Episode 41 : In Bruges
By the summer of 1485, Maximilian of Habsburg had quashed the first major revolt against his rule and regained control over Flanders, in the name of his young son Philip. He then set off for Germany to become King of the Romans, leaving the administration of his realms in the hands of an interim government. When he returned to the Low Countries in the middle of 1486, Maximilian decided that the best thing to do would be to drain the purses of his subjects, again, and go on a campaign against France. This failed miserably, once again inciting rebellious intent, particularly in Ghent and Bruges. Trying to keep control over the estates, Maximilian called for the States General to assemble in Bruges in early 1488. However, when he arrived prior to this and tried to get his mercenary soldiers into the city, the workers guilds rose up against him, locked the gates and made the new King of the Romans an involuntary guest in Bruges.
Maximilian crowned King of the Romans
Having dealt with the rebellious Flemish and basking in the fact that France was not currently posing an immediate threat, given that it was in the midst of its own regency crisis after Louis XI’s death, Maximilian of Habsburg set off to Frankfurt am Main to be elected the King of the Romans in November 1485. King of the Romans was an extremely prestigious title that had evolved from that of the King of the Franks in the 11th century. It had long represented the delegation of the next-in-line to be Emperor. Traditionally, one would be elected to the Roman crown, coronated, and then set off for Italy to be granted the imperial regalia by the Pope. Maximilian’s father, the emperor Frederick III, was getting ever longer in the tooth and Maximilian’s ascension to the Roman throne indicated formally that he had been chosen to become emperor whenever Frederick eventually died. This royal election took place on February 6th, 1486, with Jean Molinet describing the ceremony in his chronicle as “the noblest, richest and most pompous that ever was in living memory, to honour the emperor and the archduke his son.” We’ve seen some pretty pompous ceremonies so far, so we can only imagine that this one was a real romp of pomp, especially for a bloke who had just struggled to stomp over a swamp. After this, he then set off to Aachen for his coronation, which was celebrated in April of that year.
This had pretty far reaching consequences for countries both Low and not-so-Low across Europe. Emperor Frederick III had been having his own tumultuous time since 1477. His rival in central Europe was Matthias Corvinus, the King of Hungary, who had been waging war in Bohemia. When Frederick forged an alliance with and gave support to his enemies, Matthias responded by invading Austrian lands with his so-called Black Army. In 1483 Frederick was forced out of Vienna and, eventually, out of Austria completely. Hungarian forces occupied most of lower Austria, which on a map is actually in the upper-right, and Matthias moved his court to Vienna, which, to the interest of future pub trivia nights, became the capital of Hungary for several years, until Corvinus’ death in 1490.
So, what has this got to do with the Low Countries? Well, as the self-proclaimed regent of the Low Countries, Maximilian had already had a lot to deal with and think about, as we have observed over the previous few episodes. It is worth keeping in our minds, however, that his future imperial responsibilities in central Europe would have been looming large in his mind. The issues besetting his father and the territories that fell within his own inheritance, important chunks of which were now occupied by a foreign power, would eventually take priority over the frustrating, little swampland he had married into, with all its insolent, bickering nobles and rebellious townspeople.
Yet another regency council
During his six month hiatus, Maximilian gave guardianship of his son, Philip, to Adolf of Cleves, the Lord of Ravenstein. Adolf had been part of the rebellious regency council, but had also been instrumental in its undoing when he switched sides back to Maximilian. As a blood relative of the ruling clan, and having played such an important and public role in keeping the Burgundian dynasty in power following Charles the Bold’s death, Adolf of Cleves escaped from the whole ordeal unpunished, and indeed kept collecting his generous pension from Maximilian for the next couple of years. Despite this, however, Adolf was shuffled away from the centre of power, and went off to Malines, where young Philip had been sent to live under the watchful eye of his step-grandmother, Margaret of York. Direct governance of the realm in Maximilian’s absence, however, was given to, get this, a regency council. This one, however, was bereft of haughty Flems, instead composed of high end, loyalist nobles and an eminent statesman. The members of this council were, respectively: Engelbert of Nassau, Philip of Cleves, and Jean Carondelet.
Engelbert of Nassau, the Lord of Breda, was 37 years old at this point and certainly been doing his bit in taking his family’s fortunes on what will become a sterling upward trajectory. He’d been named a Knight of the Golden Fleece at 22 years old and also commanded some of Maximilian’s forces at the Battle of Guinegate. Named as the Duke’s first chamberlain in 1482 - essentially his right hand man - it had been Engelbert who had tried to convince Maximilian to destroy Ghent following the latest revolt. You might recall that it had taken some calm voices, such as Margaret of York and Philip of Cleves, to dissuade Max from following Engelbert’s counsel. He was evidently in the trust of the Duke, as he was put in charge of the council.
