Yolanda: Maid of Burgundy

by Charles Major

  Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charlie Kirschner and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.

  YOLANDA

  MAID OF BURGUNDY

  _By_ CHARLES MAJOR

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

  CHARLOTTE WEBER DITZLER

  _MCMV_

  1905.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER IA CASTLE AMONG THE CRAGS

  CHAPTER IIKNIGHTS-ERRANT

  CHAPTER IIIYOLANDA THE SORCERESS

  CHAPTER IVDOWN THE RHINE TO BURGUNDY

  CHAPTER VWHO IS YOLANDA?

  CHAPTER VIDUKE CHARLES THE RASH

  CHAPTER VIIA RACE WITH THE DUKE

  CHAPTER VIIION THE MOAT BRIDGE

  CHAPTER IXTHE GREAT RIDDLE

  CHAPTER XTHE HOUSE UNDER THE WALL

  CHAPTER XIPERONNE LA PUCELLE

  CHAPTER XIIA LIVE WREN PIE

  CHAPTER XIIIA BATTLE IN MID AIR

  CHAPTER XIVSIR KARL MEETS THE PRINCESS

  CHAPTER XVTHE CROSSING OF A "T"

  CHAPTER XVIPARTICEPS CRIMINIS

  CHAPTER XVIITRIAL BY COMBAT

  CHAPTER XVIIIYOLANDA OR THE PRINCESS?

  CHAPTER XIXMAX GOES TO WAR

  CHAPTER XXA TREATY WITH LOUIS XI

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  MAX AND YOLANDAKARL AND MAX AT HAPSBURG CASTLEMAXTHE DUKE OF BURGUNDYMAX AT THE GATE OF THE LISTS

  YOLANDA

  CHAPTER I

  A CASTLE AMONG THE CRAGS

  Like the Israelites of old, mankind is prone to worship false gods, andpersistently sets up the brazen image of a sham hero, as its idol. Ishould like to write the history of the world, if for no other reasonthan to assist several well-established heroes down from theirpedestals. Great Charlemagne might come to earth's level, hispatriarchal, flowing beard might drop from his face, and we might seehim as he really was--a plucked and toothless old savage, with no moreChristianity than Jacob, and with all of Jacob's greed. Richard ofEngland, styled by hero-worshippers "The Lion-hearted," might bere-christened "The Wolf-hearted," and the famous Du Guesclin might seemto us a half-brutish vagabond. But Charles of Burgundy, dubbed by thisprone world "The Bold" and "The Rash," would take the greatest fall. Ofhim and his fair daughter I shall speak in this history.

  At the time of which I write Louis XI reigned over France, Edward IVruled in England, and his sister, the beautiful Margaret of York, wasthe unhappy wife of this Charles the Rash, and stepmother to his gentledaughter Mary. Charles, though only a duke in name, reigned as a mostpotent and despotic king over the fair rich land of Burgundy. Frederickof Styria was head of the great house of Hapsburg, and Count Maximilian,my young friend and pupil, was his heir.

  Of the other rulers of Europe I need not speak, since they will notenter this narrative. They were all bad enough,--and may God have mercyon their souls.

  * * * * *

  Most of the really tragic parts in the great drama of history have beenplayed by women. This truth I had always dimly known, yet one does notreally know a fact until he feels it. I did not realize the extent towhich these poor women of history have suffered in the matter ofenforced marriages, until the truth was brought home to me in the personof Mary, Princess of Burgundy, to whose castle, Peronne La Pucelle, mypupil, Maximilian of Hapsburg, and I made a journey in the year 1476.

  My knowledge of this fair lady began in far-off Styria, and there Ishall begin my story.

  * * * * *

  In times of peace, life in Hapsburg Castle was dull; in times of war itwas doleful. War is always grievous, but my good mistress, the Duchessof Styria, was ever in such painful dread lest evil should befall heronly child, Maximilian, that the pains of war-time were rendered doublykeen to those who loved Her Grace.

