Painful and terrific as had been the struggle in the bosom of Albert
Maurice, while he remained in the presence of the princess, his
feelings had been light and sunshiny, compared with those which he
experienced when he found himself alone with the deep gloom--the dull,
immovable despair, which at once took possession of his heart, the
moment that thought had an opportunity to rest upon his own situation.
We have before seen that remorse was already busy in his bosom; and
the only shield that guarded him from the lash of his own reflections,
had been the bright surpassing hope of overcoming all the mighty
obstacles before him, and winning her he loved. But now he had
triumphed over every enemy--he had overleaped every barrier--he had
set his foot upon every obstacle, and, in the end, discovered that she
loved another--that all was useless he had done--that the blood he had
shed, had been shed in vain--that he had forgotten his country and her
rights--that he had forgotten justice and humanity--that he had
yielded himself entirely to ambition, and consigned himself to remorse
for ever--for a dream that was gone. Nor was this all; the same deep,
fiery, passionate love remained in his heart, but was now doomed,
instead of the bright follower of hope, to become the sad companion of
remorse and despair. When he thought of the future--when she should
become the bride of another--he felt his brain reel under the agony of
that contemplation. When he thought of the past, he felt that the
gnawing worm was for ever destined to prey upon his heart. There was
no refuge for him in all time, to which he could fly for relief. The
gone hours were full of reproach, and the approaching ones were all
bitterness.
Such were his feelings as he strode along the passages of the palace
at Ghent; and the incoherent words that he muttered to himself, as he
proceeded, showed how terrible had been their effect already upon his
bright and powerful mind. "They have been murdered in vain," he
muttered--"they have been murdered in vain. Their blood cries up to
heaven against me. To see her in the arms of another--oh God! oh God!
But she shall be happy. Yes, she shall be happy. I will provide for
his safety, as a brother, and she shall be happy; and I?--and I? Why,
there is the grave--that is one resource, at least!" and suddenly he
burst into a low, involuntary laugh, which made him start even as it
rang upon his own ear. "Am I insane?" he thought; "then I must be
speedy, lest the power fail me." And again muttering disjointed
sentences, he proceeded down the great staircase, and was passing
through the entrance-hall, without noticing any one, when Matthew
Gournay advanced to his side and stopped him.
"There is no time to be lost, sir," he said; "let us hasten quick."
"Who are you?" demanded Albert Maurice, gazing vacantly upon him. "Oh,
yes! I had forgot," he added, recalling his thoughts. "Other things
were pressing on my mind. We will go presently, but I must first
return to the town-house; and yet that square--I love not to pass that
square, where they were beheaded."
"You have no time, sir," replied the old soldier, in a tone which
again recalled Albert Maurice to the present moment. "As I sat here
but now, that evil Prevot--that Maillotin du Bac--passed through the
hall, with several others, speaking eagerly of you. His eye fell upon
me, and he may chance to know me well. At all events, he was silent
instantly; but, if I am not very wrong indeed, he has taken his way
towards the prison, where my young lord lies; and, perchance, if we be
not quick, we may come too late."
"You speak true; lead on!" cried Albert Maurice, roused to the
exertion of all his powers by the sudden call upon his energy. "You,
young man, run as for your life to the town-house! Bid the commander
of the burgher guard march a hundred men instantly down to the
Prevot's prison, near the gates. But who have we here?" he added, as a
man in breathless haste ran up the steps into the hall. "The
lieutenant of the Prevot, as I live! How now, sir! whom seek you?"
"You, Sir President," replied the man, at once. "You once saved me
when I was in imminent peril; and I now think that the news I
bring may be valuable to you. The prisoner who was made in the
market-place--the Vert Gallant of Hannut--men say you owe him
something, and would fain repay it. But, if you hasten not your steps,
you will come too late. I have done what I can to delay the Prevot,
but he is now speeding on to the prison. His purpose is against the
life of the prisoner; and his horses are ready to fly from Ghent for
ever."
