The Entry of the Princes
Irmy’s journey was not accomplished so easily as he had expected; he was
frequently obliged to wait, as all the horses obtainable were needed for
the use of those travellers who, as members of the Emperor’s household
or as envoys or functionaries of the Empire, could claim first
consideration. Nor was this a small matter, for fully seven hundred
deputies from the various cities assembled at Treves to greet the
Emperor, all of noble birth, not to mention the curiosity-seekers.
It was late in the evening of the twenty-ninth of September when the
Councillor at last entered Treves. The Emperor had already arrived that
morning, and the city was so crowded with strangers that only by paying
a large sum was Irmy able to secure even the poorest kind of a lodging.
Charles the Bold was expected to appear the following morning, when the
Emperor was to ride out to meet him, and the people were eagerly looking
forward to the coming spectacle.
“It is there I shall be most likely to find the lad,” thought Irmy. “I
will rise early and go out to meet the procession; Vögeli will be with
the Duke, and wherever he is, Walter will surely not be far away.”
He was the first to awake in the house the next morning; quickly rising,
he peered out through the round leaded window panes, as well as their
dinginess would permit, at the gray sky above. “Everything is dirty
here,” he growled—“the bed and the furniture as well as the room; and
these panes might be any color.”
He flung open the sash in a rage and thrust his head out into the cool
morning air. Nothing was stirring as yet in the street below, and he
might still have enjoyed several hours of slumber without losing
anything; but anxiety for his only child had disturbed his natural
serenity of mind and made him restless.
“Now I can make my way through the town easily,” he thought. He dressed
himself and went carefully down the dark stairs of his lodging house,
the garret of which had never before been honored by a guest of Irmy’s
wealth and standing. When he reached the sidewalk he looked up once more
at the dark gray sky, then took his way through the deserted streets
that reëchoed to the sound of his footsteps. No one was in sight but a
watchman pacing his rounds.
“It is an old city,” said Irmy to himself, “and not so badly built, but
it cannot compare with Basle.”
At the gate of the town, a small fee procured him ready egress, and the
guards showed him the way to the camp that had been pitched for the Duke
and his followers. Slowly he wandered about among the tents, sure that
here he must find his son, since Hagenbach and his officers had already
taken possession of the quarters assigned to them as part of the Duke’s
retinue. As yet, however, all was still both without and within the
tents, and the Councillor turned his steps toward a sutler’s wine shop,
on the wooden front of which was a large shield bearing in Italian the
name and calling of its occupant. A servant with black hair and
unmistakably Italian cast of countenance was brushing away the dried
leaves from before the door and strewing the path with white sand.
Addressing him in his own tongue, Irmy asked for a breakfast of meat,
bread, and porridge, with a draught of good wine.
“I ought not to give you anything,” replied the Italian, “since you are
not of the Burgundian soldiery nor yet in the Duke’s service, it is
plain. But since none of the soldiers are stirring, belike you may
enter.”
This the Councillor gladly did, and to pass the time chatted with the
friendly waiter, who had been much in Venice and Genoa in former days,
and knew of many of the great mercantile houses with which he was
connected. He asked him about two lads who must have arrived in camp
with one of the Burgundian captains, but the Lombard could tell him
nothing of them.
“We came hither with some Italian cuirassiers, levied for Duke Charles
in Italy,” he replied, “and know nothing of his other followers. But if
you will station yourself by the roadside against yonder tree, no part
of the procession can escape you.”
By this time signs of life began to appear about the camp. Tents were
thrown open here and there, and the soldiers could be seen busied with
the various offices of their toilet. But none had any news to give of
Vögeli and the two boys. One man remembered that the Captain had been
sent to Basle, but further than that he knew nothing.
Soon a trumpeter emerged from one of the tents and sounded a call,
whereat the whole camp instantly sprang to life. All was bustle and
activity as each man bestirred himself to make ready for the day—a more
difficult task than usual, for on this occasion everything must appear
at its very best. The cuirassiers had already burnished their arms and
mail to spotless brilliancy on the previous day, but there still
remained more to be done than could well be accomplished in the short
time left them. Swiftly they rubbed down the horses, standing in long
rows tethered to a rope. The horses of the Italians were magnificent
creatures, and each was the individual property of its rider. These
cuirassiers were for the most part men of quality; each was entitled to
a mounted esquire and one foot-soldier as his escort. None but the rich
were permitted to join their ranks; and many nobles, survivors of the
old knighthood, were to be found serving in this troop of mercenaries,
whose pay was at least thrice that of a lieutenant in these days.
At length all was finished, and it was an imposing array that rode past
the wine shop toward the high-road along which the train of the Emperor
was already seen approaching. A band of drummers and musicians led the
way, and next, preceded by waving banners and pennons, came Frederick
himself, followed by a long and brilliant cavalcade, among which Irmy
looked in vain for Vögeli. Hagenbach was there indeed; but even had the
merchant forced himself to ask for the Captain he would have met with no
reply from the haughty Governor, who, riding to-day in attendance on the
Emperor, looked even more arrogant and pompous than usual. The
Burgundian cuirassiers brought up the rear of the procession, during the
passage of which Irmy maintained the position pointed out to him, beside
the tree, which afforded him an excellent view.
By this time he was no longer the only spectator. Crowds had been
pouring out from the gates of the city and assembling from all the
surrounding villages, until the whole road on both sides was lined with
sightseers. For hours they waited cheerfully while the two princes, who
had met after half an hour’s ride, were engaged in a friendly dispute
over a question of honor. Frederick wished the Duke to ride at his side,
while Charles insisted that he as the lesser potentate should modestly
follow. At length the heavens, which had lowered for a full hour upon
this ceremonious pretence, opened their flood gates and deluged Duke and
Emperor, noble and henchman alike; for Nature at such times is no
respecter of persons. Especially inopportune was it now, however, for
all were in their most sumptuous array; and many looked upon it as an
evil omen.
