But sunshine followed close upon the rain, and fair weather smiled upon their entry into the city, their approach to which was greeted by a clashing peal of bells from every church tower, and heralded by the blare of trumpets and the rattle of drums long before anything could be seen of the procession. On it came at last,—first, the musicians, then a long train of archers brought by the Duke of Somerset from England, with whose royal house Charles the Bold was connected through his wife. These were followed by a group of heralds. And now, amid the deafening shouts and acclamations of the multitude, appeared the Emperor and the Duke, riding side by side. Old Irmy’s somewhat elevated position enabled him to look over the heads of the intervening spectators. That rider glittering with gold and jewels, his embroidered doublet thickly set with pearls, sitting his horse so stooped and carelessly—the man with the listless, indifferent expression and heavy, protruding under lip—could he be the ruler of the Holy Roman Empire? Alas! what could be hoped for from one whose utter lack of strength and firmness was so evident? It was far pleasanter to look on the youthful figure behind him, the Grand Duke Maximilian, whose handsome and intelligent face was framed with a mass of fair curling hair. Clad all in velvet and silver, he rode between the Archbishops of Mayence and Treves. Accompanying these Princes of the Church was a singular companion, designated by the onlookers as “the Turk.” This was a son of the Sultan, who had been taken captive by the Christians and received the baptismal name of Calixtus. He lived at the Austrian court and was fond of appearing in costumes of startling gorgeousness. These personages did not claim attention long, however, for all eyes quickly turned to the centre of interest, the man who rode at the Emperor’s side. Charles the Bold could certainly never have been called handsome, whatever his flatterers might claim; but fire and energy gleamed in his dark eyes, proud self-confidence, inflexible will, and haughty defiance were stamped upon his countenance. The personality of the Prince denoted an overbearing imperiousness that seemed to challenge at once admiration and repugnance, affection and antipathy. Magnificent, indeed, was the Duke’s attire. Over the breastplate of polished steel he wore a cloak so covered with pearls, diamonds, and rubies that the merchant from Basle estimated its value at two hundred thousand gold florins, while in his velvet cap sparkled a single jewel that was priceless. The Duke’s charger also called forth universal admiration. It was a black horse of matchless strength and beauty, equipped in full mail and decked with gold and jewelled housings that swept the ground. Behind the princes followed a long train of German and Burgundian nobles, among them the privy councillors of the Emperor and of the Duke, and the envoys of Albert of Brandenburg, who was called Achilles.[6]