Death of Charles the Bold
Night had fallen and silence brooded over the Burgundian camp, upon
which the snow was falling in heavy flakes. In the forest near the abbey
a man stood leaning against a tree striving to penetrate the thick snow
clouds that filled the air. “Why does not Giacomo come?” he muttered to
himself in Italian. “It is too cold in this cursed country to wait
long.”
“You shall not have to,” replied a voice near him, “for I am here
already and have brought with me as much as I could carry away from my
canteen. It will soon be up with them over yonder,” he added, motioning
toward the camp, “and methinks we shall do well to join the Swiss. Then
at least there will be some hope of getting back to our own beautiful
land.”
The first speaker wore the uniform of a cuirassier, and was no other
than the former servant in the wine shop at Treves. “I wonder,” he said
musingly, “how long our comrades will stand by the Duke. It is long
since he gave us any pay. Our fare is wretched, and the cold unbearable
to us all.”
Giacomo produced some food from his bundle, and the two men walked on
through the forest, eating as they went. Suddenly they paused. Was that
the trampling of horses’ hoofs they heard? The cuirassier laid his ear
to the ground. Yes, there was no doubt a large body of horsemen was
approaching.
“Can they be following us?” asked Giacomo anxiously.
“Surely not,” replied his companion, “but something must be afoot. It
may be a night attack on the Swiss. In any case we shall do well to
conceal ourselves behind these juniper bushes.”
Nearer and nearer came the horsemen, the hard-frozen ground reëchoing to
the heavy tread of armored steeds. Deeper into the thicket shrank the
two deserters, as the clang of arms resounded so close to them they
almost feared to be trampled upon. But the troop passed on.
“Did you recognize any one?” asked Giacomo.
“No,” replied the other, “but it seemed to me I heard the voice of our
commander, Campo Basso.”
“So I thought too,” said the sutler. “Can it be that they are deserting?
It is said the Count has been mortally offended by the Duke of Burgundy,
and it is possible they are going over to the Swiss.”
They said no more but followed the riders along the road to Saint
Nicholas. On their arrival the next day they found the wildest
excitement prevailing. The Confederates had occupied the town on the
preceding day, and the Count of Campo Basso with one hundred and eighty
lances had come early that morning to proffer his services to Duke René.
The offer had been accepted, so Giacomo and his companion returned to
the society of their comrades.
At daybreak on the fifth of January, 1477, the Burgundians prepared for
battle, for Duke René and the Swiss were close at hand. As Charles the
Bold was arming himself, the golden lion of Burgundy fell from his helm
into the dust. “It is a sign from Heaven,” he said gloomily; and so
indeed it proved, for at the first onslaught of the enemy, panic seized
the Burgundians and they fled in confusion, while the citizens of Nancy
sallied forth to attack them in the rear.
Walter Irmy was one of the first outside the gates of the city and soon
found ample opportunity to prove his valor; for the combined forces of
the Swiss, with Duke René and the Alsatians, drove the whole of
Charles’s fast diminishing army back upon Nancy. Most of the faithless
mercenaries followed Count Campo Basso’s example; but the Burgundian
nobles, who formed a large part of the army, still fought on with the
courage of despair. Many a stroke did Walter parry and return ere the
burghers of Nancy could gain any advantage; but at last the foe began to
weaken. Smiting one of the Burgundian knights from his horse, Walter
swung himself into the empty saddle from whence he could overlook the
scene of conflict. The Swiss and Alsatians were now but a few hundred
feet away, and the enemy took to flight, hotly pursued by the conquerors
on horse and foot.
Suddenly the shout arose, “Yonder is the Duke! Stop him, stop him!” and
on still faster pressed the pursuers. But Charles was better mounted
than most of his foes, and soon but a handful of riders were left in
pursuit of the flying Prince, whose followers had by this time dwindled
to some thirty men.
“Can no one capture the Duke?” cried one of the Alsatian leaders in
despair.
