_Bruges under the Princes of the House of Burgundy--Philip le Hardi and
John Sans Peur--1385-1419_
The advent of the House of Burgundy found the communes of Flanders
crippled and humbled by the disasters which had recently befallen
them--disasters which, as we have seen, were but the natural outcome of
their own domestic feuds. But though the battle of Rosebeke, and the
events which followed, left Flanders bleeding, exhausted, almost dead,
the dire calamity which had befallen her had in it this element of
strength--it had brought about a reconciliation between Bruges and
Ghent; the feuds which had so long neutralized their endeavours were for
the moment laid aside, and when in December 1385 the new Sovereign
deemed it politic to come to terms with the latter city, it was
doubtless this consideration which prompted him to concede to the rebel
Ghenters, whom he had defeated again and again, terms hardly less
advantageous than they themselves would have exacted had they been in a
position to dictate the conditions of peace.
By this treaty Philip confirmed all the time-honoured rights and
privileges and franchises of Ghent and of her allies; granted a general
amnesty to all who had taken part in the recent rebellion; guaranteed
the release of all prisoners of war, and the restitution of all
confiscated property.
Had the communes remained united they would probably have been able to
successfully withstand the craft and perseverance of their Burgundian
chiefs, whose policy, no less than that of their predecessors, was to
convert their limited rights over Flanders into a complete and absolute
sovereignty. But if strife weakened the resisting power of the burghers,
the terrific and magnificent princes who were striving to enslave them
were deprived of one element of strength which was never lacking to the
puny Lords of Nevers--the assistance and support of France. Harassed by
England, rent by internal factions and with a lunatic for king, France
was in no position to help anyone during the first half of the period we
are now considering; and when, later on, under Louis XI., she had at
last recruited her strength, the ambitious designs of the Dukes of
Burgundy had forced her to become their bitterest foe. For not only
would these men have welded into one vast independent state the
conglomeration of fiefs in France and in Germany, which, by inheritance,
by marriage, by conquest, by haggling they had gradually gathered into
their maw, but their insatiable lust for dominion prompted them to
meddle also with the private concerns of France--to essay to direct
alike her domestic and foreign policy. Hence the memorable quarrel
between the Dukes of Burgundy and the French princes--a quarrel which,
notwithstanding the disasters it brought on their chiefs, was no little
advantage to the Flemish race.
But there was another circumstance which in no small degree favoured the
cause of freedom.
To carry out their vast enterprises the Dukes of Burgundy were
constantly in need of the sinews of war. They wanted men to do battle
for them, and they wanted money to further their political schemes. In
each of these commodities Flanders was rich, and in spite of her recent
enfeeblement, and in spite of internal divisions, she was still strong
enough, and shrewd enough, to withhold her aid on each occasion that it
was asked until she had first some substantial _quid pro quo_.
The necessity then of their Sovereigns was the burgher's opportunity,
and whenever they implored their assistance the answer, whether from
Ypres or Bruges or Ghent, was invariably one--they were prepared to sell
at a reasonable price, provided prepayment were made. Some grievance
must first be redressed; some large charter of liberties granted; some
obnoxious tax abolished, or some new treaty of commerce signed. But for
all that the burghers knew very well that when their lords made
concessions it was in spite of themselves, and when they curtailed their
liberties, which they invariably did whenever they could safely do so,
it was with a view later on to their total annihilation.
At the close of the reign of that magnificent ruffian, John the
Fearless, the communes had thus achieved no small measure of success,
whilst the progress which their rulers had made towards the goal of
their ambition, at least so far as Flanders was concerned, was _nil_.
For every two steps forward the exigencies of circumstances had forced
them three steps back, so that, when John the Fearless died, Flanders
was freer than she had ever been before.
This is all the more remarkable from the fact that Ghent, the mightiest
of the Flemish cities, had of late shown herself but half hearted in
support of the popular cause. It was the old story. Jealousy of her
great rival, Bruges, and the national inability to withstand corruption.
Philip the Rash and his morose son had alike favoured Ghent.