  After Maximilian had reached the fighting age there was too little warto suit him. Up to his eighteenth year he had thrice gone out to war,and these expeditions were heart-breaking trials for his mother.Although tied to his mother's apron strings by bonds of mutual love, heburned with the fire and ambition of youth; while I, reaching welltoward my threescore years, had almost outlived the lust for strife. Maxlonged to spread his wings, but the conditions of his birth held himchained to the rocks of Styria, on the pinnacle of his family's emptygreatness.

  Perched among the mountain crags, our castle was almost impregnable; butthat was its only virtue as a dwelling-place. Bare walls, stone floors,sour wine, coarse boar's meat, brown bread, and poor beds constitutedour meagre portion.

  Duke Frederick was poor because his people were poor. They lived amongthe rocks and crags, raised their goats, ploughed their tiny patches ofthin earth, and gave to the duke and to each man his due. They weresimple, bigoted, and honest to the heart's core.

  Though of mean fortune, Duke Frederick was the head of the great Houseof Hapsburg, whose founders lived in the morning mists of Europeanhistory and dwelt proudly amid the peaks of their mountain home. Ourcastle in Styria was not the original Castle Hapsburg. That was builtcenturies before the time of this story, among the hawks' crags ofAargau in Switzerland. It was lost by the House of Hapsburg many yearsbefore Max was born. The castle in Styria was its namesake.

  To leaven the poor loaf of life in Castle Hapsburg, its inmates enjoyedthe companionship of the kindest man and woman that ever graced a highestate--the Duke and Duchess of Styria. Though in their little court,life was rigid with the starch of ceremony, it was softened by thetenderness of love. All that Duke Frederick asked from his subjects wasa bare livelihood and a strict observance of ceremonious conventions.Those who approached him and his son did so with uncovered head andbended knee. An act of personal familiarity would have been looked on ashigh treason. Taxes might remain unpaid, laws might be broken, and therewas mercy in the ducal heart; but a flaw in ceremony was unpardonable.

  The boar's meat and the brown bread were eaten in state; the sour winewas drunk solemnly; and going to bed each night was an act of nationalimportance. Such had been the life of this house for generations, andgood Duke Frederick neither would nor could break away from it.

  Of all these painful conditions young Max was a suffering victim. Didhe sally forth to stick a wild boar or to kill a bear, the Master of theHunt rode beside him in a gaudy, faded uniform. Fore-riders precededhim, and after-riders followed. He was almost compelled to hunt byproxy, and he considered himself lucky to be in at the death. The bear,of course, was officially killed by Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg, nomatter what hand dealt the blow. Maximilian, being the heir of Hapsburg,must always move with a slow dignity becoming his exalted station. Hemust, if possible, always act through an officer; I verily believe thatDuke Frederick, his father, regretted the humiliating necessity ofeating his own dinner.

  Poor Max did not really live; he was an automaton.

  Once every year Duke Frederick gave a tournament, the cost of which, inentertainments and prizes, consumed fully two-thirds of his annualincome. On these occasions punctilious ceremony took the place of richwine, and a stiff, kindly welcome did service as a feast. Thesetournaments were rare events for Max; they gave him a day of partialrest from his strait-jacket life at the little court among the crags.

  I shall give you here ten lines concerning myself. I am Italian bybirth--a younger son of the noble House of Pitti. I left home when butlittle more than a boy. Journeying to the East, I became Sir Karl dePitti, Knight of the Holy Order of St. John, and in consequence I amhalf priest, half soldier. My order and my type are rapidly passingaway. I fought and prayed in many lands during twenty years. To befrank, I fought a great deal more than I prayed. Six years out of thetwenty I spent in Burgundy, fighting under the banner of Duke Philip theGood, father to Charles the Rash. My mother was a Burgundi
an--aWalloon--and to her love for things German I owe my name, Karl. Duringmy service under Duke Philip I met my Lord d'Hymbercourt, and won thatmost valuable of all prizes, a trusted friend.

  Fifteen years before the opening of this story I grew tired of fighting.How I drifted, a sort of human flotsam, against the crags of Styriawould be a long, uninteresting story. By a curious combination of eventsI assumed the duties of tutor to the small count, Maximilian ofHapsburg, then a flaxen-haired little beauty of three summers. I taughthim all that was needful from books, and grounded him fairly well inchurch lore, but gave my best efforts to his education in arms.

