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 1\. U l\jtV lUii. lib XVUMArsL/Jli. 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 BY HENEY TAYLOE. 
 
 'Draniatica Poesis est reluti Historia spectabilis." 
 
 BACON DE AtGMENTIS. 
 
 SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1862. 
 
F 
 
 
 Transfer 
 
 Engineer School l_lb# 
 Attg. 12, 1931 
 

 EOBEET SOUTHEY. 
 
 This Book, though it should travel far and wide 
 
 As ever unripe Author's quick conceit 
 
 Could feign his page dispersed, should nowhere meet 
 A friendlier censor than by Greta's side, 
 
 A warmer welcome than at Skiddaw's feet. 
 Unhappily infrequent in the land 
 
 Is now the sage seclusion, the retreat 
 Sacred to letters : but let this command 
 Fitting acknowledgment, — that time and tide 
 
 Saw never yet embellish'd with more grace 
 Outward and inward, with more charms allied, 
 
 With honours more attended, man or place, 
 Than where by Greta's silver current sweet 
 Learning still keeps one calm sequester'd seat. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD EDITION. 
 ♦ — 
 
 Ik the Advertisement to the Second Edition of this Work, 
 published three months after the first, it was stated that the one 
 differed from the other only in one or two trifling insertions, 
 in the correction of some faults which had been pointed out in 
 periodical publications, and in the alteration of a few lines here 
 and there, made for the most part with a view to consolidate 
 the rhythm. In the years which have since elapsed there has 
 been ample time for revision, and though some of the more 
 material defects, being what may be called structural, are so 
 incorporated with the whole as to be beyond the reach of 
 correction ; yet the Author trusts that much improvement has 
 been effected by the removal of blemishes that lay on the 
 surface. One or two short scenes have been introduced also 
 where they seemed to be wanted for purposes either of con- 
 nection or separation. 
 
 Naples. January. 1S41. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 In publishing the Sixth Edition the Author wishes to add, 
 that he has been indebted to the critical discernment and true 
 poetic feeling of Professor Heimann, the German translator of 
 the Work, for suggestions which have been of great value to 
 him in the renewed revision of it. 
 
 Mortlake, April, 1852. 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 As this work, consisting of two Plays and an 
 Interlude, is equal in length to about six such plays 
 as are adapted to representation, it is almost un- 
 necessary to say that it was not intended for the 
 stage. It is properly an Historical Romance, cast 
 in a dramatic and rhythmical form. Historic truth 
 is preserved in it, as far as the material events are 
 concerned — of course with the usual exception of 
 such occasional dilatations and compressions of time 
 as are required in dramatic composition. 
 
 This is, perhaps, all the explanation which is 
 absolutely required in this place ; but as there may 
 be readers who feel an inclination to learn something 
 of an author's tastes in poetry before they proceed 
 to the perusal of what he has written, I will take the 
 opportunity which a preface affords me of expressing 
 my opinions upon two or three of the most prominent 
 features in the present state of poetical literature; 
 and I shall do so the more gladly because I am 
 apprehensive that without some previous intimations 
 of the kind, my work might occasion disappointment 
 
x PKEFACE. 
 
 to the admirers of that highly coloured poetry which 
 has been popular in these latter years. If in the 
 strictures which, with this object, I may be led to 
 make upon authors of great reputation, I should 
 appear to be wanting in the respect due to prevalent 
 opinions, — opinions which, from the very circumstance 
 of their prevalence, must be assumed to be partaken 
 by many to whom deference is owing, — I trust that 
 it will be attributed, not to any spirit of dogmatism, 
 far less to a love of disparagement ; but simply to the 
 desire of exercising, with a discreet freedom, that 
 humble independence of judgment in matters of taste, 
 which it is for the advantage of literature that every 
 man of letters should maintain. 
 
 My views have not, in truth, been founded upon 
 any predisposition to depreciate the popular poetry of 
 the times. It will always produce a powerful im- 
 pression upon very young readers, and I scarcely think 
 that it can have been more admired by any than by 
 myself, when I was included in that category. I have 
 not ceased to admire this poetry in its degree ; and the 
 interlude which I have inserted between these plays 
 will show, that, to a limited extent, I have been 
 desirous even to cultivate and employ it : but I am 
 unable to concur in opinion with those who would 
 place it in the foremost ranks of the art : nor does 
 it seem to have been capable of sustaining itself quite 
 firmly in the very high degree of public estimation in 
 which it was held at its first appearance and for some 
 years afterwards. The poetical taste to which some 
 of the popular poets of this century gave birth, appears 
 
PREFACE. xi 
 
 at present to maintain a more unshaken dominion 
 over the writers of poetry, than over its readers. 
 
 These poets were characterised by great sensibility 
 and fervour, by a profusion of imagery, by force and 
 beauty of language, and by a versification peculiarly 
 easy and adroit, and abounding in that sort of melody 
 which, by its very obvious cadences, makes itself most 
 pleasing to an unpractised ear. They exhibited, there- 
 fore, many of the most attractive graces and charms 
 of poetry — its vital warmth not less than its external 
 embellishments ; and had not the admiration which 
 they excited tended to produce an indifference to 
 higher, graver, and more various endowments, no one 
 would have said that it was, in any evil sense, exces- 
 sive. But from this unbounded indulgence in the 
 mere luxuries of poetry, has there not ensued a want 
 of adequate appreciation for its intellectual and 
 immortal part ? I confess that such seems to me 
 to have been both the actual and the natural result ; 
 and I can hardly believe the public taste to have 
 been in a healthy state whilst the most approved 
 poetry of past times was almost unread. We may now 
 perhaps be turning back to it ; but it was not, as far 
 as I can judge, till more than a quarter of a century 
 had expired, that any signs of re-action could be 
 discerned. Till then, the elder luminaries of our 
 poetical literature were obscured or little regarded ; 
 and we sate with dazzled eyes at a high festival of 
 poetry, where, as at the funeral of Arvalan, the torch- 
 light put out the star-light. 
 
 So keen was the sense of what the new poets 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 possessed, that it never seemed to be felt that any- 
 thing was deficient in them. Tet their deficiencies 
 were not unimportant. They wanted, in the first 
 place, subject-matter. A feeling came more easily 
 to them than a reflection, and an image was always 
 at hand when a thought was not forthcoming. Either 
 they did not look upon mankind with observant eyes, 
 or they did not feel it to be any part of their vocation 
 to turn what they saw to account. It did not belong 
 to poetry, in their apprehension, to thread the mazes 
 of life in all its classes and under all its circumstances, 
 common as well as romantic, and, seeing all things, to 
 infer and to instruct : on the contrary, it was to stand 
 aloof from everything that is plain and true ; to have 
 little concern with what is rational or wise ; it was to 
 be, like music, a moving and enchanting art, acting 
 upon the fancy, the affections, the passions, but 
 scarcely connected with the exercise of the intellectual 
 faculties. These writers had, indeed, adopted a tone 
 of language which is hardly consistent with the state 
 of mind in which a man makes use of his understand- 
 ing. The realities of nature, and the truths which 
 they suggest, would have seemed cold and incongruous, 
 if suffered to mix with the strains of impassioned 
 sentiment and glowing imagery in which they poured 
 themselves forth. Spirit was not to be debased by 
 any union with matter, in their effusions ; dwelling, 
 as they did, in a region of poetical sentiment which 
 did not permit them to walk upon the common earth 
 or to breathe the common air. 
 
 Writers, however, whose appeal is made so exclu- 
 
PREFACE. xin 
 
 sively to the excitabilities of mankind, will not find 
 it possible to work upon them continuously without a 
 diminishing effect. Poetry of which sense is not the 
 basis, — sense rapt or inspired by passion, not bewil- 
 dered or subverted, — poetry over which the passionate 
 reason of Man does not preside in all its strength as 
 well as all its ardours, — though it may be excellent of 
 its kind, will not long be reputed to be poetry of the 
 highest order. It may move the feelings and charm 
 the fancy ; but failing to satisfy the understanding, it 
 will not take permanent possession of the strong-holds 
 of fame. Lord Byron, in giving the most admirable 
 example of this species of poetry, undoubtedly gave 
 the strongest impulse to the appetite for it. Yet 
 this impulse is losing its force, and even Lord Byron 
 himself repudiated, in the latter years of his life, the 
 poetical taste which he had espoused and propagated. 
 The constitution of this writer's mind is not difficult 
 to understand, and sufficiently explains the growth 
 of his taste. 
 
 Had he united a philosophical intellect with his 
 peculiarly poetical temperament, he would probably 
 have been the greatest poet of his age. But no man can 
 be a very great poet who is not also a great philosopher. 
 Whatever Lord Byron's natural powers may have 
 been, idleness and light reading, an early acquisition 
 of popularity by the exercise of a single talent, and 
 an absorbing and contracting self-love, confined the 
 field of his operations within narrow limits. He was 
 in knowledge merely a man of Belles-lettres ; nor does 
 he appear at any time to have betaken himself to such 
 
XIV PREFACE. 
 
 studies as would have teuded to the cultivation and 
 discipline of his reasoning powers or the enlargement 
 of his mind. He had, however, not only an ardent 
 and brilliant imagination, but a clear understanding^ 
 and the signs both of what he had and of what he 
 wanted are apparent in his poetry. There is apparent 
 in it a working and moulding spirit, with a want 
 of material to work up, — a great command of language, 
 with a want of any views or reflections which, if 
 unembellished by imagery or unassociated with pas- 
 sionate feelings, it would be very much worth while to 
 express. Page after page throughout his earlier 
 poems, there is the same uninformed energy at work 
 upon the same old feelings ; and when at last he 
 became conscious that a theme was wanting, it was 
 at a period of life when no man will consent to put 
 himself to school; he could change his style and 
 manner, but he could not change his moral and 
 intellectual being, nor extend the sphere of his 
 contemplations to subjects which were alien in spirit 
 from those with which he had been hitherto, whether 
 in life or in literature, exclusively conversant : in 
 short, his mind was past the period of growth ; there 
 was (to use a phrase of Ben Jonson's) an ingeni- 
 stitium, or wit-stand : he felt, apparently, that the 
 food on which he had fed his mind had not been 
 invigorating ; but he could no longer bear a stronger 
 diet, and he turned his genius loose to rove over the 
 surface of society, content with such light observations 
 upon life and manners as any acute man of the world 
 might collect upon his travels, and conscious that he 
 
PREFACE. xv 
 
 could recommend them to attention by such wit, 
 brilliancy, dexterity of phrase, and versatility of fancy, 
 as no one but himself could command. 
 
 His misanthropy was probably, like his tenderness, 
 not practical, but merely matter of imagination, 
 assumed for purposes of effect. But whilst his igno- 
 rance of the better elements of human nature may 
 be believed to have been in a great measure affected, 
 it is not to be supposed that he knew of them with 
 a large and appreciating knowledge. Yet that know- 
 ledge of human nature which is exclusive of what is 
 good in it, is, to say the least, as shallow and imper- 
 fect as that which is exclusive of what is evil. There 
 is no such thing as philosophical misanthropy ; and 
 if a misanthropical spirit, be it genuine or affected, be 
 found to pervade a man's writings, that spirit may 
 be poetical as far as it goes, but being at fault in 
 its philosophy, it will never, in the long run of time, 
 approve itself equal to the institution of a poetical 
 fame of the highest and most durable order. 
 
 These imperfections are especially observable in 
 the portraitures of human character (if such it can 
 be called) which are most prominent in Lord Byron's 
 works. There is nothing in them of the mixture and 
 modification, — nothing of the composite fabric which 
 Nature has assigned to Man. They exhibit rather 
 passions personified than persons impassioned. But 
 there is a yet worse defect in them. Lord Byron's 
 conception of a hero is an evidence, not only of 
 scanty materials of knowledge from which to construct 
 the ideal of a human being, but also of a want of 
 
xvi PREFACE. 
 
 perception of what is great or noble in our nature. 
 His heroes are creatures abandoned to their passions, 
 and essentially, therefore, weak of mind. Strip them 
 of the veil of mystery and the trappings of poetry, 
 resolve them into their plain realities, and they are 
 such beings as, in the eyes of a reader of masculine 
 judgment, would certainly excite no sentiment of 
 admiration, even if they did not provoke contempt. 
 When the conduct and feelings attributed to them 
 are reduced into prose, and brought to the test of a 
 rational consideration, they must be perceived to 
 be beings in whom there is no strength except that 
 of their intensely selfish passions, — in whom all is 
 vanity; their exertions being for vanity under the 
 name of love or revenge, and their sufferings for 
 vanity under the name of pride. If such beings as 
 these are to be regarded as heroical, where in human 
 nature are we to look for what is low in sentiment 
 or infirm in character ? 
 
 How nobly opposite to Lord Byron's ideal was that 
 conception of an heroical character which took life 
 and immortality from the hand of Shakspeare : — 
 
 " Give me that man 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 In my heart's core; aye, in my heart of heart." 
 
 Lord Byron's genius, however, was powerful enough 
 to cast a highly romantic colouring over these puerile 
 creations, and to impart the charms of forcible ex- 
 pression, fervid feeling, and beautiful imagery, to 
 thoughts in themselves not more remarkable for 
 
PREFACE. xvn 
 
 novelty than for soundness. The public required 
 nothing more ; and if he himself was brought latterly 
 to a sense of his deficiencies of knowledge and general 
 intellectual cultivation, it must have been more by 
 the effect of time in so far maturing his very vigorous 
 understanding than by any correction from without. 
 No writer of his age has had less of the benefits of 
 adverse criticism. His own judgment and that of his 
 readers have been left equally without check or 
 guidance ; and the decline in popular estimation 
 which he has suffered for these last few years 
 may be rather attributed to a satiated appetite on 
 the part of the public than to a rectified taste : for 
 those who have ceased to admire his poetry so 
 ardently as they did do not appear in general to 
 have transferred their admiration to any worthier 
 object. 
 
 ISTor can it be said that anything better, or indeed 
 anything half so good, has been subsequently pro- 
 duced. The poetry of the day, whilst it is greatly 
 inferior in quality, continues to be like his in kind. 
 It consists of little more than a poetical diction, 
 an arrangement of words implying a sensitive state 
 of mind, and therefore more or less calculated to 
 excite corresponding associations, though, for the 
 most part, not pertinently to any matter in hand ; 
 a diction which addresses itself to the sentient, not 
 the percipient, properties of the mind, and displays 
 merely symbols or types of feelings which might 
 exist with equal force in a being the most barren of 
 understanding. 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 It may be proper, however, to take a distinction 
 between the ordinary Byronian poetry, and that 
 w r hich may be considered as the offspring, either 
 in the first or second generation, of the genins of 
 Mr. Shelley. Mr. Shelley was a person of a more 
 powerful and expansive imagination than Lord Byron, 
 but he was inferior to him in those practical abilities 
 which (unacceptable as such an opinion may be to 
 those who believe themselves to be writing under 
 the guidance of inspiration) are essential to the pro- 
 duction of consummate poetry. The editor of Mr. 
 Shelley's posthumous poems apologises for the pub- 
 lication of some fragments in a very incomplete 
 state by remarking how much " more than every other 
 poet of the present day, every line arid word he wrote 
 is instinct with peculiar beauty." Let no man sit 
 down to write with the purpose of making every 
 line and word beautiful and peculiar. The only effect 
 of such an endeavour will be to corrupt his judgment 
 and confound his understanding. In Mr. Shelley's 
 case, besides an endeavour of this kind, there seems 
 to have been an attempt to unrealise every object 
 in nature, presenting them under forms and combina- 
 tions in which they are never to be seen through the 
 mere medium of our eye-sight. Mr. Shelley seems 
 to have written under the notion that no phenomena 
 can be perfectly poetical, until they shall have been 
 so decomposed from their natural order and coherency 
 as to be brought before the reader in the likeness of 
 a phantasma or a vision. A poet is, in his estimation, 
 (if I may venture to infer his principles from his 
 
PREFACE. x:x 
 
 practice,) purely and pre-eminently a visionary. Much 
 beauty, exceeding splendour of diction and imagery, 
 cannot but be perceived in his poetry, as well as 
 exquisite charms of versification ; and a reader of 
 an apprehensive fancy will doubtless be entranced 
 whilst he reads : but when he shall have closed the 
 volume and considered within himself what it has 
 added to his stock of permanent impressions, of 
 recurring thoughts, of pregnant recollections, he 
 will probably find his stores in this kind no more 
 enriched by having read Mr. Shelley's poems, than 
 by having gazed on so many gorgeously coloured 
 clouds in an evening sky. Surpassingly beautiful 
 they were whilst before his eyes ; but forasmuch 
 as they had no relevancy to his life, past or future, 
 the impression upon the memory barely survived 
 that upon the senses. 
 
 I would by no means wish to be understood as 
 saying that a poet can be too imaginative, provided 
 that his other faculties be exercised in due proportion 
 to his imagination. I would have no man depress 
 his imagination, but I would have him raise his 
 reason to be its equipoise. What I would be under- 
 stood to oppugn is the strange opinion which seems 
 to prevail amongst certain of our writers and readers 
 of poetry, that good sense stands in a species of 
 antagonism to poetical genius, instead of being one of 
 its most essential constituents. The maxim that a poet 
 should be " of imagination all compact," is not, I think, 
 to be adopted thus literally. That predominance of the 
 imaginative faculty, or of impassioned temperament, 
 
XX PREFACE. 
 
 which is incompatible with the attributes of a sound 
 understanding and a just judgment, may make a rhap- 
 sodist, a melodist, or a visionary, each of whom may 
 produce what may be admired for the particular talent 
 and beauty belonging to it : but imagination and pas- 
 sion thus unsupported will never make a poet in the 
 largest and highest sense of the appellation : — 
 
 " For Poetry is Reason's self sublimed ; 
 'Tis Reason's sovereignty, whereunto 
 All properties of sense, all dues of wit, 
 All fancies, images, perceptions, passions, 
 All intellectual ordinance grown up 
 From accident, necessity, or custom, 
 Seen to be good, and after made authentic ; 
 All ordinance aforethought, that from science 
 Doth prescience take, and from experience law ; 
 All lights and institutes of digested knowledge, 
 Gifts and endowments of intelligence 
 From sources living, from the dead bequests, — 
 Subserve and minister."* 
 
 Mr. Shelley and his disciples, however, — the fol- 
 lowers, (if I may so call them) of the phais'tastic 
 school, labour to effect a revolution in this order of 
 things. They would transfer the domicile of poetry 
 to regions where reason, far from having any su- 
 premacy or rule, is all but unknown, an alien and an 
 outcast ; to seats of anarchy and abstraction, where 
 imagination exercises the shadow of an authority, 
 over a people of phantoms, in a land of dreams. 
 
 In bringing these cursory criticisms to an end, 
 I must beg leave to warn the reader against any 
 expectation that he will find my work free either from 
 *MS. 
 
PHEFACE. XXI 
 
 the faults which I attribute to others, or from faults 
 which may be worse, and more peculiarly my own. 
 The actual works of men will not bear to be measured 
 by their ideal standards in any case ; and I may 
 observe, in reference to my own, that my critical 
 views have rather resulted from composition than 
 directed it. If, however, I have been unable to avoid 
 the errors which I condemn, or errors not less censur- 
 able, I trust, that, on the other hand, I shall not be 
 found to have deprived myself, by any narrowness or 
 perversity of judgment, of the advantage which the 
 study of these writers, exceptionable though they 
 be, may undoubtedly afford to one who, whilst duly 
 taking note of their general defects, shall not have 
 closed his mind to a perception of their particular 
 excellences. I feel and have already expressed, a 
 most genuine and I hope not an inadequate admira- 
 tion for the powers w r hich they respectively possess ; 
 and wherever it might occur to me that the exercise 
 of those powers would be appropriate and consistent, 
 I should not fail to benefit by their example to the 
 extent of my capabilities. To say, indeed, that I 
 admire them, is to admit that I owe them much ; 
 for admiration is never thrown away upon the mind 
 of him who feels it, except w r hen it is misdirected 
 or blindly indulged. There is perhaps nothing which 
 more enlarges or enriches the mind than the dis- 
 position to lay it genially open to impressions of 
 pleasure from the exercise of every species of talent ; 
 nothing by which it is more impoverished than 
 
 52 
 
xxii PREFACE. 
 
 the habit of undue depreciation. "What is puerile, 
 pusillanimous, or wicked, it can do us no good to 
 admire ; but let us admire all that can be admired 
 without debasing the dispositions or stultifying the 
 understanding. 
 
 London, May, 1834. 
 
INTEODUCTION. 
 
 In the fourteenth century the Flemish towns were 
 the most opulent and considerable in Europe ; and 
 of these, Ghent and Bruges were, in size, wealth, 
 and population, perhaps scarcely inferior even to 
 Venice. They were of right subject to the Earl of 
 Flanders, and in ordinary times he exercised by 
 his bailiffs the powers of sovereignty in them : but 
 they had secured various franchises and immunities, 
 which they guarded with jealousy, and which, when 
 need was, they rose in arms to defend. On such 
 occasions they were seldom all joined in a league 
 together ; for the trading interests of several of them 
 were in some respects opposite, and some would 
 generally remain subject to the Earl, and at war, 
 therefore, with those which leagued against him. 
 
 These towns were not only asunder one from 
 another, but each one was commonly divided by 
 parties within itself. The towns consisted each of 
 various crafts or guilds, as the weavers, the fullers, 
 the clothiers, the mariners, &c, and some of these crafts 
 were occasionally well affected towards the Earl, at 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the same time that others were disposed to rebellion. 
 But the chief opposition was between the rich inhabi- 
 tants and the poor. The rich wished for peace and 
 repose ; the poor were eager for war, which, in that 
 age, when most men were warlike, was perhaps the 
 best trade that a poor man could follow. When 
 therefore any of these towns was in rebellion, there 
 was generally a peace-faction within it, which rose 
 or fell in importance according to the varying circum- 
 stances of military success or failure. 
 
 In the year 1381, the inhabitants of Bruges made 
 themselves friends with Lois, Earl of Flanders, and 
 under the countenance of his authority, which they 
 purchased, began to cut a channel which would have 
 opened to them a direct communication with the 
 river Lis, the navigation of which was otherwise only 
 accessible to them by passing through Ghent. Ghent 
 was, however, by no means willing to lose her ex- 
 clusive possession or control of the navigation up 
 the Lis. Like the " Crowning City " of more ancient 
 days, " the harvest of the river was her revenue." 
 
 " There was at this time in Ghent a burgess called 
 John Lyon, a sage man, cruel, hardy, subtle, and a 
 great enterpriser, and cold and patient enough in 
 all his works." This John Lyon (the Flemish name 
 is Heins, but it is thus Englished) was a dismissed 
 officer of the Earl, and he took the opportunity of 
 the discontent occasioned by the proceedings of the 
 Earl and the people of Bruges, to revive an old 
 usage of Ghent, by which all the disaffected were 
 accustomed to form themselves into a corps, distin- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 guislied by white hoods, and subordinated to one 
 ruler. Such a corps was now formed, and John Lyon, 
 being chosen their chief, conducted a party of them 
 to attack the pioneers from Bruges who were digging 
 at the Lis. But the pioneers retreated, and desisted 
 without fighting. 
 
 The professed object of forming the corps was 
 accomplished therefore ; " but notwithstanding that, 
 John Lyon did not abandon his office, but the White- 
 Hoods went daily up and down the town, and John 
 Lyon kept them still in that state, and to some he would 
 say secretly, ' Hold you well content ; eat and drink, 
 and make merry, and be not concerned at any thing 
 you spend ; for hereafter such shall pay you as will 
 not now give you one penny.' " 
 
 For men thus organised and thus disposed, a fresh 
 cause of quarrel was easily to be found. " In the 
 same week that John Lyon had been thus at Deinse, 
 to have met with the pioneers of Bruges, there came 
 many out of the Franc of Ghent, to complain to them 
 that had then the rule of the law, and said, ' Sirs, at 
 Erclo, near here, which is within the Franchise of 
 Ghent, there is one of our burgesses in the Earl's 
 prison, and we have desired the Earl's bailiff there to 
 deliver him ; but he hath plainly answered that he 
 will not deliver him, which is evidently against the 
 privilege of this town of Ghent ; and so thereby your 
 privileges will be by degrees broken, which have 
 hitherto been so nobly and so highly praised, and 
 besides that, so well kept and maintained that none 
 ' durst break them, and that the most noble Knight 
 
XXYl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of Flanders considered it an honour to be a burgess 
 of Ghent.' Then they of the Law answered and said, 
 that ' they would write to the bailiff desiring that the 
 burgess may be delivered; for truly his office ex- 
 tendeth not so far as to keep our burgess in the 
 Earl's prison.' And so they wrote to the bailiff for 
 the deliverance of the burgess who was in prison in 
 Erclo. — The bailiff answered, c What needeth all these 
 words for a mariner ? Say,' quoth the bailiff, who 
 was named Soger d'Auterne, ' to them of Ghent, that 
 though he were ten times richer than he is, he shall 
 never go out of prison unless my lord the Earl 
 command it. I have power to arrest, but I have 
 no power to deliver.' " 
 
 They of Ghent were ill content with this answer, 
 and complained loudly to the Earl, who agreed to 
 release the prisoner and redress their grievances, on 
 condition that the "White-Hoods should be disbanded. 
 But John Lyon maintained that it was only by keep- 
 ing up the White-Hoods that they would ever have 
 any security for their privileges ; and in spite of all 
 the Earl's remonstrances, the White-Hoods increased 
 in number and were formed into companies with 
 captains over them. The Earl then sent his bailiff 
 to Ghent with two hundred men, to seize and execute 
 John Lyon and other captains. This brought on an 
 encounter in the market-place, where the bailiff was 
 slain and the Earl's banner torn in pieces by the 
 White-Hoods. 
 
 Such was the beginning of a war which continued 
 for several years between the Earl of Elanders and 
 
[NTBODUCTION xxvn 
 
 the town of Ghent, and in which the principal towns 
 on the part of the Earl were Bruges, Oudcnarde, 
 Dendermonde, Lisle, and Tournay; and those on the 
 
 part of Ghent were Damme, Ypres, Courtray, Gram- 
 niont, Poperinguen, and Messines : — A war which in its 
 progress extended to the whole of Flanders, and excited 
 a degree of interest in all the civilised countries of 
 Europe for which the cause must be sought in the 
 state of European communities at the time. It was 
 believed that entire success on the part of Ghent 
 woidd bring on a general rising almost throughout 
 Christendom, of the Commonalty against the Feudal 
 Lords and men of substance. The incorporation of the 
 citizens of Paris known by the name of " the Army 
 with Mallets," was, according to the well-known 
 chronicler of the period, " all by the example of them 
 of Ghent." Nicholas le Flaruand deterred them 
 from pulling down the Louvre, by urging the ex- 
 pediency of waiting to see what success might attend 
 the Flemish insurgents. At Eheims, Chalons on the 
 Marne, at Orleans, Beauvoisin, the like designs were 
 entertained. "The rebellion of the Jacquerie," says 
 Froissart, " was never so terrible as tins was likely 
 to have been." Brabant, Burgundy, and the lower 
 part of Germany, were in a dangerous condition ; 
 and in England "Wat Tyler's rebellion was contem- 
 poraneous and not unconnected with what was going 
 on in Flanders. 
 
 I have related by way of introduction, the origin 
 of the war, — not that the incidents in which it ori- 
 ginated are immediately connected with those of my 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 play, which opens at a later period, after the death 
 of John Lyon ; but because I have wished (as much 
 as in so small a compass may be) to give those of my 
 readers who may require it, a notion of the temper 
 of mind which prevailed in Manders towards the 
 end of the fourteenth century. 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 " No arts, no letters, no society, — and, which is worst of all, 
 continual fear and danger of violent death, and the life of Man, 
 solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." 
 
 Leviathan. Part I. c. 18. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MEN OF GHENT. 
 
 Philip Van Artevelde. 
 
 Peter Van den Bosch, "^ 
 
 Sir Guy, Lord of Occo, I , , - ., 1Tr , -. *„ 7 „ 
 ' > Leaders of the White-Hoods. 
 
 Peter Van Nuitre, 
 
 Frans Ackerman, J 
 
 Van Aeswyn, Squire to Sir Guy of Occo. 
 
 Henry Van Drongelen, Page to Van Artevelde. 
 
 Father John of Heda, a Monk, formerly Preceptor to Van Artevelde. 
 
 „ ' \ Deans of two of the Crafts. 
 Van Muck, j 
 
 Ukenheim, a Citizen. 
 
 Sir Simon Bette, 
 
 Sir Guisebert Geutt, J> Wealthy Citizens. 
 
 Myk Steensel, 
 
 MEN OF BRUGES. 
 The Earl of Flanders. 
 Sir Walter D'Arlon. 
 Gilbert Matthew. 
 Sir Robert Mareschault, and others. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 Adriana Van Merestyn. 
 
 Clara Van Artevelde, Sister of Philip Van Artevelde. 
 
 The Scene is laid sometimes at Ghent, sometimes at Bruges, 
 or in its neighbourhood. 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A Street in the Suburbs of Ghent. 
 The Lord op Occo, meeting Sir Simon Bette and Sir 
 
 GUISEBERT GRUTT. 
 OCCO. 
 
 Sir Guisebert Grutt, and, by my faith, I think 
 Sir Simon Bette too ! Pray you pardon me ; 
 I thought that you were sped upon your mission 
 To treat for peace at Bruges ? 
 
 SIR SIMON. ' 
 
 Sir, in good time. 
 We'd have a word with you before we go. 
 You are a noble born, my Lord of Occo ; 
 And let me tell you, many marvel much 
 To find a gentleman of so great worth 
 A flatterer of the Commons. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 Yea, my lord : 
 
 It looks not well when nobles fall away 
 
 b2 
 
4 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i 
 
 One from another. That the small-crafts here 
 Should lift their hands against their natural lord 
 Is but the plague and sorrow of the time, 
 Which we, that are of credit, must abide : 
 But ne'er till now a gentleman of name 
 Was found amongst their leaders. 
 
 occo. 
 
 Oh, dear sirs, 
 I could remind you how your sometime selves 
 Bore less goodwill toward the Earl's affairs 
 Than spurs your errand now ; and if to you 
 Pardon be promised, I would fain be told 
 Why not to me as well. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT, 
 
 Truly, why not? 
 To whoso merits it 'twill freely fall ; 
 So give us leave to make a good report 
 Of how you stand affected. 'Twere your wisdom. 
 
 occo. 
 Kind sirs, I thank you ; you shall say, so please you, 
 That I am not of them that evermore 
 Cry out for war, and having not a hope 
 Of the Earl's mercy, act as desperate men ; 
 For were I sure the multitude met pity, 
 It would not then behove me to stand out 
 For my particular ransom, — though, to say truth, 
 The Earl should do himself but little service 
 Were he to deal too hardly with us all. 
 
 SIR SIMON. 
 
 'Tis fairly spoken, sir. When we come back, 
 
 Bringing conditions with us as we trust, 
 
 We'll look for aid from vou amongst the Commons. 
 
I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 For truly there are here a sort of crafts 
 So factious still for war and obstinate, 
 That we shall be endanger'd. Suing for peace 
 Is ever treason to the White-Hoods. Well, 
 We'll look for your support. 
 
 occo. 
 
 God speed you, sirs. 
 To fair conditions you shall find me friendly. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Simon Bette and Sir Guisebert Grutt. 
 Van Aeswyn comes forward. 
 
 AESWYX. 
 
 My lord, were those that parted from you here 
 The worshipful negociators ? 
 
 occo. 
 
 Ay! 
 Would they had passed the windmills — how they 
 
 crawl ! — 
 And met no babbling burghers on their way. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 What ! you have made an overture ? 
 
 occo. 
 
 Not so : 
 I've flung my line, and yonder pair of hooks 
 Are aptly baited to ensure me one ; 
 But compromised I am not, — no, nor will be, 
 Till it be seen if yet my suit may thrive 
 With yon fair frozen dew-drop : all that's left 
 To represent Van Merestyn's hot blood. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Tis said she is but backwardly inclined 
 To anv of her swains. 
 
 / 
 
6 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 OCCO. 
 
 Such wealth as hers 
 Makes a maid whimsical and hard to please. 
 She that can have her will, be what it may. 
 Is much to seek to settle what it shall be. 
 The damsel must be tried ; for if she yield, 
 The charier must I be, whilst times permit, 
 Of the good town's goodwill. Her lands lie all 
 Within the Franc of Ghent. Send Berckel to her, 
 And bid him say I wait upon her leisure. 
 
 Scene II. — The House Van Merestyn. 
 Adriana Van Merestyn, and Clara Van Artevelde. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I do not bid thee take him or refuse him ; 
 I only say, think twice. 
 
 ADRIAN A. 
 
 But once to think, 
 When the heart knows itself, is once too much. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Well ; answer what you will ; no, yes — yes, no ; 
 Either or both ; I would the chance were mine ; 
 I say no more ; I would it were my lot 
 
 To have a lover. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Yours ? why there's Sir Walter. 
 
 Sir Walter? very good ; but he's at Bruges. 
 I want one here. 
 
cene ii.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 On days of truce he comes. 
 
 I want one every day. Besides, the war 
 Will never slacken now ; a truce to truces. 
 And though on moonless, cloud-encompass'd nights, 
 He will, in his discretion, truce or none, 
 Hazard a trip, yet should he be discover'd, 
 Mild Van den Bosch would pat him on the head, 
 And then he'd come no more. But ponder well 
 What you shall say ; for if it must be ' no ' 
 In substance, you shall hardly find that form 
 Which shall convey it pleasantly. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 In truth, 
 To mould denial to a pleasing shape 
 In all things, and most specially in love, 
 Is a hard task ; alas ! I have not wit 
 From such a sharp and waspish word as 'uo' 
 To pluck the sting. What think you I should say ? 
 
 A colourable thing or two ; as thus : 
 My lord, we women swim not with our hearts, 
 Nor yet our judgments, but the world's opinions ; 
 And though I prize you dearly in my soul 
 And think you of all excellence compounded, 
 Yet 'tis a serious and unhappy thing 
 To hear you spoken of : for men protest 
 That you are cruel, cowardly, and cold, 
 Boastful, malicious ; envious, spiteful, false, 
 
S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 A bull in ire, an ape in jealousy, 
 A wolf in greediness for blood. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 No more ? 
 Am I to use no courtesies but these ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 No more ? Yes, plentifully more ! where was I ? 
 
 This for your mind's repute. Then for your person, 
 
 (Which for my own particular I love) 
 
 'Tis said that you are strangely ill to look at ; 
 
 Your brow as bleak as winter, with a fringe 
 
 Of wither'd grass for hair, your nose oblique, 
 
 Pointing and slanting like a dial's hand. 
 
 They say the fish you had your eyes of laugh 'd 
 
 To see how they were set, and that your mouth 
 
 Grows daily wider, bandying of big words. 
 
 All which imaginations, good my lord, 
 
 Grossly as they may counterfeit defect 
 
 Where worth abounds, are yet so noised abroad 
 
 That in despite of that so high esteem 
 
 In which I hold you, I'm constraint to say 
 
 I'd sooner wed your scullion than yourself. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Thanks for your counsel ; cunning is the maid 
 That can convert a lover to a friend, 
 And you have imp'd me with a new device. 
 But look ! Is this — no, 'tis your brother's page. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 All hail to him ! he is my daily sport. 
 
 Of all things under heaven that make me merry, 
 
i: ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It makes me merriest to see a boy 
 That wants to be a man. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 His want fulfhTd, 
 He will not be the worse ; 'tis well for them 
 That have no faults but what they needs must leave. 
 
 Enter the Page. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 How now, Sir Henry ! whither away, brave knight ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I'm coming but to pay my duty here ; 
 The Lady Adriana lets me come. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I wish thy master knew it. 
 
 PAGE, 
 
 So he does ; 
 He tells me to come too. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Alas, poor man ! 
 Hath he no eyes ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 What mean you, Mistress Clara ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Why, when our pages steal away our loves, 
 
 Tell gardeners to keep blackbirds. Look you here — 
 
 Seest thou this drooping melancholy maid ; 
 
 What hast thou done ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Who, I ? it was not I. 
 

 10 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Who was it then ? Well — ' kissing goes by favour ' — 
 
 So saith the proverb ; truly, mores the pity ! 
 
 Yet I commend your prudence, Adriana, 
 
 For favouring in place of men and monsters 
 
 This pure and pretty child. I'll learn from you; 
 
 And if, when I have kiss'd my pug and parrot, 
 
 I have the matter of a mouthful left, 
 
 For fear of waste that's worse I'll spend them here. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I would advise you to be more discreet. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Soho ! and wherefore ? Oh ! so old you are ! 
 Full fifteen summers elder than your beard, 
 And that was born last week — before its time. 
 I told you, Adriana, did I not, 
 Of the untimely birth ? It chanced o' Wednesday, 
 By reason of a fright he gave his chin, 
 Making its innocent down to stand on end 
 With brandishing of a most superfluous razor. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 You told me no such tale ; and if you had, 
 I should not have believed you ; for your tongue 
 Was ever nimbler in the track of sport 
 Than fits for hunting in a leash with truth. 
 Heed her not, Henry, she is full of slanders. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Ay, no one marks me. I but jest and lie, 
 And so must go unheeded. Honest times ! 
 Slanders and jests have lost the ear o' the World ! 
 But do I slander him to say he's young ? 
 
scene ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 11 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I am almost as old as you. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I grant thee ; 
 But we are women when hoys are but boys. 
 God gives us grace to ripen and grow wise 
 Some six years earlier. I thank heaven for it ; 
 We grow upon the sunny side o' the wall. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Methinks your wisdom grows o' the windy side, 
 And bears but little fruit. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 What ! malapert ! 
 It bears more fruit than thou hast wit to steal, 
 Or stomach to digest. Were I thy tutor, 
 To teach thee wisdom, and beheld such store 
 Of goodly fruitage, I should say to thee, 
 ' Rob me this orchard.' Then wouldst thou reply, 
 1 Five feet three inches stand I in my shoes, 
 And yet I cannot reach to pluck these plums, 
 So loftily they flourish ! ' God ha' mercy, 
 Here comes the knight upon an ambling nag. 
 Now, Adriana ! 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 I am sore perplex'd. 
 What shall I say? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 My counsel you have heard, 
 And partly slighted, wherefore seek to better; 
 Take we direction from our full-grown friend. 
 Henry, a knight will presently be here 
 
12 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act i. 
 
 To ask our Adriana's band in marriage : 
 What shall she answer ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Let her say — ' My lord, 
 You are the flower of Flemish chivalry, 
 But I have vow'd to live and die a maid.' 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 A goodly vow ! God give her grace to make it, 
 If it be not too troublesome to keep. 
 But he's no more the flower of Flemish knights, 
 Than thou the pearl of pages. Adriana, 
 Bethink you of your answer and be ready, 
 Lest he surprise you and you speak the truth. 
 
 ADRIAXA. 
 
 Prithee, what truth ? There's nothing to be hidden. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Except, except — yes, turn your face away, 
 That so informs against you. Here he comes. 
 
 Enter the Lord of Occo. 
 occo. 
 Fairest of ladies ! an unworthy knight 
 Does homage to your beauty. 
 
 ADRIAXA. 
 
 Good my lord, 
 I am beholden to your courtesy 
 That gives to this poor semblance such a name. 
 But here is one by whose associate charms 
 And kindly converse I am brighten'd ever, — 
 A daughter of the House of Artevelde. 
 
* km II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 OCCO. 
 
 Fair damsel, I am happy in the fortune 
 
 Which shines upon me from two spheres at once. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Fair sir, I thank } r ou for your courtesy. 
 No lady lives in Ghent with ears to hear, 
 Who has not heard recounted night and day 
 The exploits of Lord Occo. 
 
 occo. 
 
 On my soul. 
 I blush to hear it said ; though true it is 
 I have perform'd what little in me lay 
 To bring renown to Flemish chivalry. 
 I give to God the glory ; and next Him 
 'Tis due to her whose charms would kindle valour 
 In the most coldest heart of Christendom. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Whoe'er inspired your valour, your exploits 
 Must give that lady high pre-eminence. 
 Three hundred men at arms, I think it was, 
 You freely fell upon with sword in hand, 
 After the storming of the Fort at Sas, 
 And not a soul survived ? 
 
 occo. 
 
 Your pardon, lady ; 
 Some other trifle's in your thoughts ; at Sas 
 There is no fort, and they who perish'd there 
 Were but three hundred peasants who were burn'd 
 By firing of a barn to which they'd fled. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Ah, was it so? At Zeveren then surely — 
 
14 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 OCCO. 
 
 What happen'd there too, was of no account. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Oh, pardon me ; the modesty which still 
 Accompanies true valour, casts in shade 
 Your noble actions. I beseech you tell 
 What came to pass at Zeveren. 
 
 occo. 
 
 The town 
 Was taken by surprise. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Ay, true, and then 
 The garrison that made themselves so strong 
 Within the convent's walls — 
 
 occo. 
 
 At Zeveren 
 
 There was no garrison. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 You say not so ? 
 How false is Fame ! I'm certain I was told 
 Of a great slaughter in the convent there. 
 
 occo. 
 True ; a proportion of the sisterhood 
 Met with mishap. But, lady, by your leave 
 We'll treat of other things. Haply you know not 
 The usages of war, and scarce approve 
 Proceedings which its hard necessities 
 Will oft-times force upon us warriors. 
 A softer theme were meeter, and there's one 
 On which I burn to speak. 
 
scene ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 16 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Alack, alack ! 
 Then I am gone ; soft speeches please mine ear, 
 As do soft pillows — when I fain would sleep. 
 But what's the time of day? Come hither, Henry : 
 We walk by high examples in this world ; 
 Lets to the poultry-yard and win our spurs. 
 Give you good day, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Clara and Page. 
 
 occo. 
 
 A merry lady 
 Your friend appears ; but now that she is gone, 
 I must entreat your hearing for a word 
 Of graver import — grave, if aught imports 
 The life or death of this poor heart of mine. 
 A burning fiery furnace is this heart ; 
 I waste like wax before a witch's fire, 
 Whilst but one word from thee would make earth heaven, 
 And I must soon be nothing or a god ! 
 There's an unutterable want and void, 
 A gulf, a craving, and a sucking in, 
 As when a mighty ship goes down at sea. 
 I roam about with hunger-bitten heart, 
 A famine in my bosom — a dry heat, 
 A desperate thirst, and I must glut it now, 
 Or like a dog by summer solstice parch'd 
 I shall go mad. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 no, my lord, your pardon ; 
 You flatter me or else deceive yourself ; 
 But, so far as I may, I yield you thanks, 
 Lamenting that I cannot be so grateful 
 As you may think I ought. 
 
16 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [ac 
 
 OCCO. 
 
 Nay, lady, nay : 
 Deem that I've been tormented long enough 
 x\nd let this coyness have a timely end. 
 
 ADRLANA. 
 
 I am not coy, and plainly now to speak 
 
 (When aught but plainness should be less than just) 
 
 I cannot be your wife. 
 
 occo. 
 And wherefore so ? 
 It is not that your nature is unloving ; 
 You will not tell me that ? 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 I've told you all 
 Which it can profit you to know. 
 
 occo. 
 
 Ah ! now 
 I see it clearly ; there's some smooth-tongued knave 
 Has been before me, — yea, some wheedling minion, 
 With song and dance and lute and lily hands, 
 Has wriggled into favour, I the while 
 Fighting hard battles to my neck in blood. 
 Tell me in honesty if this be sooth : 
 If it be not, in charity say No. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 In charity I never will speak more 
 
 With you, Sir Guy of Occo, 
 
 Nor till I see a sign of gentle blood, 
 
 Or knightly courtesy in one so bold, 
 
 Will I again hold converse, or with him, 
 
 Or any that abets him. This to me ! {Exit. 
 
BIH.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDK. 
 
 OCCO. 
 
 Thanks, gentle lady ! Thanks, kind, loving soul ! 
 I am instructed ; there came out the truth ; 
 Those flashing eyes could hold it in no longer. 
 They are as plain to read as are the stars 
 To him who knows their signs. Would that I knew 
 The name of him who thrusts himself between us, 
 And what star rules him in the house of life ! 
 Who rides this way and waves that long salute ? 
 Philip Van Artevelde, as I'm a knight ! 
 Then no more need I knowledge of the stars. 
 
 Scene III. — The Stadt- House. 
 Enter Myk Steensel, followed by several Burghers. 
 
 MYK. 
 
 And who is Van den Bosch, resolve me that : 
 I say, sirs, who is he to lay on taxes ? 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 Or Ackerman, or Launoy, who are they? 
 
 MYK. 
 
 I say, sirs, if our goods be not our own, 
 Better our natural liege lord should have them 
 Than thus to render them to John or Peter. 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 Why, look you, sirs, our case stands simply here : 
 The Earl of Flanders is a valiant lord, 
 And was a gracious master, till the Devil, 
 Who never sleeps, awaken'd them of Bruges 
 
18 
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 [act 
 
 To dig about the Lis to turn the water. 
 
 But what, sirs, — we have fought enough for that. 
 
 Why still the more we fight the more we lose ; 
 For every battle that our White-Hoods win 
 But gives a warrant to this Van den Bosch 
 To spoil us of our substance. Welcome, sirs. 
 
 Enter two Deans of the Crafts. 
 
 FIRST DEAN. 
 
 Friends, have ye heard the news ? 
 
 MTK. 
 
 I know not, sir ; 
 If the news be, we owe the White-Hoods pay 
 For giving us a hosier for our liege, — 
 'Tis old, sir, old. 
 
 SECOND DEAN. 
 
 No, this is what you'll owe them ; 
 A ready market for your rats and mice. 
 Corn is already risen cent, per cent., 
 Though many question if the news be true. 
 Our John of Launoy's slain, with all his men, 
 And the Earl's troops possess the Quatre-Metiers. 
 
 MYK. 
 
 There's a fair end to our supplies from Brabant. 
 But how came this to pass ? 
 
 SECOND DEAN. 
 
 'Twas briefly thus : 
 Beside Nivelle the Earl and Launoy met. 
 Six thousand voices shouted with the last, 
 * Ghent the good Town ! Ghent and the Chaperons 
 Blancs!' 
 
in.] PHILIP VAN A.BTEVELDE. 
 
 But from that force thrice-told there came the cry 
 
 Of 4 Flanders with the Lion of the Bastard ! ' 
 
 So then the battle join 'd, and they of Ghent 
 
 Gave back and open'd after three hours' fight, 
 
 And hardly flying had they gain'd Nivelle, 
 
 When the Earls vanguard came upon their rear 
 
 Ere they could close the gate, and enter'd with them. 
 
 Then all were slain save Launoy and his guard, 
 
 Who barricaded in the minster tower 
 
 Made desperate resistance, w T hereupon 
 
 The Earl wax'd wrothful and bade fire the church. 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 Say st thou? sacrilege accursed ! Was't done ? 
 
 SECOND DEAN. 
 
 Twas done, — and presently was heard a yell, 
 And after that the rushing of the flames ! 
 Then Launoy from the steeple cried aloud 
 * A ransom ! ' and held up his coat to sight 
 With florins filled, but they without but laugh'd 
 And mock'd him, saying, ' Come amongst us, John, 
 And we will give thee welcome ; make a leap ; 
 Come out at window, John.' — With that the flames 
 Rose up and reach 'd him, and he drew his sword, 
 Cast his rich coat behind him in the fire, 
 And shouting ' Ghent, ye slaves ! ' leapt freely forth. 
 When they below received him on their spears. 
 And so died John of Launoy. 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 A brave end. 
 - 'Tis certain w T e must now make peace betimes ; 
 The city will be starved else — Will be, said I ? 
 
 c2 
 
20 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Starvation is upon us : want and woe 
 Stand round about and stare us in the face ; 
 And what will be the end ? 
 
 MYK. 
 
 Believe me, sirs, 
 So long as Van den Bosch bears rule in Ghent, 
 You'll not have peace ; for well wots he no terms 
 That spare his life will pacify the Earl. 
 Sirs, if we make no peace but with the will 
 Of them whose heads must answer it, woe to us ! 
 For we must fight for ever ; sirs, I say, 
 We must put down this Van den Bosch, and up 
 The men that with the Earl stand fair and free, 
 Who shall take counsel for the city's weal. 
 
 BURGHERS. 
 
 Truly we must. 
 
 MYK. 
 
 Then, friends, stand fast by me, 
 And as we're all agreed to give no denier 
 Of this five hundred marks, I will speak out, 
 And let him know our minds. 
 