"Enough, enough!" said Albert Maurice, passing him suddenly, and
springing down the steps of the palace. The active exertion of his
corporeal powers seemed to give back to Albert Maurice full command of
his mental ones, at least for the time; and though his thoughts were
characterized by the darkest and sternest despair, they wandered not
from those points to which he strove to bend them, and he seemed
revolving eagerly some plan of future conduct. "Yes," he said, half
aloud, as he strode on, "yes! so shall it be! If I am in time, he
shall conduct the rest; and, ere all be finished, the world may know
that there were some drops of Roman blood even within this bosom."
Almost as he spoke he turned the corner of a street, which led
directly towards the Alost gate. Fifty yards farther stood a small
stone building, known as the Prevot's prison, in which he lodged any
newly-arrested prisoners, previous either to their immediate execution
or to their removal to some other place of confinement. The street was
all dark, and likewise solitary, except where--the upper stories, as
was often customary in Ghent, protruded considerably beyond the lower
ones--stood four or five men, holding saddled horses, and conversing
together in a low tone.
The impatient stamping of their steeds had prevented them from
catching the approaching steps of Albert Maurice and his party; and
one was saying to the other, at the very moment they came up, in a
tone sufficiently loud for his words to be distinguished--"He is very
long! I never knew him so long about such a job before!"
"Let them be seized!" exclaimed Albert Maurice, the instant his eye
fell upon them; "the rest follow me;" and without waiting to notice
the short scuffle that ensued, he sprang on towards the Prevot's
prison, and pushed against the door. It was locked, and the key on the
inner side, so that his effort to open it was vain.
"Fly to the gate!" he exclaimed, turning to one of his followers;
"bring me a battle-axe from the guard-house. Ho! within there!" he
added, striking the hilt of his sword violently against the door.
"Open the door! beware what you do; you cannot escape me; and you
shall find my vengeance terrible. Open the door, I say!"
But he spoke in vain; no answer was returned; and the only sound that
he even thought he heard was that of a low groan. After a few moments
of painful expectation, the man who had been sent to the gate
returned, bearing a ponderous axe, and followed by two or three of the
soldiers of the guard. Albert Maurice snatched the weapon from his
hands, and in three blows dashed in a large part of the door. The rest
was soon hewn down, at least sufficiently to admit the passage of the
young burgher and his followers. Entering the small stone hall into
which it opened, he caught up a light that had evidently been burning
some time untrimmed, and commanding two or three of those who
accompanied him to guard the door, he strode forward rapidly to the
mouth of a narrow flight of steps, which led to some cells below the
ground. At the entrance of one of these dungeons a lantern had been
placed upon the ground, and was still burning; and Albert Maurice
immediately perceived that the door was not completely closed. He
instantly pushed it open, and held up the light, when the sight that
presented itself to his eyes was horrible indeed, but not ungrateful.
Seated upon the side of the straw pallet, which had been his only
couch since he had been removed from the town-house, appeared Hugh de
Mortmar, as we have previously called him, with his right foot pressed
heavily upon the body of a man, who, from his dress and appearance,
seemed to be one of the jailers in the employ of the Prevot. A little
to the right, surrounded by a pool of blood, a stream of which was
still flowing from his throat--lay the form of Maillotin du Bac, while
the poniard, which, it may be remembered, Albert Maurice had bestowed
upon Hugh de Mortmar in the prison of the town-house, now driven
tightly in between the gorget plaits and cuirass of the Prevot's
armour, showed at once the manner of his death and the arm which had
inflicted it.
The young prisoner held in his hand the sword of the dead man, and
gazed upon those who entered with a firm and resolute countenance,
while he held down beneath his feet the form of the jailer, who was
clearly alive, and seemingly uninjured, except from a ghastly
contusion on his forehead. The moment that he beheld who were the new
comers, Hugh de Mortmar started up; and a few hurried words explained
the precise situation in which they all stood. The sight of Albert
Maurice and of good old Matthew Gournay was enough to satisfy the
young prisoner; and on his part he had only to tell them, that while
lying there a few minutes before, thinking of when his captivity might
end, he had heard approaching steps, and listened to a low
conversation at the door which he felt sure boded him no good.