  Aside from my duties as instructor to the young count, I was useful inmany ways about the castle. By reason of the half of me that waspriestly, I could, upon occasion, hear confession, administer the holysacrament, and shrive a sinner as effectively as the laziest priest inChristendom. I could also set a broken bone, and could mix as bitter adraught as any Jew out of Judea. So, you will see, I was a useful memberof a household wherein ancestry took the place of wealth, and pride wasmade to stand for ready cash.

  The good duke might have filled his coffers by pillaging travellers, asmany of his neighbors did; but he scorned to thrive by robbery, andlived in grandiose but honest penury.

  Max took readily to the use of arms, and by the time he was eighteen,which was three years before our now famous journey to Burgundy, astrong, time-hardened man might well beware of him. When the boy wasfourteen or fifteen, I began to see in him great possibilities. Inpersonal beauty and strength he was beyond compare. His eyes were asblue as an Italian sky, and his hair fell in a mass of tawny curls tohis shoulders. His mother likened him to a young lion. Mentally he wasslow, but his judgment was clear and accurate. Above all, he was honest,and knew not fear of man, beast, or devil. His life in Styria, hedgedabout by ceremonious conventions, had given him an undue portion ofdignity and reticence, but that could easily be polished down byfriction with the rougher side of the world. Except myself and hismother, he had never known a real friend.

  To Max the people of the world were of two conditions: a very smallclass to whom he must kneel, and a very large number who must kneel tohim. Even his mother addressed him publicly as "My Lord Count." On rareoccasions, in the deep privacy of her closet, mother-love would get thebetter of her and break through the crust of ceremony. Then she indulgedherself and him in the ravishing, though doubtful, luxury of calling him"Little Max." No one but I, and perhaps at rare intervals DukeFrederick, ever witnessed this lapse from dignity on the part of HerGrace, and we, of course, would not expose her weakness to the world.

  This love-name clung to Max, and "Little Max," though somewhatincongruous, was pretty when applied to a strapping fellow six feet twoand large of limb in proportion.

  When the boy approached manhood, I grew troubled lest this strait-jacketexistence in Styria should dwarf him mentally and morally. So I began tostir cautiously in the matter of sending him abroad into the world. Myfirst advances met with a rebuff.

  "It is not to be thought of," said the duke.

  "Send the count out to the rude world to associate with underlings?Never!" cried the duchess, horrified and alarmed.

  I had expected this, and I was not daunted. I renewed the attack fromdifferent points, and after many onslaughts, I captured the bailey ofthe parental fortresses; that is, I compelled them to listen to me. Mychief point of attack was Max himself. He listened readily enough, buthe could not see how the thing was to be done. When I spoke of theluxuries of Italy and Burgundy, and told him of deeds of prowessperformed daily throughout the world by men vastly his inferior, hiseyes brightened and his cheek flushed. When I talked of wealth to be wonand glory to be achieved in those rich lands, and hinted at the barrenpoverty of Styria, he would sigh and answer:--

  "Ah, Karl, it sounds glorious, but I was born to this life, and fatherand mother would not forgive me if I should seek another destiny. Fatehas fixed my lot, and I must endure it."

  I did not cease my lay; and especially was the fat land of Burgundy mytheme, for I knew it well. Max would listen in enraptured silence. Whenhe was eighteen, I wrote, with deep-seated purpose, several letters tomy friend Lord d'Hymbercourt, who was at the time one of the councillorsof Charles the Rash, Duke of Burgundy. In those letters I dwelt atlength on the virtues, strength, and manly beauty of my pupil.

  I knew that Charles often negotiated with other states the marriage ofhis only child and heiress, Princess Mary. This form of treaty appearedto be almost a mania with the rash Burgundian. I also knew that in noinstance had he ever intended to fulfil the treaty. His purpose in eachcase was probably to create a temporary alliance with that one statewhile he was in trouble with another. His daughter would inherit adomain richer than that of any king in Europe, and the duke certainlywould be contented with nothing less than the hand of an heir to acrown. Suitors for the fair Mary came from every land. All wereentertained; but the princess remained unbetrothed.