 Enter Van den Bosch, Frans Ackerman, and the Lord of 
 Occo, with a retinue of White-Hoods. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Good morrow, worthy friends ; good morrow, all ! 
 'Tis a sweet sight to look on, in these times, 
 A score of true and trusty friends to Ghent 
 So fresh and hearty and so well provided. 
 Ah, sirs, you know not, you, who lies afield 
 When nights are cold, with frogs for bed-fellows ; 
 You know not, you, who fights and sheds his blood, 
 
bcsnb i ii. | piiilip van ai;ti;vi:lde. 
 
 And fasts and fills his belly with the east wind ! 
 
 Poor souls and virtuous citizens they are ! 
 
 Tis they that keep the franchises of Ghent. 
 
 But what ! they must be fed ; they must have meat ! 
 
 Sirs, have ye brought me these five hundred marks 
 
 That they demanded ? 
 
 MYK. 
 
 Master Van den Bosch, 
 Look round about ; as many as stand here 
 Are of one mind, and this is what they think : 
 The company of White-Hoods, sometime past, 
 Were, as thou say'st, brave citizens and true, 
 And they fought stoutly for our franchises ; 
 Bat they were afterward as beasts of prey, 
 That, tasting blood, grow greedy and break loose 
 And turn upon their keepers : so at length 
 The city, like a camp in mutiny, 
 Saw nothing else to walk her streets unharm'd 
 But these your free-companions. They at will 
 Enter'd our houses, lived upon our means 
 In riotry, made plunder of our goods, 
 Lay with our wives and daughters ; and if once 
 Some hardy fool made bold to lift his hand 
 For safeguard of his own, he met his death. 
 Now this we have resolved to bear no longer, 
 Nor will we give our substance so to feed 
 The lewd excesses of your company. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 How now, Myk Steensel ! thou art bold of tongue ; 
 I marvel thou shouldst speak so like a traitor 
 In presence of such honest, virtuous men, 
 
22 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 As these thou seest about me. How can I, 
 
 Think you, give warranty that some good soul, 
 Inflamed with anger at thy foolish speech, 
 May not cut out thy tongue and slit thy nose 
 For uttering of such treasons — how, indeed ? 
 
 MTK. 
 
 Thou think'st by this to hound thy pack upon me ; 
 But know, thy reign is o'er, and I defy thee. 
 Thy brother Launoy with his men-at-arms 
 Will never answer to thy bidding more ; 
 And if thou dare do violence to me, 
 Thou shalt be fain to take as long a leap 
 As his was at Nivelle. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Oh, ho ! my masters ! 
 r Tis this then that emboldens you, this tale 
 Brought by Van Borselen, who ran away 
 Before the fight began, and calls it lost 
 That so his cowardice should stand excused ; 
 For which his false report and foul desertion 
 I have already had him gibbeted. 
 Bring not yourselves, I pray you for your honours, 
 With the like nimbleness to a grave i' the air. 
 I say, sirs, bring me these five hundred marks, 
 And that or ere to-morrow's sun go down — 
 Five hundred marks — I'll bate you not a scute, 
 Ye slothful, hide-blown, gormandising niggards ! 
 What ! all must starve but you, that lie a-bed 
 And lack a day of fast to purge your grossness. 
 What, know ye who I am ? Are ye awake ? 
 Or sleeping off the wine of yesternight, 
 
hi.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 Aud deeming this some tustle witli your wives 
 
 For pulling of a blanket here or there ! 
 
 Five hundred marks — begone, and bring the money. 
 
 MYK. 
 
 Begone we will. Let's to our homes, my friends. 
 And what we'll bring thee thou shalt know betimes 
 Nor wait the setting of to-morrow's sun. 
 Not gold, sir, no, nor silver, be thou sure, 
 But what shall best befit a brave man's hand. 
 
 [Exeunt Myk and the Burghers; manent Van den Bobch, 
 Occo, and Frans Ackerman. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Ye see, sirs, how the knaves take heart and rail 
 On this mishap. 
 
 occo. 
 I saw both that and more ; 
 Our White-Hoods look'd like very renegades, 
 As though they knew not which to fear the most, 
 Thy rod and gallows-tree, or the Earl's bailiff. 
 Trust me, we're falling fast to pieces, Peter. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 My lord of Occo, thou hast judged aright. 
 But what can I ? Our chiefs drop one by one ; 
 Launoy, too truly, perish'd at Nivelle ; 
 Le Clerc lies leaning up against a hedge 
 (Till some one dare go bury him), at Chem ; 
 Thy cousin fell with Launoy. Now, Van Nuitre 
 And Lichtenvelde are good for men-at-arms, 
 But want the wit to govern a great town. 
 And I am good at arms, and want not wit ; 
 But then I'm sore suspected of the rich, 
 
24 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 By reason of my rudeness, and the fruit 
 
 Which that same gallows-tree of mine hath borne ; 
 
 And to say truth, although my wit be good, 
 
 It hath a fitter range without the gates, 
 
 In ordering of an enterprise, than here. 
 
 The city leans to peace for lack of leading, 
 
 And we must put a head upon its shoulders. 
 
 occo. 
 Hast thou bethought thee of a man that's wise, 
 And fit to bear this rule ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Why, there be such ; 
 Though one that's wise would scarce be wise to take it. 
 What think'st thou, Frans ? And thou, my lord of Occo? 
 Know ye a man that, being wise, were willing ? 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 There is no game so desperate which wise men 
 Will not take freely up for love of power, 
 Or love of fame, or merely love of play. 
 These men are wise, and then reputed wise, 
 And so their great repute of wisdom grows, 
 Till for great wisdom a great price is bid, 
 And then their wisdom do they part withal : 
 Such men must still be tempted with high stakes. 
 
 occo. 
 Tempt them and take them ; true, there be such men ; 
 Philip Van Artevelde is such a man. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 That is well thought of. Let us try him then. 
 
SCENE iv.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Scene IV. — Tlie House Van Merestyn. 
 Adriana Van Merestyn and Clara Van Artevelde. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 So you've dismiss'd the Lord of Occo ? 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 How many suitors have you discharged this morning ? 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 How many ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Yes. Was not my brother here ? 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 He saw me through the lattice, and stayed his horse 
 an instant under the window. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Was that all ? 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Yes — no — yes — I suppose so. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Oh that maids would learn to speak the truth, or else 
 to lie becomingly ! 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Do I not lie becomingly ? — Well, 'tis from want of 
 use. What should I say ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 What say ? Had my sworn friend so question'd me, 
 And I been minded, maugre our sworn friendship, 
 To coil my thoughts up in my secret self, 
 
26 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 I with a brave and careless hardihood 
 Had graced the disavowal of my love. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 But did I say I loved him not ? Oh, God ! 
 
 If I said that, I say since truth was truth 
 
 There never was a falsehood half so false. 
 
 I say I love him, and I say beside 
 
 That but to say I love him is as nothing ; 
 
 'Tis but a tithe and scantling of the truth ! 
 
 And oh ! how much I love him what can tell ? 
 
 Not words, not tears — Heaven only knows how much ; 
 
 And every evening when I say my prayers, 
 
 I pray to be forgiven for the sin 
 
 Of loving aught on earth with such a love. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Well, God forgive you ! for you answer now 
 Like a true maid and honest though a sinning. 
 But tell me, if that's mention'd in your prayers, 
 For how much love has he to be forgiven ? 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Alas ! I know not. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Nay, but you can guess. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Oh ! I have guess'd a thousand times too oft. 
 
 And sometimes I am hopeful as the spring, 
 
 And up my fluttering heart is borne aloft 
 
 As high and gladsome as the lark at sunrise ; 
 
 And then, as though the fowler's shaft had pierced it, 
 
 It comes plumb down with such a dead, dead fall. 
 
e i v. J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 87 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 And all the while is he, I nothing doubt, 
 As wayward and as love-sick as yourself. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 He love-sick ! No — it may be that he loves me ; 
 But if he loves me 'tis with no love-sickness. 
 His nerves are made of other cord than mine ; 
 He saunters undisturb'd along the Lis, 
 For ever angling as he used to do. 
 And when he told me he must come to-night, 
 And that he then would lay a burden down 
 Which he had borne in silence all-too-long, 
 His voice was strong and steady, calm and clear, 
 So that 1 doubted if it could be love 
 That then was in his thoughts. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Oh ! much the doubt ! 
 But this was what I knew had come to pass, 
 When answering with your vacant no and yes, 
 You fed upon your thoughts and mark'd me not. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 But honestly, think you it must be love 
 He comes to speak of? 
 
 CLA.RA. 
 
 Why, 'tis either that, 
 Or else to tell you of what fish he caught. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Oh, do not tease me ; for my heart is faint 
 With over-fulness of its expectations. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Nay, if your love's so lamentable sick, 
 Nurse it yourself; I'll go. 
 
2S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 ADRIAN A. 
 
 With all my heart. 
 You're too light-headed for my company. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Is it with all your heart ? then I'll, not go ; 
 
 Or else I'll take you with me. Come along ; 
 
 Your bower lacks tendance ; it is strewn with leaves ; 
 
 The autumn winds have broken in, alas ! 
 
 And many a flower is hanging down its head 
 
 Since the rude kissing of those wild intruders. 
 
 Come, come with me ; the dew is on the grass ; 
 
 The snails are running races on the walks ; 
 
 And at this merry pace, an inch an hour, 
 
 We shall o'ertake some laggard. Snail, good day ! 
 
 I like you well, but will not marry you. 
 
 Ill tell you why. Your eyes are in your horns. 
 
 Scene V. — Tlie House Van Artevelde. 
 Philip Van Artevelde and Father John of Heda. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I never look'd that he should live so long. 
 He was a man of that unsleeping spirit, 
 He seem'd to live by miracle : his food 
 Was glory, which was poison to his mind 
 And peril to his body. He was one 
 Of many thousand such that die betimes, 
 Whose story is a fragment, known to few. 
 Then comes the man who has the luck to live, 
 And he's a prodigy. Compute the chances, 
 And deem there's ne'er a one in dangerous times 
 
scene v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDG. 
 
 Who wins the race of glory, but than him 
 A thousand men more gloriously endow'd 
 Have fallen upon the course ; a thousand others 
 Have had their fortunes founder'd by a chance, 
 Whilst lighter barks push'd past them ; to whom add 
 A smaller tally, of the singular few 
 Who, gifted with predominating powers, 
 Bear yet a temperate will and keep the peace. 
 The world knows nothing of its greatest men. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Had Launoy lived he might have pass'd for great, 
 
 But not by conquests in the Franc of Bruges. 
 
 The sphere, the scale of circumstance, is all 
 
 Which makes the wonder of the many. Still 
 
 An ardent soul was Launoy 's, and his deeds 
 
 Were such as dazzled many a Flemish dame. 
 
 There'll some bright eyes in Ghent be dimm'd for him. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 They will be dim and then be bright again. 
 
 All is in busy, stirring, stormy motion, 
 
 And many a cloud drifts by and none sojourns. 
 
 Lightly is life laid down amongst us now, 
 
 And lightly is death mourn'd : a dusk star blinks 
 
 As fleets the rack, but look again, and lo ! 
 
 In a wide solitude of wintry sky 
 
 Twinkles the re-illuminated star, 
 
 And all is out of sight that smirclrd the ray. 
 
 We have not time to mourn. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 The worse for us ! 
 He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. 
 
30 PHILIP VAN AETEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Eternity mourns that. 'Tis an ill cure 
 
 For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them. 
 
 Where sorrow's held intrusive and turn'd out, 
 
 There wisdom will not enter, nor true power, 
 
 Nor aught that dignifies humanity. 
 
 Yet such the barrenness of busy life ! 
 
 From shelf to shelf Ambition clambers up 
 
 To reach the naked st pinnacle of all, 
 
 Whilst Magnanimity, absolved from toil, 
 
 Reposes self-included at the base. 
 
 But this thou know'st. 
 
 AETEVELDE. 
 
 Else had I little learn'd 
 From my much learn'd preceptor. 
 
 Enter the Page. 
 
 What, Sir Page ! 
 Hast thou been idling in the market-place ? 
 Canst tell whose chattels have been sold to-day 
 For payment of the W x hite-Hoods ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Sir, I cannot ; 
 'Tis at the house Van Merestyn I've been 
 To see the Lady Adriana. 
 
 AETEVELDE. 
 
 Her! 
 Well, and what said the damsel ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Sir, not much ; 
 For Mistress Clara was her visiter, 
 And she said everything ; she said it all. 
 
,-. v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What was it that ye spake of? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 When I came 
 The talk was all of chivalry and love. 
 And presently arrived the Lord of Occo. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And what was talk'd of then ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Oh ! still the same. 
 The ladies praised him mightily for deeds 
 Whose fame, they said, effulgent far and wide, 
 Eclipsed Sir Roland and Sir Oliver. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Now, Father, mark you that ; hearts soft as wax 
 These damsels w r ould he thought to hear ahout, 
 Yet ever is the bloodiest knight the hest ! 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 It is most true. Full many a dame I've known 
 Who'd faint and sicken at the sight of blood, 
 And shriek and wring her hands and rend her hair 
 To see her lord brought wounded to the door ; 
 And many a one I've known to pine with dread 
 Of such mishap or worse, — lie down in fear, 
 The night-mare sole sad partner of her bed, 
 Rise up in horror to recount bad dreams 
 And seek to witches to interpret them, — 
 This oft I've known, but never knew I one 
 Who'd be content her lord should live at home 
 In love and christian charity and peace. 
 
32 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And wherefore so ? Because the women's heaven 
 
 Is vanity, and that is over all. 
 
 What's finest still finds favour in their eyes ; 
 
 What's noisiest keeps the entrance of their ears. 
 
 The noise and blaze of arms enchants them most : 
 
 Wit, too, and wisdom, that's admired of all, 
 
 They can admire — the glory, not the thing. 
 
 An unrenected light did never yet 
 
 Dazzle the vision feminine. For me, 
 
 Nor noise nor blaze attend my peaceful path ; 
 
 Nor, were it otherwise, should I desire 
 
 That noise and blaze of mine won any heart. 
 
 Wherefore it is that I would fain possess, 
 
 If any, that which David wept, — a love 
 
 Passing the love of women. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Deem you not 
 There may be one who so transcends her sex 
 In loving, as to match the son of Saul ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It may be I have deem'd or dream'd of such. 
 But what know I ? We figure to ourselves 
 The thing we like, and then we build it up 
 As chance will have it, on the rock or sand : 
 For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, 
 And home-bound fancy runs her bark ashore. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 Sir, here is Master Van den Bosch below 
 Desires to speak with you. 
 
4 
 
 vi."l PHILIP van ai;ti.\ ELDE. 
 
 A.RTEVELDE. 
 
 To speak with me ! 
 I marvel on what errand Van den Bosch 
 Can seek Van Artevelde. Say I attend him. 
 Will you not stay ? 
 
 FRIAR JOHN. 
 
 No, no, my son ; farewell ! 
 The very name of men like Van den Bosch 
 Sends me to prayers. 
 
 Scene VI. — The Market-place, at the entrance of the 
 Clothiers' Hall. 
 
 The Provost of the Clothiers with several principal Burghers 
 and the Chaplain of that craft. 
 
 PROVOST. 
 
 Him ! did ye say ? Choose him for Captain ? So ! 
 Then look about you in the morning, friends, 
 For ye shall find him stirring before noon ; 
 The latest time o' the day is twelve o' the clock ; 
 Then comes he forth his study with his book, 
 And looking off and on like parson preaching, 
 Delivers me his orders. 
 
 A BURGHER. 
 
 Nay, Provost, nay ; 
 He is a worthy and a mild good man, 
 And we have need of such. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. 
 
 He's what you say ; 
 But 'tis not mildness of the man that rules 
 Makes the mild regimen. 
 
34 • PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 PROVOST. 
 
 Who's to rule the fierce ? 
 ' I prithee, Van den Bosch, cut not that throat ; 
 e Boast not this man alive, or for my sake, 
 1 If roast he must, not at so slow a fire ; 
 ' Nor yet so hastily impale this other, 
 1 But give him time to ruminate and foretaste 
 ' So terrible an end.' Mild Philip thus 
 Shall read his lecture of humanity. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. 
 
 Truly the tender mercies of the weak, 
 As of the wicked, are but cruel. Well ; 
 Pass we within ; the most of us are here, 
 And Heaven direct us to a just conclusion ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but two Burghers. 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 The scaffold, as I see, is newly wet ; 
 Who was the last that suffer 'd ? 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 What, to-day? 
 I know not; but the brave Van Borselen's blood 
 (God rest his soul !) can scarcely yet be dry, 
 That suffer'd yesterday. 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 For treason, was't not ? 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 Ay ; the treason of the times ; the being rich ; 
 His wealth was wanted. 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 Hath he not an heir ? 
 
vii.] PHILIP VAX ABTEVELDE. 
 
 SECOND BUBOHEB. 
 
 A bold one if he claim the inheritance. 
 Come, pass we in. 
 
 Scene VII. — The House Van Artevclde. 
 Artevelde and Van den Bosch. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 This is a mighty matter, Van den Bosch, 
 And much to be revolved ere it be answer 'd. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 The people shall elect thee with one voice. 
 
 I will ensure the White-Hoods, and the rest 
 
 Will eagerly accept thy nomination, 
 
 So to be rid of some that they like less. 
 
 Thy name is honour'd both of rich and poor ; 
 
 For all are mindful of the glorious rule 
 
 Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then, 
 
 From end to end obey'd him as one town. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 They may remember it — and, Van den Bosch, 
 
 May I not too bethink me of the end 
 
 To which this people brought my noble father ? 
 
 They gorged the fruits of his good husbandry, 
 
 Till drunk with long prosperity, and blind 
 
 With too much fatness, they tore up the root 
 
 From which their common weal had sprung and flourish'd. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Nay, Master Philip, let the past be past. 
 
 d2 
 
36 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Here on the doorstead of my father's house 
 The blood of his they spilt is seen no more. 
 But when I was a child I saw it there ; 
 For so long as my widow-mother lived 
 Water came never near the sanguine stain. 
 She loved to show it me, and then with awe, 
 But hoarding still the purpose of revenge, 
 I heard the tale — which like a daily prayer 
 Bepeated to a rooted feeling grew — 
 How long he fought, how falsely came like friends 
 The villains Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, — 
 All the base murder of the one by many. 
 Even such a brutal multitude as they 
 Who slew my father — yea, who slew their own, 
 (For like one had he ruled the parricides) 
 Even such a multitude thou'dst have me govern. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Why, what if Jacques Artevelde was kill'd ? 
 
 He had his reign, and that for many a year, 
 
 And a great glory did he gain thereby. 
 
 And as for Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, 
 
 Their breath is in their nostrils as was his. 
 
 If you be as stout-hearted as your father, 
 
 And mindful of the villanous trick they play'd him, 
 
 Their hour of reckoning is well nigh come. 
 
 Of that, and of this base false-hearted league 
 
 They're making with the Earl, these two to us 
 
 Shall give account. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 They cannot render back 
 
vi,.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The golden bowl that's broken at the fountain, 
 Or mend the wheel that's broken at the cistern, 
 Or twist again the silver cord that's loosed. 
 Yea, life for life, vile bankrupts as they are, 
 Their worthless lives for his of countless price, 
 Is their whole wherewithal to pay their debt. 
 Yet retribution is a goodly thing, 
 And it were well to wring the payment from them 
 Even to the utmost drop of their heart's blood. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Then will I call the people to the Square 
 And speak for your election. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Not so fast. 
 Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm : 
 She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell, 
 And you would make a jury-mast of me 
 Whereon to spread the tatters of your canvas. 
 And what am I ? — Why I am as the oak 
 Which stood apart far down the vale of life, 
 Growing retired beneath a quiet sky. 
 Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 I pray you, speak it in the Burghers' tongue ; 
 I lack the scholarship to talk in tropes. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The question, to be plain, is briefly this : 
 Shall I, who, chary of tranquillity, 
 Not busy in this factious city's broils 
 Nor frequent in the market-place, eschew 'd 
 The even battle, — shall I join the rout? 
 
38 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act I. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Times are sore changed I see ; there's none in Ghent 
 
 That answers to the name of Artevelde. 
 
 Thy father did not carp nor question thus 
 
 When Ghent invoked his aid. The days have been 
 
 When not a citizen drew breath in Ghent 
 
 But freely would have died in Freedom's cause. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 With a good name thou christenest the cause. 
 
 True, to make choice of despots is some freedom, 
 
 The only freedom for this turbulent tow T n, 
 
 Eule her who may. And in my father's time 
 
 We still were independent, if not free ; 
 
 And wealth from independence, and from wealth 
 
 Enfranchisement will partially proceed. 
 
 The cause, I grant thee, Van den Bosch, is good ; 
 
 And were I link'd to earth no otherwise 
 
 But that my whole heart centred in myself, 
 
 I could have- toss 'd you this poor life to play with, 
 
 Taking no second thought. But as things are, 
 
 I will revolve the matter warily, 
 
 And send thee word betimes of my conclusion. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Betimes it must be ; for some two hours hence 
 I meet the Deans, and ere we separate 
 Our course must be determined. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 In two hours, 
 If I be for you, I will send this ring 
 In token I have so resolved. Farewell. 
 
r. vii.] 
 
 PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 88 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Philip Van Artevelde, a greater man 
 Than ever Ghent beheld we'll make of thee, 
 If thou be bold enough to try this venture. 
 God give thee heart to do so. Fare thee well. 
 
 [Exit Van den Bosch. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Is it vain-glory which thus whispers me 
 That 'tis ignoble to have led my life 
 In idle meditations — that the times 
 Demand me, echoing my father's name ? 
 Oh ! what a fiery heart was his ! such souls 
 Whose sudden visitations daze the world, 
 Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind 
 A voice that in the distance far away 
 Wakens the slumbering ages. Oh ! my father ! 
 Thy life is eloquent, and more persuades 
 Unto dominion than thy death deters ; 
 For that reminds me of a debt of blood 
 Descended with my patrimony to me, 
 Whose paying off would clear my soul's estate. 
 
 Enter Clara. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Was some one here ? I thought I heard you speak. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You heard me speak ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I surely thought I heard you, 
 Just now, as I came in. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It may be so. 
 
40 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Was no one here then ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 No one, as you see. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Why then T trust the orator your tongue 
 Found favour with the audience your ears ; 
 But this poor orator of mine finds none, 
 For all at once I see they droop and flag. 
 Will you not listen? I've a tale to tell. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My fairest, sweetest, best beloved sister ! 
 
 Who in the whole world would protect thy youth 
 
 If I were gone ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Gone ! where ? what ails you, Philip ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nowhere, my love. Well, what hast thou to tell ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 When I came home, on entering the hall 
 I stared to see the household all before me. 
 There was the steward sitting on the bench 
 His head upon his hands between his knees. 
 In the oak chair old Ursel sate upright 
 Swaying her body — so — from side to side, 
 Whilst maids and varlets stood disconsolate round. 
 What cheer? quoth I. But not a soul replied. 
 Is Philip well ? Yea, madam, God be praised. 
 Then what dost look so gloomy for, my friend ? 
 Alack a-day, the stork ! then all chimed in, 
 
... km: vii.] PHILIP VAN AJ&TEVELDE. 
 
 Tbe stork, the stork, the stork ! "What, he is sick? 
 No, madam ; sick ! — hc'^ gone — lie's flown away. 
 Why then, quoth I, God speed him ; speaking so 
 To raise their hearts, but they were all-too-heavy. 
 And, Philip, to say truth, I could have wish'd 
 This had not happen'd. 
 
 AllTKVKLDE. 
 
 I remember now, 
 I thought I miss'd his clatter all night long. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Old Ursel says the sign proved never false 
 In all her time, — and she's so very old ! 
 And then she says that Roger was esteem'd 
 The wisest stork in Ghent, and flew away 
 But twice before — the first time in the night 
 Before my father took that office up 
 Which proved so fatal in the end, and then 
 The second time, the night before he died. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sooner or later, something, it is certain, 
 
 Must bring men to their graves. Our every act 
 
 Is death's forerunner. It is but the date 
 
 That puzzles us to fix. My father lived 
 
 In that ill-omen'd office many a year, 
 
 And men had augur'd he must die at last 
 
 Without the stork to aid. If this be all 
 
 The wisest of his tribe can prophesy, 
 
 I am as wise as he. Enough of this. 
 
 Thou hast been visiting thy friend to-day, — 
 
 The Lady iVdriana. 
 
42 PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I come thence : 
 She is impatiently expecting you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Can she with such impatience flatter one 
 So slothful and obscure as Artevelde ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 How mean you ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Clara, know I not your sex ? 
 Is she not one of you ? Are you not all, 
 All from the shade averse ? all prompt and prone 
 To make your idol of the million's idol ? 
 Had I been one of these rash White-Hood chiefs 
 "Who live by military larceny, 
 Then might I well believe that she would wait 
 Impatiently my coming. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 There you're wrong ; 
 She never loved the White-Hoods. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 She were wise 
 In that unloving humour to abide : 
 To wed a White-Hood, other ills apart, 
 Would put in jeopardy her fair possessions. 
 Fatal perchance it might be to her wealth ; 
 Fatal it surely would be to her weal. 
 Farewell her peace, if such a one she loved. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Go ask her, Philip, — ask her whom she loves, 
 
.in. J PHILIP VAN APTPYPPDE. 
 
 And she will tell you it is no such man. 
 Why go you not ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My mind is not at ease. 
 Yet I am going — to my chamber now, 
 Where let me own an undisturb'd half hour 
 Of rumination ; — afterward to her. 
 
 Scene VIII. — The Market-place in front of the Stadt- House. 
 
 Enter two of Van den Bosch's Officers, dragging a Burgher 
 between them, and followed by an Executioner with an axe, and 
 a crowd of Citizens. A scaffold is seen at a distance. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Where hast thou put it ? 
 
 BURGHER. 
 
 What ? P ut what— put what ? 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 A few last words — where is it? 
 
 BURGHER. 
 
 Mercy! what? 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Oh, very well ! Come, clap his thumb in a winch. 
 
 BURGHER. 
 
 No need of that — what is it that ye seek ? 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Van Borselen's head. 'Twas sticking on that spike 
 At nine last night. W T ho took it thence but thou ? 
 
44 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act i. 
 
 BURGHER. 
 
 I never touch'd it. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Thou art next of kin, 
 And rightfully shouldst fill his vacancy. 
 
 FIRST OFFICER. 
 
 Thy head to his stands in a just succession. 
 Besides, they are as like as are two cherries. 
 Bring him away. 
 
 SECOND OFFICER. 
 
 Friend with the axe, come on. 
 
 [Exeunt all but two Citizens. 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 When will this end ? 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 When Van den Bosch . . . 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Hush! Hush! 
 
 Scene IX. — The Entrance- Hall of the House Van Merestyn. 
 Enter Arteyelde, with Attendants. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Bear thou these letters to my steward ; say 
 That messengers must straight proceed with them 
 To Grammont and elsewhere, as superscribed ; 
 And should mishap occur to any one 
 Upon the road, which is not over free, 
 I charge me with ten masses for his soul. 
 {To another) My service to the noble Lord of Occo ; 
 I thank him for his counsel and will weigh it. 
 
ix. J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 (To the rest) I will return alone. If any come 
 To seek me at my house, entreat their stay. 
 
 {They withdraw, and a Waiting- Woman 
 
 This, if I err not, is the pretty wench 
 That waits upon my lady. What, fair maid ! 
 Thy mistress, having comeliness to spare. 
 Hath given thee of it. She's within I think, 
 Or else wert thou a truant. 
 
 WAITING-WOMAN. 
 
 Sir, she is. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Acquaint her then that I attend her leisure. 
 
 [Exit Waiting-Woman. 
 
 There is but one thing that still harks me back. 
 
 To bring a cloud upon the summer day 
 
 Of one so happy and so beautiful, — - 
 
 It is a hard condition. For myself 
 
 I know not that the circumstance of life 
 
 In all its changes can so far afflict me 
 
 As makes anticipation much worth while. 
 
 But she is younger, — of a sex beside 
 
 Whose spirits are to ours as flame to fire, 
 
 More sudden and more perishable too ; 
 
 So that the gust wherewith the one is kindled 
 
 Extinguishes the other. Oh she is fair ! 
 
 As fair as Heaven to look upon ! as fair 
 
 As ever vision of the Virgin blest 
 
 That weary pilgrim, resting by the fount 
 
 Beneath the palm and dreaming to the tune 
 
 Of flowing waters, duped his soul withal. 
 
 It was permitted in my pilgrimage 
 
46 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 To rest beside the fount beneath the tree, 
 Beholding there no vision, but a maid 
 Whose form was light and graceful as the palm, 
 Whose heart was pure and jocund as the fount 
 And spread a freshness and a verdure round. 
 This was permitted in my pilgrimage 
 And loth am I to take my staff again. 
 Say that I fall not in this enterprise — 
 Yet must my life be full of hazardous turns, 
 And they that house with me must ever live 
 In imminent peril of some evil fate. 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 Danger from foes — that is a daylight danger — 
 Danger from tyrants — that too is seen and known — 
 But envious friends and jealous multitudes .... 
 In dusk to walk through a perpetual ambush .... 
 
 [A pause again. 
 
 Still for myself, I fear not but that I, 
 Taking what comes, leaving what leave I must, 
 Could make a sturdy struggle through the world. 
 But for the maid, the choice were better far 
 To win her dear heart back again if lost, 
 And stake it upon some less dangerous throw. 
 
 Re-enter Waiting-Woman. 
 
 WAITING-WOMAN. 
 
 My mistress, sir, so please you, takes her walk 
 Along the garden terrace, and desires 
 That you'll go forth to meet her. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 For if fate 
 Had done its best to single out a soul 
 Most form'd for peaceful virtues ah ! I come. 
 
BCENB x.j rillLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 17 
 
 Scene X. — A Garden. 
 Artevelde and Adriana. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I have some little overstaid my time. 
 
 First let me plead for pardon of that trespass. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 I said to Clara when the sun went down 
 Now if — though truly 'tis impossible — 
 He come not ere yon blushing cloud grows gray, 
 His promises are no more worth than bubbles. 
 And look how gray it is ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A hectic change. 
 The smiling dawn, the laughing blue-eyed day, 
 The graybeard eve incessantly pass on, 
 Fast fleeting generations born of time 
 And buried in eternity — they pass 
 And not a day resigns its little life 
 And enters into darkness, that can say 
 ' Lo ! I was fair, and such as I have been 
 My issue shall be. Lo ! I cast abroad 
 Such affluence of glory over earth, 
 That what had been but goodly to the sight 
 Was made magnificent, what had been bare 
 Show'd forth a naked beauty — in all this 
 Was I thus rich, and that which I possess 'd 
 To-morrow shall inherit.' False as hope ! 
 To-morrow's heritage is cloud and storm. 
 
48 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Oh ! what a moody moralist you grow ! 
 Yet in the even-down letter you are right ; 
 For Ursel, who is weatherwise, says always 
 That when the sun sets red with the wind south 
 The morrow shall be stormy. What of that ? 
 Oh ! now I know ; the fish won't take the bait. 
 'Tis marvellous the delight you take in fishing ! 
 Were I to hang upon a river's edge 
 So tediously, angling, angling still, 
 The fiend that watches our impatient fits 
 Would sometime tempt me to jump headlong in. 
 And you — you cannot quit it for a day ! 
 Have I not read your sadness ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Have you so ! 
 Oh ! you are cunning to divine men's thoughts. 
 But come what may to-morrow, we have now 
 A tranquil hour, which let us entertain 
 As though it were the latest of its kind. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Why should we think it so ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sweet Adrian a, 
 I trust that many such may come to you ; 
 But for myself, I feel as if life's stream 
 Were shooting o'er some verge, to make a short, 
 An angry and precipitate descent, 
 Thenceforward much tormented on its way. 
 
 ADRIAXA. 
 
 What can have fill'd you with such sad surmises ? 
 You were not wont to speak despondently. 
 
B0SK1 PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nor do I now despond. All iny life long 
 
 I have beheld with most respect the man 
 
 Who knew himself and knew the ways before him, 
 
 And from amongst them chose considerately, 
 
 With a clear foresight, not a blindfold courage, 
 
 And, having chosen, with a steadfast mind 
 
 Pursued his purposes. I trained myself 
 
 To take my place in high or low estate 
 
 As one of that scant order of mankind. 
 
 Wherefore, though I indulge no more the dream 
 
 Of living as I hoped I might have lived, 
 
 A life of temperate and thoughtful joy, 
 
 Yet I repine not, and from this time forth 
 
 Will cast no look behind. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Oh Artevelde ; 
 What change hath come since morning ! Oh ! bow soon 
 The words and looks which seem'd all confidence, 
 To me at least — how soon are they recalled ! 
 But let them be — it matters not ; I, too, 
 Will cast no look behind — Oh, if I should, 
 My heart would never hold its wretchedness. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My gentle Adriana, you run wild 
 In false conjectures ; hear me to the end. 
 If hitherto we have not said we loved, 
 Yet hath the heart of each declared its love 
 By all the tokens wherein love delights. 
 We heretofore have trusted in each other, 
 Too wholly have we trusted to have need 
 
50 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Of words or vows, pledges or protestations. 
 Let not such trust be hastily dissolved. 
 
 I trusted not. I hoped that I was loved, 
 Hoped and despair 'd, doubted and hoped again, 
 Till this day, when I first breathed freelier, 
 Daring to trust — and now — Oh God, my heart ! 
 It was not made to bear this agony — 
 Tell me you love me, or you love me not. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I love thee, dearest, with as large a love 
 As e'er was compass'd in the breast of man. 
 Hide then those tears, beloved, where thou wilt, 
 And find a resting-place for that so wild 
 And troubled heart of thine ; sustain it here, 
 And be its flood of passion wept away. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 What was it that you said then ? If you love, 
 Why have you thus tormented me ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Be calm ; 
 And let me warn thee, ere thy choice be fixed, 
 What fate thou mayst be wedded to with me. 
 Thou hast beheld me living heretofore 
 As one retired in staid tranquillity : 
 The dweller in the mountains, on whose ear 
 The accustom'd cataract thunders unobserved ; 
 The seaman who sleeps sound upon the deck 
 Nor hears the loud lamenting of the blast 
 Nor heeds the weltering of the plangent w T ave, — 
 These have not lived more undisturb'd than I : 
 
; x.] PHILIP VAN &RTEVELDE. 
 
 But build not upon this ; the swollen stream 
 
 May shake the cottage of the mountaineer 
 
 And drive him forth ; the seaman roused at length 
 
 Leaps from his slumber on the wave-wash'd deck ; 
 
 And now the time comes fast when here in Ghent 
 
 He who would live exempt from injuries 
 
 Of armed men, must be himself in arms. •' 
 
 This time is near for all, — nearer for me : 
 
 1 will not wait upon necessity 
 
 And leave myself no choice of vantage ground, 
 
 But rather meet the times where best I may, 
 
 And mould and fashion them as best I can. 
 
 Reflect then that I soon may be embark'd 
 
 In all the hazards of these troublesome times, 
 
 And in your own free choice take or resign me. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Oh Artevelde, my choice is free no more. 
 
 Be mine, all mine, let good or ill betide. 
 
 In war or peace, in sickness or in health, 
 
 In trouble and in danger and in distress, 
 
 Through time and through eternity I'll love thee ; 
 
 In youth and age, in life and death I'll love thee, 
 
 Here and hereafter, with all my soul and strength. 
 
 So God accept me as I never cease 
 
 From loving and adoring thee next Him ; 
 
 And oh, may He pardon me if so betray "d 
 
 By mortal frailty as to love thee more. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I fear, my Adriana, 'tis a rash 
 
 And passionate resolve that thou hast made ; 
 
 But how should I admonish thee, myself 
 
 E 2 
 
52 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 So great a winner by thy desperate play. 
 
 Heaven is o'er all, and unto Heaven I leave it. 
 
 That which hath made me weak shall make me strong, 
 
 Weak to resist, strong to requite thy love ; 
 
 And if some tax thou payest for that love, 
 
 Thou shalt receive it from Love's exchequer. 
 
 Farewell : I'm waited for ere this. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Farewell. 
 But take my signet-ring and give me thine, 
 That I may know when I have slept and waked 
 This was no false enchantment of a dream. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My signet-ring, I have it not to-day : 
 
 But in its stead wear this around thy neck. 
 
 And now, my Adriana, my betrothed, 
 
 Give Love a good night's rest within thy heart 
 
 And bid him wake to-morrow calm and strong. 
 
 Scene XI. — Bruges. — An Apartment in the Palace of the 
 Earl of Flanders. 
 
 The Earl and Sir Walter D'Arlon. 
 d'arlon. 
 I marvel, my good lord, you take that knave 
 So freely to your counsels. 
 
 earl. 
 
 Treason done 
 Against my enemies secures him mine. 
 His countrymen of Ghent can ne'er forgive him ; 
 
xi. I PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Which knowing, he will therefore cleave to me. 
 
 Besides, he learns the minds of men toward me 
 
 Here and in Ghent, how each man stands affected. 
 
 For this and other serviceable arts, 
 
 Not out of friendship, do I show him favour. 
 
 Have you not seen a jackdaw take his stand 
 
 On a sheep's back, permitted there to perch 
 
 Less out of kindness to so foul a bird 
 
 Than for commodious uses of his beak ? 
 
 As to the sheep the jackdaw, so to me 
 
 Is Gilbert Matthew ; from my fleece he picks 
 
 The vermin that molest me. — Here he comes ! 
 
 Enter Gilbert Matthew. 
 Well, honest Gilbert, are the knights not gone ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Not yet, my lord ; they urge in lieu of lives 
 
 The forfeiture of sundry burgages 
 
 To fill your coffers. I denied them roundly. 
 
 I bid thee not ! 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Lives, lives, my lord, take freely ; 
 But spare the lands and burgages and moneys. 
 The father dead, shall sleep and be forgotten ; 
 The patrimony gone, — that makes a wound 
 That's slow to heal ; heirs are above-ground ever. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Well, be it so. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 The knights wait here without. 
 
54 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 They ask an audience of leave, and bring 
 A new adherent. 
 
 EAEL. 
 
 Give them entrance, Gilbert. 
 
 Gilbert Matthew goes out, and returns with Sir Simon Bette 
 and Sir Guisebert Grutt. 
 
 SIR SIMON. 
 
 This audience we made bold to crave, my lord, 
 To advertise your highness that our friend 
 Of whom we spake, the valiant Lord of Occo, 
 Has come here at great hazard in disguise 
 To show how matters now proceed in Ghent. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 He shall be welcome. Does he wait ? 
 
 SIR SIMON. 
 
 He does ; 
 And with your highness' leave I'll bring him to you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 EARL. 
 
 Think'st thou he may be steadied ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 At this time 
 He has great power to do your highness service ; 
 And your free pardon for all past misdeeds, 
 And promise of preferment, will do much 
 To make him wholly yours. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Well, well, so be it. 
 'Tis no such urgent need we have of him ; 
 But if he be so contrite, it is well. 
 
si.] PHILIP VAN A.ETEVELDE. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Simon Bettb with Occo. 
 You're a bold man, ray Lord of Occo, you 
 That have so long borne arms against your liege, 
 Without safe-conduct to have ventured here. 
 
 occo. 
 My sole safe-conduct is the good intent 
 I bear to your affairs, my noble lord ; 
 Nought else impell'd me hither, and nought else, 
 I trust, is needed for my safe return. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Thou shalt return in safety. Say, what news 
 Bring'st thou from Ghent? 
 
 occo. 
 My lord, Peace, peace ! is there 
 The only cry, except with desperate chiefs, 
 Who are so weak that fair conditions now 
 Would draw their followers from them to a man. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Our proffer of conditions is made known 
 Already to our good Sir Simon Bette 
 And Guisebert Grutt. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 My lord is pleased to grant 
 Indemnity to all save some three hundred ; 
 The list to be hereafter named by him 
 And dealt with at his pleasure. 
 
 occo. 
 
 This is well ! 
 These terms are just and merciful indeed ! 
 But then they must be proffer'd presently. 
 You know, my lord, the humour we of Ghent 
 
56 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act i. 
 
 Have still indulged — we never cry for peace 
 
 But when we're out of breath ; give breathing-time, 
 
 And ere the echo of our cry for peace 
 
 Have died away, we drown it with War ! war ! 
 
 Even now the faction hopes to be redeem'd 
 
 By a new leader, Philip of Artevelde. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Ha ! Artevelde ? that name is ominous. 
 Whenever sunshine has come near my house 
 An Artevelde has cast his shadow there. 
 I have not heard the name of Artevelde 
 Since that usurper Jacques died the death. 
 This Philip then was in his infancy. 
 What is he made of ? Of his father's metal ? 
 A dangerous man, in truth, sirs, if he be. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Oh fear him not, my lord ; his father's name 
 
 Is all that from his father he derives. 
 
 He is a man of singular address 
 
 In catching river-fish. His life hath been 
 
 Till now, more like a peasant's or a monk's 
 
 Than like the issue of so great a man. 
 
 occo. 
 Yet is his name so worshipp'd of the people, 
 That were the time and scope permitted him 
 To grow expert, some danger might come of him. 
 Wherefore 'twere well to note him on your list. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Let him be noted. Think you, then, Sir Guy, 
 That they'll accept our terms, or still hold out ? 
 
I xi.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 57 
 
 occo. 
 Let these good knights make instant speed to Ghent 
 And call the burghers to the market-place ; 
 Then let to-morrow, at their bidding, wear 
 The aspect of to-day, and all will prosper. 
 Take them whilst yet Nivelle is in their thoughts. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 You counsel well. Prepare, sirs, to depart ; 
 
 Well have the terms engross'd and send you them. 
 
 Farewell, my lord ; farewell, Sir Simon Bette ; 
 
 Sir Guisebert Grutt, farewell. — We'll send you them. 
 
 [Exeunt the Earl, Gilbert Matthew, Occo, and Sir Simon 
 Bette. As Sir Guisebert Grutt is following, he is detained 
 by D'Arlon. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 One word, fair sir. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 My good lord, at your pleasure. 
 d'arlon. 
 I have a foolish errand in your town. 
 
 There is a damsel but your head is white ; 
 
 You will not heed me. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 Pray proceed, my lord, 
 I have not yet forgotten how in youth 
 A damsel's love, amongst the amorous, 
 Was more than bed of down or morning posset. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 In brief, kind sir, conveyance hence to Ghent 
 Is what I crave. Methinks amongst your train, 
 And habited like them, I well could pass 
 And no one mark me. 
 
58 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 SIR GUTSEBERT. 
 
 Sir, you're free to try ; 
 And if our friends should still be uppermost 
 You will risk nothing. Should the faction reign, 
 You shall do well to keep your secret close 
 And make your best speed back. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 Leave that to me. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Ghent. The House Van Artevelde. 
 Van Artevelde and Van den Bosch. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 When they were brought together in the Square, 
 
 I spake. I told them that they lack'd a chief; 
 
 For though they saw that dangers compass'd them, 
 
 Amongst their captains there was none could win 
 
 The love of all, but still some guild or craft 
 
 Would stone him if they might. I bade them think 
 
 How Jacques Artevelde from humblest state 
 
 Had borne this city up to sovereign sway, 
 
 And how his son had lived aloof from strife, 
 
 To none bore malice, and wish'd well to all. 
 
 With that they caught thy name and shouted much ; 
 
 And some old men swore they remember'd well 
 
 In the good times of Jacques Artevelde, 
 
 When they were young, that all the world went right, 
 
scene i.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVBLDE. 
 
 And after he was dead, that they grew old ; 
 
 And wenches who were there, said Artevelde 
 
 Was a sweet name and musical to hear. 
 
 In brief, for these and other weighty reasons 
 
 They were resolved to choose thee for their chief. 
 
 But ' Soft ! my friends,' quoth I ; 'ye know not yet 
 
 How he inclines to that you'd put upon him ; 
 
 He hath no friends and favourites to reward ; 
 
 He hath no adverse faction to repress ; 
 
 Of what avail to him were power and office ? 
 
 But nathless we'll entreat him.' ' Bring him here,' 
 
 Was then the cry. ' More meet it were, my friends,' 
 
 Quoth I, ' that we go seek this noble youth ; 
 
 On such high worth we humbly should attend, 
 
 And not expect such worth should wait on us.' 
 
 To this they gave assent, and will be here 
 
 So soon as the outlying crafts are muster'd. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Good ! When they come I'll speak to them. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 'Twere well. 
 Thou canst not miss to please them in this mood. 
 The trial will be after, when they flag 
 And want a long spur-rowel in their bellies. 
 Thou lack'st experience to deal with men ; 
 Thou must take counsel. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I will hear it always. 
 But yet my task methinks were easy learnt. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Canst learn to bear thee high amongst the commons ? 
 
60 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. * [act ii. 
 
 Canst thou be cruel ? To be esteem'd of them, 
 Thou must not set more store by lives of men 
 Than lives of larks in season. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Be it so. 
 I can do what is needful. Where, I pray you, 
 Abide the messengers of peace from Bruges ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 They lodg'd last night i' the Clothiers' Square. God's 
 
 * blood ! 
 They thought their houses not so safe, belike. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Why thought they that ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 They enter'd by that quarter ; 
 And near Sir Simon's, which they reach'd the first, 
 I had provided some pick'd men to meet them ; 
 But, spite my cautions, they brake forth too soon, 
 And that with howls that Bruges itself might hear. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 So the knights took the warning ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 They drew back 
 And gallop'd to the Square, the while their train 
 Stood fast and fought ; and it is worthy note 
 That one amongst them shouted in the fray 
 The D'Arlons' war-cry, whence he may be known 
 Of that lord's following, and wherefore here 
 We well may guess. 
 
scene i.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 81 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Had he been slain 'twere well : 
 Had others been 'twere not. If I rule Ghent, 
 No man shall charge me that his life or goods 
 Are less secure than mine, so he but keep 
 The laws that I have made. Believe me. Peter, 
 Thy scheme of rule is too disorderly. 
 Thy force still spends and not augments itself. 
 To make the needy and the desperate thine, 
 Thou gav'st them up the plunder of the rich ; 
 Now these, grown desperate and needy too, 
 Raise up a host against thee ; — whereupon, 
 No spoil remaining, thy good friends depart. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 God's curse go with them ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Like enough it may. 
 They've carried it about these five long years ; 
 They took it with them to the peasant's hut, 
 They took it with them to the burgher's stall, 
 A roving curse it followed at their heels, 
 And like enough it will abide amongst them. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Hark ! here they come. 
 
 [Shouts of ' Artevelde ! ' are lieard from without. 
 
 Out, out ! and show thyself. 
 
62 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Scene II.— The Street in front of Van Artevelde's House. 
 Va>~ Arteyelde and Van den Bosch. The Multitude below. 
 
 AETEYELDE. 
 
 My friends, I thank you for the good respect 
 In which you hold me ; sirs, I thank you all. 
 You say that for the love you bore my father, 
 You and your predecessors, you'd have me 
 What he was once, — your captain. Verily 
 I think you do not well remember, sirs, 
 The end of all the love ye bore my father. 
 He was the noblest and the wisest man 
 That ever ruled in Ghent ; yet sirs, ye slew him ; 
 By his own door, here where I stand, ye slew him ; 
 What then am I to look for from your loves ? 
 If the like trust ye should repose in me, 
 And then in like wise cancel it, — my friends, 
 That were an ill reward. 
 
 SEYERAL BURGESSES. 
 
 Nay, Master Philip ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Oh sirs ! I know ye look not to such end, 
 Nor may it be yourselves that bring it round ; 
 But he who rules must still displeasure some, 
 And he should have protection from the many 
 So loner as he shall serve the many well. 
 Sirs, to that end his power must be maintain'd ; 
 The power of peace and war, of life and death, 
 He must have absolute. How say ye, sirs ? 
 
bceite ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Will ye bestow this power on me ? if so, 
 
 Shout ' Artevelde,' and ye may add to that, 
 
 * Captain of Ghent,' — if not, go straightway home. 
 
 [All shout ' Artevelde, Captain of Ghent ! 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 So be it. 
 
 Now listen to your Captain's first command. 
 It has been heretofore the use of some 
 On each cross accident, here or without, 
 To cry aloud for peace. This is most hurtful. 
 It much unsettles brave men's minds, disturbs 
 The counsels of the wise, and daunts the weak. 
 Wherefore my pleasure is and I decree 
 That whoso shall but talk of terms of peace 
 From this time forth, save in my private ear, 
 Be deem'd a traitor to the town of Ghent 
 And me its Captain ; and a traitor's death 
 Shall that man die. 
 
 BURGESSES. 
 
