We have now concluded one period of our tale, and must beg the reader
to leap boldly over nearly twenty years. In regard to the events which
intervened, of some we shall here give a slight sketch before
proceeding; some we shall leave to unravel themselves in the course of
the after history.
Take any body of men, as many in number as the characters which we
have introduced already, and it will be seldom found that, at the end
of so great a lapse of time, the whole are still upon the busy stage
of life; nevertheless, such was the case in the present instance.
Time, the great enemy of man, and of all man's works, had not leagued
himself with death against any of those whom I have particularly
noticed. In other respects, however, he had not failed to do his
accustomed work. The youth had grown up into the man; the man of
middle age was bowed beneath the load of years; and the infant in the
cradle had reached the blossoming days of womanhood.
Of her, then, whose birth and baptism we have just commemorated, we
shall speak in the first place, before proceeding to notice the change
which had occurred in the other characters which we have brought upon
the scene. Her infancy passed in the midst of prosperity and
happiness, while the territories which she was destined to inherit
flourished under the dominion of her grandfather--that wise and
virtuous prince, who redeemed the errors of his early years by the
generous patriotism of his latter days, and both merited and obtained,
from neighbouring princes and his native subjects, the noble
appellation of Philip the Good; and while under the eye of her own
gentle mother, her education proceeded in calm tranquillity, and her
home reposed in peace.
Scarcely had she attained the age of ten years, however, ere, left
alone under the guidance of a severe and imperious father, she found
that, according to the common fate of those in the highest stations,
her lot was to be anything but happy. Gentle, kind, obedient, she
endeavoured, by making her inclinations the slaves of her father's
will, to obtain, at least, peace, by yielding to duty. Her hopes and
expectations were, nevertheless, in vain. The continual perils to
which Charles the Bold exposed himself, of course, kept his family in
constant alarm and agitation; and the frequent and capricious changes
of his policy, without obtaining for himself or his country any real
advantage, only served to wring his daughter's heart.
After the death of his second wife, Isabel de Bourbon, the desire of a
male heir induced him speedily to marry again; and the hatred which he
had, by that time, conceived for Louis XI. made him choose for his
bride, Margaret of York, the sister of the King of England. His hopes
of a son were disappointed; but upon his daughter, Mary of Burgundy,
his marriage conferred an inestimable benefit. Margaret of York fully
replaced in kindness and affection the mother she had lost; and
habituated early herself to cares, to sorrows, and to dangers, she
instilled into the mind of her step-daughter that patient fortitude
which she had acquired in so bitter a school; and taught her, in all
circumstances, both to bear up against despair, and to endure without
complaint.
As years rolled on, the hand of the undoubted heiress of all Burgundy
and Flanders became, of course, an object of ambition to many of the
princes of Europe; and from the time that Mary reached the age of
fifteen, to obtain possession of her person, was a matter of open
negotiation and subtle intrigue to all the neighbouring sovereigns.
The brother of the King of France, the Duke of Calabria, the Prince of
Tarentum, and the Duke of Savoy, became successively the suitors for
her hand; and her father, to each and all, held out hopes and
expectations, which he either never intended to fulfil, or found cause
to disappoint. The most selfish of sovereigns, and, perhaps, of men,
the feelings of his child were never consulted throughout the whole
transactions which followed. He looked upon her simply as an object of
policy, a human seal, which, at his will, was to be affixed to the
charter of conveyance, destined to give to some neighbouring prince
the succession to his vast dominions.
Luckily, however, it so happened, that Mary had made up her mind to
her fate, and so guarded her own heart and feelings, that in her eyes
all men seemed indifferent till the sanction of her father warranted
the gift of her affections. Thus she beheld treaties commenced and
broken, her hand promised and refused, without either pain or
pleasure, till, at length, a suitor appeared, who, with all those
advantages which could satisfy the political ambition of her father,
possessed all those qualities of mind and person calculated to gain
her heart. Brave, chivalrous, and accomplished, graceful and
well-formed in person, and handsome in features, Maximilian, son of
the Emperor Frederick, displayed, at the same time, all that native
kindness of heart, which, giving a gentle courtesy to the whole
demeanour, is far more winning than the most splendid acquirements;
and such qualities might have been quite sufficient to gain the heart
of the heiress of Burgundy. Other things, indeed, were required by her
father; but besides these personal qualities, he was the son of the
richest monarch in Europe, the heir of the duchy of Austria, and would
be, undoubtedly, successor to the imperial throne itself. Every object
seemed attained by such an alliance; and when, after appearing two
years successively at the court of Burgundy, Maximilian demanded the
hand of the beautiful heiress of the land, Mary, for the first time,
heard with joy that it was promised to the new aspirant.
Long negotiations succeeded; and it was agreed that the duchy of
Burgundy, freed from its homage to the crown of France, should be
erected into an independent kingdom.
