MAX GOES TO WAR
The next morning at dawn our army marched. Although Duke Charles would
not encumber himself with provisions for his men, he carried a vast
train of carts filled with plate, silk tents, rich rugs, and precious
jewels; for, with all his bravery, this duke's ruling passion was the
love of display in the presence of foreigners.
I shall not give the story of this disastrous war in detail; that lies
in the province of history, and my story relates only to Max and
Yolanda, and to the manner in which they were affected by the results
of the war.
We marched with forty thousand men, and laid siege to the city of
Granson, in the district of Vaud. The Swiss sent ambassadors under a
flag of truce, begging Charles to spare them, and saying, according to
my friend Comines, that "there were among them no good prisoners to
make, and that the spurs and horses' bits of the duke's army were worth
more money than all the people of Switzerland could pay in ransoms, even
if they were taken." Charles rejected all overtures, and on the third of
March the brave little Swiss army sallied against us, "heralding their
advances by the lowings of the Bull of Uri and the Cow of Unterwalden,
two enormous instruments which had been given to their ancestors by
Charlemagne."
God was against Charles of Burgundy, and his army was utterly routed by
one of less than a fourth its size. I was with Charles after the battle,
and his humiliation was more pitiful than his bursts of ungovernable
wrath were disgusting. The king of France, hoping for this disaster, was
near by at Lyons.
A cruel man is always despicable in misfortune. Charles at once sent to
King Louis a conciliatory, fawning letter, recanting all that he had
said in his last missive from Peronne, and expressing the hope that His
Majesty would adhere to the treaty and would consent to the marriage of
Princess Mary and the Dauphin at once. In this letter Yolanda had no
opportunity to insert a disturbing "t." Louis answered graciously,
saying that the treaty should be observed, and that the marriage should
take place immediately upon the duke's return to Burgundy.
"We have already forwarded instructions to Paris," wrote King Louis,
"directing that preparations be made at once for the celebration of this
most desired union at the holy church of St. Denis. We wondered much at
Your Grace's first missive, in which you so peremptorily desired us not
to move in this matter till your return; and we wondered more at Your
Lordship's ungracious reply to our answer in which we consented to the
delay Your Grace had asked."
Well might King Louis wonder. Charles also wondered, and cursed the
stupidity of the Bishop of Cambrai, who had so "encumbered his letter
with senseless courtesy as to distort its meaning."
Charles despatched letters to Peronne and Ghent, ordering immediate
preparations for the marriage. As usual, poor Mary was not considered of
sufficient importance to receive notice of the event that concerned her
so vitally. Others would prepare her, as one might fatten a lamb for
slaughter. The lamb need not be consulted or even informed; the day of
its fate would be sufficient for it. I was in despair. Max, in his
ignorance, was indifferent.
After a short delay, the duke gathered his wrath and his army and laid
siege to the town of Morat, announcing his intention to give no quarter,
but to kill all, old and young, men, women, and children. The Swiss were
prepared for us. "The energy of pride was going to be pitted against the
energy of patriotism." Again disaster fell upon Charles. Thousands of
his army were slain, and thousands fled in hopeless rout. His soldiers
had never wanted to fight, and one man defending his hearth is stronger
than half a score attacking it.
The loss of this battle drove Charles back to Burgundy. With a few of
his train, including Max and myself, he retired to the Castle of La
Riviera. Here he learned that René, Duke of Lorraine, had mustered his
forces and had laid siege to Nancy, which city Charles had taken from
Duke René, some years before, and had garrisoned with Burgundians and
English. Upon hearing this unwelcome news, Charles began the arduous
task of collecting another army. He was compelled to leave the
neighborhood of Switzerland and fly to the rescue of Nancy.
