the features of her
redoubtable father; above all, there is that heavy lip and protruding
jaw, so very noticeable in her descendants as to become a distinguishing
family mark, albeit they call it Austrian, not Burgundian. But she was a
comely girl; besides, would suitors hang back because the richest
heiress in Europe was not at the same time a Venus?

Charles met with no difficulty in finding suitors for his daughter's
hand; there was merely the embarrassment of choice among so many who
might be considered or who considered themselves eligible. At length, in
1473, Marie was betrothed to Nicholas of Calabria. But Nicholas died,
and Marie was again to be disposed of; the betrothal had been too
absolutely a matter of politics to justify any delay in seeking a new
husband now that death had removed Nicholas. It happened that just at
this time Charles was very eager to propitiate the empire, in
furtherance of those schemes of monarchy that now began to assume
definite shape in his imagination. The Archduke Maximilian, though
somewhat more than three years younger than Marie, and though poor, was
nevertheless the son of the emperor, and might be considered useful to
Burgundy. The negotiations were conducted quietly; Charles did not, it
appears, wish to show himself too anxious; perhaps he was thinking that
circumstances might change, and therefore did not wish to commit himself
to this match beyond the power of recall.

For the present, however, the noble lovers, who had never met, were both
rather young; there was no need to hurry matters, since Charles himself
was still in the prime of life. The disastrous campaign of the great
duke in Switzerland has been described many a time, by historians
friendly and unfriendly, and by a great romancer who loved all chivalry
and who yet could not withhold his admiration from the intrepid Swiss
freemen who bore down the power of Burgundy at Granson, at Morat, and at
Nancy. Yet, whether we consider Charles a great ruler and leader or a
mere military ruffian, no one can look without pity upon that
snow-covered battlefield of Nancy, where a generous foe and the
heartbroken servants of "the pride of chivalry" must look in vain for
two days for the body of Charles; none could surely tell how he had
fallen; and when they found his frozen body the dogs had eaten half of
one cheek, and the wounds on the head rendered it almost unrecognizable.

Mademoiselle de Bourgogne, as she was now to be