5. CHAPTER V.
Such was the tenor of the asseverations which he made, fortified
by numerous details, all tending strongly to confirm the
truth of his accusations, his own testimony once being relied on.
There was something so noble in this man's action, so delicate,
so impressive, so simple, yet so grand; and the particulars which
he gave were all so probably arrayed, so well put together, and
so seemingly in confirmation of other circumstances drawn from
the testimony of other parties, that all around appeared fully
impressed with the most perfect conviction that his accusation
was justly made. A short but painful silence followed his narration,
which seemed, for an instant, to confound the guilty noble.
The sad countenance of the monarch deepened to severity,
while a smile of triumph and exultation rose to that of the favorite
behind his throne. At this sight the accused person recovered
all his audacity. With half-choking utterance, and features
kindling with fury rather than faltering with fear, he demanded,
“Am I to be heard, your majesty?”
A wave of the monarch's hand gave him the desired permission,
and his reply burst forth like a torrent. He gave the lie
to his accuser, whom he denounced as an impostor, as one who
was the creature of his and the king's enemies, and tampering,
himself, with the sovereign's life while pretending to minister to
his ailments. He ridiculed, with bitterness and scorn, the notion
that any faith should be given to the statements, though even
offered on oath, of one whom he affirmed to be an unbeliever
and a Jew; and, as if to crown his defence with a seal no less
impressive than that of his accuser, he advanced to the foot of
the throne, grasped the sacred volume from the hands by which
it was upheld, and kneeling, with his lips pressed upon the
opened pages, he imprecated upon himself, if his denial were
not the truth, all the treasured wrath and thunder in the stores
of Heaven!
The accuser heard, with uplifted hands and looks of holy horror,
the wild and terrible invocation. Almost unconsciously his
lips parted with the comment:—
“God have mercy upon your soul, my lord, for you have
spoken a most awful perjury!”
The king looked bewildered, the favorite behind him dissatisfied,
and the whole audience apparently stunned by equal incertitude
and excitement. The eyes of all parties fluctuated between
the accused and the accuser. They stood but a few paces
asunder. The former looked like a man who only with a great
struggle succeeded in controlling his fury. The latter stood sorrowful,
but calm. The little girl who had brought in the holy
volume stood before him, with one of his hands resting upon her
head. Her features greatly resembled his own. She looked
terrified; her eyes fastened ever upon the face of her father's
enemy with a countenance of equal curiosity and suspicion.
Some conversation, the sense of which did not reach me, now
ensued between the king and two of his counsellors, to which
his favorite was a party. The former again addressed the accuser.
“Have you any other testimony but that which you yourself
offer of the truth of your accusation.
“None, your majesty. I have no witness of my truth but
God, and it is not for vain man to prescribe to him at what seasons
his testimony should be given. In bringing this accusation,
my purpose was not the destruction of the criminal, but the
safety of my sovereign; and I am the more happy that no conviction
can now follow from my charge, as from the dreadful
oath which he has just taken, he places it out of the power of
human tribunal to resolve between us. For the same reasons,
sire, he is in no condition to suffer death! Let him live! It is
enough for me that your majesty is safe from the present, and
has been warned against all future danger at his hands.”
“But not enough for me!” cried the accused, breaking in impetuously.
“I have been charged with a foul crime; I must
free my scutcheon from the shame. I will not rest beneath it.
If this Jewish sorcerer hath no better proof than his own false
tongue, I demand from your majesty the wager of battle! I, too,
invoke God and the blessed Jesu, in testimony of my innocence.
This enemy hath slandered me; I will wash out the slander
with his blood! I demand the trial, sire, his arm against mine,
according to the laws and custom of this realm.”
“It can not be denied!” was the cry from many voices. The
favorite looked grave and troubled. The eyes of the king were
fixed sadly upon the venerable accuser. The latter seemed to
understand the expression.
“I am not a man of blood, your majesty. Strife hath long
been banished from this bosom; carnal weapons have long been
discarded from these hands.”
“Let him find a champion!” was the fierce answer of the
accused.
“And of what avail to me,” returned the accuser, “the brute
valor of the hireling who sells for wages the strength of his manhood,
and perils for gain the safety of his life. Little should I
hope from the skill of such as he, opposed in combat to one of
the greatest warriors of the realm.”
“Ah, sorcerer! thou fearest!” was the exulting cry of the
accused; “but, if thy cause be that of truth, as thou hast challenged
the Most High to witness, what hast thou to fear? The
stars which thou searchest nightly, will they not do battle in
thy behalf?”
“Methinks,” said the favorite, who now advanced from behind
the throne, “methinks, old man, thou hast but too little reliance
on the will and power of God to assist thee in this matter. It is
for him to strengthen the feeblest, where he is innocent, and in
the ranks of war to do successful battle with the best and
bravest. Is it not written, `The race is not always to the swift,
nor the triumph to the strong!'”
