THE RISE OF THE MONARCHY
HISTORIANS, having a predilection for exactness, are concerned to find
dates not only for kings and queens and battles and treaties, but for
those great changes in the manners and morals of mankind which begin
unconsciously, are wrought out in silence, and present themselves to the
historian as accomplished revolutions before he is at all aware that
anything of moment is going on. A revolution of this kind was in
progress throughout Christendom in the fifteenth century; and its
results are so astonishing, so bewildering in their magnitude and in
their infinite ramifications that we resort to figurative language and
call the movement the Renaissance, the Revival of Learning. It is,
indeed, a new birth, a new life, rather newer and altogether more
astonishing than any mere return of the learning of the ancients could
have been; but the leaven in the decaying mass of feudalism operated
slowly, and did not come to full power until long after the period which
must be a limit for this book; therefore, we can but note certain
significant facts in the mighty process which was to transform the
feudal lady of the chateau into the lady of the court and of the
brilliant literary salon, to substitute a Catherine de Medicis, or a
Marguerite de Navarre, or a Madame de La Fayette, for an Eleanor of
Guienne, a Mahaut d'Artois, or a Christine de Pisan. As nearly as can be
determined, the age of feudalism ends in the fifteenth century; but the
soul of the old civilization leaves its body imperceptibly and enters
into that of the new: it "melts, and makes no noise,
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
Now his breath goes, and some say no."
Jeanne d'Arc herself, we have said in the preceding chapter, was no
product of chivalry, found no chivalry to shield her. The old was
already in her time yielding place to the new; for during the fifteenth
century feudalism as well as chivalry was going to its death in France
and in nearly all Europe. In France the civil wars had not only
demoralized chivalry, they had also served to sever the intimate ties
that bound the feudal lord and his family to the soil of their fief
almost as rigidly as the villain was bound. Some families were utterly
destroyed, some sought new lands, and found them in parts of the country
far distant from their ancient holdings. With all his theoretically
arbitrary power, the old baron, reared amid the peasants he was to
govern, felt a certain kinship with them, and was often regardful of
their time-honored customs and privileges, forgoing in their favor what
arbitrary despotism or caprice suggested. No such ties bound the new
nobles to their new vassals; the hold of the feudal lord upon his
vassals was weakened, as was their influence upon him. Many new families
had risen into prominence, and kings no longer hesitated to ennoble
parvenus, a sure sign that the solidarity of the ancient nobility of the
soil was broken. This had come to pass in France by the time the great
Louis XI. ascended the throne, not a generation after Jeanne d'Arc, and
the same process was going on in England through the Wars of the Roses.
Louis was the determined enemy of feudalism, which he would have
uprooted utterly. Much he did uproot; more he would have done, had he
lived.
In the midst of this generation of struggles between the king and the
faltering remnants of feudalism there are two or three instances in
which the women as well as the men of the middle class deserve mention.
Before we deal with the short and sad career of the last of the great
house of Bourgogne, Marie, daughter of Charles le temeraire, we may
glance at the simple story of a woman who defended Beauvais from this
same Charles.
The danger from England had passed; there was no longer need of a Jeanne
d'Arc to drive out the insolent _Goddems_; but a new enemy was found for
France in the person of that great Duke of Burgundy whom modern history
has named Charles the Bold, more properly Charles the Rash, or, as his
contemporaries first called him, the Terrible, "that wild bull wearing a
crown, that wild boar who rushed straight ahead, his eyes shut." In the
spring of 1472, while Louis XI was intent upon reducing to submission
the rebellious Duke of Brittany, Charles le temeraire, impatient at the
tricky diplomacy which baffled him, declared war upon France and marched
at once into Picardy with a great army, ravaging and burning as he went.
Louis, unwilling to be diverted from his attempt upon the Duke of
Brittany, whom he was holding fast in his grip, could spare few troops,
and gave orders that the small towns be abandoned and resistance be
concentrated in the larger cities. The brave little town of Nesle was
the first to offer a determined but hopeless resistance to the enraged
Burgundian: Nesle was carried by assault, its defenders put to the sword
or mutilated by the lopping off of their right hands. The very church
ran with blood as Charles rode into it, commending the savage butchery
of the inhabitants by his soldiers.
Beauvais was the next place of importance in his path, and the terrible
news of the slaughter and the burning at Nesle was enough to inspire
terror among its citizens. Yet these honest citizens, who had enjoyed
liberal charters from France, were moved by a spirit of patriotism that
is the best testimony to the fair treatment they had received from the
subtle Louis. The fortifications of the town were antiquated, in no wise
adapted to resist the powerful artillery that Charles was bringing with
him, even had they been in good repair; as it was, they were going to
ruin. And even had their walls been good and strong, the citizens had no
garrison to help them to defend the town, and no munitions of war. A
general meeting of the citizens debated the question of absolute
submission, or of a resistance which, after the fate of Nesle, they felt
must be to the bitter end. The vote was unanimous for resistance; they
would do their duty and hold out for the king, though the last man
should perish beneath the ruins. At once they began repairing the walls,
closing up gates and posterns, and barricading the streets.
