_Everard T'Serclaes_
Chief among the giants who at this time were cleansing the Augean
stables of Brussels, building up her shattered bulwarks, promoting
harmony among their fellow-citizens, strangling discontent with good
government, and putting off revolution by reform, towers the figure of
Everard T'Serclaes, a head and shoulders above the rest of them. Everard
T'Serclaes, or in plain English Everard Nicholson--politician, patriot,
aristocrat, possessor of much gold and many acres, high in authority,
high in his Sovereign's favour, one whom the whole town spoke well of,
and, in spite of it all, an honest man. Born in the year 1315 or
thereabout of an old magisterial house famous in civic annals,
descended, probably in the female line, from the unknown founder of the
great clan in which his family had for generations been enrolled, the
clan called _S'Leeuws Geslachte_--that is, of the lion--so named from
the magnanimous beast displayed on the S'Leeuws escutcheon, from the
time when he reached man's estate Everard T'Serclaes had in all
probability busied himself, after the manner of his fellows, with civic
affairs; and yet for at least twenty years after this period his life is
a blank to us: of his childhood, his youth, his upbringing, we know
nothing; and even the date of his birth is matter of conjecture. This is
all the more remarkable from the fact that T'Serclaes did more for his
native town and his native land than any other man of his day, and was
deservedly the most popular Brussels hero of the Middle Age. He first
appears on the stage of history in 1356, when he must have already
reached middle life, and his coming was in this wise.
It was the time of the Flemish invasion. On the 17th of August 1356 the
Duke's forces had been utterly routed at Scheut, hard by Anderlecht; he
himself had fled the country; Louis of Maele had entered Brussels almost
without opposition, and his right to the duchy had been acknowledged by
every town in Brabant. 'Truly it was an admirable thing to behold so
sudden a metamorphosis: in two days the whole government had completely
changed its face.' Thus the contemporary chronicler Butkins, but in
reality the sympathies of the governing classes, had been from the first
with the Count of Flanders. They knew very well that Winceslaus hated
patricians, and they knew too that Louis in his own dominions was a
staunch supporter of aristocratic rule. Hence they regarded his triumph
as their own, and it was actually at their instigation that he had
assumed the title of Duke of Brabant.
Meanwhile Winceslaus was at Maestricht collecting forces, considering
invasion, and Louis's allies, Englebert de la Mark, Bishop of Liége, and
William, Count of Namur, were posted on the eastern frontier of his
former duchy ready to oppose him. Presently news unlooked for astounded
either camp--the standard of Brabant was once more floating over
Brussels, the Flemish garrison had been driven out; the feat had been
accomplished by a simple burgher, Everard T'Serclaes. It was the English
victory at Poitiers which made this achievement possible: the French
army had been cut to pieces, King John himself was a prisoner, and the
interests of Louis of Maele were one with the interests of France; hence
when the news reached him at Brussels he had at once set out for
Bruges, purposing from thence to proceed to Paris, where at the present
juncture he deemed his presence indispensable; and thus the field was
left clear for Everard's machinations. That wily burgher, now in exile
at Maestricht, had trusty friends in his native town, who kept him
constantly aware of all that was taking place, and by them he was at
once informed of the Flemish Count's departure. The time was ripe, it
seemed to him, for attempting something. A plan of action was arranged,
and presently he was nearing Brussels alone, through the forest of
Soignes, which at that time extended right up to the city. It was the
29th of October, and a black raw night had set in with drenching rain,
which showed no sign of abatement. So much the better, there was the
less chance of meeting wayfarers, and T'Serclaes was so well acquainted
with the country that darkness was no hindrance to him. Making for a
spot near his own dwelling,[14] where he knew the rampart was low and
unprotected by water, thither he stealthily came when the night was well
advanced, and without much difficulty effected an entrance. No one was
stirring, there was no sign of life, no sound but the cry of the wind
and the sullen drip of the rain--the city seemed wrapt in slumber; but
though comfortable burghers were snoring in bed, T'Serclaes had friends
expecting him, for the most part mere riff-raff who catered for the
wants of the masses--the keepers of small taverns and those who helped
them in their calling, tapsters, potmen, scullions, cooks, the offscum
of a great city, men who feared not a reckless venture, because they had
nothing to lose. Presently the signal agreed on broke the silence of the
night--'Brabant for the great Duke,' and almost before the echo had died
away Everard was leading a ragged army to the _Groote Markt_, where
soon the golden lion of Brabant was to take the place of the black lion
of Flanders. When the change had been duly effected and the Flemish
banner spat on, shredded, dragged in the mire, the crowd, which by this
time had assembled, sent up a great cheer for Everard T'Serclaes and the
flag of the fatherland; whereat the Flemish guard turned out to discover
the cause of the hubbub. Only half awake, deafened by fierce oaths,
scared by angry faces, it seemed to them that a haunted town was peopled
by a legion of furies. Like men in a dream they tried to run, but their
feet were glued to the pavement, and before they had time to wonder at
it they were cut down. Some by a mighty effort compelled their limbs to
flight, but it availed them nothing--they were stabbed from behind. A
few by rare good fortune got free of the market unobserved, and if they
had kept cool these men might perhaps have escaped, but that night the
town was enchanted, and fleeing from phantom pursuers they leapt on the
swords of foes in the flesh, or hurled themselves over ramparts and so
dashed out their lives, or trapped in a net of byways at last took some
specious turning which led them back to the shambles. Death in some
shape was the lot of all, and for the most part they made no resistance,
but a handful stood shoulder to shoulder and sold their lives dearly.
