DOWN THE RHINE TO BURGUNDY
Notwithstanding the idle, happy life we were leading, I was anxious to
begin our journey to Burgundy. Just what would--or could--happen when we
should reach that land of promise--perhaps I should say of no promise--I
did not know. I hoped that by some happy turn of fortune--perhaps
through Twonette's help--Max might be brought to meet Mary of Burgundy.
I had all faith in his ability to please her, or any woman, but what
advantage he could gain by winning her regard I could not guess. The
lady's personal preference would cut no figure in the choosing of a
husband. Her father would do that for her, and she would be powerless
against the will of a man whose chief impulses were those of a mad bull.
This arrogant duke, without so much as a formal withdrawal, had ignored
Duke Frederick's acceptance and had contracted his daughter's hand to
the Dauphin of France, who was a puny, weak-minded boy of fourteen.
Should Max and I go to Burgundy and say to Charles, "This is Maximilian
of Styria, to whom you offered your daughter in marriage," his answer
might be a sword thrust. Should the duke learn of our unbidden presence
in his domain, his love for making enemies would probably bring us into
trouble. Therefore, though I ardently wished to begin the journey, I had
no real cause to hope for good results, though there were many reasons
to fear the outcome of our adventures.
One may well ask why I continued in a course so dangerous. My answer is:
A man travels the road of his destiny. The Fates sometimes hunt out a
man for their purposes and snatch him from his hiding-place in the
by-ways, but they usually choose from the scenes of great events their
victims or their favorites. The man who fears to be their victim is
seldom chosen for their favorite. I should rather be their victim than
be overlooked; and what I should have chosen for myself I desired for
Max. I had no future save in him; I had been overlooked in the by-ways.
At the time of our journeying all Europe turned on a Burgundian pivot,
and the Fates were busy in that land. It was the stage of the world, on
which the strong, the great, and the enterprising of mankind were
playing; and I hoped that Max, who was strong and enterprising, would
find his part in this Burgundian drama. I was willing to risk
sacrificing him, though he was dearer to me than the blood of my heart,
if I might stand even a small chance to make him great.
At strange variance with my philosophy, I had faith in Max's luck. It
was more than faith; it was a fixed, intuitive conviction that he would
win. For these reasons, all growing out of what I felt rather than what
I reasoned, we continued our dangerous and apparently useless journey.
When a man feels himself led by an unseen hand, he should gladly follow.
There is an intuition that is better than reason.
* * * * *
One bright morning in May we began our journey down the Rhine. My fears
had no place in Max's heart, and his self-confidence was to me a
harbinger of good fortune. A man may do anything that he knows he can
do; failure never disappoints him who expects it.
We left Basel by the west gate and took the road for Strasburg, leading
down the west bank of the Rhine. That was not the most direct route to
Peronne, but it was the safest because of the numerous river towns
wherein we might lie safely by night. The robber barons whom we had to
fear along the river were at least not pilfering vagabonds, such as we
should meet across country. Against the open attack of a brave foe we
felt that we could make a good defence. Our fighting force consisted of
Max, myself, and two lusty squires. We had also a half-score of men who
led the sumpter mules.
Castleman had purchased two beautiful chargers in Basel, pretending that
he wished to take them to Peronne for sale. He asked Max to ride one and
offered the other for my use. I was sure that his only reason for buying
the horses was his desire to present them to us, which he afterward did.
Max named his charger "Night," because of its spotless coat of black.
Yolanda rode a beautiful white mare which we re-christened "Day."
Castleman bestrode an ambling Flemish bay, almost as fat as its master
and quite as good-natured, which, because of its slowness, Yolanda
dubbed "Last Week."
We travelled slowly down the Rhine, enjoying the scenery and filling our
hearts with the sunshine of the soft spring days. Our cautious merchant
so arranged our lodging-places that we were never on the road after
dark. His system caused much delay, as we often rested a half-day in a
town that we might be able to lodge there over night. In this deliberate
manner of proceeding, life was a sweet, lazy holiday, and our journey
was like a May outing. We were all very happy--almost ominously so.
