DEATH OF CHARLES THE BOLD.

JOHN FOSTER KIRK.

[History, in modern times, has been steadily growing in minuteness of detail, and many of our historians devote themselves to the story of a war, an epoch, or a reign, which they treat with exhaustive completeness. The story of the Netherlands has been thus handled in Motley's succession of valuable works, and to these Kirk's “History of Charles the Bold" is a highly-valuable addition, as a treatment of the most important feudal epoch of the Netherlands. It deals with two of the most notable characters of mediæval history, Louis XI., the ablest politician that ever filled the French throne, and Charles the Bold, a man of extraordinary force and ability, yet so ruled by impulse, and such a slave to his passions, that he was always at a disadvantage in dealing with the shrewd and cold-blooded trickster of France. The story of the wars of Charles with the Swiss is of exceeding interest. On three hard-fought fields the impetuous valor of the liberty-loving Swiss overthrew the trained and disciplined armies of one of the ablest captains of the age, and on the last of these fields Charles the Bold ended his checkered career, slain "like a dog in a ditch." We give this vividly-told incident in the following selection. Mr. Kirk was born at Fredericton, New Brunswick, in 1824. He was for many years secretary to Prescott, the historian. From 1871 to 1885 he was editor of Lippincott's Magazine. In the latter year he accepted the chair of history in the University of Pennsylvania.]

THE " Vigil of the Kings"-Sunday, the 5th of January, 1477-had come, and the reveille sounded, calling men to wake and die.

Heavy rains, the day before, had washed the earth, the flooded rivers rushing over a frozen current beneath,— impetuous, noisy, full, like the tides of life rolling above the frozen sea of death. But the night had been calm and cold; at dawn the shrunken waters gurgled faintly under a new surface of ice, and the gathering clouds were charged afresh with snow.

Charles had been busy throughout the night. He had resolved neither to abandon the siege nor to await the attack in his camp, but to meet and repel the enemy's advance. His force being too small for him to leave a sufficient guard against sallies from the town, he had drawn off his troops as noiselessly as possible under cover of the darkness.

"A short half-league" southeast of Nancy the road through Jarville and Laneuville to Saint-Nicolas entered a forest extending from the Meurthe on the east across the range of highlands bounding the horizon on the south and west. Near the verge of the wood, the road was intersected by a rivulet, called now, in commemoration of the events of the day, Le Ruisseau de Bonsecours. On both banks, to its junction with the Meurthe, it was thickly planted with hedges of thorn.

Behind this stream the duke posted his troops,-the artillery in front, on a mound commanding the road; behind it the infantry,-archers and pikemen,-drawn up in a single oblong square, in imitation of the Swiss. Here he took his own station, surrounded by his nobles and personal attendants, and mounted on a powerful black horse, called from its race and color Il Moro. Two slender bodies of cavalry composed the wings. The right, under Josse de Lalain, was placed on the high ground towards the source of the brook, but somewhat in the rear of the line; the left, under Galeotto, occupied a meadow, covered partially on the front as well as flank by the Meurthe, which here makes a double bend to the east and north, and is fordable in the angle. The evident object was to arrest and crush the enemy's columns while debouching from the forest. It was the sole chance of coping with a force so superior.

At Saint-Nicolas, after mass had been celebrated in the

church, food and wine were served out in abundance, and consumed with gayety and relish by men familiar with dangers and now confident of an easy victory. At eight o'clock they began their march. The troops were about equally divided between the vanguard and the "battle," the former comprising seven thousand spears and halberds and two thousand cavalry, the latter a thousand more foot and somewhat fewer horse. Eight hundred arquebusiers followed as a reserve. Herter led the van, with Thierstein as commander of the horse. René, with his suite, rode beside the main corps, on a spirited gray mare called La Dame. He wore over his armor a short mantle of cloth of gold embroidered with the double white cross of Lorraine, the sleeves trimmed with his colors,-gray, white, and red. His standard of white satin, decorated with a painting of the Annunciation, floated among a group of banners in the centre.

Before the troops had reached the farm-house on which they were to pivot, the snow fell so thickly that no one could see beyond his nearest comrade. In crossing a stream which runs past the building, the new-formed ice soon broke beneath their heavy tread, and left them wading, floundering, sometimes swimming. The road, or “hollow way," as it is also called, seems to have differed from the forest only in being more difficult to traverse. It was overgrown with a stubby and prickly brush. When at last the clearing was reached, the ranks were in disarray and the men half frozen. Sitting down, they poured the water from their shoes and arranged their clothing and

arms.

Without having ocular proof of it, they had reached their position, facing the enemy's right flank. Suddenly the squall passed over and the sun shone forth. The

hostile forces were in full sight of each other. The Swiss horn, blown thrice with a prolonged breath, sent a blast of doom into the ears of the Burgundians. Wheeling rapidly into line, the troops began to descend the slope at a quick run.

On first catching sight of the foe in this unexpected quarter, the gunners made an effort to turn their pieces. But the process was then a laborious one, not to be effected in alarm and confusion. After a single wild discharge, killing but two men, the guns were abandoned.

But the Swiss were now stopped by the hedge. Charles had time to make a change of front and send forward his archers. The assailants suffered severely. Their weapons. got caught in the brambles, and they were unable to break through. A troop of French horse was the first to clear a passage. It was met by a squadron under the Sire de la Rivière and driven from the field. Meanwhile Galeotto had been attacked and was giving way. Lalain was ordered to go to his support. But the arquebusiers, having come to the front, delivered a volley which arrested the charge. Many saddles were emptied. Lalain fell badly wounded. The affrighted horses galloped at random. Galeotto, who was soon after taken prisoner, made off with his men towards the ford.

Charles saw himself stripped of both his wings, assailed at once on both his flanks. He had his choice between a rapid flight and a speedy death. Well, then-death!

As he fastened his helmet. the golden lion on the crest became detached and fell to the ground. He forbade it to be replaced. Hoc est signum Dei!-"It is a sign from God," he said. From God? Ah, yes, he knew now the hand that was laid upon him!

Leading his troops, he plunged into the midst of his foes, now closing in on all sides. Among enemies and

friends the recollection of his surpassing valor in that hour of perdition, after the last gleam of hope had vanished, was long preserved. Old men of Franche-Comté were accustomed to tell how their fathers, tenants and followers of the Sire de Citey, had seen the duke, his face streaming with blood, charging and recharging "like a lion," ever in the thick of the combat, bringing help where the need was greatest. In Lorraine the same tradition existed. "Had all his men," says a chronicler of that province, "fought with a like ardor, our army must infal libly have been repulsed."

But no; so encaged, so overmatched, what courage could have availed? "The foot stood long and manfully," is the testimony of a hostile eye-witness. But the final struggle, though obstinate, was short. Broken and dispersed, the men had no recourse but flight. Some went eastward, in the direction of Essey, such as gained the river crossing where the ice bore, and breaking it behind them. The greater number kept to the west of Nancy, to gain the road to Condé and Luxembourg. Charles, with the handful that still remained around him, followed in the same direction. The mass, both of fugitives and pursuers, was already far ahead. There was no choice now. Flight, combat, death,-it was all one.

Closing up, the little band of nobles, last relic of chivalry, charged into the centre of a body of foot. A halberdier swung his weapon, and brought it down on the head of Charles. He reeled in the saddle. Citey flung his arms round him and steadied him, receiving while so engaged a thrust from a spear through the parted joints of his corselet.

Pressing on, still fighting, still hemmed in, they dropped one by one. Charles's page, a Roman of the ancient family of Colonna, rode a little behind, a gilt helmet hanging