That was practically the end of Flemish domination in Brabant. Within
the next few days every town in the duchy, save Mechlin, had followed
the example of Brussels, and before the close of the Octave of All
Saints Winceslaus was back in his domains.
[14] T'Serclaes' house was at the end of what was then an _impasse_,
called the Eetengat, now the _rue de Berlaimont_ (_see_ Map).
Local historians are often wont to emphasise this little war, which
bears witness, so they say, to the patriotism and chivalry of their
forebears; but were the men who drove out the Flemings wholly inspired
by love of country and loyalty to their Duke? The facts of the case, we
venture to think, suggest an answer in the negative. The patricians, of
course, had taken no part in ousting the Flemish garrison, but when
their allies at Brussels were being cut to pieces they seem to have made
no effort to help them. No doubt they deemed it a wiser, safer and more
comfortable policy to remain in bed and await the issue of events. Not
that they were devoid of courage: when there was anything to be gained
by drawing the sword they were never loth to do battle, but as practical
business men it was not their wont to embark in any undertaking likely
to end in disaster, and on the night of the massacre at Brussels they
knew very well that no help which they could have given would have saved
their friends from destruction. As for the plebeians, their action was
probably inspired by mixed motives--a little hysterical patriotism,
caught perhaps from T'Serclaes, a little liking for Duke Winceslaus, due
chiefly to the fact that he was the enemy of their enemies the
patricians, and a very large measure of hope that somehow or other the
issue would be to their advantage. Nor in this were they deceived. They
presently obtained the boon they most coveted--municipal representation.
And T'Serclaes, too, had his reward--a knighthood, and until the day of
his death what all men love, popularity.
That the Saviour of Brussels, as he was henceforth called, should have
been esteemed at Court is sufficiently comprehensible: he had
re-established the Duke on his throne; that he should have been the idol
of the people was natural enough: through him they had reached the goal
of their ambition; but that he should presently have been able to gain
the goodwill of the very men whose hopes he had shattered, and whose
privileges he had taken away, is a matter past comprehension, yet such
was undoubtedly the case: he was premier alderman in 1365, and again in
1372, and at this time, be it born in mind, the old order of things
having been re-established, the outgoing aldermen named their
successors; after the reform of 1375, when the magistracy became
elective, and all kinds of precautions were taken against corruption,
and with a view to securing the best possible candidates, he still
retained the confidence of the patricians, who named him premier
alderman in 1377, and also in 1382; in 1375 he had represented the
patricians of Brussels at the National Assembly of Braine-l'Alleud,
summoned at the instance of the Bishop of Liége to put an end to sundry
disputes between Winceslaus and his subjects, which were threatening
civil war; on September 28, 1386, in spite of his seventy years, he led
the men of Brussels to the siege of Gavres, outcome of a frontier
trouble with Duke Henry of Gelderland; and, notwithstanding the
disastrous issue of that campaign, he still retained the confidence of
the patricians, who in 1387 again named him chief magistrate. It was the
last time--before his year of office was out he came to a violent end.
It happened thus. Sweder Van Apcoude, Lord of Gaesbeke, the last of the
barons of Brabant who exercised sovereign sway and regarded themselves
as the equals of the chiefs to whom they owed allegiance, traced his
descent through his mother, Jeanne of Homes, to Godfrey first Lord of
Gaesbeke, a younger son of Duke Henry the Warrior. Like many other peers
of Brabant, Sweder was a citizen of Brussels, and as such, when his
mother died, and his uncles disputed his succession, he had summoned
them before the College of Aldermen, who, to their cost, had decided in
his favour. From his father, a Dutch knight, and one of the mightiest
vassals of the Bishop of Utrecht, he had inherited a large estate in
Holland, which he had exchanged with his brother Giselbert for the
barony of Aa, an extensive domain adjoining his own maternal heritage,
and he thus became lord of a vast and undivided territory, which
embraced two hundred manors, and extended from the walls of Ninove
well-nigh to the gates of Brussels. Sweder was a baron of the old
school, impetuous, violent, bold, within his borders his will was law,
and, if need be, he could call to his flag three thousand men-at-arms.
