  While Arnold was staying at the monastery and approaching young manhood, a terrible calamity visited the world and made its way into the peaceful little valley. Year after year reports had come that a frightful pestilence was raging in the eastern part of Asia and spreading from country to country. Ships laden with rich cargoes were found at sea, drifting about and their crews all dead. The trade route from China led through central Asia to the Tauric coast, Several causes were assigned for it. It was variously attributed to the just wrath of God at the wickedness of humanity; to the influences of the heavenly bodies; to the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter; to unusual convulsions of nature which had either preceded or followed it. Reports had long before come from China of great earthquakes, sunken mountains, droughts, floods, crop failures, and subsequent famines. Syria and Egypt also had been visited by earthquakes. The same manifestations, followed by raging storms and floods, had also appeared in Cyprus and in Naples and other cities. Similar convulsions had been experienced in Germany. Many houses had been hurled into the Rhine by a great earthquake at Basle. In Carinthia, cities and castles had been destroyed. As the excited imagination of the people connected these events with the dreadful disease, it was natural for them to consider these manifestations as the cause, and crop failures and famines as the result. The pestilence, which so readily found victims among people condemned to want, wretchedness, and despair, came to be known as the Black Death. When it attacked a household it was not contented with one victim. Almost every well person who breathed the same air as the sick one, or who had even touched his clothing, was stricken with it. Human science and medical skill were of no avail. It was in vain that cities were cleansed of filth and offal, and that infected persons were forbidden to enter them. Sanitary measures were of no avail. Flight was useless, for the terrible malady overtook the fleetest and spared neither the distinguished nor the insignificant, neither the strong nor the weak, neither the layman nor the priest. It was in vain that the church framed three prayers, to be offered at daybreak, midday, and evening, at the summons of the church bells. The mass which Pope Clemens the Sixth, who resided at Avignon, arranged for the supplication of divine mercy was fruitless. The head of Christendom himself withdrew from contact with the outside world, behind a perpetually burning fire of coals. Ceremonial processions were also arranged to avert the evil. The people joined them in multitudes. Many women walked barefooted, clad in sackcloth. Ecclesiastics, brotherhoods carrying lighted tapers, and guilds bearing banners and singing prayers and the litany also marched. Suddenly it was discovered that the number of victims was increasing because of the densely crowded throngs watching these processions. In the large cities people died by hundreds; in the smaller ones, by scores. The closest family ties were dissipated like spiders’ webs. Brothers forsook brothers, wives their husbands. Parents forbore visiting their sick children. The best of friends avoided each other on the streets. The sick were deserted save by their attendants, and the service of the latter was so difficult to procure, except at very high prices,—for nurses’ lives were in constant danger,—that many of the poor died absolutely alone. Depositing the dead in the church vaults and keeping them over night in the houses where they had died were strictly forbidden. It was ordered that they should be interred at once; and as the churchyards in the cities were not large enough to accommodate them, they were buried by thousands in great trenches. Every one expected the Black Death any moment. Trade and commerce were paralyzed. Merchants cared no longer for the valuables for which they had worked so hard; churches and schools were closed; the administration of justice ceased. There were no sounds in the factories, no rattle of carriages or cries of venders in the streets. The fields were left untilled. There was hardly one among the few who stole through the empty streets who did not show some sign of the awful visitation. Fear, sorrow, and despair were manifest in every face. If one wore a beard it was unkempt and the hair was long and straggling, for no one cared for his looks. Some held small metallic discs containing medicated sponges to their noses, hoping in this way not to inhale the tainted air. The few who recovered from the plague were regarded as a specially privileged class. They went about freely and fearlessly amid dangers, for it was something unheard of to have the disease twice. But among those who were liable to be attacked any instant there were some who were determined to do all they could at this time of universal gloom. Compassion and love were stronger in their hearts than ever before, and wherever they could be of help they were ready with word and deed. The plague invaded Switzerland also, and raged more violently in its mountain regions than