Mary of Burgundy; or, The Revolt of Ghent

by G. P. R. James

"I did think, my good friends," she said, in a tone rather sad than reproachful, "that the day on which I first heard the sad news of my poor father's death, might have been passed in privacy, sanctified to mourning and to sorrow. I know, however, that communities are little capable of feeling for the griefs and affections of individuals, especially when those individuals are their princes; and, therefore, laying by my sorrow, I come willingly to hear your wants and wishes, and to assure you all of my firm resolve to do everything I can to satisfy and to make you happy. In regard to the rights and privileges of the city of Ghent, far be it from me, now or ever, to inquire why they were restrained or abridged by your late sovereign lord, my father; or to renew old griefs and dissensions, by investigating who was right or wrong in the times past. Me, men of Ghent, you have never yet offended; you are my fellow-countrymen, therefore I feel for you: you are my subjects, therefore I love you. At once, then, whether as a boon, or as a right, whether as your own due, or as a testimony of the affection of Mary of Burgundy, take, hold, and use wisely, all those privileges and immunities whatever, which you can prove that you have possessed at any time within fifty years of the present day. Farther back let us not inquire, for it would lead us to times when Ghent and Flanders, under the usurped domination of a man who was raised from the dregs of the people, by the people's discontent, endured a grosser and more bloody tyranny than ever they suffered from the most savage and cruel of their native princes."

"We thankfully accept your Grace's bounty," replied Albert Maurice; "and, without derogating from our own inherent rights, we willingly receive your free and generous confirmation of them, as a grace and benefit conferred; and so humbly take our leave."

"You will confer, my friends," said Mary, "with my chancellor here present, in regard to all the particulars which you may claim, and will have them clearly established and defined to the full extent of the words that I have used."

The deputation were then permitted to kiss the hand of the princess, and withdrew; and Mary, after giving one hasty glance round the hall of audience, retired, once more to indulge her grief in her own apartments.

With her, and with the Duchess of York, the hours passed in lonely mourning, only interrupted from time to time by an occasional call to transact some of the necessary business of the state; or by the tidings of some event which it was thought indispensable to communicate. In the streets and lanes of the city, however, the day went by with all those signs which show an anxious and excited population. Continual crowds collected in various parts of the town; now conversing among themselves, now listening to some popular declaimer. The busy and important were seen hurrying to and fro in every direction. The song, the fiddle, or the cornemuse, were exchanged for pitiable verses on the pitiable battle of Nancy; and while one part of the city was overflowing with people, and rang with the sound of many tongues, another showed streets totally deserted, the abode of silence and solitude.

At length, towards evening, a strong disposition to riot and tumult displayed itself. Whispers and rumours, originating no one knew where, were spread rapidly amongst the crowd, tending strongly to excite them to outrage. Some said that the council were bringing in large bodies of soldiers; some that the nobles were arming their attendants, and intended to repossess themselves of the gates. But the strongest and most generally credited reports were directed against the eschevins, or police magistrates of the city, whose very duties of investigation and punishment rendered them at all times obnoxious to the lower classes, but who were now hated in a tenfold degree, from the abrogation of the popular form of election in their last appointment. In several districts petty tumults actually took place; whoever bore the appearance of either a noble or a lawyer was insulted as soon as he appeared; and the burgher guard, which was more than once called out, with a very natural leaning to the people from which it was selected, took merely such means of repression as dispersed the crowds in one spot, only to collect in larger numbers in another.

In the meanwhile, Maillotin du Bac, as Prevot, and the druggist Ganay, as one of the notables of the town, mingled with the crowds, and harangued them with the apparent purpose of persuading them to return peaceably to their houses. The first, indeed, was anything but popular in the city; and some supposed that he was exposing himself to outrage by the active part he took; but it was wonderful to see how readily he assumed the tone and deportment necessary to captivate the people, and how speedily the multitude forgot his former conduct. It is true that neither he nor Ganay in their speeches said one word to appease the current of popular indignation, or to divert it from the point to which it was tending. They used every sort of common-place argument to induce the people to return to their own dwellings. They told them that it would be much better, much safer, much more prudent, to disperse, and to let things take their course; though they acknowledged, at the same time, that the eschevins, in the discharge of their illegal office, had acted cruelly and basely. Nevertheless, they said, that those instruments of tyranny would doubtless be brought to justice, if they were not by any means smuggled out of the city. In short, they did what may always be done: excited the people in a far greater degree, while they affected to tranquillize them; and pointed their fury to the very object from which they pretended to turn it.

The troops which remained in the town, though totally insufficient to overawe the citizens, or to repossess themselves of the walls and gates, were numerous enough to hold out, for any length of time, the palace or Cours du Prince, as it was called, which, according to the custom of the day, was strongly fortified; and which was, luckily, fully provisioned. The attention, therefore, of the ministers of the orphan princess was solely directed to adding temporary defences to her dwelling, and to repairing any slight defect which time or oversight had produced, without attempting the vain task of putting down the turbulent spirit which was manifesting itself in the city. No hostility, indeed, was evinced by the populace towards the princess or her attendants; and servants were suffered to go to and from the palace without the slightest molestation. But still the tidings of tumultuous movements, in various parts of the town, poured in through the evening; and, as Mary sat in a high chamber of a tall tower, long since pulled down, but which then rose above most of the buildings round, the distant shouts and cries caught her ear, and more than once made her inquire the cause. Towards nightfall, Imbercourt was summoned to her presence; and she asked eagerly if there were no means of pacifying the people.

"None, madam," replied the minister; "without, indeed, you could bribe some of their demagogues; and that would, of course, be merely hiring them to create tumults hereafter, whenever they wanted a fresh supply. I am afraid they must be suffered to have their way for a time. In the end, the populace will see their own folly, and the base selfishness of those that mislead them, and will return to quiet and tranquillity of their own accord. In the meanwhile, thank God, the palace is secure; so be under no apprehensions, madam, for we could hold it out for six months, against any force they can bring."

"Oh, I fear not for myself, my lord," replied Mary; "I fear for my subjects and my friends. I beseech you, my lord, leave not the palace to-night: they might murder you in your way to your own hotel."