  A few broad hints in my letters to Hymbercourt produced the result I somuch desired. One bright day our castle was stirred to itsfoundation-stones by the arrival of a messenger from Duke Charles ofBurgundy, bearing the following missive:--

  * * * * *

  "To His Grace, Duke Frederick of Styria, Elector of the Holy RomanEmpire, and Count of Austria; Charles, Duke of Burgundy and Count ofCharolois, sends greeting:--

  "The said Duke Charles recommends himself to the most puissant DukeFrederick, and bearing in mind the great antiquity and high nobility ofthe illustrious House of Hapsburg, begs to express his desire to bindthe said noble House to Burgundy by ties of marriage.

  "To that end, His Grace of Burgundy, knowing by fame the many virtuesof the young and valiant Count of Hapsburg, son to His Grace, DukeFrederick, would, if it pleasures the said illustrious Duke Frederick,suggest the appointment of commissioners by each of the high contractingparties for the purpose of drawing a treaty of marriage between thenoble Count of Hapsburg and our daughter, Princess Mary of Burgundy. Thesaid commissioners shall meet within six months after the date of thesepresents and shall formulate indentures of treaty that shall besubmitted to His Grace of Styria and His Grace of Burgundy.

  "The lady of Burgundy sends herewith a letter and a jewel which shehopes the noble Count of Hapsburg will accept as tokens of her esteem.

  "May God and the Blessed Virgin keep His Grace of Styria in theirespecial care."

  Signed with a flourish. "CHARLES."

  * * * * *

  This letter did not deceive me. I did not think for a moment thatCharles meant to give his daughter to Max. But it answered my purpose bybringing Max to a realization of the nothingness of life in Styria, andopening his eyes to the glorious possibilities that lay in the greatworld beyond the mountain peaks.

  Burgundy's missive produced several effects in the household of CastleHapsburg, though none were shown on the surface. I was glad, but, ofcourse, I carefully concealed the reasons for my pleasure from HisGrace. Duke Frederick was pleased to his toes and got himself very drunkon the strength of it. Otherwise he smothered his delight. He "was notsure"; "was not quite disposed to yield so great a favor to thisfar-away duke"; "the count is young; no need for haste," and so on. Theduke had no intention whatever of sending such messages to Burgundy; hesimply wished to strut before his little court. Charles most certainlywould receive a pompous and affirmative answer. The poor duchess, tornby contending emotions of mother-love and family pride, was flattered byBurgundy's offer; but she was also grieved.

  "We do not know the lady," she said. "Fame speaks well of her, but thereport may be false. She may not be sufficiently endued with religiousenthusiasm."

  "She will absorb that from Your Grace," I answered.

  Her Grace thought that she herself was religious and tried to impressthat belief on others; but Max was her god. In truth she was jealous ofany woman who looked on him twice, and she kept at the castle only theold a
nd harmless of the dangerous sex. She would have refused Burgundy'soffer quickly enough if her heart had been permitted to reply.

  The effect of the letter on Max was tremendous. He realized itspolitical importance, knowing full well that if he could add the richdomain of Burgundy to the Hapsburg prestige, he might easily achieve theimperial throne. But that was his lesser motive. Hymbercourt's lettersto me had extolled Mary's beauty and gentleness. Every page had sung herpraises. These letters I had given to Max, and there had sprung up inhis untouched heart a chivalric admiration for the lady of Burgundy. Heloved an ideal. I suppose most men and every woman will understand hiscondition. It was truly an ardent love.

  Max kept Hymbercourt's letters, and would hide himself on thebattlements by the hour reading them, dreaming the dreams of youth andworshipping at the feet of his ideal,--fair Mary of Burgundy, hisunknown lady-love.

  Before the arrival of the messenger from Duke Charles, Max spoke littleof the Burgundian princess; but the message gave her a touch of reality,and he began to open his heart to me--his only confidant.

  There seemed to have been a reciprocal idealization going on in thefar-off land of Burgundy. My letters to Hymbercourt, in which you may besure Max's strength and virtues lost nothing, fell into the hands ofMadame d'Hymbercourt, and thus came under the eyes of Princess Mary.That fair little lady also built in her heart an altar to an unknowngod, if hints in Hymbercourt's letters were to be trusted. Her maidenlyemotions were probably far more passive than Max's, though I have beentold that a woman's heart will go to great lengths for the sake of anideal. Many a man, doubtless, would fall short in the estimation of hislady-love were it not for those qualities with which she herselfendows him.

