Yolanda: Maid of Burgundy Part 7

One bright morning in May we began our journey down the Rhine. My fears had no place in Max's heart, and his self-confidence was to me a harbinger of good fortune. A man may do anything that he knows he can do; failure never disappoints him who expects it.

We left Basel by the west gate and took the road for Strasburg, leading down the west bank of the Rhine. That was not the most direct route to Peronne, but it was the safest because of the numerous river towns wherein we might lie safely by night. The robber barons whom we had to fear along the river were at least not pilfering vagabonds, such as we should meet across country. Against the open attack of a brave foe we felt that we could make a good defence. Our fighting force consisted of Max, myself, and two l.u.s.ty squires. We had also a half-score of men who led the sumpter mules.

Castleman had purchased two beautiful chargers in Basel, pretending that he wished to take them to Peronne for sale. He asked Max to ride one and offered the other for my use. I was sure that his only reason for buying the horses was his desire to present them to us, which he afterward did.

Max named his charger "Night," because of its spotless coat of black.

Yolanda rode a beautiful white mare which we re-christened "Day."

Castleman bestrode an ambling Flemish bay, almost as fat as its master and quite as good-natured, which, because of its slowness, Yolanda dubbed "Last Week."

We travelled slowly down the Rhine, enjoying the scenery and filling our hearts with the sunshine of the soft spring days. Our cautious merchant so arranged our lodging-places that we were never on the road after dark. His system caused much delay, as we often rested a half-day in a town that we might be able to lodge there over night. In this deliberate manner of proceeding, life was a sweet, lazy holiday, and our journey was like a May outing. We were all very happy--almost ominously so.

After the explanation between Max and Yolanda on the hill at Basel she made no effort to avoid him, and he certainly did not avoid her. They both evidently rested on his remark that he would never again speak upon a certain subject. They fully understood each other's position.

Max knew that between him and the burgher maiden there could be no thought of marriage. She, it seemed, was equally aware of that fact. All that he had been taught to value in life--father, mother, family and position, his father's subjects, who would one day be his, his father's throne, on which he would one day sit--stood between him and Yolanda.

They stood between him and the achievement of any desire purely personal to himself and not conducive to the welfare of his state. He felt that he did not belong to himself; that his own happiness was never to be considered. He belonged to his house, his people, and his ancestors.

Max had not only been brought up with that idea as the chief element in his education, but he had also inherited it from two score generations of men and women that had learned, believed, and taught the same lesson.

We may by effort efface the marks of our environment, but those we inherit are bred in the bone. Yolanda was not for Max. He could not control his heart; it took its inheritance of unbidden pa.s.sion from a thousand scores of generations which had lived and died and learned their lesson centuries before the House of Hapsburg began; but he could control his lips and his acts.

With Max's growing love for Yolanda came a knightly reverence which was the very breath of the chivalry that he had sworn to uphold. This spirit of reverence the girl was quick to observe, and he lost nothing by it in her esteem. At times I could see that this reverential att.i.tude of Max almost sobered her spirits; to do so completely would have been as impossible as to dam the current of a mountain stream.

On the evening of our first day out of Basel we were merrily eating our suppers in a village where we had halted for the night, when I remarked that I had met a man, while strolling near the river, who had said that war was imminent between Burgundy and Switzerland. My remark immediately caught Yolanda's sharp attention.

"Yes," said I, "we left Switzerland none too soon. This man tells me, on what authority I know not, that a herald will soon be sent by Duke Charles carrying defiance to the Swiss. What of value the duke expects to obtain from barren Switzerland outside of Basel, I do not know.

Fighting for fighting's sake is poor sport."

"Forbear your wise saws, Sir Karl, and tell me what the man said,"

demanded Yolanda.

"He told me," I replied, "that he had heard the news at Metz, and that it was supposed Duke Rene would muster his forces in Lorraine and turn them against Burgundy in case of war with Switzerland."

"I predicted evil when Burgundy took Nancy from Lorraine," cried Yolanda, excitedly. "The hollow conventions made with Lorraine after the capture of that city were but the promises of a man under duress. The only ties that will bind a narrow man are those of immediate self-interest. There can be no lasting treaty between France and Burgundy so long as King Louis covets Flanders and is able to bribe our neighbors. These conventions between Burgundy, Lorraine, Bourbon, and St. Pol will hold only so long as Burgundy does not need them."