After the explanation between Max and Yolanda on the hill at Basel she
made no effort to avoid him, and he certainly did not avoid her. They
both evidently rested on his remark that he would never again speak
upon a certain subject. They fully understood each other's position.
Max knew that between him and the burgher maiden there could be no
thought of marriage. She, it seemed, was equally aware of that fact. All
that he had been taught to value in life--father, mother, family and
position, his father's subjects, who would one day be his, his father's
throne, on which he would one day sit--stood between him and Yolanda.
They stood between him and the achievement of any desire purely personal
to himself and not conducive to the welfare of his state. He felt that
he did not belong to himself; that his own happiness was never to be
considered. He belonged to his house, his people, and his ancestors.
Max had not only been brought up with that idea as the chief element in
his education, but he had also inherited it from two score generations
of men and women that had learned, believed, and taught the same lesson.
We may by effort efface the marks of our environment, but those we
inherit are bred in the bone. Yolanda was not for Max. He could not
control his heart; it took its inheritance of unbidden passion from a
thousand scores of generations which had lived and died and learned
their lesson centuries before the House of Hapsburg began; but he could
control his lips and his acts.
With Max's growing love for Yolanda came a knightly reverence which was
the very breath of the chivalry that he had sworn to uphold. This spirit
of reverence the girl was quick to observe, and he lost nothing by it in
her esteem. At times I could see that this reverential attitude of Max
almost sobered her spirits; to do so completely would have been as
impossible as to dam the current of a mountain stream.
On the evening of our first day out of Basel we were merrily eating our
suppers in a village where we had halted for the night, when I remarked
that I had met a man, while strolling near the river, who had said that
war was imminent between Burgundy and Switzerland. My remark immediately
caught Yolanda's sharp attention.
"Yes," said I, "we left Switzerland none too soon. This man tells me, on
what authority I know not, that a herald will soon be sent by Duke
Charles carrying defiance to the Swiss. What of value the duke expects
to obtain from barren Switzerland outside of Basel, I do not know.
Fighting for fighting's sake is poor sport."
"Forbear your wise saws, Sir Karl, and tell me what the man said,"
demanded Yolanda.
"He told me," I replied, "that he had heard the news at Metz, and that
it was supposed Duke René would muster his forces in Lorraine and turn
them against Burgundy in case of war with Switzerland."
"I predicted evil when Burgundy took Nancy from Lorraine," cried
Yolanda, excitedly. "The hollow conventions made with Lorraine after the
capture of that city were but the promises of a man under duress. The
only ties that will bind a narrow man are those of immediate
self-interest. There can be no lasting treaty between France and
Burgundy so long as King Louis covets Flanders and is able to bribe our
neighbors. These conventions between Burgundy, Lorraine, Bourbon, and
St. Pol will hold only so long as Burgundy does not need them."
"That is surely true, Fräulein," I said.
"Yes," she continued, "and should Burgundy suffer any great misfortune
or be crippled for an hour, those small states would be upon his back
like a pack of wolves, and he would be ruined. Lorraine, Bourbon, and
St. Pol do not see that Burgundy alone stands between them and the
greedy maw of France. Should King Louis survive my--my Lord of Burgundy
five years, these dukes and counts will lose their feudal rights and
become servile vassals of France, not in name, as now they are, but in
sorry fact."
I was so astonished at this tempestuous outburst from an unexpected
quarter, and was so surprised at discovering an intimate knowledge of
great affairs in a simple burgher maid, that I dropped the piece of meat
I held in my fingers and stared in wonder across the table at Yolanda. I
had known from the first hour of meeting her that the girl's mind was
marvellously keen; but that a maid of seventeen or eighteen, in her
position, should have so firm a grasp of international affairs and
should possess so clear a conception of the troublous situation in
western Europe, astounded me.