 He shall, he shall, he shall. 
 We'll kill the slave outright. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 No : mark me further. 
 If any citizen shall slay another 
 Without my warranty by word or sign, 
 Although that slayer be as true as steel, 
 This other treacherous as Iscariot's self, 
 The punishment is death. [A pause. 
 
 Ye speak no word. 
 What do we fight for, friends ? for liberty? 
 What is that liberty for which we fight ? 
 
64 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Is it the liberty to slay each other? 
 Then better were it we had back again 
 Roger d'Auterne, the bailiff. No, my friends, 
 It is the liberty to choose our chief 
 And bow to none beside. Xow ye choose me, 
 And in that choice let each man be assured 
 That none but I alone shall dare to judge him. 
 Whoso spills blood without my warranty, 
 High man or low, rich man or poor, shall die. 
 
 BURGESSES. 
 
 The man shall die ; he shall deserve to die ; 
 We'll kill him on the spot, and that is law. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Hold, hold, my friends ! ye are too hasty here. 
 You shall not kill him ; 'tis the headsman's part, 
 Who first must have my warrant for his death. 
 
 BURGESSES. 
 
 Kill him who likes, the man shall die ; that's law. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What further knowledge of my rules ye need 
 Ye peradventure may obtain, my friends, 
 More aptly from my practice than my speech. 
 Now to the Stadt-House — bring the litter, fellows — 
 And there the deans of crafts shall do me homage. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Ho ! stand apart. Bring in the litter, varlets. 
 Now sirs, let's hear your voices as you go. 
 
 [Exeunt, with shouts of ' Artevelde ! 
 
in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 65 
 
 Scene III. — The House Van Merestyn. 
 
 Sir Walter D'Arlon and Clara Van Artevelde. She is 
 engaged in binding up his arm, which is wounded. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 False knight, thou com'st to see thy ladye love 
 
 And canst not stay thy stomach for an hour 
 
 But thou must fight i' the street. Thy hungry sword — 
 
 Could it keep lent no longer? By my faith, 
 
 Thou shall do penance at thy lady's feet 
 
 The live-long night for this. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 God's mercy ! lady ! 
 'Twere a sharp trial, one man to keep lent 
 Whilst all around kept carnival ; the sin 
 Was in the stomachs of your citizens : 
 But I will do the penance not the less. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Come, come ! confess thyself; make a clean breast. 
 
 Thou'dst vow'd a vow to some fair dame at Bruges 
 
 To kill for her dear love a score of burghers. 
 
 Nay, it is certain — never cross thyself — 
 
 Hold up this arm — alas ! there was a time 
 
 When knights were true and constant to their loves 
 
 And had but one a-piece — an honest time ; 
 
 Knights were knights then ; God mend the age, say I ! 
 
 True as the steel upon their backs were they 
 
 And their one lady's word was gospel law. 
 
 Would I had lived a hundred years ago ! 
 
 d'arlon. 
 Could you live backward for a hundred years, 
 
66 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 And then live on a hundred years to come, 
 You'd not find one to love you truelier 
 Than I have loved. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 What, what ! no truer knight ? 
 A seemly word forsooth ! Hast many more such ? 
 No truer knight ? — Tis thus you great lords live 
 With flatterers round you all your golden youth, 
 And know yourselves as much as I know Puck — 
 Your heads so many bee-hives ; honey 'd words 
 Swarm in your ears, and other from your mouth 
 Go buzzing out to ply for sweets abroad ; 
 And so your summer wastes, till some cold night 
 The cunning husbandman comes stealthily 
 And there is fire and brimstone for my lords ! 
 Hold up this arm — let go my hand, I say — 
 Am I to tie thy bandage with my teeth ? 
 
 Enter Adria^a. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 My lord — good heaven ! Your arm — I fear you're hurt. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Hold, hush ! I'll answer for thee. Merely a scratch ; 
 A scratch, fair lady, — that, and nothing more ; 
 It gives us no concern ; 'twas thus we got it : 
 Biding along the streets of this good town, 
 A score of burghers met us, peaceful drones — 
 Saying their prayers, belike ; howe'er that be, 
 The senseless men were rapt in such abstraction 
 They heeded not our lordship ; whereat we, 
 Unused to such demeanour, shook ourselves, 
 And prick'd them with our lance ; a fray ensued, 
 
SCENE in. j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 07 
 
 And lo ! as we were slaying some fourteen 
 
 That stay'd our passage, it pleased Providence, 
 
 Of whom the meanest may be instruments, 
 
 Thus gently to chastise us on the arm, 
 
 Doubtless for some good cause, tho' what, we know not. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 My lord, you know her ; she is ever thus, 
 Still driving things against you to your face, 
 And when you're gone, if I should chance let fall 
 A word, or but a hint of censure, as — 
 My Lord of Arlon is too rash, too hot, 
 Too anything — ■ 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 She sighs and says, too true. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 No verily. But why, my lord, come here 
 At all this hazard only to be rail'd at ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Yes, tell us why. 
 
 D' ARLON. 
 
 Behold the very cause. 
 
 Enter Artevelde. 
 artevelde (as he enters). 
 Let my guard wait without. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 His guard ! What's this ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My Lord of Arlon, God be with your lordship ! 
 And guide you upon less adventurous tracks 
 Than this you tread. I'll speak with you anon : 
 
 f 2 
 
68 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 My Adriana ! victim that thou art ! 
 
 Thy lover should have been some gentle youth 
 
 In gay attire, with laughter on his lips, 
 
 Who'd nestle in thy bosom all night long, 
 
 And ne'er let harness clink upon thine ears, 
 
 Save only in romaunt and roundelay. 
 
 Such is what should be, and behold what is ! 
 
 A man of many cares new taken up, 
 
 To whom there's nothing more can come in life 
 
 But what is serious and solicitous : 
 
 One who betakes him to his nuptial bed, 
 
 His thoughts still busy with the watch and ward, 
 
 And if his love breathe louder than her wont, 
 
 Starts from his sleep, and thinks the bells ring backwards : 
 
 A man begirt with eighty thousand swords, 
 
 Scarce knowing which are in the hands of friends 
 
 xAud which against him ; such a sort of man 
 
 Thy lover is — his fate for life or death 
 
 Link'd to a cause which some deem desperate. 
 
 Such is Van Artevelde, for he is dow 
 
 Chief Captain of the White-Hoods and of Ghent 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Nay ! is it even so ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Even so it is. 
 
 ADRIAXA. 
 
 And thou art captain of these savages ! 
 
 And thou wilt trample with them through the blood 
 
 Of fellow-men, alas it may be, too, 
 
 Of fellow-citizens — for what care they ? 
 
 And thou who wert a gentle-hearted man, 
 
 Must lead these monsters where they will ! 
 
scknk in. | PHILIP VAN AKTEVBLDB. 81 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Xot so. 
 I purpose but to lead them where I will. 
 
 ADRIAN A. 
 
 Then they will turn upon thee ; never yet 
 
 Would they endure a chief that cross 'd their humour. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That is the patience they've to learn from me. 
 The times have tamed them, and mischance of late 
 Has forced an iron bit between their teeth, 
 By help whereof I hope to rein them round. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Oh, they will murder thee ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It may be so. 
 But I hope better things — yet this is sure, 
 That they shall murder me ere make me go 
 The way that is not my way for an inch. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 'Alas ! and is it come to this ! — Oh God ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 This I foresaw, and things have fallen out 
 
 No worse than I forwarn'd thee that they might. 
 
 What must be, must. My course hath been appointed ; 
 
 For I feel that within me which accords 
 
 With what I have to do. The field is fair, 
 
 And I have no perplexity or cloud 
 
 Upon my vision. Every thing is clear. 
 
 And take this with thee for thy comfort too — 
 
 That man is not the most in tribulation 
 
 Who, resolute of mind, walks his own way, 
 
70 PHILIP VAN AETEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 With answerable skill to plant his steps. 
 
 Men in their places are the men that stand, 
 
 And I am strong and stable on my legs ; 
 
 For though full many a care from this time forth 
 
 Must harbour in my head, my heart is fresh, 
 
 And there is but one trouble touches it, 
 
 That this portends a troubled fate for thee. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 For me ? — Oh never vex thy heart for that ; 
 
 Nor think of me so all unworthily, 
 
 Nor fancy for me fears I have not — No. 
 
 I'll follow thee through sunshine and through storm ; 
 
 I will be with thee in thy weal and woe, 
 
 In thy afflictions, should they fall upon thee, 
 
 In thy temptations when bad men beset thee, 
 
 In all the perils which must now press round thee, 
 
 And, should they crush thee, in the hour of death. 
 
 If thy ambition, late aroused, was that 
 
 Which push'd thee on this perilous adventure, 
 
 Then I will be ambitious too, — if not, 
 
 And it was thy ill- fortune drove thee to it, 
 
 Then I will be unfortunate no less. 
 
 I will resemble thee in that and all things 
 
 Wherein a woman may ; grave will I be 
 
 And thoughtful, for already it is gone — 
 
 God's blessing on my earlier years bestowed, 
 
 The clear contentment of a heart at ease. 
 
 All will I part with to partake thy cares, 
 
 Let but thy love my lesser joys outlast. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 The last of love for thee were last of all 
 
in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That through this passage of mortality 
 
 Lights on my soul to heaven. All will be well. 
 
 Much happiness shall be thy portion yet. 
 
 Love will be with thee, breathing his native air, 
 
 And peace around thee, thro' the power of love. 
 
 But bring me through the business of this day — 
 
 My lord, your pardon ; we consume your time, 
 
 Which, I'm constrain'd to say, is short in Ghent. 
 
 I hitherto have welcomed you amongst us, 
 
 And kept the secret of your sojourns here ; 
 
 So doing, partly for respect to you, 
 
 And partly for her sake, this foolish girl's, 
 
 My pretty Clara's, who will let me say 
 
 I had not pleased her else ; but now, my lord, 
 
 As you have heard, I hold an office here 
 
 With duties appertaining, and must needs 
 
 (With sorrow for your sudden going hence) 
 
 Make offer of my passport, — good till sunset. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 If no discourtesy is meant by this 
 I have but to depart. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Depart ! and wherefore ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 There's nothing meant but honour, nothing else, 
 
 Howe'er to rude appearances enforced. 
 
 When there is peace between the Earl and Ghent 
 
 'Twill be a joy to me to see again 
 
 The gallant Lord of Arlon ; till that time 
 
 We meet not, save in hostile ranks opposed, 
 
 Or captive, I in Bruges or he in Ghent. 
 
72 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 Sir, it is not for me to say you nay 
 In your own town, with not a man to back me ; 
 Nor would I willingly distrust your word 
 That all is honourably meant ; for else 
 I scarce should miss to find a future time 
 For fair requital. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 On my faith, my lord, 
 I love you and respect you. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 Tis enough. 
 Then I depart in peace. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Depart ! what's this ? 
 What's all the coil about? Depart ! aye truly, 
 That's when I bid him, not an instant sooner. 
 Dismiss him thus, and bid him come no more ! 
 Then what becomes of me ? Oh, I'm a child ! 
 I'm to be whipp'd for crying after him ? 
 But let me tell thee, Philip, I'm the child 
 Of Jacques Artevelde — So look well to it. 
 x\n injury to myself I might forgive, 
 But one to D'Arlon — 
 
 [Bursting into tears. 
 
 Sir, think twice upon it, 
 Lest you should lose a sister unawares. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 Nay Clara, nay, be not so troubled. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 There— 
 You see the humour she is of, my lord ; 
 
BOSNE in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 78 
 
 But be my sins confess'd, the fault is mine. 
 
 An orphan sister and an only one, 
 
 What could I less but let her have her will 
 
 In all things possible ? An easy man 
 
 She still has found me, and knows nothing yet 
 
 Of opposition to her high commands. 
 
 You, if you e'er should take her to yourself, 
 
 May teach her better doctrine. Patience, Clara, 
 
 Patience, my love ; nor let this knight discern 
 
 His future trials thus presignified 
 
 In rain and lightning ; let him not, my love. 
 
 clara {weeping). 
 When will he come again ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 When peace comes, dearest ; 
 We'll make him welcome then to bower and hall, 
 And thou shalt twine a garland for his brow 
 Of olive and of laurels won from me. 
 
 Be pacified, sweet Clara ; dry your tears. 
 He but deals with me as he has the right 
 And deems himself in duty bound. Such things 
 Shall jar no string between us. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Xobly said. 
 I leave her in your hands, and hope your aid 
 For bringing her to reason. 
 
 d'arlox. 
 
 I entreat 
 One word in private with you ere we part. 
 
74 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Take in my sister, Adriana — go, 
 Impart to her a portion of that strength 
 Which there is in thee — teach her to subdue 
 Her woman's wilfulness. 
 
 [Exeunt Adeiaxa and Claea. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 My errand here 
 Is not so wholly idle as no doubt 
 Thou deem'st it. I would first have warn'd thee off 
 The office which, with most unhappy haste, 
 Already thou hast clutch'd. That being vain, 
 I next would bid thee to beware false friends. 
 Look that there be no treason in thy camp ; 
 I may not now say more ; but be assured 
 'Twill be thy life thou fight'st for, 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Noble D'Arlon ! 
 It is a grief to me that we should meet 
 In opposition thus. I will look round, 
 And profit by thy warning if I may. 
 Trust me 'twould irk my heart no less than thine, 
 (And may this show in all my acts hereafter,) 
 To enter in alliance with foul play 
 For any earthly meed. Sir, fare you well. 
 
 d'arlox. 
 Whenso' the choice and noblest of my friends 
 Are bid to memory's feast, then, Artevelde, 
 The place of honour shall be thine. Farewell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter the Captain of Arteyelde's Guard. 
 
 CAPTAIX. 
 
 Sir, there's a messenger from Van den Bosch 
 
s.knk in.] PHILIP VAX ABTEVELDE. 76 
 
 Who craves to see you instantly : another 
 Says the Lord Occo waits your leisure. 
 
 artevelde (after a pause). 
 
 Ha! 
 Lord Occo, saiclst thou ? tell me, what of him ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 He waits your leisure, sir. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And when comes that ? 
 He shall not wait my leisure. And what more ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Sir, Van den Bosch would see you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It is well : 
 I will attend the Lord of Occo first, 
 And Van den Bosch shall find me at my house 
 Some half hour hence. How look we, sir, abroad ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 The citizens are trooping to the Stadt-House. 
 Tis said Sir Simon and Sir Guisebert pass 
 From door to door incessantly. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 To beg ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 To gain a strong attendance. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Wo the while ! 
 A bear, a fiddle, and a pair of monkeys, 
 Had sped the service better. 
 
76 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Both mean and notable, and rich and poor, 
 
 Have they solicited, assuring all 
 
 That when it shall be heard what terms of peace 
 
 Are offer "d, they will hug the messengers 
 
 That after painful travail for their love 
 
 Have brought them such good news. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I'll swear they will. 
 But what ? Thou look'st not over cheerily ; 
 Think'st thou the knights have made some way then, ha? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 The deacons of eight crafts have sided with them, 
 And many of the aldermen. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Ay, truly ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 And all the men of lineage. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That's as thou hearest. 
 
 The citizens pass'd by me in the street 
 
 By scores and hundreds, and of them I saw 
 
 The greater part, 'twas plain, would stand against us. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Build up. and then pull down, and then build up, — 
 And always in the ruins some are — Well ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 And I'm afeard, though loth I am to think it, 
 
s.knk iv. J PHI LI I' VAN ARTEVELDE. 77 
 
 A few amongst your guard have fallen off 
 At seeing us outnumber 'tl thus. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Is't so ? 
 Why, wherefore should I wish that it were not ? 
 The more faint hearts fall off the better, sir ; 
 So fear shall purge us to a sound condition. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Dwelling-house of the Lord of Occo. 
 Occo and Van Aeswyn. 
 occo. 
 The manners, then, are for us ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 They are ours, 
 occo. 
 And these are of the curriers that thou bring'st me ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 The deacons of that craft — they're backward still : 
 
 They're ever harping upon Artevelde, 
 
 Who told their worships when they did him homage 
 
 If his poor humour govern'd, nothing else 
 
 But leathern jerkins should be worn in Ghent. 
 
 occo. 
 We'll deal with them the same as with the fullers ; 
 So bring them in. 
 
 [Exit Van Aeswtk. 
 
 Well done, Sir Curriers ! 
 These precious moments must be given to you ! 
 The devil curry you for senseless boors ! 
 
 Re-enter Van Aeswyn with the two Craftsmen. 
 Good-morrow, masters — Ha ! my valued friend, 
 
78 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Jacob Van Kyk ; and if my eyes see true. 
 Master 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Van Muck. 
 
 occo. 
 Tush, tush, sir ! tell not me. 
 Have I forgotten my old friend Van Muck, 
 Or any of my friends ? — though time is short, 
 And we must scant our greetings. "Worthy sirs, 
 We're in a perilous predicament, 
 And I should take no step without advice. 
 Hash were it, and a tempting Providence, 
 Should I proceed without consulting you. 
 We see, sirs, we must see — we can't but own, 
 That we have no choice left us but of peace 
 Or else destruction. It is come to that. 
 Then if we must be subject to the Earl, 
 I will confess I'm. not so subtie-witted 
 To see much difference 'twixt this hour and that, 
 The going over to him now at once 
 With flesh upon our bones, or holding back 
 Till famine wastes it or steel hacks it off : 
 I see no difference. 
 
 VAX MUCK. 
 
 Truly, sir. nor I. 
 occo. 
 Aye, but there is a difference, my friends, 
 Which I forgot. For, hark you in your ear ! 
 Those who go over but when all go over, 
 If they escape from pains and penalties, 
 Can scarcely claim much merit with the Earl ; 
 But they who find a guidance for themselves, 
 
 
iv.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 Who take a step or two before the herd, 
 
 Whilst the will's free, who lead and do not follow — 
 
 These men have claims ; they have a right to say, 
 
 Reward us for our voluntary service ; 
 
 Nor will they be unanswered, that I know : 
 
 1 First serve the first,' is what they say at Bruges. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Tis a good proverb, sir, for early men, 
 And we have ne'er been slack in things of credit ; 
 But we have scruples here. We see it thus : 
 If we should but shout peace with half the town, 
 The Earl would scarce distinguish us from others ; 
 If, on the other hand, we use our weapons 
 Against our friends, they'd call us renegades, 
 And blacken us for false and treacherous knaves. 
 
 Why look ye now ; too surely, should ye shout, 
 And fail in action, 'twere no singular service ; 
 There's no great guerdon were deserved by that ; 
 The clerkships of the wards (which after peace 
 Must be new filled) would not be won by shouts : 
 But where's the treachery ? My worthy friends, 
 Look at the matter simply as it is : 
 Here is a town beleaguer'd in such wise 
 That it must needs surrender upon terms : 
 Then come a knot of desperate-minded men, 
 Who, deeming the rendition gives them up 
 To punishment, make head against the rest : 
 These think no shame to say that all must die 
 To save their one — two — three — half-dozen heads 
 From certain hazards. Why, if fall they must 
 
80 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. ' [act ii. 
 
 And they would rather 'twere by steel than cord, 
 Let them assail us and let us be men. 
 Are we not free to choose twixt peace and war ? 
 They — they it is that are so treacherous— they, 
 Who would betray a city to destruction 
 For private and particular ends of theirs. 
 Then let us rally round the public weal 
 And link our names with that. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 It must be own'd 
 The city's weal doth loudly call upon us ; 
 But some of us there are who recently 
 Swore fealty to Artevelde. 
 
 occo. 
 
 What then ? 
 That was but for the war — not knowing then 
 That it was ended by your deputies 
 And peace concluded : answer not so idly. 
 Swore ye not fealty to the Earl before ? 
 Come, come, my friends — we're all as one, I see ; 
 And let me tell you that the whole of Ghent, 
 Almost the whole, is minded like yourselves. 
 Strange is it men shall meditate and muse 
 In secret all alike, and show no sign 
 Till a blow's struck, and then they speak it out, 
 And each man finds in each his counterpart ; 
 And, as a sluice were open'd, all shall rush 
 To find the self-same level, and pour on 
 To the same end. But I forgot, my friends ; 
 We have to think of what particular mark 
 Should first be aiinM at when the blow is struck. 
 
.. iv.j PHILIP NAN A.RTEVELDE 
 
 VAX RYK. 
 
 So please you, sir, a cast at Van den Bosch 
 Were not amiss, methinks. 
 
 occo. 
 
 Well shot, Van Ryk ; 
 But yet not quite the bull's eye. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 By the mass, 
 He's shot the bull he had his horns of — Ha ! 
 What will Dame Oda say to thee ? 
 
 VAX RYK. 
 
 Come, come ! 
 If that's our archery, Frans Fleisch for thee. 
 
 occo. 
 My friends, we'll settle all such scores at will, 
 But is not Ghent more precious than our wives ? 
 And who debauches her ? When she was fain 
 To creep into her long-left lord's embrace, 
 Who came at night and whistled her away ? 
 This is the aggravation that most stirs 
 The choler of the Earl. The other chiefs, 
 Men that by accidents and long degrees 
 Became entangled in rebellion, — them 
 He can forgive ; but he that plunged plump in 
 And so new troubled what was settling down. 
 This is the man that he has mark'd for death : 
 Whoso brings down that head has hit a mark 
 That's worth five hundred florins. Ha ! my friends ! 
 Who strikes a good stroke with his sword for this ? 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 Van Artevelde must die, you understand me. 
 
 [A pause ag 
 
82 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 Why, if he must, he must, and there's an eud. 
 
 occo. 
 The Earl must have his life ; who hath the guerdon 
 Is not material save to them that get it ; 
 But truly were the money on my head, 
 And I as sure to die as Artevelde, 
 I'd rather that such men as you should have it, 
 Than see it snatch'd by luck ; when die we must, 
 'Tis better that thereby good men should thrive 
 Than snatchers. 
 
 VAN ETK. 
 
 Saving your displeasure, sir, 
 'Tis said good men ne'er thrive but by good deeds. 
 Now, were it but the slaying Van den Bosch, 
 Or Peter Nuitre, or Frans Ackerman, 
 There's husbands, widows, orphans, all through Ghent, 
 Would say the deed was good : but Artevelde 
 Has, as it were, a creditable name, 
 And men would say we struck not for revenge, 
 But only lucre, which were scandalous ; 
 And also, sir — 
 
 occo {to a Serving-man, who enters). 
 
 What, sirrah ? — speak — what now ? 
 
 [The Serving-man ichispers him. 
 
 Van Artevelde ! he is not coming here ? 
 Not now — not now ? 
 
 SERVING-MAN. 
 
 Now, instantly, my lord. 
 
 occo. 
 Masters, I wish you both good-day — good-day, 
 
jcbhe iv. PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 God prosper thee, Van Ryk — Van Muck, farewell. 
 Why op'st thou not the door, thou villain groom ? 
 Think'st thou the burgesses have time to lose ? 
 Farewell at once, sirs — not to keep you longer 
 When things are all so stirring in the town ; 
 You're needed at your posts, I know ; farewell. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 My lord, as touching these five hundred florins — 
 
 occo. 
 Just as ye will, sirs — any way ye please ; 
 I bid God speed you, and so fare you well. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 If you would take four hundred from the five. 
 And set the residue on Van den Bosch, 
 His head I'd bring you in for that much money, 
 And Ackerman's for love and pure good-will. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 And sir, as touching Artevelde — 
 
 occo. 
 
 Nay, nay, 
 I will not press it further. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 If the florins — 
 occo. 
 Peace on your lives, he's here ! 
 
 Enter Van Artevelde. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My Lord of Occo, at your pleasure. Ha ! 
 Attended, too, as I could wish to see you ; 
 I'd not desire to see a friend of mine 
 
S4 PHILIP TAX ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 Better accompanied, — no, nor a foe 
 
 Better encounter'd than by men like these. 
 
 Jacob Van Byk, my father loved you much : 
 
 No man knew better, Jacob, than my father, 
 
 Who were the worthiest to be loved and trusted ; 
 
 And I, thou seest, have mounted to his seat. 
 
 How the old times come back upon me now ! 
 
 I was a very little prating child 
 
 When thou wert wonted to attend my father 
 
 Home from the Stadt-House : it was always thou 
 
 Whom he would choose from them that brought him 
 
 home 
 To ask thy company ; and in thine arms 
 He oft would put me for his more repose, 
 For I was stillest there. Times change, Van Ryk ; 
 Years shift us up and down ; but something sticks ; 
 And for myself, there's nothing as a man 
 That I love more than what a child I loved. 
 Honest Van Muck, thy hand — thou look'st abash'd — 
 Ah, thou bethink'st thee of thy little debt, 
 The money that I lent thee for the close. 
 Why, what of that, man ? Didst thou ever hear 
 An Artevelde would hurt his friend for gold ? 
 Thy debt is cancell'd — think no more upon it ; 
 Thou shalt look boldly upward in the world 
 And care for no man. I will settle that 
 This instant with a writing. 
 
 occo. 
 
 By your leave, 
 The burgesses are tarried for elsewhere ; 
 They are incontinently going hence ; 
 
scene iv.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You will forgive their haste, they cannot stay ; 
 Open the doors. Good-day, sirs, once again. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Master Van Artevelde, I'm more your debtor 
 Than ever I was yet. The Lord requite you, 
 And keep you in your perils near at hand ! 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Master Van Artevelde, God bless you, sir ! 
 And give you grace to know and to discern, 
 And read men's hearts, — the gift your father had. 
 Look for your friends amongst the commons ever ; 
 An' 'twere not for Lord Occo standing here, 
 I'd bid you trust in ne'er a Lord of Ghent. 
 
 [Exeunt the Craftsmen. 
 artevelde (after a pause). 
 
 These are ambiguous knaves. 
 
 occo. 
 
 True craftsmen both ! 
 Ever suspicious of nobility. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That am I not. You had some news to tell, 
 So your lieutenant said. 
 
 occo. 
 
 Intelligence 
 Has reach'd me of the terms the Earl will offer : 
 A guarantee of franchises and rights, 
 Oonditional on some three hundred of us 
 Being deliver'd over to his mercy. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Of whom then is this number ? 
 
86 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ij 
 
 OCCO. 
 
 They must be 
 Wbomso' the Earl may please to name hereafter. 
 The lists are written out, though not divulged ; 
 But, what is worthiest note, upon the file , 
 Your name appears not. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 By my faith, that's strange ! 
 But are these tidings certain ? 
 
 occo. 
 
 Beyond doubt. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 How came you by them, if they be so certain ? 
 
 occo. 
 They're rumour'd — very confidently rumour'd. 
 I had them also from my spies at Bruges ; 
 A most sagacious spy — he saw the lists ; 
 He never yet deceived me — there's no doubt. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And what do you advise, if this be truth ? 
 
 occo. 
 Why, if the town be obstinately bent 
 On making peace, my counsel to yourself, 
 Whose life peace places not in jeopardy, 
 Would be to leave the forward part to us, 
 Whose only hope of safety is resistance ; 
 So that, if we should fall, you still may stand, 
 Whatever turn things take. And bear in mind, 
 If there be danger, and the crafts turn on us, 
 To throw yourself among the mariners ; 
 There's none of all the crafts so wholly with us. 
 
BCBNE iv.J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 With which of us, my lord ? 
 
 occo. 
 
 With one and all. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Aye, say you so ? And my part, as you think, 
 
 Is to hold back and see you play the game. 
 
 My apprehension of a leader's part 
 
 Is different from this. I ask'd your counsel, 
 
 And I have not unprofitably heard it : 
 
 Now I will give you mine, and be you pleased 
 
 To profit in like sort, lest worse befall you. 
 
 I too have had my spies upon the watch, 
 
 And what they brought me sounded in my ears 
 
 A note of warning link'd with names well known, 
 
 Now known for traitors' names. I hereupon 
 
 Took order for a numerous company, 
 
 Selected for their hardihood and faith, 
 
 To be for ever close upon the heels 
 
 Of these same traitors at all guild-assemblies 
 
 And use their weapons on a sign from me. 
 
 Which matters recommending to your notice, 
 
 My counsel to you is to stay at home. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Van Aeswtx. 
 
 AESWTN. 
 
 My lord, Sir Guisebert Grutt is much impatient, 
 
 And. sends one message on another's heels 
 
 To ask why tarry you ? 
 
 occo. 
 
 I am not well. 
 
88 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 But they are setting forth immediately ; 
 The market-place is full to overflowing. 
 
 occo. 
 Hark ye ! he knows it all. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Van Artevelde ? 
 
 occo. 
 Knows every thing. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 And what is to be done ? 
 
 occo. 
 I'm ill at ease ; I know not ; what think'st thou ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 If he but knew it half an hour too soon, 
 His knowledge is of small account. 
 
 occo. 
 
 God's death ! 
 But I am ignorant how long he's known it — 
 How many he has practised with and gain'd — 
 How many may have falsely seem'd to swerve 
 By his direction, only to delude 
 And so embolden me to my destruction. 
 I would this hour were past ! 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Resolve on something ; 
 Take one part or the other, lest it pass, 
 And leave you ruin'd both ways. 
 
 occo. 
 
 Ruin'd! Ruin'd! 
 
BCEHE v.| PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 lie told me if I ventured to the meeting 
 His followers should slay me. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Yours may him ; 
 Tis a fair challenge, let us fight it out. 
 
 occo. 
 Why that is bravely said. Then be it so. 
 Thou shalt have warranty to fight it out ; 
 And if we're beaten, I shall stand prepared 
 To fly to Bruges with such as choose to follow. 
 And hark you ! we will not go empty-handed ; 
 We'll take a prize that's worth a good town's ransom,- 
 A damsel whom thou wot'st of. Pick me out 
 Ten of the sturdiest of my body-guard, 
 Van Truckler and Van Linden at their head ; 
 Bid them have horses saddled, and a litter. 
 Shouldst thou be worsted in the market-place 
 I will be nigh thee to protect thy flight 
 Till thou mayst reach the gates. God prosper thee ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 AESWYN. 
 
 The dastard ! when the service is of danger 
 
 The follower must lead, and venture all 
 
 For him that ventures nothing. Are we fools ? 
 
 Scene V. — The House Van Artevelde. — Artevelde in a suit of 
 armour, reclining in a window-seat. Tfte Page is standing by 
 him. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Not to be fear'd — Give me my sword ! Go forth, 
 And see what folk be these that throng the street. 
 
 [Exit the Page. 
 
90 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Not to be fear'd is to be nothing here. 
 And wherefore have I taken up this office, 
 If I be nothing in it ? There they go. 
 
 [SJwuts are heard. 
 
 Of them that pass my house some shout my name, 
 But the most part pass silently ; and once 
 I heard the cry of ' Flanders and the Lion.' 
 Re-enter Page. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The knights that newly have arrived from Bruges 
 Pass down the street, my lord, and many with them. 
 
 AKTEVELDE. 
 
 Give me my cloak and dagger ! There, enough— 
 Thy service is perform'd. Go to thy sports, 
 But come not near the market-place to-day. 
 
 To be the chief of honourable men 
 Is honour ; and if dangerous, yet faith 
 Still binds them faster as the danger grows. 
 To be the head of villains, — what is that 
 But to be mind to an unwholesome body — 
 To give away a noble human soul 
 In sad metempsychosis to the brutes, 
 Whose carrion, else exanimate, but gains 
 A moment's life from this, then so infects 
 That altogether die the death of beasts. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 These hands are spotless yet — 
 Yea, white as when in infancy they stray 'd 
 Unconscious o'er my mother's face, or closed 
 With that small grasp which mothers love to feel. 
 No stain has come upon them since that time — 
 They have done nothing violent — 
 
BOBKB v.] IMIILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 91 
 
 Of a calm will untroubled servants they, 
 
 And went about their offices, if here 
 
 I must not say in purity, in peace. 
 
 .But he they served, — he is not what he was. 
 
 [A party pass the window, and a voice cries, ' The Lion for Flanders.' 
 
 That cry again ! 
 
 Sir knights, ye drive me close upon the rocks, 
 
 And of my cargo you're the vilest bales, 
 
 So overboard with you ! What, men of blood ! 
 
 Can the son better auspicate his arms 
 
 Than by the slaying of who slew the father ? 
 
 Some blood may flow because that it needs must, 
 
 But yours by choice — I'll slay you, and thank God. 
 
 Enter Van den Bosch. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 The common bell has rung ! the knights are there ; 
 Thou must come instantly. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I come, I come. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Now, Master Philip, if thou miss thy way 
 Through this affair, we're lost. For Jesus' sake 
 Be counsell'd now by me ; have thou in mind — 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Enough, I need not counsel ; I'm resolved. 
 Take thou thy stand beside Sir Simon Bette, 
 As I by Grutt ; take note of all 1 do, 
 And do thyself accordingly. Come on. 
 
92 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Scene VI. — The exterior of the Stadt-House. Two external 
 flights of stone stairs meet in a landing-place or platform, 
 midway in the front of the building and level with the first 
 floor. On this platform appear Sir Guisebert Grutt, with 
 the aldermen of sundry guilds and the deans of the several 
 crafts of butchers, fishermen, glaziers, and cordicainers. Also 
 Van Artevelde, Van den Bosch, Frans Ackerman, Van 
 Nuitre, and others of their party. Sir Guisebert Grutt 
 descends some steps, and meets Sir Simon Bette, as he id 
 coming up from the street. 
 
 sir guisebert (aside to Sir Simon Bette). 
 God's life, sir ! where is Occo ? 
 
 SIR SIMON. 
 
 Sick, sick, sick. 
 He has sent word he's sick and cannot come. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 Pray God his sickness be the death of him ! 
 
 SIR SIMON. 
 
 Nay, his lieutenant's here, and has his orders. 
 
 van den bosch (aside to Artevelde). 
 I see there's something that hath staggered them. 
 Now push them to the point. [Aloud.] Make way 
 there, Ho ! 
 
 artevelde (coming forward). 
 Some citizen hath brought this concourse here. 
 Who is the man, and what hath he to say ? 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 The noble Earl of Flanders of his grace 
 Commissions me to speak. 
 
 [Some White-Hoods interrupt him icith cries of ' Ghent,' on which 
 there is a great tumult, and they are instantly drowned in the 
 ary of ' Flanders.' 
 
 
SCENE vi.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 93 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What, silence ! peace ! 
 Silence, and hear this noble Earl's behests, 
 Deliver'd by this thrice puissant knight. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 First will I speak — not what I'm bid to say, 
 
 But what it most imports yourselves to hear. 
 
 For though ye cannot choose but know it well, 
 
 Yet by these cries I deem that some of you 
 
 Would, much like madmen, cast your knowledge off, 
 
 And both of that and of your reason reft 
 
 Run naked on the sword — which to forefend, 
 
 Let me remind you of the things ye know. 
 
 Sirs, when this month began ye had four chiefs 
 
 Of great renown and valour, — Jan de Bol, 
 
 Arnoul le Clerc, and Launoy and Van Ranst : 
 
 Where are they now ? and what be ye without them ? 
 
 Sirs, when the month began ye had good aid 
 
 From Brabant, Liege, St. Tron, and Huy and Dinant : 
 
 How shall they serve you now ? The Earl sits fast 
 
 Upon the Quatre-metiers and the Bridge : 
 
 What aid of theirs can reach you ? What supplies ? 
 
 I tell you, sirs, that thirty thousand men 
 
 Could barely bring a bullock to your gates. 
 
 If thus without, how stand you then within ? 
 
 Ask of your chatelain, the Lord of Occo ; 
 
 Which worthy knight will tell you — 
 
 artevelde (aside to Van Den Bosch). 
 
 Mark you that ? 
 Then aloud to Sir Guisebert.] Where is this chatelain, your 
 speech's sponsor? 
 
94 PHILIP VAN AETEYELDE. [act ii. 
 
 SIR GUISEBERT. 
 
 He's sick in bed ; but were he here, he'd tell you 
 There's not provision in the public stores 
 To keep you for a day. Such is your plight. 
 Now hear the offer of your natural liege. 
 Moved to compassion by our prayers and tears, 
 Well aided as they were by good Duke Aubert, 
 My Lady of Brabant and Lord Compelant — 
 To whom our thanks are due, — the Earl says thus : 
 He will have peace, and take you to his love, 
 And be your good lord as in former days ; 
 And all the injuries, hatreds, and ill-will 
 He had against you he will now forget, 
 And he will pardon you your past offences, 
 And he will keep you in your ancient rights ; 
 And for his love and graces thus vouchsafed 
 He doth demand of you three hundred men, 
 Such citizens of Ghent as he shall name, 
 To be deliver'd up to his good pleasure. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Three hundred citizens ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Peace, Van den Bosch. 
 Hear we this other knight. Well, worthy sir, 
 Hast aught to say, or hast not got thy priming, 
 That thus thou gaspest like a droughty pump ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Nay, 'tis black bile that chokes him. Come, up with it ! 
 Be it but a gallon it shall ease thy stomach. 
 
 SEVERAL CITIZENS. 
 
 Silence ! Sir Simon Bette s about to speak. 
 
scene vi.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 95 
 
 SIR SIMON. 
 
 Right worthy burgesses, good men and rich ! 
 Much trouble ye may guess, and strife had we 
 To win his Highness to this loving humour ; 
 For if ye rightly think, sirs, and remember, 
 You've done him much offence — not of yourselves, 
 But through ill guidance of ungracious men. 
 For first ye slew his bailiff at the cross, 
 And with the Earl's own banner in his hand, 
 Which falling down was trampled under foot 
 Through heedlessness of them that stood about. 
 Also ye burn'd the castle he loved best 
 And ravaged all his parks at Andrehen, 
 All those delightful gardens on the plain : 
 And ye beat down two gates at Oudenarde, 
 And in the dike ye cast them upside down : 
 Also ye slew five knights of his, and brake 
 The silver font wherein he was baptised. 
 Wherefore it must be own'd, sirs, that much cause 
 He had of quarrel with the town of Ghent. 
 For how, sirs, had the Earl afflicted you 
 That ye should thus dishonour him ? 'tis true 
 That once a burgess was detain 'd at Erclo 
 Through misbehaviour of the bailiff; still 
 He hath deliver'd many a time and oft 
 Out of his prisons burgesses of yours 
 Only to do you pleasure ; and when late 
 By kinsmen of the bailiff whom ye slew, 
 Some mariners of yours were sorely maim'd, 
 (Which was an inconvenience to this town) 
 What did the Earl ? To prove it not his act 
 He banish 'd out of Flanders them that did it. 
 
96 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ri. 
 
 Moreover, sirs, the taxes of the Earl 
 
 Were not so heavy, but that, being rich, 
 
 Ye might have borne them ; they were not the half 
 
 Of what ye since have paid to wage this war ; 
 
 And yet had these been double that were half, 
 
 The double would have grieved you less in peace 
 
 Than but the half in war. Bethink ye, sirs, 
 
 What were the fowage and the subsidies 
 
 When bread was but four mites that's now a groat ? 
 
 All which considered, sirs, I counsel you 
 
 That ye accept this honourable peace, 
 
 For mercifully is the Earl inclined, 
 
 And ye may surely deem of them he takes 
 
 A large and liberal number will be spared, 
 
 And many here who least expect his love 
 
 May find him free and gracious. Sirs, what say ye ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 First, if it be your pleasure, hear me speak. 
 
 [Great tumult, and cries of i Flanders.' 
 
 What, sirs, not hear me ? was it then for this 
 Ye made me your chief captain yesternight, 
 To snare me in a trust, whereof I bear 
 The name and danger only, not the power ? 
 
 [Tfte tumult increases. 
 
 Sirs, if we needs must come to blows, so be it ; 
 For I have friends amongst you who can deal them. 
 
 sir simon (aside to Sir Guisebert). 
 Had Occo now been here ! but lacking him 
 It must not come to that. 
 
 SIR guisebert. 
 
 My loving friends, 
 Let us behave like brethren as we are, 
 
BCBNB vi.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 97 
 
 And not like listed combatants. Ho, peace ! 
 Hear this young bachelor of high renown, 
 Who writes himself your captain since last night, 
 When a few score of varlets, being drunk, 
 In mirth and sport so dubbed him. Peace, sirs ! hear 
 him. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Peace let it be, if so ye will ; if not, 
 We are as ready as yourselves for blows. 
 
 ONE OF THE CITIZENS. 
 
 Speak, master Philip, speak, and you'll be heard. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I thank you, sirs ; I knew it could not be 
 
 But men like you must listen to the truth. 
 
 Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to you 
 
 Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers 
 
 The worthy leaders ye have lately lost : 
 
 True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; 
 
 And ill would it become us to make light 
 
 Of the great loss we suffer by their fall : 
 
 They died like heroes ; for no recreant step 
 
 Had e'er dishonour'd them, no stain of fear, 
 
 No base despair, no cowardly recoil : 
 
 They had the hearts of freemen to the last, 
 
 And the free blood that bounded in their veins 
 
 Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. 
 
 But had they guess'd, or could they but have dream'd 
 
 The great examples which they died to show 
 
 Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here, 
 
 That men should say * For liberty these died, 
 
 Wherefore let us be slaves,' — had they thought this, 
 
98 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. .[act ii. 
 
 Oh, then, with what an agony of shame, 
 
 Their blushing faces buried in the dust, 
 
 Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven ! 
 
 What ? shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth 
 
 To write that in five bodies were contained 
 
 The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five defunct, 
 
 The heartless town, by brainless counsel led, 
 
 Deliver 'd up her keys, stript off her robes, 
 
 And so with all humility besought 
 
 Her haughty lord that he would scourge her lightly ! 
 
 It shall not be — no, verily ! for now, 
 
 Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, 
 
 Mine eye can single out full many a man 
 
 Who lacks but opportunity to shine 
 
 As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. — 
 
 But lo ! the Earl is mercifully minded ! 
 
 And surely if we, rather than revenge 
 
 The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, 
 
 And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned, 
 
 Then will my lord the Earl have mercy on us, 
 
 And pardon us our letch for liberty ! 
 
 What pardon it shall be, if we know not, 
 
 Yet Ypres, Courtray, Grammont, Bruges, they know ; 
 
 For never can those towns forget the day 
 
 When by the hangman's hands five hundred men, 
 
 The bravest of each guild, were done to death 
 
 In those base butcheries that he called pardons. 
 
 And did it seal their pardons, all this blood ? 
 
 Had they the Earl's good love from that time forth ? 
 
 Oh, sirs ! look round you lest ye be deceived ; 
 
 Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, 
 
 Forgiveness may be written with the pen, 
 
SCENE vi.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 9 
 
 But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon 
 
 Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. 
 
 There's that betwixt you been which men remember 
 
 Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot, 
 
 Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed 
 
 From which no morrows mischief knocks them up. 
 
 There's that betwixt you been which you yourselves, 
 
 Should ye forget, w T ould then not be yourselves ; 
 
 For must it not be thought some base men's souls 
 
 Have ta'en the seats of yours and turn'd you out, 
 
 If in the coldness of a craven heart 
 
 Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man 
 
 For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes ? 
 
 Think of your mariners, three hundred men, 
 
 After long absence in the Indian seas 
 
 Upon their peaceful homeward voyage bound, 
 
 And now, all dangers conquer'd as they thought, 
 
 Warping the vessels up their native stream, 
 
 Their wives and children waiting them at home 
 
 In joy, with festal preparation made, — 
 
 Think of these mariners, their eyes torn out, 
 
 Their hands chopped off, turn'd staggering into Ghent, 
 
 To meet the blasted eye-sight of their friends ? 
 
 And was not this the Earl ? 'Twas none but he ! 
 
 No Hauterive of them all had dared to do it, 
 
 Save at the express instance of the Earl. 
 
 And now what asks he ? Pardon me, sir knights ; 
 
 [To Grutt and Bette. 
 
 I had forgotten, looking back and back 
 From felony to felony foregoing, 
 This present civil message which ye bring : 
 Three hundred citizens to be surrendered 
 
 H 2 
 
100 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Up to that mercy which I tell you of — 
 
 That mercy which your mariners proved — which steep'd 
 
 Courtray and Ypres, Grammont, Bruges, in blood ! 
 
 Three hundred citizens, — a secret list — 
 
 No man knows who — not one can say he's safe — 
 
 Not one of you so humble but that still 
 
 The malice of some secret enemy 
 
 May whisper him to death — and hark — look to it ! 
 
 Have some of you seem'd braver than their fellows. 
 
 Their courage is their surest condemnation ; 
 
 They are marked men — and not a man stands here 
 
 But may be so. — Your pardon, sirs, again ! 
 
 [To G-rutt and Bette. 
 
 You are the pickers and the choosers here, 
 
 And doubtless you're all safe, ye think — ha ! ha ! 
 
 But we have pick'd and chosen, too, sir knights — 
 
 What was the law for I made yesterday — 
 
 What ! is it you that would deliver up 
 
 Three hundred citizens to certain death ? 
 
 Ho ! Van den Bosch ! have at these traitors — ha — 
 
 [Stabs Geutt who falls. 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Die, treasonable dog — is that enough ? 
 Down, felon, and plot treacheries in hell. 
 
 [Stabs Bette. 
 [The White-Hoods draw their swords, with loud cries of Treason/ 
 ' Artevelde,' ' G-hent,' and l The Chaperons Blancs.' A citizen 
 of the other party, who in the former part of the scene had 
 unfurled the Earl's banner, now throws it down and flies ; several 
 others are following him, and the Aldermen and Deans, some 
 of whom had been dropping off towards the end of Artevelde's 
 speech, now quit the platform with precipitation. Van Aeswyn 
 is crossed by Van den Bosch. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Die thou, too, traitor. 
 
 [Aiming a blow at him. 
 
icsvi vi. | Pin LIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 101 
 
 artevelde (luarding it off). 
 
 Van den Bosch, forbear. 
 Up with your weapons, White-Hoods ; no more blood. 
 These only are the guilty who lie here. 
 Let no more blood be spilt on pain of death. 
 Sirs, ye have nought to fear ; I say, stand fast ; 
 No man shall harm you ; if he does, he dies. 
 Stand fast, or if ye go, take this word with you, 
 Philip Van Artevelde is friend with all ; 
 There's no man lives within the walls of Ghent 
 But Artevelde will look to him and his, 
 And suffer none to plunder or molest him. 
 Haste, Van den Bosch ! by Heav'n they run like lizards ! 
 Take they not heart the sooner, by St. Paul 
 They'll fly the city, and that cripples us. 
 Haste with thy company to the west wards, 
 And see thou that no violence be done 
 Amongst the weavers and the fullers — stay — 
 And any that betake themselves to pillage 
 Hang without stint — and hark — begone — yet stay ; 
 Shut the west gate, postern and wicket too, 
 And catch my Lord of Occo where you can. 
 Stay — on thy life let no man's house be plundered. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 That is not to my mind ; but what of that ? 
 Thou'st play'd the game right boldly, and for me, 
 My oath of homage binds me to thee. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Well, 
 Thou to thy errand then, and I myself 
 Will go from street to street through all the town, 
 
102 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 To reassure the citizens ; that done 
 I'll meet thee here again. Form, White-Hoods, form : 
 Range ten abreast ; I'm coming down amongst you. 
 You Moris, Leefdale, Spanghen, mount ye here, 
 And bear me down these bodies. Now, set forth. 
 
 [The White-Hoods, by whose shouts of ' Artevelde for Ghent ' the 
 latter 'part of the scene has teen frequently interrupted, now join 
 in a cry of triumph, and carry him off on their shoulders. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Night. A Wood in the vicinity of Bruges. 
 
 The Lord of Occo and Followers, 
 occo. 
 No more than half a league to Bruges ? then halt, 
 And let the men of arms be drawn together 
 Where the ground's open. Berckel, ride thou on 
 And hail the warders on the walls ; make known 
 That for the love which we have shown the Earl 
 We're driven forth of Ghent, and humbly crave 
 His hospitality. 
 
 [To Van Aeswyn, who enters. 
 
 Where is the lady ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 They've dropp'd behind some furlong with the litter. 
 
 occo. 
 Keep thou beside her, lest she should prevail 
 To make the varlets speak. Let none approach 
 
 
[I. PHILIP VAN AJKTEVELDE. 
 
 After we pass the gates but men of mine, 
 Nor ever let the litter be unclosed. 
 Now, if we're all in order, march we on. 
 
 ■ s < !ENE II. — A Banqucttinrj Hall in the St adt -house at Bruges. 
 — Tahlcs are spread, and the Earl of Flanders, the HasE 
 OP Flanders, with several Lords, Knights, and followers 
 of the Earl, are entertained by the Mayor of Bruges and tin 
 Aldermen. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Sir Mayor, we thank you ; 'tis a royal feast. 
 
 MAYOR. 
 
