Ghent had long since made apologies for the sorry reception accorded to their incoming Count of Flanders in 1467, but Charles had postponed the formal amende until a convenient moment of leisure.  January 15, 1469, was finally appointed for this ceremony and the occasion was utilised to show the duke’s grandeur, the city’s humiliation, to as many people as possible who might spread the report far and wide.

It was a Sunday.  Out in the courtyard of the palace the snow was thick on the ground where a group of Ghent burghers cooled their heels for an hour and a half, awaiting a summons to the ducal presence.  There, too, where every one could see those emblems of the artisans’ corporate strength, fluttered fifty-two banners unfurled before the deans of the Ghentish metiers.[1]

Within, the great hall of the palace showed a splendid setting for a brilliant assembly.  The most famous Burgundian tapestries hung on the walls.  Episodes from the careers of Alexander, of Hannibal, and of other notable ancients formed the background for the duke and his nobles, knights of the Golden Fleece, in festal array.  As spectators, too, there were all the envoys and ambassadors then present in Brussels from “France, England, Hungary, Bohemia, Naples, Aragon, Sicily, Cyprus, Norway, Poland, Denmark, Russia, Livornia, Prussia, Austria, Milan, Lombardy, and other places.”

Charles himself was installed grandly on a kind of throne, and to his feet Olivier de la Marche conducted the civic procession of penitents.  Before this pompous gathering, after a statement of the city’s sin and sorrow, the precious charter called the Grand Privilege of Ghent was solemnly read aloud, and then cut up into little pieces with a pen-knife.  Next followed a recitation of the penalties imposed upon, and accepted by, the citizens (closing of the gates, etc)., and then the paternal Count of Flanders, duly mollified, pronounced the fault forgiven with the benediction, “By virtue of this submission and by keeping your promises and being good children, you shall enjoy our grace and we will be a good prince.”  “May our Saviour Jesus Christ confirm and preserve this peace to the end of this century,” is the pious ejaculation with which the Relation closes.

Among the witnesses of the above scene, when the independent citizens of Ghent meekly posed as the duke’s children, were envoys from George Podiebrad, ex-king of Bohemia.  Lately deposed by the pope, he was seeking some favourable ally who might help him to recover his realm.  He had conceived a plan for a coalition between Bohemia, Poland, Austria, and Hungary to present a solid rampart against the Turks, and strong enough to dictate to emperor and pope.  He was ready for intrigue with any power and had approached Louis XI. and Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, before turning to Charles of Burgundy.[2]

Meantime, the Emperor Frederic tried to knit links with this same Matthias by suggesting that he might be the next emperor, assuring him that he could count on the support of the electors of Mayence, of Treves, and of Saxony.  He himself was world-weary and was anxious to exchange his imperial cares for the repose of the Church could he only find a safe guardian for his son, Maximilian, and a desirable successor for himself.  Would not Matthias consider the two offices?