Affecting to sleep, he remained perfectly quiet while the door opened,
and the Prevot, setting down his lantern on the outside, approached
towards him, accompanied by the jailer who had the care of the prison.
Their eyes, however, were not so much accustomed to the darkness as
his own; and, seeing evidently that the design of the Prevot was to
despatch him, he watched his moment, till the other was stooping over
him, and then drove the dagger with which he had been furnished, with
the full force of recovered health and strength, under the gorget of
the murderer. So hard had he stricken it, however, between the iron
plates, that he could not draw it forth again, and he had nothing to
trust to but his own corporeal strength in the struggle which
succeeded with the jailer. The hard food and the constrained repose to
which he had been subjected in the prison, had perhaps contributed to
restore him to full vigour in a shorter time than might otherwise have
been required for recovering his health; and the jailer, overmatched,
had just been cast headlong to the ground when Albert Maurice forced
his way into the place of the young noble's confinement.
In the energy of action Albert Maurice had, for the time, found relief
from a part of the heavy load that passion and circumstances had piled
upon his head; but the moment the necessity of active exertion passed
away, the weight returned and crushed him to the earth. He spoke for
an instant to the prisoner collectedly and calmly, but gradually his
brow grew dark and clouded; and his words became low, harsh, and
confined to those necessary to express his wishes or commands. The
jailer, freed from the tread of Hugh de Mortmar, was placed in the
custody of some of those who had now crowded to the spot; and the
President, after giving general orders to the burgher guard, which
came up, and a few whispered directions to Matthew Gournay, took
the prisoner by the hand, saying, "Come, my lord; let us to the
town-house!"
The change which had come over the whole demeanour of the young
citizen since last he had seen him, was too great to escape the eyes
of Hugh de Mortmar, even at a moment when the excitement of a late
struggle was fresh upon him. Nor did he exactly understand how the
young President dared to take the bold step of setting him free at
once, when he had before seemed most anxious to proceed with
scrupulous caution. He made no observation, however, and followed
Albert Maurice into the street. By this time, almost all the
respectable citizens of Ghent were in their quiet beds; but a number
of those who had been entertained in the market-place were still
wandering about; some partially inebriated with ale or mead; some half
drunk with excitement and pleasure. A number of these had gathered
together amongst the guards and attendants, now collected round the
door of the prison; and as Albert Maurice led forth his companion, and
the flickering glare of a number of lanterns and torches showed the
features of the President to the crowd, he was greeted by loud
acclamations. But the smile of bitterness and scorn with which Albert
Maurice now heard the vivats of the multitude, contrasted strongly
with his demeanour in the morning, and showed how completely the
talismanic touch of disappointment had changed to his eyes all the
fairy splendours of his fate.
Without a word of reply, he passed through the midst of the crowd,
sought the narrowest and darkest way; and, apparently buried in sad
thoughts, proceeded with a quick and irregular step towards the
town-house, maintaining a gloomy and unbroken silence as he went. He
avoided the market-place before the building as much as possible; and
the only words he spoke, were uttered when he could not avoid seeing
the spot where Imbercourt and Hugonet had died, and which was now
covered with people, busily removing the traces of the evening's
festivity. "It is sad," he said, with a mournful shake of the head;
"it is sad!" Then turning into the town-house, he ascended the stairs
rapidly, and entered a small withdrawing room by the side of the great
hall.
To that very chamber it so happened that the body of Ganay had been
removed, after the sword of Matthew Gournay had left him lifeless on
the pavement; and the first object that met the eye of Albert Maurice
was the corpse stretched upon a table, while one of his own attendants
stood near, as if he had been examining the appearance of the dead
man. The immediate impulse of the President was to draw back, but the
next was the very contrary; and, again advancing, he approached
directly to the table, and fixed his eyes upon the face of the corpse,
which was uncovered. "He sleeps calm enough!" he said, drawing in his
lips, and turning partially to Hugh de Mortmar. "He sleeps calm
enough, with all his burning passions at an end. But this is no place
for what we have to say." He was then treading back his steps towards
the door, when the attendant advanced, and gave him a packet of papers
and a small silver box, saying, "These old papers, sir, and this box,
which we conceive to contain poison, are all that we have discovered
on the dead body."
