And is the hostile troop arrived,
And have they won the day?
It must have been a bloody field
Ere Darwent fled away!
_The Ettrick Shepherd._
Sleep did not close the eyes of the Earl of Oxford or his son; for
although the success or defeat of the Duke of Burgundy could not now
be of importance to their own private or political affairs, yet the
father did not cease to interest himself in the fate of his former
companion-in-arms; and the son, with the fire of youth, always eager
after novelty,[12] expected to find something to advance or thwart his
own progress in every remarkable event which agitated the world.
Arthur had risen from his bed, and was in the act of attiring himself,
when the tread of a horse arrested his attention. He had no sooner
looked out of the window, than, exclaiming, "News, my father, news
from the army!" he rushed into the street, where a cavalier, who
appeared to have ridden very hard, was inquiring for the two
Philipsons, father and son. He had no difficulty in recognising
Colvin, the master of the Burgundian ordnance. His ghastly look
bespoke distress of mind; his disordered array and broken armour,
which seemed rusted with rain or stained with blood, gave the
intelligence of some affray in which he had probably been worsted; and
so exhausted was his gallant steed, that it was with difficulty the
animal could stand upright. The condition of the rider was not much
better. When he alighted from his horse to greet Arthur, he reeled so
much that he would have fallen without instant support. His horny eye
had lost the power of speculation; his limbs possessed imperfectly
that of motion, and it was with a half-suffocated voice that he
muttered, "Only fatigue--want of rest and of food."
Arthur assisted him into the house, and refreshments were procured;
but he refused all except a bowl of wine, after tasting which he set
it down, and, looking at the Earl of Oxford with an eye of the deepest
affliction, he ejaculated, "The Duke of Burgundy!"
"Slain?" replied the Earl. "I trust not!"
"It might have been better if he were," said the Englishman; "but
dishonour has come before death."
"Defeated, then?" said Oxford.
"So completely and fearfully defeated," answered the soldier, "that
all that I have seen of loss before was slight in comparison."
"But how, or where?" said the Earl of Oxford. "You were superior in
numbers, as we were informed."
"Two to one at least," answered Colvin; "and when I speak of our
encounter at this moment, I could rend my flesh with my teeth for
being here to tell such a tale of shame. We had sat down for about a
week before that paltry town of Murten, or Morat, or whatever it is
called. The governor, one of those stubborn mountain bears of Berne,
bade us defiance. He would not even condescend to shut his gates, but,
when we summoned the town, returned for answer, we might enter if we
pleased,--we should be suitably received. I would have tried to bring
him to reason by a salvo or two of artillery, but the Duke was too
much irritated to listen to good counsel. Stimulated by that black
traitor, Campo-basso, he deemed it better to run forward with his
whole force upon a place which, though I could soon have battered it
about their German ears, was yet too strong to be carried by swords,
lances, and hagbuts. We were beaten off with great loss, and much
discouragement to the soldiers. We then commenced more regularly, and
my batteries would have brought these mad Switzers to their senses.
Walls and ramparts went down before the lusty cannoneers of Burgundy;
we were well secured also by intrenchments against those whom we heard
of as approaching to raise the siege. But, on the evening of the
twentieth of this month, we learned that they were close at hand, and
Charles, consulting only his own bold spirit, advanced to meet them,
relinquishing the advantage of our batteries and strong position. By
his orders, though against my own judgment, I accompanied him with
twenty good pieces, and the flower of my people. We broke up on the
next morning, and had not advanced far before we saw the lances and
thick array of halberds and two-handed swords which crested the
mountain. Heaven, too, added its terrors--a thunderstorm, with all the
fury of those tempestuous climates, descended on both armies, but did
most annoyance to ours, as our troops, especially the Italians, were
more sensible to the torrents of rain which poured down, and the
rivulets which, swelled into torrents, inundated and disordered our
position. The Duke for once saw it necessary to alter his purpose of
instant battle. He rode up to me, and directed me to defend with the
cannon the retreat which he was about to commence, adding that he
himself would in person sustain me with the men-at-arms. The order was
given to retreat. But the movement gave new spirit to an enemy already
sufficiently audacious. The ranks of the Swiss instantly prostrated
themselves in prayer--a practice on the field of battle which I have
ridiculed--but I will do so no more. When, after five minutes, they
sprang again on their feet, and began to advance rapidly, sounding
their horns and crying their war-cries with all their usual
ferocity--behold, my lord, the clouds of heaven opened, shedding on
the Confederates the blessed light of the returning sun, while our
ranks were still in the gloom of the tempest. My men were discouraged.