“I will try,” said Walter; “he must reckon with me for the death of
Siffrein de Baschi,” and spurring to furious speed the superb animal he
had just captured, he soon overtook the fugitives. Paying no heed to the
others, he urged his steed close beside that of the Duke, and the next
moment their swords had crossed. In the frantic flight no one thought of
the Duke, and the two antagonists now found themselves on a meadow, the
icy surface of which had been thawed out by the noonday sun, so that the
horses’ feet sank deep into the ground at every step. Charles dealt one
mighty blow at his assailant, but it was his last, for the next instant
the Switzer’s blade had pierced his helm, and the great Duke sank
lifeless to the ground. Walter had no time to rejoice over his victory,
however; the Prince’s followers now attacked him, and after exchanging a
few blows he too fell sorely wounded.
By this time others of the pursuers had come up and a hand-to-hand
conflict began, in which fifteen more of the Burgundian nobles were
slain. But no one heeded the fallen, and when the survivors again took
to flight the conquerors raced after, still supposing the Duke to be
among them.
After sundown it grew bitter cold. Walter tried to shield himself from
it, but in vain. He was too weak even to loosen a cloak from the saddle
of a horse that lay beside him. Between cold and hunger and the pain of
his wounds he fell into a sort of stupor. Visions of the past floated
through his mind. Now he seemed to see his own father lying with his
brave comrades among the ruins of the hospital at Saint Jacob; again, he
was a boy at home in his own warm bed, while the mother, whom he had
followed to her grave seven years before, bent over her loved one to
kiss him good-night. He could see her eyes shining down upon him—but no!
it was not his mother’s warm breath he felt upon his cheek. He started
up in terror, and the wolf whose eyes he had seen shining above him in
the darkness slunk away scared. By good fortune Walter had his sword
beside him.
The visions and phantasies that had haunted his brain were swept away by
the frightful reality. He was lying wounded and alone amid a pile of
corpses, upon which the wolves had already begun to appease their
hunger. No longer conscious of pain or weakness, he sat upright and
grasped the handle of his sword, firmly resolved to defend his life to
the last against the horrible beasts. But the dead horses were
sufficient prey for the wolves, and it was only now and then that one
came to sniff at the wounds of some fallen knight. They held aloof from
the young Swiss, and as the morning light dawned at last, they slunk
away one after another to their lairs in the dark ravines of the
mountains. Walter fell back senseless, and was still unconscious when
some hours later he was lifted in strong arms and carried back within
the walls of Nancy, whither he had come a few weeks previously to bring
the glad tidings of relief.
It was long before the body of Charles the Bold was discovered. It had
been so mutilated by the wolves that none but a page and the Duke’s own
physician, who had been taken prisoner, could identify it. Enveloped in
a white cloth, the corpse was borne to the city on a bier by some of the
nobles of Lorraine. The following day all that remained of Charles the
Bold was laid upon a black velvet bed of state, ornamented with a cross
of white satin and six escutcheons. The dead man was wrapped in a white
satin robe, the jewelled ducal coronet upon his head, over which a red
cap had been drawn to conceal its disfigurement. The feet were encased
in scarlet hose, with golden spurs. Between two heralds stood two
magnificent stools, on which a consecrated cushion and a red cross were
placed. Four other heralds stood with lighted torches at the corners of
the bed of state. The room was hung with black, and two tapers burned on
an altar before which the services for the dead were to be performed.
Ranged about the walls were seats, also draped in black, for the use of
René and the nobles of Alsace and Lorraine, who were to assist at the
ceremonies.
Beside the bed, and bowed with grief, knelt Anton, a half-brother of
Charles. Though reviled by the Duke as a bad and ungrateful kinsman, he
now refused to be parted from the dead. His sobs, the outpouring of the
grief of a brave soldier, penetrated the hearts of all who entered the
room. Last came Duke René clad in deepest mourning, but wearing, in
accordance with the old knightly custom, a long beard of spun gold, in
token of victory over a princely foe who had fallen in battle. With deep
emotion he grasped the hand of the dead, saying in a low voice: “God
rest your soul, fair cousin! Much sorrow and trouble have you caused us,
yet ’twas by no will of ours that you were brought to this.”
