when, seeing nothing of the French, and being almost frozen with cold, loud murmurs arose in the ranks, and the men desired, with one voice, to be led against their enemies. Philip, whose mind was still filled with the idea of Mont d'Or, was not slow in complying with a wish which seemed born of destiny; and he accordingly broke up his position, and marched to the scene of the phantom fight. He issued only one general order to the troops preparatory for the battle; and this was, that they were on no account to open their ranks, but to interlace their arms, and support one another, and march forward with a steady and determined step.*

When the scouts of the French returned, with the news of the ultimate movement of the Flemings, King Charles ordered the constable to advance, in the name of God and St. Denis. Till now the morning was so dark that the troops could hardly see each other; but no sooner was the sacred oriflamme displayed, than the fog instantly dispersed, and the sky was seen bright and clear.† At this moment a white dove was observed to circle several times round the king's battalion, and then perch upon one of the royal banners, and, inspirited by so decisive an omen, the army moved on with alacrity to meet their enemies, who were now close at hand on Mont d'Or.‡

"It was a fine sight," says the chronicler, "to view their banners, helmets, and beautiful emblazoned arms; the army kept a dead silence, not uttering a sound, but eyed the large battalions of Flemings before them, who were marching in a compact body, with their staves advanced in the air, which looked like spears, and so great were their numbers, they had the appearance of a wood."

The Flemings commenced the engagement with iron bars, and quarrels headed with brass; and so irresistible were their numbers and compact array, that the king's battalion fell back. The van and rear-guards, however, came instantly up, on either side, and plunged their Bourdeaux lances into the living mass. The front ranks recoiled in pain and terror, as they found that their armour was no defence against this fearful instrument; and thus, in a very short time, the whole army was squeezed so inextricably together, that they could not raise their weapons to strike a blow.

The battle-if it can be called a battle at all-was now

* Froissart contradicts himself in estimating Artaveld's military talents. In one place, he says that he well knew the art of war; and in another, that he was wholly ignorant of it.

+ Froissart.

+ Ibid.

over; for the king's battalion returning to the charge, the Flemings were hemmed in on three sides, and knocked down with battle-axes and leaden maces, like bullocks tied to a stake. The van was thus wholly destroyed, either by suffocation or blows; and the rear, in astonishment and dismay, took to flight.*

High and haughty was the voice of Philip Artaveld at the beginning of the confusion. He rushed through the thicket of men, steadying the ranks, rallying the dismayed, encouraging the bold, and shouting the inspiring war-cry of liberty. His efforts were unavailing. Dense and more dense became the mass, from the constant recoil of the front ranks; and at length his Ghenters, surrounding their almost adored leader in a body, endeavoured to force him off the field. At the moment a mightier rush was made towards the centre. The French pillagers, gliding in between the men-at-arms, cleared the way with their knives; and so headlong became the assault, that many of the conquerors, entangled with the vanquished, were smothered in the pressure. All at length was over. The French army was in full pursuit of the flying Flemings, and nothing was heard in the late scene of strife but the groans of the dying, and the wolfish cries of the pillagers, as they pursued their dreadful trade, scattered in small parties over the field.

As soon as the fate of the day became certain, Artaveld's page, who had been waiting at a little distance, dismounted from his courser; and the noble animal, left at liberty, sprang with instinctive terror across the plain. The page was slight and youthful in appearance; he was wholly unarmed, excepting an ornamental dagger, and even the gory weapons of the conquerors were raised above his head to let him pass unharmed towards the field. He stepped swiftly, but tenderly, among the dying and the dead, till he reached the centre, where lay a pile of bodies, which he knew by their liveries to be the men of Ghent. Without a single shudder did the stripling draw these ghastly objects, in many instances yet quivering with life, one from above another, till he arrived at his master, whom he sought.

Artaveld was still breathing; and the boy eagerly searched for his wounds, that, in dressing them, he might by possibility stop up the avenues of ebbing life. But there was no wound on the body; and looking into his master's face, he saw that the seal of death was on the forehead. The page then threw off his bonnet, put back his hair from his eyes, and shaking his

* Froissart,

luxuriant curls till they rolled in wreaths almost to his feet, knelt down, and pressed his lips to the cold damp lips of a dying man. The expiring lamp of life rekindled at the touch of immortal love; and Artaveld opened his eyes.

"Ghent Ghent!" shouted the dying warrior; and at the word, some broken sounds seemed to bubble up from the blood around him, for the cry was faintly echoed in several places. A Flemish loyalist, who had fallen entangled with the vanquished, had even strength enough to rise upon his legs, as if by the power of some magic spell.

"Flanders for the Lion!" he shouted in reply, and waving his empty hand, as if it brandished a lance, he fell all his length upon the slain, and gave up the ghost.

"Marie," said Artaveld, feebly endeavouring to put his arm round her waist, "your mother was right; I die, slain by my -own men of Ghent, and without a wound!"

"You, too, were a prophet, oh Philip," replied Marie; "for, being without an army, you are now a simple soldier again! Let me unclasp your hand from this broken spear, and place it upon a surer, tenderer stay. There, Philip, be not afraid; the heart that beats beneath will not break till you are no more. Your eyes grow dim; the damps of death are on your brow; I hear the rushing of the wings of your parting spirit! Lean on me, love, closer-closer. Do you hear me? It is Marie! her lips are pressed to yours; her arms cling fondly round your neck--Philip! Philip !"--Philip, with a last effort, drew her to his breast--a smile passed across his face, and he stirred no more.

At this instant a pillager, with his reeking knife, approached the spot, and uttered a cry of joy as he saw the rich dress of Artaveld. Marie, who had seemed to be as lifeless as her lover, no sooner felt him attempt to separate her from the body, than, like a tigress which the hunter is attempting to rob of the last of her young, she sprang upon her feet, and grappled with the ruffian. Startled and terrified, the man stumbled in his slippery path, and both fell to the ground.