"Ha! will the means of death lie in so small a space?" said Albert
Maurice, gazing on the little silver case; "but 'tis well! Bring hence
the lights, leave the body, and lock the door. He will not find
solitude oppressive, I doubt not;" and thus saying, he led the way
into another chamber, to which the servant followed with the key and
lights; and the President added, as they were set down before him,
"Bring wine!"
When the man was gone, and he was seated with the young cavalier, he
leaned his brow upon his hand for a moment, and then looked up, "Give
me your pardon, sir," he said; "give me your pardon for a short space.
I am somewhat ill to-night, and must collect my thoughts, before I can
speak to you as I ought."
Hugh de Mortmar bowed his head; and wine being brought in a few
minutes, Albert Maurice filled for both, and drained his own cup to
the dregs. "I have a burning thirst upon me," he said, "but it will
soon be quenched. Now, sir, I can speak. You have recovered, I trust,
your full strength; and this night--that is to say, ere dawn--can ride
forth away from the thraldom of this place?"
"As well as ere I rode in life," replied Hugh de Mortmar, "and thank
you deeply for your kind intentions."
"Thank not me," replied Albert Maurice, gravely, "for I am about, like
a true citizen," he added, with a bitter smile, "for I am about to
drive a hard bargain with you; and to make you agree to do me a
service in return--not for giving you your liberty, for you did the
like to me--but for some intelligence I have to communicate, which may
be worth its weight in gold. Of that hereafter. First, let us speak of
the service I require. You have at this moment, within the walls of
the city, where I have given them employment during this evening, some
three or four hundred free companions--good soldiers, levied for
purposes I know and respect. In an hour's time they will be mounted,
and at the Alost gate, from which we have just come. You shall have
arms that might grace a prince, a horse as noble as ever was bestrode
by knight; and what I require is this--that, all other matter laid
aside, you ride forward towards Brussels, and thence onward, on
whatever road you may find necessary--as you will there discover from
the Lord of Ravestein, or the Duchess Dowager--in order to meet
Maximilian, Archduke of Austria."
"What! my best friend and old companion in arms!" cried Hugh de
Mortmar. "No evil against him, Sir President! for know, I would sooner
bear to my grave the heaviest chains that ever shackled man, than
raise an arm against one I love so well."
"Fear not, my lord!" replied Albert Maurice. "For his safety, not for
his injury, would I have you set out. Tell him from me, Albert
Maurice, that his way is beset; tell him that every artifice will be
used to make him turn back, by fair means or by foul. But bid him
hasten forward, in spite of all; and you, on your part, promise me,
never to quit him till you see him safely within the gates of the
duke's house in Ghent."
"Willingly! most willingly!" replied the young cavalier, rising. "I am
ready to set out!"
"What, without the tidings I have promised?" demanded Albert Maurice.
"Some other time!" replied Hugh de Mortmar. "When I return will do."
"The present moment is yours," answered the young citizen, gravely.
"Who can say that, by the time you return, these lips may not be
closed by a seal that no human hand can ever remove!"
"I trust not," replied the other; "I trust not; but if what you have
to tell be really of importance, let me beseech you to speak it
quickly."
"I will," replied Albert Maurice. "I have no right, nor any wish, to
keep you in suspense. Are you aware that Adolphus, Duke of Gueldres,
is dead?"
"Good God!" exclaimed the young cavalier. "They told me that he was
quite well, and leading the forces of Ghent against Tournay. You have,
indeed, ended my suspense somewhat abruptly."
"There is still more to come," said Albert Maurice, with a sort of
reckless harshness, which was no part of his natural character; but
which probably arose from the apathetic callousness of despair. "As
you knew not that he was dead, you know not that this arm slew him."
