THE UNJOYOUS ENTRY
1467
After the dauphin was crowned at Rheims, he was monarch over all his
domains. Charles of Burgundy, on the other hand, had a series of
ceremonies to perform before he was properly invested with the various
titles worn by his father. Each duchy, countship, seigniory had to be
taken in turn. Ghent was the first capital visited. Then he had
to exchange pledges of fidelity with his Flemish subjects before
receiving recognition as Count of Flanders.
According to the custom of his predecessors, Charles stayed at the
little village of Swynaerde, near Ghent, the night before he made his
"joyous entry" into that city. It had chanced that the day selected by
Charles for the event was St. Lievin's Day and a favourite holiday of
the workers of Ghent. The saint's bones, enclosed conveniently in a
portable shrine, rested in the cathedral church, whence they were
carried once a year by the fifty-two gilds in solemn procession to
the little village of Houthem, where the blessed saint had suffered
martyrdom in the seventh century. All day and all night the saint's
devotees, the Fools of St. Lievin, as they were called, remained at
this spot. Merry did the festival become as the hours wore on, for
good cheer was carried thither as well as the sacred shrine.
Now the magistrates were a little apprehensive about the rival claims
of the new count of Flanders and the old saint of Ghent. They knew
that they could not cut short the time-honoured celebration for the
sake of the sovereign's inauguration, so they decided to prolong the
former, and directed that the saint should leave town on Saturday and
not return until Monday. This left Sunday free for the young count's
entry. It probably seemed a very convenient conjunction of events to
the city fathers, because the more turbulent portion of the citizens
was sure to follow the saint.
Accordingly, Charles made a very quiet and dignified entrance,[1]
having paused at the gates to listen to the fair words of Master
Mathys de Groothuse as he extolled the virtues of the late Count of
Flanders, and requested God to receive the present one, when he, too,
was forced to leave earth, as graciously as Ghent was receiving him
that day. All passed well; oaths of fealty were duly taken and given
at the church of St. John the Baptist. Charles himself pulled the
bell rope according to the ancient Flemish custom, and the Count of
Flanders was in possession. This all took place in the morning of June
28th. At the close of the ceremonies Charles withdrew to his hotel and
the magistrates to their dwellings.
The devotees of St. Lievin prolonged their holiday until Monday
afternoon. It was five o'clock[2] when the revellers returned to
Ghent. Many of the saint's followers were, by that time, more or less
under the influence of the contents of the casks which had formed part
of the outward-bound burden. The protracted holiday-making had its
natural sequence. There was, however, too much method in the next
proceedings for it to be attributed wholly to emotional inebriety.
The procession passed through the city gate and entered a narrow
street near the corn market, where stood a little house used as
headquarters for the collection of the _cueillotte_, a tax on every
article brought into the city for sale, and one particularly obnoxious
to the people. Suddenly a cry was raised and echoed from rank to rank
of St. Lievin's escort, "Down with the _cueillotte_."
Then with the ingenious humour of a Celtic crowd, quick to take a
fantastic advantage of a situation, a second cry was heard: "St.
Lievin must go through the house. Lievin is a saint who never turns
aside from his route."
Delightful thought, followed by speedy action. Axes were produced and
wielded to good effect.
Down came the miniature customs-house in a flash. Little pieces of
the ruin were elevated on sticks and carried by some of the rabble as
standards with the cry "I have it--I have it." As they marched
the procession was constantly augmented and the cries become more
decidedly revolutionary: "Kill, kill these craven spoilers of God and
of the world.[2] Where are they? Let us seek them out and slay them in
their houses, those who have flourished at our pitiable expense."
This was rank rebellion. Even under cover of St. Lievin's mantle,
resistance to regularly instituted customs could hardly be described
by any other name. Excited by their own temerity, the crowd now surged
on to the great market-place in front of the Hôtel de Ville, where the
Friday market is held, instead of returning the saint promptly to his
safe abiding-place as was meet.
There the lawless deeds--lawless to the duke's mind certainly--became
more audacious. Counterparts of the very banners whose prohibition
had been part of the sentence in 1453 were unfurled,[4] and their
possession alone proved insurrectionary premeditation on the part of
the gild leaders. Ghent was in open revolt, and the young duke in
their midst felt it was an open insult to him as sovereign count.
His messenger failed to return from the market-place. His master
became impatient and followed him to the scene of action with a small
escort. As they drew near, the crowd thickened and hedged them in. The
nobles became alarmed and urged the duke to return, but cries from
the crowd promised safety to his person. To the steps of the Hôtel de
Ville rode the duke, his face dark, menacing with suppressed wrath.[5]
As he dismounted, he turned towards a man whom he thought he saw
egging on a disturbance and struck him with his riding whip, saying,
"I know you." The man was quick enough to realise the value of the
duke's violence at that moment and cried, "Strike again," but the
Seigneur Groothuse, who had already tried to check Charles's anger and
to curb the popular turbulence, exclaimed, "For the love of God do
not strike again!" The wiser burgher at once understood the unstable
temper of the mob, which had been fairly civil to the duke up to this
moment. There were ugly murmurs to be heard that the blow would cost
him dear.