The vicissitudes of Bruges during the whole of this season were
marvellous in the extreme--a continual alternation of peace and
warfare, of merry-making and tumultuous frays, of luxury and pinching
need, of honeyed speech and dire threats, for Philippe and John alike
carried two faces under their hoods. When they wanted anything they
could smile sweetly enough, and when they felt themselves independent
they were wont to terrorize with fierce looks, and bloody deeds too, for
the matter of that.
Hardly had the echo of the _Carillon_ died away, which had swung out the
joy of the burghers at the great pacification at the opening of Duke
Philip's rule, when hostilities broke out again. Philip was in no way
sincere in signing that treaty which Ghent had so proudly negotiated
with him, more like an independent sovereign state than a conquered
rebel city, and presently he conceived a diabolical plot to slay all her
burghers by means of Breton mercenaries whom he would secretly have
brought into their midst. This fell design having been happily
discovered, the agents who were to have accomplished it, disappointed of
the rich booty they thought to have obtained at Ghent, turned their
attention to Bruges, and soon began to break into the houses of sundry
honourable burghers there, and to insult and molest their women.
Whereupon tumult unspeakable, and in the midst of it all the Duke of
Berri was descried riding towards the _Pont des Carmes_. This man was
the most hated of all the French knights, for his hands were red, every
burgher believed, with the blood of their favourite Louis of Maele. In a
moment he was surrounded by the howling mob, unhorsed, wounded almost to
death, and 'if it had not been for the intervention of the Sire de
Ghistelle--a man of weight, at Bruges--he would not have escaped with
his life.' Thus Froissart; and he adds, 'Nor would a single knight or
squire of France have been left alive in the town.'
Meanwhile Philip's affairs had prospered in France. He was now
practically regent of the kingdom. His wife, '_une creuse et haute
dame_,' was installed at Paris, and had undertaken the administration of
the Queen's household. The King's counsellors were in exile; the Bishop
of Laon was dead--poisoned, it was thought by many--and others would
have probably shared his fate had not Philip's hand been restrained by a
passing fear that the King's reason was returning.
Things then were going well with the Duke of Burgundy. He had time to
turn his attention to the taming of the Flemish burghers, and amongst
other regulations and proceedings, in direct contravention of the treaty
of Tournai, he began to fight against the popular conscience.
It was the time of the great schism. From Rome and Avignon rival
claimants to the Papal throne were hurling anathemas at one another. All
Europe was divided as to who was the rightful Pope, and since it suited
Philip to support Clement, of course his burghers felt bound in
conscience to acknowledge Urban. Thanks to a gift of sixty thousand
francs, the Ghenters had obtained permission to remain neutral, but
hardly had three months expired when the Bishop of Teruanne went over to
the side of Avignon, and at the same time all Antwerp followed his
example. A favourable moment, thought Philip, to commence proselytism,
by corruption, by violence, by any means at hand; and presently he
formally forbade any of his subjects to obey the Pope of Rome. Then
throughout Flanders all public worship ceased. Here and there, in the
chapel of some great castle protected by high walls and a double moat, a
Clementine priest would occasionally say Mass, but the boldest of them
would not celebrate in public. If they had ventured to do so, the people
would have dragged them from the altar. Bruges was beside herself. From
the pulpit of St. Walburge the curate proclaimed the curse of Heaven on
all who should recognize the Pope of Avignon, and forthwith fled the
country. So too the Abbot of St. Peter's and the Abbot of Bandeloo, and
a host of monks and burghers, not a few of whom took refuge in England,
where they obeyed the Pope of Rome. One of these last was not so
fortunate. Petrus van Roesclare, a civic dignitary of great wealth. He
was arrested and carried to Lille, and there they cut off his head. John
van der Capelle, the patriot whom Philip had appointed High Steward of
Flanders, after the pacification of Tournai, was for the same motive
deprived of his office. So too John of Heyle, whose good offices had
greatly contributed to the settlement of Tournai. He was loaded with
chains and cast into prison, where shortly afterwards he died. 'Men
called him a martyr, for during the two months previous to his death he
had tasted no solid food, and all that time he had passed in prayer.'