"Ha!" cried the other, instinctively laying his hand upon his side, as
if to grasp the hilt of his sword. "You--you! Did you shed my father's
blood? Then, take heed to yourself. Call again for your jailers! Cast
me back into the dungeon; for otherwise your blood must answer for
that which you have spilt."
"Such threats," answered Albert Maurice, "are worse than vain, to one
who loves life too little to care who takes it from him. Besides, they
are prompted by a mere dream of the imagination, which I can dissolve
by two or three words. You had never seen the Duke of Gueldres from
your childhood; no sweet reciprocations of domestic love had bound
your heart to his; you knew that he was vicious, criminal, unfeeling.
Nay, frown not, sir, but hear me. You know all this; and yet, because
you believe him to have been your father, you would slay any one that
raised a hand against him."
Doubtless, there is inherent in human misery a desire of seeing others
wretched when we are wretched ourselves; and the sort of painful
playing with the feelings of the young cavalier, in which Albert
Maurice indulged at a moment when he himself was plunged in the
gloomiest despair, probably arose from some such cause. His own
griefs, however, were too great to suffer his mind to dwell long upon
anything without weariness; and he tired almost instantly of the
topic.
"Too much of this!" he added, in the same abrupt tone. "Be your
feelings on those points rational or not, no tie, human or divine,
binds you to love or to avenge Adolphus, the bad Duke of Gueldres.
Know, that at his instigation the man, whose corpse you saw but now,
kindled the flames of Lindenmar, in which the infant heir of Hannut
was supposed to have perished; and farther know, that in the act of
death, the Duke of Gueldres confessed to me, that he himself carried
away the infant, and reared him as his son upon the death of his own
child. You are that boy; but you will want other proofs to establish
the facts--there they are, in writing; and probably these papers which
you saw me receive but now, may throw some farther light upon the
matter. We have neither of us time to examine them more particularly
at present. Take them with you, and claim your right of birth. Now
follow me to the armory, for I hear your band passing onward towards
the Alost gate to wait your coming. Are you strong enough to go?"
The young cavalier gazed for a moment in his face, bewildered by all
he heard; but then replied, "I am ready! quite ready! For these papers
I owe you a thousand thanks; but the tidings you have given confound
me, and I have not words--"
"No more! no more!" replied Albert Maurice. "Here is our way." The
young citizen now led his companion forward to the armory, which had
been collected in the town-house, under his own care. As they went,
the liberated prisoner would fain have asked a thousand questions
explanatory of the strange tidings he had just received; but the
answers of Albert Maurice were brief, and somewhat sharp. Referring
him entirely to the papers that he had received, the young citizen
strode onward, and saw the Vert Gallant of Hannut equip himself once
more in a complete suit of arms. There was a degree of joy in the
countenance of the young heir of Hannut as he did so--a sort of new
lighting up of that military hope which was the great inspiration of
the day--that called a melancholy smile even to the lip of Albert
Maurice; and he gazed upon him, as with quick and dexterous hands he
clothed his powerful limbs in steel, as an old man on the verge of the
tomb might be supposed to regard a youth setting out upon the flowery
path of life, full of all those bright aspirations that had passed
away from himself for ever. When it was all done; "Your horse," said
the young citizen, "stands below; but yet one moment. A pass must be
written for yourself and the Archduke. Follow me once more."
In the next chamber were implements for writing; and, with a rapid
hand, Albert Maurice traced the necessary order, destined to remove
all petty obstacles from the path of his princely rival, signed his
name below in a bold, free hand, and gave it to his companion with a
proud, but bitter smile.
"There," he said; "take it, and go forth! and may God speed you on
your errand! Forgive me if I have sported with your feelings this
night, which may be I have done in some degree, but there is a potent
demon in my heart just now, that strives hard to crush each noble wish
and kindly feeling, ere they can rise. Now, farewell!"