Such was the social rank and such were the resources of the man whom the
city fathers had made their near neighbour, and when it was too late
they regretted it. For Sweder, not content with his own, set covetous
eyes on the lordship of Rhodes, a strip of Crown land which separated
their territory from his, and which, from time immemorial, had been
submitted to their jurisdiction. Duchess Jeanne, who was now a widow,
was heavily in his debt, and presently he approached her with offers to
purchase the freehold, which she was not loath to agree to. Whereat, in
Brussels, consternation and a stormy meeting in the Town Hall. 'If this
iniquitous bargain were struck, trade, industry, order, right, the very
existence of the city itself would be thereby threatened; nor had Jeanne
any right to sell. Was she not debarred by her _Blyde Incomst_ from
alienating an inch of the Crown demesne? Even to think of such a thing
was an insult to the dignity of Brussels. Let someone explain all this
to the Duchess--Myn Here T'Serclaes; she would listen to him, an old and
trusted friend.' He did so; Jeanne hearkened; and then it was Sweder's
turn to gnash his teeth. The news reached him whilst he was at supper in
the great hall of Gaesbeke Castle along with his wife, Anne of Linange,
and two servants, William of Cleves, his natural son, and his chief
steward, Melis Uytten-Enge; and when these men witnessed the
_chatelaine's_ wrath and heard Sweder's oath of vengeance they secretly
resolved to make themselves the instruments of its fulfilment.
Soon their opportunity came. On the morning of Holy Thursday, March 26,
Everard T'Serclaes rode out on his mule from Brussels to Lennick, a
small village not a stone's throw from Gaesbeke Castle. The old man
seemingly had no thought of danger, for he was unattended. During his
stay at Lennick nothing occurred to arouse suspicion, and having
transacted the business which called him there, he set out alone on the
return journey early in the afternoon, riding at a foot's pace. Hardly
had he left the village when two men, who had been hiding behind a
hedge, suddenly sprang out at him, dragged him from his saddle,
mutilated him terribly--slashed him with swords, tore out his tongue,
cut off his right foot, and left him by the roadside weltering in blood,
as they thought in his last agony. William of Cleves and Uytten-Enge had
made their resolution good.
Some country folk had witnessed the outrage, but they were too much in
awe of the tyrant of Gaesbeke to offer his victim help, and the 'Saviour
of Brussels' would have been left to die like a dog in the ditch had it
not been for the chance arrival of an old friend--Jan van Stalle, Dean
of the great collegiate Church of Saint Mary at Hal, who happened to be
driving to town that day with his secretary, Jan Coreman. These men
having bound up Everard's wounds and placed him in their chariot, set
out for Brussels at full speed, and arrived there about half-past three
in the afternoon.
When the passers-by saw the poor mangled body they were beside
themselves with grief and indignation. The news spread like wildfire,
and soon reached the Duchess, who, in spite of the mob and her advanced
age, at once set out for the Town Hall,[15] where T'Serclaes was now
writhing under the hands of surgeons. She would fain have learned
particulars, but her old friend did not even recognise her. In vain she
essayed to rouse him. Deaf, blind, speechless, he was more dead than
alive.
[15] _See_ p. 315.
Presently she came forth into the hum and roar of the market, where an
expectant crowd was awaiting her with ears itching for news and throats
thundering vengeance. What could she tell these fierce men? how should
she soothe their anger? The liberator was not dead, that was something.
She would discover the authors of the crime and bring them to justice,
they might take her word for it, but they must give her time for
inquiry, they must have a little patience. Thus the Duchess. But the
people refused to hear--they knew very well who had done the deed, and
insisted on instant action; and by five o'clock, with Jeanne's assent,
the civic guard had set out for Sweder's castle.
Too late to commence operations that night, the little band made camp at
Vlesembeke, midway between Gaesbeke and Brussels, and consoled
themselves by dreaming of the great things they would do on the morrow.
But the morrow brought forth disappointment: Sweder, under cover of
darkness, had made good his escape, and the assassins had fled with him.