On the 27th of June, the bell of the great cathedral sounded the tocsin:
the Burgundian army was in sight. And against this great army of
disciplined soldiers must stand the volunteer defenders of the city. The
assault began at once, after the Burgundian herald had summoned the
town: "In the name of the Duke, I summon the captain and the inhabitants
of the city to submit humbly to his pleasure."
Upon the walls the citizens had piled stones to hurl upon the
assailants, and pots of hot oil and hot water were at hand to be emptied
on their heads. Foremost in this work were the women of the town, while
the men were left free to use their crossbows, arquebuses, axes. One
figure stands out prominently in this band of heroic women; it is that
of a young girl of eighteen, who constitutes herself leader, marshals
her companions, and drives from their homes timid maids and matrons,
urging them on to bear stones to the ramparts, if they will do no more.
Like the great savior of France, this girl is named Jeanne; like her,
too, she is of lowly birth, a good, honest girl of the people. Jeanne
Laisne, daughter of a simple artisan, Mathieu Laisne, was born about
1454, in Beauvais. She was a wool-carder, one used to earning her own
bread, and hence full of the energy and courage born of independence,
not yet broken by years of severe toil. She was comely, too; perhaps an
indispensable requirement in one who would win the unrestricted praise
of the historians of a gallant race. Whether beautiful or not, Jeanne
was a very Deborah of her class, inspired with that fervent love of
home, of _patrie_, which is innate in every good woman, and which is
sometimes strongest in those who have to thank the _patrie_ for no
favors of fortune. No heavenly spirits guided her, no prophecies proceed
from her; her sole inspiration was courage and the determination to help
in the defence of Beauvais. It would have been so easy for her to assume
the role of a Jeanne d'Arc; she might even have pretended to be La
Pucelle come to life again, as did several impostors who had recently
won temporary credit, notably one who was brought to Charles VII.,
pretended to recognize him by divine inspiration, and confessed her
imposture only when the king received her in good faith and referred to
"the secret between me and thee." It is to the credit of this new Jeanne
that she made no false pretensions, but simply served her native city
and lived her life as merely the Jeanne whom all had known, and whom all
respected.
Of her deeds during the siege there is not much to tell in detail,
though it was her spirit and energy that insured the cooeperation of
other women. At first she and her band of amazons aided the men so
effectually that the Burgundians were repulsed with heavy loss. But
Charles was bent upon carrying the town by assault. His soldiers were
urged on to the attack day after day, and still they saw the women of
the town battling against them and were driven back from the walls,
which the artillery, short of ammunition, could not breach. They carried
one of the gates; Jeanne and her fellow townsmen fired it, and the fire
burned so fiercely that for a week approach on that side was cut off.
On the 9th of July, says the Canon of Beauvais, Jean de Bonneuil, "the
Burgundians began the assault upon the gates of the Hotel-Dieu and of
Bresle, in which assault the women bore (around the walls) the body of
Saint Agadresme, patron saint of Beauvais." But the repulse of this
assault was not to be due to the miraculous intervention of Saint
Agadresme; it was again Jeanne Laisne, now surnamed Hachette, from the
ax she wielded, who saved the city. "It is not to be forgotten,"
continues the chronicler, "that in the said assault, while the
Burgundians were setting up their ladders and mounting upon the walls,
one of the said women of Beauvais, called Jeanne Laisne, did, without
other aid or arm, seize and snatch away from one of the said Burgundians
the standard which he bore and carry it to the church of the Jacobins,
where was the shrine of Saint Agadresme." Jeanne had remained on the
ramparts while the enemy came on to the assault; and as the standard
bearer planted the Burgundian flag in a breach, she smote him with her
ax, so that he fell back into the fosse. Others hurried to her aid, and
repelled once more the disheartened assailants.
Meanwhile, succor had come for Beauvais; at first only a handful of
men-at-arms from Noyon, then at last a large body of troops under the
best leaders in France effected an entrance into the town, and enabled
it to withstand an assault lasting from dawn until noon, in which the
duke sacrificed scores of his men to no purpose. Not till he found his
army too much depleted and discouraged for further offensive operations,
however, did Charles retire from before Beauvais, burning and pillaging
as he marched toward Normandy. On July 22nd the besiegers were gone.
