The son of John the Fearless was Philip, called by the chroniclers “the Good.” A better term would have been “the Magnificent,” for goodness was hardly his chief characteristic. The murder of his father caused Philip to take the side of England in the long conflict between that country and France that was still raging—a policy that pleased his Flemish communes, which depended for their prosperity on the wool trade. Meanwhile Philip took advantage of the matrimonial difficulties of Jacqueline of Bavaria, Countess of Hainaut and Holland, to compel that beautiful but unfortunate princess to abdicate in his favour. The dungeon in the Castle of the Counts at Ghent, where the fair Jacqueline was for a time confined, has already been mentioned. He also succeeded in making himself Duke of Brabant, thus uniting in his own person the government of these rich provinces with that of Flanders and Burgundy and his other possessions in France.
In 1430 Philip married the Princess Isabel of Portugal, a great-granddaughter of John, Duke of Lancaster. This marriage cemented the English alliance, and the English made Philip Regent of France, over which they still claimed sovereignty. It was Philip who captured and indirectly caused the execution of Jeanne d’Arc at the darkest period of French history.
The now all-powerful Duke of Burgundy signalized his marriage by establishing at Bruges the famous Order of the Golden Fleece. This consisted of himself, as founder and sovereign prince, and twenty-four knights—naturally the highest in the land—and in renown and lustre the new order quickly took rank as the very pinnacle of mediæval chivalry. Membership was an honour than which there was none higher, while members also enjoyed a personal security against the tyranny of princes in being amenable only to their comrades of the order. The head of such an institution naturally exerted powers equal, and, in some respects, superior, to those of any crowned monarch. The fêtes with which Philip celebrated the establishment of the order were without precedent in the history of Europe for magnificence, and the old city of Bruges was for days thronged with the bravest knights and the fairest ladies to be found in the Duke’s widespread dominions.
Up to this date the policy of Philip had coincided with the interests of his great communes in Flanders and his popularity throughout the county was unbounded. Not only did friendship with England protect and stimulate trade between the two countries, but the misery and ruin of France also contributed to extend the commerce of the great towns just over the frontier whose trade and industries were unmolested. In 1435 Philip concluded the treaty of Arras with Charles VII, King of France, by which, for the sake of peace, the French King ceded to him a number of counties in France and made him, during his lifetime at least, an independent prince owing no homage to the French Crown. This treaty naturally enraged the English, who at once declared war on Burgundy, destroying many Burgundian vessels and raiding its coast towns. In revenge Duke Philip marched on Calais with an army of thirty thousand Flemings whom he induced to join in the war against their ancient ally chiefly through their confidence in his good intentions and against their own better judgment. The siege proved to be a long one, and the Flemings becoming discontented finally set fire to their camp and crying, “Go, go, wy zyn all vermanden!” (“Go, go, we are all betrayed!”) marched back to Flanders, leaving their Duke raging at his discomfiture.
This fiasco determined Philip to adopt a new policy toward the communes and compel them to obey his orders. On May 22, 1437, he camped outside of the city of Bruges with a considerable force of knights and Picard footmen, informing the burghers that he was on his way to Holland. The next day, telling his men “That is the Holland we have come to conquer!” as he pointed to the city, Philip led his forces to the market-place. The tocsin in the old belfry instantly sounded the alarm, and angry guildsmen and burghers came pouring down the narrow streets in thousands. Philip’s small force, taken at a disadvantage, was forced to retreat to one of the gates. It was shut, its heavy bolts securely drawn. Already some of the French force had been killed, and in a few moments the Duke himself would have perished but for Burgomaster Van de Walle, who brought a smith and broke the lock. The Duke escaped with most of his followers, but many who were caught in the rear lost their lives. This was the Bruges Vespers—to distinguish it from Bruges Matin, the year of the Battle of the Spurs.
Philip now set about humbling the proud city in grim earnest, cutting off the commerce upon which its prosperity depended, and even its food supplies. To add to the horrors of the siege the plague broke out within the city, while leprosy was also prevalent. No less than twenty-four thousand died of pestilence and famine before the brave burghers at last gave in. Philip’s terms were hard. The city officials were required to meet him bareheaded and barefooted the next time he deigned to visit the defeated commune, and on their knees give him the keys of the city. A heavy fine was imposed and forty-two leading burghers were excluded from amnesty and beheaded—including Van de Walle, who had saved his life at the Bouverie gate. This was the “Great Humiliation,” as it is sometimes called, but—finding that continued hostility to the chief trading centre in his dominions was driving foreign traders away—the Duke now took Bruges again into his favour and never again molested it during his long reign.
The proud city of Ghent was the next to feel the weight of the powerful Duke’s displeasure. Rebelling in 1448 against the imposition of a tax on salt, called the gabelle, the city defied the Duke’s authority for five years. Meanwhile Philip gradually cut off its supplies, as he had done with Bruges. Ghent was more populous, however, and its burgher armies took the field and carried open war as far as Audenaerde, which they besieged. Several small battles were fought, the advantage resting mainly with the Duke, until on July 23, 1453, the decisive conflict took place. The Duke’s forces were encamped at Gavre, a few miles from the city. Spies within the gates told the burghers that it would be easy to surprise the camp and destroy Philip’s army. The tocsin therefore was sounded and the hosts of guildsmen and burghers marched out to attack the enemy. The Duke’s forces, aware of the manner in which the Flemings were to be betrayed, were placed where the open ground favoured the Burgundian horsemen. In spite of this advantage, the contest was a stubborn one, both the Duke and his son Charles narrowly escaping death on one occasion. At last the Flemings began to give way, and the battle became a slaughter, more than twenty thousand of the guildsmen being slain on the field, while all prisoners were hanged. This struggle was called “the red sea of Gavre.” As the men of Ghent were fleeing toward their city Philip sought to pursue them by the shortest way and intercept their flight. He accordingly called for a guide. A peasant of the neighbourhood volunteered, and, after leading the Burgundian army across fields and by-paths for several hours, conducted the victors—not to the gates of Ghent, but back to their own camp again! This nameless hero was incontinently hanged to the nearest tree, but he no doubt saved the city from pillage and rapine that night.
Philip by this victory completely crushed the spirit of the communes, for none dared resist when Ghent the all-powerful had failed. He seems to have had at least a fleeting realisation, however, that victories of this sort were not matters for unmitigated satisfaction. The day after the battle the women of Ghent were searching the ghastly heaps of dead for the bodies of their husbands, their brothers and their lovers when Philip exclaimed—possibly touched by the sad sight—“I do not know who is the gainer by this victory. As for me, see what I have lost—for these were my subjects!”
The privileges of Ghent were somewhat curtailed, and the dearly loved guild banners carried away by the conqueror, but Philip, on the whole, was very moderate. The obnoxious gabelle, the cause of the war, was removed, and all citizens guaranteed their individual liberties. The following year, Philip, possibly to celebrate his now undisputed supremacy, gave a series of fêtes at Lille that surpassed even those held on the occasion of his marriage at the foundation of the Order of the Golden Fleece. Upon one dining table stood a cathedral, with a choir singing within; another held a huge pie, inside of which an orchestra of twenty-eight musicians played; a third contained a pantomime representing Jason in search of the golden fleece. These fêtes and tournaments lasted for days, and were the wonder of Europe.