 My gracious lord, the supper is but poor ; 
 
 Very exceeding poor the supper is ; 
 
 And yet the most we can ; your humble hosts, 
 
 Being but meagre citizens God wot, 
 
 Can but purvey your highness what they have, 
 
 A very sorry supper. 
 
 ALDERMAN. 
 
 True indeed. 
 Yet if your highness please to cast it up, 
 A thousand florins — 
 
 MAYOR. 
 
 Hold thy peace, Van Hoist ; 
 The minstrels twang their cat-gut. 
 
 earl {aside to the Hase). 
 
 In good time. 
 If aught could make me cast my supper up, 
 Twere to taste further of their courtesies. 
 Soho, sir minstrel ! what hast got to sing ! 
 
104 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 TAN HOLST. 
 
 That matter has been cared for, please your highness ; 
 
 We knew your highness had a skilful ear, 
 
 And 'twas not every poesy would please you. 
 
 This is a ditty craftily conceited, 
 
 Trump 'd up as 'twere extempore for the nonce ; 
 
 He was no tavern cantabank that made it, 
 
 But a squire minstrel of your highness' court. 
 
 So — sing, sir minstrel — there you have it — ah ! 
 
 Fal-lal — the very thing — the tune's ' Green Sleeves.' 
 
 THE MINSTREL SINGS. 
 
 The little bird sat on the greenwood tree, 
 And the sun -vras as bright as bright could be ; 
 The leaf was broad, the shade was deep, 
 The Lion of Flanders lay fast asleep. 
 
 The little bird sang, ' Sir Lion arise, 
 For I hear with my ears and I see with my eyes, 
 And I know what I know, and I tell thee this, 
 That the men of Ghent have done something amiss.' 
 
 From his lair the Lion of Flanders rose, 
 And he shook his mane and toss'd up his nose ; 
 1 Ere a leaf be fallen or summer be spent,' 
 Quoth he, ' if God spare me, I'll go to Ghent.' 
 
 ' For a little bird sang and I dream'd beside 
 
 That the people of Ghent were puff 'd up with pride ; 
 
 And I had been far over hill and dale 
 
 And was fast asleep, and they trod on my tail.' 
 
 Ere a leaf was fallen the lion he went, 
 And growl' d a growl at the gates of Ghent ; 
 But they bended low when they saw him awake. 
 And said that they trod on his tail by mistake. 
 
 The little bird sat on the bush so bare, 
 And the leaf fell brown on the lion's lair ; 
 The little bird pick'd a berry so red, 
 And dropp'd it down on the lion's head. 
 
 ' Sir Lion awake, and put out your claws, 
 And lift your chin from your tawny paws ; 
 My ears are smaller than yours, but more 
 I hear than you, and worse than before.' 
 
scene ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 105 
 
 The lion stirr'd and awoke with a snort, 
 And swell'd with rage till his hreath came short; 
 ' Ere the brown leaf meet with the flake of snow 
 On the roundabout stair, to G hent I'll go. 
 
 ' For a little bird sang, and I dream'd as well, 
 That the people of Ghent were as false as hell ; 
 Coming by stealth when nought I fear'd, 
 They trod on my corns and pull'd my beard.' 
 
 Ere a snow-flake fell the lion he went, 
 
 And roar'd a roar at the gates of Ghent; 
 
 The gates they shook though they were fast barr d, 
 
 And the warders heard it at Oudenarde. 
 
 At the first roar ten thousand men 
 Fell sick to death — he roar'd again, 
 And the blood of twenty thousand flow'd 
 On the bridge of Roone, as broad as the road. 
 
 Wo worth thee, Ghent! if, having heard 
 The first and second, thou bidest the third ! 
 Flat stones and awiy, grass, potsherd and shard, 
 Thy place shall be like an old churchyard. 
 
 EAKL. 
 
 A singular good song, and daintily accompanied with 
 the music. Give him three florins, and a denier for the 
 lad withal. 
 
 VAN HOLST. 
 
 Your highness is too bountiful. He made it not 
 himself. 'Twas your highness's serjeant-minstrel that 
 made it. The making and mending of it together was 
 seven days and nights, bating twelve hours for sleeping, 
 and four hours for eating, and five minutes for saying 
 his prayers. Drinking never stopped him, for still the 
 more he drank, the more he made of it. And he ranted 
 and sang, an' it like your highness, that it would have 
 pleased you to hear him ; for being that the song was 
 made in honour of your highness, he said he could 
 sing it a thousand times over and think better of it 
 every time. 
 
106 PHILIP VAN AETEYELDE. [act in. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 It is good poesy — marry and good prophecy too. 
 Hark ye, master mayor ; I have some whit repented me 
 that I was wrought upon by those old Knights of Ghent 
 to proffer terms of such easy acquittance. 
 
 MAYOR. 
 
 When your highness is graciously pleased to give 
 away your advantages, it is not for such as I to say you 
 do wrong ; but every man in Bruges, that is well 
 affected to your highness, said that three hundred heads 
 was too little. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 By my faith they said true; and Gilbert Matthew 
 told me no less ; but I was persuaded by the old 
 Knights. I was too easy with them. Where is Gilbert 
 Matthew ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Here, my lord. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Come hither, Gilbert. I have bethought me, Gilbert, 
 I almost sinn'd against true chivalry 
 To let yon rabble off. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Your highness says it. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Thoud'st tell me 'twas not by thy counsel, — well. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 As many heads of each insurgent craft 
 Would not have been denied. A hundred nail'd 
 Like weasels to the gates of each wall'd town 
 Thorough the States of Flanders — that had been 
 
SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDI. 107 
 
 A warning wholesome and significant 
 To the good towns. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 A salutary caution. 
 I would the bargain were to make again. 
 Why, so now ! who comes here ? the good Sir Walter. 
 
 Enter Sir Walter D'Arlon. 
 DArlon, I never see thee but with joy. 
 What new adventure hast thou been upon ? 
 We miss thee oft at court, but thy return 
 Is ever with new honours at thy heels. 
 What captives follow thee to Bruges to-night ? 
 Or hast thou turn'd base metal into gold, 
 And bring'st their ransoms ? — either way is well. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 My lord, I come alone. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Why, still thou'rt welcome. 
 d'arlon. 
 Yet there is something following at my heels 
 Which hardly shall your highness in like sort 
 Make welcome here. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Why, say'st thou ? what is that ? 
 
 d'arlon. 
 Ill rumours, my good lord. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 And of what import ? 
 
 d'arlon. 
 The rebels are alive again and fresh. 
 
108 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 The messengers of peace lie stabb'd to death 
 Upon the steps i' the market-place. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Not so ! 
 It cannot be, — D'Arlon, it must be false, 
 
 d'arlon. 
 I fear, my lord, it will not so be found. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Nay, nay, — so stripped of every thing — so bare 
 As we had made them — scarce a leader left, 
 And those that were so wild and scant of skill ! 
 
 d'arlon. 
 That were an ugly breach if not repair'd. 
 They've made young Artevelde their chief. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 God help them ! 
 A man that as much knowledge has of war 
 As I of brewing mead ! God help their souls ! 
 A bookish nursling of the monks — a meacock ! 
 
 d'arlon. 
 My lord, I'm fearful you mistake the man. 
 If my accounts be true, the life he's led 
 Served rather in its transit to eclipse 
 Than to show forth his nature ; and, that pass'd, 
 You'll now behold him as he truly is, 
 One of a cold and of a constant mind, 
 Not quicken'd into ardent action soon, 
 Nor prompt for petty enterprise ; yet bold, 
 Fierce when need is, and capable of all things. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 And hath he slain the knights ? 
 
bcenb ii.] PHILIP VAN A.RTEVELDE. LOO 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 With his own hand. 
 
 KARL. 
 
 I tell thee it is false ; it cannot be. 
 
 Thou, Gilbert Matthew, how think'st thou o' the tale ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 My lord, it may be there's some stir at Ghent, 
 Which rumour, floating like a mist before, 
 Augments to this. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Thou deem'st it to be nothing. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 I deem of Ghent as of a fly in winter 
 That in a gleam of sunshine creeping forth 
 Kicks with stiff legs a feeble stroke or two 
 And falls upon its back. My lord, 'tis nothing. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Gilbert, thy wisdom never was at fault. 
 Thou art a comfortable councillor. 
 Sirrah, what tidings ? 
 
 [To an Attendant who enters. 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 Sir, the Lord of Occo 
 Came with his men at arms before the walls. 
 Apprised that he was driven forth of Ghent, 
 The warders have admitted him, and here 
 He waits your pleasure. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Bid him in at once. 
 He comes like confirmation. Oh Ghent ! Ghent ! 
 Oh ye ungracious people ! 
 
110 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 Enter the Lord of Occo. 
 
 Speak, Sir Guy. 
 Out with the worst, for I have guess'd it all. 
 Fame was here first as breathless as you are. 
 
 Tis the worst fortune ever yet befel me 
 
 To be the bearer of this heavy news. 
 
 Our friends are slain, the White-Hoods hold the town, 
 
 And he, the homicide whose bloody hand 
 
 Despatched the peaceful knights, is lord of all. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Oh that unhappy people ! hear me, God ! 
 Hear me ye host of heaven, and all good men ! 
 If e'er I lift the wine-cup to my lips, 
 If ever other than a soldier's bed 
 Contain me, or if any pleasant sport 
 Inveigle off my heart while that town stands, 
 May I be driven from my royalties 
 To dwell with beasts like him that sinned of old ! 
 Kise, sirs, and feast no more. My Lord of Occo, 
 Such entertainment as such times afford 
 We'll give you. Bid my chamberlain see to it. 
 xldieu, sirs ; when the walls of Ghent lie flat 
 Our revel we resume. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 Leave me t my lord, 
 The entertainment of your friends from Ghent. 
 My house will hold them. — [Aside.] Grant me this, my 
 
 lord ; 
 They need a supervisor. 
 
scene in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 11 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Good ; — Sir Guy, 
 Sir Walter D'Arlon is your host at Bruges. 
 Adieu, sirs ; come to council in the morning 
 You that are of it. Stand aside, Sir Minstrel — 
 What, are you blind? Good night, good night, adieu. 
 
 Scene III. — A Chamber in the Lord op Arlon's House. Adriana 
 Van Merestyn, and three Attendants in the Lord of Occo's 
 livery. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Where have ye brought me, Sirs ? What house is this ? 
 Nay, must I ask for ever ? Wilt not speak ? 
 Nor thou, nor thou ? If ye are bid be dumb, 
 But say ye are so and I'll ask no more. 
 
 FIRST ATTENDANT. 
 
 Madam, we are. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Who bid you ? — Not a word ? 
 If you're afraid to tell me, make a sign. 
 Was it the Lord of Occo ? 
 
 [First Attendant shakes his head. 
 
 Twas not he. 
 Then whosoe'er enjoined it, send him here ; 
 Entreat him were it but for courtesy 
 To come to me. He that hath tied your tongues 
 May loose them, or may hold his own unfettered. 
 I pray thee send him ; thou art not so rude, 
 To guess thee by thy mien, as this so slight, 
 So slender service to deny me — no — 
 Or else thou wear'st a mask. 
 
 [The first Attendant goes out. She turns aside from the others. 
 
112 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 Befriend me now, 
 Heart, head, and tongue ; be bold, be wise, be ready ! 
 Oh for some potion that for one hour's space 
 Should make me twice myself! 
 
 Enter Van Aeswyn. 
 Aeswyn (to the Attendants). 
 
 Depart the chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt the Attendants. 
 
 Master Van Aeswyn ! 
 
 ADRIAN A. 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Madam ! 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 It is thou 
 
 That thus abusest me ! 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 I, Madam ! No. 
 I have done nothing ; if a wrong there be, 
 It lies with others ; I have but obeyed 
 Whom I am bound to serve. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Alas ! thy guilt 
 Is but more abject, being ministrant 
 Unto another's, and thyself no less 
 Accountable to Heaven. His lust and greed 
 Whom thou abettest thou dost make thine own, 
 And nothing gett'st but wages of thy service 
 To pay thy sin. What ! is't not shame on shame 
 Thou puttest thine immortal soul to sale 
 For profit of another, thy reward 
 Being the sorry guerdon of a squire 
 
scene in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 113 
 
 With blot and stain of such addition vile 
 Of countenance and favour, bred of guilt, 
 As he that uses thee may please to show thee : 
 Favour, that coming from so soiled a source, 
 And for such soil of service, if well weighed, 
 Less of reward than punishment should taste, 
 And less of honourable show should wear, 
 Than show of reprehension. Thou to stamp 
 A gentle name with stigma of such deeds ! 
 Oh curse of bad men's hire ! 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Nay, madam, nay; 
 Tis not for hire, neither for countenance : 
 But I have taken service with this lord, 
 And by the law of arms — 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 What law is that ? 
 'Tis not the law of God, nor yet above it. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 An honest squire is bound by plighted faith, 
 And by the law of arms, to execute 
 His lord's behests. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Though they be base and foul ? 
 Oh Sin ! what thread or filament so fine 
 Of casual consent, of compact void, 
 Slipt in betwixt ' God save you ' and ' good morrow,' 
 That's not a warrant of authority 
 To bind a man to thee ! to the,e, glib Sin ! 
 But Virtue ! where is that indissolute chain 
 Which to thy anchored mandaments eterne 
 
114 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 The floating soul shall grapple ! Law of arms ! 
 Grant 'twere that law supernal it is not, 
 Yet dost thou break it : for all wrongs to women 
 Stand in its code denounced. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 By all that's just, 
 The deed misliked me from the first ; three times 
 I prayed his lordship to bethink himself 
 What quittance he should hazard and what blame, 
 In wronging of so rich and good a lady ; 
 But still he said the Earl should bring him through 
 Let come what might ; insisting that by law 
 You were in wardship, and His Grace might grant 
 Your hand to whom was fittest. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Oh blind craft ! 
 Oh frail inventions of humanity ! 
 Me shall no earthly prince nor potentate 
 Toss like a morsel of his broken meat 
 To any supplicant. Be they advised 
 I am in wardship to the King of Kings ; 
 God and my heart alone dispose of me. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Madam, I would it were so. 
 
 AB&IANA. 
 
 Say besides 
 The Earl should cast the mantle of his power 
 Over thy master, what shall cover thee, 
 That canst not borrow greatness for the cloak 
 Of evil deeds, from naked, manifest shame ? 
 Lo, here I stand in jeopardy and fear, 
 
scene in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. llfi 
 
 Weak, trembling, sick at heart, and wearied so 
 With perturbation, and with pain so racked, 
 That I have lost my patience, and for hours 
 Have pray'd for God's deliverance through death ; 
 Yet rather would I, yea, far rather, live 
 A dateless life of anguish such as this ; 
 Kather live out my reason thus, and twist 
 For restless years upon a bed-rid couch 
 With the sole sense of dotage and distress 
 Than change with thee and take upon my soul 
 Thy forfeiture, and lodge within my breast 
 That worm of memory which to-day shall breed, 
 And which upon thy death-bed shall not die, 
 But being of the soul, shall be immortal ! 
 Go — God forgive thee ! for not mine the heart 
 That would invoke a curse, 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Lady, I swear 
 I bore a part not willingly in this ; 
 And could I, without ruin of my fortunes, 
 Do aught that should redeem it 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 For thy fortunes 
 Trust them to me. 
 
 Enter one of the Attendants. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 My lord is at the gate, 
 And asks for you. • [Exit. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 I say, trust them to me ; 
 
 Do to thyself the justice to renounce 
 
 i2 
 
116 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 This false knight's service, and to me one act 
 
 Of loyalty : seek out "with instant haste 
 
 The Lord of Arlon ; tell him I am here 
 
 In tribulation, and beseech his aid, 
 
 And bid him by the love he bears his lady, 
 
 To grant it me with speed. Wilt thou do this ? 
 
 AESWTN. 
 
 Madam, I will. 
 
 ADRIA>~A. 
 
 Go now then to thy lord, 
 Lest he suspect thy tarriance. I, meanw ? hile, 
 Will to the inner chamber make retreat, 
 Where I shall watch and pray till shall be seen 
 The issue of thine errand. Hark ! they call thee. 
 
 Scexe IV. — An Ante-chamber in the Earl's Palace. 
 Sir Walter D'Arlon and Gilbert Matthew. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 No sooner had his highness reach 'd the palace 
 Than he sends back for me. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 xlnd me the same. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 His highness is not happy. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 That is likely ; 
 But have you any private cause to think it? 
 
scene iv.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 117 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 I have observed that when he is not happy 
 
 He sends for me. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 And do you mend his mood? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Nay, what I can. His highness at such times 
 Is wishful to be counselled to shed blood. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 'Tis said that he is counsell'd oft to that. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 It is my duty to advise his highness 
 
 With neither fear nor favour. As I came, 
 
 The bodies of three citizens lay stretch'd 
 
 Upon the causeway. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 How had they been kill'd ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 By knocking on the head. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 And who had done it ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 The officers that walk'd before the Earl 
 
 To make him room to pass. The streets were full, 
 
 And many of the mean-crafts roam'd about 
 
 discoursing of the news they heard from Ghent ; 
 
 And as his highness pass'd they misbehaved, 
 
 And three were knock'd upon the head with .staves. 
 
 I knew by that his highness was not happy. 
 
 I knew I should be sent for. 
 
113 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 Enter an Usher from an inner chamber. 
 
 USHEE. 
 
 Ho ! Master Gilbert Matthew to bis higbness. 
 
 [He-enters the chamber, followed by Gilbert Matthew. 
 
 d'aelon. 
 There's some men of their bloody counsels boast, 
 As though the heart were difficult to harden. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 My lord, a gentleman has come in haste 
 To seek you. I inform'd him you were here 
 In waiting on his highness, but he still 
 Insisted you would see him, did you know 
 The matter and its urgency. 
 
 d'aelon. 
 
 His name? 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 Van Aeswyn. 
 
 d'aelon. 
 
 What ! Sir Guy of Occo's squire ? 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 The same, my lord. 
 
 d'aelon. 
 
 Yes, yes, the man I know, 
 
 But not the matter that he hath with me ; — 
 
 Unless it be some difference with my steward 
 
 About his quarters. Bring me where he waits. 
 
SCENE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 119 
 
 Scene V. — A Chamber in the Fad's Palace. 
 The Earl and Gilbert Matthew. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 And thus, if all that we have heard be true, 
 
 Last night's ill news this morning somewhat betters. 
 
 There's reason to surmise these granaries 
 
 Were not destroy 'd by chance, and the same hand 
 
 Which did us this good service may do more. 
 
 Meantime we'll pray Duke Aubert and the bishop 
 
 To let no victual pass their lands to Ghent. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 You shall do well, my lord. I know that people. 
 No poison works so wastingly amongst them 
 As a low diet — yea, it brings them down. 
 There'll be a hundred thousand mouths in Ghent 
 Gaping like callow jackdaws. Ah ! I know them. 
 The men of battle are full feeders all ; 
 By the strong hand they live, and help themselves 
 With griping of the rest. When famine comes, 
 'Tis worse to those, seeing that theretofore 
 They were too gross of body, worse to these, 
 For they were pinch 'd already. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 That is true. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Yea, sir, I know the White-Hoods. W^ait awhile, 
 And when they feel the vulture in their gut 
 They shall be busy whetting of their beaks. 
 
120 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act hi. 
 
 Wait till they hunger, and not two in Ghent 
 Shall be of one opinion. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 In God's time 
 Distress shall breed dissensions as thou say'st. 
 We'll trust to that, and therefore have great heed 
 To block them out from access of provision. 
 The country is well wasted thereabouts, 
 And what they get must travel far to reach them. 
 We must shut up the roads from Liege and Brabant. 
 
 Enter the Lord of Arlon. 
 d'arlon. 
 My lord, I do beseech you make me quit 
 Of Occo for my guest, and give us leave 
 For instant combat. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Walter, art thou mad ? 
 What is thy quarrel with the Lord of Occo ? 
 He is since yesterday, with thy good leave, 
 Our very worthy friend. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 My lord, my lord, 
 He is since yesterday, if not before, 
 The very lewdest villain that was e'er 
 A blur and stain to knighthood. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Say'st thou so ? 
 What are thy reasons ? 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 With a violent hand 
 He carried off from Ghent a noble lady, 
 
scene v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 121 
 
 Whose honour he attempted yesternight 
 Beneath my roof: and here on her behalf, 
 And on my own, your highness I entreat 
 That you give order to have lists prepared, 
 Where I may meet the miscreant spear to spear, 
 And do God's will upon him. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Soft, my son ; 
 I'll have no fighting for a private cause 
 Till Ghent be down. I cannot spare a spear, 
 And this were but a childish cause at best 
 For breaking one. The honest dames of Ghent 
 Have scarce deserved protection at our hands ; 
 And when the time shall come, as come it will, 
 That Ghent is storm'd and sack'd, they'll have no more 
 Than their deserts : free quarters shall they give 
 To lusty knight, hot squire, and man at arms. 
 Shall they not, Gilbert ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Sir, the dames of Ghent 
 Must look for worse than what your highness hints. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Why then my Lord of Occo sinn'd not much 
 To seize occasion by the forelock, — ha ? 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 My lord, he did but what was just and right. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 Peace, Master Gilbert Matthew — stand apart ; 
 I seek an audience direct and free, 
 
122 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iti. 
 
 No craft of juggling renegade betwixt 
 
 To interpose, and toss me to and fro 
 
 The words that please him or that please him not. 
 
 My lord, you know what service I have done, 
 
 And with what voluntary heart, not bound 
 
 By duty or allegiance to bear arms, 
 
 For in my native land the while was peace. 
 
 I scarce am call'd a man, and service yet 
 
 I count by years, nor leave a winter out. 
 
 I was the nursling of your camp, my lord, 
 
 And play'd with weapons, ere my hands had strength 
 
 To lift an iron basnet to my head. 
 
 The war-horse neigh 'd to see me when my legs 
 
 His breadth of back bestrided scarce aslope, 
 
 And rarely hath it been from that time forth 
 
 That I have housed when men at arms were mounted. 
 
 This it befits not me to say, my lord, 
 
 Save for the just conclusion : I entreat 
 
 That if it square not with your purposes 
 
 To grant the combat which I claim with Occo, 
 
 I then have leave to fold my banner up, 
 
 And quit your camp. 
 
 Come, Walter, come, you're idle ; 
 When cause and opportunity are rife 
 For reasonable fighting, we might well 
 Dispense with all knight-errantry. Enough ; 
 See the moon out, and if thy humour hold 
 It shall have way ; the next that shines, I trust, 
 Shall cast upon the batter'd w 7 alls of Ghent 
 A thorough light. 
 
scene v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 123 
 
 d'arlon. 
 And if I live to see it 
 I'll claim the combat. Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 [Exit. 
 EARL. 
 
 Was ever man, with denizens for foes 
 And foreigners for friends, so plagued as I ! 
 My bravest knight would cast away his life 
 To do me a disservice, with more zeal 
 Than he was used to serve me with : denied, 
 Straight he shall tell me he was born elsewhere 
 And owes me no allegiance. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 By your leave, 
 I could not wish your highness better fortune, 
 Than that the fools you count amongst your friends 
 Were number'd with your foes, — or with the dead. 
 
 Enter Attendant. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 According to the summons, please your highness, 
 The Lords are met in council. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 I shall come. 
 Attend me, Gilbert, when the board breaks up, 
 And thou shalt know the issue. Come to dinner. 
 And sirrah, tell the butler that to-day 
 I shall drink brandy. From all use of wine 
 I'm interdicted by a sacred vow, 
 Till Ghent's submission free me. May't be soon ! 
 
124 PHILIP VAN AETEVELDE. [act it. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Ghent. — The platform at the top of the steeple 
 of St. Nicholas' Church. — Time, day-break. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 There lies a sleeping city. God of dreams ! 
 What an unreal and fantastic world 
 Is going on below ! 
 
 Within the sweep of yon encircling wall 
 How many a large creation of the night, 
 Wide wilderness and mountain, rock and sea, 
 Peopled with busy transitory groups, 
 Finds room to rise, and never feels the crowd ! 
 — If when the shows had left the dreamers' eyes 
 They should float upward visibly to mine, 
 How thick with apparitions were that void ! 
 But now the blank and blind profundity 
 Turns my brain giddy with a sick aversion. 
 — I have not slept. I am to blame for that. 
 Long vigils, join'd with scant and meagre food, 
 Must needs impair that promptitude of mind, 
 And cheerfulness of spirit, which in him 
 Who leads a multitude, is past all price. 
 I think I could redeem an hour's repose 
 Out of the night that I have squander'd, yet. 
 The breezes, launch'd upon their early voyage, 
 Play with a pleasing freshness on my face. 
 I will enfold my cloak about my limbs 
 
SCENE i.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 125 
 
 And lie where I shall front them ; — here, I think. 
 
 \He lies down. 
 
 If this were over blessed be the calm 
 
 That comes to me at last ! A friend in need 
 Is nature to us, that when all is spent, 
 
 Brings slumber bountifully w 7 hereupon 
 
 We give her sleepy welcome if all this 
 
 Were honourably over Adriana — 
 
 [Falls asleep, but starts up almost instantly. 
 
 I heard a hoof, a horse's hoof I'll swear, 
 Upon the road from Bruges, — or did I dream ? 
 No ! 'tis the gallop of a horse at speed. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH (ivithouf). 
 
 What ho ! Van Artevelde ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Who calls ? 
 van den bosch (entering). 
 
 Tis I. 
 
 Thou art an early riser, like myself; 
 Or is it that thou hast not been to bed ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What are thy tidings ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Nay, what can they be ? 
 A page from pestilence and famine's day-book; 
 So many to the pest-house carried in, 
 So many to the dead-house carried out. 
 The same dull, dismal, damnable old story. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Be quiet ; listen to the westerly wind, 
 And tell me if it bring thee nothing new. 
 
126 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act rv. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Nought to my ear, save howl of hungry dog 
 That hears the house is stirring — nothing else. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 No, — now — I hear it not myself — no — nothing. 
 The city's hum is up — but ere you came 
 Twas audible enough. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 In God's name what ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A horseman's tramp upon the road from Bruges. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Why then be certain, 'tis a flag of truce ! 
 If once he reach the city we are lost. 
 Nay, if he be but seen, our danger's great. 
 What terms so bad they would not swallow now ? 
 Let's send some trusty varlets forth at once 
 To cross his way. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And send him back to Bruges ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Send him to hell — and that's a better place. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, softly, Van den Bosch ; let war be war, 
 But let us keep its ordinances. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Tush ! 
 I say, but let them see him from afar, 
 And in an hour shall we, bound hand and foot, 
 Be on our way to Bruges. 
 
sckne I.] PHILIP VAN APtTEVELDE. 127 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Not so, not so. 
 My rule of governance has not been such 
 As e'er to issue in so foul a close. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 What matter by what rule thou may'st have govern 'd ? 
 Think'st thou a hundred thousand citizens 
 Shall stay the fury of their empty maws 
 Because thou'st ruled them justly? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That such a hope is mine. 
 
 It may be 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Then thou art mad, 
 And I must take this matter on myself. [/ 5 ga i nffm 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Hold, Van den Bosch ; I say this shall not be. 
 I must be madder than I think I am 
 Ere I shall yield up my authority, 
 Which I abuse not, to be used by thee. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH, 
 
 This comes of lifting dreamers into power. 
 I tell thee, in this strait and stress of famine, 
 The people, but to pave the way for peace. 
 Would instantly despatch our heads to Bruges. 
 Once and again I warn thee that thy life 
 Hangs by a thread. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Why, know I not it does ? 
 What hath it hung by else since Utas' eve ? 
 
128 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv 
 
 Did I not by mine own advised choice 
 
 Place it in jeopardy for certain ends ? 
 
 And what were these ? To prop thy tottering state ? 
 
 To float thee o'er a reef, and, that perform'd, 
 
 To cater for our joint security ? 
 
 No, verily ; not such my high ambition. 
 
 I bent my thoughts on yonder city's weal ; 
 
 I look'd to give it victory and freedom ; 
 
 And working to that end, by consequence 
 
 From one great peril did deliver thee — 
 
 Not for the love of thee or of thy life, 
 
 Which I regard not, but the city's service ; 
 
 And if for that same service it seem good 
 
 I will expose thy life to equal hazard. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Thou wilt ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 I Will. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Oh, Lord ! to hear him speak, 
 What a most mighty emperor of puppets 
 Is this that I have brought upon the board ! 
 But how if he that made it should unmake ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Unto His sovereignty who truly made me 
 
 With infinite humility I bow ! 
 
 Both, both of us are puppets, Van den Bosch ; 
 
 Part of the curious clock-work of this world, 
 
 We scold and squeak and crack each other's crowns ; 
 
 And if by twitches moved from wires we see not, 
 
 I were to toss thee from this steeple's top, 
 
BCBKK I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELIH. 
 
 I should be but the instrument — no more — 
 The tool of that chastising Providence 
 Which doth exalt the lowly and abase 
 The violent and proud: but let me hope 
 There's no such task appointed me to-day. 
 Thou passest in the world for worldly wise : 
 Then seeing we must sink or swim together, 
 What can it profit thee, in this extreme 
 Of our distress, to wrangle with me thus 
 For ray supremacy and rule ? Thy fate, 
 As of necessity bound up with mine, 
 Must needs partake my cares : let that suffice 
 To put thy pride to rest till better times. 
 Contest — more reasonably wrong — a prize 
 More precious than the ordering of a shipwreck. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Tush, tush, Van Artevelde ; thou talk'st and talk'st, 
 And honest burghers think it wondrous fine. 
 But thou might'st easilier with that tongue of thine 
 Persuade yon smoke to fly i' th' face o' the wind 
 Than talk away my wit and understanding. 
 I say yon herald shall not enter here. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I know, sir, no man better, where my talk 
 Is serviceable singly, where it needs 
 To be by acts enforced. I say, beware, 
 And brave not mine authority too far. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Hast thou authority to take my life ? 
 What is it else to let yon herald in 
 To bargain for our blood ? 
 
130 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Thy life again ! 
 Why -what a very slave of life art thou ! 
 Look round about on this once populous town ; 
 Not one of these innumerous house-tops 
 But hides some spectral form of misery, 
 Some peevish pining child and moaning mother, 
 Some aged man that in his dotage scolds 
 Not knowing why he hungers, some cold corse 
 That lies unstraightened where the spirit left it. 
 Look round and answer what thy life can be 
 To tell for more than dust upon the balance. 
 I too would live — I have a love for life — 
 But rather than to live to charge my soul 
 With one hour's lengthening out of woes like these, 
 I'd leap this parapet with as free a bound 
 As e'er was school-boy's o'er a garden wall. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 I'd like to see thee do it. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I know thou wouldst ; 
 But for the present be content to see 
 My less precipitate descent ; for lo ! 
 There comes the herald o'er the hill. 
 
 [Exit. 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Beshrew thee ! 
 Thou shalt not have the start of me in this. 
 
 [He follows, and the scene closes. 
 
 
: ii.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 Scene II. — Tlic House Van A rtevclde. 
 Ursel, Van Ryk, and Van Muck. 
 
 URSEL. 
 
 He will be here for his breakfast anon. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 And call you this his breakfast ? 
 
 URSEL. 
 
 An ounce of horseflesh and half an oaten cake. It is 
 his only meal ; and if I were to make it larger, he 
 would ne'er look at it. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Why we ourselves fare better. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 I fare somewhat better, and for thee, thou wouldst 
 make a famine where there was none. No more than 
 this morsel of meat in four-and-twenty hours ! 
 
 URSEL, 
 
 No more ; and if he hath been abroad, 'tis more than 
 likely that he shall bring home some little child, or 
 some sick woman to share it with him. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 It is wonderful how stout he is withal. Some men 
 shall but bite their nails and their belly's full. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 There is a difference in men ; I might eat the four 
 hoofs of an ox and my stomach should droop you, look 
 you, and flap you, look you, like an empty sail. Here 
 he comes. 
 
 k2 
 
132 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Enter Arteyelde. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A herald, sirs, is coming here from Bruges. 
 
 To horse, Van Muck, to horse, with Swink and Kloos, 
 
 And any other of thy readiest men, 
 
 And bring him safely in. What ails thee, man ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Sir, saving your displeasure, Swink and Kloos 
 Against your express orders, and despite 
 Of much I said myself, have eat their horses. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Thou sayest not so ; God's vengeance on their stomachs ! 
 
 Next horse they kill, my cook shall serve it up, 
 
 And melt the shoes for sauce. 
 
 To horse thyself, then, with what men are mounted, 
 
 And see that no mishap befal the herald. 
 
 VAX MUCK. 
 
 Sir, at your pleasure. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 x\nd beware, Van Muck. 
 Some there may be of evil-minded men 
 Who would do outrage to the city's honour, 
 And harm the herald. Look thou keep him safe. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Sir, safe he shall be, whosoe'er would harm him. 
 Clara enters^ but remains behind. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And now, Van Byk, I have a charge for thee. 
 Thou in the porch of Old St. Nicholas' Church 
 
 [Exit. 
 
ii. i PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 183 
 
 Art to mount guard beside the postern-gate 
 Which leads upon the stair that climbs the steeple. 
 Betake thee thither, and until I come, 
 Inward or outward let none pass the wicket. 
 [Turning to Clara.] How fares my sister ? nay — come 
 hither, Clara. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 No nearer, Philip, for I breathe contagion. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What, com'st thou from the hospital ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Straight thence. 
 God help me for a pestilent little fool ! 
 I tend the sick from weary day to day, 
 Though Heaven has set its face against a cure, 
 And they that should have thank'd me for my pains 
 Will never more speak word. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Thou heed'st not that. 
 No, I am certain 'tis for no man's thanks 
 That thou hast toil'd ; and let them live or die, 
 Thou hast thine own rew T ard. 
 Much hast thou merited, my sister dear, 
 Since these disastrous times have fallen upon us. 
 In easier hours it may be I had cause 
 This time or that, to wish thy boldness less, 
 Though trusting still that time, which tempers all, 
 Would bring thee soberer thoughts and tame thy heart. 
 What time to tardy consummation brings, 
 Calamity, most like a frosty night 
 That ripeneth the grain, completes at once. 
 But now that we're alone, not gone, Van Ryk ? 
 
134 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act it. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 Sir, to speak freely, had it been your pleasure 
 
 To put me to a service of more action, 
 
 I had not sham'd the choice ; for though I'm old, — 
 
 • ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Tut, tut, Van Ryk; 'twill come, the time will come, 
 And action to thy heart's content thou'lt have. 
 
 [Exit Van Ryk. 
 
 Now render me account of what befel, 
 Where thou hast bee,n to-day. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 It is but little. 
 I paid a visit first to Ukenheim, 
 The man who whilome saved our father's life, 
 When certain Clementists and ribald folk 
 Assail'd him at Malines. He came last night, 
 And said he knew not if w 7 e owed him aught, 
 But if we did, a peck of oatmeal now 
 Would pay the debt, and save more lives than one. 
 I went. It seem'd a wealthy man's abode ; 
 The costly drapery and good house-gear 
 Had, in an ordinary time, betokened 
 That with the occupant the world went well. 
 By a low couch, curtain 'd with cloth of frieze, 
 Sat Ukenheim, a famine-stricken man, 
 With either bony fist upon his knees, 
 And his long back upright. His eyes were fix'd 
 And mov'd not, though some gentle words I spake : 
 Until a little urchin of a child 
 That call'd him father, crept to where he sat 
 And pluck'd him by the sleeve, and with its small 
 And skinny finger pointed : then he rose, 
 
bcsme ii. J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And with a low obeisance, and a smile 
 
 That look'd like watery moonlight on his face, 
 
 So pale and weak a smile, he bade me welcome. 
 
 I told him that a lading of wheat -flour 
 
 Was on its way, whereat, to my surprise, 
 
 His countenance fell, and he had almost wept. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Poor soul ! and wherefore ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 That I soon perceived. 
 He pluck'd aside the curtain of the couch, 
 And there two children's bodies lay composed. 
 They seem'd like twins of some ten years of age, 
 And they had died so nearly both together 
 He scarce could say which first : and being dead, 
 He put them, for some fanciful affection, 
 Each with its arm about the other's neck, 
 So that a fairer sight I had not seen 
 Than those two children, with their little faces 
 So thin and wan, so calm, and sad, and sweet. 
 I look'd upon them long, and for a while 
 I wish'd myself their sister, and to lie 
 With them in death as they did with each other ; 
 I thought that there was nothing in the world 
 I could have lov'd so much ; and then I wept. 
 And when he saw I wept, his own tears fell, 
 And he was sorely shaken and convulsed, 
 Through weakness of his frame and his great grief. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Much pity was it he so long deferred 
 To come to us for aid. 
 
136 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act it. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 It was indeed. 
 But whatsoe'er had been his former pride, 
 He seem'd a humbled and heart-broken man. 
 He thank'd me much for what I said was sent ; 
 But I knew well his thanks were for my tears. 
 He look'd again upon the children's couch, 
 And said, low down, they wanted nothing now. 
 So, to turn off his eyes, 
 I drew the small survivor of the three 
 Before him, and he snatched it up, and soon 
 Seemed quite forgetful and absorbed. With that 
 I stole away. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 There is a man by fate 
 Fitted for any enterprise of danger. 
 Alas ! of many such I have the choice. 
 Well ; next thou passedst to the hospital ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 With Father John ; but here he comes himself, 
 Doubtless to bring you tidings of the sick. 
 
 Enter Father John of Heda. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What cheer, good father ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Heavy is my cheer ; 
 What else but heavy, when from day to day 
 I see still more of suffering sinking men 
 Pass to the chok'd church-yard. 
 
BCENB II.] PIIILir VAN ARTEVELDE. 137 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Truly the sight 
 Must needs bring on a heaviness of cheer. 
 I am to blame to think of that no sooner. 
 Who waits ? Too many things conspire — who waits ? 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 Eepair thee to the captains of the guards, 
 And give my orders that from this time forth 
 No funerals be allow'd till after dark. 
 
 [Exit Steward. 
 
 And so the sickness spreads ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 It spreads apace. 
 Since Egypt's plagues did never rage disease 
 So sore, and so invincible by art, 
 So varied in its forms, and in its signs 
 So unintelligibly strange : in some 
 The fever keeps its course from first to last ; 
 In others intermits : here suddenly 
 The patient's head is seized with racking pains ; 
 Then shift they to his chest, with change as quick, 
 Then to his loins, and strangury succeeds, 
 With clammy sweat, hard breathing, and hot thirst ; 
 The intervals of pain, if such there be, 
 Afford him no repose, but he is still 
 Dejected, restless, of a hopeless mind, 
 Indifferent to all incidents and objects, 
 Or in his understanding too confused 
 To see or apprehend them : first the face 
 Is red and flush'd, with large and fiery eyes ; 
 Then is it dropsical and deathy pale. 
 Sometimes such shudderings seize upon the frame 
 
138 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 That the bed shakes beneath it, and with that 
 The breath is check'd with sobbings as from cold ; 
 Then comes a thick dark crust upon the lips, 
 And tongue, and teeth ; the fatal hiccough next. 
 Some die in struggles and strong agonies ; 
 Some in a lethargy ; whilst others wake 
 As from a dream, shake off the fit, look round, 
 And with collected senses and calm speech 
 Tell the by-standers that their hour is come. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It is a dismal malady, and this, 
 Like all our thousand miseries beside, 
 Demands a remedy that kills or cures. 
 What wild beasts' yells are these ? 
 
 {Tumult and shouting without. The Page enters. 
 
 Henry, what news ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The man from Bruges, escorted by Van Muck, 
 Is coming here, with crowds of people wild 
 To hear what message he may bring. Van Muck 
 Forbids that any word should pass his lips 
 Till he have speech of you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Van Muck is right. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 But oh ! you never saw such wrathful men ! 
 They'll tear them both to pieces. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Have no fear. 
 Van Muck will make his way. Aye, here they come. 
 
BCBWB ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 189 
 
 Enter Van Muck and Van Aeswvn. 
 What ! this the messenger ? now by the rood ! 
 Either mine eyes are treacherous as himself, 
 Or else I see a follower of that false 
 Dishonour 'd knight, and perjured knave, Van Occo. 
 How is it, if he dares to send thee here, 
 That thou hast dared to come ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Under your favour 
 The Lord of Occo 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Grant me but a day 
 After the siege — Furies and Fates ! — one day, 
 To hunt that poisonous reptile to his hole 
 And stamp my heel upon his recreant neck ! 
 What dost thou here ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 I come not here from him, 
 For since he made his war upon a damsel, 
 I have renounced his service ; more than that, 
 I to the Lord of Arlon did that errand 
 Which wrought to her deliverance. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Aha! 
 I crave your pardon. I had heard 'twas you, 
 Though it escaped me. Tell your tale ; but first 
 What tidings of that lady ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 She remains 
 By her own will, sir, in the knightly hands 
 Of my good Lord of Arlon. 
 
140 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ty. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Say no more ; 
 Elsewhere I would not wish her. 
 
 [The tumult increases without, and Arteyelde's name is called 
 repeatedly. 
 
 Let me now 
 Dismiss this noisy and impatient herd 
 That throng my doors, and then — ho ! hark ye, steward, 
 Conduct Yan Aeswyn to my private chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Arteyelde and Clara. 
 
 My Clara, we have here a busy day ; 
 Perhaps I shall not see thee, love, again 
 Till after night-fall ; but I will not lose 
 Thy good-night kiss, so give it to me now. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Philip, there's something in your thoughts . . . but no — 
 I will not tease you — there — good night — Adieu. 
 
 [Exit Clara. The clamour without increases. Arteyelde passes 
 into an external gallery, which overlooks the street, and is heard 
 addressing the people. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Hence to the Stadt-house, friends ; I'll meet you there, 
 And either bring the messenger himself, 
 Or tell you of his tidings : hence— begone. 
 
 [ The people disperse. 
 
 Van Occo, thou art in thine own despite 
 
 The mainstay of my hope. I have within 
 
 Assurance strong as destiny that I, 
 
 And I alone, a mission have from Heaven 
 
 To execute God's justice upon thee. 
 
 And Adriana ! Through the storm-rent cloud 
 
 A glorious light upon thy figure falls 
 
 Which walks the waters, stately and serene, 
 
 And beckons me, and points what course to keep. 
 
in.] PHILIP van ARTEVELDE. in 
 
 Scene III. — Before the Stadt-House, as in t//c last Scene of the 
 Second Act. — The people assemble. Frans Aokebham and 
 
 Peter Van Nuitre in front. 
 
 ACKKRMAX. 
 
 'Tis certain something bath befallen him. 
 
 VAN NUITRE. 
 
 But where ? He might be found, if so it were. 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 Hast sought him at Jozyne's estaminet ? 
 
 VAN NUITRE. 
 
 There, and at every lodgment in the city. 
 Old mother Van Den Bosch was confident 
 He went forth early to Van Arteveldes. 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 Sure nothing can have happen'd to him there. 
 
 VAN NUITRE. 
 
 That's what I doubt. The best will have their failings. 
 They were not in such unison of mind 
 As might have been desired. 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 I cannot think it. 
 But this day's business shall no farther go 
 Until the truth appear. Soft ! now he comes. 
 
 [Van Artevelde enters. There is a dead silence. He walks, slowly 
 and ivith a mournful appearance, up the steps of the platform. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Are we all here ? 
 
 ONE FROM THE CROWD. 
 
 What's left of us is here, 
 Our bones. 
 
1-42 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 We're wasted in the flesh, 'tis true ; 
 But we have spirits left. We all are here. 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 I will say nay to that. Where's Van Den Bosch ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Silence ! Frans Ackerman ; we want not him. 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 Then I demand if he be dead or living. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 He lives. 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 Where is he, then ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Where all shall be < 
 Who seek, by mutiny against their chief, 
 To do unlawful deeds. What ask ye more ? 
 He is arrested and confined. 
 
 ACKERMAN. 
 
 What cause 
 For this proceeding hath that brave man given ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 If, as his friend, thou ask wherein he erred, 
 
 I'll tell it to this people and to thee, — 
 
 Not, mark you me, as rendering account, 
 
 For that were needless, — but of free good- will. 
 
 Sirs, Van Den Bosch insisted, in despite 
 
 Of all dissuasion, all authority, 
 
 The messenger from Bruges should be waylaid 
 
m.j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 148 
 
 And put to death — yea, nothing less would serve, — 
 
 That so the tidings which I'm here to tell 
 
 Might never reach your ears. To place restraint 
 
 Upon this ohstinate humour, and give scope 
 
 To your deliberations, for awhile 
 
 He is in duress. Are ye well content ? 
 
 MANY VOICES. 
 
 Content, content. The tidings, what are they ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Frans Acker man, thou hear'st what cause constrained 
 Me, much reluctant, thus to use thy friend. 
 Art thou content ? 
 
 ACKEBMAN. 
 
 I am. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 So far is well. 
 And we set forth unanimous, to end 
 I trust no otherwise. Fair sirs of Ghent ! 
 Van Aeswyn, the ambassador from Bruges, 
 Comes with credentials from the earl, to show 
 What mind he bears toward you. Bitterer words 
 Did never Christian man to Christians send. 
 But we are fallen, my friends, and vain it were 
 For us to quarrel with the proud man's scorn. 
 Then to the matter take ye heed alone, 
 And trouble not your hearts for aught beside. 
 He will admit you to no terms but these, — 
 That every man and woman born in Ghent 
 Shall meet him on the road, half way to Bruges, 
 Bare-footed, and bare-headed, in their shirts, 
 With halters on their necks, and there kneel down, 
 
144 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act iv. 
 
 And place their lives and chattels at his mercy. 
 
 This if ye do not now, he's sworn an oath 
 
 That he will never hearken to you more, 
 
 But famine shall consume you utterly, 
 
 And in your desolate town he'll light a flame 
 
 That shall not be extinguished. Speak your minds. 
 
 Will ye accept the proffer 'd terms, or no ! 
 
 i 9 
 
 BURGHERS. 
 
 Give us your counsel. Tell us what is best. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What can I say ? You know that as you are 
 
 You cannot live. Death opens every door, 
 
 And sits in every chamber by himself. 
 
 If what might feed a sparrow should suffice 
 
 For soldiers' meals, ye have not wherewithal 
 
 To linger out three days. For corn, there's none ; 
 
 A mouse imprison'd in your granaries 
 
 Were starved to death. And what then should I say ? 
 
 Why truly this : that whatsoe'er men's plight 
 
 There is a better and a worser way, 
 
 If their discretion be not overthrown 
 
 By force of their calamities. Three things 
 
 Ye have to choose of. You may take his terms, 
 
 And go with halters round your necks to Loo. 
 
 You will be then his servants and his wealth, 
 
 The labourers of his vineyard ; and I deem, 
 
 Although a haughty lord he be and cruel, 
 
 That he will have the sense to spare his own, 
 
 When vengeance hath been fed. I say I deem 
 
 That when the blood of those that led you on 
 
 And of their foremost followers hath flowed, 
 
in. I PHILIP VAN ABTEYELDK 145 
 
 He will be satiate and stay his hand. 
 
 If this to try be your deliberate choice, 
 
 I will not say that ye be ill-advised. 
 
 How are ye minded? Let your Deacons speak. 
 
 [The people speak in consultation with each other and with the 
 Deacons. 
 
 DEACON OF THE MARINERS. 
 
 We of the mariners' craft approve the counsel. 
 
 DEACON OF THE CORDWAINERS. 
 
 There's nothing better can be done. 
 
 DEACON OF THE FULLERS. 
 
 Agreed. 
 Our craft was never forward in the war. 
 
 DEACON OF THE WEAVERS. 
 
 But, Master Philip, said you not three ways 
 There were to choose of? Tell us what remains. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You may have patience and expect the close. 
 If nothing else seem fit, betake yourselves 
 Unto your churches ; at the altar's foot 
 Kneel down and pray, and make a Christian end. 
 And God will then have mercy on your souls. 
 This is the second way. 
 
 DEACON OF THE WEAVERS. 
 
 And what the third ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 If there be found amongst you men whose blood 
 Runs not so chilly yet as thus to die, 
 Then there's this third way open — but not else. 
 That they whose plight is best and hearts are stout 
 Be mustered suddenly, equipped and armed ; 
 
146 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 That with our little left of food and wine 
 The sumpter beasts be laden for their use ; 
 That then they follow me : to-morrow's eve 
 Should find us knocking at the gates of Bruges, 
 And then we'd strike a stroke for life or death. 
 This is the third and sole remaining course. 
 Choose of the three. 
 
 MANY VOICES. 
 