After sprinkling the corpse with holy water he knelt before the altar,
where he remained in prayer while the knights and courtiers of Burgundy
and Lorraine paid the last honors to Charles the Bold.
On the twelfth of January, 1477, the last Duke of Burgundy was laid to
rest in St. George’s Church at Nancy, whence he was removed in 1550 by
his mighty great-grandson the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who wished that
the remains of his ancestor might be buried in his native town of
Bruges.
Freed at last from their bitterest enemy, and crowned with victory, the
Swiss returned to their homes and exchanged the implements of war for
those of peace. With his youth and strength, Walter Irmy was soon
restored to health and to the arms of his father, whose large business
he conducted to the entire satisfaction of the worthy Councillor.
Honored by his fellow-citizens and beloved by his people, he lived long
and happily with his good wife, surrounded by a group of children who
were the joy and delight of their grandfather.
Who knows? Perchance his spirit lingers yet about the good city of
Basle, ready to prove to the enemies of his country that the victors of
Granson and Murten have not perished, but still live on in the courage
and valor of their descendants.
Appendix
The following is a chronological statement of the principal events in
the life of Charles the Bold during the period described in this volume:
1444 The French troops defeated at Saint Jacob.
1469 Charles the Bold secures Sigismund’s possessions.
1469 Charles appoints Hagenbach governor.
1473 Sigismund becomes an ally of Louis of France.
1473 Flight of Emperor Frederick from Treves.
1474 The “Everlasting Compact” signed.
1474 Hagenbach captured and put to death.
1474 Swiss Confederates declare war against Charles.
1476 Massacre of garrison at Granson.
March 2, 1476 Charles defeated at Granson.
June 9, 1476 Charles defeated at Murten.
January 5, 1477 Charles defeated and killed under the walls of Nancy.
Footnotes
[1]Basle, or Basel, is the largest city in Switzerland. It has a
university, and is the commercial and financial centre of the
country. It is also noted for its art and literary culture.
[2]Aarau, the capital of the canton of Aargau, in Switzerland, is
twenty-four miles southeast of Basle. Although a small town, it is of
considerable manufacturing importance.
[3]“Arme Gecken” is evidently a play upon the word _Armagnac_. These
Armagnacs were mercenaries from the county of Armagnac in France.
Charles VII, wishing to get rid of them, sent them to aid Frederick
III in enforcing his claims against the Swiss, at the time of this
story.
[4]Maximilian, son of Frederick III, was born in 1459 and died in 1519.
He married Maria, daughter of Charles the Bold, in 1477, and was
elected King of the Romans in 1486, and Emperor in 1493. In 1499 he
waged an ineffectual war with the Swiss Confederation which resulted
in its practical independence.
[5]“Bärenhäuter, he of the bear’s hide, a nickname for a German private
soldier.” Scott, “Anne of Geierstein.”
[6]Albert, Elector of Brandenburg, third son of Frederick I, was born
November 9, 1414, and died March 11, 1486. He was the author of the
ordinance providing for the separation of Brandenburg and
Ansbach-Baireuth, and establishing primogeniture in each, which,
according to the historians, is the first instance of the legal
establishment of the custom of primogeniture. He was surnamed
Achilles, and Ulysses, because of his valor and sagacity.
[7]Sundgau is a name given to the southern part of Alsace.
[8]Granson is a village in the Canton of Vaud, Switzerland, on the Lake
of Lucerne, not far from Lausanne.
LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
_BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCES
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY_
GEORGE P. UPTON
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A FULL LIST OF THE TITLES IS GIVEN ON THE NEXT PAGE
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