The Archbishop's Gift
Arras, blacksmith and armourer, stood at the door of his hut in thevalley of the Alf, a league or so from the Moselle, one summer evening.He was the most powerful man in all the Alf-thal, and few could liftthe iron sledge-hammer he wielded as though it were a toy. Arras hadtwelve sons scarce less stalwart than himself, some of whom helped himin his occupation of blacksmith and armourer, while the others tilledthe ground near by, earning from the rich soil of the valley suchsustenance as the whole family required.The blacksmith thus standing at his door, heard, coming up the valleyof the Alf, the hoof-beats of a horse, and his quick, experienced eartold him, though the animal was yet afar, that one of its shoes wasloose. As the hurrying rider came within call, the blacksmith shoutedto him in stentorian tones:"Friend, pause a moment, until I fasten again the shoe on your horse'sfoot.""I cannot stop," was the brief answer."Then your animal will go lame," rejoined the blacksmith."Better lose a horse than an empire," replied the rider, hurrying by."Now what does that mean?" said the blacksmith to himself as he watchedthe disappearing rider, while the click-clack of the loosened shoebecame fainter and fainter in the distance.Could the blacksmith have followed the rider into Castle Bertrich, ashort distance further up the valley, he would speedily have learnedthe meaning of the hasty phrase the horseman had flung behind him as herode past. Ascending the winding road that led to the gates of thecastle as hurriedly as the jaded condition of his beast would permit,the horseman paused, unloosed the horn from his belt, and blew a blastthat echoed from the wooded hills around. Presently an officer appearedabove the gateway, accompanied by two or three armed men, and demandedwho the stranger was and why he asked admission. The horseman, amazedat the officer's ignorance of heraldry that caused him to inquire as tohis quality, answered with some haughtiness:"Messenger of the Archbishop of Treves, I demand instant audience withCount Bertrich."The officer, without reply, disappeared from the castle wall, andpresently the great leaves of the gate were thrown open, whereupon thehorseman rode his tired animal into the courtyard and flung himselfoff."My horse's shoe is loose," he said to the Captain. "I ask you to haveyour armourer immediately attend to it.""In truth," replied the officer, shrugging his shoulders, "there ismore drinking than fighting in Castle Bertrich; consequently we do notpossess an armourer. If you want blacksmithing done you must betakeyourself to armourer Arras in the valley, who will put either horse orarmour right for you."With this the messenger was forced to be content; and, begging theattendants who took charge of his horse to remember that it hadtravelled far and had still, when rested, a long journey before it, hefollowed the Captain into the great Rittersaal of the castle, where, onentering, after having been announced, he found the Count of Bertrichsitting at the head of a long table, holding in his hand a giganticwine flagon which he was industriously emptying. Extending down eachside of the table were many nobles, knights, and warriors, who, tojudge by the hasty glance bestowed upon them by the Archbishop'smessenger, seemed to be energetically following the example set them bytheir over-lord at the head. Count Bertrich's hair was unkempt, hisface a purplish red, his eye bloodshot; and his corselet, open at thethroat, showed the great bull-neck of the man, on whose gigantic frameconstant dissipation seemed to have merely temporary effect."Well!" roared the nobleman, in a voice that made the rafters ring."What would you with Count Bertrich?""I bear an urgent despatch to you from my Lord the Archbishop ofTreves," replied the messenger."Then down on your knees and present it," cried the Count, beating thetable with his flagon."I am Envoy of his Lordship of Treves," said the messenger, sternly."You told us that before," shouted the Count; "and now you stand in thehall of Bertrich. Kneel, therefore, to its master.""I represent the Archbishop," reiterated the messenger, "and I kneel tonone but God and the Emperor."Count Bertrich rose somewhat uncertainly to his feet, his whole frametrembling with anger, and volleyed forth oaths upon threats. The tallnobleman at his right hand also rose, as did many of the others who satat the table, and, placing his hand on the arm of his furious host,said warningly:"My Lord Count, the man is right. It is against the feudal law that heshould kneel, or that you should demand it. The Archbishop of Treves isyour overlord, as well as ours, and it is not fitting that hismessenger should kneel before us.""That is truth--the feudal law," muttered others down each side of thetable.The enraged Count glared upon them one after another, partially subduedby their breaking away from him.The Envoy stood calm and collected, awaiting the outcome of the tumult.The Count, cursing the absent Archbishop and his present guests withequal impartiality, sat slowly down again, and flinging his emptyflagon at an attendant, demanded that it should be refilled. The otherslikewise resumed their seats; and the Count cried out, but with less oftruculence in his tone:"What message sent the Archbishop to Castle Bertrich?""My Lord, the Archbishop of Treves requires me to inform Count Bertrichand the assembled nobles that