"Indeed," says the courtly Chastellain, "the mischief was so
imminent that God alone averted it, and there was not an archer
or noble or man so full of assurance that he did not tremble with
fear, nor one who would not have preferred to be in India for his
own safety. Especially were they in terror for their young prince,
who, they thought, was exposed to a dolorous death."
It was Groothuse alone who averted disaster:
"Do you not see that your life and ours hang on a silken thread?
Do you think you can coerce a rabble like this by threats and hard
words--a rabble who at this moment do not value you more than the
least of us? They are beside themselves, they have neither reason
nor understanding.[6]... If you are ready to die, I am not, except
in spite of myself. You must try quite a different method--appease
them by sweetness and save your house and your life.
"What could you do alone? How the gods would laugh! Your courage
is out of place here unless it enables you to calm yourself and
give an example to those poor sheep, wretched misled people whom
you must soothe. Go down in God's name. [They were within the town
hall.] Show yourself and you will make an impression by your good
sense and all will go well."
To this eminently sound advice the young duke yielded. He appeared on
a balcony or on the upper steps of the town hall and stood ready to
harangue his unruly and turbulent subjects. A moment sufficed to still
the turmoil and the silence showed a readiness to hear him speak.
Charles was not perfectly at ease in Flemish, but he was wise enough
to use that tongue. One trait of the Ghenters was respect for the
person of their overlord. When that overlord showed any disposition to
meet them half-way the response was usually immediate. So it was now.
The crowd which had been attending to St. Lievin, and not to the
duke's joyous entry, suddenly remembered that his welcome had been
strangely ignored. Their grumblings changed to greetings. "Take heart,
Monseigneur. Have no fear. For you we will live and die and none shall
be so audacious as to harm you. If there be evil fellows with no bump
of reverence, endure it for the moment. Later you shall be avenged. No
time now for fear."
This sounded better. Charles was sufficiently appeased to address the
crowd as "My children," and to assure them that if they would but meet
him in peaceful conference, their grievances should be redressed.
"Welcome, welcome! we are indeed your children and recognise your
goodness."
Then Groothuse followed with a longer speech than was possible either
to Charles's Flemish or to his mood. This address was equally
well received, and matters were in train for the appointment of a
conference between popular representatives and the new Count of
Flanders, when suddenly a tall, rude fellow climbed up to the balcony
from the square. Using an iron gauntlet as a gavel to strike on
the wall, he commanded attention and turned gravely to address the
audience as though he were on the accredited list of speakers:
"My brothers, down there assembled to set your complaints before your
prince, your first wish--is it not?--is to punish the ill governors of
this town and those who have defrauded you and him alike."
"Yes, yes," was the quick answer of the fickle crowd.--"You desire the
suppression of the _cueillotte_, do you not?"--"Yes, yes."--"You
want all your gates opened again, your banners restored, and your
privileges reinforced as of yore?"--"Yes, yes." The self-appointed
envoy turned calmly to Charles and said:
"Monseigneur, this is what the citizens have come together to ask you.
This is your task. I have said it in their behalf, and, as you hear,
they make my words their own."
Noteworthy is Chastellain's pious and horrified ejaculation over the
extraordinary insolence of this big villain, who thus audaciously
associated himself with his betters: "O glorious Majesty of God,
think of such an outrageous and intolerable piece of villainy being
committed before the eyes of a prince! For a low man to venture to
come and stand side by side with such a gentleman as our seigneur, and
to proffer words inimical to his authority--words the poorest noble in
the world would hardly have endured! And yet it was necessary for this
noble prince to endure and to tolerate it for the moment, and needful
that he should let pass as a pleasantry what was enough to kill him
with grief."
Groothuse's answer to the man was mild. Evidently he did not think it
was a safe moment to exasperate the mob: "'My friend, there was no
necessity of your intruding up here, a place reserved for the prince
and his nobles. From below, you could have been heard and Monseigneur
could have answered you as well there as here. He requires no advocate
to make him content his people. You are a strange master. Get down. Go
down below and keep to your mates. Monseigneur will do right by every
one.'
"Off went the rascal and I do not know what became of him. The duke
and his nobles were simply struck dumb by the scamp's outrage and his
impudent daring."
The sober report[7] is less detailed and elaborate, but the thread is
the same. Monseigneur, having returned to his hotel, sent Monseigneur
de la Groothuse, Jean Petitpas, and Richard Utenhove back to the
market to invite the people to put their grievances in writing. A
draft was made and carried to the duke. After he had examined it and
discussed it with his council, he sent Monseigneur de la Groothuse
back to the market-place to tell the people that he wanted to sleep
on the proposition and would give his answer at an early hour on the
morrow. All through the night the people remained in arms on the
market-place. At about eight o'clock on June 30th Groothuse returned,
thanked the people in the count's name for having kept such good
watch, and was answered by cries of "_À bas la cueillotte_."
Then he assured them that all was pardoned and that they should obtain
what they had asked in the draft. Only he requested them to appoint a
committee of six to present their demands to Monseigneur and then to
go home. This they did. St. Lievin was restored to the church and his
followers betook themselves to the gates specified in the treaty of
Gaveren. These they broke down, and also destroyed another house where
was a tax collector's office.