The heroism of Jeanne Hachette, as everyone now called her, had proved
contagious: "All the women of the town, high and low, showed themselves
to be so valiant during this siege that they surpassed in boldness the
men of other towns." It was to the women, so all were willing to admit,
that the preservation of Beauvais had been due; and now it was for
Louis, as well as for the citizens, to make some visible and worthy
acknowledgment of the debt. Louis, who, says Michelet, "in his devout
speculations... often took the saints and Our Lady for partners, keeping
an open account with them, and trading for profit or loss, (thinking) by
charities... by petty sums in advance, to secure their interest for some
capital stroke," Louis had vowed a whole "town of silver" for the safety
of Beauvais, and abstention from all flesh until the vow should be
fulfilled. With all his superstition, and all his meanness and harshness
to the nobles, he would do unexpectedly generous things to reward and to
encourage the commons, whom he loved and on whom he relied when noble
lords might play him false. In the present instance he granted special
privileges to the women of Beauvais; and his ordinances to that effect
are curious in that they attempt to propitiate Saint Agadresme--who
might be useful in connection with the "open account" mentioned
above--and at the same time to offer more substantial rewards to the
wives of Beauvais.
The first of these ordinances, dated 1473, establishes an annual
procession in honor of Saint Agadresme and of the deliverance of the
city, and specially exempts the women of Beauvais from the operation of
the sumptuary laws. After rehearsing the most dramatic incident of the
siege, and praising the _tres grande audace, constance et vertu,...
oultre existimation du sexe feminin_, the text of the edict continues:
"(The King) decrees that every year a procession be held, at the cost of
our receipt and domains in the said city; and we order that henceforth
forever the women in this procession shall precede the men and march
immediately after the priests upon that day; and furthermore, they (the
women) may, upon the day of their weddings or at any other times that it
may please them, wear and adorn themselves with any raiment, ornaments,
or jewels (that they may desire), without being subject to question,
reproof, or prosecution, no matter of what rank of life they may be."
More interesting to us, because more directly concerning the heroine
herself, is the edict from which we learn of the special favors granted
her. Beginning with a recital of the brave deeds done at Beauvais, and
especially of the _bonne et vertueuse resistance_ of _notre chiere et
amee Jeanne Laisne, fille de Mathieu Laisne_, the king's edict proceeds:
"For these reasons, and also because of and in favor of the marriage of
Colin Pilon and (Jeanne), which marriage was, by our help, arranged for,
agreed upon, and celebrated, and also for divers other reasons and
considerations, we have granted and now do grant, by special grace, in
these present letters, that the said Colin Pilon, and Jeanne, his wife,
each one of them, shall be and remain for life exempt and free from all
taxes that are and that may be in the future imposed and exacted in our
name throughout our kingdom, whether for the maintenance or keep of our
armies and soldiers or for any other cause whatsoever, and (they shall
also be exempt) from the duties of watch and ward, wheresoever in our
kingdom they may take up their abode. Given at Senlis, this 22nd day of
February, in the year of grace one thousand four hundred and
seventy-four."
It will be seen from this that Jeanne was already married, and that the
king himself had taken some sort of personal interest in her case,
supplying the very necessary _dot_ for the bride. She had not sought an
alliance out of her own class, for Colin Pilon was a simple man-at-arms,
who did not live long to enjoy either the love of his wife or the favor
of the king, for he fell at the siege of Nancy, in 1477. A few years
later, Jeanne married a cousin, one Fourquet, a soldier of fortune, at
one time in the personal guard of the king. Henceforth nothing more is
known of her, not even the date of her death. But popular fancy
associated her so intimately with the siege of Beauvais that, be her
real surname what it might, she was always Jeanne Hachette; and even in
the nineteenth century a certain Pierre Fourquet d'Hachette, claiming
descent from the humble heroine, received a pension from Charles X. In
Beauvais, too, her name and the memory of her good service were kept
alive not only by the annual parade on the festival of Saint Agadresme,
but also by a faded, ancient standard, borne by the young girls in the
procession, at other times carefully guarded among the treasures of the
city. It was a standard of white damasked cloth, bearing figures and
mottoes in gilt and colored paints. Even now one can decipher the
haughty device of Charles le temeraire: _Je l'ay emprins_ (I have
undertaken it), and beside it the emblems of the great order of the
Golden Fleece. It is the very standard that the girl snatched from the
Burgundian soldier more than four centuries ago.
The story of Jeanne Hachette is but an episode, of course; but in
reading it we should remember that, however small the part she played in
the great history of the world, she had one rare trait, a trait often
distinctive of the best figures in history, though not always of the
most notable--modesty. Like Jeanne d'Arc, her task once accomplished she
was content to be what she had been before; more fortunate than that
other Jeanne, she lived to see herself honored, and was not spoiled
thereby any more than Jeanne d'Arc was spoiled by her far greater
triumphs.