Philip of Cleves was also on the council. He was the highest ranking noble, being a great-grandson of John the Fearless and therefore a prince-du-sang, a direct relative of archduke Phillip. At this point he was just 29 years old but already a veteran of the campaigns against France and also in putting down the rebellion of the Wild Boar of the Ardennes in Liege. As the son of Adolf of Cleves, he had been born into the ruling echelon of the Low Countries and this connection to the Burgundian bloodline meant that the Flemish had appealed to him to mediate during the first revolt. But unlike his father, Philip had remained loyal to Maximilian, commanding troops in Flanders and helping to take and hold key positions. During the first revolt, in January 1485, Maximilian decided to combine two of the most important jobs in the Low Countries, that of Admiral of Flanders, and Admiral of the rest of the Netherlands, into one. This was a good move considering the just-replaced admirals of each, Jacob of Savoy and Wolfert van Borsele were both at war with him. So it was that Philip of Cleves became the first ever Admiral of the Netherlands, which is a pretty sweet addition to your CV.
As a reward for his service and loyalty, Maximilian also gave Philip of Cleves the lordship of Edingen, which had been stripped from Philip’s brother-in-law, the aforementioned Jacob of Savoy, as well as command of Sluis. This was of critical strategic importance given that control of Sluis was necessary for Bruges to be able to be reached by ship. This pretty much made Philip of Cleves the most powerful noble in the Low Countries after Maximilian and definitely the most important ally that Maximilian had. In the Excellente Chronicke van Vlaanderen, there is a brief story related about a soldier who was beheaded and quartered in Sluis in March, 1486, during Maximilian’s absence, for having been paid a large sum of money to make a hole in the walls of Sluis nearby the water so that Maximilian’s troops would always be able to get inside of it. Historian A. de Fouw, in his biography of Philip of Cleves, ponders whether perhaps some people were already worrying about the amount of power Philip of Cleves had gathered for himself.
Engelbert of Nassau and Philip of Cleves were joined in this ruling council by another man, a jurist, named Jean Carondelet. He had gained eminence when, around twenty years prior to these events, he had been a judge in Besancon and Philip the Good had promoted him to a high-level administrative role and an advisor to the duke. When Charles the Bold had formed the Parliament of Mechelen in 1473, Carondelet had been its first chairman, holding the post until Charles’ death at Nancy. Under the rule of Mary of Burgundy and Maximilian, he became the chancellor of Burgundy. Heads up, he has a second son, also called Jean, who will become a cleric and also join the political fray, becoming a central figure in it for some four decades. But again, let’s not get ahead of ourselves!
This general governing council had half a year to navigate through the same issues that Maximilian had, thus far, spectacularly failed to mitigate. France remained a looming threat, if not a currently direct one because of the instability that had occurred following the death of Louis XI. The trio actually succeeded remarkably well in keeping peace with France during those months of the archduke-cum-king’s absence. This, arguably, served to undermine Maximilian’s future prospects of maintaining control of the Low Countries, as the council earned wide-spread approval for this feat, which was accomplished without the presence of the young, foreign prince.
Pieter Lanchals in Bruges
In Flanders, new, loyalist governments were installed across the cities and towns, often by violent enforcement. The administrative structure of Flanders was shifted around, including the re-establishment of the Franc of Bruges as the Fourth Member of Flanders. When Maximilian set off to become King of the Romans, the governance of Flanders reflected what it had been before the Great Privilege and, considering that the French were once more ramping up towards open conflict and invasion of the Netherlands, it was a sure thing that under Maximilian’s regime, the taxation of Flanders would also soon reflect what it had been under the last Burgundian duke who had set off to Germany with the intention of becoming a king.
The administrative complex of Flanders was left in the hands of those who had remained loyal to Maximilian, such as in Bruges, where Pieter Lanchals, became the new bailiff and another loyalist, Joost van Varsenare, was appointed as the new burgermeester. Lanchals was a lowborn son of a carpenter, but his good education combined with high political and financial aptitude saw him work his way upwards in the city government. He had remained loyal to Maximilian throughout the first rebellion and was knighted by the Archduke in 1483. It was quite the rise.
Led by Lanchals, the new government in Bruges was particularly retributive and violent. Jelle Haemars does not mince his words in describing it:
“When they came to power in 1485, Lanchals and his factional partners believed that they had to destroy their internal opponents if they were to survive and lead. Government was the rule of those who had triumphed, and physical brutality was the carrier of authority.“
During this period of internal authoritarian violence in Flanders, anybody connected to the failed uprising had decent reason to be in constant fear of being imprisoned, tortured and executed. Naturally, this did not ease the feelings of resentment against Maximilian that continued to simmer among the urban elite and workers guilds from which the revolt in that county had originally emanated. And that is not a socio-political environment on which one should want to impress any further stress or strain.
