Mary of Burgundy; or, The Revolt of Ghent

by G. P. R. James

The monk gazed for a moment upon the little leathern bag, whose weight, as it sunk into his palm, seemed to convey to him a full idea of its value; and then raising his merry grey eyes to the face of his travelling companion, he replied, "This is great nonsense, my son, quite unnecessary, I assure you; and, indeed, I cannot accept it, except upon one condition."

"What is that, my good father?" demanded the young burgher, supposing that the monk was about to affect some notable piece of disinterestedness.

"Merely that you will promise me, my son," replied Father Barnabas, "that in case you should ever hereafter meet with a certain friend of ours, whom some people call the Vert Gallant of Hannut, you will be as silent as the dead about ever having given a leathern purse to poor Father Barnabas, as he may well ask, what is the use of a purse to a holy brother, who vows never to have any money to put into it. Do you understand me, my son?"

"Perfectly, perfectly," replied Albert Maurice, "and promise you with all my heart never to mention it."

"So be it then," rejoined the monk, "and benedicite;--I shall take the horse and the mule out of the stable, and speed upon my way."

As soon as the monk was gone, Albert Maurice explained to his uncle, as briefly as possible, all that had occurred to him during his absence from Ghent; and the distress, agitation, and terror of the worthy burgher, at every stage of his nephew's story, were beyond all description. "Alack, and a well-a-day! my poor boy," he cried;--"alack, and a well-a-day! I thought what all these travellings would come to, sooner or later. Good Lord! good Lord! why should men travel at all! In my young days I never, if I could help it, set my foot three leagues out of Ghent; and the first time I ever was seduced to do so, I was caught by robbers in that cursed wood of Hannut, and was obliged to sleep a whole night upon the cold damp ground."

The young citizen calmed his uncle's agitation as much as possible, and then proceeded to consult with him as to the best means they could adopt, in case that Maillotin du Bac should recover from the drubbing he had received, and pursue, as he doubtless would, the purposes he had previously entertained. In some things, Martin Fruse was not deficient in shrewdness; and he instantly saw the advantages that would be gained by a personal application to the princess, if his nephew were again arrested.

"If," said he, "we still had our old laws, I should say at once, appeal to the eschevins, because, as we used to elect them ourselves, we should have had justice at least, if not favour. But now that the twenty-six, from the Grand Bailli down to the last secretary, are all named by the creatures of the duke, this Maillotin du Bac gets them to warrant everything he does, while the princess, who is kind and generous, will be sure to judge in your favour, especially when she sees the papers that prove you were first arrested for taking part with a woman; and her council, who have nothing to do with the Prevot, will take care not to thwart her who will one day be their mistress."

It was consequently determined, after some farther discussion, to follow the line of conduct suggested by the leader of the adventurers. Such precautions as were necessary to ensure against any of those secret proceedings, which sometimes made clean conveyance with an obnoxious person, before any of his friends were aware, were then concerted between Albert Maurice and his uncle; and the young citizen, pleading fatigue, retired to the apartments which he had occupied as a boy.

There was something in the aspect of the chamber, the quaint old tapestry, with the eyes of many of the figures shot through by the arrows which he used to direct against them, in the wanton sport of childhood, the table notched with the boy's unceasing knife, the well-remembered bed, in which had been dreamed many of the pleasant dreams of early years; there was something in the aspect of the whole that called up the peaceful past, and contrasted itself almost painfully with the present. Setting down the lamp which he bore in his hand, Albert Maurice cast himself on a seat, and gazing round the apartment, while the thousand memories of every well-known object spoke to his heart with the sweet murmuring voice of the days gone; and while all the perils and anxieties of his actual situation, the imminent danger from which he had just escaped, the menacing fate which still hung over his head, and the fierce struggle in which he was likely to be engaged, pressed for present attention, he could not help exclaiming, "Oh, boyhood! happy, happy boyhood! must thou never, never come again!"