Philip, who was not ignorant of the rebellious spirit which his
religious policy had aroused, about this time came to Bruges, hoping
that his presence would frighten the burghers into submission. He had
brought with him the Clementine Bishop of Tournai. On the following
Sunday an ordination took place at St. Sauveur's, and the next day at
Sluys, but on neither occasion was a single burgher present, nor would
any of them avail themselves of the ministrations of the newly-ordained
clergy.
But though the Bruges men grumbled and stayed away from Mass, their
religious convictions were not sufficiently strong, or they were too
much awed by the presence of Philip, to attempt any overt act of
opposition. Not so the men of Ghent. As soon as the obnoxious edict had
been published, a riot ensued which was only with difficulty calmed by
the Urbanist clergy themselves. Whereupon Philip, perceiving that the
burghers had made up their minds, permitted them to follow the dictates
of conscience, and Ghent then became a place of pilgrimage throughout
Flanders. It was the only town in the country where men could worship as
they would, and all Bruges went out there at Easter-time to receive Holy
Communion (1394).
The death of Duke Philip, ten years later, afforded no little
consolation to his subjects, but the advent of a yet sterner ruler soon
taught them to regret the old man's decease, for if Philip had beaten
the Flemings with rods, his son John scourged them with scorpions.
As is the wont of most men when first they are invested with authority,
during the early days of his reign he had been all smiles and
condescension. At Ghent he had sworn on the true cross to 'respect the
rights and liberties of the communes and to do by them all that a
righteous Lord and Count of Flanders should do.' When a deputation of
huffy burghers from Bruges and the other _bonnes villes_ came out to
greet him at Menin and showed themselves more eager to make known their
grievances than to bid him welcome, he smoothed their ruffled feathers
with soft words. He was ready, he said, to do anything they wanted; and
when, a few days later, a second deputation waited on him at Ghent to
complain of the commercial depression caused by the war between England
and France, his answer was all that could be desired. He had already
done his utmost to effect a reconciliation, but was prepared to try
again, for no one, he added, with a touch of humour, was more interested
in the prosperity of Flanders than he, for the richer she was the more
she could afford to give him.
It was not until John had been thwarted that he showed of what stuff he
was made. Opposition first came from the burghers of Bruges, and the
burghers of Bruges were the first to experience the sting of his lash.
It happened thus.
When in 1414 an English fleet of a hundred vessels sailed up the Zwyn
and was threatening the fortress of Sluys--evil reminiscence of the
conquest of Charles VI.--the burghers of Bruges refused to defend it,
notwithstanding their Sovereign's earnest entreaties. 'It did not behove
them,' they said by the mouth of their burgomaster, Lievin van
Schotclaere, 'to protect a citadel which threatened the English less
than their own liberties,' nor was it until the invaders had taken Sluys
and burnt the castle that, at last, the Bruges men consented to arm, and
perhaps even then there was some secret understanding between them, for
the English retired at the approach of the burghers, 'slowly and without
any sign of disquietude, rather after the manner of friends and allies
than foes.'
As for John, he withdrew to Ghent disgusted; made it known that
henceforth he would reside in that city; with a lavish hand scattered
gold there; succeeded in corrupting not a few of the leading burghers,
and at length conciliated the goodwill of the whole town by concluding a
commercial truce with England, which by putting an end to the mutual
piracy of the belligerents was intended to pave the way for a regular
commercial treaty. Being thus in a position to act without hindrance, he
turned his attention to the truculent burghers of Bruges, and presently
the watchers on the belfry--for then, as now, night and day, there were
watchers on the belfry--descried slowly winding its way through the
woods of Maele, like some huge silver snake, and drawing nearer and
nearer to the city, a troop of armed men. In an instant the tocsin was
swinging, but the signal had been given too late, and when the
breathless citizens reached the market-place, they found it filled with
the Duke's guard, and there on the Halles balcony was John himself with
a rod in his hand--symbol of coming chastisement. Sixteen great city
officers were deprived of their appointments and condemned to exile or
mulcted in heavy fines, and their places were given to certain obscure
citizens on whose subservience John could rely. It was gall and wormwood
to the burghers, but they bent their heads to the storm, nor did they
refuse to set their seal of acceptance to the humiliating _Kalfvel_
which the Duke imposed on them in place of their time-honoured charter,
nor to thank him for it into the bargain, and that, though it wounded
alike their pride and their pockets, curtailed their liberty, and
imperilled their necks, by putting burthensome restrictions on the use
of guild banners, by utterly suppressing the _maenghelt_, or monthly
subsidy, which from time immemorial the corporation had granted to each
of the trade guilds, and by making all kinds of vexatious enactments
which were sanctioned by pain of death.
