Yolanda: Maid of Burgundy | Page 4

of a messenger from Duke Charles of Burgundy, bearing the following missive:--
* * * * *
"To His Grace, Duke Frederick of Styria, Elector of the Holy Roman Empire, and Count of Austria; Charles, Duke of Burgundy and Count of Charolois, sends greeting:--
"The said Duke Charles recommends himself to the most puissant Duke Frederick, and bearing in mind the great antiquity and high nobility of the illustrious House of Hapsburg, begs to express his desire to bind the said noble House to Burgundy by ties of marriage.
"To that end, His Grace of Burgundy, knowing by fame the many virtues of the young and valiant Count of Hapsburg, son to His Grace, Duke Frederick, would, if it pleasures the said illustrious Duke Frederick, suggest the appointment of commissioners by each of the high contracting parties for the purpose of drawing a treaty of marriage between the noble Count of Hapsburg and our daughter, Princess Mary of Burgundy. The said commissioners shall meet within six months after the date of these presents and shall formulate indentures of treaty that shall be submitted to His Grace of Styria and His Grace of Burgundy.
"The lady of Burgundy sends herewith a letter and a jewel which she hopes the noble Count of Hapsburg will accept as tokens of her esteem.
"May God and the Blessed Virgin keep His Grace of Styria in their especial care."
Signed with a flourish. "CHARLES."
* * * * *
This letter did not deceive me. I did not think for a moment that Charles meant to give his daughter to Max. But it answered my purpose by bringing Max to a realization of the nothingness of life in Styria, and opening his eyes to the glorious possibilities that lay in the great world beyond the mountain peaks.
Burgundy's missive produced several effects in the household of Castle Hapsburg, though none were shown on the surface. I was glad, but, of course, I carefully concealed the reasons for my pleasure from His Grace. Duke Frederick was pleased to his toes and got himself very drunk on the strength of it. Otherwise he smothered his delight. He "was not sure"; "was not quite disposed to yield so great a favor to this far-away duke"; "the count is young; no need for haste," and so on. The duke had no intention whatever of sending such messages to Burgundy; he simply wished to strut before his little court. Charles most certainly would receive a pompous and affirmative answer. The poor duchess, torn by contending emotions of mother-love and family pride, was flattered by Burgundy's offer; but she was also grieved.
"We do not know the lady," she said. "Fame speaks well of her, but the report may be false. She may not be sufficiently endued with religious enthusiasm."
"She will absorb that from Your Grace," I answered.
Her Grace thought that she herself was religious and tried to impress that belief on others; but Max was her god. In truth she was jealous of any woman who looked on him twice, and she kept at the castle only the old and harmless of the dangerous sex. She would have refused Burgundy's offer quickly enough if her heart had been permitted to reply.
The effect of the letter on Max was tremendous. He realized its political importance, knowing full well that if he could add the rich domain of Burgundy to the Hapsburg prestige, he might easily achieve the imperial throne. But that was his lesser motive. Hymbercourt's letters to me had extolled Mary's beauty and gentleness. Every page had sung her praises. These letters I had given to Max, and there had sprung up in his untouched heart a chivalric admiration for the lady of Burgundy. He loved an ideal. I suppose most men and every woman will understand his condition. It was truly an ardent love.
Max kept Hymbercourt's letters, and would hide himself on the battlements by the hour reading them, dreaming the dreams of youth and worshipping at the feet of his ideal,--fair Mary of Burgundy, his unknown lady-love.
Before the arrival of the messenger from Duke Charles, Max spoke little of the Burgundian princess; but the message gave her a touch of reality, and he began to open his heart to me--his only confidant.
There seemed to have been a reciprocal idealization going on in the far-off land of Burgundy. My letters to Hymbercourt, in which you may be sure Max's strength and virtues lost nothing, fell into the hands of Madame d'Hymbercourt, and thus came under the eyes of Princess Mary. That fair little lady also built in her heart an altar to an unknown god, if hints in Hymbercourt's letters were to be trusted. Her maidenly emotions were probably far more passive than Max's, though I have been told that a woman's heart will go to great lengths for the