A CASTLE AMONG THE CRAGS
CHAPTER II
KNIGHTS-ERRANT
CHAPTER III
YOLANDA THE SORCERESS
CHAPTER IV
DOWN THE RHINE TO BURGUNDY
CHAPTER V
WHO IS YOLANDA?
CHAPTER VI
DUKE CHARLES THE RASH
CHAPTER VII
A RACE WITH THE DUKE
CHAPTER VIII
ON THE MOAT BRIDGE
CHAPTER IX
THE GREAT RIDDLE
CHAPTER X
THE HOUSE UNDER THE WALL
CHAPTER XI
PERONNE LA PUCELLE
CHAPTER XII
A LIVE WREN PIE
CHAPTER XIII
A BATTLE IN MID AIR
CHAPTER XIV
SIR KARL MEETS THE PRINCESS
CHAPTER XV
THE CROSSING OF A "T"
CHAPTER XVI
PARTICEPS CRIMINIS
CHAPTER XVII
TRIAL BY COMBAT
CHAPTER XVIII
YOLANDA OR THE PRINCESS?
CHAPTER XIX
MAX GOES TO WAR
CHAPTER XX
A TREATY WITH LOUIS XI
ILLUSTRATIONS
MAX AND YOLANDA
KARL AND MAX AT HAPSBURG CASTLE
MAX
THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY
MAX AT THE GATE OF THE LISTS
YOLANDA
CHAPTER I
A CASTLE AMONG THE CRAGS
Like the Israelites of old, mankind is prone to worship false gods, and
persistently sets up the brazen image of a sham hero, as its idol. I
should like to write the history of the world, if for no other reason
than to assist several well-established heroes down from their
pedestals. Great Charlemagne might come to earth's level, his
patriarchal, flowing beard might drop from his face, and we might see
him as he really was--a plucked and toothless old savage, with no more
Christianity than Jacob, and with all of Jacob's greed. Richard of
England, styled by hero-worshippers "The Lion-hearted," might be
re-christened "The Wolf-hearted," and the famous Du Guesclin might seem
to us a half-brutish vagabond. But Charles of Burgundy, dubbed by this
prone world "The Bold" and "The Rash," would take the greatest fall. Of
him and his fair daughter I shall speak in this history.
At the time of which I write Louis XI reigned over France, Edward IV
ruled in England, and his sister, the beautiful Margaret of York, was
the unhappy wife of this Charles the Rash, and stepmother to his gentle
daughter Mary. Charles, though only a duke in name, reigned as a most
potent and despotic king over the fair rich land of Burgundy. Frederick
of Styria was head of the great house of Hapsburg, and Count Maximilian,
my young friend and pupil, was his heir.
Of the other rulers of Europe I need not speak, since they will not
enter this narrative. They were all bad enough,--and may God have mercy
on their souls.
* * * * *
Most of the really tragic parts in the great drama of history have been
played by women. This truth I had always dimly known, yet one does not
really know a fact until he feels it. I did not realize the extent to
which these poor women of history have suffered in the matter of
enforced marriages, until the truth was brought home to me in the person
of Mary, Princess of Burgundy, to whose castle, Peronne La Pucelle, my
pupil, Maximilian of Hapsburg, and I made a journey in the year 1476.
My knowledge of this fair lady began in far-off Styria, and there I
shall begin my story.
* * * * *
In times of peace, life in Hapsburg Castle was dull; in times of war it
was doleful. War is always grievous, but my good mistress, the Duchess
of Styria, was ever in such painful dread lest evil should befall her
only child, Maximilian, that the pains of war-time were rendered doubly
keen to those who loved Her Grace.
After Maximilian had reached the fighting age there was too little war
to suit him. Up to his eighteenth year he had thrice gone out to war,
and these expeditions were heart-breaking trials for his mother.
Although tied to his mother's apron strings by bonds of mutual love, he
burned with the fire and ambition of youth; while I, reaching well
toward my threescore years, had almost outlived the lust for strife. Max
longed to spread his wings, but the conditions of his birth held him
chained to the rocks of Styria, on the pinnacle of his family's empty
greatness.
