“You were asleep, my child. I bore you away and told your master you had gone to bed in the stable. I hope the saints will forgive me for lying. He was angry but by now he will be over it. I have seen to the horses. I have polished the armour. Here it is. You must take it to him, for he wished to start betimes. All is in readiness.”

Bruno started to spring up but felt such pains in his legs and back that he fell back amazed.

The monk smiled. “You are not ill, my child. It is often so with those who have not ridden a horse before. It will wear off.”

Bruno tried again with better results. He looked contritely at the burnished armour.

“You must have been up all night doing my work.”

“I need little sleep. It was nothing. But I charge you, my child, while you are with that man of blood, do not fall asleep again. Why did you join him?”

Bruno told his story while he tied on his shoes. The monk shook his head, but called him a brave lad. On the way out Bruno glanced at the stand in the corner and stopped amazed. On it lay some parchment sheets, inscribed in a fair cursive hand, while all across the top and down the sides were painted tiny knights and ladies, red and blue and gold, most beautiful to see. Bruno looked at them in delight.

“They are like little flowers!” he said.

The monk’s face glowed.

“How kind you are! You see I copy the canticles for the services, and very dull they are at times. And when I have worked on them all day, at even I rest myself by writing tales that come into my head, and songs. If you like them I could show you——” He was fumbling through the parchment with shaking hands, his face quite flushed with excitement. Suddenly he checked himself, snatched out a sheet on which square solid notes climbed crookedly, and laid it over the others.

“They are worldly things. I fear I shall go to Hell for it. I beg of you to mention them to no one.”

Sighing heavily, he picked up the candle, and silently led the way into the corridor. Bruno followed with the armour. The monk moved so rapidly that Bruno almost ran to keep up, whispering, “What is your name?”

“Brother Anselm,” he answered, but he checked further conversation, and when Bruno tried to thank him he looked so unhappy that the boy stopped in confusion. Before Rupprecht’s door Bruno fell on his knees and asked a blessing. Brother Anselm laid a hand on his head in silence, then raised him to his feet, and gave him the candle.

“You have seeing eyes, my child. May God preserve you. If you would thank me do not say you did not clean the armour.”

“You are the kindest——” began Bruno, but Brother Anselm was off down the dark corridor. As he disappeared Bruno thought he heard him mutter, “little flowers——”

There was nothing to do but to open the door and go in. Rupprecht and Sigismund woke up as he entered. At first Rupprecht was in a bad temper, but when he saw how the armour shone, and when he went out to the stables and saw the polished horses with their trappings spotless, he slapped Bruno on the back and couldn’t say enough in praise of his little Swiss bear. Bruno squirmed at taking credit which belonged to someone else, but remembering Brother Anselm’s words he kept quiet. He felt he had not done well at earning his living so far but he would be better in future, and live up to the kind monk’s standard of cleanliness.

It was not long before they came to another great lake, and on a boat with a sail they glided to Zurich.

Altdorf on a market day was nothing compared to Zurich. Bruno had not dreamed that the world held so many people as swarmed in the narrow streets. Almost every one of the overhanging houses was as large as Werner Stauffacher’s house in Schwyz, and some were larger. One street was paved with stones, and the noise and the din were hurtful. Bruno was bewildered.

“Pooh,” said Sigismund. “This is a village. You should see Paris!”

A man with a grizzled beard and a yellow circle sewed on the back and front of his robe, got in their way and Rupprecht spat at him. Bruno winced as the man scuttled out of reach of the whip.

“Pooh!” said Sigismund. “It is only an infidel Jew.”

They dismounted at an inn to feed the horses, and Rupprecht and Sigismund whispered together. At last they told Bruno that they would travel no farther that day. The animals would be better on the morrow after a good rest. They went around to the stables, took off some of their armour, piled it in the stall, told Bruno to sleep there and watch it, gave him some bread and cheese, and set off down the street with bold glad eyes, and swaggering steps.

Bruno unsaddled, took off the trappings and capari- sons, noticing how they went so that he could put them back. He cleaned them, though Brother Anselm’s work left him little to do. He rubbed down the horses with bundles of straw as he saw one of the stable boys doing. Then he sat down to eat his bread and cheese.

He was glad to be alone and quiet, in the warm stall instead of out in the rushing streets. He was not afraid of the horses now, and they began to know him. This was not so different from sleeping with the old ox at the Tell’s, and he had often done that. Besides, wasn’t our dear Lord born in a stable among the good beasts?

Bruno slumbered sweetly.

Next day he was up before dawn, and had everything ready when Rupprecht and Sigismund came in. They were very merry. They had a bottle of wine and dipped some bread in it for Bruno. Sigismund tried three times before he could mount, but Rupprecht sprang up as usual without touching the stirrups.

They rode off singing, Sigismund whinnying and Rupprecht laughing silently with glittering eyes. By the time the sun was warm they fell silent, Rupprecht black and moody, Sigismund nodding in the saddle. First he asked Bruno to wear his helmet, then he handed over the reins and asked him to steer the horse. Bruno felt proud until Rupprecht looked around, reined back cursing, and cut Sigismund across the face with his whip. Sigismund turned very red but said nothing and took the reins again in his own hands.

By now they were out of the mountains, going through rolling hills and thick forests such as Bruno had never seen before. In the forests the men unsheathed their swords for fear of robbers. They ferried over a great river which Sigismund said was the Rhine. The air was flat and tasteless, everything looked strange. Bruno’s head felt heavy. He shut his eyes against the unfamiliar country. A weight seemed to press on his chest. It was nearly night.

Suddenly Sigismund nudged him. “Look,” he said.

They had come to a small rocky river. On the opposite bank sprang a cliff, and, following the outline of the cliff as if it had grown out of it, lowered a great grey pile of stone. It had walls and towers and turrets. A red banner emblazoned with a golden dragon floated over it. It was more bare and grey and forbidding than the cliff, and Bruno’s heart sank when he saw it.

“That is the castle of the Duke of Valberg, aren’t you frightened?” asked Rupprecht.

Bruno pulled himself up.

“It isn’t as big as a mountain,” he said.

Chapter 2

CHAPTER II

Rupprecht unslung a horn from his saddle bow and blew three long blasts and three short ones. The same call answered from the castle and a ferryboat pushed out from the foot of the cliff. The ferry-men wore red leather jerkins marked, like the banner, with golden dragons.