In eastern Europe, where we were not blinded by neighborly hatred and
local jealousies, the truth of Yolanda's statement had long been
apparent. We carried our prophecy further and predicted that the
headlong passions of Charles the Rash would soon result in his death or
overthrow.
My point in dragging in this heavy load of political lore is this: In
case of the death of Charles of Burgundy, the future of western Europe
would depend on the brains and the bravery of the man who should marry
the Princess Mary. I felt that Max was chosen of God for that destiny.
Should he succeed in defending Burgundy against France, he would become
the most powerful man in Europe. No event save death could keep him from
achieving the imperial crown.
If the existing treaty of marriage between Mary and the Dauphin of
France were carried out, and if the Dauphin as king should possess
one-half the wisdom of his father, Louis, all western Europe would soon
be France. If this treaty were to fail and the Princess Mary espouse a
man capable of defending her territory, Burgundy would still remain a
wall of protection to the smaller states of the Rhine.
A long silence followed Yolanda's outburst, but her words had so
astonished me that my supper for the evening was finished. Castleman
plied his knife industriously; Yolanda nibbled at a piece of meat
between her dainty fingers, and Twonette gazed serenely out of the
open window.
Yolanda's words and Castleman's constraint filled me with wonder. There
was to me a mystery about this little beauty that had not been touched
on by my friend from Peronne. I hoped to gain information on the point
by inducing Yolanda to talk. She was willing enough.
"Fräulein," I said, "I quite agree with you. It is a matter of surprise
to me that these noblemen you mention do not see the truth as you
state it."
"They are fools, Sir Karl, sodden fools," exclaimed Yolanda. "You could
buy their souls for a sou. King Louis buys them with an empty promise
of one."
"Why does not Duke Charles buy them?" I asked. "'Tis said he has
enormous quantities of ready gold in Luxembourg Castle."
"Because, Sir Karl," she responded almost savagely, "bribery is the
weapon of a coward. The Duke of Burgundy uses his money to pay
soldiers."
"But, Fräulein," I answered, "the duke has for years--ever since before
his father's death--been wasting his money, sacrificing his soldiers,
and despoiling his land by wars, prosecuted to no good end. He has
conquered large territory, but he has paid for it with the blood of his
people. Neither they nor he are the better because of those accessions,
and the duke has made enemies who will one day surely wrest them from
him. A brave prince should not fear to be called a coward because of an
act that will bring peace and happiness to his subjects and save their
lives, their liberties, and their estates. That great end will ennoble
any means. The subjects of Burgundy are frugal and peace-loving. They
should be protected from the cruel cost of useless war. I would not
criticise Duke Charles, whose bravery is beyond compare, but for the
sake of his people I could wish that his boldness were tempered with
caution. Policy, not blows, appears to me the only way out of his
present and imminent danger."
"Perhaps you are right, Sir Karl," answered Yolanda, "but I advise you
to keep your views to yourself when you reach Burgundy. Should they come
to the duke's ears, you might lose yours."
"Indeed, Fräulein, your warning is unnecessary," I responded laughingly.
"I already know the disposition of the duke toward those who disagree
with him. His ungovernable passions will surely lead him to a terrible
end. Bravery, if wise, is one of the noblest attributes of men. The
lack of wisdom makes it the most dangerous. Duke Charles ought to temper
his courage with love for his people. He should fight, when he must,
with wise bravery. If he should die, God pity the poor people of
Burgundy unless their princess choose a husband both wise and brave."
"But she will not be allowed to choose," cried Yolanda, passionately.
"Her freedom is less than that of any serf. She is bound hand and foot
by the chains of her birth. She is more to be pitied than the poorest
maiden in Burgundy. The saddest of all captives is she who is chained to
a throne."
"That surely is the bitterest draught fate offers to mortal man," sighed
Max.
"Yes," whispered Yolanda, huskily. "One cannot rebel; one may not even
kill one's self when one is condemned to live. One can do nothing but
endure and wait in haunting fear and, in rare moments, hope against a
million chances."
Evidently she meant us to know that she sorrowed for Max's martyrdom,
though how she had learned of his true station in life I could
not guess.
