CHAPTER II.
A GERMAN LADY OF THE ROYAL COURT.
(about 1440.)
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:--