Perched among the mountain crags, our castle was almost impregnable; but
that was its only virtue as a dwelling-place. Bare walls, stone floors,
sour wine, coarse boar's meat, brown bread, and poor beds constituted
our meagre portion.
Duke Frederick was poor because his people were poor. They lived among
the rocks and crags, raised their goats, ploughed their tiny patches of
thin earth, and gave to the duke and to each man his due. They were
simple, bigoted, and honest to the heart's core.
Though of mean fortune, Duke Frederick was the head of the great House
of Hapsburg, whose founders lived in the morning mists of European
history and dwelt proudly amid the peaks of their mountain home. Our
castle in Styria was not the original Castle Hapsburg. That was built
centuries before the time of this story, among the hawks' crags of
Aargau in Switzerland. It was lost by the House of Hapsburg many years
before Max was born. The castle in Styria was its namesake.
To leaven the poor loaf of life in Castle Hapsburg, its inmates enjoyed
the companionship of the kindest man and woman that ever graced a high
estate--the Duke and Duchess of Styria. Though in their little court,
life was rigid with the starch of ceremony, it was softened by the
tenderness of love. All that Duke Frederick asked from his subjects was
a bare livelihood and a strict observance of ceremonious conventions.
Those who approached him and his son did so with uncovered head and
bended knee. An act of personal familiarity would have been looked on as
high treason. Taxes might remain unpaid, laws might be broken, and there
was mercy in the ducal heart; but a flaw in ceremony was unpardonable.
The boar's meat and the brown bread were eaten in state; the sour wine
was drunk solemnly; and going to bed each night was an act of national
importance. Such had been the life of this house for generations, and
good Duke Frederick neither would nor could break away from it.
Of all these painful conditions young Max was a suffering victim. Did
he sally forth to stick a wild boar or to kill a bear, the Master of the
Hunt rode beside him in a gaudy, faded uniform. Fore-riders preceded
him, and after-riders followed. He was almost compelled to hunt by
proxy, and he considered himself lucky to be in at the death. The bear,
of course, was officially killed by Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg, no
matter what hand dealt the blow. Maximilian, being the heir of Hapsburg,
must always move with a slow dignity becoming his exalted station. He
must, if possible, always act through an officer; I verily believe that
Duke Frederick, his father, regretted the humiliating necessity of
eating his own dinner.
Poor Max did not really live; he was an automaton.
Once every year Duke Frederick gave a tournament, the cost of which, in
entertainments and prizes, consumed fully two-thirds of his annual
income. On these occasions punctilious ceremony took the place of rich
wine, and a stiff, kindly welcome did service as a feast. These
tournaments were rare events for Max; they gave him a day of partial
rest from his strait-jacket life at the little court among the crags.
I shall give you here ten lines concerning myself. I am Italian by
birth--a younger son of the noble House of Pitti. I left home when but
little more than a boy. Journeying to the East, I became Sir Karl de
Pitti, Knight of the Holy Order of St. John, and in consequence I am
half priest, half soldier. My order and my type are rapidly passing
away. I fought and prayed in many lands during twenty years. To be
frank, I fought a great deal more than I prayed. Six years out of the
twenty I spent in Burgundy, fighting under the banner of Duke Philip the
Good, father to Charles the Rash. My mother was a Burgundian--a
Walloon--and to her love for things German I owe my name, Karl. During
my service under Duke Philip I met my Lord d'Hymbercourt, and won that
most valuable of all prizes, a trusted friend.
Fifteen years before the opening of this story I grew tired of fighting.
How I drifted, a sort of human flotsam, against the crags of Styria
would be a long, uninteresting story. By a curious combination of events
I assumed the duties of tutor to the small count, Maximilian of
Hapsburg, then a flaxen-haired little beauty of three summers. I taught
him all that was needful from books, and grounded him fairly well in
church lore, but gave my best efforts to his education in arms.
Aside from my duties as instructor to the young count, I was useful in
many ways about the castle. By reason of the half of me that was
priestly, I could, upon occasion, hear confession, administer the holy
sacrament, and shrive a sinner as effectively as the laziest priest in
Christendom. I could also set a broken bone, and could mix as bitter a
draught as any Jew out of Judea. So, you will see, I was a useful member
of a household wherein ancestry took the place of wealth, and pride was
made to stand for ready cash.