The Emperor comes to the Low Countries
After the coronation, Maximilian took leave of his father, the emperor, from Cologne on May 20th, 1486, and began his return journey to the Low Countries. Along the way he stopped past Neuss, where he took a look at the city which had managed to hold off for such a long time against the late-father of his late-wife. He must have felt somewhat satisfied in the knowledge that, unlike said late-father-in-law, he had actually been successful in returning from Germany with a crown! Whilst in Neuss, he was treated to a bunch of hospitality from the Archbishop of Cologne before heading off to ‘s Hertogenbosch. What followed was basically a few weeks of non-stop celebrations for Maximilian, as he toured around Brabant and Holland and showed everybody his fancy new hat. The chronicle of Jean Molinet notes that “the large towns of the country of Brabant, feeling the approach of the king of the Romans, made great preparations to receive him and to conjure up his prosperity and blessed fortune; for it was something new and [they were] unaccustomed to having a king for a lord.” He continued sailing his way through to Gorinchem and Dordrecht, where at the gates he was met a group of leading citizens decked out in their fanciest gear. Four of them held a canopy over him (an honour which was reserved only for kings and emperors), and eight of more held torches as they escorted him to his lodging, where he was presented with a massive ox and sturgeon, which sounds like a feast for a king. He then continued on through Geertruidenberg and Turnhout, before making his arrival into the big towns of Antwerp, Mechelen and Brussels.
We will spare you the details of all of these Joyous Entries, but suffice it to say, they were on a massive scale, with tapestries, torches and decorations everywhere, and tableaux vivants on every street and corner depicting biblical and historical scenes. When he arrived in Mechelen he was met by his almost 8 year old son, Philip, as well as Adolf of Cleves, the Lord of Ravenstein, and all the other high knights and chamberlains and important citizens. Molinet says of his entry into Brussels the next day that “then was in Brussels all jubilation spread, all joy restored, all melancholy omitted, all grief lost. The said celebrations continued on the market six or seven whole nights, during which time there were many pleasant festivities, joyful festivities, new joyfullnesses, new high festivities and festivals of instruments”. It sounds like it was a great party!
But things would only get pumped up to a new level when word suddenly came that Maximilian’s father, the Emperor Frederick III, was on his way to Brabant. As we mentioned earlier, Frederick was facing the slight issue that the King of Hungary had taken over his capital city of Vienna, so Fred decided to come and base himself in the Low Countries for a while. For a place which was usually on the far periphery of importance in the Empire, this was a rare and probably somewhat unexpected turn of events. The people of Brussels decided to double down on the party, and put out all the decorations once more and on July 22, 1486, threw an even grander entrance for their sovereign. Emperor Frederick was met outside the city gates by King Maximilian and Archduke Philip and the three of them were exalted by the gathered nobles and people. Molinet says that the gathered crowd were moved to tears and some even exclaimed “look, it’s the figure of the trinity, the father, the son and the holy spirit”. In the past, we’ve seen Burgundian dukes be laboriously compared to Christ during these events, but this one really takes the cake.
There is a small story in the midst of all this which tells us so much about the interconnected nature of western European society at the time, so let’s go on a tangent.
During his description of this celebration, Molinet mentions one particular German mercenary soldier who was also honoured during it, a man by the name of Martin Schwarz. Schwarz had been a shoemaker in Augsburg, but his true passion was warfare and he made his name fighting as a soldier for Charles the Bold at Neuss, after which he was knighted. When Maximilian was shopping around for German mercenary soldiers during the latest uprising against him, he recruited Schwarz and his men, who proved himself invaluable during the fighting in Flanders. As a reward for this, he was treated with great honour during part of the festivities, “Sir Martin...all loaded with goldsmithery, similarly his paige’s tambourines and others in great number, all in livery he alone on horseback, when the emperor, the king and the nobles went on foot, boasted more pompously than if he had been the son of a prince or of a great count.” In this rather obscure German mercenary soldier, we can see the somewhat bizarre paths ones life can take, rising from a humble shoemaker to this moment of glory being exalted like an emperor. But by examining the short year of life he had left ahead of him, we can also see the messy machinations of European political conflicts which led to so many people’s lives ending in a bloody mess in a boggy field somewhere far from where they were born.
The end of the Wars of the Roses
In the last episode, we briefly mentioned how Margeret of York’s brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, profited from the mysterious disappearance of his two nephews - the princes in the tower - who were the next in line for the throne of England. While he definitely, absolutely didn’t have anything to do with their disappearance, it did open up his own path to the crown, which was bestowed upon him when he became King Richard III of England in June, 1483. Richard’s dubious role in becoming King meant that his reign was unpopular. An exiled Welsh noble by the name of Henry Tudor, who had an extremely tenuous claim to the throne through his mother’s great-grandfather John of Gaunt, went around France, trying to get support for an invasion of England. The French were never too reluctant to sew discord in England, and Henry found help from Philip de Crevecouer, that Golden Fleecer we have spoken about so many times already, who had defected from Burgundy to France after the death of Charles the Bold. Crevecouer provided Henry with 2000 French archers. At the beginning of August 1485, Henry and his army set sail for Wales, and three weeks later, Richard III, the last of the Yorkist Kings, also became the last ever English king to die in combat at the battle of Bosworth. He also became the last ever English king to have a car park built over his grave. Henry Tudor, through conquest, became King Henry VII.