But sunshine followed close upon the rain, and fair weather smiled upon
their entry into the city, their approach to which was greeted by a
clashing peal of bells from every church tower, and heralded by the
blare of trumpets and the rattle of drums long before anything could be
seen of the procession. On it came at last,—first, the musicians, then a
long train of archers brought by the Duke of Somerset from England, with
whose royal house Charles the Bold was connected through his wife. These
were followed by a group of heralds. And now, amid the deafening shouts
and acclamations of the multitude, appeared the Emperor and the Duke,
riding side by side.
Old Irmy’s somewhat elevated position enabled him to look over the heads
of the intervening spectators. That rider glittering with gold and
jewels, his embroidered doublet thickly set with pearls, sitting his
horse so stooped and carelessly—the man with the listless, indifferent
expression and heavy, protruding under lip—could he be the ruler of the
Holy Roman Empire? Alas! what could be hoped for from one whose utter
lack of strength and firmness was so evident? It was far pleasanter to
look on the youthful figure behind him, the Grand Duke Maximilian, whose
handsome and intelligent face was framed with a mass of fair curling
hair. Clad all in velvet and silver, he rode between the Archbishops of
Mayence and Treves. Accompanying these Princes of the Church was a
singular companion, designated by the onlookers as “the Turk.” This was
a son of the Sultan, who had been taken captive by the Christians and
received the baptismal name of Calixtus. He lived at the Austrian court
and was fond of appearing in costumes of startling gorgeousness. These
personages did not claim attention long, however, for all eyes quickly
turned to the centre of interest, the man who rode at the Emperor’s
side.
Charles the Bold could certainly never have been called handsome,
whatever his flatterers might claim; but fire and energy gleamed in his
dark eyes, proud self-confidence, inflexible will, and haughty defiance
were stamped upon his countenance. The personality of the Prince denoted
an overbearing imperiousness that seemed to challenge at once admiration
and repugnance, affection and antipathy. Magnificent, indeed, was the
Duke’s attire. Over the breastplate of polished steel he wore a cloak so
covered with pearls, diamonds, and rubies that the merchant from Basle
estimated its value at two hundred thousand gold florins, while in his
velvet cap sparkled a single jewel that was priceless. The Duke’s
charger also called forth universal admiration. It was a black horse of
matchless strength and beauty, equipped in full mail and decked with
gold and jewelled housings that swept the ground. Behind the princes
followed a long train of German and Burgundian nobles, among them the
privy councillors of the Emperor and of the Duke, and the envoys of
Albert of Brandenburg, who was called Achilles.[6]
“Why is he not there himself?” the people asked of one another; “he is
deemed the bravest and wisest prince in all the Empire, and they say the
Emperor can do nothing without him.”
“How think you,” asked another, “it would please the Elector to ride
modestly behind the Burgundian among all those princes and counts?”
There seemed no end to the cavalcade. Following the Duke’s bodyguard,
all sumptuously arrayed, both horse and man, came the flower of the
Burgundian army, every man clad in new and glittering armor, their
banners floating above them in the blaze of the Autumn sunlight, the
whole making a scene of splendor such as the people had never before
beheld. Pennon after pennon passed old Irmy, and still the end was not
yet in sight, although the two princes had already entered the market
place in Treves. There a second discussion arose between them as to
which should have the honor of escorting the other to his lodgings, the
Emperor as governor of the city wishing to act the part of host, and the
Duke protesting. At length they agreed to separate at the market place,
and the Duke rode at full speed back to the gates, which the last of his
followers were just entering.
Once more the Duke passed Irmy while on his way to the Abbey of Saint
Maximin, of which his ancestors had been patrons, and where he had taken
up his quarters rather than in the town. This time, however, he rode too
swiftly, and the people were too full of all the sights they had seen
for him to excite the attention that he had received half an hour
before. His retinue, the English archers, the Italian cuirassiers, and
the native Burgundians with their varied equipment, followed through the
gates. Six culverins were also included in the train, mounted on the
wooden carriages which the Duke was accustomed to carry with him in the
field, and which had been set up here in the camp also.
Dejected and disheartened, the old man turned his steps toward the camp
once more. He had seen nothing of Captain Vögeli nor of his son, and had
small hope of finding them here now. Exhausted with the fatigues of the
day, and faint with hunger, for he had eaten nothing since morning, his
first thought was to seek rest and refreshment, and then continue his
search. Slowly he walked on through the camp. Artisans of all sorts had
set up their workshops near the tents, bakers and butchers were offering
their wares for sale, and there were tap-houses by the dozen. The
cuirassiers had removed the trappings from their horses and with
handfuls of straw were busy rubbing the foam and sweat from their
flanks. The Italian’s hospitable wine shop stood open; but the tables
were already well filled with soldiers, and the Councillor was about to
pass on when the friendly servant beckoned to him and, leading him
around to the rear, whispered: “This way; enter with me and seat
yourself behind the counter; the soldiers will take you for one of us
and make no objection to your presence.”
The tired and hungry Irmy gladly followed this suggestion. A good and
substantial meal revived his strength; but his unwonted exertions proved
too much for him, and he offered the waiter a good sum if he would
provide him with a place where he might rest for a short time.
“Come right in here, sir,” replied the Italian, leading him to a small
compartment; “you can lie down on my bed and no one will disturb you.”