Old Irmy’s somewhat elevated position enabled him to look over the heads of the intervening spectators. That rider glittering with gold and jewels, his embroidered doublet thickly set with pearls, sitting his horse so stooped and carelessly—the man with the listless, indifferent expression and heavy, protruding under lip—could he be the ruler of the Holy Roman Empire? Alas! what could be hoped for from one whose utter lack of strength and firmness was so evident? It was far pleasanter to look on the youthful figure behind him, the Grand Duke Maximilian, whose handsome and intelligent face was framed with a mass of fair curling hair. Clad all in velvet and silver, he rode between the Archbishops of Mayence and Treves. Accompanying these Princes of the Church was a singular companion, designated by the onlookers as “the Turk.” This was a son of the Sultan, who had been taken captive by the Christians and received the baptismal name of Calixtus. He lived at the Austrian court and was fond of appearing in costumes of startling gorgeousness. These personages did not claim attention long, however, for all eyes quickly turned to the centre of interest, the man who rode at the Emperor’s side.
Charles the Bold could certainly never have been called handsome, whatever his flatterers might claim; but fire and energy gleamed in his dark eyes, proud self-confidence, inflexible will, and haughty defiance were stamped upon his countenance. The personality of the Prince denoted an overbearing imperiousness that seemed to challenge at once admiration and repugnance, affection and antipathy. Magnificent, indeed, was the Duke’s attire. Over the breastplate of polished steel he wore a cloak so covered with pearls, diamonds, and rubies that the merchant from Basle estimated its value at two hundred thousand gold florins, while in his velvet cap sparkled a single jewel that was priceless. The Duke’s charger also called forth universal admiration. It was a black horse of matchless strength and beauty, equipped in full mail and decked with gold and jewelled housings that swept the ground. Behind the princes followed a long train of German and Burgundian nobles, among them the privy councillors of the Emperor and of the Duke, and the envoys of Albert of Brandenburg, who was called Achilles.[6]
“Why is he not there himself?” the people asked of one another; “he is deemed the bravest and wisest prince in all the Empire, and they say the Emperor can do nothing without him.”
“How think you,” asked another, “it would please the Elector to ride modestly behind the Burgundian among all those princes and counts?”
There seemed no end to the cavalcade. Following the Duke’s bodyguard, all sumptuously arrayed, both horse and man, came the flower of the Burgundian army, every man clad in new and glittering armor, their banners floating above them in the blaze of the Autumn sunlight, the whole making a scene of splendor such as the people had never before beheld. Pennon after pennon passed old Irmy, and still the end was not yet in sight, although the two princes had already entered the market place in Treves. There a second discussion arose between them as to which should have the honor of escorting the other to his lodgings, the Emperor as governor of the city wishing to act the part of host, and the Duke protesting. At length they agreed to separate at the market place, and the Duke rode at full speed back to the gates, which the last of his followers were just entering.
Once more the Duke passed Irmy while on his way to the Abbey of Saint Maximin, of which his ancestors had been patrons, and where he had taken up his quarters rather than in the town. This time, however, he rode too swiftly, and the people were too full of all the sights they had seen for him to excite the attention that he had received half an hour before. His retinue, the English archers, the Italian cuirassiers, and the native Burgundians with their varied equipment, followed through the gates. Six culverins were also included in the train, mounted on the wooden carriages which the Duke was accustomed to carry with him in the field, and which had been set up here in the camp also.
Dejected and disheartened, the old man turned his steps toward the camp once more. He had seen nothing of Captain Vögeli nor of his son, and had small hope of finding them here now. Exhausted with the fatigues of the day, and faint with hunger, for he had eaten nothing since morning, his first thought was to seek rest and refreshment, and then continue his search. Slowly he walked on through the camp. Artisans of all sorts had set up their workshops near the tents, bakers and butchers were offering their wares for sale, and there were tap-houses by the dozen. The cuirassiers had removed the trappings from their horses and with handfuls of straw were busy rubbing the foam and sweat from their flanks. The Italian’s hospitable wine shop stood open; but the tables were already well filled with soldiers, and the Councillor was about to pass on when the friendly servant beckoned to him and, leading him around to the rear, whispered: “This way; enter with me and seat yourself behind the counter; the soldiers will take you for one of us and make no objection to your presence.”
The tired and hungry Irmy gladly followed this suggestion. A good and substantial meal revived his strength; but his unwonted exertions proved too much for him, and he offered the waiter a good sum if he would provide him with a place where he might rest for a short time.
“Come right in here, sir,” replied the Italian, leading him to a small compartment; “you can lie down on my bed and no one will disturb you.”