Mary of Burgundy; or, The Revolt of Ghent

by G. P. R. James

But that pretext would not avail a moment before the stern inquisitor within; and he felt that he, in whom the real power lay, if he did not interpose to shield the innocent, made himself responsible for their blood.

The heart of man cannot long endure such racking self-examination; and the most dangerous resource, but the only refuge from present pain, is flight from thought. As sad an hour's commune with himself as ever sinful human being passed, ended with Albert Maurice, in a resolution to think no more of the unchangeable hours of the past, and to fix his mind upon the present. After pausing for a moment, during which his ideas wandered confusedly over a number of objects, without finding any subject of contemplation of sufficient importance to withdraw his thoughts, for an instant, from the engrossing theme that ever called them back with painful importunity, some sudden memory seemed to come across him; and, taking up one of the lamps, he proceeded into the ante-chamber, in which waited several of his attendants. Giving the light to a page, with orders to go on before, the young citizen paced slowly through several of the halls and corridors of the town-house, his footfall, ever firm and proud, taking now a more heavy and determined step, from the feeling of the dark, stern deeds which he had done. Descending one of the staircases, he came to that portion of the building which was set apart as the municipal prison; and, proceeding to a small chamber or lodge, he demanded the keys of the gaoler, who was dozing by the fire.

The man immediately delivered them; and, passing onwards, the President of the States entered the gloomy dwelling, and descended the staircase which led to the lowest chambers of the prison. He was surprised, however, to perceive a light; and the moment after, in the low passage which ran between six or seven small heavy archways leading to the cells, his eye fell upon a trooper of the Prevot's guard, seated upon a stone bench at the end, employed in furbishing the steel of his partisan by the light of a lamp above his head.

The man instantly started on his feet; and, challenging the party that approached, advanced his weapon, till it nearly touched the bosom of the page. But Albert Maurice, stepping past the boy, put the pike aside, and demanded, sternly, what the soldier did there, in the municipal prison.

He was there, the man replied, by order of his captain, and was commanded to give admission to none, but the gaoler with food for the prisoner.

"Your officer is somewhat too bold!" replied the young burgher, "and must answer for having dared to place a sentry where he himself has no authority. Get thee gone, good fellow--you know me--get thee gone; and let me not see your face within these walls again."

The man at first hesitated; and at length refused to obey, alleging, civilly, the commands of his own captain, which he was bound to follow. Well knowing the station and power of the person whom he addressed, he spoke with courtesy and respect; but Albert Maurice was in that state of dissatisfied irritation, which the first reproaches of conscience leave upon a fine and energetic mind; and, returning to the upper chambers, he instantly summoned a guard, and caused the soldier to be disarmed, and confined him in one of the very dungeons he had been placed to watch.

There was a stern fierceness in the whole proceeding, unlike his usual decisive but mild demeanour; and those who watched him well, remarked, that upon his mind and character, such as they had appeared throughout the whole course of his life, that day had left a trace which no after-events could obliterate. When he had seen his orders obeyed, he dismissed the guard, and bidding the page wait him on the stairs, he advanced alone to one of the cells and applied the various keys he carried to the lock. It was some time before he found the right one; and he thought he heard more than one low groan, while employed in opening the door. At length, however, he succeeded, and entered the dungeon, which was dark and dismal enough.

Stripped of arms, both offensive and defensive, and stretched upon a pile of straw, lay the gallant and enterprising Hugh de Mortmar, as we have generally called him, with every limb powerless and rigid, in consequence of the trampling and blows he had received while trodden under foot in the market-place. His fine head leaned languidly upon his arm, while, with a motion which, however slight, seemed full of anguish, he turned a little as he lay, to see who it was that visited his prison. The light, for a moment, dazzled his eyes; but when he perceived the face of Albert Maurice, a slight smile of pleasure played on his lip. It was a face he knew; it was a being on whom he had some claim, that came to visit him; and it is only necessary to think over his situation--friendless, a prisoner, and alone, with every mental power oppressed, and every corporeal faculty rigid and benumbed--to comprehend what joy such a sight must have given, however criminal he might hold some of his visitor's deeds to be.

The young citizen set down the lamp, and seated himself on a rude wooden settle, which was the only article of furniture that the place contained. Bending down his head over the prisoner, he said, in a kind and gentle tone, "Do you remember me?"