it did in the lowlands. The clear, healthy atmosphere of the high lying valley of Engelberg did not save it from the visitation of this gruesome guest, but it only met faces full of spiritual illumination in the death shadows which followed its track. Strengthened by holy love and despising danger, the Benedictines went among the sick and those struggling with death, to help the one and administer consolation to the other. Upon this small spot of earth the plague carried off sixteen victims in a single day and in four months twenty homes were devastated. No one in those days of gloom and despair set a brighter example of courage and self-sacrificing love than Father Vincentius. It had always been his desire to give his life for his neighbors, and now the opportunity was granted him. Wherever there was sickness he was found performing every needful service; and Arnold, a faithful, courageous helper, was by his side. The youth had nothing more to lose, for both his parents were victims of the plague. He had closed the eyes of his uncle Berthold, abbot of Engelberg, after his two sisters, Adelheid and Elspeth, had passed away. Amid these dreadful scenes he had no other feeling than one of the deepest sympathy for those whom he visited daily; and death, even in its most terrible shapes, had no terrors for him. It was thus he strengthened himself for the heroic deed which was to perpetuate the name of Winkelried in the memory of the fatherland. Side by side with Father Vincentius he encountered the plague and often wondered why he kept so strong and well. He endured these extraordinary exertions, which kept him up day and night, because of his youthful vigor; but the old Benedictine felt his strength failing more and more every day. His once upright frame was bowed and his face grew thin and sunken. Spiritual strength alone sustained his exhausted body. While returning to the monastery one evening with Arnold, he felt a depression, weariness in his feet, and difficulty in breathing, which he attributed to the day’s exertions. In the night he was visited by unpleasant dreams. In one of these he fancied he was in a great crowd of men with gray, faded, sightless faces. As they pressed against him, his nearest neighbor pushed his elbow into his side causing such a stinging pain that he awoke. His heart was beating violently. There was a ringing in his ears, severe pain in his limbs, and his whole body seemed on fire. He placed his hand upon the stinging spot—there was a great swelling! Father Vincentius was not alarmed. “The Lord calls me,” he murmured, and clasped his hands in prayer. When Arnold entered his cell the next morning and found him in bed, he recognized the signs of the disease the instant he saw him. He knew, as well as any physician, the remedies which should be given and he applied them all. With quiet resignation the monk awaited dissolution; but as the disease was making rapid progress, it became necessary for him to speak at once so that he should be clearly understood. “Praised be the Lord for his justice! Praised be the Lord in healing as in death,” he said to himself. Then, turning to Arnold, he continued: “Many are called, but few are chosen. God has sent the Black Death to mankind to reserve a chosen few among its survivors who shall grow better by sorrow and nobler by gratitude, and find to their great joy what an inestimable boon life is. Devote it to good works and offer them to Him. You have learned this, my son. You have accomplished it. May God graciously guide you with His strong hand through these troubles, so that the lofty purpose and noble courage which you have displayed so splendidly in this narrow sphere of action may be devoted hereafter to the welfare of your fatherland. It needs just such men as you have already shown yourself to be.” Father Vincentius then gave Arnold his blessing and asked for the last sacrament which was administered by one of the brothers of the order. Toward evening his sufferings ended, and that night the stars shone upon his grave, where Arnold lamented the last dear friend he had. But he must live on. So he still breathed the tainted air, still waited upon the sick, still placed the dead in their coffins; but the plague did not attack him. None of the brothers except his uncle and Father Vincentius died, but five students fell victims, and one hundred and sixty nuns were carried from the women’s cloisters to the grave in four months. One day a young wanderer called at the monastery and begged for breakfast and a little money. It was Florian HÄbli, Arnold’s old-time playmate. His father, mother, and sisters had perished, and the orphan was forced out into the world to look out for himself. We have not yet reached the close of these terrible scenes. As if victims of the plague itself were too few, the despised and hated Jews, who lived near the Christians in the large cities, were accused by superstitious persons of poisoning the water in order to spread the plague and exterminate their enemies. These accusations were all the more readily believed when it was noticed that the Jews abstained from water and were less