If Richard III had had a dubious claim to the throne, Henry VII sure did too. As we have seen, the noble families of Europe were so intermarried with each other that even the King of Portugal or the Queen of Spain apparently had better claims through descent to the throne than Henry VII. But neither of them had had the gumption to get on a boat from France and go kill Richard III. To help shore up his position, Henry married Elizabeth of York, the elder sister of the two vanished princes, to try to make sure no other Yorkist’s would try to claim the throne for themselves. The young Archduke Philip and King Maximilian, for example, were both also descendents of John of Gaunt, so had about as much a right to the throne as Henry VII. But of course, the closest connection to all of this in the Burgundian court was Margaret of York. She had worked tirelessly to establish good relations between England and Burgundy, against France. So having her work undone, seeing another brother die a violent death and seeing Henry come to power with direct French support would have been just another misery to add on to the pile of miseries her life had accumulated.
Francis Bacon, yes that Francis Bacon, wrote about 150 years after these events in his “History of the Reign of Henry VII”, “This princess, [Margaret] having the spirit of a man, and malice of a woman, abounding in treasure by the greatness of her dower and her provident government, and being childless, and without any nearer care, made it her design and enterprise to see the majesty royal of England once again replaced in her house ; and had set up King Henry as a mark at whose overthrow all her actions should aim and shoot ; insomuch as all the counsels of his succeeding troubles came chiefly out of that quiver. And she bare such a mortal hatred to the house of Lancaster, and personally to the king, as she was no ways mollified by the conjunction of the house in her niece's marriage, but rather hated her niece, as the means of the king’s ascent to the crown, and assurance therein. Wherefore with great violence of affection she embraced this overture.”
So with which great violence did she affectionately embrace this overture? Well, before his death, Richard had named his 10 year old nephew, Edward, the Earl of Warwick, as his heir. After the battle of Bosworth, Henry VII had this Edward locked up in the Tower of London, safely away from anyone who might want to promote his cause. But sometimes you don’t really need to be the real claimant to the throne, you just need enough people to say that you’re the real claimant to the throne. An ambitious priest found a young lad by the name of Lambert Simnel who looked pretty similar to the locked up prince. He began spreading the rumour that Edward had escaped from the Tower of London, and he took Simnel with him to Ireland to try to drum up support there for yet another Yorkist rebellion, in the form of this wannabe Edward, Lambert Simnel. In early 1487, the Earl of Lincoln ran away from the English court and came to Mechelen, where he lobbied Margaret of York to help raise an army to go and back this pretender. So what did she do? Well, she no doubt knew the spuriousness of the whole claim, but in her mortal hatred she recruited Martin Schwarz, the German mercenary we met earlier and an army of about 2000 men. They sailed across to Ireland in May, where Simnel was “crowned” by a bunch of Irish nobles as King Edward VI of England. In June, this combined Flemish/Irish army landed in England and on the 16th of June, 1487, they were promptly defeated in the final battle of the Wars of the Roses, the Battle of Stoke Field. Schwarz and the other German and Swiss mercenaries were killed in battle, with Molinet saying they were “filled with arrows like hedgehogs”. Life can be funny, huh? At one moment you’re shoemaker who’s more pompous than an emperor, then less than a year later you’re a bloody hedgehog, having died fighting for a 10 year old kid pretending to be the king of England.
We wanted to go into this tangential story for a couple of reasons. The first is that, because of Margaret of York’s recent role in the History of the Netherlands, we have been following the events that have gone down in history as the Wars of the Roses, in which her and her family were so embroiled and, ultimately, unsuccessful. The victory of Henry Tudor in coming to the throne signals the end of those conflicts. Secondly, highlighting these events provides an opportunity to reinforce the point that our modern ideas of nations and social identities do not belong in the 15th century. During these times, it was the class and the family that you were born into that mattered the most. Even in places which we might think of as having strong regional identities, such as Flanders, society was wrought with divisions, whether they be by class, or by urban political faction. In the amazing trajectory of Martin Schwarz we see that there was still room for extraordinariness. But the rigidity of the feudal-class systems remained predominant, overall. What this system valued was bloodline and wealth, which basically made everybody a pawn and a mercenary. As far as our History of the Netherlands goes; well, we are soon approaching a time when terms like ‘national identity’ are going to become a part of the discussion, and where the social meaning of things such as bloodline and wealth would be transformed. So we thought it was worth exploring this story, just as a bit of a window through which to look at some of those concepts.
Maximilian’s meddling
Although Maximilian was now a king and would soon be an emperor, he had continually shown a lack of understanding that this elevated prestige would not necessarily command the adulation and respect of his Low Country subjects in the way that he felt that he deserved. What he did understand was that keeping the Flemish subdued required obstructing their alliance with the French royal court which, while mired in a civil conflict, was nevertheless always a threat. He was also still smarting from the humiliation and territorial concessions that had been included in the most recent Treaty of Arras that had been foisted on him by the Flemish rebels. A successful campaign against France would go some way to amending this and recovering his honour. H.G. Koenigsberger sums this up nicely, “Maximilian's own position was now absolutely clear: he was going to pursue exactly the same policies as Charles the Bold had done, on the home as well as the foreign front”. Well. That should work out!