The host behind them was retreating; the sudden light thrown on the
advancing Switzers showed along the mountains a profusion of banners,
a glancing of arms, giving to the enemy the appearance of double the
numbers that had hitherto been visible to us. I exhorted my followers
to stand fast, but in doing so I thought a thought, and spoke a word,
which was a grievous sin. 'Stand fast, my brave cannoneers!' I said.
'We will presently let them hear louder thunders, and show them more
fatal lightnings, than their prayers have put down!' My men shouted.
But it was an impious thought, a blasphemous speech, and evil came
after it. We levelled our guns on the advancing masses as fairly as
cannon were ever pointed--I can vouch it, for I laid the Grand Duchess
of Burgundy myself--Ah, poor Duchess! what rude hands manage thee
now!--The volley was fired, and, ere the smoke spread from the
muzzles, I could see many a man and many a banner go down. It was
natural to think such a discharge should have checked the attack, and
whilst the smoke hid the enemy from us I made every effort again to
load our cannon, and anxiously endeavoured to look through the mist to
discover the state of our opponents. But ere our smoke was cleared
away, or the cannon again loaded, they came headlong down on us, horse
and foot, old men and boys, men-at-arms and varlets, charging up to
the muzzle of the guns, and over them, with total disregard to their
lives. My brave fellows were cut down, pierced through, and overrun,
while they were again loading their pieces, nor do I believe that a
single cannon was fired a second time."
"And the Duke?" said the Earl of Oxford. "Did he not support you?"
"Most loyally and bravely," answered Colvin, "with his own bodyguard
of Walloons and Burgundians. But a thousand Italian mercenaries went
off, and never showed face again. The pass, too, was cumbered with the
artillery, and in itself narrow, bordering on mountains and cliffs, a
deep lake close beside. In short, it was a place totally unfit for
horsemen to act in. In spite of the Duke's utmost exertions, and those
of the gallant Flemings who fought around him, all were borne back in
complete disorder. I was on foot, fighting as I could, without hopes
of my life, or indeed thoughts of saving it, when I saw the guns taken
and my faithful cannoneers slain. But I saw Duke Charles hard pressed,
and took my horse from my page that held him--Thou, too, art lost, my
poor orphan boy!--I could only aid Monseigneur de la Croye and others
to extricate the Duke. Our retreat became a total rout, and when we
reached our rearguard, which we had left strongly encamped, the
banners of the Switzers were waving on our batteries, for a large
division had made a circuit through mountain passes known only to
themselves, and attacked our camp, vigorously seconded by that
accursed Adrian de Bubenburg, who sallied from the beleaguered town,
so that our intrenchments were stormed on both sides at once.--I have
more to say, but having ridden day and night to bring you these evil
tidings, my tongue clings to the roof of my mouth, and I feel that I
can speak no more. The rest is all flight and massacre, disgraceful to
every soldier that shared in it. For my part, I confess my
contumelious self-confidence and insolence to man, as well as
blasphemy to Heaven. If I live, it is but to hide my disgraced head in
a cowl, and expiate the numerous sins of a licentious life."
With difficulty the broken-minded soldier was prevailed upon to take
some nourishment and repose, together with an opiate, which was
prescribed by the physician of King René, who recommended it as
necessary to preserve even the reason of his patient, exhausted by the
events of the battle, and subsequent fatigue.
