Chapter 10

THE UNJOYOUS ENTRY

1467

After the dauphin was crowned at Rheims, he was monarch over all his domains. Charles of Burgundy, on the other hand, had a series of ceremonies to perform before he was properly invested with the various titles worn by his father. Each duchy, countship, seigniory had to be taken in turn. Ghent was the first capital visited. Then he had to exchange pledges of fidelity with his Flemish subjects before receiving recognition as Count of Flanders.

According to the custom of his predecessors, Charles stayed at the little village of Swynaerde, near Ghent, the night before he made his "joyous entry" into that city. It had chanced that the day selected by Charles for the event was St. Lievin's Day and a favourite holiday of the workers of Ghent. The saint's bones, enclosed conveniently in a portable shrine, rested in the cathedral church, whence they were carried once a year by the fifty-two gilds in solemn procession to the little village of Houthem, where the blessed saint had suffered martyrdom in the seventh century. All day and all night the saint's devotees, the Fools of St. Lievin, as they were called, remained at this spot. Merry did the festival become as the hours wore on, for good cheer was carried thither as well as the sacred shrine.

Now the magistrates were a little apprehensive about the rival claims of the new count of Flanders and the old saint of Ghent. They knew that they could not cut short the time-honoured celebration for the sake of the sovereign's inauguration, so they decided to prolong the former, and directed that the saint should leave town on Saturday and not return until Monday. This left Sunday free for the young count's entry. It probably seemed a very convenient conjunction of events to the city fathers, because the more turbulent portion of the citizens was sure to follow the saint.

Accordingly, Charles made a very quiet and dignified entrance,[1] having paused at the gates to listen to the fair words of Master Mathys de Groothuse as he extolled the virtues of the late Count of Flanders, and requested God to receive the present one, when he, too, was forced to leave earth, as graciously as Ghent was receiving him that day. All passed well; oaths of fealty were duly taken and given at the church of St. John the Baptist. Charles himself pulled the bell rope according to the ancient Flemish custom, and the Count of Flanders was in possession. This all took place in the morning of June 28th. At the close of the ceremonies Charles withdrew to his hotel and the magistrates to their dwellings.

The devotees of St. Lievin prolonged their holiday until Monday afternoon. It was five o'clock[2] when the revellers returned to Ghent. Many of the saint's followers were, by that time, more or less under the influence of the contents of the casks which had formed part of the outward-bound burden. The protracted holiday-making had its natural sequence. There was, however, too much method in the next proceedings for it to be attributed wholly to emotional inebriety.

The procession passed through the city gate and entered a narrow street near the corn market, where stood a little house used as headquarters for the collection of the _cueillotte_, a tax on every article brought into the city for sale, and one particularly obnoxious to the people. Suddenly a cry was raised and echoed from rank to rank of St. Lievin's escort, "Down with the _cueillotte_."

Then with the ingenious humour of a Celtic crowd, quick to take a fantastic advantage of a situation, a second cry was heard: "St. Lievin must go through the house. Lievin is a saint who never turns aside from his route."

Delightful thought, followed by speedy action. Axes were produced and wielded to good effect.

Down came the miniature customs-house in a flash. Little pieces of the ruin were elevated on sticks and carried by some of the rabble as standards with the cry "I have it--I have it." As they marched the procession was constantly augmented and the cries become more decidedly revolutionary: "Kill, kill these craven spoilers of God and of the world.[2] Where are they? Let us seek them out and slay them in their houses, those who have flourished at our pitiable expense."

This was rank rebellion. Even under cover of St. Lievin's mantle, resistance to regularly instituted customs could hardly be described by any other name. Excited by their own temerity, the crowd now surged on to the great market-place in front of the Hôtel de Ville, where the Friday market is held, instead of returning the saint promptly to his safe abiding-place as was meet.

There the lawless deeds--lawless to the duke's mind certainly--became more audacious. Counterparts of the very banners whose prohibition had been part of the sentence in 1453 were unfurled,[4] and their possession alone proved insurrectionary premeditation on the part of the gild leaders. Ghent was in open revolt, and the young duke in their midst felt it was an open insult to him as sovereign count.

His messenger failed to return from the market-place. His master became impatient and followed him to the scene of action with a small escort. As they drew near, the crowd thickened and hedged them in. The nobles became alarmed and urged the duke to return, but cries from the crowd promised safety to his person. To the steps of the Hôtel de Ville rode the duke, his face dark, menacing with suppressed wrath.[5]

As he dismounted, he turned towards a man whom he thought he saw egging on a disturbance and struck him with his riding whip, saying, "I know you." The man was quick enough to realise the value of the duke's violence at that moment and cried, "Strike again," but the Seigneur Groothuse, who had already tried to check Charles's anger and to curb the popular turbulence, exclaimed, "For the love of God do not strike again!" The wiser burgher at once understood the unstable temper of the mob, which had been fairly civil to the duke up to this moment. There were ugly murmurs to be heard that the blow would cost him dear.