 Choose for us, Master Philip : 
 You are more wise than we. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 If by my choice 
 Ye will abide — a soldier's death for me ! 
 
 A GREAT MANY VOICES. 
 
 To Bruges, to Bruges ; a venture forth to Bruges. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Why yet, then, in our embers there is life ! 
 Let whosoe'er would follow me, repair 
 To the West Port. Five thousand will I choose 
 From them that come, if there should be so many : 
 And when night falls, we'll sally from the gates. 
 
 MANY CITIZENS AGAIN. 
 
 For Bruges ! for Bruges ! 'tis gallantly resolved. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Then fare ye well, ye citizens of Ghent ! 
 This is the last time you will see me here, 
 Unless God prosper me past human hope. 
 I thank you for the dutiful demeanour 
 Which never — no not once — in any of you 
 Have I found wanting, though severely tried 
 When discipline might seem without reward. 
 
iczyi m.J rillLIP VAN ABTEYELDE. 
 
 Fortune has not been kind to me, good friends ; 
 But let not that deprive me of your loves, 
 Or of your good report. Be this the word ; 
 My rule was brief, calamitous — but just, 
 No glory which a prosperous fortune gilds, 
 If shorn of this addition, could suffice 
 To lift my heart so high as it is now. 
 This is that joy in which my soul is strong, 
 That there is not a man amongst you all 
 Who can reproach me that I used my power 
 To do him an injustice. If there be, 
 It is not to my knowledge ; yet I pray him, 
 That he will now forgive me, taking note 
 That I had not to deal with easy times. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Oh, Master Philip, there is none — not one. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Most justly and most wisely you have ruled us. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I thank you, sirs ; farewell to you, once more. 
 Once more, farewell. If I return to Ghent, 
 A glory and dominion will be your's 
 Such as no city since the olden time 
 Hath been so bold to conquer or to claim. 
 If I return no more — God's will be done ! 
 To Him and to His providence I leave you. 
 
 [He descends. The people come round him, seizing his hands, and 
 crying confusedly, "God bless you, Master Philip! Clod 
 be with you! " 
 
 Nay, press not on me, friends ; I see ye weep, 
 
 ■ Which ye did never for your past mischances. 
 
 But ye shall be disburthen'd of your griefs 
 
 The rather than dishearten'd by these tears ; 
 
 Or else should I reprove them — so — farewell ! 
 
 l 2 
 
14S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Scene IV. — T7ie Vestibule of the Church of St. Nicholas. — At the 
 extreme end of it, Van Rtk is seen keeping guard over the 
 door which gives access to the church tower. — In front. Clara 
 appears, followed at a little distance by Van A-eswtn. 
 
 CLARA, 
 
 Still he pursues me ; but I will not bear it. 
 How now, Sir Squire ? whom seek you ? 
 
 AESWTN. 
 
 With your leave, 
 I have an errand for your private ear. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 My private ear ! I have no private ear ! 
 My ears will not be private. 
 
 AESWTN. 
 
 I beseech you 
 To pardon my presumption. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Well, what then? 
 It is not past forgiveness ; no, no, no, 
 I freely pardon you. 
 
 AESWTN. 
 
 I thank you, madam ; 
 And were I but permitted to speak out 
 All that he bade me say — 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 That he! what he 
 
 AESWTN. 
 
 The Lord of Arlon, madam. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Lord of what ? 
 
bcbk! iv.] PHILIP van auti:vi;ldi;. t4B 
 
 AKSWVN. 
 
 Sir Walter, Lord of Arlon. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Oh! Sir Walter — 
 Sir Walter D' Arlon — a good knight, they say : 
 He sent his service, did he ? — a good knight. — 
 I knew him once — he came to Ghent — oh God ! 
 I'm sick — the air is hot, I think — yes hot ! 
 I pray you pardon me — we get no rest 
 In this beleaguer'd town — no anything — 
 This is the time of day I use to faint ; 
 But I shall miss to do it for this once ; 
 So please you to proceed. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 There's here a bench : 
 If you'll be seated : for you look so pale .... 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 No, I can stand — I think — well then, I'll sit. 
 So now, your errand ? 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 The Lord of Arlon, madam. 
 Imparted to me that of all the griefs 
 That Fortune had dealt out to him, was none 
 So broke his spirit as the cruel thought 
 That you in some sort must partake the woes 
 Of this so suffering city : he could ne'er 
 Lay lance in rest or do a feat of arms 
 But this reflection stung him to the heart, 
 And each success in which he might have triumph 'd 
 Was turn'd to bitterness, — seeming nought else 
 But injury to his love. Thus is he now 
 A man whose heart resents his handiwork, 
 And all his pleasure in the war is poison 'd, 
 
150 PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Alas, poor D'Arlon ! but I cannot help him. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Himself thinks otherwise ; he hade me say 
 That he implores you to fly hence to him. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Xo, never, never. 
 
 AE3WYN. 
 
 And his aunt at Bruges, 
 The prioress, will have you in her care 
 Till it shall please you to permit his suit. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I tell thee, never. I a fugitive ! 
 
 Whilst Philip lives and holds the city out, 
 
 Xor pestilence nor famine, fire nor sword, 
 
 Nor evil here nor good elsewhere divides us. 
 
 Much may he lose, and much that's far more worth, 
 
 But never this reliance. 
 
 AESWTN. 
 
 With your leave, 
 I would make bold to ask you if your absence 
 In these extremities might not rejoice 
 Rather than grieve him. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Xo, sir, you mistake, 
 Knowing nor him nor me : we two have grown 
 From birth on my side, boyhood upon his, 
 Inseparably together, as two grafts 
 Out of the self-same stock ; we've shared alike 
 The sun and shower and all that Heaven hath sent us ; 
 I've loved him much and quarrell'd with him oft, 
 And all our loves and quarrels past are links 
 That no adversity shall e'er dissever. 
 
bcems iv.] PHILIP VAN A.BTEVELDE. 151 
 
 And I am useful, too ; he'll tell you that ; 
 
 We Arteveldes were made for times like these ; 
 
 The Deacon of the Mariners said well 
 
 That we are of such canvas as they use 
 
 To make storm-stay-sails. I have much in charge, 
 
 And 111 stand by him and abide the worst. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Then must I tell Sir Walter that you never — 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Alas, poor D'Arlon ! did I then say 'never?' 
 It is a most unkindly sounding word. 
 Tell him to ask me when the siege is raised. 
 But then he shall not need ; he can come hither. 
 But tell him — of your knowledge, not from me — 
 The woman could not be of nature's making 
 Whom, being kind, her misery made not kinder. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 The thought of that may solace him. Farewell. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Farewell. I mount the tower to look abroad. 
 
 After your conference at noon, they say, 
 
 My brother arm'd himself and bade his horse 
 
 Be ready harness'd in his mail complete ; 
 
 And though you keep his secret, I surmise 
 
 There's something may be seen from this church tower. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Nothing to come from Bruges. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 But yet I'll look. 
 
 [She approaches the door of the Tower, and perceives A' an Ryk, v:ho 
 plants himself before her. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 You cannot pass, my lady. 
 
 
152 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 How ! not pass ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 The door is lock'd ; your brother keeps the key : 
 And I am station'd here with strict command 
 To suffer none to pass. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 How could they pass, 
 If what thou say'st be true ? thou hast the key. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Upon my faith I have it not, my lady. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 A courteous usage for a lady this ! 
 
 But hither comes my prince of spies, the Page, 
 
 To tell what's doing in the market-place. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Here is a brave adventure ! here's a feat ! 
 Here is a glorious enterprise afoot ! 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 What is it ? tell us true. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Illustrious lady ! 
 The name of Artevelde shall live for ever ! 
 For Master Philip leads five thousand men 
 This very night to storm the gates of Bruges. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Thou dost not say it ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 True as written book. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 There's matter then for Flanders to discourse of, 
 
. iv. I PHILIP VAX ABTEVELDE. 168 
 
 There's cause for Ghent to tremble or rejoice, 
 And liberty for me ; if Philip goes 
 I have no business here. 
 
 AESWYN. 
 
 Most surely none ; 
 And you will now betake yourself to Bruges ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Nay, nay, sir, not so fast ; gain Philip first, 
 And then come back to me and take your chance. 
 
 [Exeunt Clara, Van Aeswyn, and Page. 
 
 Enter Van Artevelde, who advances to the door of the Tower 
 where Van Ryk is stationed. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 How fares our friend within ? set ope the door. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Oh, Sir ! you must not enter ; he is mad. 
 I would not give a denier for the life 
 Of any that should enter now; he's arm'd, 
 And rages like a man possess'd by devils. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Whence tak'st thou that conclusion ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 For three hours 
 He strove and shouted as though fifty fiends 
 Were doing battle on the narrow stair : 
 He flung his body with such desperate force 
 Against the door, that I was much in doubt 
 Whether the triple bars had strength to hold it. 
 Then — God be merciful ! the oaths and curses ! 
 Faster they came than I could tell my beads. 
 
154 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act iv. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 But all is silent now. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 The last half-hour 
 I have not heard him. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Open me the door. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 Surely you will not enter? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, I must. 
 We must be friends again. His aid is wanted. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 He will assault you ere a word be spoken. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 He is a hasty man ; but we must meet. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 Then I will enter with you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 No, Van Ryk ; 
 I seek his confidence ; a show of force 
 Were sure to baffle me. I go alone. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 For mercy's sake forbear. Should you go in, 
 Or you or he will ne'er come out alive. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, nay, thou know'st not with what winning ways 
 I can sleek down his wrath. Stand fast below 
 I charge thee, and let no intrusive step 
 Trouble my conference with Van Den Bosch. 
 
v.| PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. 
 
 Scene V. — The Platform at the top of the Steeple. — As in 
 the First Scene in this Act. 
 
 Van Artevelde, and Van Den Boscn. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 He has been drunk with anger, and he sleeps. 
 
 Lest he be not the soberer for his doze 
 
 I shall do well to strip him of his weapons. 
 
 Come, courtier, from thy house — come from thy case, 
 
 Thou smooth and shining dangler by the side 
 
 Of them that put thee to a deadly use : 
 
 Thou art dismiss'd. 
 
 [He lays aside the dagger. 
 
 And come thou likewise forth, 
 Thou flashing flourisher in the battle field ; 
 Gaudy and senseless tool of sovereignty, 
 Up to thy shoulders thou shalt reek in blood, 
 And 'tis but wiping thee to make thee clean, 
 So poor a thing art thou ! — there — get thee gone — 
 
 [He lays aside the sword. 
 
 Now that he's stingless I may stir him up. 
 
 Ho ! Van Den Bosch ! arouse thee ; what, thou sleep'st; 
 
 Why, here's a sluggard ! — up, thou lubberly sot ! 
 
 Get thee afoot ; is this a time to sleep ? 
 
 Up, ere I prod thee with my sword — up, slug ! 
 
 Up, drowsy clod — why, now I think thou wak'st. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 What noisy villain's this ? — Van Artevelde ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, never grope and fumble for thy weapons ; 
 They are convey 'd away. 
 
156 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Oh ! bloody villain, 
 And wilt thou murder me unarm'd ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Out! out! 
 More like to whip thee for thy fond conceit. 
 I tell thee, man, a better friend than I 
 Thou'st not been bless'd with for this many a year. 
 When all is known to thee, thyself shalt say 
 That a more friendly deed was never done thee 
 Than this of mine — the shutting of thee up. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Philip of Artevelde, I say thou liest — 
 
 Give me my sword again. I say thou liest — 
 
 Give me my dagger and my sword — thou liest — 
 
 Thou art a caitiff and a lying knave, 
 
 And thou hast stolen my dagger and my sword. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, softly, friend. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 I'm robb'd, I'm robb'd, I'm plunder'd — 
 I'm plunder'd of my weapons — of my sword. 
 Give me my sword again, thou liar, thou ! 
 I'm plunder'd of my dagger and my sword. 
 Give me my sword, thou robber, or I'll kill thee. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Do that, and thou shalt need thy sword no longer. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Thou coward, wilt thou give me back my sword ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 There — take it, and the devil give thee good on't ! 
 
bcbvk v.j PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. UW 
 
 Now that thou hast it, mayhap thou'lt be brought 
 To leave thy bellowing and listen. Hark ! 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCn. 
 
 I have thee now, Van Artevelde, I have thee. 
 Ha, ha ! I have my sword — I have thee now. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And if thou hadst thy senses and thine ears 
 It were a better having for the nonce. 
 Wilt thou be still and listen to me ? 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 No. 
 Thou art a liar. Draw thy sword and fight. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I give thee back thy lie, and take thy challenge. 
 To mortal proof we'll put it, if thou wilt, 
 But not by instant combat. Three days hence, 
 I pledge my word to answer thy demand, 
 And I will show thee reasons why no sooner. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 A murrain on thy reasons ! draw thy sword. 
 
 artevelde {draws his sword and flings it from him). 
 I'll fight thee when I please, and not before. 
 
 van den bosch. 
 Art thou a coward ? wherefore wilt not fight ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 There is a time for all things. Here I stand, 
 Unarm'd before thee, and I will be heard. 
 That which so much thou tak'st to heart, was done 
 Purely to save thy credit, much indeed 
 Endanger'd by thy wilfulness and haste. 
 
15S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 I would have done myself no less offence 
 To do thee so much service. Say thine arm 
 Had cut me off the messenger from Bruges. 
 Ghent hears the rumour — magnifies at once 
 The untold terms to unconditional peace, 
 And mad with rage for comfort thus repell'd, 
 Had turn'd upon thee to thine overthrow. 
 But listen what instead I've brought to pass : 
 The terms were told, — such sanguinary terms 
 As we had cause to look for ; on that ground 
 I moved the people to a last attempt 
 Of desperate daring, and we go to-night, 
 Five thousand men, to seek the earl at Bruges. 
 Now, Peter Van Den Bosch, give ear to me : 
 Thy mouth has been, this many a day, stuff'd full 
 Of vengeance dire denounced against this earl. 
 The blood of Heins, of Launoy, and Van Ranst, 
 (True friends of thine if truth and friendship be !) 
 Sinks in the ground, nor honour'd nor avenged 
 Save by the mouthing of an idle threat. 
 Dead men and living, vows after vows sent up 
 In hot succession to the throne of Heaven, 
 Deep ravage done amongst thy native fields, 
 Strange tortures suffer'd by thy countrymen, 
 Call thee with common voice to turn thy wrath 
 To just account ; — and is it come to this, 
 That for the matter of but one day's feud 
 With one tried friend that never did thee hurt, 
 Thou canst forget all else, and put thy cause 
 To imminent hazard at the utmost verge 
 Of all its fortunes and its ultimate hope ! 
 If so, I cry thee mercy ; I mistook thee ; 
 
bcbnb v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 For I had counted on thy aid to-day 
 
 To do the things that thou so oft hast threatened. 
 
 VAX DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Van Artevelde, I never yet forgave 
 So deep an injury as thou hast done me ; 
 But seeing how things hear, I'll pass it hy, 
 Until this last adventure have an enjj. 
 Then shalt thou reckon with me for the past. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 For that I stand prepared. Meanwhile I pray thee, 
 
 Let needful harmony subsist between us ; 
 
 Nor let the common welfare feel this feud. 
 
 Take thou thy charge in this day's work ; come down 
 
 And I will give it thee. From me thoult find 
 
 All fit observance. 
 
 VAX DEN BOSCH. 
 
 I will take my charge. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scexe I. — The field of Merle, in the environs of Bruges. 
 
 Van Artevelde, Van den Bosch, Van Rtk, Van Muck, 
 and others. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Not a step farther ; give the word to halt, 
 And send the waggons here ; we can't be better. 
 God grant that hither they may come to seek us ! 
 Here is the fighting ground, and there the slough 
 
160 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 In which they needs must perish should they yield. 
 We can't be better. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Let it then be here. 
 I've probed the slough. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 jpi That I did too ; 'tis deep. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 He is a taller man than you or I, 
 
 That finds the bottom with his head above. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It is an hour to sunset. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Nay, 'tis more. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A little more, Van Kyk. I would to God 
 The sun might not go down upon us here 
 Without a battle fought ! 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 If so it should, 
 We pass a perilous night. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A nipping night, 
 And wake a wasted few the morrow morn. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 We have a supper left. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My lady's page 
 If he got ne'er a better should be wroth, 
 
ie 1. 1 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 161 
 
 And burn in effigy my lady's steward. 
 For us and for one supper 'twill suffice ; 
 But he's a skilful man at splitting hairs 
 That can make two on't. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Aye, or leave behind 
 A breakfast in his dish. 
 
 AliTEVELDE. 
 
 We break our fast 
 Elsewhere to-morrow. I pray God the saint 
 Whose feast they celebrate to-night at Bruges, 
 May steep them well in wine. If Ukenheim 
 Get undiscoverd in, we shall not miss 
 To profit by his skill. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 We'll hope the best ; 
 But if there be a knave in power unhang'd, 
 And in his head a grain of sense undrown'd. 
 He'll be their caution not to — 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Van den Bosch, 
 Talk we of battle and survey the field, 
 For I will fight. Let stakes be driven in 
 Amongst the rushes at the nether end 
 Of this morass. Van Kyk, look thou to that. 
 And thou, Van Muck, unload the victual here ; 
 Then tilt the waggons up behind the stakes, 
 And pierce them for cross-bows. A horse for me, 
 That I may know the ground. And now, friends all, 
 Let's to our charges. Ere the red sun sink 
 Behind yon city, Ghent is lost or saved. 
 
162 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Scene II. — An open tent erected for public entertainment in the 
 Market-place of Bruges. — Boisterous songs, and other sounds of 
 riot and jollity are heard on all sides. Within the tent a miscel- 
 laneous company are drinking, and amongst them is Ukenheim, 
 in the dress of a Mariner of Bruges. 
 
 UKENHEIM. 
 
 I pray you pledge me in this, to our better ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 LUNYZ. 
 
 At your service, sir. What say'st thou, Jan Trickle ? 
 Is not this the right way? Is not this the narrow 
 road ? Knew'st thou ever a Saint's day more seemly 
 celebrated ? Dost see what a devotion there is to it ! 
 
 TEICKLE. 
 
 I see very many righteous gentlemen very drunk. 
 But my wife says, were they at church it should be 
 more seemly. 
 
 KROOLKHUYS. 
 
 Bah ! didst ever know a man's wife that liked him to 
 be drinking without her to help ? 
 
 TRICKLE. 
 
 Mine is a rare helpmate. 
 
 LUNYZ. 
 
 Let the Church speak. Father Swillen, is not this as 
 it should be ? 
 
 FATHER SWILLEN. 
 
 My son, and worthy burgesses, and beloved brethren ! 
 Of the present solemnity, I will deliver my opinion 
 according to the canons. Wine is to be used cum 
 abstinentid et temperantia, for the recovery of the sick, 
 
.;■: ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 the consolation of the dying, and the healing of a 
 wounded spirit. It is also to be used in honour of our 
 Lady of Bolayne on this the day of her festival. But 
 the presence of a priest is needful herein, for the 
 preventing of abuses, and the showing of a proper 
 
 eXam p!e- [Drinks. 
 
 tackenham (advancing from the farther end of the tent). 
 
 Father Swillen friend, if I knocked you down I 
 
 ask your pardon Father Swillen sirs, give me 
 
 place, for I must see the Father Father Swillen, I 
 
 look upon you to be one man of a thousand — I will go 
 on my knees to you — I look upon you to be the oracle 
 of God — I look upon you to be the invisible oracle of 
 God — for there you are, and I see you not. — I can 
 stand, — I say I can stand — but here I kneel down, and 
 I will not rise unless you stretch forth your hand to 
 me and raise me up — and this is the view I take of our 
 duties as Christian men — all which is submitted to your 
 better judgment, and I would that all men paid their 
 dues to the Church. 
 
 FATHER SWILLEN. 
 
 God requite you, my son ! for their salvation, — for 
 their salvation — nothing else. 
 
 lunyz {looking out into the MarJcet-place). 
 Here is a minstrel twiddles with the strings of his 
 cithern. Now we shall hear a song. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING SONG IS SUNG TO A VULGAR TUNE. 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round with me, 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round ? 
 'Tis I, I, I, — and who be ye 
 
 That would mount the merry-go-round ? 
 
 m2 
 
164 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 A blacksmith I, — spearheads as good 
 
 As e'er from Bordeaux came, 
 I've made and -would in Ghentsmen's blood 
 
 Be bold to dip the same. 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round with me, 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round ? 
 'Tis I, I, I, — and who may'st be, 
 
 That would mount the merry-go-round ? 
 
 A cutler I, — as true a blade 
 
 As ever Ebro steel'd 
 Is this I've made, nor will't be stay'd 
 
 By any Ghentsman's shield. 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round with me, 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round ? 
 'Tis I, I, I, — and now let us see 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round. 
 
 A barber I, — and well appear d 
 
 My handicraft, for when 
 A Ghentsman's beard I shortly shear'd, 
 
 It never grew again. 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round with me. 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round ? 
 'Tis I, I, I, — and a priest was he 
 
 That would mount the merry-go-round. 
 
 A Ghentsman of his wounds lay sick, 
 
 And shall I be saved ? he cried ; 
 I gave him a kick, bade him ask old Nick, 
 
 And he should be satisfied. 
 
 KROOLKHUTS. 
 
 rfaith he sings like a nightingale. No more thank 
 you, — I cannot — cannot . . . well, if I must . . . [drinks], 
 'Tis a charming lullaby, and the sentiment very tender 
 and soothing. Let us all do as we would be done by, 
 God bless us ! r „ 77 , 
 
 [Falls asleep. 
 
 [Suddenly is heard from the IfarTcet-place a loud cry of 
 1 To arms ! To arms ! ' 
 
 ukenheim (starting up and drawing his sword). 
 To arms ? what ! the men of Ghent come to us ? 
 What ! the scarecrows from Ghent ! To arms ! to 
 arms ! out and down with them ! to arms ! to arms ! 
 
bcbne in. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 eboolkhuyb (waking). 
 
 Why how is this? the men of Ghent! what 
 give me my coat of proof. 
 
 UKKNIIF.IM. 
 
 Let cowards stay behind. To arms ! to arms ! 
 
 {They rush out confusedly. Tagkbnham en ps fro 
 
 table, where Ac had remained in a redlnlwj posture. 
 
 TACKENHAM. 
 
 To arms ! I look upon Father Swillen to be an 
 oracle, and it were to be wished that all men paid the 
 Church her dues. 
 
 Scene III. — Tlic Palace. 
 The Lord of Occo and Gilbert Matthew. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 His Highness will be here anon. Sir Guv. 
 
 Freely accept the combat for the morrow. 
 
 Count on my speed. There's not a man in Bruges 
 
 Who has outlived the day I wish'd him dead. 
 
 The threads of many destinies I hold, 
 
 Unknown to them they bind for life or death, 
 
 And I am punctual as the planet stars. 
 
 A winter's night, as long as nights are now, 
 
 Is worth an age. 
 
 occo. 
 
 One doubt detains me still. 
 
 The earl, if ever it were known, would — 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Hark ! 
 Tis over, that. He loves him now no more. 
 
166 PHILIP TAN AETEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 For every philtre that can make men love, 
 I know the secret of an antidote. 
 I've warn'd him of those private ties in Ghent. 
 Enough. I've dosed him. 
 
 occo. 
 Well, it shall be done. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 I will provide thee hands. 
 
 occo. 
 You shall not need. 
 I have already sent for two tried men, — 
 Italians ; they are practised hands and fit. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 I have you then ; 'tis Erclo and Romero. 
 
 occo. 
 The same. 
 
 Enter the Earl. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 What shouting's this I hear abroad ? 
 
 occo. 
 The revellers, my good lord ; they pitch the bar, 
 And shoot with cross-bows for a prize. My lord, 
 At noon to-morrow, if his heart but hold, 
 111 meet Sir Walter D'Arlon. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 In good truth 
 But are these shouts of revel ? Hark, again ! 
 They cry, ' to arms. ' 
 
 EARL. 
 
 By heaven I think 'tis that. 
 And hear ye not the bells ? They're ringing backwards. 
 
scene in. J PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 
 
 occo. 
 'Tis an alarm. 
 
 Enter the Lord of Arlon, Sir Robert Mare-schaim, 
 and others. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Well, D'Arlon, what is this? 
 
 d'arlon. 
 The men of Ghent, my lord, the men of Ghent. 
 
 earl. 
 What, here ? 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 Two miles aloof they make a stand. 
 
 earl. 
 What, are they mad? 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 I think not mad, my lord. 
 But desperate. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 My friends, 'tis all as one. 
 Now shall this war be gloriously ended, 
 And famine, that was tedious, be o'erta'en. 
 Bring out my banner, summon all to arms, 
 Then forth and fight them. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Please you, sir, to say 
 How many they may number. 
 
 SIR ROBERT. 
 
 At a guess 
 About five thousand. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 May they move, or stand ? 
 
168 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 SIR ROBERT. 
 
 Since they were first descried they have not stirr d. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Forth with my banner ; out with horse and foot. 
 Sir knights, we muster in the Market-place. 
 Bring me my armour, ho ! 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 My lord, one word, 
 Ere yet the knights depart. These men are few, 
 But they are desperate ; famine-bitten are they, 
 But alway are the leanest wolves most brave 
 To break the fold. Sir, let us not be rash ; 
 Our men-at-arms are somewhat fTush'd with drink, 
 And may be ill to guide. Sir, think upon it. 
 Fight them to-morrow. Let them sleep to-night 
 In winter's lap, beneath the ragged tent 
 Of a December's sky. When morning breaks 
 You'll see them lying upon yon hill- side 
 As dead and sapless as the last month's leaves. 
 Give them this night. 
 
 THE HASE OF FLANDERS. 
 
 Xay, nay, they'll think we fear them. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Think they their will ; whate'er they think of that 
 They shall unthink to-morrow. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 By my faith 
 I know not, Gilbert, but thou may'st have reason. 
 The winter's night is sure to thin their ranks 
 Of fighting men ; and if they're scantly stored 
 
in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. i< 
 
 With victual, which is probable to think, 
 They shall endure it worse. 
 
 Enter the Mayor m haste. 
 
 -MAYOR. 
 
 My lord, my lord, 
 The crafts fly forth by thousands from the gates, 
 Unorder'd and unled. 
 
 KARL. 
 
 Who kept the gates ? 
 How came they open? Walter, haste thee, haste ! 
 And bring the madmen back. 
 
 [Exit D'Ablon. 
 
 How came they open ? 
 
 MAYOR. 
 
 A simple mariner avouch'd, my lord, 
 
 That he had heard your Highnesss own mouth 
 
 Give out the order. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Hang the slave ! he lied. 
 
 MAYOR. 
 
 Why so the warders thought, and had not done it, 
 But that the people, being much inflamed, 
 Menaced their lives. 
 
 Enter a Squire. 
 
 SQUIRE. 
 
 Sir Walter, sir, sends word 
 The town is almost emptied. He entreats 
 Your Highness will not look to bring them back, 
 Which is past hope, but sound at once to arms, 
 And send them leaders that are gone unled. 
 
170 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Now, Gilbert, we must forth. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 Aye, go we forth. 
 Fifty to five, we surely must do well, 
 Though peradveuture, for the sparing lives 
 We might have done more wisely. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Sirs, be sudden ; 
 And when you're mounted in the Market-place, 
 111 give you there your charges. Sound to horse. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Field of Merle, as in the First Scene. 
 Van Artevelde, Van Rtk, Van Muck, and others. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 See'st thou yon sweeping section of the road 
 That leads by Ecdorf to the eastern gate ? 
 My eyes are strain 'd, but yet I thought I saw 
 A moving mass of men. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 I thought so too. 
 When I had held mine eyes a minute fixed, 
 As in a morsel of dry moulder'd cheese, 
 I thought I could descry a tumbling movement. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Who hath the longest and the clearest sight 
 Of all our men ? go bring him. Nay, stop, stop, 
 I think we shall not need him : now, look there. 
 By Heaven, they come ! they come ! Ha ! Van den 
 Bosch! 
 
 
iv. PHILIP VAN ABTEYELDE. 171 
 
 Enter Van den Bosch. 
 I give you joy ! by Heaven, we have our wish. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Yea, sir, they come, and now betide what may. 
 We'll mix the Evil One a mess for supper 
 In yonder darksome pool. 
 
 AllTEVELDE. 
 
 A ruddier tinge 
 Than ever evening cast, shall warm its waters, 
 Or ere yon sun be down. What ho ! Van Serl, 
 Serve out the victual all — but first to prayers. 
 We will be shriven first, and then we'll sup, 
 And after that we'll cut a road to bed, 
 Be it in Bruges or in a better place. 
 Van Ryk, abide thou here, and bring me word 
 If any man approach by other ways ; 
 And when the foremost of the troop we see 
 Have past yon broken wall, then sound thy horn, 
 And I will send thee forces wherewithal 
 To keep thy post. There's food behind the carts 
 Whereof partake with them I'll send thee. 
 
 I shall want nothing, sir. 
 
 Nay, 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I tell thee, eat, 
 Eat and be fresh. I'll send a priest to shrive thee. 
 Van Muck, thou tak'st small comfort in thy prayers ; 
 Put thou thy muzzle in yon tub of wine. 
 Now, Van den Bosch, or ere the sun go down, 
 We'll know Heaven's will. 
 
172 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Have with thee, Artevelde ! 
 Thou art a brave and honourable man, 
 And I would have thee know that should we fall, 
 Either or both, I bear thee now no grudge ; 
 And so may Heaven forgive my many sins, 
 As I do thee. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Why, thou art now thyself; 
 With heart and hand we'll fall upon the foe. 
 And do the work like brothers. Come thy ways. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Van E,yk and Van Muck. 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 Van Muck, I prithee step along the path 
 That rounds the hill, and mark if on that side 
 Aught may be stirring. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Aye, and if there be, 
 I'll shout, and hail thee. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Artevelde's Page. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 Why. my little man, 
 How cam'st thou hither ? 'tis no place for thee ! 
 What, cam'st thou with the army ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 No, from Bruges. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 What took thee there ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I went with Mistress Clara 
 Who sojourns with the Prioress of St. Anne 
 Till all be over. 
 
b< ene iv. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 
 
 VAX i:vk. 
 
 And with her, ray boy, 
 Thou shoulclst have stay d. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 What ! in a convent ? No — 
 I think not when a battle is toward. 
 Besides the Prioress was all on edge 
 To hear of what befalls her sister's son, 
 Sir Walter D'Arlon being forth ; so rae 
 They charged to keep good watch and bring them word 
 How he shall fare ; but by my halidom 
 I will not run of errands now ; I'll fight. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 God's mercy on the knight thou fall st upon ! 
 Nay, nay, content thee ; couch thee by yon carts, 
 And dream not thou of fighting. 
 
 Is it true 
 That half an hour will bring the battle on ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Less time than that. Thou see'st how fast they come. 
 But now w T e scarce distinguish'd if they moved, 
 And now upon the skirts of yonder mass, 
 I can discern them, single man by man. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Canst thou descry the pennons of the knights 
 That lead them ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Truly, I perceive not one ; 
 I do but see a multitude of heads ; 
 
174 PHILIP VAN AETEYELDE. ■ act 
 
 No banner, pennon, nor a mounted man. 
 If any knight be there he comes afoot. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Lord of Arlon surely must be there. 
 He's always with the foremost. 
 
 VAX RYK. 
 
 If he be, 
 His pennon is not. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Nay, but look again ; 
 I see some knights that gallop up behind, 
 And pennons now come streaming on the road, 
 Betwixt the town and them. 
 
 VAX RYK. 
 
 Good faith, 'tis true. 
 Thou hast sharp eyes. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 And there — upon the bridge— 
 Whose is that pennon ? 
 
 VAN RYE. 
 
 Presently I'll tell thee ; 
 I cannot yet distinguish. Come this way 
 x\nd we shall see them better. Through the gap. 
 
 Scexe V. — Another 'part of the Field. 
 Van Arteyelde and others. 
 
 AETEYELDE. ^r- 
 
 Their cross-bow shafts have touch'd us on that side, 
 And ours fly large. We're dazzled by the sun. 
 Bid Van den Bosch give gently back and back, 
 And wind them round the slough ; I'll hover here ; 
 
 , 
 
a bni vu.J PHILIP VAN ABTEYELDE. 175 
 
 And soon as lie have turn'd his hack o' the sun, 
 
 Let liira stand fast and shoot. Thou hast thine errand ; 
 
 Let it not cool. And you, sirs, follow roe. 
 
 Scene VI. — Another part of the Field. 
 The Lord of Arlon and Gilbert Mattuew. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 How came they thus ? My lord, I needs must say, 
 A soldiers courage, not a leaders skill, 
 Has placed them here. 
 
 D' ARLON. 
 
 Skill ! what can skill avail ? 
 Could skill have made men sober that were drunk ! 
 The meanest archer with his senses whole 
 Would not have rush'd to stare the sun i' the face 
 As these have done ; — but nothing could withhold them. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 They will not long hold out. 
 
 d'arlon. 
 
 I prithee fly, 
 And tell the earl to send us succours up. 
 I'll keep them steady, if I can, till then. 
 
 Scene VII. — Another part of the Field. 
 Y*n Artevelde's Page following an Archer. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Stay, hearken. 
 
 ARCHER. 
 
 Faith of my body ! what is here 
 
 o 
 
176 PHILIP VAN AKTEYELDE. [act v. 
 
 A mannikin at arms ? Why clutch you me ? 
 If you're afraid, why came you out ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Take that, 
 For saying I'm afraid. 
 
 AECHER. 
 
 Ho ! we are slain 
 With buffet of a mighty man of war ! 
 Well, thou hast metal ; what is thy will with me ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I am thy captain's page and bidden to ask 
 Where D Arlon fights. 
 
 ARCHER. 
 
 So ; stop, then ; with your eye 
 If you can follow forth yon dry stone wall 
 Down to the hollow, and where further on 
 Again it rises, you shall see a crowd 
 Of fighting men, and in the midst of them 
 The pennon of the Lord of Arlon flies — 
 By Heaven ! But I think no — a minute since 
 It there was flying, but I think 'tis down. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Enter Van Arteyelde, with Followers from the one side, and 
 Van Ryk with Followers from the other. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 How is't with you ? On our side all is well. 
 One half their host is founder 'd in the swamp, 
 The other full in flight. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 On our side too 
 They all have fled ; but further down the field 
 The D 'Arlon still stands fast. 
 
viu. j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Set on, — set on — 
 Make for the spot. But hurt ye not that knight. 
 
 i: VIII. — A Street hi Bruges. — It is Niglvt.—The Earl of 
 Flanders and Sir Eobert Makeschaui/E enter, preceded 
 by Attendants bearing torches. 
 
 KARL. 
 
 What succours we can find I'll lend myself. 
 Was ever such disaster ! madmen first, 
 And cowards after ! 
 
 Enter a Soldier in haste. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Fly, my lord ! fly, fly ! 
 The gates are lost; they're now within the walls. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Why say they are, and must I therefore fly ? 
 Make for the market-place ; we'll rally there 
 Whoever will be rallied. — Pass we on — 
 Lights to the market-place ! 
 
 Enter another Soldier. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Is't you, my lord ? 
 Oh ! not that w 7 ay ! the men of Ghent are there. 
 Fly, fly, my lord ! 
 
 EARL. 
 
 The men of Ghent are where ? 
 
 N 
 
178 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. Tact v. 
 
 I'the market-place, my lord. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 What, there already ! 
 
 Put out your lights. 
 
 SIR ROBERT. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Aye, truly, now all's lost. 
 Put out your lights, good fellows all, and fly. 
 Save me you cannot, and you may yourselves. 
 
 {The lights are extinguished. 
 
 Which way to turn I know not. 
 
 SIR ROBERT. 
 
 Down the street 
 I see the flash of cressets that come hither ; 
 Hence, in God's name ! Here, varlet, doff thy cloak, 
 And give it to my lord. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Throw mine i' the gutter, 
 Or it might else betray thy life ; get hence ; 
 But if thou fallest in the enemy's hands, 
 Have a good tongue, and say not thou hast seen me. 
 Adieu, Sir Robert ; each the other hazards 
 By holding thus together. 
 
 SIR ROBERT. 
 
 Sir, farewell. {Exit. 
 
 [The Earl, left alone, knocks at the door of a house; a window 
 is opened above, and a woman looks out. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Who's he that knocks ? 
 
viii.] PHILIP VAN A.RTEVELDE. 179 
 
 j;.\ul. 
 A much endanger'd man. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 We're all endanger'd on such nights as these ; 
 I cannot let thee in. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Nay ! I beseech thee ! 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Art thou a man-at-arms ? 
 
 EARL. 
 
 Truly I am. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Then get thee gone ; they'll ransack every house 
 To hunt out men-at-arms. Go, get thee gone. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 I have no arms upon me. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Get thee gone. 
 
 EARL. 
 
 I am the Earl of Flanders. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Good my lord ! 
 O mercy ! my good lord, and is it you ? 
 Woe's me ! I'll ope the door. The many times 
 That alms were given me at your lordship s gate, 
 And I to hold you haggling here ! Woe's me ! 
 
 [She descends and opens the door. 
 N 2 
 
180 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. >c 
 
 Come in, ray gracious lord ; up yonder steps 
 You'll find a cock-loft and a couch of straw ; 
 Betwixt the mattress and the boards lie flat, 
 And you may well be hidden. Here are lights ! 
 Come in, come in. 
 
 [They enter the house. 
 
 Enter Van Muck, followed by several Men of Ghent. 
 He knocks at the door. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 No answer ? Nay then, knock me in this door. 
 
 [The woman opens it. 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Why, gentlemen, you would not sure molest 
 A widow and her children. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Who's within ? 
 
 Three helpless orphans ; as I hope for mercy, 
 No soul beside. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Wilt take thy oath of that ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 I pray God strike me dead upon the threshold 
 If any be within but my three babes, 
 Myk, Lodowyk, and Jan. 
 
 van muck. 
 
 Why as we came 
 We saw a man go in. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Good sir, good sir, 
 You are deceived ; there was no man at all. 
 
PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. l 
 
 'Twas I look'd out and emptied down a bucket. 
 A man ! God help us ! no. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Go in and see. 
 
 [Some of the men enter tL 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Walk in, good gentlemen, walk in and welcome ; 
 You see my humble house : one room below, 
 And one above. Sir, will you not walk in ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 No, no ; I'll keep the door. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 These times, sweet sir, 
 Are hard for widow'd women and their babes. 
 
 [The Men come ovt again. 
 ONE OF THE MEN. 
 
 Tis as she says : three children are asleep 
 In the cock-loft, and there is none beside. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Good even to you, dame. Friends, follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt Tax Muck and his Men. 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Beshrew your hearts, ye filthy dogs of Ghent ! 
 
 The devil catch you by the throat ! for once 
 
 You've miss'd your game. Ah, my sweet lord, away ! 
 
1S2 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Scene IX. — The Market-place of Bruges. — In front, Van 
 Artevelde, with Clara and DArlon. Next, Ukenheim, 
 Frans Ackerman, Van Nultre, and other Leaders. Behind 
 them are crowds of armed Followers and Attendants, bearing 
 torches ; of whom some companies march off from time to time 
 under orders from their Captains, and others remain keeping 
 guard over prisoners and spoil. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 War hath dealt hardly with the noble D'Arlon ; 
 Him gold not ransoms, and to stricter bonds 
 A captive knight was never yet consign'd. 
 
 [Turning to his Followers. 
 
 Van Muck returns not. Who amongst you all 
 Hath eye of lynx and leveret's foot to speed 
 Through all the town with inquisition sure, 
 And leave no corner of a house unsearch'd. 
 Where is Van Eyk ? 
 
 UKEXHEm. 
 
 He left us at the gates. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 True, true, despatch'd by me upon an errand ; 
 He will be here anon. Then, Ukenheim, 
 Go thou, with such assistance as thou wilt, 
 Upon the quest, through every lane and street. 
 Take him, if possibly ye can, alive. 
 Evil and folly hath he wrought against us, 
 But never treason ; he had wrong'd us less 
 But for the renegades that gave him counsel. 
 Bring forth the Lord of Occo. 
 
 [Occo is brought forward bound. 
 
 So, my lord ! 
 
scene i.x.j PHILIP VAN AJRTEVELDE. 
 
 Enter Van Muob and Iris party. 
 
 VAX MICK. 
 
 A prisoner, sir, we bring ; 'tis Gilbert Matthew. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And not the earl ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Tis said that he's escaped, 
 And ta'en the road to Lisle. He lay some space 
 Hid in a hovel till the search went by, 
 And then he fled away. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Long must thou wait, 
 Earl, ere thou see thy heritage again ! 
 Briug Gilbert Matthew forth. rrr . , ., . , , 
 
 o \He is brought ui bound. 
 
 So, Gilbert Matthew ! 
 
 Young upstart, what wouldst thou with Gilbert Matthew ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Be patient, sir ; you'll know it. Where art thou, 
 
 Frans Ackerman ? Ere midnight let me see 
 
 A hundred waggons on their way to Ghent, 
 
 Loaden with corn and wine. At dawn send forth 
 
 To Damme and Sluys, and empty out their stores 
 
 For a fresh convoy. Have me men prepared 
 
 To ride to Ypres, Courtray, Cassel, Bergues, 
 
 To Poperinguen, and to Rousselaere, 
 
 And bid the mayor and burghers of each town 
 
 Send me its keys. Well met, bold Van den Bosch ! 
 
 
1S4 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Enter Vax dex Bosch, with followers. 
 
 Well met at Bruges, my brethren in arms ! 
 
 As ye were brave, so be ye temperate now. 
 
 Let not the small-crafts suffer. Spare their blood, 
 
 For they but followed in the train of power, 
 
 And many wish'd us in their hearts no ill. 
 
 To all shall plunder plentifully flow 
 
 Out of the coffers of the rich ; but him 
 
 That spills a foreigner's or craftsman's blood 
 
 I mulct of all his share, and, this night past, 
 
 The price (not willingly so long postponed, 
 
 But needfully for this tumultuous night) 
 
 Of all blood-guiltiness is paid in blood. 
 
 Take heed of what I say ; ye ought to know 
 
 For good or ill my promises are kept. 
 
 The debt of vengeance which is due to Ghent 
 
 You shall behold acquitted where you stand. 
 
 {Turning to Occo and G-ilbert Matthew. 
 
 Look, Van den Bosch, upon your former friends, 
 x\nd tell me what's their due. 
 
 VAX DEN BOSCH. 
 
 In this world, death, 
 
 And after that let Satan tend his own. 
 
 I should commend their bodies to the rack, 
 
 But that I'm loth so long to keep their souls 
 
 Out of hell-fire. 
 
 occo. . 
 
 Thy heart was ever hard ; 
 
 But, Artevelde, thou wilt not stain thy hands 
 
 By killing in cold blood two helpless men ! 
 
 If thou'rt a soldier, do not such a deed. 
 
k in PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 186 
 
 Soldiers by soldiers in the field are slain, 
 Xot niurder'd in the Market-place. 
 
 A.RTEVELDE. 
 
 I grant thee. 
 And if the name of soldier can be claitn'd 
 1 >y both or one of you, ye shall not die. 
 Bring forth the friar. r . v . . 7 ... . 
 
 D \_A I nar is brought Jorward. 
 
 Save you, holy Father ! 
 Say in the face of these two that stand here, 
 That which thou said'st to me. 
 
 FRIxVR. 
 
 Sir, it was this : 
 
 Here in the hospital expired but now 
 
 Of many wounds a Florentine, by name 
 
 Romero, who, repentant ere his death, 
 
 Confess'd to me that he received a bribe 
 
 From Gilbert Matthew and Sir Guy of Occo, 
 
 To kill the Lord of Arlon, for some spite 
 
 That each had to him. 
 
 occo. 
 
 Miscreant, he lied ! 
 
 Whoe'er procured him, it was never I. 
 
 Master Van Artevelde, my Lord of Arlon, 
 
 Believe not I would sin in such a sort. 
 
 Have mercy on a miserable man ! r „ 77 .. . 
 
 J [Falls oit his knees. 
 
 Oh God ! there's some mistake, or else he lied. 
 
 GILBERT. 
 
 How say'st thou that he lied ? Sirs, it is true 
 I with this craven beggarly companion — 
 Of whose accompliceship to do the deed, 
 
186 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v 
 
 Aud not the deed itself, I speak with shame — 
 I with this caitiff truly did conspire, 
 For good and ample reasons, to remove 
 Sir Walter D'Arlon from this troublesome world. 
 Such chances as no prudence could forefend 
 Have baulk'd my purpose, and I go myself. 
 Wherefore, sirs, God be with you ! To the block ! 
 What are ye dreaming of, ye sluggish hinds ? 
 
 artevelde (signing to the men-at-arms, who lead out 
 Gilbert Matthew). 
 
 Aye, Gilbert, God forgive thee for thy sins ! 
 
 Thou steppest statelily the only walk 
 
 Thou hast to take upon this solid earth. 
 
 Full many a better man less bravely dieth. 
 
 Take forth the other too. 
 
 occo. 
 Stop : hear me yet. 
 If through pretext of justice I am doom'd, 
 What justice is it that believes not me, 
 And yet believes such villains as Romero 
 And Gilbert Matthew ! Find a credible tongue 
 To testify against me ere you strike. 
 
 Enter Van Rtk, conducting Adriana, who throws herself into 
 the arms of Van Artevelde. He supports her, and 
 addresses himself to Occo. 
 
 artevelde. 
 
 Lo ! here a witness ! look upon this face, 
 
 And bid death welcome. Lead him to the block. 
 
 ADRIANA. 
 
 Oh, spare him ; speak not now of shedding blood, 
 
) 
 
 ix., PHILIP VAN AJtTEVELDB. 
 
 Now, in this hour of happiness ! Oh, spare him ! 
 Vengeance is God's, whose function take not thou ! 
 Relent, Van Artevelde, and spare his life. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 v. 
 
 Not though an angel plead. Vengeance is God's ; 
 
 But God doth oftentimes dispense it here 
 
 By human ministration. To my hands 
 
 He render'd victory this eventful day 
 
 For uses higher than my happiness. 
 
 Let Flanders judge me from my deeds to-night, 
 
 That I from this time forth will thus proceed, 
 
 Justice with mercy tempering where I may : 
 
 But executing always. Lead him out. 
 
 [Occo is led out. 
 
 Now, Adriana, I am wholly thine. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST PART. 
 
 The curtain falls upon the fancied stage, 
 
 The tale half told : here rest thee, reader sage ; 
 
 Pause here and trim thine intellectual light, 
 
 Which, more than mine, shall make my meanings bright. 
 
 That ancient writer whose romantic heart 
 
 Loved war in every shape, — its pride, its art, 
 
 Its shows, appurtenance, — whose page is still 
 
 The theatre of war, turn where we will, — 
 
 That old historian, of whose truthful text 
 
 I dog the heels, — me whither leads he next \ 
 
 To dark descents he guides me ; sad and stern, 
 
 Him following forth, the lesson that I learn, 
 
18S PHILIP VAN AETEVELDE. 
 
 That in the shocks of powers so wild and rude. 
 Success but signifies vicissitude ; 
 That of that man who seeks a sovran sphere, 
 The triumph is the trial most severe. 
 And yet in times so stormy, in a land 
 Where Virtue's self held forth a bloody hand 
 To greet arm'd Justice, — in such times as these 
 Still woman's love could find the way to please. 
 Thus in the tissue of my tale, herein 
 By records not unvouch'd, again I spin, 
 As heretofore, an interwoven thread 
 Of feminine affection fancy-fed. 
 
 — Rest thee a space : or if thou lov'st to hear 
 
 A soft pulsation in thine easy ear, 
 
 Turn thou the page, and let thy senses drink 
 
 A lay that shall not trouble thee to think. 
 
 Quitting the heroine of the past, thoult see 
 
 In this prefigured her that is to be, 
 
 And find what life was hers before the date 
 
 That with the Fleming's fortunes link'd her fate. 
 
 This sang she to herself one summer's eve, 
 
 A recreant from festivities that grieve 
 
 The heart not festive : stealing to her bower, 
 
 With this she wiled away the lonely evening hour. 
 
PHILIP VAN AJRTEVELDE 
 
 THE LAY OF ELENA. 
 
 He asked me had I yet forgot 
 
 The mountains of my native land ? 
 I sought an answer, but had not 
 
 The words at my command. 
 They would not come, and it was better so, 
 For had I utter 'd aught, my tears I know 
 Had started at the word as free to flow. 
 
 But I can answer when there's none that hears ; 
 And now if I should weep, none sees my tears ; 
 And in my soul the voice is rising strong, 
 That speaks in solitude, — the voice of song. 
 