Note amongst the banished, Nicholas Barbesaen, erst burgomaster and city
treasurer, who had been in former days a devoted adherent of Louis of
Maele, and on more than one occasion, as he himself recounts in a memoir
still extant amongst the archives of Lille, had risked his life to save
him. He was also a man of much public spirit, and at his own cost had
rebuilt the town gates which had been destroyed by the Ghenters in 1382.
Two of them, the _Porte Ste. Croix_ and the _Porte de Gand_, are still
standing. 'I showed great diligence,' he says, in the document above
referred to, 'anent the public buildings of the town, such as bridges,
fountains, gates, towers and the like, the greater number of which were
rebuilt during the time that I was burgomaster and treasurer of this
city.'
[Illustration: THE PORTE DE GAND]
But the meed of John's vengeance was not yet complete. Emboldened by the
ease with which he had obtained the burghers' acceptance of the
_Kalfvel_, he imposed by means of the new corporation a host of onerous
taxes which had never been heard of before, notably a heavy duty on
wheat, and obtained from his subservient magistrates a legal decision
that the seventh _denier_ in all town revenues belonged by right to the
Sovereign.
To every honest burgher submission meant sorrow and bitterness of heart,
but with their town in the hands of foreign mercenaries, Ghent bound
hand and foot with golden fetters, sycophants and traitors in their own
camp, they could but lie low and wait, and they waited for four years,
and then their hour of triumph came.
It was the fall of the year 1411. The strife between the Burgundians and
the Armagnacs was at its height. John was encamped in the plain of
Montdidier waiting for Orléans to give battle. With him was an army of
Flemings recruited from all the towns in the county. Their services, for
a limited period, had been purchased by means of concessions--according
to one account at the cost of a commercial union with England
consecrated by an acknowledgment of the suzerainty of Henry IV. Each
city was to fight under its own banner and be commanded by its own
elected chiefs; on these conditions only had the burghers consented to
leave their homes, and so eager was John for their services that he had
made no protest even in the case of the Bruges men who had chosen Lieven
van Schotclaere the burgomaster, whom he himself had deposed in 1407.
Presently the allotted term expired, the French had made no sign, and
John could only prevail on the burghers to remain with him one week more
by granting them fresh favours 'on account of the good, agreeable and
notable services which they have rendered us, do render us, and will, we
hope, continue to render us.' But when the week had passed and still
Orléans tarried, neither prayers nor promises could induce them to
further prolong their soldiering. At daybreak a mighty roar went up from
the Flemish camp--_Go go, wapens wapers, te Vlaendren waert_, and they
went. John rode out to confront them, and, with his hat off and his
hands clasped, very humbly begged them to remain only four days longer;
they were his brothers, he said, his comrades, the dearest friends he
had; he was ready to renounce in their favour all the taxes of Flanders.
But they were deaf to all his prayers; their only answer was to show the
letter which limited the duration of the expedition, and to point to the
ducal seal with which it was stamped.
Perceiving that it was useless to insist further, John the Fearless
accompanied the Flemings as far as Péronne, where, having thanked them
for their services and commissioned the Duke of Brabant to conduct them
to the frontier, he bade them farewell, and almost alone set out for
Paris. Thus ended the famous expedition to Montdidier, and thus did
Bruges obtain her first instalment of vengeance. She had wrung from John
undoubted favours, refused the only boon he asked, and received from him
into the bargain a sufficiently humble acknowledgment for the 'good,
agreeable and notable services which she had daily rendered,' but the
hated _Kalfvel_ was still in force; she was still governed by the
creatures of the man who had wronged her, and of both the one and the
other she was determined to be rid.