If Jeanne Hachette was a representative of that class now about to
assume greater importance in the life of France, namely the artisans,
the unfortunate daughter of Charles le temeraire was, in her character
as well as in the events of her life, as surely representative of
disappearing feudalism and chivalry. Marie de Bourgogne was all her life
but the plaything of a court that would use her in its pageants and in
its schemes of aggrandizement with utter disregard of what might be her
personal preferences. Reared amidst surroundings that suggested the pomp
and glory of chivalry and were eloquent of feminine dependence if not of
feminine inferiority, she was suddenly left to cope with one of the
ablest and one of the most unscrupulous politicians in history.
Marie de Bourgogne was born at Brussels in 1457, being the first child
born of the union of Isabelle de Bourbon and the haughty young Count de
Charolais, who had been most unwilling to espouse this bride of his
father's choice and who yet made a devoted and faithful husband. When
Marie was born she was still but the daughter of the Count de Charolais,
for ten years more of life remained for the worn out old Philippe le
Bon. Still, she was prospective heiress of the great duchy of Burgundy,
though none could yet foresee that she was the only hope of the great
family that had made itself, in the hundred years of its existence, the
most dangerous enemy, the most indispensable ally of France, nay, even
the rival of France among the great powers of Europe.
The little countess was but eight years of age when her mother died,
scarcely old enough to appreciate the loss, except perhaps to grieve
that she must be reared by a great lady of her grandfather's court, the
Countess of Crevecoeur. Three years more, and she had to take part in
the greeting given to her father's second wife, Margaret of York. Little
could Marie have understood of the political significance of this union
which united the fortunes of the house of Burgundy with those of a
family whose brief ascendency was marked by almost continual war and by
political crimes of the darkest hue: the brothers of her stepmother were
the handsome voluptuary, Edward IV., "false, fleeting, perjured
Clarence, that stabbed" young Edward of Lancaster "in the field by
Tewkesbury," and the dark-minded Richard of Gloucester. It was a union
of sinister omen for Charles, and one that had been opposed by his
father: no good did or could come of it for Charles, and yet, to spite
France, he persevered in his design, and brought Marie to take her small
part in the brilliant reception accorded Margaret at Bruges. Marie must
have witnessed and enjoyed the great show, and the famous tournament of
the _perron d'or_ (golden beam), in which her father condescended to
break a lance or two in honor of his bride; but she is hardly mentioned
in the glowing accounts of these festivities, in which the ancient
glories of chivalry were revived and surpassed. She was but a daughter,
and though her father loved her it was only natural that he should yet
hope for a son who might wear his ducal coronet.
But the years passed, and still there was no son: Mademoiselle de
Bourgogne seemed fated to wear that ducal coronet. Charles grew in
power, in arrogance, in ambition; it was to be no longer a mere coronet,
but a crown; he would found a new dynasty that would eclipse that of the
elder branch of the Valois; at one time the very crown was made ready
and exposed to the admiring yet fearful eyes of his future subjects.
Marie, who had grown into a handsome if not beautiful girl, carefully
trained in all the accomplishments that befitted her rank, became a
personage of great importance in the ambitious schemes of her father.
According to the custom of princes, her name was used as a lure in
securing desirable alliances; and her wishes were but little regarded in
the selection of her future husband. She was merely a sort of asset to
be reckoned among the other properties of which Charles might dispose to
the highest bidder in furtherance of his projects. Her charms would
naturally be set forth to the best advantage, therefore, in the pages of
loyal Burgundian chroniclers, and in the midst of the diplomatic
bargaining we forget not only that Marie was a girl, with at least some
girlish fancies and preferences and romantic dreams, but we fail to
distinguish the actual features of the girl. If one may judge from the
portraits, Marie could not have been really a beauty; though there are
upon the face the indefinable marks of high breeding, its lines are too
heavy, moulded too obviously on the pattern of the features of her
redoubtable father; above all, there is that heavy lip and protruding
jaw, so very noticeable in her descendants as to become a distinguishing
family mark, albeit they call it Austrian, not Burgundian. But she was a
comely girl; besides, would suitors hang back because the richest
heiress in Europe was not at the same time a Venus?
Charles met with no difficulty in finding suitors for his daughter's
hand; there was merely the embarrassment of choice among so many who
might be considered or who considered themselves eligible. At length, in
1473, Marie was betrothed to Nicholas of Calabria. But Nicholas died,
and Marie was again to be disposed of; the betrothal had been too
absolutely a matter of politics to justify any delay in seeking a new
husband now that death had removed Nicholas. It happened that just at
this time Charles was very eager to propitiate the empire, in
furtherance of those schemes of monarchy that now began to assume
definite shape in his imagination. The Archduke Maximilian, though
somewhat more than three years younger than Marie, and though poor, was
nevertheless the son of the emperor, and might be considered useful to
Burgundy. The negotiations were conducted quietly; Charles did not, it
appears, wish to show himself too anxious; perhaps he was thinking that
circumstances might change, and therefore did not wish to commit himself
to this match beyond the power of recall.