"Farewell! farewell!" replied Hugh of Hannut. "I may, perhaps, want
more information than these papers contain. But we shall meet again!"
"Perhaps we may," replied Albert Maurice, as the other turned, and
descended the steps. "Perhaps we may," he repeated, as, after a
moment's pause, he heard the trampling of horse, announcing that the
other had departed--"perhaps we may, in the grave, or, rather, beyond
it."
The young President then returned to the chamber in which he had been
sitting, and continued for about an hour engaged in writing. When he
had concluded, he buried his eyes in his hands for a few moments, and
remained plunged in deep thought. Rousing himself, he raised a lamp,
and striding across the passages to the room where the corpse of Ganay
the druggist lay, he threw open the door, and gazed upon the
countenance of the dead man for some time.
Without a word, he then walked back to the chamber where he had been
writing; and drawing forth the small silver box which had been given
him, poured the white powder that it contained into one of the cups,
added a little wine from the tankard, and drank off the mixture. After
which he cast himself into a chair, and closed his eyes. For several
minutes he remained in the same position, without a muscle of his face
being moved; but at length he opened his eyes, looking somewhat
fiercely round the chamber.
"This is too much!" he exclaimed aloud. "It has no effect! and I lie
here, expecting death without a chance of his approach, while the past
haunts me, and there seem voices crying up for judgment upon me, from
that accursed square. But I will soon end all!" and starting up, he
drew his dagger from the sheath; but as he did so, something in the
word judgment appeared to seize upon his imagination. "Judgment!" he
said--"judgment! Am I not flying to judgment?" and laying down the
dagger on the table, he paused, gazing round with a degree of fearful
bewilderment in his eyes, which seemed to show either that his mind
was shaken, or that some potent destroyer was mastering the body.
"Judgment!" he repeated. "Were it not better to wait till I am
summoned, to strive to wipe out the evil, and to bear the sorrows that
God has given as a punishment for all that I have done, and left
undone? Judgment!--Judgment!" But, as he repeated that awful word, his
cheek grew deathly pale; cold drops of perspiration stood upon his
forehead, his lips became nearly livid; and the rich curls of his dark
hair, as if relaxed by the overpowering weakness that seemed coming
over his whole frame, fell wild and floating upon his brow. At first,
apparently unconscious of the change that was taking place, he leaned
his hand upon the table to steady himself as he stood; but the moment
after, two or three sharp shudders passed over his whole frame; and
after reeling painfully for an instant, he cast himself back into the
chair, exclaiming, in a tone full of despair indeed, "It is too late!
it is too late!" and he threw himself to and fro in restless agony.
"This is vain!" he cried, at length, opening his eyes. "This is weak,
and empty, and cowardly! I that have lived boldly can surely die as I
have lived;" and once more resuming the attitude in which he had
placed himself at first, he clasped his hand tight over his eyes, as
if to exclude a painful sense of the light. In a moment or two, the
hand dropped; but his eyes remained closed; and after a time, the
exhausted lamps, which had now been burning many hours, went out, and
all was darkness!
---------------
The rumour which had given to the heart of Mary of Burgundy the glad
hope that Maximilian of Austria was already within her territories,
had deceived her; and Hugh of Hannut, on arriving at Brussels, found
that his princely companion-in-arms was still far from that city. True
to the promise he had given, however--though all his own feelings
would have conducted him at once to the forest of Hannut, wherein he
had led a life of such adventure and interest, and to the mansion
where her he loved now dwelt, and in which his happiest days had been
passed--he advanced directly towards Cologne; and not far on the
hither side of the Rhine, met the small party which accompanied the
son of the Emperor. It were as tedious as an old chronicle to tell the
joy of Maximilian at the coming of his friend, or to detail all the
efforts that were made by the Duke of Cleves to deter or prevent the
Archduke from pursuing his journey towards Ghent. The private
information he had received, and the armed force which now accompanied
him on his way, rendered all efforts either to alarm or impede him
vain; and the rapid progress made by the French arms had so convinced
the people of Flanders that a single leader, whose fortunes were
linked for ever to that of the princess of Burgundy, was absolutely
necessary to give vigour and direction to their efforts, that all
attempts to stir them up to oppose the alliance with the Austrian
prince would have been fruitless under any circumstances.