On the evening of the 6th of October, 1411, the Bruges men with
Schotclaere at their head, and accompanied by the soldiery of eleven
other towns, reached the great plain of Ten Belle, three leagues from
home. Here they encamped for the night, here too they took counsel
together, and next morning when Baldwin de Voss came out to greet them
and to learn the hour of their arrival at Bruges, they replied that the
_Kalfvel_ must first be cancelled, and all grievances redressed.
Whereupon the wily burgomaster with much plausible speech essayed
negotiation. He would make known their wishes to the Duke, who would
doubtless give favourable ear to them, but meanwhile they must lay down
their arms and return peaceably to their homes. _Sils ne veulent perdre,
he added, la bonne grâce de mon dit seigneur, en lequelle ils estoient
sur tous autres qui l'avoient suivi de son pays de Flandres._
These specious words deceived no man, and De Voss tried again. There
were three points which it was beyond his power to concede. The Duke
alone could repeal the _gabelle_, and the edicts anent confiscation, and
the use of guild banners; for the rest, he was prepared to do all they
wanted, but the burghers were adamant; they would never disarm, they
averred, until they had obtained full satisfaction. At last, after much
parleying, messengers were dispatched to the Duke, who by the advice of
his Council conceded every point. The obnoxious taxes were repealed, the
_Kalfvel_ was torn up, and the officers appointed in 1407 were thrust
out of the city. Thus after four years' servitude Bruges was once more
free.
The causes of the enmity between John the Fearless and his cousin
Philippe of Orléans are intricate and multiple and do not come within
the scope of this book, nor would the tragedy in which it culminated be
here alluded to were it not that some of the chief actors were either
Bruges men, or intimately connected with Bruges, notably John Gerson,
the famous theologian of the Council of Pisa, and perhaps the most
brilliant scholar of his day. The following are the main outlines of the
story. Towards the fall of the year 1407 the Duke of Burgundy set out
for Paris, determined to rid himself forever of his powerful enemy and
rival the Duke of Orléans. When, however, he reached the French capital,
to the surprise of all men, for all men were well aware of his morose
and sullen temper, he gave favourable ear to the words of King Charles,
consented to a reconciliation, had an interview with Orléans at his
house, the _Château de Beauté_, and on the following Sunday (November
20), by way of sealing their friendship, received Holy Communion with
him at the Chapel of the Augustinian Friars.
Three days after, when Orléans was at the Queen's palace, a messenger
arrived from the King to summon him to his presence. Attended by two
esquires and four or five lackeys bearing torches, for the night was
dark, he mounted his mule and set out for the royal abode.
Hardly had the little cavalcade left the palace gates when a band of
armed men sprang out at them, crying, 'Death, death!' 'Hold,' shouted
the prince, '_je suis le Duc d'Orléans.' 'C'est ce que nous voulons_',
was the reply, and they slashed him to death with their axes.
At that moment a tall man, with his face concealed by a red slouch hat
turned down over his eyes, rushed out from Burgundy's house and cut off
the dead Duke's hand, and with a club smashed in his skull.
The only one of his attendants who had made any show at resistance was a
Flemish page called Jacques de Mene. This youth interposed his own body
to receive the blows intended for his master until he fell dead by his
side. The rest took flight.
When the Orléanists heard what had happened next morning, they were
filled with consternation, and all kinds of rumours were abroad as to
the identity of the murderer, but strangely enough no one suspected the
Duke of Burgundy. He had attended the funeral, which took place in due
course, attired in deep mourning, and had there exhibited every outward
manifestation of grief, but it was afterwards remembered that during the
ceremony he had laid his hand on the coffin, and that, as he did so,
blood had spurted out from his victim's wounds.