For the present, however, the noble lovers, who had never met, were both
rather young; there was no need to hurry matters, since Charles himself
was still in the prime of life. The disastrous campaign of the great
duke in Switzerland has been described many a time, by historians
friendly and unfriendly, and by a great romancer who loved all chivalry
and who yet could not withhold his admiration from the intrepid Swiss
freemen who bore down the power of Burgundy at Granson, at Morat, and at
Nancy. Yet, whether we consider Charles a great ruler and leader or a
mere military ruffian, no one can look without pity upon that
snow-covered battlefield of Nancy, where a generous foe and the
heartbroken servants of "the pride of chivalry" must look in vain for
two days for the body of Charles; none could surely tell how he had
fallen; and when they found his frozen body the dogs had eaten half of
one cheek, and the wounds on the head rendered it almost unrecognizable.
Mademoiselle de Bourgogne, as she was now to be known in earnest, was
far away in Ghent when the fatal news of her father's death was brought.
Before it could reach her it had reached the crafty old king. For Louis
it was the sweetest news he could have heard; his greatest foe was
providentially removed, and as his adversary in Burgundy there was now
but a girl scarcely grown, a girl whose selfish advisers he well knew
how to bribe or to ruin, as suited his interest. Well may we believe
that when the news of Charles's death reached that French court where so
many of the nobles had felt him to be their only help against the
anti-feudal policy of Louis, "not one ate half he could at dinner," as
the shrewd Comines says; now that the pillar of independent baronage was
gone, who could tell what the king might do?
Marie de Bourgogne was almost a prisoner among her too devoted subjects,
the burghers of Ghent. She and her counsellors realized from the first
that the real danger was to come from Louis XI, who would now seek to
re-annex to the crown those large portions of the Burgundian domain that
had originally come from France. Perhaps the letter of the feudal law
was on the side of the king, who claimed the right of wardship over his
female vassal; but Marie knew full well that this claim was but the
first of a long series that would culminate in the actual seizure of
French Burgundy as soon as Louis should feel himself strong enough. But
though Louis was the ultimate and the greater danger, he could be put
off, it was thought, by conciliatory messages; an immediate danger lay
in turbulent Flanders, which even the strong duke could not master, and
which now, in the midst of much exuberant devotion for mademoiselle,
kept her in a state of constant uneasiness. Something must be done to
quiet the Flemings.
Marie, in imitation of all new-made sovereigns whose crowns are none too
secure, began by granting most liberal charters and privileges to her
loyal subjects in Flanders. For the most part, the liberties thus
granted had been ancient liberties, temporarily denied under the
Burgundians, and now resumed by the people with or without the official
consent of their duchess. The Ghenters at once exercised their right of
being their own judges, and arrested the magistrates who had dared to
surrender the city's liberties to Charles and had governed in his name.
But neither the granting of privileges to Flanders nor the grateful
affection of the Ghenters could defend from Louis Picardy and the
coveted towns on the Somme; money must be had, and the generous commons
of Flanders were appealed to. This congress of the estates of Flanders,
Artois, Hainault, Brabant, and Namur met at Ghent on February 3, 1477,
less than a month after the death of Charles. Marie repeated to the
delegates her assurances, her oaths, her promises, and granted the
"Great Privilege," a sort of Magna Charta and Bill of Rights in the
history of Holland. The special privileges enumerated in this grant are
not novel; the grant was intended merely as a formal restatement--to be
formally ratified by the sovereign--of those inalienable and
indefeasible rights of the subject which were not recognized in most
countries for many a decade to come. "It was a recapitulation and
recognition of ancient rights, not an acquisition of new privileges. It
was a restoration, not a revolution." The nature of the rights asserted
by the subject and admitted by the sovereign may be easily gathered from
a glance at one or two. "Offices shall be conferred by the duchess upon
natives alone; and no man shall fill two offices. No office shall be
farmed out. The great Council and Supreme Court of the provinces shall
be re-established.... No new taxes may be imposed but by consent of the
estates. No war, whether offensive or defensive, shall be begun by the
duchess or any of her successors without the consent of the estates....
No money shall be coined, nor shall its value be raised or lowered,
except by consent of the estates." If the principles here enunciated
could have been made good in practice, the liberties of Marie's subjects
would indeed have been secure; but much of this Great Privilege, as well
as of the similar charters granted to other provinces, was pure theory,
and Marie no more meant to abide by her oath of ratification than King
John had meant to observe the provisions of Magna Charta. For the
present, however, she must feign to be right well pleased, though her
cautious and devoted subjects had not granted her the aid she wanted, to
be used as she saw fit. All negotiations would be conducted in her name,
of course, but in dealing with Louis she must be guided by the counsel
of the estates; and the estates would levy an army of a hundred thousand
men for her--when it suited them to do so. That was the sum and
substance of all that Marie could cajole them into granting.