The first of January found us before Nancy, but our arrival was three
days too late. The city had capitulated to Duke René. On the fifth of
January a battle was fought before Nancy, but Fortune had turned her
back for all and all on this cruel Duke of Burgundy and Count of
Charolois. The disasters at Granson and Morat were repeated. At
nightfall Charles could not be found. I supposed that he had escaped,
but the next morning his body was found by a washerwoman, frozen in the
ice of a pond. He had been killed through the machinations of
Campo-Basso. Duke René magnanimously gave Charles regal burial, and
dismissed his followers without ransom. You may be sure I was eager to
return to Peronne.
Fortune, in turning her back upon Charles, had turned her smiling face
toward Max. Her ladyship's smiles were too precious to be wasted, so we
made post-haste for Peronne, I spurred by one motive, Mary of Burgundy,
Max by another--Yolanda. His heart had grieved for her in castle, in
camp, and in din of battle. He had, unknown to me, formed a great and
noble resolution; and there was no horse swift enough to keep pace with
his desire when we started for Peronne.
I was the first to announce the duke's death. The dark news was given by
me to the duchess and the princess in Margaret's parlor. These poor
women tried to grieve, but they were not hypocrites, and they could not
weep. Each had received at Charles's hands only ill-usage and cruelty,
and in their hearts they must have felt relief at his death.
"It was sure to come," said Margaret. "The duke's bravery led him always
into danger. It is God's will, and it must be right."
The princess walked to the window, and said nothing, until I was about
to leave; then she turned to me nervously and asked:--
"Did--did Sir Max come with you?"
I looked at her in surprise, and glanced inquiringly toward the duchess.
"My mother knows all, Sir Karl," said the princess, reassuringly. "There
have been many things which I could not have done without her help. I
have made many rapid changes, Sir Karl, from a princess to a burgher
girl, and back again, and I should have failed without my mother's help.
I surely mystified you often before you knew of the stairway in the
wall. Indeed, I have often hurried breathless to Uncle Castleman's house
to deceive you. Mother invented a burgher girl's costume that I used to
wear as an under-bodice and petticoat, so, you see, I have been visiting
you in my petticoats. I will show you some fine day--perhaps. I have but
to unfasten a half-score of hooks, and off drops the princess--I am
Yolanda! I throw a skirt over my head, fasten the hooks of a bodice, don
my head-dress, and behold! the princess once more. Only a moment
intervenes between happiness and wretchedness. But tell me, Sir Karl,
have you ever told Sir Max who I am?"
"Never, Your Highness--"
"Yolanda," she interrupted, correcting me smilingly.
"Never, Yolanda," I responded. "He does not even suspect that you are
the princess. I shall be true to you. You know what you are doing."
"Indeed I do, Sir Karl," she replied. "I shall win or lose now in a
short time and in short skirts. If Max will wed me as Yolanda, I shall
be the happiest girl on earth. If not, I shall be the most wretched. If
he learns that I am the princess, and if I must offer him the additional
inducement of my estates and my domains to bring him to me, I shall not
see him again, Sir Karl, if I die of grief for it."
I knew well what she meant, but I did not believe that she would be
able to hold to her resolution if she were put to the test. I was,
however, mistaken. With all my knowledge of the girl I did not know
her strength.
We reached Peronne during the afternoon and, of course, went early the
same evening to Castleman's.
We were greeted heartily by the good burgher, his wife, and his
daughter. Twonette courtesied to Max, but when she came to me, this
serene young goddess of pink and white offered me her cheek to kiss. I,
who had passed my quasi-priestly life without once enjoying such a
luxury, touched the velvet cheek with my lips and actually felt a thrill
of delight. Life among the burghers really was delicious. I tell you
this as a marked illustration of the fact that a man never grows too old
to be at times a fool. Twonette slipped from the room, and within
fifteen minutes returned. She went directly to Max and said:--
"Some one is waiting for you in the oak room above."
She pointed the way, and Max climbed the stairs two steps at a time. I
thought from his eagerness he would clear the entire flight at one
bound. To his knock a soft voice bade him enter. The owner of the voice
was sitting demurely at the farthest end of the room on a cushioned
bench. Her back rested against the moving panel that led to the
stairway in the wall. She did not move when Max entered. She had done
all the moving she intended to do, and Max must now act for himself. He
did. He ran down the long room to her, crying:--
"Yolanda! Yolanda!"
