The Emperor’s Flight
Festivities of all sorts, tournament, parades, and banquets followed in
rapid succession in the city of Treves. Even the festivals of the Church
afforded the clergy an opportunity of displaying their wealth and
magnificence. The Archbishop, however, was not altogether pleased with
what was going on within the walls of his court; for the people talked
openly of Charles’s coronation, an event as much opposed to the
interests of the ecclesiastical Elector of Treves as of all the princes
of the German Empire. Either the Elector of Brandenburg or the Elector
of Saxony could lay quite as just a claim to a king’s crown as could the
Burgundian. Moreover, was it not whispered that the Electorate of Treves
was to form part of the new kingdom? The Archbishop a vassal of Charles
the Bold! Nay, that must be prevented at any cost.
Meanwhile the negotiations between the two potentates made little
progress. Week after week went by, and still the Councillors could come
to no agreement concerning the Turkish war, as it was given out, but in
reality, as to the marriage of Maximilian and the coronation of Charles
the Bold, though this was known only to the initiated. At last, however,
the end seemed near: the Councillors met to complete the final
arrangements; that evening the contracts were to be signed; and the next
morning Charles would awake as King, Maximilian as the betrothed of
Burgundy’s heiress.
The Emperor reclined contentedly in his armchair. He had been repeatedly
annoyed by the Duke’s arrogance and extravagance of display, but
comforted himself with the reflection that all Charles’s wealth and
possessions would eventually fall to his own son and heir by marriage
with the much courted Maria of Burgundy. That here in this old city
events were to prove propitious to him had been foretold by the stars.
His entry had been made under a fortunate conjunction, and since then
there had been no change in the favorable aspect of the planets. Yet he
could not permit this night to pass without again consulting the heavens
as to the further progress of his affairs. Rising listlessly, therefore,
from the writing table upon which he was wont to scribble and had to-day
scrawled with especial conviction fully a hundred times the words, “The
whole earth is a vassal of Austria,” he was about to seek a private
conference with the court astrologer, when a light knock was heard at
the door, and the venerable Archbishop of Treves entered, evidently in
great agitation. Approaching the Emperor, he bowed respectfully and
said:
“May a faithful servant crave leave to speak a few words with Your
Majesty?”
“We were about to retire,” replied Frederick indifferently, “but will
not refuse you, if it be on a matter of great import.”
“Not otherwise, sire, would I have presumed to intrude myself in the
chamber of our most illustrious Emperor,” said the Archbishop. Then
standing erect before the monarch and assuming a resolute expression, he
began:
“For many weeks past, in our good city of Treves, great preparations
have been made both in the cathedral and on the market place, and people
in the streets talk of a coronation. The Princes and Electors of the
Empire have paid no heed to this idle chatter, nor deemed that aught
else was in question than another of those splendid pageants of which we
feel we have already seen more than enough. But reliable news has just
reached us that these rumors are not entirely without foundation, and I
have hastened hither to implore Your Majesty in the name of my
fellow-princes to put an end to our apprehensions with one word of
assurance.”
“What if we cannot speak that word?” asked Frederick calmly.
“Then God help the unhappy Empire, and the illustrious house of Austria
as well! But I can scarce believe that His Roman Majesty has formed a
decision or pledged himself as yet in so weighty an affair as this. To
create a King without a council of the chief members of the Empire! That
were unheard of. But no! pardon me, Your Majesty, if I have gone too
far.”
“Nay, go on,” replied the Emperor. “What you say is nothing new. All
these objections have been laid before us a thousand times by our loyal
subject and Privy Councillor, Count Werdenberg.”
Thus encouraged, Archbishop John continued: “Were it merely the question
of a new kingdom, of what countries would you form it? Powerful princes
of the Church forced to submit to Burgundian sovereignty? Lorraine?—I
cannot believe you would wrest that from the knightly young Duke René.
Nay, should Your Imperial Majesty permit such a crime against a minor,
’twould justify the pettiest freebooter’s unlawful depredations.”
Here Frederick looked away, unable to meet the stern glance of the
prelate, who continued: “And in the end, even should Your Majesty
succeed, contrary to all precedent, in forming a new kingdom, and making
the proud Burgundian your ally, would not all his enemies and backbiters
then become the foes of Austria likewise? I beseech Your Majesty to
consider: cut off from all the members of the Empire, menaced by foes
from without, the Lord of Christendom will be forced to yield to the
commands or desires of the King he has created.”
“That may all be true,” answered Frederick, quite unmoved; “but since
you discourse so sagely of these things mayhap you can show us some way
out of the tangle; for ourselves, we can find none.”
“Nothing easier,” returned the Archbishop. “Speak of this to no one: at
midnight we will take a boat and depart secretly from Treves. You will
thus escape from your dilemma. Duke Charles will not be crowned, the
Empire will suffer no wrong, and Your Majesty will be freed from all
obligations and once more master of your own actions.”
Frederick was speechless with surprise, but after some deliberation he
agreed to follow this counsel. An emissary was secretly despatched to
the Imperial Councillors, who were still arguing with the Burgundians.
To the amazement of the latter, Count Werdenberg suddenly declared
negotiations broken off, nor were all their efforts to secure a future
resumption of the discussion of any avail. Half an hour later the
Burgundian Chancellor stood beside the Duke’s bed in the Abbey of St.
Maximin and related what had passed, his report being frequently
interrupted by outbursts of fury from his lord.
Just at this time a door of the archiepiscopal palace in Treves was
softly opened and Archbishop John issued forth followed by young
Maximilian and Frederick, with a few attendants. Silently and cautiously
they crept away and betook themselves with all speed to the banks of the
Moselle, where a boat was waiting for them. Like fugitives the princes
silently embarked, and protected by the veil of night that still hung
heavy over the old city, the boat glided smoothly down the dark river
toward the green waters of the Rhine.
Half an hour after their departure a troop of horsemen approached the
spot where the skiff had been moored. They were Burgundian cuirassiers,
led by Captain Vögeli, who had been on guard in the Duke’s antechamber.
“The Devil!” he growled, “could I but have carried the Roman Emperor
prisoner to my Duke, I need have yearned no longer to end my days
comfortably in the Fatherland.”