Maximilian worked on allying with the coalition of angry French nobles who were already up in arms about the French regency, and began planning an attack. Naturally, in a pattern that should not seem unfamiliar to you by now, he then took the inevitable step of raising the funds needed for such a campaign, and initiated a new fiscal policy that would, once again, drain purses across the board. This included in Holland, where a Ruitergeld tax specifically for the raising of a mercenary army was implemented, which would give rise to the Bread and Cheese folk that we can’t wait to tell you about in coming episodes. But, as usual, the tax burden was heaviest in Flanders. The Annual aide demanded of Flanders was more than double what the average rate had been during the five years that he had co-ruled with Mary; Maximilian then went over the heads of the representatives of the Four Members of Flanders and simply sent his own men to cities and towns to collect the revenue directly.
Then, Maximilian catastrophically meddled with the minting of coins in the Burgundian realm, bringing in an increase on the seigneurial tax on silver, that was over a hundred times more than what had been standard since the 1420s. Now, all silver in the Low Countries carried what amounted to a 12% tax which, in turn, also soon caused inflation. This led to grain and vegetable prices skyrocketing, increasing by more than a 100% in Flanders, at around which cost they would remain for the next few years. Philip of Cleves, still in the service of Maximilian, recognised this policy as the ‘key to the coffers of the people’ but also identified that it would damage the lower classes more than previous financial demands which had been at the root of all this Flemish anger in the first place.Guess what that is going to do! That’s right, cause even more Flemish anger. But before we get to all that anger, let’s talk about how Maximilian went with this new, yet so very old, military endeavour against France.
War with France
As mentioned, France was undergoing its own regency battle, between the sister of the young Charles VIII and the high noble class from which Charles the Bold had drawn so much support in the War of the Common Weal, which we spoke about in Episode 29. Maximilian’s strategy against the French court was much the same, but when push came to shove in two successive attempts in 1486 and 87, his best efforts could not overcome some serious obstacles. The first was that the French defence was led by the extremely experienced and capable captain, the very man we have just seen throwing the Tudor grenade into England, Philip de Crevecoeur. The second great obstacle was that Maximilian turned out not to actually be that great at the military stuff himself. He could not do as his nemesis’ name implied and break Crevecoeur’s heart, nor breach his forces or the French northern frontier. These failed French campaigns served to damage Maximilian’s reputation in the Netherlands beyond a point from which it could be retrieved.
Plague and famine were, at this point, becoming fairly regular aspects of life for those in the Low Countries, who had been paying the price of war for some two decades. They had been hangry for years, and now were just even hangrier. Maximilian, however, was more invested in the role of nobility than of the mood and belly rumbling of the lower classes. He already stood on very shaky ground when it came to the nobility and, during his tenure, he had not paid sufficient heed to the economic importance of those other classes, namely the town burghers, the wealth of which far outweighed that of most nobles. Nor did he regard the urban privileges that were held by those citizens as important enough. Only when it suited him, such as with the Cods in Holland, did he render enough attention to the lower yet fundamental classes of his realm’s societies. By the latter half of 1487 he had basically given up on the war and the nobility was left in charge of a conflict that was extremely unpopular. A bunch of them then went for a hail-mary to end the war, attempting an attack on the town of Bethune that turned out to be a trap. The ambush resulted in the capture of two high Dutch nobles, being the heir to Guelders, Charles of Egmond, and the lead member of the council that Maximilian had set up in his absence, Engelbert of Nassau, so that is not a great result.
Return of exiled revolutionaries to Flanders
It was at this point that a few of the key figures from the previous Flemish revolt, those who had either fled when the tide had definitely turned back in Maximilian’s favour, or who had been lucky enough, or politically useful enough, to escape his punishment, decided that they would once again go a-revolting. One of these was the Lord of Rassegem, Adrien Vilain, who had fled to Tournai after the last revolt. Despite having been forgiven by Maximilian for the role he’d played in the first revolt, Rassegem was captured by Engelbert of Nassau in January 1486. He then languished in prison for a couple of years until the summer of 1487, when Adrien Vilain was broken out of prison by his cousin, who, incredibly confusingly, was also called Adrien Vilain. The two Adrien Vilain’s then headed back to Ghent in September 1487. There Rassegem - the Adrien Vilain that matters - wrote a letter to Maximilian saying that it wasn’t his fault that he’d been broken out of prison, and that he shouldn’t have been imprisoned in the first place. He also wrote to Philip of Cleves asking him to help keep Maximilian off his back. Then, the two Adrien Vilains began drumming up anti-Maximilian sentiment throughout Ghent. They were helped in this by none other than Jan Coppenhole, one of the chief people behind Ghent’s most recent foray into insurrection against Maximilian. Historian A. de Fouw says that at this point “things became more and more riotous in Ghent, on October 31 a long list of grievances against Maximilian was read by the merchants and weavers.” The two Adrien Villains succeeded in having themselves and their faction thrust into powerful government positions once more and Maximilian’s supporters decided it was time to get out of Ghent again. Maximilian wrote to the Vilains, demanding them to go to Dendermonde and explain exactly what was happening, but the new Ghent city government decided that no, they were not going to do that. And thus, once again, Ghent was in open revolt against Maximilian. Surely not another one!!!