"It is strange," said I to Castleman, when Yolanda and Twonette had left
us, "that Fräulein Yolanda, who seems to be all laughter and
thoughtlessness, should be so well informed upon the affairs of princes
and princesses, and should take this public matter so much to heart."
"Yes, she is a strange, unfortunate girl," answered Castleman, "and
truly loves her native land. She would, I believe, be another Joan of
Arc, had she the opportunity. She and her father do not at all agree. He
wholly fails to comprehend her."
"Is her father your brother?" I asked. I felt a sense of impertinence in
putting the question, but my curiosity was irresistible.
"Yes," answered Castleman, hesitatingly; then, as if hurrying from the
subject, he continued, "Her mother is dead, and the girl lives chiefly
under my roof."
I wanted to ask other questions concerning Yolanda, but I kept silent. I
had begun to suspect that she was not what she passed for--a burgher
girl; but Castleman was a straightforward, truthful man, and his words
satisfied me. I had, at any rate, to be content with them, since
Yolanda's affairs were none of mine. Had I not been sure that Max's
training and inheritance gave him a shield against her darts, she and
her affairs would have given me deep concern. At that time I had all the
match-making impulses of an old woman, and was determined that no woman
should step between Max and the far-off, almost impossible Princess
of Burgundy.
When we resumed our journey the next morning Yolanda was demure, grave,
and serious; but the bright sun soon had its way with her, and within a
half-hour after leaving the village she was riding beside Max, laughing,
singing, and flashing her eyes upon him with a lustre that dimmed the
sun--at least, so Max thought, and probably he was right. That evening
Max told me much of Yolanda's conversation.
The road we were travelling clung to the Rhine for several leagues. In
many places it was cut from the bank at the water's edge. At others it
ran along the brink of beetling precipices. At one of these Max guided
his horse close to the brink, and, leaning over in his saddle, looked
down the dizzy heights to the river below.
"Please do not ride so near the brink, Sir Max," pleaded Yolanda. "It
frightens me."
Max had little of the braggadocio spirit about him, but no rightly
constituted young man is entirely devoid of the desire to "show off" in
the presence of timid and interesting ladies. Without that spirit of
"show-off," what would induce our knights to meet in glorious
tournaments? Without it, what would our chivalry amount to? Without it,
why should a peacock spread its tail? I do not belittle it, since from
this spirit of "show-off" arises one great good--respect for the opinion
of our fellow-man. So Max, with a dash of "show-off" in his disposition,
laughed at Yolanda's fears and answered that he was in no danger.
"It is very brave in you, Sir Max, to go so near the brink," said
Yolanda, ironically, "but do you remember what Sir Karl said concerning
'wise bravery'? There can be no need for your bravery, and therefore no
wisdom in it. Were there good reason why you should go near the brink, I
should despise you if you refused; but there is no reason and, since it
frightens me, I wish you would remain in the road."
"Gladly I will," answered Max, reining his horse beside her.
"Do you know," said Yolanda, with as much seriousness as she could
easily command, "that your friend, Sir Karl, is a philosopher? His
phrase, 'wise bravery,' clings to me. I certainly wish the Duke of
Burgundy would learn it and take it to heart."
"I have heard many conflicting stories concerning this Duke Charles,"
said Max. "Some persons say he is all that is brave and noble; others
declare that he is fierce, passionate, and bad. I wonder which I shall
find him to be?"
"Do you expect to take service with him?" asked Yolanda, half sadly. At
the mention of the duke's name all smiles and dimples fled
incontinently.
"No," answered Max, "I think I shall not take service with the duke. In
truth, I don't know what I shall do. For what purpose I am going to
Burgundy I am sure I cannot say."
A short silence ensued, which was broken by Yolanda, speaking archly:--
"Perhaps you are going to Burgundy or to France to win the lady who gave
you the ring?" Max was surprised, and flushed as he answered:--
"That would be an impossible thought, Fräulein. If you but knew who the
lady is, you would understand that such a hope on my part were a
phantasy. But I have no such hope or wish. I do not now want to win the
lady of the ring."