“Ah! do I not know this, my lord? Do not think that I question
the power of the Lord to do marvels, whenever it becomes his
will to do so; but who is it, believing in God's might and mercy,
that flings himself idly from the steep, with the hope that an angel's
wings shall be sent to bear him up. I have been taught by
the faith which I profess, to honor the Lord our God, and not to
tempt him; and I do not readily believe that we may command
the extraordinary manifestations of his power by any such vain
and uncertain issue as that which you would now institute. I
believe not that the truth is inevitably sure to follow the wager
and trial of battle, nor will I lean on the succor of any hireling
weapon to avouch for mine.”
“It need be no hireling sword, old man. The brave and the
noble love adventure, for its own sake, in the paths of danger;
and it may be that thou shalt find some one, even in this assembly,
noble as him thou accusest, and not less valiant with his
weapon, who, believing in thy truth, shall be willing to do battle
in thy behalf.”
“Thyself, perchance!” cried the accused, impetuously, and
turning a fiery glance upon the speaker. In this glance it
seemed to me that I could discover a far greater degree of bitterness
and hate than in any which he had shown to his accuser.
“It is thyself that would do this battle? Ha! thou art he, then,
equally noble and not less valiant, art thou? Be it so! It will
rejoice me shouldst thou venture thy body in this quarrel. But
I know thee — thou lovest it too well — thou durst not.”
“Choose me for thy champion, old man,” was the further
speech of the favorite, with a difficult effort to be calm. “I will
do battle for thee, and with God's mercy, sustain the right in
thy behalf.”
“Thou shalt not!” exclaimed the king, vehemently, but feebly,
half rising as he spoke, and turning to the favorite. “Thou
shalt not! I command thee mix not in this matter.”
More was said, but in such a feeble tone that it failed to
reach my senses. When the king grew silent, the favorite
bowed with submissive deference, and sunk again behind the
throne. A scornful smile passed over the lips of the accused,
who looked, with a bitter intelligence of gaze, upon a little group
seemingly his friends and supporters, who had partly grouped
themselves around him. Following his glance, a moment after
toward the royal person, I was attracted by a movement, though
for a single instant only, of the uplifted hand of the favorite. It
was a sign to the accused, the former withdrawing the glove
from his right hand, a moment after, and flinging it, with a significant
action, to the floor behind him. The accused, whispered
a page in waiting, who immediately stole away and disappeared
from sight. But a little while elapsed when I beheld him approach
the spot where the glove had fallen, recover it adroitly,
and convey it, unperceived, into his bosom. All this by-play,
though no doubt apparent to many in the assembly, was evidently
unseen and unsuspected by the king. I inferred the rank
luxuriance of the practice of chivalry in this region, from the
nicety with which the affair was conducted, and the forbearance
of all those by whom it had been witnessed, to make any report
of what they had beheld. The discussion was resumed by the
accuser.
“I am aware, your majesty, that by the laws and practice of
your realm, the wager of battle is one that may be freely challenged
by any one accused of treason, or other crime against the
state, against whom there shall be no witness but the accuser.
It is not the fear of danger which makes me unwilling to seek
this conflict; it is the fear of doing wrong. Though the issues
of battle are in the hands of the Lord, yet who shall persuade
me that he has decreed the combat to take place. Now I do
confess that I regard it as unholy, any invocation of the God of
Peace, to be a witness in a strife which his better lessons teach
us to abhor — a strife grossly at variance with his most settled
and divine ordinances.”
“I am grieved, old man, to hear you speak this language,”
was the grave censure of one who, from his garments, seemed
to be very high in authority and the church. “What thou sayest
is in direct reproach of holy church, which has frequently
called in the assistance of mortal force and human weapons to
put down the infidel, to crush the wrong-doer, and to restore
that peace which can only owe her continued existence to the
presence ever of a just readiness for war. Methinks thou
hast scarcely shown thyself enough reverent in this thy bold
opinion.”
“Holy father, I mean not offence! I do not doubt that war,
with short-sightedness of human wisdom, has appeared to secure
the advantages of peace. I believe that God has endowed us
with a strength for the struggle, and with a wisdom that will
enable us to pursue it with success. These we are to employ
when necessary for the protection of the innocent, and the rescue
and safety of those who are themselves unwilling to do
harm. But I am unwilling to believe that immortal principles
— the truth of man, and the value of his assurances — are
to depend upon the weight of his own blows, or the address with
which he can ward off the assaults of another. Were this the
case, then would the strong-limbed and brutal soldier be always
the sole arbiter of truth, and wisdom, and all moral government.”
We need not pursue the argument. It has long since been
settled, though with partial results only to humanity, as well by
the pagan as the Christian philosopher. But, however ingenious,
true, or eloquent, was the venerable speaker on this occasion,
his arguments were entirely lost upon that assembly. He
himself soon perceived that the effect was unfavorable to his
cause, and exposed his veracity to question. With a proper
wisdom, therefore, he yielded promptly to the current. But
first he asked: —
“And what, may it please your majesty, if I decline this
ordeal?”