Be this as it may, when, after the completion of the funeral ceremonies,
the Provost of Paris entered the royal chamber and demanded permission
to extend his inquiries 'even into the palaces of princes,' the Duke,
who was present, turned pale, and drawing the Duke of Berri aside,
avowed to him that he was the author of the crime. 'The devil,' he said,
'had beguiled him.'[34]
Berri for the moment held his tongue, but next day at the house of the
Lord of Nesle, the Duke of Burgundy made public confession of his guilt.
'In order that no man may be wrongfully accused of the death of the Duke
of Orléans, I avow that I myself and no other am the author of that
which has taken place.' Immediately afterwards he fled the city, never
halting until at half-past twelve in the afternoon he reached Bapaume.
The number of his confederates must have been considerable, for relays
of horses were awaiting him at successive stages, and the Admiral of
France and a handful of knights, who almost immediately gave chase,
found all the bridges over which he had passed entirely demolished.
In memory of the peril which John had so successfully evaded, he gave
orders that henceforth the great town bell should be daily rung at
half-past twelve, and for years afterwards the Duke's Angelus, as the
citizens called it, kept alive the memory of his escape.
Presently John was at Ghent, endeavouring by the mouth of Chancellor
Saulk to justify his conduct in the eyes of the communes, for he had
convoked the estates of Flanders to meet him there. Presently he was at
Amiens, guarded by three thousand men-at-arms, making conditions with
the royal envoys whom Charles had sent to dissuade him from joining
hands with England; closeted with Friar Petit, whom he had summoned from
Paris 'to advise him anent certain secret matters greatly touching his
honour'; doing anything and everything to safeguard his person and his
interests, and to further his ambitious schemes. At last he deemed it
safe to return to the French capital.
The sudden death of the Duke of Orléans had sown terror and confusion in
the ranks of his supporters, whilst so mighty was the name of Burgundy
that his friends among the roughs of Paris had feared not to insult the
remains of his victim as they were being solemnly carried to the place
of burial. True the King had promised the Duchess of Orléans vengeance,
but it was a promise beyond his power to keep; the influence of Jean
Sans Peur was increasing day by day, and when early in March he once
more returned to the French capital, he was hailed as the saviour of the
realm. The Duke of Berri made a banquet in his honour in the very house
in which he had first avowed his guilt. 'Maître' Jean Petit, who was not
only a _persona grata_ at Court, but a divinity professor at the
Sorbonne, whose opinions were not without weight in the world of the
learned, did not hesitate to avow in the presence of the Dauphin and the
royal princes that it was lawful to slay tyrants, and that those who did
so deserved no punishment, but ought rather to receive reward.
In a solemn assembly, at which were present the King of Sicily, and the
Dukes of Guienne, of Berri, of Lorraine and Bretagne, not a few counts
and several bishops, John ratified all that Master Petit had said anent
the laudable motives which had inspired his action, and soon his speech,
reproduced by a host of scribes, was echoing all over France, 'like a
triumphal pæan in the midst of the stupefied silence of the Orléanists,'
and to crown all, the King himself published letters of approval.
'Seeing that our very dear and well-beloved cousin has explained that it
was with a view to our own safety and the preservation of our line, for
the utility and welfare of our realm, and to keep with us that faith and
loyalty by which he is bound, that he has caused to be put out of the
world our very dear and well-beloved brother the Duke of Orléans, whom
God forgive, we make known, and will, that the aforesaid Duke of
Burgundy is, and remains, in our singular love even as he was before.'
Thus ended the first scene of the tragedy, and twelve years passed by,
replete with strife and turmoil, which concerns not these pages; then
came the grand finale.
'Joab,' had thundered John Petit in his famous glorification of the Duke
of Burgundy, '_Joab a répandu le sang de la guerre au milieu de la paix:
sa viellesse ne descendra pas paisiblement dans la tombe_,' and in the
light of after events the words of the notorious friar seem almost
prophetic. On the 10th of September 1419, some twelve years after the
murder of the Duke of Orléans, John the Fearless was himself slain on
French soil. It happened thus. About a month previous to this date, John
had requested an interview with the Dauphin, who was now chief of the
Orléanist party, with a view to concluding peace. After some hesitation,
the latter had consented, and on the 14th of August, on the bridge of
Montereau-Faut-Yonne, the meeting took place. During the discussion
which ensued, words ran high, and presently the spectators on either
bank of the Seine observed that the men on the bridge were struggling.