The Earl of Oxford, dismissing other assistance, watched alternately
with his son at Colvin's bedside. Notwithstanding the draught that
had been administered, his repose was far from sound. Sudden starts,
the perspiration which started from his brow, the distortions of his
countenance, and the manner in which he clenched his fists and flung
about his limbs, showed that in his dreams he was again encountering
the terrors of a desperate and forlorn combat. This lasted for several
hours; but about noon fatigue and medicine prevailed over nervous
excitation, and the defeated commander fell into a deep and untroubled
repose till evening. About sunset he awakened, and, after learning
with whom and where he was, he partook of refreshments, and, without
any apparent consciousness of having told them before, detailed once
more all the particulars of the battle of Murten.
"It were little wide of truth," he said, "to calculate that one half
of the Duke's army fell by the sword, or were driven into the lake.
Those who escaped are great part of them scattered, never again to
unite. Such a desperate and irretrievable rout was never witnessed. We
fled like deer, sheep, or any other timid animals, which only remain
in company because they are afraid to separate, but never think of
order or of defence."
"And the Duke?" said the Earl of Oxford.
"We hurried him with us," said the soldier, "rather from instinct than
loyalty, as men flying from a conflagration snatch up what they have
of value, without knowing what they are doing. Knight and knave,
officer and soldier, fled in the same panic, and each blast of the
horn of Uri in our rear added new wings to our flight."
"And the Duke?" repeated Oxford.
"At first he resisted our efforts, and strove to turn back on the foe;
but when the flight became general he galloped along with us, without
a word spoken or a command issued. At first we thought his silence and
passiveness, so unusual in a temper so fiery, were fortunate for
securing his personal safety. But when we rode the whole day, without
being able to obtain a word of reply to all our questions,--when he
sternly refused refreshments of every kind, though he had tasted no
food all that disastrous day,--when every variation of his moody and
uncertain temper was sunk into silent and sullen despair, we took
counsel what was to be done, and it was by the general voice that I
was despatched to entreat that you, for whose counsels alone Charles
has been known to have had some occasional deference, would come
instantly to his place of retreat, and exert all your influence to
awaken him from this lethargy, which may otherwise terminate his
existence."
"And what remedy can I interpose?" said Oxford. "You know how he
neglected my advice, when following it might have served my interest
as well as his own. You are aware that my life was not safe among the
miscreants that surrounded the Duke, and exercised influence over
him."
"Most true," answered Colvin; "but I also know he is your ancient
companion-in-arms, and it would ill become me to teach the noble Earl
of Oxford what the laws of chivalry require. For your lordship's
safety, every honest man in the army will give willing security."
"It is for that I care least," said Oxford, indifferently; "and if
indeed my presence can be of service to the Duke,--if I could believe
that he desired it"----
"He does--he does, my lord!" said the faithful soldier, with tears in
his eyes. "We heard him name your name, as if the words escaped him in
a painful dream."
"I will go to him, such being the case," said Oxford.--"I will go
instantly. Where did he purpose to establish his headquarters?"
"He had fixed nothing for himself on that or other matters; but
Monsieur de Contay named La Rivière, near Salins, in Upper Burgundy,
as the place of his retreat."
"Thither, then, will we, my son, with all haste of preparation. Thou,
Colvin, hadst better remain here, and see some holy man, to be
assoilzied for thy hasty speech on the battle-field of Morat. There
was offence in it without doubt, but it will be ill atoned for by
quitting a generous master when he hath most need of your good
service; and it is but an act of cowardice to retreat into the
cloister, till we have no longer active duties to perform in this
world."
"It is true," said Colvin, "that should I leave the Duke now, perhaps
not a man would stay behind that could stell a cannon properly. The
sight of your lordship cannot but operate favourably on my noble
master, since it has waked the old soldier in myself. If your lordship
can delay your journey till to-morrow, I will have my spiritual
affairs settled, and my bodily health sufficiently restored, to be
your guide to La Rivière; and, for the cloister, I will think of it
when I have regained the good name which I have lost at Murten. But I
will have masses said, and these right powerful, for the souls of my
poor cannoneers."