 Yes, I remember well 
 
 The land of many hues, 
 Whose charms what praise can tell, 
 
 Whose praise what heart refuse ? 
 Sublime, but neither bleak nor bare, 
 Nor misty, are the mountains there, — 
 Softly sublime, profusely fair ! 
 Up to their summits clothed in green, 
 And fruitful as the vales between, 
 
190 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE = 
 
 They lightly rise, 
 
 And scale the skies, 
 And groves and gardens still abound, 
 
 For where no shoot 
 
 Could else take root, 
 The peaks are shelved and terraced round ; 
 Earthward appear, in mingled growth, 
 
 The mulberry and maize, — above 
 The trellised vine extends to both 
 
 The leafy shade they love. 
 Looks out the white- walled cottage here, 
 The lowly chapel rises near ; 
 Far down the foot must roam to reach 
 The lovely lake and bending beach ; 
 Whilst chestnut green and olive grey 
 Chequer the steep and winding way. 
 
 A bark is launch'd on Como's lake, 
 
 A maiden sits abaft; 
 A little sail is loosed to take 
 
 The night wind's breath, and waft 
 The maiden and her bark away, 
 Across the lake and up the bay. 
 And what doth there that lady fair, 
 
 Upon the wavelet toss'd ? 
 Before her shines the evening star, 
 Behind her in the woods afar 
 
 The castle lights are lost. 
 What doth she there ? The evening air 
 Lifts her locks, and her neck is bare ; 
 And the dews, that now are falling fast, 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 191 
 
 May work her harm, or a rougher blast 
 
 May come from yonder cloud, 
 And that her hark might scarce sustain, 
 So slightly built, — and why remain, 
 
 And would she be allowed 
 To brave the wind and sit in the dew 
 At night on the lake, if her mother knew ? 
 
 Her mother sixteen years before 
 
 The burthen of the baby bore ; 
 
 And though brought forth in joy, the day 
 
 So joyful, she was wont to say, 
 
 In taking count of after years, 
 
 Gave birth to fewer hopes than fears. 
 
 For seldom smiled 
 
 The serious child, 
 And as she passed from childhood, grew 
 More far-between those smiles and few, 
 
 More sad and wild. 
 And though she loved her father well, 
 
 And though she loved her mother more, 
 Upon her heart a sorrow fell, 
 And sapped it to the core. 
 And in her father's castle, nought 
 She ever found of what she sought, 
 And all her pleasure was to roam 
 Among the mountains far from home, 
 And through thick woods, and wheresoe'er 
 She saddest felt to sojourn there ; 
 And oh ! she loved to linger afloat 
 On the lonely lake in the little boat. 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It was not for the forms, — though fair, 
 Though grand they were beyond compare ,- 
 It was not only for the forms 
 Of hills in sunshine or in storms, 
 Or only unrestrained to look 
 On wood and lake, that she forsook 
 By day or night 
 
 Her home, and far 
 Wandered by light 
 Of sun or star. 
 It was to feel her fancy free, 
 
 Free in a world without an end, 
 With ears to hear, and eyes to see, 
 
 And heart to apprehend. 
 It was to leave the earth behind, 
 x\nd rove with liberated mind, 
 As fancy led, or choice, or chance, 
 Through wildered regions of romance. 
 And many a castle would she build ; 
 And all around the woods were filled 
 With knights and squires that rode amain 
 With ladies saved and giants slain ; 
 And as some contest wavered, came. 
 With eye of fire and breath of flame, 
 A dragon that in cave profound 
 Had had his dwelling underground ; 
 And he had closed the dubious fight, 
 But that, behold ! there came in sight 
 A hippogriff, that wheeled his flight 
 Far in the sky, then swooping low, 
 Brings to the field a fresher foe : 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Dismay'd by this diversion, fly 
 The dragon and his dear ally ; 
 And now the victor knight unties 
 The prisoner, his unhoped-for prize, 
 
 And lo ! a beauteous maid is she, 
 Whom they, in their unrighteous guise, 
 
 Had fasten 'd naked to a tree ! 
 
 Much dreaming these, yet was she much awake 
 
 To portions of things earthly, for the sake 
 
 Whereof, as with a charm, away would flit 
 
 The phantoms, and the fever intermit. 
 
 Whatso' of earthly things presents a face 
 
 Of outward beauty, or a form of grace, 
 
 Might not escape her, hidden though it were 
 
 From courtly recognition ; for with her 
 
 Nature's credentials in a peasant's face 
 
 Awarded him pre-eminence of place : 
 
 Give but a handmaid majesty of mien 
 
 The handmaid rose in station to a Queen. 
 
 Devoted thus to what was fair to sight. 
 
 She loved too little else, nor this aright, 
 
 And many disappointments could not cure 
 
 This born obliquity, or break the lure 
 
 Which this strong passion spread: she grew not wise 
 
 Nor grows : experience with a world of sighs 
 
 Purchased, and tears and heart-break have been hers. 
 
 And taught her nothing : where she erred she errs. 
 
 Be it avowed, when all is said, 
 
 She trod the path the many tread ; — 
 
 
194 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 She loved too soon in life ; her dawn 
 
 Was bright with sunbeams, whence is drawn 
 
 A sure prognostic that the day 
 
 Will not unclouded pass away. 
 
 Too young she loved, and he on whom 
 
 Her first love lighted, in the bloom 
 
 Of boyhood was, and so was graced 
 
 With all that earliest runs to waste, 
 
 Intelligent, loquacious, mild, 
 
 Yet gay and sportive as a child, 
 
 With feelings light and quick, that came 
 
 And went, like flickerings of flame ; 
 
 A soft demeanour, and a mind 
 
 Bright and abundant in its kind, 
 
 That, playing on the surface, made 
 
 A rapid change of light and shade, 
 
 Or if a darker hour perforce 
 
 At times o'ertook him in his course, 
 
 Still sparkling thick like glow-worms show'd 
 
 Life was to him a summer's road, — 
 
 Such was the youth to whom a love 
 
 For grace and beauty far above 
 
 Their due deserts, betray 'd a heart 
 
 Which might have else perform'd a loftier part. 
 
 First love the world is wont to call 
 The passion which was now her all. 
 So be it called ; but be it known, 
 
 The feeling which possess 'd her now 
 Was novel in degree alone ; 
 Love early mark'd her for his own ; 
 
PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 Soon as the winds of heaven had blown 
 Upon her, had the seed been sown 
 
 In soil which needed not the plough ; 
 And passion with her growth had grown. 
 
 And strengthen 'd with her strength, and how 
 Could love be new, unless in name, 
 Degree, and singleness of aim ? 
 A tenderness had filled her mind 
 Pervasive, viewless, undefined ; — 
 As keeps the subtle fluid oft 
 Its secret, gathering in the soft 
 And sultry air, till felt at length 
 In all its desolating strength, 
 So silent, so devoid of dread, 
 Her objectless affections spread ; 
 Not wholly unemploy'd, but squander'd 
 At large where'er her fancy wander'd ; 
 Till one attraction, one desire 
 Concentred all the scatter'd fire ; 
 It broke, it burst, it blazed amain, 
 It flash'd its light o'er hill and plain, 
 O'er earth below and heaven above, — 
 And then it took the name of love. 
 
 How fared that love ? the tale so old, 
 
 So common, needs it to be told ? 
 
 Bellagio's woods, ye saw it through 
 
 From first accost to last adieu ; 
 
 Its changes, seasons, you can tell, — 
 
 At least you typify them well. 
 
 First came the genial, hopeful spring, 
 
 o 2 
 
196 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 With bursting buds and birds that sing, 
 And fast though fitful progress made 
 To brighter suns and broader shade. 
 Those brighter suns, that broader shade, 
 They came, and richly then array 'd 
 Was bough and sward, and all below 
 Gladdened by summer's equal glow. 
 What next? a change is slowly seen, 
 
 And deepeneth day by day 
 The darker, soberer, sadder green 
 
 Prevenient to decay. 
 Yet still at times through that green gloom, 
 As sudden gusts might make them room, 
 
 And lift the spray so light, 
 The berries of the mountain-ash, 
 Arching the torrent's foam and flash, 
 
 Waved gladly into sight. 
 But rare those short-lived gleamings grew, 
 And wore the woods a sicklier hue ; 
 Destruction now his phalanx forms 
 'Mid wailing winds and gathering storms ; 
 And last comes Winter's withering breath, 
 Keen as desertion, cold — cold as the hand of death ! 
 
 Is the tale told ? too well, alas ! 
 Is pictured here what came to pass. 
 So long as light affections play'd 
 Around their path, he loved the maid ; 
 Loved in half gay, half tender mood, 
 By passion touch 'd, but not subdued ; 
 Laugh 'd at the flame he felt or lit ; 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Replied to tenderness with wit ; 
 Sometimes when passion brightlier burn'd, 
 Its tokens eagerly return'd, 
 Then calm, supine, but pleased no less, 
 Softly sustain 'd each soft caress. 
 She, watching with delight the while 
 His half-closed eyes and gradual smile, 
 (Slow pleasures smile, how far more worth, 
 More beautiful than smiles of mirth !) 
 Seem'd to herself when back she cast 
 A hurried look upon the past, 
 
 As changed from what she then had been, 
 As was the moon, who having run 
 Her orbit through since this begun, 
 
 Now shone apparent Queen. 
 How dim a world, how blank a waste, 
 A shadowy orb how faintly traced, 
 Her crescent fancy first embraced ! 
 How fair an orb, a world how bright, 
 How fill'd with glory and with light 
 Had now reveal'd itself to sight ! 
 A glory of her essence grown, 
 A light incorporate with her own ! 
 
 Forth from such paradise of bliss 
 Open the way and easy is, 
 
 Like that renown'd of old ; 
 And easier than the most was this, 
 For they were sorted more amiss 
 
 Than outward things foretold. 
 The goddess that with cruel mirth 
 
 
198 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The daughters and the sons of earth 
 
 Mismatches, hath a cunning eye 
 
 In twisting of a treacherous tie ; 
 
 Nor is she backward to perceive 
 
 That loftier minds to lower cleave 
 
 With ampler love (as that which flows 
 
 From a rich source) than these to those ; 
 
 For still the source, not object, gives 
 
 The daily food whereon love lives. 
 
 The well-spring of his love was poor 
 
 Compared to hers : his gifts were fewer ; 
 
 The total light that was in him 
 
 Before a spark of hers grew dim ; 
 
 Too high, too grave, too large, too deep, 
 
 Her love could neither laugh nor sleep — 
 
 And thus it tired him ; his desire 
 
 Was for a less consuming fire : 
 
 He wish'd that she should love him well, 
 
 Not wildly ; wish'd her passion's spell 
 
 To charm her heart, but leave her fancy free ; 
 
 To quicken converse, not to quell ; 
 
 He granted her to sigh, for so could he ; 
 
 But when she wept, why should it be ? 
 
 'Twas irksome, for it stole away 
 
 The joy of his love-holiday. 
 
 Bred of such uncongenial mood 
 
 At length would some dim doubt intrude 
 
 If what he felt, so far below 
 
 Her passion's pitch, were love or no. 
 
 With that the common day-light's beam 
 
 Broke in upon his morning dream, 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And as that common day advanced 
 His heart was wholly unentranced. 
 
 What follow'd was not good to do, 
 
 Nor is it good to tell ; 
 The anguish of that worst adieu 
 Which parts with love and honour too, 
 
 Abides not, — so far well. 
 The human heart can not sustain 
 Prolong'd inalterable pain, 
 And not till reason cease to reign 
 Will nature want some moments brief 
 Of other moods to mix with grief ; 
 Such and so hard to be destroy 'd 
 That vigour which abhors a void, 
 And in the midst of all distress, 
 Such nature's need for happiness ! 
 And when she rallied thus, more high 
 Her spirits ran, she knew not why, 
 Than was their wont in times than these 
 Less troubled, with a heart at ease. 
 So meet extremes ; so joy's rebound 
 Is highest from the hollowest ground ; 
 So vessels with the storm that strive 
 Pitch higher as they deeplier dive. 
 
 Well had it been if she had curb'd 
 These transports of a mind disturb 'd ; 
 For grief is then the worst of foes 
 When, all intolerant of repose, 
 It sends the heart abroad to seek 
 
200 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 From weak recoils exemptions weak ; 
 After false gods to go astray, 
 Deck altars vile with garlands gay, 
 And place a painted form of stone 
 On Passion's abdicated throne. 
 
 Till then her heart was as a mound 
 Or simple plot of garden ground 
 
 Far in a forest wild, 
 Where many a seedling had been sown, 
 And many a bright-eyed floweret grown 
 
 To please a favourite child. 
 Delighted was the child to call 
 
 The plot of garden-ground her own ; 
 Delighted was she at the fall 
 Of evening mild when shadows tall 
 Cross- barr'd the mound and cottage wall, 
 
 To linger there alone. 
 Nor seem'd the garden flowers less fair, 
 Xor loved she less to linger there, 
 When glisten'd in the morning dew 
 Each lip of red and eye of blue ; 
 And when the sun too brightly burn'd 
 Towards the forest's verge she turn'd, 
 Where stretch'd away from glade to glade 
 A green interminable shade ; 
 And in the skirts thereof a bower 
 Was built with many a creeping flower, 
 For shelter at the noon-tide hour ; 
 And from the forest walks was heard 
 The voice of many a singing bird, 
 
PHILIP VAN &RTEVELDE. 201 
 
 With murmurs of the cushat-dove, 
 That tell the secret of her love : 
 And pleasant therefore all day long, 
 From earliest dawn to even-song, — 
 Supremely pleasant was this wild 
 Sweet garden to the woodsman's child. — 
 The whirlwind came with fire and flood 
 And smote the garden in the wood ; 
 All that was form'd to give delight 
 Destruction levell'd in a night; 
 The morning hroke, the child awoke, 
 And when she saw what sudden stroke 
 The garden which she loved had swept 
 To ruin, she sat down and wept. 
 Her grief was great, but it had vent ; 
 Its force, not spared, was sooner spent ; 
 And she bethought her to repair 
 The garden which had been so fair. 
 Then roam'd she through the forest walks, 
 Cropping the wild flowers by their stalks, 
 And divers full-blown blossoms gay 
 She gather 'd, and in fair array 
 Disposed, and stuck them in the mound 
 Which had been once her garden-ground. 
 They seem'd to flourish for awhile, 
 A moment's space she seem'd to smile ; 
 But brief the bloom, and vain the toil, 
 They were not native to the soil. 
 That other child, beneath w T hose zone 
 Were passions fearfully full-grown, — 
 She too essay 'd to deck the waste 
 
202 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Where love had grown, which love had graced, 
 With false adornments, flowers not fruit, 
 Fast-fading flowers, that strike not root, — 
 With pleasures alien to her hreast, 
 That bloom but briefly at the best, 
 The world's sad substitutes for joys 
 To minds that lose their equipoise. 
 
 On Como's lake the evening star 
 
 Is trembling as before ; 
 An azure flood, a golden bar, 
 There as they were before they are, 
 But she that loved them — she is far, 
 
 Far from her native shore. 
 No more is seen her slender boat 
 Upon the star-lit lake afloat, 
 With oar or sail at large to rove, 
 Or tether'd in its wooded cove 
 'Mid gentle waves that sport around 
 And rock it with a gurgling sound. 
 Keel up, it rots upon the strand, 
 Its gunwale sunken in the sand, 
 Where suns and tempests warp'd and shrank 
 Each shatter 'd rib and riven plank. 
 Never again that land-wreck'd craft 
 Shall feel the billow boom abaft ; 
 Never, when springs the freshening gale, 
 Take life again from oar or sail : 
 Nor shall the freight that once it bore 
 Again be seen on lake or shore. 
 
PHILIP VAN A.RTBVBLDE. 
 
 A foreiga land is now her choice, 
 
 A foreign sky above her, 
 And unfamiliar is each voice 
 
 Of those that say they love her. 
 A prince's palace is her home, 
 And marble floor and gilded dome, 
 Where festive myriads nightly meet, 
 Quick echoes of her steps repeat. 
 And she is gay at times, and light 
 From her makes many faces bright ; 
 And circling flatterers hem her in, 
 Assiduous each a word to win, 
 And smooth as mirrors each the while 
 Reflects and multiplies her smile. 
 But fitful were her smiles, nor long 
 She cast them to that courtly throng ; 
 And should the sound of music fall 
 Upon her ear in that high hall, 
 The smile was gone, the eye that shone 
 So brightly, would be dimm'd anon, 
 And objectless would then appear 
 As stretch'd to check the starting tear. 
 The chords within responsive rung, 
 For music spoke her native tongue. 
 
 And then the gay and glittering crowd 
 Is heard not, laugh they ne'er so loud ; 
 Nor then is seen the simpering row 
 Of flatterers, bend they ne'er so low ; 
 For there before her where she stands, 
 The mountains rise, the lake expands ; 
 
204 PHILIP VAN APvTEVELDE. 
 
 Around the terraced summit twines 
 The leafy coronal of vines ; 
 Within the watery mirror deep 
 Nature's calm converse lies asleep ; 
 Above she sees the sky's blue glow, 
 The forest's varied green below, 
 And far its vaulted vistas through 
 A distant grove of darker hue, 
 Where mounting high from clumps of oak 
 Curls lightly up the thin gray smoke ; 
 And o'er the boughs that over-bower 
 The crag, a castle's turrets tower — 
 An eastern casement mantled o'er 
 
 With ivy, flashes back the gleam 
 Of sun-rise — it was there of yore 
 She sate to see that sun-rise pour 
 Its splendour round — she sees no more, 
 For tears disperse the dream. 
 
 Thus seized and speechless had she stood, 
 
 Surveying mountain, lake, and wood, 
 
 When to her ear came that demand 
 
 Had she forgot her native land ? 
 
 Twas but a voice within replied 
 
 She had forgotten all beside. 
 
 For words are weak and most to seek 
 
 When wanted fifty-fold, 
 And then if silence will not speak, 
 Or trembling lip and changing cheek, 
 
 There's nothing told. 
 But could she have reveal'd to him 
 
 
PHILIP VAN ABTBVELDE. SO 
 
 Who questional thus, the vision brig] it 
 That ere his words were said grew dim 
 
 And vanished from her sight, 
 Easy the answer were to know 
 
 And plain to understand, — 
 
 That mind and memory both must fail, 
 And life itself must slacken sail, 
 And thought its functions must forego, 
 And fancy lose its latest glow, 
 
 Or ere that land 
 Could pictured be less bright and fair 
 To her whose home and heart are there ! 
 That land the loveliest that eye can see 
 The stranger ne'er forgets, then how should she ! 
 
 — Cease the soft sounds, the mellow voice is mute, 
 
 And quivers to a close that plaintive lady's lute. — 
 
 Pass we to matters masculine ; to strains 
 
 Where weightier themes may pay the reader's pains. 
 
 Again disclose we counsels of the wise, 
 
 Deeds of the warlike : — let the Curtain rise. 
 

 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 " Oh Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, 
 That changeth as the mone ! 
 My somer's day in lusty May 
 Is derked before the none." 
 
 The Not-beowne Mayd. 
 
 ' I say, ye Commoners, why were ye so stark mad, 
 What frantyk frensy fyll in youre brayne ; 
 Where was youre wit and reason ye shuld have had ? 
 
 What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne 
 Yowre naturall lord ? " 
 
 Skelton. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 (second paet.) 
 
 [■ in command at Ypres. 
 
 MEN OF FLANDERS. 
 
 Philip Van Artevelde, Eegent of Flanders. 
 Peter Van den Bosch. 
 Van RYK. 
 Van Muck. 
 
 Vauclaire, 
 
 ROOSDYK, 
 
 Fathee John of Heda. 
 A Page of Van Artevelde' s. 
 A Friar. 
 
 Van Stockenstrom, "> _,. . ^ Tr 
 
 ^ r Citizens of Ipres. 
 
 Van Whelk, j 
 
 The Burgomaster and divers Burgesses of Ypres, Officers, 
 Messengers, &c. 
 
 MEN OF FRANCE. 
 
 Kixg Charles the Sixth. 
 
 The Dttke of Burgundy, his Uncle, and Heir Presumptive to the Earl 
 
 of Flanders. 
 The Duke of Bourbon, also Uncle to the King. 
 Sir Fleureant of Heurl£e, a Folloioer of the Duke of Bourbon. 
 Sir Oliver of Clisson, Constable of France. 
 Sir John de Vien, Admiral of France. 
 The Lords of Saimpi, Sanxere, and St. Just; Sir Raoul of 
 
 Raneval: the Lord of Coucy, and many other Lords and 
 
 Knights belonging to the French King's Council. 
 Tristram of Lestoyet, Clerk of the Council. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 Elena della Torre, an Italian Lady. 
 
 Cecile, her Attendant. 
 
 Dame Voorst, a Woman of Ypres. 
 
 The Scene is laid sometimes in Flanders and sometimes 
 in France. 
 

 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 Scene I. — An Ante-room to the State Apartments of the Grand 
 Justiciary in the Royal Palace at Senlis, in France. — Several 
 groups of Suitors holding Petitions in their hands. In front a 
 Yeoman of Tournesis, and near him Sir Fleureant of 
 Heurlee. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 If I may be so bold, friend, whence art thou? 
 
 The times are stirring, and come whence thou may'st 
 
 Thou must bring news. 
 
 YEOMAN. 
 
 So please your worships grace 
 I come from this side Tournay; I am French, 
 And though I say it, sir, an honest yeoman. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 And, honest yeoman, what's thine errand here ? 
 
 I have a suit, sir, to my noble lord 
 The Duke of Burgundy. 
 
210 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Why, what ? — what suit ? 
 
 YEOMAN. 
 
 Tis but for justice, sir; I crave but justice. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Hast thou the price of justice in thy pocket? 
 
 YEOMAN. 
 
 Nay, sir, I am poor. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Poor, and want justice ? — where was thy mother's thrift 
 To bring thee up in such a poor estate 
 And yet to lack such dainties ! Say wherein 
 Would'st thou be justified? who is't hath wrong'd thee? 
 
 YEOMAN. 
 
 Last Wednesday, sir, a troop of Flemings, led 
 By fierce Frans Acker man, the frontier pass'd 
 And burn'd my homestead, ravaged all my fields, 
 And did sore havoc in the realm of France. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 What say'st thou ? is it so ? Ha, ha ! my friend, 
 This is high matter. Thoult be heard on this. 
 
 Enter Usher. 
 
 TSHER. 
 
 Depart ye, sirs ; his grace is with the king ; 
 He bids you all depart and come to-morrow ; 
 To-day his grace hath business with the king, 
 And will not be molested. Clear the chamber. 
 Their graces aud the king are coming hither, 
 And would be private ; — prithee, sir, depart. 
 
 \To the Yeoman, who lingers. 
 
. i.j PHILIP van ai;ti;vi;u>i. 21 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Take thou thy grievance to the outer hall, 
 But go no further hence. Soft, Master Usher ; 
 My friend shall have an audience of the duke. 
 Look he be carefully bestow'd without 
 Till he be call'd. He is an injured man ; 
 An injured man, and being so, yet welcome. 
 The grief he hath is worth its weight in gold. 
 Bestow him carefully without. 
 
 USHER. 
 
 This way. 
 
 [Exit, with the Yeoman. 
 
 Enter the Dukes of Burgundy and Bourbon. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Good morrow, Flurry. Not on us, good brother. 
 I grant you were we rashly to make war, 
 No council summon'd, no estates convened, 
 Then aught that should unhappily ensue 
 Might chance be charged on us, as natural guides, 
 And so reputed, of the youthful king. 
 But back'd by all the council, — yea, by all, 
 For I'll be warranty no voice dissents, — 
 Back'd by the council, wherein weighty reasons 
 Shall be well urged 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Ay, brother, there it is ! 
 That you have reasons of your own none doubts, 
 And Jacques Bonhomme will be bold to say 
 That reasons which are rank in Burgundy 
 Have been transplanted to the soil of France, 
 That fits them not. 
 
 p2 
 
212 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 BURGUXDY. 
 
 In Jacques Bonhomine's throat 
 I'll tell him that he slanders me and lies. 
 No soil in Christendom but fits my reasons ; 
 No soil where virtue, chivalry, and honour 
 Are fed and flourish, but shall fit them well. 
 When honour and nobility fall prone 
 In Flanders, think you they stand fast in France ? 
 Or losing ground in France, have hope elsewhere ? 
 This by no narrow bound is circumscribed : 
 It is the cause of chivalry at large. 
 Though heir to Flanders I am Frenchman born, 
 And nearer have at heart the weal of France 
 Than my far off inheritance. Come, come ; 
 Lay we before the council the sad truth 
 Of these distractions that so rock the realm, — 
 Paris possess'd by Nicholas le Flamand 
 Where law's a nothing and the king a name ; 
 Armies with mallets but beginning there, 
 And gathering like the snow-wreaths in a storm 
 Before a man hath time to get him housed, 
 At Chalons on the Marne, Champagne, Beauvoisin, 
 At Orleans, at Rheims, at Blois, and Rouen, 
 x\nd every reach of road from Paris south : 
 Then point we to the north, where Artevelde 
 Wields at his single will the Flemish force, 
 Five hundred thousand swords ; and ask what fate 
 Awaits our France, if those with these unite, 
 Bold villains both, and ripe for riving down 
 All royalty, — thereafter or therewith 
 Nobility ! — Then strike whiles yet apart 
 Each single foe. 
 
k i.] PHILIP VAN A.RTEVELDE. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 But Philip speaks us fair. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 As fair as false. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lords, there's proof of that 
 Here close at hand ; a yeoman from Tournesis, 
 But now arrived with news of ravage done 
 On the French frontier. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 There, good brother, there ! 
 There's Flemish friendship, Flemish love of peace ! 
 Shall we make nought of this ? 
 
 bourbon. 
 
 We'll sift it, brother, 
 And find if it be true. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Where is the mau ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 I'll bring him in, my lord. \Exit. 
 
 Enter the King with a Hawk on his hand. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 How now, my royal cousin, have you done ? 
 Can you repeat the speech ? 
 
 KING. 
 
 yes, good uncle. 
 ' Right noble our liege councillors all, We greet you ! 
 We have required your — ' 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 « Presence here this dav. 
 
214 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act : 
 
 KING. 
 
 ' We have required your presence here this day 
 On matters of high import, which surcharge 
 Our royal mind, that still affects the weal 
 Of our heloved lieges. Much to peace 
 Our tender years incline us, but — but — but — ' 
 I'll fly my hawk, good uncle, now ; to-morrow 
 I'll say the rest. Come, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry ! 
 He is a Marzarolt, uncle, just reclaim 'd ; 
 The best in France for flying at the fur. 
 Whew ! Jerry, Jerry, Jerry ! 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Cousin, stay. 
 
 Enter Sir Fleureant with the Yeoman. 
 Here is a worthy yeoman from Tournesis, 
 Who hath a tale to tell of ravage done 
 Upon the realm of France. 
 
 KING. 
 
 A yeoman, uncle ? 
 Here, worthy yeoman, you shall kiss our hand. 
 Get off there, Jerry. 
 
 [ The Yeoman kneels and kisses his hand. 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Now, sir, from what place 
 In France or Flanders, com'st thou ? 
 
 YEOMAN. 
 
 Please your highness, 
 'Twas a small holding from my lord of Vergues 
 Close to the liberties of Fontenoy. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 This side the bourn ? | 
 
SCEKB i.] PHI LI !• VAN AJITEVELDE. -iv, 
 
 yeoman. 
 Three miles, my lord, and long on. 
 
 Three miles in France. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 EOURBON. 
 
 And what befell thee there ? 
 
 YEOMAN. 
 
 My lord, my wife and I, on Wednesday night, 
 
 Saw fires to the north and westward, up by Orcq 
 
 And round to Beau-Renard, and knew by that 
 
 The Flemish commons had been there, that late 
 
 Have roam'd through Flanders, burning where they came 
 
 The houses of the gentlemen and knights. 
 
 Then said my wife (Pierilla, if it please you,) 
 
 ' 'Tis well we're yeomen and of poor estate, 
 
 And that we're lieges of a mightier lord 
 
 Than was the Count of Flanders : 'tis God's mercy ! 
 
 Or else might they that look from Beau-Renard 
 
 To the south and eastward, see this house on fire 
 
 To-morrow night, as we this night see theirs ! ' 
 
 But hardly had she said it, when due south 
 
 The sky was all on fire ; and then we knew 
 
 The Flemings were in France, and Auzain burn'd. 
 
 We fled away, and looking back, beheld 
 
 Our humble dwelling flaming like a torch. 
 
 So, then, quoth I, we'll to my Lord the King, 
 
 And tell what's come to pass. 
 
 Retire 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Thou hast done well ; 
 His Majesty will bring thy case 
 
216 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Before the council. Hold thyself prepared 
 
 To tell thy story there. [JW Yeoman 
 
 I think my royal cousin, though he's young, 
 
 Bears yet a mind too mettlesome to brook 
 
 Such wrongs as these. Your Majesty has heard : 
 
 The Flemish hordes lift plunder in your realm, 
 
 Driving your subjects from their peaceful homes, 
 
 Burning, destroying, wheresoe'er they reach, 
 
 And ever on nobility they fall 
 
 With sharpest tooth : let this have leave to grow, 
 
 And French insurgents shall from Flemish learn 
 
 The tricks of treason, — German boors from both ; 
 
 Till kings and princes, potentates and peers, 
 
 Landgraves, electors, palatines, and prelates, 
 
 Dukes, earls, and knights, shall be no more accounted 
 
 Than as the noblest and the loftiest trees, 
 
 Which the woodwarden as he walks the forest 
 
 Marks for the axe. Our warlike cousin king 
 
 When once he takes the field shall make brief work 
 
 With the base Flemings, and with one sharp blow 
 
 Cut short by the head some twenty thousand treasons 
 
 Hatch'd lately, so to say, beneath the wings 
 
 Of this Van Artevelde, which chipp'd the shell 
 
 Two months agone when Paris grew too hot 
 
 To hold us, and that now are fledged and enter 'd. 
 
 I would your Majesty were now in arms, 
 
 Leading your gallant troops. 
 
 KING. 
 
 To-morrow, uncle ! 
 We will be arm'd and lead our troops to-morrow. 
 We'll ride the chestnut with the bells at his heels. 
 Let it be done to-morrow. 
 
. 1. 1 PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. Wl 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Should the council 
 Declare for war, your force can not so soon 
 He drawn together as your highness thinks, 
 Though it lies mainly hereabouts. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 No matter. 
 Speak boldly to the council as to us, 
 And if you'd presently be in the field 
 Be diligent to learn your speech — come in — 
 Both that you have and something I'll put to it 
 Touching this yeoman's grief — come in with me — 
 Ho ! take away this hawk — and you shall have it. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke of Burgundy and tte Kiy.. 
 BOURBON. 
 
 My brother, Fleureant, is all too hot 
 
 In this affair ; he's ever taking starts, 
 
 And leaving them that he should carry with him. 
 
 He'll fright the council from their calmer sense, 
 
 And drive them to some rash resolve. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lord, 
 You shall perceive to-morrow at the board 
 How vast and voluble a thing is wit, 
 And what a sway a little of it hath 
 With councillors of state. My lord of Burgundy 
 Will blaze and thunder through a three hours' speech, 
 And stamp and strike his fist upon the board, 
 Whilst casements rattling and a fall of soot 
 Shall threaten direful war. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 The constable, 
 
218 PHILIP VAN APvTEYELDE. [act i. 
 
 The Earls of Ewe, and Blois, St. Poule, and Laval, 
 Guesclin, St. Just, the Seneschal of Eieux, 
 Raoul of Kaneval, — all these and more, 
 Are to my certain knowledge clean against him. 
 They deem a mission should be sent to Flanders 
 Before the sword be drawn, and with my will 
 Nought else shall come to pass. 
 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 • Van Artevelde, 
 Though obstinate at times, is politic too, 
 And lacks not understanding ; he'll not brave 
 The wrath of France if he be well entreated. 
 
 I spake with one last night who came from Bruges, 
 
 And on his way had sojourn'd in the camp 
 
 At Oudenarde, where, when the turbulent towns 
 
 Behind his back can spare him from their broils, 
 
 Van Artevelde o'ersees the leaguering force. 
 
 There was a market in the camp, he said, 
 
 And all things plentiful, — fruit, cheese, and wine, 
 
 All kinds of mercery, cloth, furs, and silks, 
 
 With trinketry, the plunder daily brought 
 
 By Van den Bosch's marauders. Went and came 
 
 All men that chose from Brabant, Hainault, Liege, 
 
 And Germany ; but Frenchmen were forbidden. 
 
 Van Artevelde, he said, in all things apes 
 
 The state and bearing of a sovereign prince ; 
 
 Has bailiffs, masters of the horse, receivers, 
 
 A chamber of accompt, a hall of audience, 
 
 Off gold and silver eats, is clad in robes 
 
 Of scarlet furr'd with minever, gives feasts 
 
bobxe i.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 219 
 
 With minstrelsy and dancing night and day 
 To damsels and to ladies, — whom amongst 
 Pre-eminent is that Italian minx 
 Late domiciled with me, the girl Elena. 
 To Bruges in company with me she came, 
 Where waiting till on my return from Liege 
 I could rejoin her, to the conqueror's hands 
 She fell when Bruges was taken. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Soh, my lord ! 
 That lady hath a hook that twitches still. 
 If what I heard in Gascony be true 
 You claim 'd her from Van Art e veld e in vain, 
 Who answer'd not your missives. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 True it is ; 
 And he shall answer for so answering not, 
 If any voice of potency be mine 
 Touching this war. But he may yet take thought 
 And make amends ; I'll send him once again 
 A message, and I know not who's so fit 
 To take it as thyself. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lord, my tongue 
 Can utter nought with so much grace by half 
 As what you bid it speak ; I'll bear your message. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Not that for foolishness and woman's love 
 I w r ould do this or that, but you shall note 
 My honour is impawn'd. Some half-hour hence 
 Come to my chamber, where in privacy 
 
220 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act i. 
 
 We'll further speak of this ; and bring thou there 
 The yeoman of Tournesis ; he roust learn 
 How to demean himself before the Council. 
 He has been tamper'd with, I nothing doubt, 
 And what he's tutor'd to must we unteach. 
 Things run too fast to seed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SIR FLETTREANT. 
 
 What soldier's heart 
 By dotage such as his was e'er possess'd 
 Upon a paramour I To win her back 
 Peace, war, or anything to him were good, 
 Nought evil but what works contrariwise. 
 And still his love goes muffled up for shame, 
 And masks itself with show of careless slights, 
 And giving her ill names of jade and minx, 
 Gipsy and slut. — The world's a masquerade, 
 And he whose wisdom is to pay it court 
 Should mask his own unpopular penetration, 
 And seem to think its several seemings real. 
 
 Scene II. — The Flemish Camp before Oudenarde. A Platform 
 in front of Van Artevelde's Tent. 
 
 Enter Van Artevelde and Van Rtk. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 You seem fatigued, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Look to that horse ; he coughs — I think I am ; 
 The sun was hot for such a long day's ride. 
 What is the hour ? 
 
ii.] PHILIP VAN ASTEVELDE. 8£1 
 
 VAN IIVK. 
 
 The moon has not yet risen, 
 It cannot yet be nine. 
 
 AIITEVELDE. 
 
 Not nine ? well, well : 
 
 ' Be the day never so long, 
 At Length cometh even-song.' 
 
 So saith the ancient rhyme. At eight o'clock 
 
 Or thereabouts, we cross'd the bridge of Rosebecquc. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Twas thereabouts, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Tell me, Van Ryk, 
 Was anything of moment in your thoughts 
 As we were crossing. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 In my thoughts, my lord ? 
 Nothing to speak of. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Well now it is strange ! 
 I never knew myself to sleep o' horseback, 
 And yet I must have slept. The evening's heat 
 Had much oppress'd me ; then the tedious tract 
 Of naked moorland, and the long flat road 
 And slow straight stream, for ever side by side, 
 Like poverty and crime — I'm sure I slept. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 I saw not that you did, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I did ; 
 Ay, and dream'd too. 'Twas an unwholesome dream, 
 
222 PHILIP VAN APvTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 If dream it was — a nightmare rather : first 
 A stifling pressure compass 'd in my heart ; 
 On my dull ears, with thick and muffled peal, 
 Came many a sound of battle and of flight, 
 Of tumult and distracted cries; my own, 
 That would have been the loudest, was unheard, 
 And seem'd to swell the chambers of my brain 
 With volume vast of sound I could not utter. 
 The screams of wounded horses, and the crash 
 Of broken planks, and then the heavy plunge 
 Of bodies in the water — they were loud, 
 But yet the sound that was confined in me, 
 Had it got utterance, would have drown'd them all ! 
 But still it grew and swell'd, and therewithal 
 The burthen thicken'd on my heart ; my blood, 
 That had been flowing freshly from my wounds, 
 Trickled, then clotted, and then flow'd no more : 
 My horse upon the barrier of the bridge 
 Stumbled ; I started ; and was wide awake. 
 'Twas an unpleasant dream. 
 
 VAN EYK. 
 
 It was, my lord. 
 I wonder how I mark'd not that you slept. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I must be wakeful now. Who waits ? who's there ? 
 
 [To an Attendant, who enters. 
 
 The man I sent to Ypres with a letter — 
 Has he return 'd? 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 But now, my lord, arrived ; 
 And with him Father John. 
 
 
 
a ene ii. 1 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 He come already ! 
 With more alacrity he meets my wish 
 Than I deserve. Prithee, conduct him hither. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 He comes, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Then leave us — No, Van Ryk, 
 
 Not you ; or if you will, lie down within, 
 And rest you till I call. 
 
 [Exeunt Van Ryk and the Attendant. 
 
 Enter Father John. 
 My honour'd master, if a thousand welcomes 
 Could carry more than one, I'd say the word 
 More oft than you your Ave and your creed. 
 But welcome is enough. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 God's love, my son, 
 Be with you alway. We have lately been 
 In outward act more strangers than we were, 
 But inwardly, I fain would hope, unalter'd. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Unalter'd, on my soul ! The storms of state 
 From time to time heave up some monstrous ridge, 
 Which each from other hides two friendly barks ; 
 Nought else divides us, and we steer, I trust, 
 One course, are guided by one steadfast star, 
 That so one anchorage we may reach at last. 
 The cares and mighty troubles of the times 
 Have kept me company, and shut yours out. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 It is your place, my son ; private respects 
 
224 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Should be far from you — -'tis no blame of yours. 
 But whence the present call ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 To that at once. 
 France is in arms ; the earl that was of Flanders 
 From Hedin went by Arras to Bapaume 
 On Wednesday sennight, if my scouts say true, 
 And there my lord of Burgundy he met, 
 And with him made a covenant ; from thence 
 They came to Senlis, where the young king lies, 
 And there the dukes of Burgundy and Bourbon 
 Had gather'd from all parts a mighty force, 
 Some eighty or a hundred thousand men. 
 May that not startle me ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 'Tis a large levy ; 
 But yet you muster more. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Of men at arms 
 Not half the tale ; and those for Senlis bound 
 Would double — so says fame — these now arrived. 
 It were a vain and profitless attempt 
 To disbelieve my danger, howsoe'er 
 I show a careless countenance to the crowd. 
 If Nicholas le Flamand call not back 
 The French king's force, as much I fear he will not, 
 There's one sufficiency of aid can reach 
 The measure of my need ; one and no more ; 
 And that is aid from England. This not sent, 
 Or else belated, — coming in the dusk 
 And sunset of mv fortunes, — where am I ? 
 
sri-.NK n.| PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. 281 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 At England's council-board in Edwards days 
 Sloth and delay had never seats ; no paper 
 Lay gathering dust and losing its fresh looks, 
 No business lodged : would that it were so now ! 
 Yet surely if King Richard deem it meet 
 And useful to his realm to send you aid, 
 Twill come with speed. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 He knows not that despatch 
 Is now so all-important. Nor from those 
 I sent him, will he learn it. I myself 
 Thought not King Charles had crept so close upon me, 
 Else had I put your kindness then to proofs 
 Which I intend it now, — else had I ask'd 
 Your presence then in England. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Nay, my son. 
 Six have you sent already — on their way 
 Our humble hospitality they shared 
 At Ypres. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Then their quality you saw. 
 They were the best, methought, that I could spare 
 For foreign service, while thus press'd at home. 
 The first for state and dignity was named ; 
 He whom Pope Urbayne, after Ghent rebell'd, 
 Appointed bishop to receive the dues 
 Which else had fallen to the see of Tournay, 
 Where Clement is acknowledged ; for this end 
 Was he a bishop made, and to say truth 
 
 Q 
 
226 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 He's equal to his function. Next in rank 
 
 Comes our sagacious friend, John Sercolacke ; 
 
 None better and none safer in affairs, 
 
 Were it but given to ponder and devise 
 
 Beforehand what at every need to say ; 
 
 But should King Richard ask him on the sudden 
 
 What brought him there, confounded will he stand 
 
 Till livelier tongues from emptier heads have spoken ; 
 
 Then on the morrow to a tittle know 
 
 What should have been his answer. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Lois de Vaux 
 And master Blondel-Vatre have glib tongues. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Than Lois de Vaux there's no man sooner sees 
 
 Whatever at a glance is visible ; 
 
 What is not, that he sees not, soon nor late. 
 
 Quick-witted is he, versatile, seizing points, 
 
 But never solving questions ; vain he is — 
 
 It is his pride to see things on all sides 
 
 Which best to do he sets them on their corners. 
 
 Present before him arguments by scores 
 
 Bearing diversely on the affair in hand, 
 
 He'll see them all successively distinctly, 
 
 Yet never two of them can see together, 
 
 Or gather, blend, and balance what he sees 
 
 To make up one account ; a mind it is 
 
 Accessible to reason's subtlest rays, 
 
 And many enter there, but none converge ; 
 
 It is an army with no general, 
 
 An arch without a key-stone. — Then the other 
 
 
a ii.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE 
 
 Good Martin Blondel-Vatre — he is rich 
 
 In nothing else but difficulties and doubts ; 
 
 You shall be told the evil of your scheme, 
 
 But not the scheme that's better ; he forgets 
 
 That policy, expecting not clear gain, 
 
 Deals ever in alternatives ; he's wise 
 
 In negatives, is skilful at erasures, 
 
 Expert in stepping backwards, an adept 
 
 At auguring eclipses ; but admit 
 
 His apprehensions and demand, what then ? 
 
 And you shall find you've turn'd the blank leaf over. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Still three are left. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Three names, and nothing more. 
 To please the towns that gave them birth they're sent, 
 Not for their merits. Verily, Father John, 
 I should not willingly invade your leisure, 
 Or launch you on my now precarious fortunes ; 
 But I am as a debtor against whom 
 The writs are out — I'm driven upon my friends ; 
 Say, will you stead me ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 With my best of service, 
 Such as it may be. To King Richard's court 
 I will set forth to-morrow. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Ever kind ! 
 Of all my friends the faithfullest, as the first. 
 Early to-morrow then we'll treat in full 
 The matter of your mission. Now, good night. 
 
 ^2 
 
228 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Adieu till then, and peace be with your slumbers. 
 
 [Exit. 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Their hour is yet to come. What ho ! Van Eyk ! 
 
 Enter Van Rye. 
 You're sure, Van Eyk, it has not yet transpired 
 That I am in the camp ? 
 
 VAX RYK. 
 
 Certain, my lord. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Then come with me ; we'll cast a casual eye 
 
 On them that keep the watch ; — though sooth to say, 
 
 I wish my day's work over, — to forget 
 
 This restless world and slumber like a babe ; 
 
 For I am very tired — yea, tired at heart. 
 
 VAX RYK. 
 
 Your spirits were wont to bear you up more freshly. 
 
 If I might speak, my lord, my humble mind, 
 
 Y r ou have not, since your honour 'd lady's death, 
 
 In such a sovereignty possess'd yourself 
 
 As you were wont to say that all men should. 
 
 Your thoughts have been more inwardly directed, 
 
 And led by fancies : should I be too bold 
 
 And let my duty lag behind my love, 
 
 To put you thus in mind, I crave your pardon. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 That was a loss, Van Eyk; that was a loss. 
 The love betwixt us was not as the flush 
 And momentary kindling in warm youth ; 
 But marriage and what term of time was given 
 
sobxe ii. j PHILIP VAN A.BTEVELDE, 
 
 Brought it an hourly increase, stored for Heaven. 
 
 Well — I am now the sport of circumstance, 
 
 Driven from my anchorage ; — yet deem not thou 
 
 That I my soul surrender to the past 
 
 In chains and bondage ; — that it is not so, 
 
 Bear witness for me long and busy days, 
 
 Which jostling and importunate affairs 
 
 So push and elbow, they but seldom leave 
 
 Shy midnight uninvaded. No, Van Ryk ; 
 
 At eve returning wearied to my tent, 
 
 If sometimes I may seem to stray in thought, 
 
 Seeking what is not there, the mood is brief, 
 
 The operative function within call, 
 
 Nor know I that for any little hour 
 
 The weal of Flanders (if I may presume 
 
 To hook it on my hours) is yielded up 
 
 To idle thought or vacant retrospect. 
 
 But now this body, exigent of rest, 
 
 Will needs put in a claim. One round we'll take, 
 
 And then to bed. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 My lord, you must be tired. 
 I am too bold to trouble you so late 
 With my unprofitable talk. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Not so ; 
 Your talk is always welcome. There within 
 You'll find a wardrobe, with some varlets' cloaks 
 For use at need ; take one about yourself, 
 And meet me with another at the gate. 
 
 [Exit Van- Ryk. 
 
 A serviceable, faithful, thoughtful friend, 
 
230 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Is old Van Eyk, — a man of humble heart, 
 And yet with faculties and gifts of sense 
 Which place him justly on no lowly level — 
 Why should I say a lowlier than my own, 
 Or otherwise than as an equal use him ? 
 That with familiarity respect 
 Doth slacken, is a word of common use. 
 I never found it so. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — The interior of the State Pavilion. — Van Artevelde 
 seated at the head of his Council, with Attendants. Tlie 
 French Herald and Sir Fleureant oe Heurlee. Arte- 
 velde rises to receive the Herald and reseats himself. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 France, I perceive, Sir Herald, owns at length 
 
 The laws of polity and civil use, 
 
 A recognition which I hardly hoped ; 
 
 For when the messenger that late I sent 
 
 In amity, with friendly missives charged, 
 
 Was sent to prison, I deem'd some barbarous tribe, 
 
 That knew no usages of Christian lands, 
 
 Had dispossess'd you and usurp'd the realm. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lord, you have your messenger again. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Ay sir, but not through courtesy I think, 
 
 
scene i.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDB. 
 
 Nor yet through love. r _, ,. _ ,, 
 
 J ° [To the Herald. 
 
 Sir, you have leave to speak. 
 
 HERALD. 
 
 My lord, I humbly thank you. I entreat 
 
 That in my speech should aught offend your ears, 
 
 You from the utterer will remove the fault. 
 
 My office I obey and not my will, 
 
 Nor is a word that I'm to speak mine own. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir, nothing you can say shall be so gross, 
 
 Offensive, or unmannerly conceived, 
 
 As that it shall not credibly appear 
 
 To come from them that sent you ; speak, then, freely. 
 
 HERALD. 
 
 Philip of Artevelde, sole son of Jacques, 
 
 Maltster and brewer in the town of Ghent, 
 
 The realm of France this unto thee delivers : 
 
 That forasmuch as thou, a liegeman born 
 
 To the Earl of Flanders, hast rebelled against him, 
 
 And with thy manifold treasons and contempts 
 
 Of duty and allegiance, hast drawn in 
 
 By twenties and by forties his good towns 
 
 To rise in fury and forget themselves, — 
 
 Thus saith the puissant and mighty lord, 
 
 The earl's affectionate kinsman, Charles of France : 
 
 Thou from before this town of Oudenarde 
 
 With all thy host shalt vanish like a mist ; 
 
 Thou shalt surrender to their rightful lord 
 
 The towns of Ghent, and Ypres, Cassel, Bruges, 
 
 Of Thorout, Rousselart, Damme, Sluys, and Bergues, 
 
 Of Harlebeque, Poperinguen, Dendermonde, 
 
232 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Alost and G-rammont ; and with them all towns 
 
 Of lesser name, all castles and strong houses, 
 
 Shalt thou deliver up before the Feast 
 
 Of Corpus Christi coming, which undone 
 
 He the said puissant king, Sir Charles of France, 
 
 With all attendance of his chivalry, 
 
 Will raise his banner and his kingdom's force, 
 
 And scattering that vile people which thou lead'st 
 
 Will hang thee on a tree and nail thy head • 
 
 Over the gates of Ghent, the mother of ill 
 
 That spawn'd thee ; — and for these and sundry more 
 
 Just reasons and sufficient, thou art warn'd 
 
 To make thy peace betimes, and so God keep thee ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir Herald, thou hast well discharged thyself 
 
 Of an ill function. Take these links of gold, 
 
 And with the company of words I give thee 
 
 Back to the braggart king from whom thou cam'st. 
 