"That is surely true, Fraulein," I said.

"Yes," she continued, "and should Burgundy suffer any great misfortune or be crippled for an hour, those small states would be upon his back like a pack of wolves, and he would be ruined. Lorraine, Bourbon, and St. Pol do not see that Burgundy alone stands between them and the greedy maw of France. Should King Louis survive my--my Lord of Burgundy five years, these dukes and counts will lose their feudal rights and become servile va.s.sals of France, not in name, as now they are, but in sorry fact."

I was so astonished at this tempestuous outburst from an unexpected quarter, and was so surprised at discovering an intimate knowledge of great affairs in a simple burgher maid, that I dropped the piece of meat I held in my fingers and stared in wonder across the table at Yolanda. I had known from the first hour of meeting her that the girl's mind was marvellously keen; but that a maid of seventeen or eighteen, in her position, should have so firm a grasp of international affairs and should possess so clear a conception of the troublous situation in western Europe, astounded me.

In eastern Europe, where we were not blinded by neighborly hatred and local jealousies, the truth of Yolanda's statement had long been apparent. We carried our prophecy further and predicted that the headlong pa.s.sions of Charles the Rash would soon result in his death or overthrow.

My point in dragging in this heavy load of political lore is this: In case of the death of Charles of Burgundy, the future of western Europe would depend on the brains and the bravery of the man who should marry the Princess Mary. I felt that Max was chosen of G.o.d for that destiny.

Should he succeed in defending Burgundy against France, he would become the most powerful man in Europe. No event save death could keep him from achieving the imperial crown.

If the existing treaty of marriage between Mary and the Dauphin of France were carried out, and if the Dauphin as king should possess one-half the wisdom of his father, Louis, all western Europe would soon be France. If this treaty were to fail and the Princess Mary espouse a man capable of defending her territory, Burgundy would still remain a wall of protection to the smaller states of the Rhine.

A long silence followed Yolanda's outburst, but her words had so astonished me that my supper for the evening was finished. Castleman plied his knife industriously; Yolanda nibbled at a piece of meat between her dainty fingers, and Twonette gazed serenely out of the open window.

Yolanda's words and Castleman's constraint filled me with wonder. There was to me a mystery about this little beauty that had not been touched on by my friend from Peronne. I hoped to gain information on the point by inducing Yolanda to talk. She was willing enough.

"Fraulein," I said, "I quite agree with you. It is a matter of surprise to me that these n.o.blemen you mention do not see the truth as you state it."

"They are fools, Sir Karl, sodden fools," exclaimed Yolanda. "You could buy their souls for a sou. King Louis buys them with an empty promise of one."

"Why does not Duke Charles buy them?" I asked. "'Tis said he has enormous quant.i.ties of ready gold in Luxembourg Castle."

"Because, Sir Karl," she responded almost savagely, "bribery is the weapon of a coward. The Duke of Burgundy uses his money to pay soldiers."

"But, Fraulein," I answered, "the duke has for years--ever since before his father's death--been wasting his money, sacrificing his soldiers, and despoiling his land by wars, prosecuted to no good end. He has conquered large territory, but he has paid for it with the blood of his people. Neither they nor he are the better because of those accessions, and the duke has made enemies who will one day surely wrest them from him. A brave prince should not fear to be called a coward because of an act that will bring peace and happiness to his subjects and save their lives, their liberties, and their estates. That great end will enn.o.ble any means. The subjects of Burgundy are frugal and peace-loving. They should be protected from the cruel cost of useless war. I would not criticise Duke Charles, whose bravery is beyond compare, but for the sake of his people I could wish that his boldness were tempered with caution. Policy, not blows, appears to me the only way out of his present and imminent danger."

"Perhaps you are right, Sir Karl," answered Yolanda, "but I advise you to keep your views to yourself when you reach Burgundy. Should they come to the duke's ears, you might lose yours."

"Indeed, Fraulein, your warning is unnecessary," I responded laughingly.

