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 téméraire, 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 téméraire, 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 Laisné, daughter of a simple artisan, Mathieu Laisné, 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 coöperation 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 Laisné, 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 Laisné, 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 très grande audace, constance et vertu,... oultre existimation du sexe féminin, 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 résistance of notre chière et amée Jeanne Laisné, fille de Mathieu Laisné, 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 téméraire: 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 téméraire 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 Crèvecoeur. 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 Crèvecoeur, 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. Crèvecoeur 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 Crèvecoeur 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 Crèvecoeur, 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 Crèvecoeur, 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.