The proposal of Colvin was adopted, and Oxford, with his son, attended
by Thiebault, spent the day in preparation, excepting the time
necessary to take formal leave of King René, who seemed to part with
them with regret. In company with the ordnance officer of the
discomfited Duke, they traversed those parts of Provence, Dauphiné,
and Franche Compté which lie between Aix and the place to which the
Duke of Burgundy had retreated; but the distance and inconvenience of
so long a route consumed more than a fortnight on the road, and the
month of July 1476 was commenced when the travellers arrived in Upper
Burgundy, and at the Castle of La Rivière, about twenty miles to the
south of the town of Salins. The castle, which was but of small size,
was surrounded by very many tents, which were pitched in a crowded,
disordered, and unsoldierlike manner, very unlike the discipline
usually observed in the camp of Charles the Bold. That the Duke was
present there, however, was attested by his broad banner, which, rich
with all its quarterings, streamed from the battlements of the castle.
The guard turned out to receive the strangers, but in a manner so
disorderly that the Earl looked to Colvin for explanation. The master
of the ordnance shrugged up his shoulders, and was silent.
Colvin having sent in notice of his arrival, and that of the English
Earl, Monsieur de Contay caused them presently to be admitted, and
expressed much joy at their arrival.
"A few of us," he said, "true servants of the Duke, are holding
council here, at which your assistance, my noble Lord of Oxford, will
be of the utmost importance. Messieurs De la Croye, De Craon,
Rubempré, and others, nobles of Burgundy, are now assembled to
superintend the defence of the country at this exigence."
They all expressed delight to see the Earl of Oxford, and had only
abstained from thrusting their attentions on him the last time he was
in the Duke's camp, as they understood it was his wish to observe
incognito.
"His Grace," said De Craon, "has asked after you twice, and on both
times by your assumed name of Philipson."
"I wonder not at that, my Lord of Craon," replied the English
nobleman. "The origin of the name took its rise in former days, when I
was here during my first exile. It was then said that we poor
Lancastrian nobles must assume other names than our own, and the good
Duke Philip said, as I was brother-in-arms to his son Charles, I must
be called after himself, by the name of Philipson. In memory of the
good sovereign, I took that name when the day of need actually
arrived, and I see that the Duke thinks of our early intimacy by his
distinguishing me so.--How fares his Grace?"
The Burgundians looked at each other, and there was a pause.
"Even like a man stunned, brave Oxford," at length De Contay replied.
"Sieur d'Argentin, you can best inform the noble Earl of the condition
of our sovereign."
"He is like a man distracted," said the future historian of that busy
period. "After the battle of Granson, he was never, to my thinking, of
the same sound judgment as before. But then, he was capricious,
unreasonable, peremptory, and inconsistent, and resented every counsel
that was offered, as if it had been meant in insult; was jealous of
the least trespass in point of ceremonial, as if his subjects were
holding him in contempt. Now there is a total change, as if this
second blow had stunned him, and suppressed the violent passions which
the first called into action. He is silent as a Carthusian, solitary
as a hermit, expresses interest in nothing, least of all in the
guidance of his army. He was, you know, anxious about his dress, so
much so that there was some affectation even in the rudenesses which
he practised in that matter. But, woe's me, you will see a change now;
he will not suffer his hair or nails to be trimmed or arranged. He is
totally heedless of respect or disrespect towards him, takes little or
no nourishment, uses strong wines, which, however, do not seem to
affect his understanding; he will hear nothing of war or state
affairs, as little of hunting or of sport. Suppose an anchorite
brought from a cell to govern a kingdom, you see in him, except in
point of devotion, a picture of the fiery, active Charles of
Burgundy."
"You speak of a mind deeply wounded, Sieur d'Argentin," replied the
Englishman. "Think you it fit I should present myself before the
Duke?"
"I will inquire," said Contay; and, leaving the apartment, returned
presently, and made a sign to the Earl to follow him.