This new city government then enacted one of their most cherished entitlements they had garnered from the Great Privilege, and sent word to a few other Netherlandish estates to send envoys to Ghent. They particularly wanted to discuss with delegates from Brabant and Hainault what a poor job Maximilian had done with the war against France, how he had created economic turmoil in Flanders and what everybody thought about the fact that he had a total disregard for the privileges they had so justly earned from his late wife. Maximilian, in response to this, pulled the good old ducal making his own demand that the States General assemble, in Bruges, in February 1488.
Prior to the gathering of this assembly, however, in December 1487 Maximilian made a move that betrayed how politically hamstrung he really was. In the previous revolt, he had not managed to keep the important members of the nobility on-side, which had irked him more than the righteousness of the powerful city burghers. In what was likely a precautionary measure against this happening again, in December he created a new Council of Finance, headed by Philip of Cleves. Five other nobles joined him in taking total control of the state’s finances and financial administration. Philip van Beveren, John and Baldwin of Lannoy, Jan III van Bergen and Martin of Polheim. Maximilian could no longer do anything with the realm’s finances, nor appoint anyone to positions related to the treasury, without going first through this council. This was an incredibly backwards step for an aspiring autocrat. While he was still trying to impose his dominion on the towns of Flanders, he was making remarkable concessions to the nobility, revealing an epic failure to grasp the complex fundamentals of governing Flanders and the Low Countries.
This situation was, however, perfectly grasped by the French. In early January, agents acting on behalf of the French king let it be known to revolutionary Ghent that they had his backing. This was all the encouragement they needed. On the 9th of January, 1488, an army of 6000 men from Ghent attacked and took Kortrijk, while the French began to attack on the western frontiers. Philip of Cleves took an army from Bruges to inspect what was happening around Flanders and discovered that the gates of Ypres were closed to him. The country side of Flanders was again filled with marauding troops, causing havoc in the small towns and villages outside the big, protected cities. In the middle of January, Charles VIII declared that Ghent was an “autonomous republic under royal suzerainty”.
Maximilian is captured by Bruges
The scene, then, was set for some sort of confrontation between the King, Ghent and the States General. Maximilian arrived in Bruges at the end of January, less than a week out from the assembly he had called. The atmosphere inside Bruges was no less intense than in the countryside. Brugeois workers’ guilds were frothing at the mouth, having been living and dying under the vindictive and violent rule of Pieter Lanchals. Philip of Cleves, advised the king to make his residence at Sluis, and host the States General there. But, instead, Maximilian insisted on Bruges, into which he entered without much more than a personal bodyguard and the entourage of his court. It was a terse entry, vastly different from those he had made after his coronation just 18 months earlier, and the mood of the city quickly made it clear to Maximilian that he should have brought a few more men. Word soon spread that he had demanded that troops from his Landsknecht mercenaries, German-speaking pike and foot soldiers, be admitted into the town. A delegate from Ypres, however, later wrote home that this was a false rumour.
Whatever the case, on January 31st, 1488, Maximilian and his meagre entourage were doing a round of the city’s gates. At the first gate, he was denied admission through. He then went to the Ghentpoort, Kruispoort and Katelinapoort, accompanied by Lanchals, who demanded obedience at each of them. At each of them, however, the result was the same - steadfast refusal.
The King of the Romans, it would seem, was trapped...in Bruges.
The following day, the 1st of February, the King attempted to leave Bruges again. Members of the carpenters guild and masons guild, who were standing at the Ghentpoort and Kruispoort, and were in cahoots with each other, again ignored the command to open the gates. Maximilian’s men were ordered to seize their banners, after which a scuffle ensued. Promptly, the king and his attendants retreated to the Prinsenhof to have a much needed lie down. Another plan was put together, which was not the most enlightened or strategically creative. Maximilian borrowed a bunch of money from Lanchals, who had prospered during his time in power, and hired a bigger bodyguard, who were well bedecked with weapons. A contingent of these went to the Burg in Bruges to make a show of force and, lo-and-behold, this prompted leaders of various guilds to order an attack, so another fight erupted, in which the outnumbered bodyguard stood little hope. It is unknown how many of this bodyguard perished, but Jelle Haemars suggests that ‘none of them would have survived the fight.’
That night, Bruges was taken over completely by the rebels, with loyalist members of the magistracy executed in the town square. At some stage, Maximilian got Philip of Burgundy, the Lord of Beveren and John of Lannoy, to tell the rebellious guilds that if they lay down their arms and went back to not being in rebellion, they would be forgiven for what transgressions had already been made. They refused. By the 5th of February, the rebels of Bruges were emboldened enough to capture Maximilian in the Prinsenhof, and place him in the confinement of the Craenenburgh, a pottery shop and merchant’s house which looked out over the main market square. The workers’ guilds stood, armed and assembled outside. While waiting for a plan, they continued to vent their frustrations on members of the pro-Max government that had been wreaking so much trauma and havoc since 1485. Administrators, councillors, anyone German, or anyone who had supported the king were quickly outed, captured, imprisoned, tortured and, if they were deemed deserving of it, put to death on the market square. The carnage went on for weeks with each execution clearly visible from Maximilian’s window.