the Hungarians have forced passage acrossthe Rhine, and are now about to make their way through the defiles ofthe Eifel into this valley, intending to march thence upon Treves,laying that ancient city in ruin and carrying havoc over thesurrounding country. His Lordship commands you, Count Bertrich, torally your men about you and to hold the infidels in check in thedefiles of the Eifel until the Archbishop comes, at the bead of hisarmy, to your relief from Treves."There was deep silence in the vast hall after this startlingannouncement. Then the Count replied:"Tell the Archbishop of Treves that if the Lords of the Rhine cannotkeep back the Hungarians, it is hardly likely that we, less powerful,near the Moselle, can do it.""His Lordship urges instant compliance with his request, and I am tosay that you refuse at your peril. A few hundred men can hold theHungarians in check while they are passing through the narrow ravinesof the Eifel, while as many thousands might not be successful againstthem should they once reach the open valleys of the Alf and theMoselle. His Lordship would also have you know that this campaign is asmuch in your own interest as in his, for the Hungarians, in theirdevastating march, spare neither high nor low.""Tell his Lordship," hiccoughed the Count, "that I sit safely in myCastle of Bertrich, and that I defy all the Hungarians who were everlet loose to disturb me therein. If the Archbishop keeps Treves astightly as I shall hold Castle Bertrich, there is little to fear fromthe invaders.""Am I to return to Treves then with your refusal?" asked the Envoy."You may return to Treves as best pleases you, so that you rid us ofyour presence here, where you mar good company."The Envoy, without further speech, bowed to Count Bertrich and also tothe assembled nobles, passed silently out of the hall, once morereaching the courtyard of the castle, where he demanded that his horsebe brought to him."The animal has had but scant time for feeding and rest," said theCaptain."'Twill be sufficient to carry us to the blacksmith's hut," answeredthe Envoy, as he put his foot in stirrup.The blacksmith, still standing at the door of his smithy, heard, comingfrom the castle, the click of the broken shoe, but this time the riderdrew up before him and said:"The offer of help which you tendered me a little ago I shall now beglad to accept. Do your work well, smith, and know that in performingit, you are obliging an envoy of the Archbishop of Treves."The armourer raised his cap at the mention of the august name, andinvoked a blessing upon the head of that renowned and warlike prelate."You said something," spoke up the smith, "of loss of empire, as yourode by. I trust there is no disquieting news from Treves?""Disquieting enough," replied the messenger. "The Hungarians havecrossed the Rhine, and are now making their way towards the defiles ofthe Eifel. There a hundred men could hold the infidels in check; butyou breed a scurvy set of nobles in the Alf-thal, for Count Bertrichdisdains the command of his over-lord to rise at the head of his menand stay the progress of the invader until the Archbishop can come tohis assistance.""Now, out upon the drunken Count for a base coward!" cried the armourerin anger. "May his castle be sacked and himself hanged on the highestturret, for refusing aid to his over-lord in time of need. I and mytwelve sons know every rock and cave in the Eifel. Would theArchbishop, think you, accept the aid of such underlings as we, whoseonly commendation is that our hearts are stout as our sinews?""What better warranty could the Archbishop ask than that?" replied theEnvoy. "If you can hold back the Hungarians for four or five days, thenI doubt not that whatever you ask of the Archbishop will speedily begranted.""We shall ask nothing," cried the blacksmith, "but his blessing, and bedeeply honoured in receiving it."Whereupon the blacksmith, seizing his hammer, went to the door of hishut, where hung part of a suit of armour, that served at the same timeas a sign of his profession and as a tocsin. He smote the hanging ironwith his sledge until the clangorous reverberation sounded through thevalley, and presently there came hurrying to him eight of his stalwartsons, who had been occupied in tilling the fields."Scatter ye," cried the blacksmith, "over the land. Rouse the people,and tell them the Hungarians are upon us. Urge all to collect here atmidnight, with whatever of arms or weapons they may possess. Those whohave no arms, let them bring poles, and meanwhile your brothers andmyself will make pike-heads for them. Tell them they are called to,action by a Lord from the Archbishop of Treves himself, and that Ishall lead them. Tell them they fight for their homes, their wives, andtheir children. And now away."The eight young men at once dispersed in various directions. The smithhimself shod the Envoy's horse, and begged him to inform the Archbishopthat they would defend the passes of the Eifel while a man of themremained alive.Long before midnight the peasants came straggling to the smithy fromall quarters, and by daylight the blacksmith had led them over thevolcanic hills to the lip of the tremendous pass through which theHungarians must come. The sides of this chasm were precipitous andhundreds of feet in height. Even the peasants themselves, knowing therocks as they did, could not have climbed from the bottom of the passto the height they now