  Whatever the lady's sentiments may have been, my faith in Hymbercourt'shints concerning them were strengthened by Mary's kindly letter and thediamond ring for Max which came with her father's message to Styria.They were palpable facts, and young Max built an altar in his holy ofholies, and laid them tenderly upon it.

  Duke Frederick, with my help, composed a letter in reply to Burgundy'smessage. It required many days of work to bring it to a form sufficientin dignity, yet ample in assent. The missive must answer "yes" soemphatically as to leave no room for doubt in Burgundy's mind, yet itmust show no eagerness on the part of Styria. (Duke Frederick alwaysspoke of himself as Styria.) Burgundy must be made to appreciate thehonor of this alliance; still, the fact must not be offensivelythrust upon him.

  The letter was sent, and Charles of Burgundy probably laughed at it.Duke Frederick appointed commissioners and fixed Cannstadt as the placeof meeting. Whatever Duke Charles's reasons for making the offer ofmarriage may have been, they probably ceased to exist soon afterward,for he never even replied to Duke Frederick's acceptance. For monthsCastle Hapsburg was in a ferment of expectancy. A watch stood from dawntill dusk on the battlements of the keep, that the duke might beinformed of the approach of the Burgundian messenger--that never came.After a year of futile waiting the watch was abandoned. Anger, for atime, took the place of expectancy; Duke Frederick each day drowned hisill-humor in a gallon of sour wine, and remained silent on the subjectof the Burgundian insult.

  Max's attitude was that of a dignified man. He showed neither anger nordisappointment, but he kept the letter and the ring that Mary had senthim and mused upon his love for his ideal--the lady he had never seen.

  A letter from Hymbercourt, that reached me nearly two years after thisaffair, spoke of a tender little maiden in Burgundy, whose heartthrobbed with disappointment while it also clung to its ideal, as tendernatures are apt to do. This hint in Hymbercourt's letter sank to thetenderest spot in Max's heart.

  On Max's twenty-first birthday he was knighted by the emperor. A grandtournament, lasting five days, celebrated the event, and Max provedhimself a man among men and a knight worthy of his spurs. I had trainedhim for months in preparation for this, his first great trial ofstrength and skill. He was not lacking in either, though they wouldmature only with his judgment. His strength was beyond compare. A mancould hardly span his great arm with both hands.

  Soon after Max was knighted, I brought up the subject of his journeyinto the world. I was again met by parental opposition; but Max was ofage and his views had weight. If I could bring him to see the truth, thecause would be won. Unfortunately, it was not his desires I mustovercome; it was his scruples. His head and his heart were full of falseideas and distorted motives absorbed from environment, inculcated byparental teaching, and inherited from twenty generations of fantasticforefathers. In-born motives in a conscientious person are stubborntyrants, and Max was their slave. The time came when his false buthonest standards cost him dearly, as you shall learn. But in Max's heartthere lived another motive stronger than the will of man; it was love.Upon that string I chose to play.

  One day while we were sunning ourselves on the battlements, I touched,as if by chance, on the theme dear to his heart--Mary of Burgundy. Aftera little time Max asked hesitatingly:--

  "Have you written of late to my Lord d'Hymbercourt?"

  "No," I answered.

  A long pause followed; then Max continued: "I hope you will soon do so.He might write of--of--" He did not finish the sentence. I allowed himto remain in thought while I formulated my reply. After a time I said:--

  "If you are still interested in the lady, why don't you go to Burgundyand try to win her?"

  "That would be impossible," he answered.

  "No, no, Max," I returned, "not impossible--- difficult, perhaps, butcertainly not impossible."

  "Ah, Karl, you but raise false hopes," he responded dolefully.

  "You could at least see her," I returned, ignoring his protest, "andthat, I have been told, is much comfort to a lover!"

  "Indeed, it would be," said Max, frankly admitting the state of hisheart.

  "Or it might be that if you saw her, the illusion would be dispelled."

  "I have little fear of that," he returned.