The good duke might have filled his coffers by pillaging travellers, as
many of his neighbors did; but he scorned to thrive by robbery, and
lived in grandiose but honest penury.
Max took readily to the use of arms, and by the time he was eighteen,
which was three years before our now famous journey to Burgundy, a
strong, time-hardened man might well beware of him. When the boy was
fourteen or fifteen, I began to see in him great possibilities. In
personal beauty and strength he was beyond compare. His eyes were as
blue as an Italian sky, and his hair fell in a mass of tawny curls to
his shoulders. His mother likened him to a young lion. Mentally he was
slow, but his judgment was clear and accurate. Above all, he was honest,
and knew not fear of man, beast, or devil. His life in Styria, hedged
about by ceremonious conventions, had given him an undue portion of
dignity and reticence, but that could easily be polished down by
friction with the rougher side of the world. Except myself and his
mother, he had never known a real friend.
To Max the people of the world were of two conditions: a very small
class to whom he must kneel, and a very large number who must kneel to
him. Even his mother addressed him publicly as "My Lord Count." On rare
occasions, in the deep privacy of her closet, mother-love would get the
better of her and break through the crust of ceremony. Then she indulged
herself and him in the ravishing, though doubtful, luxury of calling him
"Little Max." No one but I, and perhaps at rare intervals Duke
Frederick, ever witnessed this lapse from dignity on the part of Her
Grace, and we, of course, would not expose her weakness to the world.
This love-name clung to Max, and "Little Max," though somewhat
incongruous, was pretty when applied to a strapping fellow six feet two
and large of limb in proportion.
When the boy approached manhood, I grew troubled lest this strait-jacket
existence in Styria should dwarf him mentally and morally. So I began to
stir cautiously in the matter of sending him abroad into the world. My
first advances met with a rebuff.
"It is not to be thought of," said the duke.
"Send the count out to the rude world to associate with underlings?
Never!" cried the duchess, horrified and alarmed.
I had expected this, and I was not daunted. I renewed the attack from
different points, and after many onslaughts, I captured the bailey of
the parental fortresses; that is, I compelled them to listen to me. My
chief point of attack was Max himself. He listened readily enough, but
he could not see how the thing was to be done. When I spoke of the
luxuries of Italy and Burgundy, and told him of deeds of prowess
performed daily throughout the world by men vastly his inferior, his
eyes brightened and his cheek flushed. When I talked of wealth to be won
and glory to be achieved in those rich lands, and hinted at the barren
poverty of Styria, he would sigh and answer:--
"Ah, Karl, it sounds glorious, but I was born to this life, and father
and mother would not forgive me if I should seek another destiny. Fate
has fixed my lot, and I must endure it."
I did not cease my lay; and especially was the fat land of Burgundy my
theme, for I knew it well. Max would listen in enraptured silence. When
he was eighteen, I wrote, with deep-seated purpose, several letters to
my friend Lord d'Hymbercourt, who was at the time one of the councillors
of Charles the Rash, Duke of Burgundy. In those letters I dwelt at
length on the virtues, strength, and manly beauty of my pupil.
I knew that Charles often negotiated with other states the marriage of
his only child and heiress, Princess Mary. This form of treaty appeared
to be almost a mania with the rash Burgundian. I also knew that in no
instance had he ever intended to fulfil the treaty. His purpose in each
case was probably to create a temporary alliance with that one state
while he was in trouble with another. His daughter would inherit a
domain richer than that of any king in Europe, and the duke certainly
would be contented with nothing less than the hand of an heir to a
crown. Suitors for the fair Mary came from every land. All were
entertained; but the princess remained unbetrothed.