"Indeed," says the courtly Chastellain, "the mischief was so imminent that God alone averted it, and there was not an archer or noble or man so full of assurance that he did not tremble with fear, nor one who would not have preferred to be in India for his own safety. Especially were they in terror for their young prince, who, they thought, was exposed to a dolorous death."

It was Groothuse alone who averted disaster:

"Do you not see that your life and ours hang on a silken thread? Do you think you can coerce a rabble like this by threats and hard words--a rabble who at this moment do not value you more than the least of us? They are beside themselves, they have neither reason nor understanding.[6]... If you are ready to die, I am not, except in spite of myself. You must try quite a different method--appease them by sweetness and save your house and your life.

"What could you do alone? How the gods would laugh! Your courage is out of place here unless it enables you to calm yourself and give an example to those poor sheep, wretched misled people whom you must soothe. Go down in God's name. [They were within the town hall.] Show yourself and you will make an impression by your good sense and all will go well."

To this eminently sound advice the young duke yielded. He appeared on a balcony or on the upper steps of the town hall and stood ready to harangue his unruly and turbulent subjects. A moment sufficed to still the turmoil and the silence showed a readiness to hear him speak.

Charles was not perfectly at ease in Flemish, but he was wise enough to use that tongue. One trait of the Ghenters was respect for the person of their overlord. When that overlord showed any disposition to meet them half-way the response was usually immediate. So it was now. The crowd which had been attending to St. Lievin, and not to the duke's joyous entry, suddenly remembered that his welcome had been strangely ignored. Their grumblings changed to greetings. "Take heart, Monseigneur. Have no fear. For you we will live and die and none shall be so audacious as to harm you. If there be evil fellows with no bump of reverence, endure it for the moment. Later you shall be avenged. No time now for fear."

This sounded better. Charles was sufficiently appeased to address the crowd as "My children," and to assure them that if they would but meet him in peaceful conference, their grievances should be redressed. "Welcome, welcome! we are indeed your children and recognise your goodness."

Then Groothuse followed with a longer speech than was possible either to Charles's Flemish or to his mood. This address was equally well received, and matters were in train for the appointment of a conference between popular representatives and the new Count of Flanders, when suddenly a tall, rude fellow climbed up to the balcony from the square. Using an iron gauntlet as a gavel to strike on the wall, he commanded attention and turned gravely to address the audience as though he were on the accredited list of speakers:

"My brothers, down there assembled to set your complaints before your prince, your first wish--is it not?--is to punish the ill governors of this town and those who have defrauded you and him alike."

"Yes, yes," was the quick answer of the fickle crowd.--"You desire the suppression of the _cueillotte_, do you not?"--"Yes, yes."--"You want all your gates opened again, your banners restored, and your privileges reinforced as of yore?"--"Yes, yes." The self-appointed envoy turned calmly to Charles and said:

"Monseigneur, this is what the citizens have come together to ask you. This is your task. I have said it in their behalf, and, as you hear, they make my words their own."

Noteworthy is Chastellain's pious and horrified ejaculation over the extraordinary insolence of this big villain, who thus audaciously associated himself with his betters: "O glorious Majesty of God, think of such an outrageous and intolerable piece of villainy being committed before the eyes of a prince! For a low man to venture to come and stand side by side with such a gentleman as our seigneur, and to proffer words inimical to his authority--words the poorest noble in the world would hardly have endured! And yet it was necessary for this noble prince to endure and to tolerate it for the moment, and needful that he should let pass as a pleasantry what was enough to kill him with grief."

Groothuse's answer to the man was mild. Evidently he did not think it was a safe moment to exasperate the mob: "'My friend, there was no necessity of your intruding up here, a place reserved for the prince and his nobles. From below, you could have been heard and Monseigneur could have answered you as well there as here. He requires no advocate to make him content his people. You are a strange master. Get down. Go down below and keep to your mates. Monseigneur will do right by every one.'

"Off went the rascal and I do not know what became of him. The duke and his nobles were simply struck dumb by the scamp's outrage and his impudent daring."

The sober report[7] is less detailed and elaborate, but the thread is the same. Monseigneur, having returned to his hotel, sent Monseigneur de la Groothuse, Jean Petitpas, and Richard Utenhove back to the market to invite the people to put their grievances in writing. A draft was made and carried to the duke. After he had examined it and discussed it with his council, he sent Monseigneur de la Groothuse back to the market-place to tell the people that he wanted to sleep on the proposition and would give his answer at an early hour on the morrow. All through the night the people remained in arms on the market-place. At about eight o'clock on June 30th Groothuse returned, thanked the people in the count's name for having kept such good watch, and was answered by cries of "_À bas la cueillotte_."

Then he assured them that all was pardoned and that they should obtain what they had asked in the draft. Only he requested them to appoint a committee of six to present their demands to Monseigneur and then to go home. This they did. St. Lievin was restored to the church and his followers betook themselves to the gates specified in the treaty of Gaveren. These they broke down, and also destroyed another house where was a tax collector's office.