She rose to greet him, and he, taking her in his arms, covered her face
with kisses. The unconscious violence of his great strength bruised and
hurt her, but she gloried in the pain, and was passive as a babe in his
arms. When they were seated and half calm, she clutched one of his great
fingers and said:--
"You kept your word, Little Max. You came back to me."
"Did you not know that I would come?" he asked.
"Ah, indeed, I knew--you are not one that makes a promise to break it.
Sometimes it is difficult to induce such a man to give his word, and I
found it so, but once given it is worth having--worth having,
Little Max."
She smiled up into his face while she spoke, as if to say, "You gave me
a deal of trouble, but at last I have captured you."
"Did you so greatly desire the promise, Yolanda?" asked Max, solely for
the pleasure of hearing her answer.
"Yes," she answered softly, hanging her head, "more than any _man_, can
know. It must be an intense longing that will drive a modest girl to
boldness, such as I have shown ever since the day I first met you at
dear old Basel. It almost broke my heart when father--fatherland--when
Burgundy made war on Switzerland." The word "land" was a lucky thought,
and came to the girl just in the nick of time.
Max was too much interested in the girl to pay close attention to any
slips she might make about the war with Switzerland. It is true he was
now a soldier, and war was all right in its place; but there are things
in life compared with which the wars of nations are trivial affairs. All
subjects save one were unwelcome to him.
"Now I am going to ask a promise from you, Fräulein," said Max,
loosening his hand from her grasp and placing his arm about her waist.
She offered no objections to the new situation, but blushed and looked
down demurely to her folded hands.
"It will, I fear, be very easy for you, Max, to induce me to promise
anything you wish. It will be all too easy, for I am not strong, as you
are." She glanced into his face, but her eyes fell quickly to her hands.
"I shall soon leave you again, Fräulein, and what I wish is of such
moment that I--I almost fear to ask."
"Yes, Max," she murmured, gently reaching across his knee, and placing
her hand in his by way of encouragement.
"It is this, Fräulein. I am going back to Styria, and I want to carry
with me your promise to be my wife," said Max, softly.
The girl's head fell over against his shoulder, and she clasped his free
hand between both of hers.
"I will ask my father's consent," said Max. "I will tell him of you and
of my great love, which is so great, Fräulein, that all the world is
nothing beside it and beside you, and he will grant my request."
"But if he doesn't, Max?" asked the face hidden upon his breast.
"If he does not, Fräulein, I will forego my country and my estates. I
will come back to you and will work in the fields, if need be, to make
you as happy as you will make me."
"There will be no need for that, Max," she answered, tears of happiness
slowly trickling down her cheeks, "for I am rich."
"That I am sorry to hear," he responded.
"Don't you want to know who I am before you wed me?" she asked, after a
long pause. She had almost made up her mind to tell him.
"That you may tell me when you are my wife," said Max. "I thought you
were the Princess Mary, but I am almost glad that you are not. I soon
knew that I was wrong, for I knew that you would not deceive me."
The girl winced and concluded to postpone telling her momentous secret.
She was now afraid to do so. As a matter of fact, she had in her heart a
healthy little touch of womanly cowardice on small occasions. After a
long, delicious pause, Max said:--
"Have I your promise, Fräulein?"
"Y-e-s," she answered hesitatingly, "I will be your wife if--if I can,
and if you will take me when you learn who I am. There is no taint of
disgrace about me, Max," she added quickly, in response to the look of
surprise on his face. "But I am not worthy of you, and I fear that if
your father but knew my unworthiness, he would refuse his consent to our
marriage. You must not tell him of my boldness. I will tell you all
about myself before you leave for Styria, and then, if you do not want
me, you may leave me to--to die."
"I shall want you, Yolanda. I shall want you. Have no doubt of that," he
answered.