"The report of these events carried to Monseigneur did not have a good
effect upon his spirit. On the morrow Monseigneur quitted the city."
The members of the corporation with the two deans and the popular
committee of six having obtained audience before his departure,
Groothuse acted as spokesman: "We implore you in all humility to
pardon us for the insult you have suffered, and to sign the paper
presented. The bad have had more authority than the good, which could
not be prevented, but we know truly that if the draft is not signed
they will kill us."
It is evident in all this story that the municipal authorities were
frightened to death and that Charles allowed himself to be restrained
to an extraordinary extent considering the undoubted provocation. His
reasons for conciliatory measures were two, and literally were his
ducats and his daughter. He had with him all the portable treasure and
ready money that his father had had at Bruges, a large treasure
and one on which he counted for his immediate military
operations--operations very important to the position as a European
power which he ardently desired to attain.
Still more important was the fact that his young daughter, Mary, now
eleven years old, was living in Ghent, to a certain degree the ward of
the city. If the unruly majority should realise their strength what
easier for them than to seize the treasure and hold the daughter as
hostage, until her father had acceded to every demand, and until
democracy was triumphant not only in Ghent but in the neighbouring
cities?
Charles simply did not dare attempt further coercion of the democratic
spirit until he was beyond the walls. It is evident that he was
completely taken by surprise at Ghent's attitude towards him, as the
city had always professed great personal attachment to him. But there
was a difference between being heir and sovereign. The agreement was
signed, with a mental reservation on the part of the Duke of Burgundy.
He only intended to keep his pledge until he could see his way clear
to make terms better to his liking.
On Tuesday, June 30th, Charles left Ghent, taking his daughter and his
treasure away, but a safe shelter for both was not easy to find.
The duke's anticipations of the effect of Ghent's actions upon her
neighbours were quickly proved to be no idle fears. There were revolts
of more or less importance at Mechlin, at Antwerp, at Brussels, and
other places. Moreover, there was serious discussion in the estates
assembled at Louvain as to whether Charles should be acknowledged as
Duke of Brabant, or whether the claims of his cousin, the Count of
Nevers, should be considered as heir to Philip's predecessor, for the
late duke's title had never been considered perfect.
Louis XI. seized the opportunity to urge the pretensions of the
latter, and there were many reasons to recommend him, in the
estimation of the Brabanters, who saw advantage in having a sovereign
exclusively their own, instead of one with the widespread geographical
interests of the Burgundian family. The final decision was, however,
for Charles; a notice of the resolution of the deputies was sent to
him at Mechlin, and he made his formal "entry" into Louvain, where he
received homage from the nobles, the good cities, and the university.
The various insurgent manifestations were promptly quelled one after
another, but, with a nature that neither forgot nor forgave, the duke
was strongly impressed by them as personal insults. He blamed Ghent
for their occurrence and deeply resented every one. Throughout
Philip's whole career he remembered the localised tenure of his titles
and the fact that they were not perfectly incontestable. For his own
advantage he often found a conciliatory attitude the best policy.
Charles considered all his rights heaven-born. Questioning his
authority was rank rebellion. That he had accepted advice in regard
to Ghent, and had been ruled by expediency for the nonce, did not
mitigate his intense bitterness.
In another town that gave him serious trouble at this time, nothing
led him to curb the severity of his measures. Though only a
"protector," not an overlord, when he suppressed a rebellion in Liege
he rigorously exacted the most complete and humiliating penalties. The
city charters were abrogated, all privileges were forfeited. As
an unprotected village must Liege stand henceforth, walls and
fortifications rased to the ground.
"The perron on the market-place of the said town shall be taken
down, and then Monseigneur the duke shall treat it according to
his pleasure. The city may not remake the said perron, nor replace
another like it in the market-place or elsewhere in the city. Nor
shall the said perron appear in the coat-of-arms of Liege."[8]
This was a terrible indignity for the city and a clear proof of their
fear of their bishop's friend.
The episode impressed the citizens of Ghent with the duke's power, and
made the more timorous anxious to erase the event of 1467 from his
mind. The peace party finally prevailed in their arguments, but the
scene of abnegation and self-humiliation crowning their apology was
not enacted until eighteen months after the events apologised for,
when the new duke had still further proven his metal.
[Footnote 1: Gachard, _Doc. inéd_., i., 210, etc.]
[Footnote 2: Some authorities make this five A.M., but the _Rapport_
is probably correct.]
[Footnote 3: Chastellain, v., 260 _et passim_.]
[Footnote 4: So say some historians. But it seems probable that the
drapery of St. Lievin's shrine was hastily used as a flag.]
[Footnote 5: Chastellain, v., ch. 7, etc.]
[Footnote 6: These are Chastellain's words to be sure, but the sober
_Rapport_ is similar in purport.]
[Footnote 7: Gachard, _Doc. inéd._, i., 212. ]
[Footnote 8: Gachard. _Doc. inéd_., ii., 462, "_Instrument notarié_."]