"This for Artaveld!" cried Marie, striking him to the heart with her dagger; but at the same instant the butcher's knife had pierced her side, and she had only time to throw herself once more upon her lover's body, when she expired.*

*The story of the fortunes of Philip Von Artaveld is told by Froissart with considerable animation. He does not put the reader off with his usual "Many deeds of arms were performed, many prisoners made, and many rescues :" narrates with somethin of the spirit of his

predecessor Joinville, who told nothing but what he himself heard and saw; and the action, therefore, passes on with all the strength and vividness of a reality present to our eyes. It was the good fortune of Froissart to describe scenes and customs which can never be divested of certain romantic and poetical associations; and his name has, in all probability, derived some of its lustre from this circumstance: for, although a pretender to poetry, he is in reality rather a hard and dry writer. The reader will perhaps be well pleased to have in his own words, the following passage, as a finale to the story.

"Thus were the Flemings defeated on Mont d'Or, their pride humbled, and Philip Von Artaveld slain; and with him nine thousand men from Ghent and its dependencies, (according to the report of the heralds on the spot,) not including those killed in the pursuit, which amounted to twenty-five thousand more. This battle, from the beginning to the defeat, did not last more than half an hour. The event was very honourable to all Christendom, as well as to the nobility and gentry; for, had these low-bred peasants succeeded, there would have been unheardof cruelties practised to the destruction of all gentlemen by the common people, who had every where risen in rebellion. Now, let us think of the Parisians; what they will say, when they hear the news of the defeat of the Flemings at Rosebecque, and the death of Philip Von Artaveld their leader? They will not be much rejoiced, more than several other large towns.

"When this battle was completely finished, they allowed time for the pursuers to collect together, and sounded the trumpets of retreat, for each to retire to his quarters as was proper. The vanguard halted beyond the king's battalion, where the Flemings were quartered on the Wednesday, and made themselves very comfortable; for there was sufficiency of provision in the king's army, besides the purveyances which came from Ypres. They made, the ensuing night, brilliant fires, in different places, of the staves of the Flemings: whoever wished for any could collect sufficient to load his back.

"When the King of France arrived at his camp, where his magnificent pavilion of red silk had been pitched, and had been disarmed, his uncles, and many barons of France, came, as was right, to attend on him. Philip Von Artaveld then came into his mind, and he said--' If Philip is dead or alive, I should like to see him.' They replied-They would have a search made for him.' It was proclaimed through the army, that whoever should discover the body of Philip Von Artaveld should receive one hundred francs. Upon this the varlets examined the dead, who were all stripped or nearly so; and Philip, through avarice, was so strictly sought after, that he was found by a varlet who had formerly served him some time, and who knew him perfectly. He was dragged before the king's pavilion. The king looked at him for some time, as did the other lords. He was turned over and over to see if he had died of wounds, but they found none that could have caused his death. He had been squeezed in the crowd, and, falling into a ditch, numbers of Ghent men fell upon him, who died in his company.

"When they had sufficiently viewed him he was taken from thence, and hanged on a tree. Such was the end of Philip Von Artaveld."Johnes's Trans.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.

FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

CHARLES VI. ob. 1422. CHARLES VII. 1461. LOUIS XI. 1483. CHARLES VIIL 1498. Louis XII.

CHARLES possessed only the shadow of royalty, and the grandees fought for the substance. This is worthy of remark. When Hugh Capet ascended the throne, the nobles did not think it worth their while to oppose him. A prodigious change has taken place: royalty is now making gigantic strides towards tyranny; and the office of king, with or without the title, is worth applying for. The Duke of Orleans was made lieutenant-general much to the dissatisfaction of John, surnamed Sans-Peur, the Duke of Burgundy. [A. D. 1404.] On some pretext of a difference of opinion with regard to taxation, John entered Paris with an army, and the duke left it without one. [A.D. 1407.] The duke was afterward treacherously murdered by his enemy; and a cordelier defended the deed with the maxim, that “it is lawful to kill a tyrant." John himself, however, produced a better argument still-an army, and the Parisians, who had no particular reason to grieve for the murder, were satisfied. The young Duke of Orleans, patronized by the Count d'Armagnac and other nobles, took up arms to avenge his father's death; and even the mad king himself, having recovered his reason, such as it was, for a moment, entered the field against John. [A. D. 1411.]

Henry V. of England thought the opportunity too favourable to be allowed to slip; and with an invading army, weak in numbers but strong in valour, he gave battle to the French at Agincourt, and gained what is called a glorious victory. [A. D. 1415.] D'Armagnac recognised the conqueror as King of France. John Sans-Peur visited Paris, where the revels consequent on the event lasted three days, at the rate of a thousand murders a-day.

John had a confidential interview with his enemy the dauphin; and the one who was assassinated was John himself. [A. D. 1419.] Henry V. was nominated regent, and married the daughter of the lunatic Charles VI. Soon after both kings died. [A. D. 1422.]

There were still two popes; but a council at last terminated the dispute, and declared it to be an improper thing for any man to have duplicate keys of heaven and hell in his possession. They burnedJohn Huss and Jerome of Prague for "searching the Scriptures." The annual parliament in France became perennial.

At the death of the two kings, the Duke of Bedford was proclaimed regent for Henry VI. an infant; and the dauphin, now of legitimate right Charles VII., drank wine, made love to ladies, and lost the battle of Verneuil His generals, being brave and foolish, plunged deeper and deeper in the mire; and at last Orleans, besieged by the enemy, was on the point of surrendering. [A. D. 1424.] At this epoch, a young VOL. II.-8