Anne was indeed at Gaesbeke, but she was wholly beyond their reach: her
fortress, strongly garrisoned and well-stocked with supplies, was said
to be impregnable, and, worst of all, one of their own brethren was her
Commander-in-Chief, citizen Jan Van Hellebeke. How could a handful of
burghers drag this she-wolf from her lair? The thing was not to be
expected. What could they do but fire the hovels of Sweder's tenants and
whimper to Duchess Jeanne. Nor was she deaf to their prayers. Soon they
descried in the distance the shimmer of burnished mail drawing nearer
and nearer to camp. It was the Lord High Seneschal of Brabant with his
knights and men-at-arms, and in the midst of them was the ducal banner,
borne aloft by the monks of Afflighem.[16] Nor was this all. The next
few days brought help from every town in Brabant, feudal lords
unsheathed their steel and shouted vengeance, the enthusiasm was
universal--the enemy of Everard T'Serclaes was the common foe of the
nation, and soon Sweder's stronghold was beleaguered by a mighty host.
[16] The ducal banner, which displayed on one side the Lion of Brabant
and on the other Our Lady, was laid up in the Abbey of Afflighem, hard
by Alost. This great benedictine house was the richest and most
privileged in the Duchy. Its abbot had the right to wear episcopal
robes, and he took precedence of all other ecclesiastics in the Estates
of Brabant. Founded in 1080, it was demolished by the French
revolutionists towards the close of the seventeen hundreds. Some
vestiges of the church and cloistral buildings still remain.
Presently news came that his victim was dead. Better so. From the first
there was no hope of saving him, and his poor broken body had been
racked for ten days. They laid him to rest in the old church at Ternath,
a stone's throw from the beautiful home which he had purchased two years
before from the Lord of Westmaele, and where to this day each year as
the anniversary of his death comes round there is still chanted for the
repose of his soul a Mass of Requiem.
Shortly before Everard's death his nephew, Jan T'Serclaes had been
chosen to take his place in the College of Aldermen. 'Juravit ante
castrum de Gazebeke,' runs the brief note appended to his name in a
contemporary list of city magistrates. This man, then, was in camp at
the time of his election, and there, at the foot of the murderer's
castle--that castle whose very existence was a menace to civic freedom,
he had taken the oath which every magistrate was bound to take on
assuming office, solemnly pledging himself to administer justice with
an even hand, and to preserve inviolate the rights of the city. The
scene was doubtless an impressive one, but many who witnessed it must
have had grave doubts as to whether Jan would be able to make good his
words, for things were not going well with the assailants, as yet they
had made no progress. Days turned into weeks and still the towers of
Gaesbeke frowned defiance. The situation was growing critical. Sweder
was collecting troops at Diest. The truce with Henry of Gelderland had
all but expired. What if these two should join hands? The plan of
campaign must be changed or the outcome would be disaster. Presently the
plan of campaign was changed, and this is what happened.
[Illustration: THE OLD CASTLE OF EVERARD T'SERCLAES AT TERNATH.]
The men of Louvain did what they always did in times of stress: they
turned devout--wearied heaven with prayer, bare-headed and unshod
followed the _Crom Cruys_[17] through the streets of their city
chanting litanies, and then they sent word to their friends in the field
to stand fast; the Duchess tried diplomacy, she would fain have
convinced Anne of Linange that it was worth her while to capitulate; and
the allies brought miners from Liége to solve the problem with
gunpowder. Whereat, but not until operations had actually commenced, the
Lady of Gaesbeke changed her tactics. She proposed a compromise. If only
her life and the lives of her people were spared they might do what they
would with her castle. The terms were accepted. On the morning of the
30th of April the murderess came forth, and along with the brave men who
had protected her, set out for Hainault, and by sundown all that
remained of Gaesbeke Castle were smouldering embers and tottering walls.
[17] _See_ p. 299.
A year later Sweder and his wife were reinstated in their possessions,
after having made solemn declaration not only in their own names, but in
the names of their descendants, their relatives, their friends, their
adherents, that they were wholly reconciled with the Duchess, the Barons
and the good towns of Brabant, and had bound themselves by oath not to
claim any damages for the losses which they had sustained, nor to in any
way molest those of their vassals who had taken up arms against them.
As for the traitor Hellebeke, his life was spared in accordance with the
terms of surrender, but he had sinned too deeply to hope for
forgiveness, albeit for some reason or other his punishment was reserved
until two years afterward. On the 2nd of June 1391 he was formally
declared an enemy of the State and to have forfeited all his civic
rights. 'And such henceforth shall be the lot of any man,' runs the
sentence of his degradation still preserved amongst the archives of
Brussels, 'who shall take sides with the foes of the city.'