“Death!” was the reply of more than one stern voice in the
assembly. “Death by fire, by the burning pincers, by the
tortures of the screw and rack.”
The venerable man replied calmly.
“Life is a duty! Life is precious!” He spoke musingly,
looking down, as he spoke, upon the little girl who stood beside
him, while the big tears gathered in his eyes as he gazed.
“Do you demand a champion?” was the inquiry of the king.
“No, sire! If, in behalf of my truth, this battle must be
fought, its dangers must be mine only.”
“Thine!” exclaimed the favorite.
“Ay, my lord — mine. None other than myself must encounter
this peril.”
A murmur of ridicule passed through the assembly. The
accused laughed outright, as the exulting warrior laughs, with
his captive naked beneath his weapon. A brief pause followed,
and a visible anxiety prevailed among the audience. Their
ridicule afforded to the accuser sufficient occasion for reply: —
“This murmur of surprise and ridicule that I hear on every
hand, is of itself a sufficient commentary upon this trial of truth
by the wager of battle. It seems to all little less than madness,
that a feeble old man like myself, even though in the cause of
right, should oppose himself to the most valiant warrior in the
kingdom. Yet, if it be true that God will make himself manifest
in the issue, what matters it whether I be old or young,
strong or weak, well-skilled or ignorant in arms? If there be a
just wisdom in this mode of trial, the feeblest rush, in maintenance
of the truth, were mighty against the steel-clad bosom
of the bravest. I take the peril. I will meet this bold criminal,
nothing fearing, and will, in my own person, engage in the battle
which is thus forced upon me. But I know not the use of
lance, or sword, or battle-axe. These weapons are foreign to
my hands. Is it permitted me to use such implements of
defence as my own skill and understanding may invent, and I
may think proper to employ?”
“Thou shalt use no evil arts, old man,” exclaimed the churchman
who had before spoken, anticipating the answer of the
monarch. “No sorcery, no charms, no spells, no accursed devices
of Satan. I warn thee, if thou art found guilty of arts
like these, thou shalt surely perish by fire.”
“None of these, holy father, shall I employ. My arts shall
be those only, the principles of which I shall proclaim to thyself,
or to any noble gentleman of the king's household. My
weapons shall be those only which a human intelligence may
prepare. They belong to the studies which I pursue — to the
same studies which have enabled me to arrive at truths, some
of which thou thyself hast been pleased to acknowledge, and
which, until I had discovered them, had been hidden from the
experience of men. It can not be held unreasonable and unrighteous
that I employ the weapons the virtues of which I
know, when my enemy uses those for which he is renowned?”
Some discussion followed, the demand of the accuser being
strenuously resisted by the friends of the accused.
“The weapons for knightly encounter,” said they, “have
long since been acknowledged. These are sword, and battle-axe,
and spear.”
“But I am no knight,” was the reply; “and as it is permitted
to the citizen to do battle with staff and cudgel, which are
his wonted weapons, so may it be permitted to me to make use
of those which are agreeable to my strength, experience, and
the genius of my profession.”
Some demur followed from the churchman.
“Holy father,” replied the accuser, “the sacred volume should
be your guide as it is mine. My claim is such as seems already,
in one famous instance, to have met the most decisive sanction
of God himself.”
Here he unfolded the pages of the Holy Scriptures.
“Goliah,” said he, “was a Philistine knight, who came into
battle with the panoply of his order. David appeared with
staff, and sling, and stone, as was proper to the shepherd. He
rejected the armor with which Saul would have arrayed him for
the combat. The reproach of the Philistine knight comprises
the objection which is offered here — `Am I a dog,' said Goliah,
`that thou comest to me with staves?' The answer of David,
O king! shall be mine: `And all this assembly shall know that
the Lord saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle is the
Lord's, and he will give you into our hands.' Such were his
words — they are mine. God will deliver me from the rage of
mine enemy. I will smite him through all his panoply, and in
spite of shield and spear.”
He spoke with a momentary kindling of his eyes, which was
soon succeeded by an expression of sadness.
“And yet, O king! I would be spared this trial. My heart
loves not strife. My soul shrinks in horror from the shedding
of human blood. Require not this last proof at my hands.
Suffer me to keep my conscience white, and clear of this sacrifice.
Let this unhappy man live; for as surely as we strive
together, so surely must he perish.”
“Now this passeth all belief, as it passeth all human endurance!”
exclaimed the accused with irrepressible indignation.
“I claim the combat, O king, on any condition. Let him come
as he will, with what weapons he may, though forged in the
very armory of Satan. My talisman is in the holy cross, and
the good sword buckled at my thigh by the holiest prince in
Christendom, will not fail me against the devil and all his works.
I demand the combat!”
“Be ye both ready within three days!” said the king.
“I submit,” replied the aged man. “I trust in the mercy of
God to sustain me against this trial, and to acquit me of its
awful consequences.”
“Ready, ay, ready!” was the answer of the accused, as with
his hand he clutched fiercely the handle of his sword, until the
steel rang again in the iron scabbard.