"The report of these events carried to Monseigneur did not have a good effect upon his spirit. On the morrow Monseigneur quitted the city." The members of the corporation with the two deans and the popular committee of six having obtained audience before his departure, Groothuse acted as spokesman: "We implore you in all humility to pardon us for the insult you have suffered, and to sign the paper presented. The bad have had more authority than the good, which could not be prevented, but we know truly that if the draft is not signed they will kill us."

It is evident in all this story that the municipal authorities were frightened to death and that Charles allowed himself to be restrained to an extraordinary extent considering the undoubted provocation. His reasons for conciliatory measures were two, and literally were his ducats and his daughter. He had with him all the portable treasure and ready money that his father had had at Bruges, a large treasure and one on which he counted for his immediate military operations--operations very important to the position as a European power which he ardently desired to attain.

Still more important was the fact that his young daughter, Mary, now eleven years old, was living in Ghent, to a certain degree the ward of the city. If the unruly majority should realise their strength what easier for them than to seize the treasure and hold the daughter as hostage, until her father had acceded to every demand, and until democracy was triumphant not only in Ghent but in the neighbouring cities?

Charles simply did not dare attempt further coercion of the democratic spirit until he was beyond the walls. It is evident that he was completely taken by surprise at Ghent's attitude towards him, as the city had always professed great personal attachment to him. But there was a difference between being heir and sovereign. The agreement was signed, with a mental reservation on the part of the Duke of Burgundy. He only intended to keep his pledge until he could see his way clear to make terms better to his liking.

On Tuesday, June 30th, Charles left Ghent, taking his daughter and his treasure away, but a safe shelter for both was not easy to find. The duke's anticipations of the effect of Ghent's actions upon her neighbours were quickly proved to be no idle fears. There were revolts of more or less importance at Mechlin, at Antwerp, at Brussels, and other places. Moreover, there was serious discussion in the estates assembled at Louvain as to whether Charles should be acknowledged as Duke of Brabant, or whether the claims of his cousin, the Count of Nevers, should be considered as heir to Philip's predecessor, for the late duke's title had never been considered perfect.

Louis XI. seized the opportunity to urge the pretensions of the latter, and there were many reasons to recommend him, in the estimation of the Brabanters, who saw advantage in having a sovereign exclusively their own, instead of one with the widespread geographical interests of the Burgundian family. The final decision was, however, for Charles; a notice of the resolution of the deputies was sent to him at Mechlin, and he made his formal "entry" into Louvain, where he received homage from the nobles, the good cities, and the university.

The various insurgent manifestations were promptly quelled one after another, but, with a nature that neither forgot nor forgave, the duke was strongly impressed by them as personal insults. He blamed Ghent for their occurrence and deeply resented every one. Throughout Philip's whole career he remembered the localised tenure of his titles and the fact that they were not perfectly incontestable. For his own advantage he often found a conciliatory attitude the best policy. Charles considered all his rights heaven-born. Questioning his authority was rank rebellion. That he had accepted advice in regard to Ghent, and had been ruled by expediency for the nonce, did not mitigate his intense bitterness.

In another town that gave him serious trouble at this time, nothing led him to curb the severity of his measures. Though only a "protector," not an overlord, when he suppressed a rebellion in Liege he rigorously exacted the most complete and humiliating penalties. The city charters were abrogated, all privileges were forfeited. As an unprotected village must Liege stand henceforth, walls and fortifications rased to the ground.

"The perron on the market-place of the said town shall be taken down, and then Monseigneur the duke shall treat it according to his pleasure. The city may not remake the said perron, nor replace another like it in the market-place or elsewhere in the city. Nor shall the said perron appear in the coat-of-arms of Liege."[8]

This was a terrible indignity for the city and a clear proof of their fear of their bishop's friend.

The episode impressed the citizens of Ghent with the duke's power, and made the more timorous anxious to erase the event of 1467 from his mind. The peace party finally prevailed in their arguments, but the scene of abnegation and self-humiliation crowning their apology was not enacted until eighteen months after the events apologised for, when the new duke had still further proven his metal.

[Footnote 1: Gachard, _Doc. inéd_., i., 210, etc.]

[Footnote 2: Some authorities make this five A.M., but the _Rapport_ is probably correct.]

[Footnote 3: Chastellain, v., 260 _et passim_.]

[Footnote 4: So say some historians. But it seems probable that the drapery of St. Lievin's shrine was hastily used as a flag.]

[Footnote 5: Chastellain, v., ch. 7, etc.]

[Footnote 6: These are Chastellain's words to be sure, but the sober _Rapport_ is similar in purport.]

[Footnote 7: Gachard, _Doc. inéd._, i., 212. ]

[Footnote 8: Gachard. _Doc. inéd_., ii., 462, "_Instrument notarié_."]