Peter Lanchals, the tyrannical sheriff whose brutal rule over Bruges had failed to endear many people there to favouring Maximilian, somehow escaped capture in the early stages of the Bruges uprising. In fact, as the weeks passed, the search for him continued. Molinet tells us that the men sent to find him went from house to house, publicly decrying that any man who kept Peter Lanchals hidden, or even let him into his dwelling, would be hanged in front of his house, his wife and his children. If any man even withheld knowledge about the former sheriff’s whereabouts, “...his house would be demolished without ever being rebuilt and lineage would be banished, exiled and reproached forever.”
Apparently this threat was enough to induce the person who was concealing Lanchals to come forth. According to Molinet this person begged that Lanchals be arrested at night. If he was arrested during the day, the public would clearly see that he’d been harbouring Lanchals and would likely tear him apart. Whether this happened or not, Despars informs us that, once arrested, a group of carpenters guild members marched Lanchals through the streets shouting loudly that he was their captive. Five weeks after the gates had been brought down around Maximilian and he had been confined to the Craenenbuurgh, the King of the Romans had the best seat in the house as his former sheriff was brought to a scaffold in front of him and his head made to bid farewell to his neck.
So, besides decapitating people in front of him, what were the people of Bruges going to do, if they were to take advantage of the fact that they had outrageously trapped the King of the Romans within their walls? As Wim Blockmans put it:
“They wished to be quit of Maximilian, but they could envision no real alternative to the monarchy.”
In other words, there was no organised plan for what to do next.
As for the rest of Flanders, Bruges’ ballsy piece of accidental gumption catalysed the rebellion to gain steam beyond just the two biggest cities. As always, it was not a unified rebellion across the territory, but rather an opportunity for the many different parties, with different agendas, to make their move. In Ghent, where Coppenhole and Rassaghem had the city under their control, the high-ranking cleric Jean Carondelet, who we mentioned earlier as a member of the provisionary government that had ruled in Maximilian’s absence to Germany, was also taken hostage. Ghent began to mint its own coins again, which were named Coppenholles, after Jan Coppenhole. As for Ypres, the other of the three big cities, it was well and truly on its downward wane, and certainly not wearing the pants in any of these relationships. When, once this had kicked off, envoys were sent from Ypres to Ghent, they were told they had to witness the torture and execution of Maximilian loyalists, as an act of solidarity and to honour the proclaimed unity between the Three Members. The ambassadors refused, and ran into a church to hide. One of them, Jacob Steeland, wrote despairingly to the Ypres city council and pleaded they refuse this outrageous demand. The council in Ypres, however, were more concerned with appeasing the people who had taken control of the most powerful city in the Low Countries. The envoys were forced to bear witness as several Ghent politicians and low-level city administrators were executed.
Near the end of February, the States General was called to assemble at Mechelen, in the name of the now-ten-years-old Archduke Philip. Ostensibly, the point of the meeting was to figure out the terms of Maximilian’s release. It was not smooth sailing, the proceedings opening with the chancellor of Brabant strongly condemning the cities of Flanders for what they were doing to the King, and for being in league with France. Accusations abounded that taking Maximilian captive had been a carefully organised plot between France and the Flemish. Deputies from the other Netherlandish estates attempted to seek a reconciliation between the disputing parties. But the rebellious Ghent power-brokers, capitalising on the uncertainty of the people of Bruges and the obsequiousness of Ypres, put themselves in the position to take the driving seat. Their first move in doing this was to refuse to send a full delegation until the body of the States General moved to Ghent entirely. Their next tactic was to set the diplomatic groundwork for an act of union between Flanders, Hainault and Zeeland, something which would equate to the complete dissolution of Maximilian’s power in Flanders. Over March and April, while the other Estates pushed for a peaceful solution, Flanders continued to haggle, argue and demand that they all go to Ghent to sort this out.
So while this all seems pretty familiar to Flemish revolts we have seen in the past, it must be remembered, this one was pretty radically different to those others in one key detail. In 1488 they weren’t merely disputing the authority of the Count of Flanders, but rather they had taken a full-blown king hostage, the next-in-line to become Emperor, no less. Nicht gut! The outrage across the German Empire was palpable. Frederick III was joined by a who’s who of German nobility and clergy in condemning the rebellion and they now set off to do something about it. The Pope got his end up about it, sending an observer and promptly having the powerful archbishop of Cologne excommunicate every single inhabitant of Flanders. The Pope called it high treason, or lese majesty and gave the go ahead for the Emperor to make them pay. By April, an imperial army numbering around 20,000 had been raised and was making its way through Brabant towards Flanders, to rescue Maximilian from his preposterous imprisonment, purveyed, prosecuted and produced by petulant, but peskily powerful peasants and plebs.