"No, no, Sir Max," said Yolanda, protestingly, "you must not basely
desert this lady-love whom you have never seen. If trouble should come
to her, whoever she is, you must hasten to her rescue and carry her
away. The best opportunity to rob, you know, comes in the midst of a
mêlée. Take her, Sir Max. I wish you success."
"Do you really wish me success, Fräulein?" asked Max, looking straight
ahead. He was not at all flattered by her good wishes concerning the
lady of the ring.
"Indeed I do," responded the girl, joyously; "I will pray to the Virgin
and ask her to help you to win this fair lady who gave you the ring."
"I thank you for your good wishes," returned Max, "though I could easily
be satisfied with less enthusiasm on the subject."
"Indeed? Why, may I ask?"
"Because, Fräulein--because I had hoped--" Max ceased speaking, and,
leaning forward, smoothed his horse's mane.
Yolanda waited for a moment and then, turning her face toward Max,
asked:--
"You had hoped for what, Sir Max?"
"I had hoped for nothing, Fräulein," he answered. "I am satisfied as
matters now stand between us. Your words at supper last evening rang in
my ears all night, 'Chained to a throne; chained to a throne.' I knew
you referred to my unhappy lot when you spoke, though how you guessed
the truth concerning my station I do not know."
A surprised little smile spread over her face, but he did not see it. He
was still smoothing his horse's mane.
"You cannot know the terrible truth of your words," continued Max. "I
will tell you a part of my secret, Fräulein. All my life I have been cut
off--chained to a throne--from the fellowship of men and the love of
friends. Karl is the only friend I have ever known save my mother until
I met you and your good people. Only the good God can know how I have
longed and hungered since childhood for friendship; even for
companionship. I did not know what I yearned for until since my arrival
at Basel. Truly it is not good for man to be alone, even though he be
upon a throne. I am not upon a throne, Fräulein, but I am near one--a
small, barren throne, whose greatest attribute is its ancestry. My home
is a sad, lonely place--how lonely even you, who have guessed so
shrewdly and who speak so eloquently, cannot know. You should thank God
for your lowly birth and your lowly friends."
"I do," the girl answered, with a queer, half-sad, half-amused
expression upon her face which Max could not interpret.
"But we cannot break the chains that have been welded a thousand
years--that have grown stronger and tighter with each generation," said
Max. "You truthfully said, 'One may only endure.'"
"I also said that at rare moments one may hope," she answered, with
drooping head.
"Not I, Fräulein. I may not even hope. I am doomed," answered Max.
"No, no, Sir Max," responded the drooping head.
After a prolonged silence Max said, "I am sure the secret of my station
is safe with you."
"You need not doubt, Sir Max," she responded. "You cannot know how safe
it is." She turned brightly upon him and continued, "Let me invoke my
spirits, Sir Max." She raised her eyes, saint-fashion, toward heaven,
and spoke under her breath: "I hear the word 'hope,' Sir Max, 'hope.' It
is very faint, but better faint than not at all."
"I tell you there is no hope for me, Fräulein," responded Max,
desperately. "It is cruel in you to say there is. It is doubly cruel to
speak jestingly."
"I speak earnestly," said Yolanda. "There is hope. If you win the lady
who gave you the ring, you will be happy. I do not jest."
"You do. You mock me," cried Max. "I tell you, Yolanda, there is in all
the world no woman for me save--save one upon whom I may not think."
Yolanda's face grew radiant, though tears moistened her eyes. "Even
though it were possible for me to defy my parents, to turn my face
against my country, my people, and the sacred traditions of my house, by
asking her to share my life, there could be only wretchedness ahead for
her, and therefore unhappiness for me. The dove and the eagle may not
mate. Consider the fate of sweet Agnes Bernauer, who married Duke Albert
and perished in the Danube. I tell you, Fräulein, I am hopeless. When I
return to my people, I shall do so knowing that life thereafter will be
something to endure, not a blessing to thank God for."