A grand meeting of the Imperial and Burgundian courts was appointed at
Treves, for the conclusion of the marriage; and Charles the Bold, with
his daughter, accompanied by a train of unrivalled splendour, set out
for the place of rendezvous. Mary's heart beat high as she entered the
ancient city; and now, taught to look upon Maximilian as her future
husband, she yielded her whole heart to the influence of her first
affection. But the greedy ambition of her father was destined to
overthrow, for a time, all those airy fabrics of happiness, of which
her hopes, and her imagination, had been the architects. Charles
insisted that the title of king should be granted to him previous to
his daughter's marriage; while the Emperor, who had watched his
capricious changes on other occasions, with a jealous and somewhat
indignant eye, refused to confer the title he sought, till the hand of
the heiress of Burgundy was irrevocably bestowed upon his son. Charles
argued, and railed, and threatened in vain; and at length the Emperor,
wearied with his pertinacity, and offended by his intemperate
violence, suddenly broke up his court, and left him, mad with rage and
disappointment, to carry back his daughter to Brussels, with her heart
bleeding in secret from the cruel wounds it had received.
Other negotiations succeeded with other princes; and though Mary
heard, with apprehension and terror, of each new proposal, the
capricious uncertainty of her father's disposition saved her from the
still bitterer pangs of yielding her hand to another, while her heart
was really given to Maximilian.
In the meantime, disputes and wars took place; the projects of her
marriage languished, or were abandoned; and while her father hastened
to the last fatal field, where his military renown was extinguished in
his blood, she remained with her gentle stepmother in Ghent, to weep
the perils to which her parent's mad ambition exposed him, and to
tremble at the sight of every packet that reached her from the
Burgundian camp.
Such were the changes and events which had affected the fate of Mary
of Burgundy, since we depicted her as an infant, born shortly after
the arrival of the Dauphin at the court of Brussels. Over the Dauphin
himself, greater alterations still had come in the course of passing
years. From an exiled prince, he had become the king of a mighty
nation; and time had stolen away all the graces of youth, and all
those better feelings, and nobler emotions, which, in the freshness of
early life, are more or less imparted to every human being, whatever
may be the portion of selfish cunning added to neutralize them.
However beneficial might be his policy to the country over which he
ruled, however much his acts might advance the progress of society in
Europe, and lead forward the world to a state of more general freedom
and civilization, his objects were mean and personal, and individual
ambition of the lowest kind was the motive for all his cunning schemes
and artful policy. An immortal pen has, in our own day, portrayed his
character with unequalled skill; and of Louis XI., at this period of
his life, nothing farther can be said, than that he was the Louis XI.
of Sir Walter Scott.
Of those who accompanied him on his journey, Thibalt of Neufchatel,
Marshal of Burgundy, still remained; a weather-beaten warrior, and
still, in a certain sense, a haughty noble. Though age, with its
infirmities, had somewhat broken his strength, and had also softened
his heart, he was ready at all times, nevertheless, to spring into the
saddle at the trumpet's call: but so much, indeed, had he learned to
look upon the inferior ranks with a milder eye, that he had become
rather popular than otherwise; and amongst the peasants and burghers
was generally known, at this time, by the name of good Count Thibalt.
The taint of pride still remained; but its operation was directed in a
different manner; and young nobles, and new soldiers, who were not
always inclined to pay as much respect to the old officer's opinion as
he thought his due, now monopolized the scorn which he had formerly
bestowed upon the citizens; while the degree of popularity he had
lately acquired among the lower classes, and the deference with
which they invariably treated him, contrasting strongly with the
self-sufficient arrogance of some of his youthful compeers, soothed
his pride, gratified his vanity, and made him, day by day, more
bending and complacent to those whom he had formerly despised.
On good Martin Fruse, the passing of twenty years had brought, if not
a green, at least a fat old age. He was not unwieldy, however; was
rosy, and well respected amongst his fellow citizens for his wealth,
for his wisdom, and for his many memories of the mighty past; and, in
short, good Martin Fruse was, in person and appearance, a man who had
gone happily through many changes, increasing in riches, honour, and
comfort, with very few cares to prey upon his mind, and scarcely an
ailment through life to shatter his body. As he had proceeded,
however, experience had done its work: and while he had become wiser,
and had really obtained a greater insight into affairs of policy, he
had grown less vain, and willingly restrained his personal efforts to
composing the municipal squabbles of his native city, and directing
the efforts of his townsmen for the extension of their commerce and
the improvement of their manufactures.