Meanwhile, Louis was making ready to seize Burgundy and Picardy,
advancing now one pretext, now another, for his acts, seeking to give
every seizure the appearance of legality, but bent on seizing, right or
wrong. Marie despatched two of her father's oldest advisers, the
chancellor Hugonet and the lord of Humbercourt, as ambassadors to Louis,
to delay his proceedings. Though faithful to the interests of their
duchess, Hugonet and Humbercourt were no match for the crafty king. He
had already tampered with other servants of Burgundy, and had found few
who could not be made to see that French gold or French titles were
better worth considering than any favors received from a master who
could no longer reward. Of this class was the Lord of Crevecoeur, whose
mother had been the guardian of the young duchess when she had no
mother, and to whom one of the most important charges in Burgundy had
been deputed, the governorship of Picardy and of the towns on the Somme.
Crevecoeur was a knight of the Toison d'Or, and had received countless
other favors from Charles, whose daughter he was now willing to betray.
What Louis most desired was Arras; this my Lord of Crevecoeur held for
Burgundy; might there not be found some legal subterfuge or quibble
authorizing him to hold it for the king? Louis cajoled, entreated,
almost menaced, the Burgundian envoys, till they, thinking he would have
Arras anyway, yielded so far as to issue an order to Crevecoeur, signed
by the chancellor, Hugonet, authorizing him to open the gates of the
town to the king. Louis entered Arras on March 4th, and Marie soon found
that her troubles had but just begun.
When the news of the surrender of Arras reached Ghent the citizens were
furious, and demanded satisfaction from those who had betrayed the
public trust. A fresh embassy went, from the States this time, to meet
Louis, who was advancing through Picardy. Marie had to consent to this
embassy, and doubtless thought that little harm would come of it; but
the unscrupulous Louis knew how to deal with the burghers, and no
considerations of honor hindered him from using any means in his power
to sow the seeds of suspicion between the burghers and their duchess.
When the embassy remonstrated with him for the desire to despoil the
young heiress and told him that "there was no harm in her, that they
could answer for her prudence and good faith, since she had publicly
sworn to be guided by the Council of the States in all things," Louis
assumed an injured air. "You are deceived," he said, "your mistress
means to be guided by the advice of persons who do not desire peace."
The envoys, thinking that Marie had been perfectly sincere and frank,
refused to credit ill of her. Then Louis showed them a private note, in
Marie's own hand, telling him that she would be guided solely by the
advice of the court party and of Hugonet and Humbercourt in particular,
and begging him to keep this secret from the envoys of the States.
Enraged and mortified by this scandalous duplicity the burgher envoys
returned hastily to Ghent. The duchess received them in solemn audience,
seated upon her throne and surrounded by her courtiers. With great show
of indignation she denied the allegations of the king. "Here is your own
letter," said the chief of the envoys, drawing it forth from his bosom.
Marie was overwhelmed with confusion, and knew not what to say. She
trembled even for her own safety, now that this royal personage, in
defiance of the comity of princes, had betrayed her to her own subjects.
The duplicity of which she had been guilty was not so reprehensible as
it seems to us; the blame of it rests more upon her advisers than upon
her, and she was but a weak girl, encompassed by selfish intriguers and
plotters who sought to rob her of that which she had been taught to
regard as her unquestioned right.
The most conspicuous of her counsellors, though not by any means the
ones solely responsible for this unfortunate letter, were Hugonet and
Humbercourt, who, feeling that the Ghenters would take vengeance upon
them, threw themselves into a monastery immediately after the fatal
audience, but were dragged out of the sanctuary that very night. Marie,
faithful to those who had been faithful to her, would gladly have saved
them, but upon the mere rumor that the prisoners would be allowed to
escape the Ghenters flew to arms, congregated in the Friday market
place, and, asserting their ancient right of permanent assembly in time
of danger, camped there day and night till the two envoys were tried and
executed. Marie might have claimed that the unhappy victims, being ducal
officers, should be delivered over to the Grand Council for trial; but
in view of the excited state of popular feeling even that was not to be
thought of. And when she nominated a commission in which thirty out of
thirty-six were citizens of Ghent, that too was insufficient assurance
that the accused would be convicted; the citizens would have the whole
affair in their own hands; their privileges had been tampered with, and
they alone should punish the offenders. Marie did not even yet relax her
efforts on behalf of Hugonet and Humbercourt; her determined fidelity to
what she considered a sacred duty the protection of those who had risked
themselves in her service is the best trait in her character. The
gratitude of princes is not usually a burdensome obligation to them; but
the best principles of chivalry had been instilled into Marie, and, like
her rash but generous father, she would risk all on a point of honor.