A few broad hints in my letters to Hymbercourt produced the result I so
much desired. One bright day our castle was stirred to its
foundation-stones by the arrival of a messenger from Duke Charles of
Burgundy, bearing the following missive:--
* * * * *
"To His Grace, Duke Frederick of Styria, Elector of the Holy Roman
Empire, and Count of Austria; Charles, Duke of Burgundy and Count of
Charolois, sends greeting:--
"The said Duke Charles recommends himself to the most puissant Duke
Frederick, and bearing in mind the great antiquity and high nobility of
the illustrious House of Hapsburg, begs to express his desire to bind
the said noble House to Burgundy by ties of marriage.
"To that end, His Grace of Burgundy, knowing by fame the many virtues
of the young and valiant Count of Hapsburg, son to His Grace, Duke
Frederick, would, if it pleasures the said illustrious Duke Frederick,
suggest the appointment of commissioners by each of the high contracting
parties for the purpose of drawing a treaty of marriage between the
noble Count of Hapsburg and our daughter, Princess Mary of Burgundy. The
said commissioners shall meet within six months after the date of these
presents and shall formulate indentures of treaty that shall be
submitted to His Grace of Styria and His Grace of Burgundy.
"The lady of Burgundy sends herewith a letter and a jewel which she
hopes the noble Count of Hapsburg will accept as tokens of her esteem.
"May God and the Blessed Virgin keep His Grace of Styria in their
especial care."
Signed with a flourish. "CHARLES."
* * * * *
This letter did not deceive me. I did not think for a moment that
Charles meant to give his daughter to Max. But it answered my purpose by
bringing Max to a realization of the nothingness of life in Styria, and
opening his eyes to the glorious possibilities that lay in the great
world beyond the mountain peaks.
Burgundy's missive produced several effects in the household of Castle
Hapsburg, though none were shown on the surface. I was glad, but, of
course, I carefully concealed the reasons for my pleasure from His
Grace. Duke Frederick was pleased to his toes and got himself very drunk
on the strength of it. Otherwise he smothered his delight. He "was not
sure"; "was not quite disposed to yield so great a favor to this
far-away duke"; "the count is young; no need for haste," and so on. The
duke had no intention whatever of sending such messages to Burgundy; he
simply wished to strut before his little court. Charles most certainly
would receive a pompous and affirmative answer. The poor duchess, torn
by contending emotions of mother-love and family pride, was flattered by
Burgundy's offer; but she was also grieved.
"We do not know the lady," she said. "Fame speaks well of her, but the
report may be false. She may not be sufficiently endued with religious
enthusiasm."
"She will absorb that from Your Grace," I answered.
Her Grace thought that she herself was religious and tried to impress
that belief on others; but Max was her god. In truth she was jealous of
any woman who looked on him twice, and she kept at the castle only the
old and harmless of the dangerous sex. She would have refused Burgundy's
offer quickly enough if her heart had been permitted to reply.
The effect of the letter on Max was tremendous. He realized its
political importance, knowing full well that if he could add the rich
domain of Burgundy to the Hapsburg prestige, he might easily achieve the
imperial throne. But that was his lesser motive. Hymbercourt's letters
to me had extolled Mary's beauty and gentleness. Every page had sung her
praises. These letters I had given to Max, and there had sprung up in
his untouched heart a chivalric admiration for the lady of Burgundy. He
loved an ideal. I suppose most men and every woman will understand his
condition. It was truly an ardent love.
Max kept Hymbercourt's letters, and would hide himself on the
battlements by the hour reading them, dreaming the dreams of youth and
worshipping at the feet of his ideal,--fair Mary of Burgundy, his
unknown lady-love.
Before the arrival of the messenger from Duke Charles, Max spoke little
of the Burgundian princess; but the message gave her a touch of reality,
and he began to open his heart to me--his only confidant.
There seemed to have been a reciprocal idealization going on in the
far-off land of Burgundy. My letters to Hymbercourt, in which you may be
sure Max's strength and virtues lost nothing, fell into the hands of
Madame d'Hymbercourt, and thus came under the eyes of Princess Mary.
That fair little lady also built in her heart an altar to an unknown
god, if hints in Hymbercourt's letters were to be trusted. Her maidenly
emotions were probably far more passive than Max's, though I have been
told that a woman's heart will go to great lengths for the sake of an
ideal. Many a man, doubtless, would fall short in the estimation of his
lady-love were it not for those qualities with which she herself
endows him.