One event, however, had happened in the meantime, which completely
cooled throughout Flanders that ardour for innovation, and that desire
of democratic rule, which is one of the evils consequent upon every
struggle for increased liberty, whether just or unjust--the wild spray
which the waves of freedom cast beyond their legitimate bound. The
morning after the return of Albert Maurice to Ghent, some of his
attendants, finding the door of his bedchamber open, entered, and
discovered that he had never been in bed; and the alarm spreading, he
was soon after found, seated in the chair in which he had been
writing, cold, stiff, and dead.
Of the letters which were cast upon the table before him, one was
addressed to the princess, and one to his uncle; and both distinctly
alluded to his intention of destroying himself. Left suddenly without
a leader, pressed by a powerful enemy, and encumbered with the
management of a state, all the springs and wheels of which they
themselves had disarranged, the people of Ghent began to ask
themselves what they had gained by pressing exaction and discontent
beyond the mere recovery of their rights and privileges. The simplest
amongst them saw that they had gained nothing and lost much; and the
more clear-sighted discovered, that in carrying their efforts beyond
the straightforward object which they had proposed at first, they had
only made the government of the state an object of contention to bold
and ambitious party leaders--a race of men who, for the purpose of
success, must always necessarily prolong that confusion and anarchy,
which is more baleful than the worst of tyrannies; and who, when
success is obtained, must end in tyranny to uphold their power.
The very day that the death of Albert Maurice was discovered,
intelligence arrived that the armies of France, marching on from the
side of Cassel, had burned some villages within four leagues of Ghent;
and the council of the states, confused, terrified, and surprised,
without chief, without union, and without resource, proceeded in a
body to the palace; and resigning at the feet of the princess the
authority they had usurped, demanded her orders and directions, in the
imminent peril to which the state was exposed. It was then that Mary
of Burgundy made that famous answer, which has been transmitted to us
by almost every historian who has mentioned her name; but it was in
sorrow, not in anger, that she spoke; and the tears were in her eyes,
when--after hearing the details of a ruined country, an invaded
territory, the rich harvests of Flanders reaped by strange husbandmen
while they were green, her frontier fortresses taken, and her troops
proving false--she replied to the subjects, whose turbulence and
discontent had fostered, if not caused, all the evils they
recapitulated,--"You have banished my best friends, and slain my
wisest counsellors, and now what can I do to deliver you?"
But misfortune had taught the people of Ghent their own errors, and
the excellence of her they had so basely outraged. The news that the
Archduke of Austria, the long-betrothed husband and the favoured lover
of Mary of Burgundy, was advancing with rapid steps towards Ghent,
spread as much joy through the city as if the tidings had been of some
personal good fortune to each individual citizen. The gates of Ghent
were now no longer guarded, except against the common enemy. The Duke
of Cleves quitted the city in haste; and joy and satisfaction spread
through all ranks when the cavalcade which escorted the Archduke wound
on towards the palace. It was remarked, however, that nearly
five-hundred of the horsemen who accompanied him--and those,
surpassing all the rest in military array and demeanour--were all
adorned with a green scarf, while the banner that floated over them
bore the arms of Hannut--Argent a green tree proper; and that the
knight who led this band of élite, though his beaver was now up, and
his face exposed, was clothed from head to foot in the green armour of
the Vert Gallant of Hannut.
Little more requires to be said. It is well known to every one, how
gladly Mary of Burgundy herself saw the arrival of Maximilian.
Nor did the heart of Hugh de Hannut beat less highly, when, standing
beside his princely friend, he, too, claimed his fair bride, Alice of
Imbercourt. Still, the dead were to be mourned, and many sorrows were
to be forgotten; but they were sorrows which drew the hearts of the
living closer together. A gleam of sunshine shone out at last upon the
days of the good old Lord of Hannut; and casting from him the studies
which--fanciful or real--had soothed his griefs by occupying his mind,
he passed his latter years in rejoicing over the recovery of so noble
and so dear a son.
