Every one was taken up with the funeral solemnities of Duke Philip;
he was to be finally interred with his father and grandfather in the
grand tombs at Dijon, but for the present the body was to be placed
in the Church of St. Donatus at Bruges, at night.
Sir Leonard rode at a foot's pace in the troop of men-at-arms, all in
full armour, which glanced in the light of the sixteen hundred
torches which were borne before, behind, and in the midst of the
procession, which escorted the bier. Outside the coffin, arrayed in
ducal coronet and robes, with the Golden Fleece collar round the
neck, lay the exact likeness of the aged Duke, and on shields around
the pall, as well as on banners borne waving aloft, were the armorial
bearings of all his honours, his four dukedoms, seven counties,
lordships innumerable, besides the banners of all the guilds carried
to do him honour.
More than twenty prelates were present, and shared in the mass, which
began in the morning hour, and in the requiem. The heralds of all
the domains broke their white staves and threw them on the bier,
proclaiming that Philip, lord of all these lands, was deceased.
Then, as in the case of royalty, Charles his son was proclaimed; and
the organ led an acclamation of jubilee from all the assembly which
filled the church, and a shout as of thunder arose, "Vivat Carolus."
Charles knelt meanwhile with hands clasped over his brow, silent,
immovable.
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