She sent representatives of the nobles to sit with the burgher's court,
though they could take no part in the proceedings, and must be mere
spectators of a judgment already resolved upon. When the supreme moment
approached, Marie herself went to implore mercy for her servants.
Dressed as a simple Flemish maiden, with the citizen's cap upon her
head, she went on foot and unattended by guard or courtier or even so
much as a lady of her suite, through the angry crowd in the market place
to the Town Hall, where the court sat.
But the judges themselves were more overawed by the relentless crowd
whose angry murmurs penetrated to them than by the presence of their
lady. Pity her they did; but as one of them said, pointing to the crowd:
"We must satisfy the people." Not daunted by this failure, Marie went
among the people themselves, those loving yet terrible subjects who had
gathered to see that their will was carried out. In Friday market place
she went from one to another, weeping, with clasped hands imploring them
not to punish servants who had merely obeyed her commands. The sight of
this defenceless girl, braving dangers in such a cause and venturing
among a people whom she had offended, moved many to hearken to her plea.
The men began to separate into two parties, those who could hear and see
their lady inclining to her side, those farther off, removed from the
direct influence of her presence, clamoring for justice upon the
accused. Pikes were ranged against pikes, and there was imminent danger
of a conflict; but the partisans of the duchess were in the minority,
and their enthusiasm in her cause waned when they realized the danger of
a civil broil. Marie's courageous appeal served only to hurry on the
trial, since the judges were determined not to risk another scene
fraught with such dangers.
Hugonet and Humbercourt were put to the torture, and confessed what was
enough to convict them, though it was what everyone already knew: that
they had surrendered Arras. Humbercourt, a knight of the Toison d'Or,
appealed to that body, which alone had jurisdiction over its members;
but legal forms could not be respected in this crisis. When the court
presented the confessions and the sentence to the young duchess, a
formality with which, in all their disregard of legal forms, they
thought it necessary to comply, she protested again, wept, entreated.
All was vain: "Madam," said they, "you have sworn to do justice not only
upon the poor, but upon the rich."
The two nobles were placed in the condemned cart--where, on account of
the injuries received in the torture, they could not stand--and led to
execution. The people had succeeded in destroying those who had dared to
disregard their wishes; the sovereign of Burgundy was completely in
their power. They declared themselves her most fitting guardians and
counsellors, deprived her of the comfort of having even members of her
family about her, and proposed to find a husband for her more suitable
than any suggested by the nobles.
To all of this Marie was forced to submit with what grace she could; but
upon the matter of a husband she was resolved to have something to say
for herself. No less than six suitors had some sort of claim to her,
besides the one to whom her father had betrothed her in 1473. There was
the dauphin, a mere boy of eight, for whom Louis was intriguing; there
was, at the other extreme, the worthless and worn-out profligate,
Clarence, whom Margaret of York hoped to establish in this new and rich
nest; there was the fierce and cruel Adolphus of Guelders, who had ended
a career of crime in prison, and whom the Ghenters meant to take out of
prison that he might be their duke and leader: then there were the
English Lord Rivers, brother of England's queen, and the son of the Lord
of Ravenstein, and the son of the Duke of Cleves. In the whole list
there was not one whom the poor girl could have considered with anything
but aversion. The worst of all, both politically and personally, was the
dauphin; the idea of contracting a marriage with a mere child, and that
child the son of her most dangerous enemy, was revolting to Marie's
feelings, so lately excited by the death of her two servants, betrayed
by Louis. At her very court she was surrounded by spies, who, pretending
to sympathize with her and console her, reported to Louis or to the
emperor all the intimate confidences of the poor girl.
The interest of Austria finally seemed to be in the ascendant, for now
Margaret, despairing of making Clarence acceptable either to the young
lady or to her subjects or even to Edward IV., had thrown her influence
on the side of Maximilian, and the influence of France in the Burgundian
councils had been ruined by the manifest determination of the king to
absorb all French Burgundy, all Flanders, if he could get it. There had
not been sufficient time for the growth of real national feeling in the
ill-assorted and scattered provinces of the duchy; but the non-French
parts of Burgundy, at least, by no means relished the idea of losing
their identity and becoming parts of France.
Personal reasons also inclined Marie to favor the Austrian suitor.
Maximilian had been in some sort the choice of her father, and this
alone would have some weight with her. Besides, he was young; report
said he was handsome: "The hairs of his august head are, after the
German fashion, golden, lustrous, curiously adorned, and of becoming
length. His port is lordly." And report spoke no ill of this fair young
golden-haired Teuton; he might be some three years younger than
Mademoiselle de Bourgogne, but he was already a man and a bold hunter,
though as yet he had had no opportunity of showing whether he were
capable of leading armies, a very necessary accomplishment in one who
would undertake the care of Mademoiselle and her much coveted heritage.