For a moment they suspected foul play, and a cry went up that the
Dauphin had been slain, but it was not the Dauphin but John himself whom
the crowd had seen hurled to the ground, and the figure bending over
him, and perhaps essaying to staunch his wounds, was no other than that
of Guillaume le Bouteille, once servant to Philippe d'Orléans. 'As thou
didst serve my master,' muttered the old man, as he hacked off the dead
Duke's hand, 'as thou didst serve my master even so do I now serve
thee.' But the crowd on the banks heard not his words, and wist not what
he was doing.
Was John the victim of his cousin's treachery, or had he at length been
taken in his own net? In a word, was he slain by the Dauphin in
self-defence? Such the latter averred to be the case, and there is this
much in favour of his assertion--Juvenal des Ursins, the most reliable
and impartial historian of his century, gives credence to it. So too
Olivier of Dixmude, who relates the following anecdote:--
One night, towards the hour of matins, about a month after Philippe's
murder, whilst the Duke of Burgundy was staying at Ypres, a strange and
lurid light appeared in the air over the cloister of St. Martin, where
he was lodged. Thither ran a host of citizens from all quarters of the
town, thinking that the place was on fire, but they soon perceived the
true cause thereof--a dragon hovering over the Duke's chamber, which
suddenly turned his flaming dart on himself and so disappeared, and,
Olivier adds, even thus did John the Fearless die--in a plot of his own
hatching.
When in the year 1408 Duke John the Fearless, glorying in the crime he
had committed, and vaunting it as an act of virtue, was heaping wealth
and favours on the shameless friar who, as he cynically avowed, for
gold and the hope of more gold had made himself his apologist, there was
one man who ventured to lift up his voice in protest; this man was Jean
de Gerson, erst chaplain to Philip the Hardy, and since 1394 Dean of the
great Collegiate Church of St. Donatian's at Bruges.
Burning with indignation at the bloody deed and at the sophistry of the
priest who had dared to defend it, he publicly proclaimed Petit's
doctrine anent tyrannicide to be false, scandalous and heretical, and
never rested until he had prevailed on the Bishop of Paris to condemn it
as such. The Duke of Burgundy was furious, and gave orders for Gerson's
arrest, but the Dean had received timely warning, and when the
_pursuivants_ came to seize him they found their quarry flown. He had
eluded pursuit by concealing himself among the rafters between the vault
and the roof of Notre Dame. Presently he succeeded in leaving Paris, and
in due course, after many hairbreadth adventures, reached German soil.
Whereupon John declared him legitimately dispossessed of his deanery
(May 27, 1411), and appealed to Pope John XXIII., one of the three
claimants to the Papal throne, who, after having appointed a commission
to examine the case, quashed the Paris decision. But the intrepid Dean
of Bruges would not suffer the matter to rest here; he, in his turn,
appealed to the Council of Constance, and with such good effect that
'Master' Petit's theories were unanimously condemned, and though the
Duke of Burgundy had sufficient credit with the assembled fathers to
prevent the name of his favourite from appearing in the condemnation,
all those who obstinately maintained his opinions were declared to be
heretics, and ordered to be dealt with as such in accordance with Canon
law.
As long as John lived, Gerson remained in Germany, but when at length
his enemy was called to his account, he took up his abode at Lyons,
where the chief delight of his declining years was to teach little
children. He died in 1429, and the men of Lyons called him a saint. Be
this as it may, he feared not to withstand, for justice sake, the
fiercest tyrant in Christendom. It was chiefly owing to his efforts that
the schism which for so many years had rent Christ's seamless garment
was at length healed; he was a brilliant scholar, a kindly, gentle,
God-fearing man, perhaps the author of _The Imitation_, and
unquestionably the greatest divine of the age in which he lived. The
life of John de Gerson was not then spent in vain, and Flemings may well
be proud of the Frenchman whom Philip the Hardy set over the
time-honoured church of Bruges.
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