Whatever the lady's sentiments may have been, my faith in Hymbercourt's
hints concerning them were strengthened by Mary's kindly letter and the
diamond ring for Max which came with her father's message to Styria.
They were palpable facts, and young Max built an altar in his holy of
holies, and laid them tenderly upon it.
Duke Frederick, with my help, composed a letter in reply to Burgundy's
message. It required many days of work to bring it to a form sufficient
in dignity, yet ample in assent. The missive must answer "yes" so
emphatically as to leave no room for doubt in Burgundy's mind, yet it
must show no eagerness on the part of Styria. (Duke Frederick always
spoke of himself as Styria.) Burgundy must be made to appreciate the
honor of this alliance; still, the fact must not be offensively
thrust upon him.
The letter was sent, and Charles of Burgundy probably laughed at it.
Duke Frederick appointed commissioners and fixed Cannstadt as the place
of meeting. Whatever Duke Charles's reasons for making the offer of
marriage may have been, they probably ceased to exist soon afterward,
for he never even replied to Duke Frederick's acceptance. For months
Castle Hapsburg was in a ferment of expectancy. A watch stood from dawn
till dusk on the battlements of the keep, that the duke might be
informed of the approach of the Burgundian messenger--that never came.
After a year of futile waiting the watch was abandoned. Anger, for a
time, took the place of expectancy; Duke Frederick each day drowned his
ill-humor in a gallon of sour wine, and remained silent on the subject
of the Burgundian insult.
Max's attitude was that of a dignified man. He showed neither anger nor
disappointment, but he kept the letter and the ring that Mary had sent
him and mused upon his love for his ideal--the lady he had never seen.
A letter from Hymbercourt, that reached me nearly two years after this
affair, spoke of a tender little maiden in Burgundy, whose heart
throbbed with disappointment while it also clung to its ideal, as tender
natures are apt to do. This hint in Hymbercourt's letter sank to the
tenderest spot in Max's heart.
On Max's twenty-first birthday he was knighted by the emperor. A grand
tournament, lasting five days, celebrated the event, and Max proved
himself a man among men and a knight worthy of his spurs. I had trained
him for months in preparation for this, his first great trial of
strength and skill. He was not lacking in either, though they would
mature only with his judgment. His strength was beyond compare. A man
could hardly span his great arm with both hands.
Soon after Max was knighted, I brought up the subject of his journey
into the world. I was again met by parental opposition; but Max was of
age and his views had weight. If I could bring him to see the truth, the
cause would be won. Unfortunately, it was not his desires I must
overcome; it was his scruples. His head and his heart were full of false
ideas and distorted motives absorbed from environment, inculcated by
parental teaching, and inherited from twenty generations of fantastic
forefathers. In-born motives in a conscientious person are stubborn
tyrants, and Max was their slave. The time came when his false but
honest standards cost him dearly, as you shall learn. But in Max's heart
there lived another motive stronger than the will of man; it was love.
Upon that string I chose to play.
One day while we were sunning ourselves on the battlements, I touched,
as if by chance, on the theme dear to his heart--Mary of Burgundy. After
a little time Max asked hesitatingly:--
"Have you written of late to my Lord d'Hymbercourt?"
"No," I answered.
A long pause followed; then Max continued: "I hope you will soon do so.
He might write of--of--" He did not finish the sentence. I allowed him
to remain in thought while I formulated my reply. After a time I said:--
"If you are still interested in the lady, why don't you go to Burgundy
and try to win her?"
"That would be impossible," he answered.
"No, no, Max," I returned, "not impossible--- difficult, perhaps, but
certainly not impossible."
"Ah, Karl, you but raise false hopes," he responded dolefully.
"You could at least see her," I returned, ignoring his protest, "and
that, I have been told, is much comfort to a lover!"
"Indeed, it would be," said Max, frankly admitting the state of his
heart.
"Or it might be that if you saw her, the illusion would be dispelled."
"I have little fear of that," he returned.