Frederick was not the only one raising troops, but so too now were the upper nobility of the low countries, such as Philip of Cleves. He remained loyal to Maximilian. But the Council of Finance had basically stripped Max of budgetary control, and Philip headed it. If anyone was in a position to wrest complete control from Maximilian, for the sake of the Flemish estates, it was the man who had also recently taken command of Sluis, that strategic stronghold in Flanders. There was a lot of uncertainty amongst Maxmimilian’s court as to whether Philip and other nobles would remain loyal, and against whom the troops they were raising would be directed.
Maximilian is released with the Peace of Bruges
All of this uncertainty just compounded the tension of the overall situation. While the leaders of Ghent got to call the shots, it was the people of Bruges who were looking at an imperial army arriving on their doorstep, and who had to find the intestinal fortitude to maintain hold of the incredible leverage that was their captive king. That, in general, is not the kind of healthy relationship upon which to construct a unified, independent state. Nonetheless, one of Ghent’s ploys paid dividends on the 12th of May, when an act of union was agreed upon between the estates of Flanders, Hainault and Zeeland. In this, it was deemed that Maximilian would forfeit all claims in favour of his son and that Flanders would be ruled by the regency council. Maximilian would receive an annual indemnity for this and would also remain regent in the other, non-rebelling provinces until Philip came of age. They had not yet secured Maximilian’s agreement to this, but the historical significance of this moment is perhaps more pertinent in the absence of the duke’s representatives. Koenigsberger puts it like this:
The agreement of 12 May 1488 was a substantial victory for Ghent and, less dramatically but as it turned out more permanently, for the States General. Once again this institution emerged as the forum where in a crisis all parties wanted to present their arguments and whose support or mediation all were anxious to obtain. In the long run, this confirmation of the States General's political prestige was more important than the confirmation of its claim of autonomous assembly.
The advance of the imperial army put a strict time-limit on getting this deal done but Bruges had managed to hold its nerve. Maximilian had now spent three and a half months cooped up in Bruges. We imagine by this stage, his thoughts must have been similar to Colin Farrell’s character in In Bruges: “that's what hell is: the entire rest of eternity spent in fookin’ Bruges."
Whatever was going through the King’s mind, the rebels were able to put enough pressure on him to secure his agreement to the deal on the 16th of May. Only four days after it had been proposed, the Peace of Bruges was established. There was a solemn procession to the market square in Bruges, where a crowd was gathered, which included the princes of the blood, representatives of the estates, and probably a bunch of still hangry Brugeois. The bishop of Tournai gave a speech in which he blessed everyone who would keep the peace, and cursed any who would break it. Maximilian then swore “of his own good will and in good faith”, on the sacrament and Bruges’ famous relic, an actual sample of Jesus’ blood, to the terms of the treaty. He would give up his regency in Flanders, he would respect the act of union, his German troops would leave Flanders and there would be no punishments for everything which had happened over the last three months.
Beyond the assumed sanctity of this ceremony, there was no actual way to ensure that Maximilian would faithfully respect the deal he had just made and keep the peace with the rebellious cities. As a safeguard against him just immediately going back on his word, the very first point of the 30 point agreement said that hostages were to be left in his place. So it was, then, that Philip of Cleves, along with two other German princes, remained in Bruges as proxies for Maximilian. The bigwigs went to a feast afterwards, where Philip of Cleves arrived with 100 knights, a great show of force. Philip of Cleves had thus far walked the fine line between continued loyalty to the king and being mindful of the grievances amongst the other nobles and the Flemish burghers. He publicly went to the church of St Donatius where he laid his hand on the tomb of the saint, on the cross and on the Holy Sacrament and swore in front of those present that he would defend Flanders against anybody who broke the Peace of Bruges. In the case of that happening, he would return to Ghent and never leave it until the terms of the agreement were fulfilled.
So, with this foreshadowing from Philip, Maximilian was finally permitted to leave Bruges. Flanders had its independence from him, and they all lived happily ever after. Well, for about two weeks at least. Cuz that’s how long it took, for this hastily arranged house of cards to collapse in on itself. But that, dear listeners, is for another episode.
Sources used:
Geschiedenis van Belgie Deel 3 by Henri Pirenne
Philips van Kleef by A. de Fouw
‘Punished and corrected as an example to all’ by J. H. Spijkers
Monarchies, States Generals and Parliaments by Helmut Koenigsberger
‘The Burgundian Netherlands, 1477–1521’ in The New Cambridge Modern History, chapter by C. A. J. Armstrong
Chroniques de Jean Molinet. T. 3
‘De strijd om het regentschap over Filips de Schone. Opstand, facties en geweld in Brugge, Gent en Ieper (1482-1488)’ by Jelle Haemers
‘Factionalism and State Power in the Flemish Revolt (1482-1492)’ by Jelle Haemers
Geschichte der Schweizer-Söldner bis zur Errichtung der ersten stehenden Garde (1497) by Wolfgang Friedrich von Mülinen
Margaret of York: The Diabolical Duchess by Christine Weightman
History of King Henry VII by Francis Bacon
‘Liturgical Memory and Civic Conflict: The Entry of Emperor Frederick III and Maximilian, King of the Romans, into Bruges on 1 August 1486’ by Andrew Brown