He was poor: but was not she rich enough to make up the deficiency? On
the whole, Mademoiselle was so favorably impressed with what the
Austrian advocates could tell her that she determined to receive the
embassy then on the way to present the formal claim of Maximilian.
The Duke of Cleves, who had hopes for his own son, did his best to delay
the ambassadors, and, failing that, to make Marie promise to give them
an audience and then send them about their business. She had already had
enough of diplomatic experience to make her cautious. The Duke of Cleves
was not taken into her confidence, but was permitted to hope that
Mademoiselle would not settle the matter with the Austrian envoys.
The envoys came, and were received in public audience, where their chief
rehearsed the details of the negotiations between the late duke and
emperor, and ended by presenting a letter written by Mademoiselle
herself in acknowledgment of the betrothal, and a diamond sent by her as
a token. Then Marie, to the utter dismay of the intriguers, quietly
replied, of her own accord: "I wrote that letter by the wish and command
of my lord and father, and sent that diamond; I own to the contents."
Marie and Maximilian were formally married on April 27th, and the
people, weary of the state of uncertainty in which they had been kept,
seemed content to make the best of the marriage. The prince was a
German, did not speak their language or understand their customs; but
then he was prepossessing, and would doubtless make as good a defender
of their liberties as could be found. With the marriage, Marie
practically ceased to appear as a direct participant in political
affairs. Her new husband was devoted to her, and for a time things
looked more encouraging for this last scion of a great race. True, Louis
sent his barber-surgeon, Olivier, to protest, in the name of the
suzerain, against the marriage of his feudal ward without his consent.
But the Flemish nobles and their lady laughed at the barber, who really
came more to spy than in the hope that this mediaeval protest would
avail aught. Later, in his first battle, Maximilian completely defeated
the French army under the traitor Lord Crevecoeur, at Guinegatte, August
7, 1479.
Meanwhile, a son had been born to the young couple, and their domestic
happiness was unclouded. Fortune was not to smile on them long, however,
for the Flemings were constitutionally rebellious, now refusing to grant
Maximilian supplies necessary for defence, till he actually had to pawn
his wife's jewels, now blaming all their misfortunes on this foreigner,
now distracting his attention from the still encroaching French king by
riots and revolts. In the unequal contest the French were destined to
win; and ere Marie had been married five years an accident cost her her
life and left Maximilian almost as helpless in the hands of the Flemings
as she had been. She had been hunting, a sport of which both she and
Maximilian were passionately fond, when her horse threw her. The
injuries might not have proved fatal if medical aid had been resorted to
in time; but Marie, with pitiful false modesty, refused to submit to the
examination of the surgeons, and died, after lingering three weeks,
March 26, 1482. Her infant son, Philippe le Beau, remained as the
nominal heir of Burgundy; but the guarding of the duchy was a hopeless
task when a regency must control affairs, and so with Marie passed away
the last independent ruler of the house of Burgundy, whose greatness was
to be transmitted to and surpassed by the son of this Philippe, the
great Emperor Charles V.
The brief and troubled life of Marie de Bourgogne affords but little
opportunity for an estimate of her capabilities. She was reared under
conditions the most unfavorable to the development of independence,
self-reliance, and capacity for practical affairs; for feudalism, even
at its best, as we have seen, produced but few women who were capable of
ruling a nation, and the spectacular chivalry of the Burgundian court
found no place for woman but as an angelic, gracious, beautiful
spectator of its great shows, one infinitely removed by every detail of
her education and of her social life from the sordid cares of life and
of politics. Marie was not of that rare type that might, even under such
conditions, rise to power; she was not strong enough of will to mark out
a policy of her own and bend men and conditions to serve that policy. In
not one of her public acts as duchess can we find that she was
uninfluenced by those around her; she was indeed swayed first by one set
of counsellors, then by another, the natural result being inconsistency,
duplicity, and inefficiency. But where the mere woman appears, where
there is room for the operation of impulses purely personal, as in the
case of Hugonet and Humbercourt and in the selection of her husband,
Marie displays nobler feelings; and though the cause of civilization was
to be advanced by the dismemberment of the heterogeneous Burgundian
duchy and the annexation of the greater part of it to France, our
sympathy is not with the spider who sat spinning his meshes of intrigue
in the den at Plessis-lez-Tours, but with the generous, impulsive young
ruler whom we know he will fatally entangle. With Marie in Burgundy, as
with the passionate and unhappy Marguerite of Anjou in England, we are
inclined to forgive the ruler who could not rule, or who resorted to
infamous means in her struggles to rule, when we remember that both were
women brought face to face with tremendous problems and made the sport
of crafty, cruel, unscrupulous foes and faithless friends.