"I already know the disposition of the duke toward those who disagree with him. His ungovernable pa.s.sions will surely lead him to a terrible end. Bravery, if wise, is one of the n.o.blest attributes of men. The lack of wisdom makes it the most dangerous. Duke Charles ought to temper his courage with love for his people. He should fight, when he must, with wise bravery. If he should die, G.o.d pity the poor people of Burgundy unless their princess choose a husband both wise and brave."

"But she will not be allowed to choose," cried Yolanda, pa.s.sionately.

"Her freedom is less than that of any serf. She is bound hand and foot by the chains of her birth. She is more to be pitied than the poorest maiden in Burgundy. The saddest of all captives is she who is chained to a throne."

"That surely is the bitterest draught fate offers to mortal man," sighed Max.

"Yes," whispered Yolanda, huskily. "One cannot rebel; one may not even kill one's self when one is condemned to live. One can do nothing but endure and wait in haunting fear and, in rare moments, hope against a million chances."

Evidently she meant us to know that she sorrowed for Max's martyrdom, though how she had learned of his true station in life I could not guess.

"It is strange," said I to Castleman, when Yolanda and Twonette had left us, "that Fraulein Yolanda, who seems to be all laughter and thoughtlessness, should be so well informed upon the affairs of princes and princesses, and should take this public matter so much to heart."

"Yes, she is a strange, unfortunate girl," answered Castleman, "and truly loves her native land. She would, I believe, be another Joan of Arc, had she the opportunity. She and her father do not at all agree. He wholly fails to comprehend her."

"Is her father your brother?" I asked. I felt a sense of impertinence in putting the question, but my curiosity was irresistible.

"Yes," answered Castleman, hesitatingly; then, as if hurrying from the subject, he continued, "Her mother is dead, and the girl lives chiefly under my roof."

I wanted to ask other questions concerning Yolanda, but I kept silent. I had begun to suspect that she was not what she pa.s.sed for--a burgher girl; but Castleman was a straightforward, truthful man, and his words satisfied me. I had, at any rate, to be content with them, since Yolanda's affairs were none of mine. Had I not been sure that Max's training and inheritance gave him a shield against her darts, she and her affairs would have given me deep concern. At that time I had all the match-making impulses of an old woman, and was determined that no woman should step between Max and the far-off, almost impossible Princess of Burgundy.

When we resumed our journey the next morning Yolanda was demure, grave, and serious; but the bright sun soon had its way with her, and within a half-hour after leaving the village she was riding beside Max, laughing, singing, and flashing her eyes upon him with a l.u.s.tre that dimmed the sun--at least, so Max thought, and probably he was right. That evening Max told me much of Yolanda's conversation.

The road we were travelling clung to the Rhine for several leagues. In many places it was cut from the bank at the water's edge. At others it ran along the brink of beetling precipices. At one of these Max guided his horse close to the brink, and, leaning over in his saddle, looked down the dizzy heights to the river below.

"Please do not ride so near the brink, Sir Max," pleaded Yolanda. "It frightens me."

Max had little of the braggadocio spirit about him, but no rightly const.i.tuted young man is entirely devoid of the desire to "show off" in the presence of timid and interesting ladies. Without that spirit of "show-off," what would induce our knights to meet in glorious tournaments? Without it, what would our chivalry amount to? Without it, why should a peac.o.c.k spread its tail? I do not belittle it, since from this spirit of "show-off" arises one great good--respect for the opinion of our fellow-man. So Max, with a dash of "show-off" in his disposition, laughed at Yolanda's fears and answered that he was in no danger.

"It is very brave in you, Sir Max, to go so near the brink," said Yolanda, ironically, "but do you remember what Sir Karl said concerning 'wise bravery'? There can be no need for your bravery, and therefore no wisdom in it. Were there good reason why you should go near the brink, I should despise you if you refused; but there is no reason and, since it frightens me, I wish you would remain in the road."

"Gladly I will," answered Max, reining his horse beside her.

"Do you know," said Yolanda, with as much seriousness as she could easily command, "that your friend, Sir Karl, is a philosopher? His phrase, 'wise bravery,' clings to me. I certainly wish the Duke of Burgundy would learn it and take it to heart."