"With the assurance that there is no stain or taint upon me or my
family, do you give me your word, Max, that you will want me and will
take me, whoever I am, and will not by word or gesture show me that you
are angry or that you regret your promise?"
"I gladly give you that promise," answered Max.
"Did you ever tell a lie, Little Max?" she asked banteringly, "or did
you ever deliberately break a promise?"
"Did I ever steal or commit wilful murder?" asked Max, withdrawing his
arm.
"No, Max; now put it back again," she said.
After a long pause she continued:--
"I have lied."
Max laughed and drew her to him.
"Your lies will harm no one," he said joyously.
"No," she responded, "I only lie that good may come of it."
Then silence fell upon the world--their world. Was not that hour with
Max worth all the pains that Yolanda had taken to deceive him?
Yolanda and Max came down to the long room, and she, too, gave me her
cheek to kiss.
Twonette had prepared a great tankard of wine and honey, with pepper and
allspice to suit Yolanda's taste, and we all sat before the great
blazing yule fire, as joyful and content as any six people in
Christendom. Twonette and Yolanda together occupied one large chair;
Twonette serenely allowing herself to be caressed by Yolanda, who was in
a state of mind that compelled her to caress some one. Gentle Frau Kate
was sleeping in a great easy chair near the chimney-corner. Max sat at
one side of the table,--the side nearest Yolanda,--while Castleman and
I sat by each other within easy reach of the wine. I knew without the
telling, all that had occurred upstairs, and the same light seemed to
have fallen upon the Castlemans. Good old George was in high spirits,
and I could see in his eye that he intended to get drunk and, if
possible, to bring me, also, to that happy condition. After many goblets
of wine, he remarked:--
"The king of France will probably be upon us within a fortnight after he
hears the sad news from Nancy."
Yolanda immediately sat upright in her chair, abandoning Twonette's soft
hand and softer cheek.
"Why do you believe so, uncle?" she asked nervously.
"Because he has waited all his life for this untoward event to happen."
"Preparations should be made to receive him," said Yolanda.
"Ah, yes," replied Castleman, "but Burgundy's army is scattered to the
four winds. It has given its blood for causes in which its heart was
not. We lack the strong arm of the duke, to force men to battle against
their will. King Louis must be fought by policy, not by armies; and
Hymbercourt is absent."
"Do you know aught of him, Sir Karl?" asked Yolanda.
"I do not, Fräulein," I answered, "save that he was alive and well when
we left Nancy."
"That, at least, is good news," she replied, "and I make sure he will
soon come to Burgundy's help."
"I am sure he is now on his way," I answered.
"What can Burgundy do?" she asked, turning to Castleman and me. "You
will each advise--advise the princess, I hope."
"If she wishes my poor advice," I responded, "she has but to ask it."
"And mine," said Castleman, tipping his goblet over his nose.
"If we are to have clear heads to-morrow," I suggested, "we must drink
no more wine to-night. The counsel of wine is the advice of the devil."
"Right you are, Sir Karl. Only one more goblet. Here's to the health of
the bride to be," said Castleman.
Yolanda leaned back in her chair beside Twonette, and her face wore a
curious combination of smile and pout.
On the way to the inn, Max, who was of course very happy, told me what
had happened in the oak room and added:--
"I look to you, Karl, to help me with father."
"That I will certainly do," I answered. I could not resist saying: "We
came to Burgundy with the hope of winning the princess. Fortune has
opened a door for you by the death of her father. Don't you wish
to try?"
"No," said Max, turning on me. A moment later he added, "If Yolanda were
but the princess, as I once believed she was, what a romance our
journey to Burgundy would make!"
My spirits were somewhat dampened by Castleman's words concerning the
French king. Surely they were true, since King Louis was the last man in
Europe to forego the opportunity presented by the death of Charles.
Should the Princess Mary lose Burgundy just at the time when Max had won
her, my disappointment would indeed be great, and Max might truly need
my help with his father.