His nephew, Albert Maurice, had been differently changed by the wand
of the enchanter Time. His mind, indeed, was one of those firm, fixed,
and steadfast essences, on which the passing of years make but little
alteration, except by expanding their capabilities by the exercise of
their powers. From a boy, it is true, he had grown into a powerful and
handsome man; and, though in partnership with his uncle, he held the
peaceful station of a rich merchant of Ghent, yet he was skilled in
all military exercises; and, when the communes of Flanders had been
called to the field, on pressing occasions, amongst the various
struggles of that eventful period, he had shown knowledge, courage,
and address, which had excited the wonder, and perhaps the jealousy,
of many of those noble warriors who looked upon the trade of war as
peculiarly their own. Whenever he returned home again, however, from
the camp, he sunk at once into the citizen; seemed to forget or to
despise his military skill; and, though gay and splendid amongst his
own class, far from courting popularity, he appeared to conceal
purposely the deep thoughts and striking qualities of his mind. Once
or twice, indeed, he had been heard to burst into an eloquent and
indignant rebuke to some of the nobles, on the occasion of the haughty
vexations which they continually exercised upon the lower classes; but
he seemed to regret his words as soon as spoken; and--as if he knew
that, at some time, a fearful and deadly contest must arise between
himself and the oppressors of his class, and strove anxiously, and
with a feeling of awe, to delay it as long as possible--he avoided all
matter of quarrel with the nobility of Ghent, or with the officers of
the Duke of Burgundy. He seemed desirous of closing his eyes to
subjects of offence; and, when he heard of a brawl in any neighbouring
part of the town, or when the other young citizens called upon him to
take a lead in their frequent tumults, he would either quit the place
for the time, or shut himself sternly in his own dwelling, in order to
avoid any participation in the dangerous occurrences that were taking
place.
On one of these occasions, when the city of Ghent, though not in open
revolt, was keeping up an angry discussion with the high officers of
the duke, Albert Maurice, then in his twenty-fourth year, obtained his
uncle's consent to travel into Italy, for the purpose of
superintending some transactions which their house was carrying on
with the merchant lords of Venice. In that sweet climate, the nurse of
SONGarts and too often of crimes, he acquired an elegance of taste, and a
grace of manner, unknown to the burghers of his native place. He came
home, skilled in many arts with which they were unacquainted; and, had
his spirit been less powerful, his talents less commanding, it is not
improbable that his fellow citizens might have contemned or laughed at
acquirements which they had not learned to appreciate, and might have
scorned the travelled coxcomb who brought home strange modes and
fashions to his native land. But Albert Maurice made a show of none;
and it was only upon long solicitation, or on some moment of joyous
festivity, that he would sing the sweet songs of a softer people, and
accompany himself with instruments unknown in his own country.
His personal beauty, and the fascinating grace of his manners, made
him seem a creature of a different race, and his superiority in every
quality, both of mind and body, to those around him, might have been a
blessing, had he not felt it himself; but he did feel it, and of
course was discontented; and who can doubt that anything which makes
man discontented with his state, without giving him the certainty of a
better, is a curse? All eyes turned upon him with satisfaction; and
many a soft, kind heart would willingly have given itself to him; but
his thoughts were of another kind, and he could see none to love
amongst the many by whom he was admired. The fair girls of Ghent--and
many a fair girl was then, and is now, within its walls--thought him
cold and proud, and blamed him for what was his misfortune, not his
fault. His heart was one on which love might have taken as firm a hold
as on that of any man that ever burned or died for woman since the
world began: but he sought for his equal--I do not mean in rank, for
that he never heeded--but in mind; and he found none such within the
number of all he knew.
Shut out by circumstance from the higher ranks of society, the finer
feelings, the better aspirations of his soul, were matter for a
thousand disgusts; and though a native sense of what is noble in
itself, and just to others, made him laboriously conceal the very
superiority which he felt, as well as its consequences, yet the
conversation, the manners, the thoughts, of those around him, even
those with whom he was most intimately allied, were constant sources
of hidden pain and annoyance. He lived amongst the people of Ghent,
and he strove to live with them; and so far did he succeed, that
though his talents and his occasional reserve made his townsfolk look
upon him with no small reverence, the urbanity of his manners, when
brought into casual contact with the other citizens, gained him a far
greater degree of popularity than any general familiarity could have
won.
The union of pride and ambition--and he had both qualities in his
bosom--usually leads the man, whose mind is so constituted, to seek to
rise into the class above him: but both his pride and his ambition
were too potent for that. He was proud of the very difference between
his station and himself; he had a deep and settled love, too, of his
country, and even of his class; and while his ambition was of a
quality which would have snatched at empire, had there been a hope of
success, the hatred and contempt in which he held the nobles were far
too great for him to covet aught but the power to trample them down
amongst those ranks whom they now oppressed.
Such had some of the characters, whom we have attempted to depict at
an earlier period of life, become, under the passing of twenty years.
Time, in short, had done his wonted work on all: had expanded the bud
and blossom into the green leaf and the flower, and had changed the
flower and the shoot into the ready fruit and the ripened ear. But
there are others yet to be spoken of, and to them we will now return.