In a cabinet, or closet, the unfortunate Charles reclined in a large
arm-chair, his legs carelessly stretched on a footstool, but so
changed that the Earl of Oxford could have believed what he saw to be
the ghost of the once fiery Duke. Indeed, the shaggy length of hair
which, streaming from his head, mingled with his beard; the hollowness
of the caverns, at the bottom of which rolled his wild eyes; the
falling in of the breast, and the advance of the shoulders, gave the
ghastly appearance of one who has suffered the final agony which takes
from mortality the signs of life and energy. His very costume (a cloak
flung loosely over him) increased his resemblance to a shrouded
phantom. De Contay named the Earl of Oxford; but the Duke gazed on him
with a lustreless eye, and gave him no answer.
"Speak to him, brave Oxford," said the Burgundian in a whisper; "he is
even worse than usual, but perhaps he may know your voice."
Never, when the Duke of Burgundy was in the most palmy state of his
fortunes, did the noble Englishman kneel to kiss his hand with such
sincere reverence. He respected in him, not only the afflicted friend,
but the humbled sovereign, upon whose tower of trust the lightning had
so recently broken. It was probably the falling of a tear upon his
hand which seemed to awake the Duke's attention, for he looked towards
the Earl, and said, "Oxford--Philipson--my old--my only friend, hast
thou found me out in this retreat of shame and misery?"
"I am not your only friend, my lord," said Oxford. "Heaven has given
you many affectionate friends among your natural and loyal subjects.
But though a stranger, and saving the allegiance I owe to my lawful
sovereign, I will yield to none of them in the respect and deference
which I have paid to your Grace in prosperity, and now come to render
to you in adversity."
"Adversity indeed!" said the Duke; "irremediable, intolerable
adversity! I was lately Charles of Burgundy, called the Bold--now am I
twice beaten by a scum of German peasants; my standard taken, my
men-at-arms put to flight, my camp twice plundered, and each time of
value more than equal to the price of all Switzerland fairly lost;
myself hunted like a caitiff goat or chamois--The utmost spite of hell
could never accumulate more shame on the head of a sovereign!"
"On the contrary, my lord," said Oxford, "it is a trial of Heaven,
which calls for patience and strength of mind. The bravest and best
knight may lose the saddle; he is but a laggard who lies rolling on
the sand of the lists after the accident has chanced."
"Ha, laggard, say'st thou?" said the Duke, some part of his ancient
spirit awakened by the broad taunt. "Leave my presence, sir, and
return to it no more, till you are summoned thither"----
"Which I trust will be no later than your Grace quits your dishabille,
and disposes yourself to see your vassals and friends with such
ceremony as befits you and them," said the Earl composedly.
"How mean you by that, Sir Earl? You are unmannerly."
"If I be, my lord, I am taught my ill-breeding by circumstances. I can
mourn over fallen dignity; but I cannot honour him who dishonours
himself, by bending, like a regardless boy, beneath the scourge of
evil fortune."
"And who am I that you should term me such?" said Charles, starting up
in all his natural pride and ferocity; "or who are you but a
miserable exile, that you should break in upon my privacy with such
disrespectful upbraiding?"
"For me," replied Oxford, "I am, as you say, an unrespected exile; nor
am I ashamed of my condition, since unshaken loyalty to my King and
his successors has brought me to it. But in you, can I recognise the
Duke of Burgundy in a sullen hermit, whose guards are a disorderly
soldiery, dreadful only to their friends; whose councils are in
confusion for want of their sovereign, and who himself lurks like a
lamed wolf in its den, in an obscure castle, waiting but a blast of
the Switzer's horn to fling open its gates, which there are none to
defend; who wears not a knightly sword to protect his person, and
cannot even die like a stag at bay, but must be worried like a hunted
fox?"
"Death and hell, slanderous traitor!" thundered the Duke, glancing a
look at his side, and perceiving himself without a weapon.--"It is
well for thee I have no sword, or thou shouldst never boast of thine
insolence going unpunished.--Contay, step forth like a good knight,
and confute the calumniator. Say, are not my soldiers arrayed,
disciplined, and in order?"
