The Battle of Granson
For a time it appeared as if the death of Hagenbach were to remain
unavenged. His brother, it is true, made some attempt at retaliation and
laid waste parts of the country, but the cities felt secure behind their
walls, and laughed at the threats of the Burgundians. Charles himself
was occupied with other matters and had no time to punish the judges of
his faithful servant. With his whole army of sixty thousand men he lay
encamped for nine long months before the town of Neuss on the Lower
Rhine, wasting his time and his forces in a vain endeavor to reduce its
brave garrison to submission. The Emperor meanwhile collected an army
and, crossing the Rhine, advanced to meet him. But Frederick had no
intention of fighting; after a few skirmishes he deserted his allies,
the King of France, Duke René of Lorraine, and the Swiss Confederates,
and made peace with the Duke of Burgundy. Possibly he was not unwilling
to abandon them to Charles’s vengeance; moreover, Burgundy would thereby
acquire valuable additions to her territory; and Burgundy—so ran the
treaty—was to be the inheritance of Princess Maria, betrothed to the
young Archduke Maximilian.
Charles’s first move was to take possession of Lorraine, after which he
marched into Switzerland and laid siege to Granson.[8] A large part of
his court had followed him to the camp, where the utmost luxury and
extravagance prevailed. The Duke’s table was laid with massive gold
plate, the costliest wines were drunk from golden beakers, and the
Burgundian knights and nobles vied with one another in splendor of
display.
Far otherwise was it in the beleaguered town, where the wretched fare
and scanty rations grew daily less, and still the promised relief did
not appear. The commander lacked firmness and decision, moreover, while
the garrison, which consisted chiefly of the soldiers that had formerly
revolted at Brisach, looked back longingly on the flesh-pots of the
Burgundian camp. Meanwhile the Confederates were assembling their forces
with a deliberation strongly opposed by the more sagacious leaders, but
they were powerless against the obstinate independence of the free
Swiss. When the army finally moved to the relief of Granson, and was but
a day’s march from the enemy, it was only to learn that the town had
already surrendered, and that the entire garrison had been hanged, in
direct violation of the terms of the capitulation.
Overwhelmed with shame and fury at the consequences of their delay, they
swore vengeance on the Duke; and the next day a battle was fought, in
which the Burgundians were totally defeated and driven out of
Switzerland in confusion, leaving the camp and all its treasures with
four thousand wagon-loads of provisions in the hands of the Swiss. The
first duty of the victors, however, was to bestow honorable burial on
the murdered garrison. By tens and dozens the Burgundians had hanged
them to the branches of trees,—here father and son or brothers side by
side, there friends and relatives together. In solemn procession the
bodies were borne to the monastery of the barefooted friars and laid in
a common grave, each with his arms beside him, according to an old
custom.
On the following morning the spoils were divided; and great was the
amazement of the Confederates at the richness and splendor that
everywhere met their gaze. Here, piled in great heaps, was the massive
plate that had adorned the Duke’s board at Treves; there stood the
silver chair heavily inlaid with gold, valued at eleven thousand
florins, in which he was wont to receive foreign envoys; Charles’s
headpiece, and his magnificent sword set with priceless gems: all these
treasures were tossed about by the rough hands of the Switzers. Curious
throngs forced their way into the royal pavilion and marvelled at the
costly hangings interwoven with gold and silver, upon which were
depicted scenes from Roman mythology. Upon the wall gleamed Burgundy’s
escutcheon, emblazoned with the cross of St. Andrew, and above it the
Duke’s proud motto, “I Watch.” Watched? Aye, and lost! was but too
plain.
“Who wants tin plates?” cried an honest countryman, contemptuously. “I
have plenty of those at home,” and he sold the silver plates that had
fallen to his share for two silver groschen apiece; while an archer
proudly exhibited a shirt of mail he had just received in exchange for a
jewelled diadem, saying, “What could I have done with such trumpery?”
“There you were wise, my friend,” declared the dealer, who had willingly
made the trade, for the crown was worth thirty thousand thalers; “and if
any others find these shining things somewhat heavy to carry, come to
me. I will give you good round coin for them.”
“So? Then mayhap we may strike a bargain,” said a Strassburger. “Would
ten florins be too much for these twelve bright goblets? They are much
too heavy for gold, but any one not knowing would easily buy them of you
for that.”
The trader weighed the cups in his hand. They might have been worth
eighty marks in gold. “Truly they are heavy enough,” he said doubtfully,
“and I dare not overload my cart, for who knows what profitable bargains
are yet to be made? Yet I would not have your ill will, and since it is
you I will do the best I can for you. Come, let us say half a guilder
apiece.”
The Strassburger looked doubtfully at his companions. “If they should be
gold, though—”
“Nay, be not a fool, Thomas. You are not likely to have another offer as
good as that. What if they be really gold? Gold is as cheap here as
hazel nuts with us at Martigny.” At this the Strassburger hesitated no
longer, but gladly pocketed his six guilders, and the trader went on his
way.
“’Tis like the masqueraders at carnival time,” he said to himself as he
met a group of cowherds with costly garments of velvet, silk, and cloth
of gold flung over their smockfrocks.
“Look at Ruodi! Is he not fine?” gleefully shouted one, pointing to the
leader of the band, who wore on his head a costly cap with waving
plumes, while upon his breast gleamed the gold chain of the noble order
of the Golden Fleece. In another part of the camp a party of victorious
Switzers quarrelled and shouted over some casks of Burgundy which they
were drawing into gold and silver flagons. “Will you hold your
good-for-nothing tongues or shall I read you a text?” shouted one
drunken fellow, waving aloft the Duke’s own prayer-book, bound in red
velvet.
“Give us a song, Werni,” cried several voices, “that will stop their
noise. Come, strike up!”
“‘Strike up—strike up!’ That is easily said,” growled Werni; “for my
part I would rather drink than sing.” Nevertheless he felt flattered by
the challenge, and without further protest began:
“Your camp with all its treasures rare
Has fallen to the Switzers’ share:
Oh fie! Duke Charles, for shame!”
“Yes—fie! Duke Charles, for shame!”
all joined in rousing chorus.
“Should such disgrace not break your pride,
Come back, fresh armies at your side,
We’ll serve you just the same.”
“We’ll serve you just the same,”
echoed the singers enthusiastically. Then others gathering about the
rude minstrel took up the strain, till far and wide resounded the
triumphant notes of the ballad of the battle of Granson. How every heart
swelled as Werni, hoarse and weary, concluded:
“The Confederation, whate’er betide,
Doth ever fast and firm abide,
As this day well hath proven;
The fame of Granson’s martial band
Shall ring triumphant through the land,
With praises interwoven.”