  "It is true," I continued, "her father's domains are the richest onearth. He is proud and powerful, noble and arrogant; but you are just asproud and just as noble as he. You are penniless, and your estate willbe of little value; your father is poor, and his mountain crags are aburden rather than a profit; but all Europe boasts no nobler blood thanthat of your house. Lift it from its penury. You are worthy of thislady, were her estates multiplied tenfold. Win the estates, Max, and winthe lady. Many a man with half your capacity has climbed to the pinnacleof fame and fortune, though starting with none of your prestige. Why doyou, born a mountain lion, stay mewed up in this castle like a purringcat in your mother's lap? For shame, Max, to waste your life when love,fortune, and fame beckon you beyond these dreary hills and call to youin tones that should arouse ambition in the dullest breast."

  "Duke Charles has already insulted us," he replied.

  "But his daughter has not," I answered quickly.

  "That is true," returned Max, with a sigh, "but the Duke of Burgundywould turn me from his gates."

  "Perhaps he would," I replied, "if you should knock and demand surrenderto Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg. Take another name; be for a time asoldier of fortune. Bury the Count of Hapsburg for a year or two; beplain Sir Max Anybody. You will, at least, see the world and learn whatlife really is. Here is naught but dry rot and mould. Taste for once thezest of living; then come back, if you can, to this tomb. Come, come,Max! Let us to Burgundy to win this fair lady who awaits us anddoubtless holds us faint of heart because we dare not strike for her. Ishall have one more sweet draught of life before I die. You will learn alesson that will give you strength for all the years to come, and willhave, at least, a chance of winning the lady. It may be one chance in amillion; but God favors the brave, and you have no chance if you remainperched owl-like upon this wilderness of rock. Max, you know not whatawaits you. Rouse yourself from this sloth of a thousand years, andstrike fire from the earth that shall illumine your name to the endof time!"

  "But we have no money for ou
r travels, and father has none to give me,"he answered.

  "True," I replied, "but I have a small sum in the hands of a merchant atVienna that will support us for a time. When it is spent, we must makeour bread or starve. That will be the best part of our experience. Astruggle for existence sweetens it; and if we starve, we shall deservethe fate."

  After three days Max gave me his answer.

  "I will go with you, Karl," he said; "you have never led me wrong. If westarve, I shall not be much worse off than I am here in Styria. It hurtsme to say that the love of my father and mother is my greatest danger;but it is true. They have lived here so long, feeding on the pooradulation of a poor people, that they do not see life truly. I have hadnone of the joys and pleasures which, my heart tells me, life holds. Ihave known nothing but this existence--hard and barren as the rocks thatsurround me. I must, in time, return to Styria and take up my burden,but, Karl, I will first live."

  After this great stand, Max and I attacked first the father fortress andthen the mother stronghold. The latter required a long siege; but atlast it surrendered unconditionally, and the day was appointed when Maxand I should ride out in quest of fortune, and, perhaps,a-bride-hunting. Neither of us mentioned Burgundy. I confess totelling--at least, to acting--a lie. We said that we wished to go to mypeople in Italy, and to visit Rome, Venice, and other cities. I saidthat I had a small sum of gold that I should be glad to use; but I didnot say how small it was, and no hint was dropped that the heir toStyria might be compelled to soil his hands by earning his daily bread.We easily agreed among ourselves that Max and I, lacking funds to travelin state befitting a prince of the House of Hapsburg, should goincognito. I should keep my own name, it being little known. Max shouldtake the name of his mother's house, and should be known as SirMaximilian du Guelph.

  * * * * *

  At last came the momentous day of our departure. The battlements of thegate were crowded with retainers, many of them in tears at losing "Myyoung Lord, the Count." Public opinion in Castle Hapsburg unanimouslycondemned the expedition, and I was roundly abused for what was held tobe my part in the terrible mistake. Such an untoward thing had neverbefore happened in the House of Hapsburg. Its annals nowhere revealed ajourney of an heir into the contaminating world. The dignity of thehouse was impaired beyond remedy, and all by the advice of a foreigner.There was no lack of grumbling; but of course the duke's will was law.If he wished to hang the count, he might do so; therefore the grumblingreached the duke's ears only from a distance.