 First, of my father : — had he lived to know 
 
 His glories, deeds, and dignities postponed 
 
 To names of barons, earls, and counts (that here 
 
 Are to men's ears importunately common 
 
 As chimes to dwellers in the market-place) 
 
 He with a silent and a bitter mirth 
 
 Had listen'd to the boast : may he his son 
 
 Pardon for in comparison setting forth 
 
 With his the name of this disconsolate earl. 
 
 How stand they in the title deeds of fame ? 
 
 What hold and heritage in distant times 
 
 Doth each enjoy — what posthumous possession? 
 
 The dusty chronicler with painful search, 
 
 Long fingering forgotten scrolls, indites 
 
boxnb i.J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDB, 
 
 That Louis Male was sometime Earl of Flanders, 
 That Louis Male his sometime earldom lost, 
 Through wrongs by him committed, that he lived 
 An outcast long in dole not undeserved, 
 And died dependent : there the history ends, 
 And who of them that hear it wastes a thought 
 On the unfriended fate of Louis Male ? 
 But turn the page and look we for the tale 
 Of Artevelde's renown. What man was this ? 
 He humbly born, he highly gifted rose 
 By steps of various enterprise, by skill, 
 By native vigour to wide sway, and took 
 What his vain rival having could not keep. 
 His glory shall not cease, though cloth of gold 
 Wrap him no more, for not of golden cloth, 
 Nor fur, nor minever, his greatness came, 
 Whose fortunes were inborn : strip me the two, 
 This were the humblest, that the noblest, beggar 
 That ever braved a storm ! 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lord, your pardon ; 
 Nothing was utter'd in disparagement 
 Of your famed father, though a longer life 
 And better would he assuredly have lived, 
 Had it seem'd good to him to follow forth 
 His former craft, nor turn aside to brew 
 These frothy insurrections. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir, your back 
 Shows me no tabard, nor a sign beside, 
 Denoting what your office is that asks 
 
234 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act ii. 
 
 A hearing in this presence ; nor know I yet 
 
 By what so friendly fortune I am graced 
 
 With your good company and gentle speech. 
 
 But we are here no niggards of respect 
 
 To merit's unauthenticated forms, 
 
 And therefore do I answer you, and thus : 
 
 You speak of insurrections : bear in mind 
 
 Against what rule my father and myself 
 
 Have been insurgent : whom did we supplant ? — 
 
 There was a time, so ancient records tell, 
 
 There were communities, scarce known by name 
 
 In these degenerate days, but once far-famed, 
 
 Where liberty and justice, hand in hand, 
 
 Ordered the common weal ; where great men grew 
 
 Up to their natural eminence, and none 
 
 Saving the wise, just, eloquent, were great ; 
 
 Where power was of God's gift, to whom he gave 
 
 Supremacy of merit, the sole means 
 
 And broad highway to power, that ever then 
 
 Was meritoriously administer'd, 
 
 Whilst all its instruments from first to last, 
 
 The tools of state for service high or low, 
 
 Were chosen for their aptness to those ends 
 
 Which virtue meditates. To shake the ground 
 
 Deep-founded whereupon this structure stood, 
 
 Was verily a crime ; a treason it was 
 
 Conspiracies to hatch against this state 
 
 And its free innocence. But now, I ask, 
 
 Where is there on God's earth that polity 
 
 Which it is not, by consequence converse, 
 
 A treason against nature to uphold ? 
 
 Whom may we now call free ? whom great ? whom wise ? 
 
 
80ENB I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Whom innocent ? — the free are only they 
 
 Whom power makes free to execute all ills 
 
 Their hearts imagine ; they alone are great 
 
 Whose passions nurse them from their cradles up 
 
 In luxury and lewdness, — whom to see 
 
 Is to despise, whose aspects put to scorn 
 
 Their station's eminence ; the wise, they only 
 
 Who wait obscurely till the bolts of heaven 
 
 Shall break upon the land, and give them light 
 
 Whereby to walk ; the innocent, — alas ! 
 
 Poor innocency lies w r here four roads meet, 
 
 A stone upon her head, a stake driven through her, 
 
 For who is innocent that cares to live ? 
 
 The hand of power doth press the very life 
 
 Of innocency out ! What then remains 
 
 But in the cause of nature to stand forth, 
 
 And turn this frame of things the right side up ? 
 
 For this the hour is come, the sword is drawn, 
 
 And tell your masters vainly they resist. 
 
 Nature, that slept beneath their poisonous drugs, 
 
 Is up and stirring, and from north and south, 
 
 From east and west, from England and from France, 
 
 From Germany, and Flanders, and Navarre, 
 
 Shall stand against them like a beast at bay. 
 
 The blood that they have shed will hide no longer 
 
 In the blood-sloken soil, but cries to heaven. 
 
 Their cruelties and wrongs against the poor 
 
 Shall quicken into swarms of venomous snakes, 
 
 And hiss through all the earth, till o'er the earth, 
 
 That ceases then from hissings and from groans, 
 
 Rises the song — How T are the mighty fallen ! 
 
 And by the peasant's hand ! Low lie the proud ! 
 
236 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 And smitten with the weapons of the poor — 
 The blacksmith's hammer and the woodman's axe. 
 Their tale is told ; and for that they were rich, 
 And robb'd the poor ; and for that they were strong, 
 And scourged the weak ; and for that they made laws 
 Which turn'd the sweat of labour's brow to blood, — 
 For these their sins the nations cast them out, 
 The dunghills are their death-beds, and the stench 
 From their uncover 'd carrion steaming wide, 
 Turns in the nostrils of enfranchised man 
 To a sweet savour. These things come to pass 
 From small beginnings, because God is just. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Sir, you are bold in prophecy, but words 
 Will not demolish kingdoms. This alone 
 Is clear, that we are charged to carry back 
 A warlike answer. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You have caught my sense. 
 Let no more words be wasted. What I said 
 Shall be engross'd, and render'd to your hands 
 To spare your memories ; and so farewell 
 Unto your functions. For yourselves, I pray you 
 To grace our table with your company 
 At dinner time, and taste of what we have. 
 Meantime farewell. And you, my honour'd friends 
 And councillors, I bid you to the board. 
 Adieu till then. Good father, by your leave 
 I will detain you. 
 
 [The Council breaks up. The Herald and Sir Fleureant are 
 conducted out, and only Artevelde and Father John 
 remain. After a pause Artevelde proceeds. 
 
scene i.J PHILIP VAN ABTEYELDE 
 
 Did I say too much ? 
 What think you ? was I rash ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 My son, my son ! 
 You've spoken some irrevocable words, 
 And more, in my weak judgment, than were wise. 
 Till now might accident have open'd out 
 A way to concord. Casualties or care 
 Might yet have counsell'd peace, and was it well 
 To send this challenge. ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Judge me not unheard. 
 We have been too successful to be safe 
 In standing still. Things are too far afoot. 
 Being so high as this, to be no higher 
 Were presently to fall. France will not brook 
 To see me as I am, though I should bear 
 My honours ne'er so meekly. With bold words 
 I magnify my strength, — perhaps may dim 
 Their fire-new courage, their advance delay, 
 And raise the spirits of my friends. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 My son, 
 These are the after-thoughts that reason coins 
 To justify excess, and pay the debts 
 Of passion's prodigality. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, nay ! 
 Something of passion may have mix'd with this, 
 
238 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Good Father, but I lost not from my thoughts 
 The policy I speak of. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Might I use 
 The liberty of former days to one 
 That's since so much exalted, I would tell 
 How it is said abroad that Artevelde 
 Is not unalter'd since he rose to power ; 
 Is not unvisited of worldly pride 
 
 And its attendant passions. 
 
 i 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Say they so ? 
 Well, if it be so it is late to mend, 
 For self-amendment is a work of time, 
 And business will not wait. Such as I am, 
 For better or for worse the world must take me, 
 For I must hasten on. Perhaps the state 
 And royal splendour I affect, is deem'd 
 A proof of pride, — yet they that these contemn 
 Know little of the springs that move mankind. 
 'Tis but a juvenile philosophy 
 That strips itself and casts such things aside, 
 Which, be they in themselves or vile or precious, 
 Are means to govern. Or I'm deem'd morose, 
 Severe, impatient of what hinders me ; 
 Yet think what manner of men are these I rule ; 
 What patience might have made of them, reflect. 
 If I be stern or fierce, 'tis from strong need 
 And strange provocatives. If (which I own not) 
 I have drunk deeper of ambition's cup, 
 Be it rem ember 'd that the cup of love 
 
BOBMB i.] PHILIP VAN 1RTEVELDE. 
 
 Was wrested from my hand. Enough of this. 
 Ambition has its uses in the scheme 
 Of Providence, whose instrument I am 
 To work some changes in the world or die. 
 This hasty coming of the French disturbs me, 
 And I could wish you gone. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 My horses wait 
 And I am ready. I will hear in mind 
 With the best memory that my years permit, 
 Your charges ; and if nothing more remains, 
 God's blessing on your enterprise and you ! 
 I go my way. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 So long as lies the Lis 
 Between our hosts, I have the less to fear. 
 Say to King Richard I shall strive to keep 
 The passes of the Lis, and if his aid 
 Find them unforced, his way to France is straight 
 As that to Windsor. I shall guard the Lis 
 With watch as circumspect as seamen keep 
 When in the night the leeward breakers flash. 
 But if he linger and the Lis be forced, 
 Tell him our days are number 'd, and that three 
 Shall close this contest. I am harping still 
 On the same string ; but you, my friend revered, 
 Will pardon my solicitudes, and deem 
 That they are for my cause, not for myself. 
 I keep you now no longer ; fare you well, 
 And may we meet again and meet in joy ! 
 God grant it ! fare you well. 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act ii. 
 
 FATHER JOKN T . 
 
 My horses, ho ! 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Let me attend you. 
 
 Scene II. — A Platform near Artevelde's Pavilion. — Van Muck 
 is seated at some distance in the background. 
 
 Enter Sir Flburkant and the Herald. 
 
 SIR FLEUBEANT. 
 
 Then be it as I said : the sun shall set 
 
 'Twixt seven and eight ; ere then 111 know my course ; 
 
 And if the Regent lend a willing ear 
 
 To the Duke's message, and this lady send 
 
 Upon his summons, merrily we go 
 
 Together, and who meets us on the road 
 
 Shall say, a goodly company, God bless them ! 
 
 A man, a woman, and a pursuivant. 
 
 But 'twill not be so. 
 
 HERALD.' 
 
 Let us hope it may. 
 
 SIR FLEUBEANT. 
 
 Assure yourself 'twill otherwise befall. 
 He will retain her, or herself hold back. 
 Then shall it be your prudence to depart 
 With your best speed, whilst I invent a cause 
 For lingering. I will not take my answer, 
 But spin the matter of my mission out 
 Into such length as with that web to hide 
 My underworkings. Be you gone from Flanders 
 Fast as you may and far, when this falls out, 
 And you shall tell the Duke with what good will 
 
:: ii.] PHILIP VAN A.KTEVELDE. Ml 
 
 I hazard in his service loss of all 
 I have to lose, — my life. 
 
 BERALD. 
 
 Loth should I he 
 To leave you so, hut rest assured your zeal 
 Shall to the Duke he zealously commended. 
 
 sir fleureant {discovering Van Muck). 
 Whom have we here? a listener? God forhid ! 
 And yet he seems attentive, and his ears 
 Are easy of approach, the cover'd way, 
 Scarp, counterscarp, and parapet, is rased. 
 Holloa, sir, are you there ! Give you good-day ! 
 What think you we were saying ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 I'm hard of hearing, sir, I ask your pardon. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Oh ! we can pardon that; what, deaf — stone-deaf? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 No, sir, thank God ! no deafer than yourself, 
 But slowish, sir, of hearing. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 What, snail- slow ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 No, sir, no slower than another man, 
 But not so quick of hearing, sir, as some, 
 Being a little deaf. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Content thee, friend ; 
 Thine ears are sharper than thine apprehension. 
 But wherefore want they flaps ? who dock'd them thus ? 
 
242 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 It is no trouble nor no loss to you, 
 Whoever did it. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Pardon me, my friend, 
 It troubles me and doth offend mine eyes 
 To see thee lack those handles to thy head. 
 Tell me who snipp'd them ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 'Twas my lord, the Eegent. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 The Eegent ? [To the Herald.] Upon this I go to work. 
 The Regent ? and you wait upon him here ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 I wait to ask him for my company : 
 I was the captain of a company. 
 
 HERALD. 
 
 What, took he thy command away besides ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Yea, sir. 
 
 HERALD. 
 
 And wherefore ? what was thy offence ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 I was a little master'd, sir, with drink, 
 The night we carried Yerken, and a maid 
 Than ran upon me, sir, I know not how, 
 Forswore herself, and said I forced her will. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Well. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 And 'twas this that lost me my command. 
 
bobxs ii.] PHILIP VAN AJRTEVELDB, 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Impossible ! I've done as much myself 
 A thousand times. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 'Twas nothing, sir, but this. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Oh, monstrous ! and you ask him to replace you ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Yea, sir, to give me my command again. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 And wilt thou ask him to replace thine ears ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Xo, sir. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Why not ? for you'll succeed as soon. 
 I've heard that never did he change his mind 
 But once, since he was Regent ; once he did ; 
 'Twas when he kindly pardon'd Peter Shultz : 
 He changed his mind and hung him. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 By our lady ! 
 I would not ask him if I knew for certain 
 He would deny me. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 What, deny thee ? hang thee. 
 Take service with another lord — leave him ; 
 Thou hast been foully dealt with. Never hope 
 To conquer pride with humbleness, but turn 
 To them that will be proud to use thee well. 
 I'll show thee many such, and to begin, 
 Here is myself. What lack'st thou ? Money ? See- 
 
 r2 
 
244 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 I am provided : hold me forth thy hand ; 
 The Regent left thee hands ; was that his skill ? 
 The injury that disables is more wise 
 Than that which stings — a hand he left to take — 
 And here's to fill it — and a hand to strike- 
 Look not amazed, I ask thee not to lift it ; 
 I ask thee but to carry me a letter 
 As far as Bruges. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Sir, I'll be bound to do it. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 iVnd are there many men besides thyself 
 That have lost rank and service in the camp ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 It was but yesterday two constables 
 Had their discharge. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 And why were they dismiss 'd ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 'Twas by the Regent's order ; 'twas, he said, 
 Because they made more riots in the camp 
 Than they prevented. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 He is hard to please. 
 What are they call'd ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Jan Bulsen and Carl Kortz. 
 
 [Trumpets are heard at a little distance. 
 HERALD. 
 
 Hark to the Regent's trumpets. 
 
bcbnb ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 946 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 He has finish'd 
 His daily rounds, and will be here anon. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Name me a place of meeting. t 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 The west dyke, 
 Behind the sutler Merlick's tent. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Do thou 
 And Kortz, and Bulsen, at the hour of nine, 
 Be there to take my orders. Get thee gone, 
 And be not seen till then. Go this way out, 
 That so the Regent meet thee not. [JM Van Mucr 
 
 That seed 
 Is sown, but whether I shall reap the fruits, 
 Is yet in Artevelde's arbitrement. 
 Let him comply, and those three hens shall meet 
 To hatch an addle egg. 
 
 HERALD. 
 
 'Tis more than time 
 That I were fairly on the road to France. 
 You're pushing on apace. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Our thrift lies there. 
 Spare time, spend gold, and so you win the day ! 
 
 1 For strongest castle, tower, and town, 
 The golden bullet beateth down ! ' 
 
 [Trumpets again. 
 
 Enter Van Artevelde. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You are equipp'd, I see, for taking horse ; 
 
246 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 I pray you have Sir Charles of France inform'd 
 
 It was your diligence with such speed dismiss'd you, 
 
 And not my lack of hospitality. 
 
 HERALD. 
 
 My lord, we surely shall report in France 
 That we were well and bounteously entreated. 
 Thankfully now, my lord, I take my leave : 
 Sir Fleureant follows, and ere night will reach 
 The hostel where we rest. [Exit Herald 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You are not, I will hope, so much in haste ? 
 
 SIR ELEUREAXT. 
 
 My lord, I tarry but an hour behind, 
 And not for idleness. My lord, I'm charged 
 With a strange mission, as to you 'twill seem, 
 But of great moment, from his grace of Bourbon. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir, I attend ; his grace has all my ears. 
 What would he ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 He has voices more than ten 
 In the king's council, and as they may speak 
 Touching this war, 'twill likely be resolved. 
 Now he is not implacably, as some, 
 Envenom'd, and if justice were but done him 
 He might he pacified, and turn the course 
 Of these precipitate counsels. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 By mine honour, 
 If there be justice I can render him, 
 He should receive it from my ready hands, 
 
bosks ii.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. Ml 
 
 Although his voice in council were as small 
 As a dog- whistle. What may be his grief? 
 
 SIR FLEURF.ANT. 
 
 My lord, he sent you letters that pourtray'd 
 His grief in all its blackness. To be short, 
 He wants his paramour ; the damsel fair 
 Whom you surprised, sojourning at the court 
 Of Louis Male, the day that Bruges was taken. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir, he's thrice welcome to his paramour ; 
 I never have withheld her. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Then to me, 
 A servant of the prince, 'tis his desire 
 She be consign'd, to take her to the palace 
 At Senlis. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 To the hands of whom she will 
 I yield the lady, to go where she will, 
 Were it to the palace of the Prince of Darkness. 
 But at the lady's bidding it must be, 
 Not at the Prince's. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Do I learn from this 
 The lady is reluctant ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 By no means. 
 The dangers of the journey have deterr'd her 
 From taking my safe conduct heretofore, 
 When, at the instance of the Duke of Bourbon, 
 I offer'd it ; but, having come thus far 
 
248 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Toward the frontier, she may travel hence 
 In your protection safely. 
 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 May I learn 
 Her pleasure from herself ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I'll name your wish 
 To see her, and she doubtless will comply. 
 Attendance here ! 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Apprise the foreign lady, 
 That with her leave, at her convenient leisure, 
 I will entreat admittance for some words 
 
 Of brief discourse. [^Attendant. 
 
 We'll walk towards her tent, 
 If that's your pleasure. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Still at your command. 
 
 Scene III. — A Pavilion richly hung and furnished. 
 Elena and her Attendant Cecile. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Art thou not weary of the camp, Cecile ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Oh no, my lady, it is always stirring ; 
 There is good sport upon the market-days, 
 And women are much made of. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Well, I am. 
 
 Or rather I am weary of myself, 
 
til.] PHILIP VAN A.RTEVELDE. 248 
 
 And cany dulness with me as the wind 
 Carries the cloud, and wheresoe'er I go, 
 An atmosphere of darkness and of storm 
 Girdles me round. I wish that I were dead. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 For shame, my lady ! you that are so young 
 And beautiful, with all the world before you : 
 It is a sin to be so discontent. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Give me my lute, and I will answer that. 
 
 (She sings) 
 
 Down lay in a nook my lady's brach, 
 
 And said my feet are sore, 
 1 cannot follow with the pack 
 
 A-hunting of the boar. 
 
 And though the horn sounds never so clear 
 
 With the hounds in loud uproar, 
 Yet I must stop and lie down here, 
 
 Because my feet are sore. 
 
 The huntsman when he heard the same, 
 
 What answer did he give ? 
 The dog that's lame is much to blame, 
 
 He is not fit to live. 
 
 Lo ! some one comes. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 The Eegent, madam, would attend your leisure 
 For some few moments' private conversation, 
 If it might please you to admit him. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Surely ; 
 x\cquaint him that I wait upon his pleasure. 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 
 What can he want ! he never ask'd before 
 
250 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 To speak with me in private. It is strange ; 
 But it will end in nothing. Go, Cecile. 
 Stop ; I've forgotten how my hair was dress 'd 
 This morning ; put it right. Look, here he comes ; 
 But there's one with him — said he not alone 
 He wish'd to see me ? I will go within 
 And thou canst say that I expect him there. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Van Artevelde and Sir Fleureant. 
 cecile. 
 My lady waits your pleasure, sir, within. 
 
 [Van Aetevelde passes into the inner apartment. 
 
 Your servant, sir ; would you too see my mistress ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 If it so please your master. 
 
 CECILE, 
 
 Who's my master? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 I cry you mercy, is it not the Kegent ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 The Regent is no master, sir, of mine. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 No? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 By no means. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 But he is often here ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 No oftener than it pleases him to come 
 And her to see him. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Which is twice a-day. 
 
in.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 861 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Who told you that ? 
 
 SIR FLBTJREANT. 
 
 A Cupid that brake loose 
 From the close service he was sent upon, 
 Which was to watch their meetings. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Said he so ? 
 A runaway then told a fool a lie. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Nay but he had it from yourself. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 If so 
 He gave it out, this was the great horse-lie 
 Made for the other to mount. 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 Come, then, the truth? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 The well is not so deep but you may see it. 
 The Eegent sometimes at the close of day 
 Has fits of lowness and is wearied much 
 With galloping so long from post to post, 
 And then my lady hath the voice of a bird 
 Which entertains his ears. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 The live-long night ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 An hour or two, no more. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Which being past — 
 
 
252 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Which being past, he wishes her good rest 
 And so departs. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 And all the while he's there 
 Are you there too ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Never an instant gone. 
 
 SIR, FLEUREANT. 
 
 Will you swear that ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Assuredly I will. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Or any thing beside. 
 
 CECILE. ' 
 
 I crave your pardon ; 
 I would not swear that you had learnt good manners ; 
 That you'd been whipp'd as often as need was 
 In breeding of you up, I would not swear ; 
 I would not swear that what you wanted then 
 Has not been since made good ; I would not swear — 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Quarter, quarter ! — truce to your would not swearing ! 
 Here is the Regent. 
 
 Enter Artevelde with Elena. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir Fleureant, I have pled in your behalf 
 
 And gain'd you audience ; for the rest, your trust 
 
 Is in your eloquence. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Alas ! my lord, 
 
m.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 2 
 
 In nothing better? I had placed my trust 
 Not in the eloquence of rugged man, 
 But woman's fair fidelity. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Sir Knight, 
 I will not task your tongue for eloquence, 
 Though it he ne'er so ready. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I am here 
 But an intruder. I will say no more, 
 Save that the lady's choice, be what it may, 
 Commands my utmost means and best good-will. 
 
 [Exit. 
 ELENA. 
 
 Stay, stay, Cecile ; you will attend me here. 
 
 You come, sir, from my lord the Duke of Bourbon , 
 
 And why you come I partly can collect 
 
 From what the Regent spake. The Duke's desire 
 
 Is that I join him presently in France. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Such is his — what? — his madness had I called it 
 Before I saw you, — but I call it now 
 Only his bitter fate, that nothing gay 
 In palaces or courts can win him off 
 From thoughts of you, that nothing high or great 
 In policy or war has power to move him, 
 Nothing which fame awaits, ambition woos, 
 Whilst you are absent entertains his mind. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I'm sorry if my absence vex the Duke. 
 Sorry if it offend him. 
 
254 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. [act ti. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 'Tis a grief 
 More cutting as anticipated less ; 
 For though the tie had not the Church's sanction, 
 He had not deeni'd it therefore less secure. 
 Such faith was his in what he thought was faith 
 In her he loved, that all the world's traditions 
 Of woman's hollow words and treacherous wiles 
 Could not unfix him from his fast belief. 
 Moreover he has proffer'd deeds of gift 
 As ample as the dowry of a duchess, 
 Would you but meet his wishes and return 
 But for a day, and should you find thenceforth 
 Just cause of discontent, with this rich freight 
 Might you depart as freely as before. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 The Duke has been most liberal of his offers, 
 
 And I have said I'm sorry to fall out 
 
 With what his grace desires : — that is not all — 
 
 His grace has been as liberal of reproaches ; 
 
 But what, then, is his grief ? Alas ! alas ! 
 
 The world's traditions may be true that speak 
 
 Of woman's infidelities and wiles, 
 
 But truer far that scripture is which saith 
 
 ' Put not your trust in princes.' 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 This is strange, 
 And would amaze him much. In what, I pray, 
 Has he deceived you ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Men, sir, think it little ; 
 
■ in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE 
 
 Tis less than little in a prince's judgment ; 
 In woman's estimation it is much. 
 
 sir rr.i:rui:vNT. 
 I would entreat you to explain it farther. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 So I design : thus tell the Duke from me : 
 I could have loved him once — not with the heat 
 Of that affection which himself conceived — 
 (For this poor heart had prodigally spent 
 Its fund of youthful passion ere we met) — 
 But with a reasonably warm regard. 
 This could I have bestow'd for many a year, 
 And did bestow 7 at first, and all went well. 
 But soon the venomous world wherein we lived 
 Assail'd the prince with jocular remark 
 And question keen, importing that his soul 
 Was yoked in soft subjection to a woman ; 
 And were she of good life and conversation, 
 Insidious slanderers said, 'twere not so strange, 
 But he is vanquish'd by his paramour ! 
 So the word went, and as it reach 'd his ear 
 From time to time repeated, he grew cold, 
 Captious, suspicious, full of slights and cavils. 
 Asserting his supremacy in words 
 Of needless contradiction. This I bore 
 Though not by such sad change unalienate ; 
 But presently there came to me reports, 
 Authentic though malignant, of loose gibes 
 Let fall among his retinue, whereby 
 His grace, to keep his wit in good repute 
 For shrewdness, and to boast his liberty, 
 
256 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Had shamefully belied his own belief — 
 For firm belief he had — that I was chaste. 
 
 SIR PLEUREANT. 
 
 Oh mischief ! you gave credence to such tales ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 This which I speak of, carry to the Duke ; 
 'Tis therefore I relate it — he well knows 
 If it be true or false. Say further this : 
 Finding his grace thus pitiably weak, 
 Alternate slave of vanity and love, 
 I from that moment in my heart resolved 
 To break the link that bound us : to this end 
 At Bruges I parted from his company, 
 And by the same abiding, I have made 
 This free deliverance of my mind to you. 
 Which task fulfill'd, (I'm sorry from my soul 
 If it offend) I wish you, sir, farewell. 
 
 [Exit, Cecile following. 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 'Tis a magnanimous harlot ! By my faith 
 Of all the queans that on my humble head 
 Have pour'd the vials of their wrath and scorn, 
 This is the prettiest, and I think, the proudest. 
 If one might bolt the bran from her discourse 
 I should take leave to guess her firm resolve 
 Was not fast clench'd till Artevelde took Bruges. 
 Whichever way it be, my path is plain 
 Though slippery, and forth I go upon it. 
 
PHILIP NAN &BTEVELDE 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Night. A Dingle in the Outskirts of the Camp, 
 behind a Sutler's Tent. 
 
 Van Kortz, to whom enter Van Muck. 
 
 van KORTZ. 
 
 Who's there — Van Muck? halloa you, boy! what speed? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Hush, hush ! speak low ; is no one here but you ? 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 No jolly soul beside. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Has the watch past ? 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 By nry permission, yes. I drew a shaft 
 Chock to the steel, and from behind this tree 
 Aim'd it at Serjeant Laubscher's black old heart, 
 In quittance of an ancient debt I owe him ; 
 But pooh ! I let him pass. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Why, were you mad ? 
 It would have baulk'd our meeting. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 What care I ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 It is a matter of five hundred marks 
 White money down. 
 
258 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 VAN KOKTZ. 
 
 Aye, let me see it down, 
 And I'll believe you. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 He will soon be here, 
 And then you'll — here he is — no, 'tis but Bulsen. 
 
 Enter Bulsen. 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 Well, is all right ? 'tis close upon the hour. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Nothing is stirring ; stand from out the trees 
 That he may see us, lest he miss the spot. 
 Art certain that he'll bring the money here ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 I saw it in his hands ; doubtless he'll bring it. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Why, hark ye then — what need to go to Ghent, 
 Or Bruges, or Ypres, to get gold that's here ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 He gives it us for taking letters hence, 
 To Ghent, and Bruges, and Ypres. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Hold thy peace, 
 Thou nick-ear'd lubber ; what have we to do 
 With whys and wherefores ? Here he brings the gold, 
 And hence he takes it not, if we be men. 
 What say ye ? 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 Cut his throat ! 
 
:. i.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 How now ! how now ! 
 I would not for the world. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Pluck up thy heart ; 
 Hast courage but for half a sin ? As good 
 To eat the devil as the broth he's boil'd in. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 For mercy's sake do nothing to molest him ! 
 'Twas I that brought him here, and God he knows 
 I did not go about to take his life. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Why, go thy way then ; two like me and Bulsen 
 Are men enough. 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 Euough to win the booty, 
 And by that token, friend, enough to share it. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Go to the devil with thy dolorous cheer ; 
 There is no manhood in thee. Get thee gone, 
 Or I shall try six inches of my knife 
 On thine own inmeats first. 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 Thoud'st best be gone : 
 Thou art but in the way. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Go, pudding-heart ! 
 Take thy huge offal and white liver hence, 
 Or in a twinkling of this true-blue steel 
 I shall be hutching thee from nape to rump. 
 
 s 2 
 
230 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 Go thou thy ways, and thank thy prosperous stars 
 Thou art let live. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 I am rewarded bravely 
 For bringing this about ; but ye shall see 
 If it be better for you. 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 Hold, come back — 
 What, fast and loose — is that your game ? — soho ! 
 I see him coming. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT (without). 
 
 Soft ! was that the tent 
 He spoke of? surely then — or — nay, I know not— 
 Where am I going ? 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Come along, sir, come — 
 Where art thou going ? — I will tell thee where, — 
 Going to grass, Sir Fleureant of Heurlee, 
 With thy teeth upward. May that serve thy turn ? 
 Halloa, then, come along ! 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 Beware, beware. 
 Thou art the noisiest of all the cut-throats ; 
 Will nothing stop thy tongue ? This way, sir, here. 
 
 Enter Sir Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 van muck (passing between Sir Fleureant and the others). 
 Your sword, Sir Fleureant ! stand upon your guard ; 
 We are not safe — there oft are men about 
 At such dark hours as this, that might surprise us — 
 Look to your guard — but we shall be a match 
 For more than one such ? 
 
b 1. 1 Pim.ll' VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 BULSBN. 
 
 Never fc:w, Van Muck ; 
 If any such should break upon our meeting 
 We'd parley with them first, and see what good 
 I\Jight come of fighting or of speaking fair. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Where is the danger? you are dreaming, friends ! 
 Let me explain the matter I've in hand. 
 
 VAX KORTZ. 
 
 Come, come, Sir Hurly-Burly ! where 's your metal ? 
 Write us the matter dow T n in white and yellow. 
 No danger ! but I say there shall be danger — 
 Out with this money — what if the Regent knew — 
 Are men like us to be entrapp'd and sold 
 And see no money down, Sir Hurly-Burly? 
 You are a knight and we are vile crossbow-men, 
 But steel is steel, and flesh is still but flesh, 
 So let us see your clunkers. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT (to VAN MUCK). 
 
 Sure he's drunk? 
 Why brought you me a drunken knave like this ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 He is not drunk, sir; better that he were ; 
 If they are for foul play, so am not I, 
 Nor did I mean it. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Aye, is that their game ? 
 Sirs, ye mistook our honest friend, Van Muck ; 
 I could not in hard money bring you here 
 More than a moiety of the sums you'll earn 
 
262 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 By carrying of my letters ; it is thus : 
 So much I'll pay you now, and as much more 
 You will receive in France from Hetz St. Croix, 
 King Charles's master of accompt. The king 
 Gave orders for the payments. 
 
 BULSEN. 
 
 It is well ; 
 We will convey your letters, sir, with speed. 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 We'll trust to meet you afterward at court 
 To see us justly paid. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Enquire for me 
 When you arrive at Senlis or at Lisle, 
 Or wheresoe'er the court may then abide. 
 Here are the letters and the skins of gold 
 I give with each. The word is now ' Despatch ! ' 
 Speak not, nor eat nor drink with friend or foe, 
 But each man take his wallet on his back, 
 And steal away. No lack of Frenchmen's friends 
 You'll find at Bruges or Ypres, and these letters 
 Will bring you to their knowledge ; and at Ghent 
 Though France may find less favour with the many, 
 Still there are some that will befriend you. Hence ! 
 What noise is that ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 It is the second watch. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Away then ; — fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Van Muck, Kortz, and Bulsex. 
 
 Xow if one miscreant of the three play false 
 
 
bcske ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 This head is worth the value of a potsherd. 
 Speed is my best safe-conduct, then, to France. 
 
 Scene II. — The Pavilion, as in Scene III. of Act II. — Artevelde 
 and Elena. Cecile attending in the background. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 On your way hither, then, you passed through Ghent, 
 The city which you saved. How sweet a pleasure, 
 Revisiting a place which owes to you 
 All that it hath of glory or of ease ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Verily yes, it should have overjoyed me. 
 
 How diverse, how contrarious is man ! 
 
 I know not wherefore, but I scarce was pleased 
 
 To see that town now wallowing in wealth, 
 
 Which last I saw, and saw with hearty courage, 
 
 Pinched like a beggar wintering at death's door. 
 
 Now, both the mart was full, and church ; road, bridge, 
 
 River, and street, were populous and busy, 
 
 And money bags were toss'd from hand to hand 
 
 Of men more thriftless than a miser's heir. 
 
 I liked it not ; my task, it seem'd, was done ; 
 
 The arrow sped, the bow unbent, the cord 
 
 Soundless and slack. I came away ill-pleased. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Perhaps you suffer'd losses in the siege ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Not in the siege ; but I have suffer'd something. 
 There is a gate in Ghent — I pass'd beside it — 
 A threshold there, worn of my frequent feet, 
 
264 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 Which I shall cross no more. But wherefore thus 
 
 Divert me from my drift ? Look round ; look on ; 
 
 Think once again upon the proffer'd choice 
 
 Of French protection. Though my army wear 
 
 This hour an aspect of security, 
 
 A battle must be fought ere many days. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 You have been very kind to me, my lord, 
 And in the bounty of your noble nature, 
 Despite those ineradicable stains 
 That streak my life, have used me with respect. 
 I will not quit your camp, — unless you wish it. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Am I in life's embellishments so rich, 
 
 In pleasures so redundant, as to wish 
 
 The chief est one away ? No, fairest friend ; 
 
 Mine eyes have travell'd this horizon round, 
 
 Ending where they began ; and they have roved 
 
 The boundless empyrean up and down, 
 
 And 'mid the undistinguish'd tumbling host 
 
 Of the black clouds, have lighted on a soft 
 
 And solitary spot of azure sky 
 
 Whereon they love to dwell. The clouds close in, 
 
 And soon may shut it from my searching sight ; 
 
 But let me still behold it whilst I may. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 You are so busy all day long, I fear'd 
 A woman's company and trifling talk 
 Would only importune you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Think not so. 
 
-. ii.] PIirLIl > VAN &RTEVELDE. 
 
 The sweets of converse and society 
 
 Are sweetest when they're snatch'd; the often-comer, 
 
 The boon companion of a thousand feasts, 
 
 Whose eye has grown familiar with the fair, 
 
 Whose tutor'd tongue, by practice perfect made, 
 
 Is tamely talkative, — he never knows 
 
 That truest, rarest light of social joy 
 
 Which gleams upon the man of many cares. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 It is not every one could push aside 
 A country's weight so lightly. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 By your leave, 
 There are but few that on so grave a theme 
 Continuously could ponder unrelieved. 
 The heart of man, walk it which way it will, 
 Sequester'd or frequented, smooth or rough, 
 Down the deep valley amongst tinkling flocks, 
 Or 'mid the clang of trumpets and the march 
 Of clattering ordnance, still must have its halt, 
 Its hour of truce, its instant of repose, 
 Its inn of rest ; and craving still must seek 
 The food of its affections — still must slake 
 Its constant thirst of what is fresh and pure 
 And pleasant to behold. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 To you that thirst, 
 Despite inebriating draughts of glory, 
 Despite ambition, power, and strife, remains ; 
 But great men mostly lose the taste of joy 
 Save from such thiugs as make their greatness greater : 
 
266 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 Which, growing still, o'ershadows more and more 
 Of less enjoyments, until all are sunk 
 In business of the state. 
 
 ARTEVELDE, 
 
 Tis otherwise, 
 And ever was with me. It was not meant 
 By him who on the back the burthen bound, 
 That cares, though public, critical, and grave, 
 Should so encase us and encrust, as shuts 
 The gate on what is beautiful below, 
 xind clogs those entries of the soul of man 
 Which lead the way to what he hath of heaven : 
 This was not meant, and me may not befal 
 Whilst thou remind'st me of those heavenly joys 
 I once possessed in peace. Life — life, my friend, 
 May hold a not unornamented course 
 Wherever it shall flow ; be the bed rocky, 
 Yet are there flowers, and none of brighter hue, 
 That to the rock are native. War itself 
 Deals in adornments, and the blade it wields 
 Is curiously carved and gaily gilt. 
 For me, let what is left of life, if brief, 
 Be bright, and let me kindle all its fires ; 
 For I am as a rocket hurled on high 
 But a few moments to be visible, 
 Which ended, all is dark. 
 
 Enter Cecile. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Gracious, my lady ! 
 My lord, my humble duty to your highness. 
 If I might speak — 
 
icxvb ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What binders you, Cecilc ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Nought ever did, my lord, nor ever will ; 
 When she has breath you'll hear her. 
 
 CECLLE. 
 
 Oh, my lady ! 
 That frightful man I've told you of so oft 
 That comes for ever with his vows of love 
 And will not be denied, — I always said 
 Begone ! How dare you ! Get you gone forsooth ! 
 To bring such tales to me ! But still he came, 
 And now to-night — 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Who is it that she speaks of ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 His name is — nay, God help my memory ! 
 What is his name, Cecile ? 
 
 CECLLE. 
 
 Van Kortz, my lady. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Not he that once was marshalsman ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 The same. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I know him well — his quality at least, 
 
 And his career I know. Right, right, Cecile ; 
 
 Deny him stoutly, for he means no good. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 I did, my lord, — I heartily denied him ; 
 
 I said I never would so much as touch him. 
 
 I told him if he'd hang himself for love, 
 
 I'd love the rope that hang'd him, — nothing else. 
 
268 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And yet he comes again ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Even now, my lord, 
 He came as though it were to wreak his spite, 
 And show'd me bags of gold, and said that now 
 He was so rich that he could wed a countess, 
 Let pass a waiting wench, and from this time 
 He ne'er would look so low, but mend his fortune. 
 I told him he might seek his fortune far, 
 Ere he should find his match for pride and greed ; 
 So with that word he set his spleen abroach, 
 And cursing all the camp, and most your highness, 
 Swore he could buy and sell the best amongst you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What, said he so ? and show'd you bags of gold ? 
 He has been selling something. Ho, Yan Ryk ! 
 Van Kyk is waiting, no ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 He is, my lord. 
 Enter Yan Ryk. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Yan Ryk, a word ; 
 
 Thou know'st Yan Kortz, the marshalsman that was — 
 
 He parted hence but now, and I have cause 
 
 To wish his person seized without delay 
 
 And brought before me with all scrips or scrolls 
 
 That may be found upon him. Take my guard, 
 
 And see it done. [Exit van ryk. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 What is it you suspect ? 
 
 j 
 
: ii. j PHILIP VAN ABTEYELDE. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The gold is French. 
 He has not lately had the means to thrive 
 By Flemish gold. He was a man disgraced. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 You're right, my lord ; his talk was not of guilders, 
 Twas still of crowns and francs. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Nay, but from whence 
 Hath he French gold ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 From him whom France sent here 
 Doubtless to bring it, — from the Knight of Heurlee. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh, surely, surely not, — a man who came 
 With sacred mission clothed, to seek for peace 
 Under protection of a herald's office ! 
 It were but common honesty — 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My friend, 
 Say in what time hath honesty been common ? 
 Soft ! silence, I beseech you ; here's Van Ryk, 
 And he has found his man. 
 
 Enter Van Eyk, with Van Kortz, guarded. 
 Whom hast thou there, Van Eyk, thus manacled, 
 And what is his offence ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 My lord, Van Kortz. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Van Kortz ! The gudgeon whom Sir Fleureant hired 
 
270 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 To do French service, then betray 'd, to save 
 His proper head ! Down, sir, upon thy knees, 
 And tell what wiles the crafty Frenchman used 
 To cheat thee of thy loyalty. 
 
 van kortz (kneeling). 
 My lord, 
 I tell the simple truth. Sir Fleureant sware 
 The paper which he charged me with for Ghent 
 Was for his private ends, and nothing touch 'd 
 The faith I owed your highness, and 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Van Ryk, 
 Bring me Sir Fleureant of Heurlee hither. 
 Soft ye awhile ! — what found you on Van Kortz ? 
 
 VAN RIK. 
 
 My lord, this paper, and a bag of money. 
 
 artevelde {reading the paper) . 
 
 1 Worthy masters of Ghent, — this is to make it known unto 
 you, that we are hastily to come down into Flanders with a 
 hundred thousand men, and with God's help to replace our 
 worthy cousin, Lois of Flanders, in his ancient estate and 
 royalties, reducing to his obedience all that be rightfully bound 
 thereunto, and punishing the guilty. Wherefore we pray 
 and counsel you, that at the receiving hereof, you return to 
 your allegiance, and send to us in our army the heads of 
 these folloioing : that is to say, Jacob Maurenbrecker, John 
 Stotler, and Ftalph of Kerdell, which done, we shall receive all 
 others whatsoever to our friendship, and promise by these 
 presents that none, saving these only, shall be called to answer 
 what is past. 
 
 ' Written and sealed with the broad seal of France, in 
 our host before Senlis, the 2nd day of October, in the 
 year of grace, 1382, by the king in his counciV 
 
scene ii.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 271 
 
 Stay, what is here, an afterthought of mischief: 
 
 ' You are to know thai wt have sent the like letters patent 
 to the good towns of Bruges and Ypres, to which lest they 
 
 reach not, we pray you to convey the contents hereof.'' 
 
 Who are the messengers to Bruges and Ypr< 
 
 VAN KORTZ. 
 
 Van Muck, my lord, to Bruges ; to Ypres, Bulsen. 
 They have set forth. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Convey him hence to prison. 
 Let fifty men be mounted — some pursue 
 Sir Fleureant of Heurlee, some Van Muck, 
 And others Bulsen, on the roads to France, 
 To Bruges and Ypres, — for the head of each 
 Proclaim a thousand florins, — haste, Van Ryk ! 
 
 {Exit Vax Ryk, with Van Koivrz, guarded. 
 CECILE. 
 
 Oh Lord, the villain ! and he came to me 
 
 So proud and saucy ! Truly it is said 
 
 Give rope enough to rogues, they'll hang themselves. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 And must he die, my lord ? 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 What plea can save him ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 That he should jeopardise his wilful head 
 Only for spite at me ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 'Tis wonderful ! 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 That Providence which makes the good take heed 
 
272 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act hi. 
 
 To safety and success, contrariwise 
 
 Makes villains mostly reckless. Look on life, 
 
 And you shall see the crimes of blackest dye 
 
 So clumsily committed, by such sots, 
 
 So lost to thought, so scant of circumspection, 
 
 As shall constrain you to pronounce that guilt 
 
 Bedarkens and confounds the mind of man. 
 
 Human intelligence on murders bent 
 
 Becomes a midnight fumbler ; human will 
 
 Of God abandoned, in its web of snares 
 
 Strangles its own intent. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 How fortunate 
 Was this man's malice thus conceived to thee, 
 My good Cecile ! All woman as I am, 
 I can forgive thy beauty, that hath bred 
 This love-engender 'd hate. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 I thank you, madam. 
 The scornful knave ! to bring his gold to me 
 That never would have look'd upon him twice, 
 Though he'd been made of gold ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 How came you first 
 
 To give him that authority and rank, 
 Which late you took away ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Those are there here 
 That hardly will be govern'd save by men 
 Of fierce and forward natures. He was known 
 For daring deeds from childhood ; in his youth, 
 
PHILIP VAN A.RTEVELDE. 
 
 Famed for his great desire of doing evil, 
 
 He was elected into Testenoire's troop 
 
 Of free-companions : so in field or forest. 
 
 Or in wall'd town, by stipend lured, or vill 
 
 Surprised and sack'd, by turns he lived at large, 
 
 And learn'd the vice indigenous to each. 
 
 Nought in dark corners of great cities done 
 
 Of lewdness or of outrage, was unknown 
 
 By him, or unpartaken ; nor the woods 
 
 Lodged in their loneliest caves a beast so wild. 
 
 The noise of strife and blow r s, the cry of murder. 
 
 Were to his ears indifferently common. 
 
 Thus grown at length more reckless than was safe 
 
 For his fraternity, they cast him off ; 
 
 And hanging loose upon the world what time 
 
 My name was noised abroad, he join'd my camp. 
 
 Enter Sir Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 So, my lord Regent ! what is this I hear 
 
 Blown through the camp with trumpets ? what's my head, 
 
 That you should price it higher than the sum 
 
 Of good repute for honourable dealing, 
 
 Which you must part withal to take it? Much 
 
 I've heard of dangers in the Holy Land 
 
 Amongst the heathen and the infidel, 
 
 But never thought in Christendom to find 
 
 Such bloody breach of hospitable laws ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 This is well spoken. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Oh, my lord, for that. 
 Hes free enough 
 
274 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Peace ! peace ! Cecile ; be silent. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What you have here deliver'd, sir, I say 
 Hath been well spoken : it remains to ask 
 If that which you have perpetrated here 
 Hath been well done. Know you this writing ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 I know it well ; 'twas by the King my master 
 Writ to the mayor and citizens of Ghent. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 By you brought here ; by you to one Van Kortz 
 
 Deliver'd for despatch ; by him to me, 
 
 Upon his apprehension, yielded up. 
 
 Such is the story of these inky scratches 
 
 Which were to scribble out the loyalty 
 
 Of three good towns, to soil the faith and courage 
 
 Of my best friends, and finally to blur 
 
 The record of my glory in the page 
 
 Of history past, and blot me from the future ! 
 
 This was a worthy business. 
 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 Aye, my lord ; 
 Who shall gainsay the King of France his right 
 To send what letters or what words he will 
 To the good towns of Flanders ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Let him try ; 
 And gainsay those that can my privilege 
 To hang the bearers. Thou, Sir Fleureant, 
 
 
mini ii.] PHILIP VAN AHTEVELDE. 
 
 I List by thy treachery betray 'd thyself, 
 
 And unavoidably must suffer death. 
 
 Thou cam'st a sharer in a herald's office 
 
 Ensuing peace ; and cloak'd in that disguise, 
 
 With money for thy purposes provided, 
 
 Thou hast bought treason. This may never pass ; 
 
 Else what security is mine that faith 
 
 Is not put up to auction in my camp, 
 
 Till each man sell his brother ? Who provokes 
 
 Treason in others, to a traitor's death 
 
 Justly condemns himself. Such is thy lot : 
 
 Yet do I rue the judgment I pronounce, 
 
 And wish it undeserved ; for you have colour'd 
 
 The darkness of your indirect attempts 
 
 With a more lively cheer and gallant bearing 
 
 Than most could brighten their best deeds withal. 
 
 Sir, I am sorry for you. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Spare your pity, 
 And use your power. You see before you one 
 Who would more willingly confront the worst 
 Unpitying power inflicts, than cry for mercy ! 
 I have been used to deem the loss of life 
 But as a dead man's loss, that feels it not. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You shall do well of mortal life to think 
 Thus slightly, and with serious thoughts prepare 
 For that which is celestial and to come. 
 'Twixt this and daylight is your leisure time 
 For such purgation as you need. Cecile, 
 Send to St. Hubert's for some barefoot friar, 
 
 T 2 
 
276 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act hi. 
 
 And bid him coine so stored and with such speed 
 As on a death-bed summons. 
 
 [He steps to a door of the tent and calls some Soldiers of his guard. 
 GECILE. 
 
 Yes, my lord, 
 I'll go myself and say what work awaits him. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 And prithee, wench, find me a merry friar, 
 Who shall beguile the time. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 A merry friar ! 
 
 SIR ELEEREANT. 
 