"It is true," I continued, "her father's domains are the richest on
earth. He is proud and powerful, noble and arrogant; but you are just as
proud and just as noble as he. You are penniless, and your estate will
be of little value; your father is poor, and his mountain crags are a
burden rather than a profit; but all Europe boasts no nobler blood than
that of your house. Lift it from its penury. You are worthy of this
lady, were her estates multiplied tenfold. Win the estates, Max, and win
the lady. Many a man with half your capacity has climbed to the pinnacle
of fame and fortune, though starting with none of your prestige. Why do
you, born a mountain lion, stay mewed up in this castle like a purring
cat in your mother's lap? For shame, Max, to waste your life when love,
fortune, and fame beckon you beyond these dreary hills and call to you
in tones that should arouse ambition in the dullest breast."
"Duke Charles has already insulted us," he replied.
"But his daughter has not," I answered quickly.
"That is true," returned Max, with a sigh, "but the Duke of Burgundy
would turn me from his gates."
"Perhaps he would," I replied, "if you should knock and demand surrender
to Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg. Take another name; be for a time a
soldier of fortune. Bury the Count of Hapsburg for a year or two; be
plain Sir Max Anybody. You will, at least, see the world and learn what
life really is. Here is naught but dry rot and mould. Taste for once the
zest of living; then come back, if you can, to this tomb. Come, come,
Max! Let us to Burgundy to win this fair lady who awaits us and
doubtless holds us faint of heart because we dare not strike for her. I
shall have one more sweet draught of life before I die. You will learn a
lesson that will give you strength for all the years to come, and will
have, at least, a chance of winning the lady. It may be one chance in a
million; but God favors the brave, and you have no chance if you remain
perched owl-like upon this wilderness of rock. Max, you know not what
awaits you. Rouse yourself from this sloth of a thousand years, and
strike fire from the earth that shall illumine your name to the end
of time!"
"But we have no money for our travels, and father has none to give me,"
he answered.
"True," I replied, "but I have a small sum in the hands of a merchant at
Vienna that will support us for a time. When it is spent, we must make
our bread or starve. That will be the best part of our experience. A
struggle for existence sweetens it; and if we starve, we shall deserve
the fate."
After three days Max gave me his answer.
"I will go with you, Karl," he said; "you have never led me wrong. If we
starve, I shall not be much worse off than I am here in Styria. It hurts
me to say that the love of my father and mother is my greatest danger;
but it is true. They have lived here so long, feeding on the poor
adulation of a poor people, that they do not see life truly. I have had
none of the joys and pleasures which, my heart tells me, life holds. I
have known nothing but this existence--hard and barren as the rocks that
surround me. I must, in time, return to Styria and take up my burden,
but, Karl, I will first live."
After this great stand, Max and I attacked first the father fortress and
then the mother stronghold. The latter required a long siege; but at
last it surrendered unconditionally, and the day was appointed when Max
and I should ride out in quest of fortune, and, perhaps,
a-bride-hunting. Neither of us mentioned Burgundy. I confess to
telling--at least, to acting--a lie. We said that we wished to go to my
people in Italy, and to visit Rome, Venice, and other cities. I said
that I had a small sum of gold that I should be glad to use; but I did
not say how small it was, and no hint was dropped that the heir to
Styria might be compelled to soil his hands by earning his daily bread.
We easily agreed among ourselves that Max and I, lacking funds to travel
in state befitting a prince of the House of Hapsburg, should go
incognito. I should keep my own name, it being little known. Max should
take the name of his mother's house, and should be known as Sir
Maximilian du Guelph.
* * * * *
At last came the momentous day of our departure. The battlements of the
gate were crowded with retainers, many of them in tears at losing "My
young Lord, the Count." Public opinion in Castle Hapsburg unanimously
condemned the expedition, and I was roundly abused for what was held to
be my part in the terrible mistake. Such an untoward thing had never
before happened in the House of Hapsburg. Its annals nowhere revealed a
journey of an heir into the contaminating world. The dignity of the
house was impaired beyond remedy, and all by the advice of a foreigner.
There was no lack of grumbling; but of course the duke's will was law.
If he wished to hang the count, he might do so; therefore the grumbling
reached the duke's ears only from a distance.