"My lord," said Contay, trembling (brave as he was in battle) at the
frantic rage which Charles exhibited, "there are a numerous soldiery
yet under your command, but they are in evil order, and in worse
discipline, I think, than they were wont."
"I see it--I see it," said the Duke; "idle and evil counsellors are ye
all.--Hearken, Sir of Contay, what have you and the rest of you been
doing, holding as you do large lands and high fiefs of us, that I
cannot stretch my limbs on a sick-bed, when my heart is half broken,
but my troops must fall into such scandalous disorder as exposes me to
the scorn and reproach of each beggarly foreigner?"
"My lord," replied Contay, more firmly, "we have done what we could.
But your Grace has accustomed your mercenary generals, and leaders of
Free Companies, to take their orders only from your own mouth, or
hand. They clamour also for pay, and the treasurer refuses to issue it
without your Grace's order, as he alleges it might cost him his head;
and they will not be guided and restrained, either by us or those who
compose your council."
The Duke laughed sternly, but was evidently somewhat pleased with the
reply.
"Ha, ha!" he said, "it is only Burgundy who can ride his own wild
horses, and rule his own wild soldiery. Hark thee, Contay--To-morrow I
ride forth to review the troops--for what disorder has passed,
allowance shall be made. Pay also shall be issued--but woe to those
who shall have offended too deeply! Let my grooms of the chamber know
to provide me fitting dress and arms. I have got a lesson" (glancing a
dark look at Oxford), "and I will not again be insulted without the
means of wreaking my vengeance. Begone, both of you! And, Contay, send
the treasurer hither with his accounts, and woe to his soul if I find
aught to complain of! Begone, I say, and send him hither."
They left the apartment with suitable obeisance. As they retired, the
Duke said abruptly, "Lord of Oxford, a word with you. Where did you
study medicine? In your own famed university, I suppose. Thy physic
hath wrought a wonder. Yet, Doctor Philipson, it might have cost thee
thy life."
"I have ever thought my life cheap," said Oxford, "when the object was
to help my friend."
"Thou art indeed a friend," said Charles, "and a fearless one. But
go--I have been sore troubled, and thou hast tasked my temper closely.
To-morrow we will speak further; meantime, I forgive thee, and I
honour thee."
The Earl of Oxford retired to the council-hall, where the Burgundian
nobility, aware of what had passed, crowded around him with thanks,
compliments, and congratulations. A general bustle now ensued; orders
were hurried off in every direction. Those officers who had duties to
perform which had been neglected, hastened to conceal or to atone for
their negligence. There was a general tumult in the camp, but it was a
tumult of joy; for soldiers are always most pleased when they are best
in order for performing their military service; and licence or
inactivity, however acceptable at times, are not, when continued, so
agreeable to their nature, as strict discipline and a prospect of
employment.
The treasurer, who was, luckily for him, a man of sense and method,
having been two hours in private with the Duke, returned with looks of
wonder, and professed that never, in Charles's most prosperous days,
had he showed himself more acute in the department of finance, of
which he had but that morning seemed totally incapable; and the merit
was universally attributed to the visit of Lord Oxford, whose timely
reprimand had, like the shot of a cannon dispersing foul mists,
awakened the Duke from his black and bilious melancholy.
On the following day Charles reviewed his troops with his usual
attention, directed new levies, made various dispositions of his
forces, and corrected the faults of their discipline by severe orders,
which were enforced by some deserved punishments (of which the Italian
mercenaries of Campo-basso had a large share), and rendered palatable
by the payment of arrears, which was calculated to attach them to the
standard under which they served.
The Duke also, after consulting with his council, agreed to convoke
meetings of the States in his different territories, redress certain
popular grievances, and grant some boons which he had hitherto denied;
and thus began to open a new account of popularity with his subjects,
in place of that which his rashness had exhausted.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] Cupidus novarum rerum.