occupied. They had, therefore, no fear that theHungarians could scale the walls and decimate their scanty band.When the invaders appeared the blacksmith and his men rolled greatstones and rocks down upon them, practically annihilating the advanceguard and throwing the whole army into confusion. The week's strugglethat followed forms one of the most exciting episodes in Germanhistory. Again and again the Hungarians attempted the pass, but nothingcould withstand the avalanche of stones and rocks wherewith they wereoverwhelmed. Still, the devoted little band did not have everything itsown way. They were so few--and they had to keep watch night and day--that ere the week was out many turned longing eyes towards thedirection whence the Archbishop's army was expected to appear. It wasnot until the seventh day that help arrived, and then the Archbishop'sforces speedily put to flight the now demoralised Hungarians, andchased them once more across the Rhine."There is nothing now left for us to do," said the tired blacksmith tohis little following; "so I will get back to my forge and you to yourfarms."And this without more ado they did, the cheering and inspiring ring ofiron on anvil awakening the echoes of the Alf-thal once again.The blacksmith and his twelve sons were at their noon-day meal when animposing cavalcade rode up to the smithy. At the head was no other thanthe Archbishop himself, and the blacksmith and his dozen sons werecovered with confusion to think that they had such a distinguishedvisitor without the means of receiving him in accordance with hisstation. But the Archbishop said:"Blacksmith Arras, you and your sons would not wait for me to thankyou; so I am now come to you that in presence of all these followers ofmine I may pay fitting tribute to your loyalty and your bravery."Then, indeed, did the modest blacksmith consider he had received morethan ample compensation for what he had done, which, after all, as hetold his neighbours, was merely his duty. So why should a man bethanked for it?"Blacksmith," said the Archbishop, as he mounted his horse to return toTreves, "thanks cost little and are easily bestowed. I hope, however,to have a present for you that will show the whole country round howmuch I esteem true valour."At the mouth of the Alf-thal, somewhat back from the small village ofAlf and overlooking the Moselle, stands a conical hill that completelycommands the valley. The Archbishop of Treves, having had a lessonregarding the dangers of an incursion through the volcanic region ofthe Eifel, put some hundreds of men at work on this conical hill, anderected on the top a strong castle, which was the wonder of thecountry. The year was nearing its end when this great stronghold wascompleted, and it began to be known throughout the land that theArchbishop intended to hold high revel there, and had invited to thecastle all the nobles in the country, while the chief guest was noother than the Emperor himself. Then the neighbours of the blacksmithlearned that a gift was about to be bestowed upon that stalwart man. Heand his twelve sons received notification to attend at the castle, andto enjoy the whole week's festivity. He was commanded to come in hisleathern apron, and to bring with him his huge sledge-hammer, which,the Archbishop said, had now become a weapon as honourable as the two-handed sword itself.Never before had such an honour been bestowed upon a common man, andthough the peasants were jubilant that one of their caste should bethus singled out to receive the favour of the famous Archbishop, andmeet not only great nobles, but even the Emperor himself, still, it wasgossiped that the Barons grumbled at this distinction being placed upona serf like the blacksmith Arras, and none were so loud in theircomplaints as Count Bertrich, who had remained drinking in the castlewhile the blacksmith fought for the land. Nevertheless, all thenobility accepted the invitation of the powerful Archbishop of Treves,and assembled in the great room of the new castle, each equipped in allthe gorgeous panoply of full armour. It had been rumoured among thenobles that the Emperor would not permit the Archbishop to sully thecaste of knighthood by asking the Barons to recognise or hold conversewith one in humble station of life. Indeed, had it been otherwise,Count Bertrich, with the Barons to back him, were resolved to speak outboldly to the Emperor, upholding the privileges of their class, andprotesting against insult to it in presence of the blacksmith and hissons.When all assembled in the great hall they found at the centre of thelong side wall a magnificent throne erected, with a dais in front ofit, and on this throne sat, the Emperor in state, while at his righthand stood the lordly Archbishop of Treves. But what was moredisquieting, they beheld also the blacksmith standing before the dais,some distance in front of the Emperor, clad in his leathern apron, withhis big brawny hands folded over the top of the handle of his hugesledge-hammer. Behind him were ranged his twelve sons. There were deepfrowns on the brows of the nobles when they saw this, and, afterkneeling and protesting their loyalty to the Emperor, they stood aloofand apart, leaving a clear space between themselves and the plebeianblacksmith on whom they cast lowering looks. When the salutations ofthe Emperor had been given, the Archbishop took a step forward on thedais and spoke in a clear voice