liable to take the disease than the Christians. It mattered not to their accusers that it was the Jews’ foresight which led them to avoid drinking water and that their greater moderation in living helped to protect them. And yet so many Jews died in Goslar and Vienna that their burial places were insufficient, and in cities like Leipsic and Magdeburg where no Jews resided the plague was as fatal as in other places. The popular clamor, however, increased. City authorities who harbored Jews were urged to adopt most cruel measures. The Jews were placed upon the rack and forced to confess crimes of which they were not guilty, and were banished from cities after their property had been confiscated. And this was not the worst. Every appeal of humanity was stifled by the unchristian and bitter hatred of the people. Only a few escaped with the penalty of exile and loss of property. Very many must have perished by fire. In almost all the Rhine cities and in some others also, not only in Germany but in neighboring countries, they were burned without trial or even examination. In utter despair they submitted to their terrible fate and even anticipated it. Six thousand Jews burned themselves in their own houses; and at Esslingen, Worms, and Speier they assembled in their synagogues and then fired them. Still the plague did not cease, and the people soon decided that it was not caused by human agencies. The conviction became universal that it was the divine penalty for the prevailing immorality. Reconciliation with God became the watchword. It must be secured by expiation. The better classes sought for it by adopting a pious course of life. Parents taught their children to pray and to submit to the divine will. Others sought to propitiate God with gifts to the Church. Many others believed that the sins of their past wanton lives could be atoned for by physical suffering only, and castigated themselves relentlessly. This gave rise to the brotherhood of the Flagellants. They increased by hundreds and thousands all over Germany, and each brotherhood had its own head and regulations. One of these marched behind a cross. A red cross was also fastened upon the cloak and the hat of each Flagellant, and at his side hung the scourge—a short stick, with three stout thongs tied at the ends in a hard knot, in which were inserted two sharp iron prongs set crosswise. When the procession approached any place several Flagellants with showy banners of costly purple velvet or embroidered silk, waxen tapers flickering among them, assembled behind the cross-bearer. The rest marched two by two, with hats pulled down and looking before them silently and sorrowfully. Singing expiatory songs, they entered the place, greeted and accompanied by the tolls of the church bells. Great crowds of serious-faced persons followed the strange procession to the church, where the Flagellants prostrated themselves several times before the altar. On the next morning they formed their procession in the same order as on the day before and, followed by all the people, marched to the place of scourging. There they took off their shoes and removed their outer garments, leaving the upper part of the body nude. Then they advanced in the shape of a wide cross and prostrated themselves. Each one announced the offence for which he desired to make expiation. The perjurers rested upon one side, with three fingers raised above the head; liars stretched their hands out before them; drunkards placed their hands upon their mouths. Those who were not guilty of any particular offence lay with their arms outstretched on the ground in the shape of a cross. Then the leader, or master, arose, made a short address, and struck each with the scourge. The brothers arose in turn and imitated the master. The best singers then advanced, and while they sang with subdued voices, the Flagellants lashed each other with the iron thongs until blood streamed down their backs. In the meantime the thousands of spectators stood in a profound silence, broken only by occasional sighs or loud weeping. Others imitated what they saw; and then followed the reading of a document which was said to be a direct message from God to sinful humanity. The Flagellants seldom left a place without gaining new members. A hundred of them went from Basle to Avignon and scourged themselves in the presence of the Pope. He did not believe, however, that God was pleased with such acts, and issued a bull forbidding Christians to perform flagellation in public, under penalty of excommunication. Neither Jewish persecutions nor flagellation were of any avail in checking the plague. It spread through the terrified world. A fourth part of the population of Europe perished. After it subsided, the old worldly pleasures were resumed above those countless graves; but there were many who, in those terrible years of trial, had returned to the divine allegiance, and who consecrated the precious gift of life to that exercise of Christian love which Father Vincentius, before his departure, characterized as the noblest fruit of the divine justice. |
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