On the nineteenth of August, 1477, Mary of Burgundy gave her hand to
Maximilian of Austria; and the rich territories, which so many princes
had coveted, and for which France had played so base and subtle a
game, passed away into another house. The years of that fair princess
herself were few; but when she gazed smiling upon her husband and her
children, she was wont to thank God that she had not looked into that
fatal book, which might have given her an insight into her future
destiny; and that in the happiness of the present she could see no ill
to be anticipated for the future. Alice of Imbercourt, soon after her
marriage, retired from the city to the dwelling of her husband's
father; and though her deep affection for Mary of Burgundy still
continued unabated, she never more made the court her abode. When, at
length, the fatal accident happened, which caused the death of her
fair foster-sister, she flew eagerly to soothe her couch of sickness;
but she never entertained, for a moment, those hopes of recovery which
all the others around indulged for several days. She it was who
prepared the mind of the archduke for the death of her he loved. She
closed her eyes, and then returned to her own dwelling, and resumed
the duties of her station.
The people of the country declared that Alice was not surprised by the
event which had occurred, being forewarned by the previous knowledge
of the future which she had obtained; and the old writers assert, most
seriously, that the horoscope of Mary of Burgundy, as it was drawn at
her birth, was fulfilled to the most minute particular. As no one,
however, saw this horoscope but Alice of Imbercourt--at least, before
the latter events of Mary's life took place--and as Alice carefully
abstained from ever mentioning the subject, it is more than probable
that the love of the marvellous, so prevalent in those days, adapted
the prediction to the facts long after they occurred.
FOOTNOTES
[Footnote 1: Philip de Comines, who relates this anecdote much in the
same terms as those used by good Martin Fruse in the text, places it,
however, several years later; though, from the period of time during
which Adolphus Duke of Gueldres, here called Count Adolphus, was kept
in prison by the Duke of Burgundy, it would seem that the time of his
capture is here correctly stated.]
[Footnote 2: Although almost all the superficial books of modern date
which refer to the ancient state of Ghent, speak of these three
members of states, as the ecclesiastics, the nobles, and the commons,
the statement in the text is correct, which may be ascertained by
referring to the Chronicles of George Chatellain, ad ann. 1467.]
[Footnote 3: She died a few years after this period, in consequence of
a fall occasioned by her horse taking fright, while out falconing.]
[Footnote 4: This fact is undoubted, and, indeed, the whole account of
the battle of Nancy here given la confirmed by Jean Molinet,
Historiographer to Mary of Burgundy. The writer of this book, however,
would have omitted this narration of events, which have been so
admirably detailed elsewhere, had it not been absolutely necessary to
his story.]
[Footnote 5: The only exception that I know, is to be found in the
French revolution of 1830.]
[Footnote 6: The proceedings of the municipal council of Ghent, even
before the assembling of the states, which it entirely commanded,
were, in many instances, much more bold and tyrannical than any that
it has seemed necessary to particularize here. Some authors assert
that it forbade Mary to transact any public business without its
sanction.]
[Footnote 7: When the states of Flanders assembled In Ghent, which was
generally the case, either the chief pensionary or the chief eschevin
of that city presided in the assembly a matter of right.]
[Footnote 8: The Dukes of Cleves and Gueldres were actuated, in the
present instance, by very evident motives: the one wishing to obtain
the hand of the princess (which Imbercourt and Hugonet strove to give
to France) for his nearest relation, and the other for himself. The
motive of the Bishop of Liege is supposed by historians to have been
revenge for acts of justice rendered by Imbercourt under the reign of
Charles the Bold.]
[Footnote 9: It may be necessary to inform those who are not deeply
read in the chronicles of France, that this fact is minutely
accurate.]
WOODFALL AND KINDER PRINTERS, LONG ACRE, LONDON.