"No, no, Sir Max," murmured the girl, "you do not know."
Max turned upon her almost angrily:--
"A man knows when he lives; a man knows when he is dying, and a man, if
he be worthy of the name, knows when he loves a woman. I am not sure
that the sun shines, Fräulein, than I am that I shall not forget this
woman nor cease to sorrow for her all the days of my life."
"You must not speak such words to me, Sir Max," said Yolanda,
reprovingly. "I, too, must live and be happy if--if I can."
She turned her face away from Max and, touching her horse with her whip,
passed a few feet ahead of him. If there were tears in her eyes, she did
not wish Max to see them. After several minutes of silence he spurred
his horse to her side.
"I did not intend to speak, Fräulein. I once said I would never speak
again. I should not have spoken now, though I have told you only what
you already know. I ask no favor in return, not even a touch from
your hand."
"You shall have that at least, Sir Max," she answered, impulsively
reining her horse close to Max and placing her hand in his.
"Still, you wish me to win the lady who sent me the ring?" asked Max.
"Yes," returned Yolanda, softly. "It will mean your happiness and
mine--" Suddenly checking herself, she explained: "I shall be happy if
you are. A man cannot know how happy a woman may be for another's sake."
I felt no desire to reprove Max when he told me of his day's adventure
with Yolanda, since I could in no way remedy the evil. In fact, Max was
growing out of my jurisdiction. He had listened to my lectures and
advice since childhood and had taken them kindly, because my authority
grew out of my love for him and his love for me. He was a boy when we
left Styria, but he was a man when we were journeying down the Rhine.
Though the confidential relations between us had grown closer, my advice
was gradually taking the form of consultation. I did not seek his
confidences, and he gave them more freely, if that were possible, than
ever before. I did not offer my advice so readily, but he sought it more
frequently. Max told me the sorrowful little story of the day, and I did
not comment on it. I simply led him in another direction.
"Fräulein Yolanda's words have given me food for thought," I said. "So
long as Duke Charles lives, there can be no union between Burgundy and
Hapsburg; but at the pace he is travelling he will surely receive his
_coup de grâce_ before long, and I hope you will meet and know the
princess before the tragedy occurs. Then declare yourself and back your
claim with the duke's proposal, which has never been withdrawn. That the
people of Burgundy hate France and this French marriage there can be no
doubt. They are fools for so doing, but we may easily profit by their
lack of wisdom. In the event of the duke's death the inclinations of the
princess will be half the battle. So long as he lives they are no part
of it. If, by the help of Twonette, you should be so fortunate as to
meet the princess, our dream may be realized, and our house may become
the greatest in Europe."
"I suppose you are right, Karl," answered Max. "You are always right;
but I have no heart in this matter, and I hope nothing will come of it.
I have never known you to be so cold-blooded as in this affair."
"If you are to be hot-blooded, or even warm-blooded, you must turn your
back on your house and cast from you the duties and privileges of your
birth," I observed.
"You are right," he answered irritably. "But it will be difficult for me
to please one woman while thinking of another. Ah, Karl, I am growing
tired of this Burgundian dream. Dream? It is almost a nightmare."
Max's words did not alarm me; he was "chained to a throne." He would not
fail me if the hour of good fortune should come.
"Your thoughts of another woman will not stand in your way," I said.
"Experience is more necessary in dealing with women than in any other of
life's affairs, and this episode with Yolanda is what you need to
prepare you for--for what I pray you may have to do."
"Karl, please do not talk of this--this--my feeling for Yolanda as an
episode," he said, speaking almost angrily. "It is a part of my life,
and will be my sorrow as long as I live."
The boy's anger warned me that if I would lead him, I must do it gently.
"I believe, Max, you speak truly," I said; "but it will not be an
unmixed evil. Good will come of it, since the image of a pure woman
injures no man's heart. It keeps him in the narrow way and guides his
hand for righteousness."