that could be heard to the furthermostcorner of the room."My Lords," he said, "I have invited you hither that you may have theprivilege of doing honour to a brave man. I ask you to salute theblacksmith Arras, who, when his country was in danger, crushed theinvaders as effectually as ever his right arm, wielding sledge, crushedhot iron."A red flush of confusion overspread the face of the blacksmith, butloud murmurs broke out among the nobility, and none stepped forward tosalute him. One, indeed, stepped forward, but it was to appeal to theEmperor."Your Majesty," exclaimed Count Bertrich, "this is an unwarrantedbreach of our privileges. It is not meet that we, holding noble names,should be asked to consort with an untitled blacksmith. I appeal toyour Majesty against the Archbishop under the feudal law."All eyes turned upon the Emperor, who, after a pause, said:"Count Bertrich is right, and I sustain his appeal."An expression of triumph came into the red bibulous face of CountBertrich, and the nobles shouted joyously:"The Emperor, the Emperor!"The Archbishop, however, seemed in no way non-plussed by his defeat,but, addressing the armourer, said:"Advance, blacksmith, and do homage to your Emperor and mine."When the blacksmith knelt before the throne, the Emperor, taking hisjewelled sword from his side, smote the kneeling man lightly on hisbroad shoulders, saying:"Arise, Count Arras, noble of the German Empire, and first Lord of theAlf-thal."The blacksmith rose slowly to his feet, bowed lowly to the Emperor, andbacked to the place where he had formerly stood, again resting hishands on the handle of his sledge-hammer. The look of exultation fadedfrom the face of Count Bertrich, and was replaced by an expression ofdismay, for he had been until that moment, himself first Lord of theAlf-thal, with none second."My Lords," once more spoke up the Archbishop, "I ask you to saluteCount Arras, first Lord of the Alf-thal."No noble moved, and again Count Bertrich appealed to the Emperor."Are we to receive on terms of equality," he said, "a landless man; thecount of a blacksmith's hut; a first lord of a forge? For the secondtime I appeal to your Majesty against such an outrage."The Emperor replied calmly:"Again I support the appeal of Count Bertrich."There was this time no applause from the surrounding nobles, for manyof them had some smattering idea of what was next to happen, though themuddled brain of Count Bertrich gave him no intimation of it."Count Arras," said the Archbishop, "I promised you a gift when last Ileft you at your smithy door. I now bestow upon you and your heirsforever this castle of Burg Arras, and the lands adjoining it. I askyou to hold it for me well and faithfully, as you held the pass of theEifel. My Lords," continued the Archbishop, turning to the nobles, witha ring of menace in his voice, "I ask you to salute Count Arras, yourequal in title, your equal in possessions, and the superior of any oneof you in patriotism and bravery. If any noble question his courage,let him neglect to give Count of Burg Arras his title and salutation ashe passes before him.""Indeed, and that will not I," said the tall noble who had sat atBertrich's right hand in his castle, "for, my Lords, if we hesitatelonger, this doughty blacksmith will be Emperor before we know it."Then, advancing towards the ex-armourer, he said: "My Lord, Count ofBurg Arras, it gives me pleasure to salute you, and to hope that whenEmperor or Archbishop are to be fought for, your arm will be no lesspowerful in a coat of mail than it was when you wore a leathern apron."One by one the nobles passed and saluted as their leader had done.Count Bertrich hung back until the last, and then, as he passed the newCount of Burg Arras, he hissed at him, with a look of rage, the singleword, "Blacksmith!"The Count of Burg Arras, stirred to sudden anger, and forgetting inwhose presence he stood, swung his huge sledge-hammer round his head,and brought it down on the armoured back of Count Bertrich, roaring theword "ANVIL!"The armour splintered like crushed ice, and Count Bertrich fell proneon his face and lay there. There was instant cry of "Treason! Treason!"and shouts of "No man may draw arms in the Emperor's presence.""My Lord Emperor," cried the Count of Burg Arras, "I crave pardon if Ihave done amiss. A man does not forget the tricks of his old callingwhen he takes on new honours. Your Majesty has said that I am a Count.This man, having heard your Majesty's word, proclaims me blacksmith,and so gave the lie to his Emperor. For this I struck him, and wouldagain, even though he stood before the throne in a palace, or the altarin a cathedral. If that be treason, take from me your honours, and letme back to my forge, where this same hammer will mend the armour it hasbroken, or beat him out a new back-piece.""You have broken no tenet of the feudal law," said the Emperor. "Youhave broken nothing, I trust, but the Count's armour, for, as I see, heis arousing himself, doubtless no bones are broken as well. The feudallaw does not regard a blacksmith's hammer as a weapon. And as fortreason, Count of Burg Arras, may my throne always be surrounded bysuch treason as yours."And for centuries after, the descendants of the blacksmith were Countsof Burg Arras, and held the castle of that name, whose ruins to-dayattest the excellence of the Archbishop's building.
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