 Aye, wench ; if any in the camp there be 
 They will be known to thee ; a hearty man ; 
 For I have ever look'd on life and death, 
 The world which is and that which is to be, 
 With cheerful eyes, and hoped the best of both ; 
 And I would have death's usher wear a smile 
 As through the passage of to-night he leads me. 
 So send a merry friar. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh, sir knight ! 
 If die you must so soon, for God's dear love 
 Take thought for your immortal soul's behoof ! 
 Confess yourself and pass the night in prayer. 
 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 Confession w 7 ill not hold us long ; I'm young, 
 And have not yet had time enough to act 
 Sins that are long in telling : 
 
 [Then to Aktevelde, who returns with two Soldiers of the guard. 
 
 You, my lord, 
 
 _ 
 
bcxne ii.] rillLTP VAN AJtTBVELDB. 
 
 Cut short the catalogue betimes, I thank you. 
 
 To you, sweet lady, for your counsel kind 
 
 And monitory speech, my last poor prayers 
 
 I give, — more worth than thanks from dying men ; 
 
 And in your supplications of to-night 
 
 When you lie down to rest, I humbly crave 
 
 To be remember'd in return. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Alas ! 
 Would I could stead you more than with the prayers 
 Of such a sinful creature ! 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Soon, sweet lady, 
 You'll need them for yourself. This fair array 
 Of warlike multitudes you see around you, 
 Will sunder and dissolve like wreaths of snow 
 Pelted and riddled with the rains in March. 
 Then should my Lord of Bourbon find you here, 
 Twill be a rude rencounter ; if at Bruges 
 You found a lover in an enemy, 
 The tables will be turn'd at Oudenarde, 
 And in a lover shall you find a foe. 
 I pray you think upon it. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Fare you well. 
 These will conduct you to your place of rest, 
 And all your needs or wishes may require 
 To make the night pass easily, supply. 
 Again, sir, fare you well. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lord, farewell. 
 
278 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 I hardly know what words should thank your bounty 
 That grants me every thing — except my life. 
 
 [Exit, guarded. 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh, would, my lord, that you could grant him that ! 
 He is a gallant gentleman. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 He's stricken ; 
 Which makes the meanest hold his courage high 
 In presence of his lady : notwithstanding, 
 He is a brave and very noble knight, 
 And notbing moves me in his favour more 
 Than what he spake to you. I'm grieved, in truth, 
 That stern necessity demands his death. 
 
 No more of that. 
 
 The world declares us lovers, you have heard. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 My lord ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The world, when men and women meet, 
 Is rich in sage remark, nor stints to strew 
 With roses and with myrtle fields of death. 
 Think you that they will grow ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 My lord, your pardon ; 
 You speak in such enigmas, I am lost, 
 And cannot comprehend you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Do I SO ? 
 
 That was not wont to be my fault. In truth 
 There is a season when the plainest men 
 
scene ii.] IM1ILII' VAN A.BTEVELDE. 
 
 Will cease to be plain-spoken ; for their thoughts 
 Plunge deep in labyrinths of flowers and thorns, 
 And very rarely to the light break through, 
 Whilst much they wander darkling. Yet for once 
 Let love be marshall'd by the name of love, 
 To meet such entertainment as he may. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I have been much unfortunate, my lord ; 
 I would not love again. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And so have I ; 
 Nor man nor woman more unfortunate, 
 As none more bless'd in what was taken from him ! 
 Dearest Elena, — of the living dearest, — 
 Let my misfortunes plead, and know their weight 
 By knowing of the worth of what I lost. 
 She was a creature framed by love divine 
 For mortal love to muse a life away 
 In pondering her perfections ; so unmoved 
 Amidst the worlds contentions, if they touch 'd 
 No vital chord nor troubled what she loved, 
 Philosophy might look her in the face, 
 And like a hermit stooping to the well 
 That yields him sweet refreshment, might therein 
 See but his own serenity reflected 
 With a more heavenly tenderness of hue ! 
 Yet whilst the worlds ambitious empty cares, 
 Its small disquietudes and insect stings 
 Disturb'd her never, she was one made up 
 Of feminine affections, and her life 
 Was one full stream of love from fount to sea. 
 These are but words. 
 
 ! 
 
2S0 PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 My lord, they're full of meaning. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 No, they mean nothing — that which they would speak 
 
 Sinks into silence — 'tis what none can know 
 
 That knew not her — the silence of the grave — 
 
 Whence could I call her radiant beauty back, 
 
 It could not come more savouring of Heaven 
 
 Than it went hence — the tomb received her charms 
 
 In their perfection, with nor trace of time 
 
 Nor stain of sin upon them ; only death 
 
 Had turn'd them pale. I would that you had seen her 
 
 Living or dead. 
 
 ELEXA. 
 
 I wish I had, my lord ; 
 I should have loved to look upon her much ; 
 For I can gaze on beauty all day long, 
 And think the all-day long is but too short. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 She was so fair that in the angelic choir 
 
 She will not need put on another shape 
 
 Than that she bore on earth. Well, w 7 ell, — she's gone, 
 
 And I have tamed my sorrow. Pain and grief 
 
 Are transitory things no less than joy, 
 
 And though they leave us not the men we were, 
 
 Yet they do leave us. You behold me here 
 
 A man bereaved, with something of a blight 
 
 Upon the early blossoms of his life 
 
 And its first verdure, having not the less 
 
 A living root, and drawing from the earth 
 
 Its vital juices, from the air its powers : 
 
 
bcene 11. j HIILIP VAN AUTEVELDE, 
 
 And surely as mans health and strength arc whole 
 
 His appetites regerminate, bis heart 
 
 Re-opens, and his objects and desires 
 
 Sboot up renew'cl. Wbat blank I found before me 
 
 Prom what is said you partly may surmise ; 
 
 How I have hoped to fill it, may I tell ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I fear, my lord, that cannot be. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Indeed ! 
 Then am I doubly hopeless. What is gone, 
 Nor plaints, nor prayers, nor yearnings of the soul, 
 Nor memory's tricks nor fancy's invocations — 
 Though tears went with them frequent as the rain 
 In dusk November, sighs more sadly breathed 
 Than winter's o'er the vegetable dead, — 
 Can bring again : and should this living hope, 
 That like a violet from the others grave 
 Grew sweetly, in the tear-besprinkled soil 
 Finding moist nourishment — this seedling sprung 
 Where recent grief had like a ploughshare pass'd 
 Through the soft soul and loosen 'd its affections — 
 Should this new-blossom'd hope be coldly nipp'd, 
 Then were I desolate indeed ! a man 
 Whom heaven would wean from earth, and nothing leaves 
 But cares and quarrels, trouble and distraction, 
 The heavy burthens and the broils of life. 
 Is such my doom ? Nay, speak it, if it be. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I said I fear'd another could not fill 
 The place of her you lost, being so fair 
 And perfect as you give her out. 
 
282 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Tis true, 
 A perfect woman is not as a coin, 
 Which being gone, its very duplicate 
 Is counted in its place. Yet waste so great 
 Might you repair, such wealth you have of charms 
 Luxuriant, albeit of what were hers 
 Rather the contrast than the counterpart. 
 Colour to wit — complexion ; — hers was light 
 And gladdening ; a roseate tincture shone 
 Transparent in its place, her skin elsewhere 
 White as the foam from which in happy hour 
 Sprang the Thalassian Venus : yours is clear 
 But bloodless, and though beautiful as night 
 In cloudless ether clad, not frank as day : 
 Such is the tinct of your diversity.; 
 Serenely radiant she, you darkly fair. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Dark still has been the colour of my fortunes, 
 iVnd having not serenity of soul, 
 How should I wear the aspect ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Wear it not ; 
 Wear only that of love. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Of love ? alas ! 
 That is its opposite, You counsel me 
 To scatter this so melancholy mist 
 By calling up the hurricane. Time was 
 I had been prone to counsel such as yours ; 
 Adventurous I have been, it is true, 
 And this foolhardy heart would brave — nay court, 
 
ix.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 283 
 
 In other days, an enterprise of passion ; 
 Yea, like a witch, would whistle for a whirlwind. 
 But I have heen admonish 'd : painful years 
 Have tamed and taught me : I have suffer'd much. 
 Kind Heaven but grant tranquillity ! I seek 
 No further boon. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And may not love be tranquil ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 It may in some ; but not as I have known it. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Love, like an insect frequent in the woods, 
 Will take the colour of the tree it feeds on ; 
 As saturnine or sanguine is the soul, 
 Such is the passion. Brightly upon me, 
 Like the red sunset of a stormy day, 
 Love breaks anew beneath the gathering clouds 
 That roll around me ! Tell me, sweet Elena, 
 May I not hope, or rather can I hope, 
 That for such brief and bounded space of time 
 As are my days on earth, you'll yield yourself 
 To such a love as mine, whose lamp of love 
 Is lighted at a funeral torch ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh God ! 
 Too great a destiny it were for me ! 
 But say not that your days on earth are brief. 
 I see the long procession of your days 
 Through the far distant future streaming light, 
 Triumphal, crown'd with glory. 
 
284 PHILIP VAN AETEYELDE. [act hi. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Crown'd with love. 
 Give to this day, this regal day, that crown ; 
 Let others run their course. Give rne this heart, 
 That beats itself to pieces 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Xo, I cannot. — 
 I cannot give you what you've had so long ; 
 Xor need I tell you what you know so well. 
 I must he gone. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Xay, sweetest, why these tears ? 
 
 ELENA 
 
 Xo, let me go — I cannot tell — no — no — 
 
 I want to be alone — 
 
 Oh ! Artevelcle, for God's love let me go ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 artevelde {after a pause). 
 
 The night is far advanced upon the morrow, 
 
 And but for that conglomerated mass 
 
 Of cloud with ragged edges, like a mound 
 
 Or black pine-forest on a mountain's top, 
 
 Wherein the light lies ambush 'd, dawn were near. — 
 
 Yes, I have wasted half a summer's night. 
 
 Was it well spent? Successfully it was. 
 
 And yet of springs and sources taking note, 
 
 How little flattering is a woman's love ! 
 
 Thrice gifted girl ! The conqueror of the world 
 
 In winning thee might deem he won a prize 
 
 More precious far, yet count the prize he won 
 
 As portion of his treasure, not his pride ; 
 
 For when was love the measure of desert ? 
 
• ii.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDB. 
 
 The few hours left are precious — who is tin i 
 
 Ho! Nieuverkerchen ! — when we think upon it, 
 
 How little flattering is a woman's love ! 
 
 Given commonly to whosoe'er is near< st 
 
 And propp'd with most advantage; outward grace 
 
 Nor inward light is needful ; day by day 
 
 Men wanting both are mated with the best 
 
 And loftiest of God's feminine creation, 
 
 Whose love takes no distinction but of gender, 
 
 And ridicules the very name of choice. 
 
 Ho ! Nieuverkerchen ! — what, then, do we sleep ? 
 
 Are none of you awake ? — and as for me, 
 
 The world says Philip is a famous man — 
 
 What is there women will not love, so taught? 
 
 Ho ! Ellert ! by your leave though, you must wake. 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 Have me a gallows built upon the mount, 
 And let Van Kortz be hung at break of day. 
 No news of Bulsen, or Van Muck? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 My lord, 
 Bulsen is taken ; but Van Muck, we fear, 
 Has got clear off. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Let Bulsen, too, be hung 
 At break of day. Let there be priests to shrive them. 
 Who guards the knight, Sir Fleureant of Heurlee ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Sasbout, my lord, and Tuning. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Very well. 
 
286 PHILIP VAN AE.TEYELDE. [act hi. 
 
 Mount me a messenger ; I shall have letters 
 
 To send to Van den Bosch upon the Lis. 
 
 Let Grebber wait upon me here. Go thou 
 
 Upon thine errands. [Exit Officer.] — So, Van Muck 
 
 escaped ! 
 And Ypres will receive its invitation. 
 I think, then, Van den Bosch must spare a force 
 To strengthen us at Ypres for a season. 
 I'll send him orders. And Van Muck the traitor ! 
 Stupidity is seldom soundly honest ; 
 I should have known him better. Live and learn ! 
 
 Scene III. — TJie interior of a Tent. — Sir Fleureant of Heurlee 
 is seated at a table, on ivhich wine and refreshments are placed. 
 Guards are seen without, walking backwards and forwards 
 before the doors of the Tent. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 I oft before have clomb to tickle places 
 But this will be the last of all my climbing. 
 Were it to do again, ten thousand dukes, 
 With all their wants of wit and wealth of folly, 
 Should tempt me not to such fool-hardihood. 
 Here is the end of Fleureant of Heurlee ! 
 I know it ; for my heart is dead already — 
 An omen that did cross me ne'er before 
 In any jeopardy of life. 
 
 Cecile enters with a Friar. 
 This wind 
 Is cold, methinks, that comes through yonder door. 
 I thought I had a cloak. 
 
in. J PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 CECIL i :. 
 
 The friar, sir. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Well, this is strange ; — I surely had a cloak. 
 
 CECILS. 
 
 Sir, would you see the friar ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Eh? what? who? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 The friar, sir. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 What friar ? — oh, your pardon ! 
 What? is it time? 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 This wench, my son, brought word 
 That you would fain confess yourself o'ernight ; 
 And then make merry, like a noble heart, 
 Till break of day that brings your latter end. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 What is't o'clock ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 An hour or two, no more, 
 Past midnight. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Yes, I wish'd myself confess'd ; 
 But, by your leave, not now ; — my eyes are heavy, 
 And I was fain to wrap me in my cloak, 
 And lay me down to sleep, as you came in. 
 I think I had a cloak. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 'Tis here, sir, here. 
 
2SS PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act hi. 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 Ah, there it is. The air, I think, is chilly. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Tis a cold air, my son, a cold and dry ; 
 But here's an element that's hot and moist 
 To keep the other out. I drink your health. 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 My health ! ha, ha ! I'll lie me down and sleep, 
 
 For I've a mortal weariness upon me. 
 
 My body's or my soul's health do you drink ? 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 I drink, sir, to your good repose. 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 I thank you ; 
 I shall sleep sound to-morrow. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Put this cushion 
 Under your head. 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 Ah, you are kind, wench, now ; 
 You're not so saucy as you were. So, — there. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 And this I drink to your dear soul's salvation. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 I'd tend you all night long, with all my heart, 
 If it might do you good. 
 
 SIR FLEUREAXT. 
 
 Good night, good night. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 What, doth he sleep ? Then sit you down, my maid, 
 
n hi.] PHILIP VAN A.RTEVBLDB 
 
 And quaff me off this flask of Malvoisie. 
 Corne sunrise and he'll lay his curly head 
 Upon a harder pillow — So it is ! 
 
 'As a man lives so shall he die. 
 As a tree falls so shall it lie.' 
 
 Take off thy glass, my merry wench of all ; 
 
 Thou know'st the song that Jack the headsman sings — 
 
 ' Tis never to snivel and grovel 
 
 When a friend wants a turn of poor Jack's, 
 But put him to bed with a shovel, 
 
 Having cut off his head with an axe — 
 
 Having 
 Cut off his head with an axe. ' 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Be not so loud, good friar, let him sleep. 
 He'll pass the time more easy. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Let him sleep I 
 What hinders him to sleep ? — not I, my lass ; 
 I've shriven many a sinner for the gallows ; 
 There's nothing wakes them but a lusty tug. 
 I'd rather he should sleep than you, sweet wench ; 
 What, are you wakeful — Ah, you fat-ribs ! Ah ! 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Begone, you filthy friar ! At your tricks 
 With here a dead man lying, one may say, 
 Amongst one's feet ! 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Who's dead, my merry soul ? 
 Not I, nor near it yet. 
 
290 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Out ! ancient blotch ! 
 
 Enter Artevelde. 
 
 artevelde (stumbling against Sir Fleureant, who wakes 
 and sits up). 
 
 So, what is this ? what wrangle ye about ? 
 
 What mak'st thou, friar, with the wench ? 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Who, I ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Aye, tell his highness how you'd use a maid. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Alack ! we churchmen, sir, have much ado ! 
 We are but men, and women will be women. 
 Fie, they are naughty jades ! — sluts all ! sluts all ! 
 Fie, how they steal upon our idle hours ! 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Thou liest, thou scandalous friar 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Soft you, Cecile ! 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 Oh, she's a light-skirts ! — yea, and at this present 
 A little, as you see, concern'd with liquor. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 A light-skirts ! If it were not for thy cowl 
 I have that lesson at my ringers' ends 
 Should teach thee how to lay thy carrion's sins 
 Upon a wholesome maid. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Peace, peace, I say ! 
 
scene in.] rillLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I would discourse some matters with this knight. 
 Leave us together. Friar, go thy ways ; 
 Thy hands are not too clean. I know the wench ; 
 She would not tempt thee. Get thee gone, I say. 
 
 FRIAR. 
 
 My lord, the peace of God be with your highness, 
 And with this knight, and with that sinful woman. 
 
 [Exit. 
 CECILE. 
 
 I thank your highness — Oh the mouldy villain ! 
 I thank you, sir. Good even to your highness. 
 
 [Exit. 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Good night, Cecile. — Sir, I disturb 'd your rest ; 
 I saw not that you lay there. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Oh, my lord, 
 It matters not ; to-morrow I shall lie 
 Where you will not disturb me. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 So you think. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 So you, my lord, have said. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You stand condemn'd. 
 Yet 'tis a word that I would fain unsay. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 You are most kind, my lord ; the word went always 
 You were a merciful man and fearing God, 
 And God is good to such and prospers them ; 
 
 u2 
 
898 PHILIP TAX ABTEVELDE. 
 
 And if my life it please you now to spare, 
 You may find mercy for yourself in straits 
 According as you show it. 
 
 ABTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, thy life 
 Is justly forfeited : and if I spare thee 
 It is not that I look for God's reward 
 In sparing crime ; since justice is most mercy. 
 Thou hast an intercessor, to whose prayers 
 I grant thy life, absolving thee, not freely, 
 But on conditions. 
 
 SIR FLEUBEAHT. 
 
 Whatsoe'er they be 
 I will be bound most solemnly by oath. 
 So God be my salvation, to fulfil them. 
 
 ABTEVELDE. 
 
 'Tis but to pay thy debt of gratitude 
 To her whose charity redeems thy life, 
 That I would bind thee. At the supplication 
 Of thy lord's sometime lady thou art spared. 
 
 SIR FLEUBEABT. 
 
 I'm bound to her for ever. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sometime hence 
 Mischances may befall her. Though I trust. 
 And with good reason, that my arms are proof. 
 Yet is the tide of war unsteady ever ; 
 And should my hope be wreck'd upon some reef 
 Of adverse fortune, there is cause to fear 
 Her former lord, thy master, who suspects 
 
■Curt in.] HI IMP VAN A.RTEVELDB. 
 
 Uneasily her faith, in victory's pride 
 Would give his vengeance and his jealousy 
 Free way to her destruction. In such hour, 
 Should it arrive, thou might'st befriend the lady, 
 As in thy present peril she doth thee. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 I were ungrateful past all reach of words 
 That speak of baseness and ingratitude, 
 Should I not hold my life, and heart, and service, 
 Purely at her behest from this time forth. 
 And truly in conjunctures such as those 
 Your highness hath foreseen, to aid her flight. 
 Were service which no Fleming could perform, 
 How true soe'er his heart, — and yet to me 
 It were an easy task. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I trust the day 
 Will never come, that asks such service from you ; 
 But should it so, I charge you on your faith 
 And duty as a knight, perform it stoutly. 
 Prudence, meantime, demands that you remain 
 In close confinement. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 As you please, my lord. 
 
 artevelde (after a pause). 
 What, watch there, ho ! 
 
 Enter two Guards. 
 You will give passage to Sir Fleureant 
 To go at large. My mind you see is changed : 
 It ever was my way, and shall be still, 
 
294 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 When I do trust a man, to trust him wholly. 
 You shall not quit my camp ; but that word given, 
 You are at large within it. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Sir, your trust 
 Shall not appear misplaced. 
 
 AKTEVELDE. 
 
 Give you good rest ! 
 And better dreams than those I woke you from. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 With grateful heart I say, my lord, God keep you ! 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Ypres. — The Burgomaster of Ypres, with several 
 Burghers of the French Faction, and Van Muck. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Well, well, God bless us ! have a care — oh me ! 
 Be careful how you speak ; wear a white hat ; 
 And ever, mind'st thou, when thou see'st Vauclaire, 
 Uncover and stand back. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 I will, your worship. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Nay, but you must. And Roosdyk — speak him fair : 
 For give him but a saucy word, he's out, 
 
sokne i.] rillLir VAN ABTEVELDB. 29;> 
 
 And twinkling me his dagger in the sun, 
 
 Says, "take you that," and you are dead for good. 
 
 VAN MUCK, 
 
 I'll speak him fair. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Nay, but I say you shall. 
 Tis a good rule to be more civil-spoken 
 Than wantonly be cut and stabb'd for nothing. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 'Tis so, your worship. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Cast not away your life. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 'Tis as your worship pleases. 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 But if Vauclaire, or Eoosdyk, or the captains 
 Should ask him whence he comes, or what s his craft. 
 Being strange-looking for a citizen, 
 What should he answer ? 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Say thou com'st from Dinand — 
 From Dinand, say, to sell Dinandery, 
 Pots, pitchers, mugs and beakers and the like. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Suppose I'm questioned where they are? 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 You've sold 'em. 
 Say you praise God. Say you're a thriving man. 
 
 first burgher (aside to second). 
 This matter will be out. 
 
296 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 SECOND BURGHER, 
 
 Why so ? 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 Good friend, 
 Did'st ever know a secret to lie close 
 Under a goose's wing ? 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 I think 'twill out. 
 'Twill surely out. 
 
 FIRST BURGHER. 
 
 The frighten'd fox sits fast ; 
 Folly with fear will flutter still and cackle. 
 [Aloud]. This will be known. I am for rising now, 
 Slaying Vauclaire and Koosdyk in their beds 
 Before they nose it, sounding through the streets 
 King Charles's pardon and the town's submission, 
 And so to present issue with it all. 
 
 BURGOMASTER, 
 
 Mercy ! what foolishness will young men talk ! 
 
 FIRST BURGHER, 
 
 Under your favour — old men too at times. 
 
 THIRD BURGHER. 
 
 De Vry, a word. I marvel at thy rashness ; 
 We are not ripe for action : in a week, 
 Perchance a day — nay, it may be this hour, 
 Or Van den Bosch will conquer at Commines, 
 Or the French force the passage. If the first, 
 In vain were this revolt, for Van den Bosch 
 Would quell us in a trice ; and if the second, 
 Then were the time to rise, for all the town 
 Would then rise with us. 
 
BCKVI I.] rillLIP VAN ARTKVKLDE. 
 
 SECOND burgher. 
 
 Iii good time, Verstolken ; 
 The axe's edge is turn'd towards us now, 
 And what shall save us, if this mooncalf here 
 Should let his errand out ? 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Call you me mooncalf? 
 I am an honest man ; I dare you, sir, 
 To signify me other. 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 Hold thy peace. 
 Whilst the French king is look'd for at Commines, 
 Too wise is Van den Bosch to break his strength 
 With sending soldiers hither. He but counts 
 Nine thousand men. 
 
 FOURTH BURGHER. 
 
 The double were too few 
 To be divided. 
 
 FIFTH BURGHER. 
 
 More than some two thousand 
 Would hardly march on Ypres, should we thrive ; 
 And if they did, we'd bowl them down like nine-pins. 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 He'll never waste his forces upon us 
 
 Whilst the French king's to come ; and then the news 
 
 Of Ypres fallen off, will cheer the French, 
 
 Sicken the White-Hoods, and make sure the loss 
 
 Of that famed passage, which shall magnify 
 
 Our merits with Kincr Charles. 
 
298 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Enter a Sixth Burgher. 
 
 SIXTH BURGHER. 
 
 Away, away ! 
 Vauclaire has word of all you do ; a troop 
 Despatch'd by Van den Bosch to give him aid 
 Is riding into town. Van Muck's commission 
 Is whisper'd of, and loudly. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 There now, there ! 
 I told you so — I told you this would come ; 
 But still you talk'd of rising. Eun, Van Muck, 
 Thou villain run, and be not seen abroad 
 With honest citizens. 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 Aye, get thee hence ; 
 Best quit the town, and make thy way to France. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 I Will, your Worships. [Exit, hut returns immediately. 
 
 Please you, sir, the street 
 Is full of men-at-arms that come this way. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 I said so ; there ! and still you hearken 'd not ! 
 Oh Time and Tide ! Oh wala-wa ! Oh me ! 
 
 THIRD BURGHER. 
 
 What shall we do ? 
 
 SECOND BURGHER. 
 
 Van Muck, stand fast ; they come : 
 It is Vauclaire himself. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Say you sell pots. 
 
iCKNE i.] rillLIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 Enter Vauclaire and Roosdyk followed by a troop of 
 Men-at-arms. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Ah, Master Burgomaster, here you are ! 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 Make fast the doors. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 And thou, Verstolken — nay ! 
 Here's Goswin Hex, and Drimmelen, and Breero ! 
 And thou, De Vry — Van Rosendaal, and thou ! 
 How rare a thing is faith ! Alas, my masters ! 
 Here is a work you put me to ! 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 Stand forth, 
 Master Van Muck ! where are you ? — which is he ? 
 
 THIRD BURGHER. 
 
 What is it, sirs, you charge us with ? 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 What think ye ? 
 Say treason, and I'll call you conjurors. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 I have my orders — stand thou forth, Van Muck — 
 And I must needs ohey them. Say, what art thou ? 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 A villain. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 No, sirs, I am not a villain. 
 I am a travelling trader ; I sell pots. 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 Thyself — thou sell'st thyself — a precious vessel ! 
 Where is the provost marshal ? Hark you, sir ! 
 
300 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Put irons on them all, and give Van Muck 
 A taste of what you have. 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Hold off! what's this? 
 I am your master. 
 
 ROOSDTK. 
 
 Knock him on the head ; 
 Bid him be patient. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE, 
 
 I am amazed at this ! 
 So sweetly as you all demean'd yourselves ! 
 A guileful world we live in ! God forgive us ! 
 Make fast the gyves and take them off to prison. 
 
 Sirs, hear me, oh ! 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 ROOSDTK. 
 
 Gag me this grey-heard ! 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 Oh! 
 
 EIRST BURGHER. 
 
 Thank God ! 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 The Stadt-house. You shall all be heard 
 Except Van Muck, whose treason is too rank 
 To be excused. I must obey my orders ; 
 First to the rack they doom him, then to the gallows. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Sirs, grant me mercy ; I am not a traitor ; 
 I'll tell it all. 
 
 ROOSDTK. 
 
 That shall you, or the rack 
 Is not so good a singing-master now 
 As it was wont to be. 
 
ii.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDB. 
 
 VAN MUCK. 
 
 Oh Lord ! oh Lord ! 
 
 ' put. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Bring them away : we'll hear them at the Stadt-house, 
 Each by himself. Bring them away at once ; 
 Keep them apart, and let them not have speech 
 One of another. 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 If any man make signs, 
 Despatch him on the spot. Master Vauclaire, 
 We follow you. 
 
 Scene II. — The French Court at Arras. — An Antechamber in the 
 Maison de Ville. Tristram or Lestovet, Clerk of the Council, 
 and Sir Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 When I forgive him, may the stars rain down 
 And pierce me with ten thousand points of fire ! 
 His whore ! his leman ! 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Had she been his wife, 
 A small transgression might have pass'd. Learn thou 
 To keep thy hands from meddling with men's whores ; 
 For dubious rights are jealously enforced, 
 And what men keep for pleasure is more precious 
 Than what need is they keep. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 He'll be the worse, 
 And knows it. When I fled I left behind 
 A notion of my purpose. There's none here 
 Can know like me his weakness and his strength. 
 
302 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Let but the council bear me ; I sball tell 
 
 What sball be worth to them ten thousand spears. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Tis now their time to meet ; but the young king 
 Lies long a-bed. Here comes my Lord of Burgundy. 
 
 Enter Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Good-morrow, sirs, good-morrow ! So, your stars, 
 They tell me, are your good friends still, good Flurry ; 
 You always come clear off; — well, I'm glad on't. 
 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 I give your highness thanks. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Well, Lestovet, 
 My brother of Bourbon keeps his mind, they say ; 
 He is for Tournay still ; 'tis wonderful, 
 A man of sense to be so much besotted ! 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 His grace of Bourbon, sir, is misdirected ; 
 He is deluded by a sort of men 
 That should know better. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 They shall rue it dearly. 
 To turn aside ten leagues, ten Flemish leagues, 
 With sixty thousand men ! 'tis moonish madness ! 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Sir Fleureant here, who left the rebel camp 
 
 No longer past than Wednesday, says their strength 
 
 Lies wholly eastward of the Scheldt. 
 
ii.] rillLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 The towns 
 Betwixt the Scheldt and Lis, jour grace should know, 
 Are shaking to their steeple-tops with fear 
 Of the French force ; and westward of the Lis 
 You need but blow a trumpet, and the gates 
 Of Ypres, Poperinguen, Rousselaere, 
 And Ingelniunster gape to take you in. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 They are my words, they are my very words ; 
 
 Twenty times over have I told my brother 
 
 These towns would join us if he would but let them ; 
 
 But he's as stubborn as a mule ; and oh ! 
 
 That constable ! Oh, Oliver of Clisson ! 
 
 That such a man as thou, at such a time, 
 
 Should hold the staff of constable of France ! 
 
 Well ! such men are ! 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 My lord, I crave your pardon 
 For so exorbitantly shooting past 
 My line of duty as to tender words 
 Of counsel to your highness ; but my thoughts 
 Will out, and I have deem'd that with his grace, 
 Your royal brother, you have dealt too shortly. 
 The noble frankness of your nature breaks 
 Too suddenly upon the minds of men 
 That love themselves, and with a jealous love 
 Are wedded to their purposes : not only 
 His grace of Bourbon, but full many lords 
 Who bear a part against you in the council, 
 Would yield upon a gentle provocation, 
 That stiffen with a rougher. 
 
304 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv, 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 That may be ; 
 But, Lestovet, to sue to them to turn ! 
 I cannot do it. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 May it please your grace 
 To leave it in my hands. With easier ear 
 They listen to a man of low condition ; 
 And under forms that in your grace to use 
 It were unseemly, I can oft approach, 
 And with a current that themselves perceive not 
 Can turn the tenour of their counsels. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Nay; 
 But how can I be absent from the board 
 At such a time as this ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 A seizure, say, 
 Of sudden illness. They'll be here anon, — 
 I think I hear them now. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 There is a sound 
 Of horses' feet. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Then try it, Lestovet ; 
 You are a wise and wary man ; this day 
 I leave the field to you ; say that the gout 
 Confines me to my chamber. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Hark, my lord, 
 They come. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Farewell to you ; improve your time. [Exit. 
 
losim hi.] PHILIP VAN AETEVELDE 
 
 LE8TOVET. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! the council ! they are men of spirit. 
 Arouse their passions, and they'll have opinions ; 
 Leave them hut cool, they know not what to think. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 You'll tell them I am here. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Before they rise 
 You shall he heard at large ; but leave to me 
 To choose the fitting moment. Hide without 
 Until the Usher have a sign : the mace 
 Shall trundle from the board, which he shall hear ; 
 Then come at once as one that from his horse 
 Leaps down, and reeking hurries in to tell 
 A tale that will not wait. 
 
 Scene III. — The Council Chamber. — TJie King is brought in by 
 the Duke of Bourbon, and seated on a Chair of State at 
 the head of the Board ; three seats are placed below, on two of 
 which the Dukes of Bourbon and Berry place themselves. 
 The other Councillors then enter, and take their seats in suc- 
 cession, to the number of twelve; to wit, Sir Oliver of 
 Clisson, Constable of France; Sir John of Vien, Admiral 
 of France; the Lord of Coucy, Sir William of Poictiers, 
 Sir Aymenon of Pumiers, the Bastard of Langres, Sir 
 Eaoul of Raneval, the Lord of St. Just, the Lord of 
 Saimpi, Sir Maurice of Tressiquidy, Sir Lois of 
 Sanxere, and the Begue of Villaines. A desk is placed 
 opposite the loiver end of the Board, at which is seated 
 Tristram of Lestovet, Clerk of the Council. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 My brother of Burgundy is sick to-day ; 
 Your majesty excuses his attendance. 
 
306 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 We do. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Save him, our number is complete. 
 Sir Oliver of Clisson, unto thee, 
 By virtue of thine office, appertaineth, 
 More than to any here, to point the course 
 Of the king's armies : wherefore he desires 
 Thou open this day's business. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Tis our will. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 May it please your majesty — my lords, and you ! 
 So much was said on Friday of the choice 
 'Twixt Lille and Tournay — that the more direct 
 And this, 'tis justly held, the safer road — 
 That I should waste your patience and your time, 
 Did I detain you long. To Lille, my lords, 
 "Were two days' journey ; thence to Warneston 
 Were one day, let or hindrance coming none ; 
 But should the rains continue, and the Deule — 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 What ails my Lord of Burgundy, good uncle ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 The gout, sweet cousin. May it please your grace 
 To hearken to the Constable. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 My lords, 
 If with these luckless rains the Deule be flooded, 
 As there is cause to think it is already, 
 From Armentieres to Quesnoy, and the Marque 
 
, in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 807 
 
 Be also fuller than its wont, what days 
 Should bring us to the Lis were hard to tell. 
 But grant we reach so far, all over-pass'd 
 Without mishap the intervenient waters, 
 The bridges on the upper Lis, we know, 
 Are broken down ; and on the further shore 
 Lies Van den Bosch — and where are we to pass ? 
 I put it to you, where are we to pass ? 
 How do we cross the Lis ? 
 
 LORD OF SAIMPI. 
 
 May it please your grace, 
 I would be bold to ask the Constable 
 Hath not the Lis a source ? 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 Yea, one or more. 
 
 LORD OF SAIMPI. 
 
 Why, then it may be cross'd. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 My Lord of Saimpi, 
 Surely it may be cross'd, if other ways 
 Present no better hope. My lords, ye all 
 Have voices in the council ; speak your minds, 
 And God forefend that any words of mine 
 Should blind your better judgments. 
 
 SIR AYMENON OF PUMIERS. 
 
 Higher up, 
 A few leagues south, by Venay and St. Venant, 
 The Lis is fordable, and is not kept. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL. 
 
 Not kept, my lords ! why should it ? Van den Bosch 
 
 x2 
 
30S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Were doubtless overjoy'd to see us strike, 
 Amidst the drenching of these torrents, deep 
 Into the lands of Cassel and Vertus ; 
 An English force, for aught we know, the while 
 Borne like a flock of wild geese o'er the seas, 
 And dropp'd at Dunkirk. On the left are they, 
 The Flemings on the right, strong towns in front ; 
 And so we plunge from clammy slough to slough, 
 With fog and flood around us. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 Yea, wet-footed. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL. 
 
 What say you ? 
 
 SIR LOIS OE SANXERE. 
 
 For the love of God, my lords, 
 Keep we dry feet. Rheumatic pains, catarrhs, 
 And knotty squeezings of the inward man, 
 Thus may we fly the taste of. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL. 
 
 Soft, Sir Lois ; 
 Spare us thy gibes ; I've stood more winters' nights 
 Above my knees in mire, than thou hast hairs 
 Upon the furnish 'd outside of thy skull. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 I say, my lords, take heed of mists and swamps ; 
 
 Eschew rain water ; think on winter nights ; 
 
 Beware the Flemish on the Lis ; beware 
 
 The English, that are in much strength — at London. 
 
 Ye've brought the king to Arras in November, 
 
 And now ye find that in November rain 
 
 Is wont to fall ; ye find that fallen rain 
 
sci.ne in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 309 
 
 Swells rivers and makes floods ; whereof advised, 
 Take the king back with all convenient speed, 
 And shut him up at Senlis. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Hold, Sir Lois ; 
 I will not go. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 I crave your Grace's pardon ; 
 I little dream'd you would ; you are a man. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL. 
 
 Lois of Sanxere, I ask thee in this presence, 
 Fling'st thou these girds at me ? 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 My lords, my lords ! 
 I do beseech you to bethink yourselves. 
 Remember where ye are. 
 
 sir raoul of raneval (drawing off his glove). 
 Lois of Sanxere — 
 
 [Here Tristram of Lestovet, in arranging some parchments, 
 touches the mace, which rolls heavily from the table, and falls 
 close to the feet of Sir Raoul of Raneval. Be starts up. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 No hurt, my lord, I hope ? Thank God ! thank God ! 
 Most humbly do I sue to you, my lord, 
 To grant me your forgiveness. 
 
 sir raoul of raneval. 
 
 Nay, 'tis nothing ; 
 It might have been a bruise, but 
 
 Enter an Usher, followed by Sir Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 
 usher. 
 
 Please your Grace, 
 
310 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Sir Fleureant of Heurlee waits without, 
 Hot from the Flemish camp, which he but left 
 Two days agone, and he can tell your Grace 
 How all things stand in Flanders. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Now we'll see ! 
 This is an apt arrival ; welcome, sir ! 
 What is the news you bring us ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Please your Grace, 
 The letters patent I sought means to send 
 To Ypres, Ghent, and Bruges ; but to the first 
 Only they reached in safety, though from thence 
 Doubtless the terms have spread. The Regent, warn'd 
 Of what was machinated, as I hear, 
 Sent orders to the Lis for Yan den Bosch 
 To split his power, and throw a third to Ypres 
 To fortify Yauclaire ; whilst he stood fast, 
 But held himself prepared, if Bruges should rise 
 Or Ghent, to drop adown the Lis to Heule, 
 Or Desselghem, or Rosebecque, there to join 
 The Regent's force, that then should raise the siege 
 Of Oudenarde, and gather on the Lis. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 These are good tidings ; yet I deem the Lis 
 Is still too strongly guarded for our force 
 There to make way. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 Your Grace is ever just 
 In all vour views. 
 
bckns in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 811 
 
 TIIE BEGUE OF VILLAINES. 
 
 Sir Constable, some thought 
 Let us bestow on tidings whence we learn 
 The fears o' the adverse, and the slide this way 
 Of Ypres, Ghent, and Bruges. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RAN EVA L. 
 
 Should these towns turn, 
 A larger force the Kegent were constrained 
 To keep i' the west ; and passing down the Scheldt 
 By Tournay, w r e are less opposed. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 Not so. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL. 
 
 I say we meet with opposition less 
 Upon the Scheldt at Tournay. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 I say, no. 
 Turning our faces from these doubting towns, 
 What can they but fall back ? 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RAXEVaL. 
 
 Wilt have it so ? 
 Methinks, my lords, if turning and backsliding 
 And lack of loyalty 
 
 LESTOVET (tO SlR FLEUREAXT OF HEURLEE). 
 
 Hilloa, sir, ho ! 
 You cannot go, you must not quit the board ; 
 My lords will further question you anon. 
 Spake you not of the Scheldt ? doubtless my lords 
 Would hear you upon that. 
 
312 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Aye, aye, the Scheldt; 
 What say'st thou of the Scheldt ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lords, your pardon ; 
 With my own eyes I have not view'd the Scheldt 
 Higher than Oudenarde ; yet what I know 
 More sure than common rumour I may tell, 
 That reach by reach from Elsegem to Kam, 
 At sundry stations, say Kerckhoven first, 
 'Twixt Berkhem and Avelghem, where the Bonne 
 Its tide contributes elbowing Escanaffe, 
 At Pontespiers and Pecq, and divers points 
 Betwixt them interposed, strong piles are driven 
 Deep in the belly of the stream athwart. 
 Thus neither up nor down can make their way 
 Boat, raft, nor caravel. 
 
 BASTARD OF LANGRES. 
 
 We see, my lords, 
 The Scheldt is no purveyor of our victual 
 Should we proceed by Tournay. 
 
 LORD OF SAIMPI. 
 
 I surmise 
 We shall find spears as thick upon the banks 
 As stakes within the stream. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL. 
 
 Then let us find them ! 
 Who is it now that flinches and postpones ? 
 I say, once pass'd the Scheldt, and better far 
 We should confront the Flemish spears ; so be it ! 
 
in. J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 We'd give the villains such a taste of France 
 That thence for evermore ' Mount Jo) T e St. Denis' 
 Should he a cry to make their life-blood freeze 
 And teach rebellion duty. 
 
 SIR LOIS OP SANXERE. 
 
 Fee, faw, fum ! 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Sir John de Vien would speak ; Sir John de Vien 
 Hath not yet spoken. 
 
 SIR JOHN DE VIEN. 
 
 Here we lie, my lords, 
 At Arras still, disputing. I am a man 
 Of little fruitfulness in words ; the days 
 That we lie here, my lords, I deem ill spent. 
 Once and again the time of year is told, 
 That we are in November : whiles we vex 
 This theme, what follows ? — why, December ! True, 
 The time of year is late, my lords ; yea truly, 
 The fall of the year, I say, my lords, November, 
 Is a late season when it rains, my lords. 
 I have not, as you know, the gift of speech, 
 But thus much may a plain man say, — time flies ; 
 The English are a people deft, my lords, 
 x\nd sudden in the crossing of the seas ; 
 And should we linger here with winter coming, 
 We were not call'd good men of war, forsooth. 
 So truly, sirs, my voice, with humbleness, 
 Is for short counsel ; in good truth, my lords — 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Dear uncle, what's o'clock ? 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Tis noon, sweet cousin. 
 
 I want my dinner. 
 
 THE KING. 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Presently, fair cousin. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 Your majesty is of the admirals mind ; 
 
 You love short counsel ; marry, and of mine ; 
 
 I love it too ; more specially I love it 
 
 With mallets at our backs and winter near. 
 
 We talk so long that what is said at first 
 
 What follows sponges from our memories. 
 
 Pass to the vote, my lords, nor waste your breath 
 
 In further talk. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Then pass we to the vote. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 So be it ; to the vote. 
 
 OTHERS. 
 
 Agreed : to the vote. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 My lords, may it please you, ere your votes I gather 
 That briefly I rehearse what each hath said, 
 As noted with a hasty pen, or writ 
 In a weak memory. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 So do, so do. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 First, my lord constable : he bade you think 
 What length of way and waters lay between 
 
bobki in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE* 816 
 
 Ere ) ; ou could reach the Lis ; where "when you come 
 
 You fiud no bridge, and on the further bank 
 
 The Flemish power : then spake my Lord of Saimpi, 
 
 Touching a passage nearer to the springs 
 
 By Yenay and St. Venant : whereunto 
 
 My Lord of Raneval made answer meet, 
 
 That though the Lis were fordable above, 
 
 Yet in the lands of Cassel and Vertus 
 
 There dwelt a dangerous people, sulking boors, 
 
 Who, when we straggled, as perforce we must, 
 
 Through bye-ways sunder'd by the branching waters, 
 
 Should fall upon us, founder'd in the sloughs, 
 
 And raise the country round : — thus far, my lords, 
 
 Had you proceeded, when the tiding came 
 
 Of Ypres, Ghent, and Bruges upon the turn, 
 
 Repentant of their sins and looking back 
 
 For their allegiance ; with the sequel fair 
 
 Of much diminish'd squadrons at Commines. 
 
 Then though my lord of Raneval spake well 
 
 Of clearance on the Scheldt, through direful need 
 
 That now must westward suck the Flemish force, 
 
 Yet in abatement came the shrewd account 
 
 Of how the Scheldt was grated, gagg'd, jaw-lock'd, 
 
 With here a turnpike and with there a turnpike, 
 
 And Friesland horses. Said the Knight of Langres, 
 
 How shall our victual reach us ? To which adds 
 
 Sir Hugh of Saimpi, that the banks are kept. 
 
 Whereat my Lord of Raneval rejoin'd 
 
 That he, as best became him, took no heed, 
 
 So it were soon, to whereabouts he faced 
 
 The Flemish scum in arms, or on the Scheldt, 
 
 Or on the Lis 
 
316 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 I spake not of. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL. 
 
 Permit me, sir, the Lis 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 I humbly crave your pardon ; 
 My memory is but crazy, good my lords ; 
 It oft betrays me vilely. Sir Raoul, 
 I do beseech you pardon me ; I deem'd 
 (Misled perchance by that so rife renown 
 Which plants you ever foremost) that your voice 
 Was mainly raised for speed. 
 
 SIR RAOUL OF BANEVAL. 
 
 I grant you that ; 
 No man is more for speed, my lords, than I, 
 So we outrun not wisdom. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Next — proceed. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 My lord the admiral was next, and last 
 
 The Souldich of Sanxere ; the English fleet 
 
 Expected shortly ; winter distant now 
 
 But few days' journey ; mallets at your backs, — 
 
 These were their fruitful topics : on the last, 
 
 An't please your lordships to vouchsafe me audience, 
 
 Some tidings have I gather'd, here and there, 
 
 Which haply not unworthy of your ears 
 
 You might, when heard, pronounce. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Say on, sir ; well ! 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 At Paris, when the Commons and vile people 
 Beat in the prison doors, ye know, my lords, 
 
hi. PHILIP VAN A.BTEVELDE. 317 
 
 That Aubriot their friend, the sometime provost, 
 
 Who lay in prison then, made good his flight 
 
 To Arc in Burgundy; from thence, I learn, 
 
 He look'd abroad, and journeying up and down, 
 
 He practised with the towns upon the Marne, 
 
 With liheims and Chalons, Toul, and Bar-le-Duc, 
 
 With sundry villages in Vermandois, 
 
 And Brieche and Laon ; so he moved the poor 
 
 (Through help, as I believe, of something evil, 
 
 From which God shield good men!) that straight they 
 
 slew 
 The chatelains and farmers of the aids. 
 They next would raise a power and march to Paris ; 
 But Nicholas le Flamand bade them wait 
 Until the Scheldt were 'twixt the king and them, 
 Which shelter found, he trusted with their aid 
 To bring the castle of the Louvre low, 
 And not of Paris only, but of France 
 And Burgundy, to make the mean-folk lords. 
 This have I gather'd from the last that left 
 Champagne and Beauvoisin. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Something of this 
 Reach 'd me last night. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 I had some tidings, too. 
 
 SIR JOHN DE VIEN. 
 
 And I. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 I think, my lords, this matter asks 
 A further inquest. If the whole be true, 
 
31S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 We were not wise in council to o'erlook it. 
 Let us take order so to sift the truth 
 That clearer-sighted we may meet to-morrow ; 
 Till when I deem it prudent we should hang 
 In a free judgment. 
 
 LORD OF ST. JUST. 
 
 Till to-morrow, then. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 One day's delay will hurt us not. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 To-morrow. 
 
 LORD OF SATMTL 
 
 To-morrow be it, then. 
 
 SIR JOHN DE VIMS. 
 
 At noon, my lords ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 To-morrow noon. Sir Oliver of Clisson, 
 Wilt please you ride ? 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 Your highness does me honour. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Dear uncle, is the council up ? 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 It is. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Take that, old Tristram. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Soberly, fair cousin ; 
 You do not well to toss about the parchments. 
 
iv.J PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 319 
 
 Ho ! tell my serving men we ride to Vis, 
 
 The constable and I. Adieu, fair sirs. 
 
 [Exeunt the Kin^ and ti>> Lords of the Council. Moment Tristram 
 of Lbbtovbt and Sib Plburbant of Ebublrb. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Go to the duke ; tell him the point is carried. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 But is it so ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 It is as good. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 They seek 
 Some further knowledge. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Tut ! they know it all ; 
 They knew it ere I told them ; but my mind 
 As touching it, they knew not of till now. 
 llun to the duke ; pray him to keep his chamber ; 
 Let him but stand aloof another day, 
 And come the next, we march upon Commines. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Market-place at Ypres. In front, Van Whelk, 
 a Householder, driving the last nails into a Scaffolding erected 
 against his House. Van Stockenstrom, another, looking 
 on. A Woman is scouring the Doorstead of the next House. 
 At some little distance six Gallows-trees are seen, opposite the 
 Stadt-house. 
 
 VAN WHELK. 
 
 Room for five ducats at a groat a head. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 'Twill be a piteous spectacle ! Good day, 
 
 How do you, mistress ? 
 
320 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act it. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Thank you, how's yourself? 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 'Twill be a sight most piteous to behold ! 
 A corporation hung ! 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Alack a day ! 
 
 VAX WHELK. 
 
 'Twill be a sight that never yet was seen 
 Since Ypres was a town. A groat is cheap ; 
 A groat is very reasonable cheap. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM, 
 
 The burgomaster was confess'd at seven ; 
 He is the first. 
 
 VAN WHELK. 
 
 Van Eosendael the next, 
 And then comes Drimmelen, Verstolken then, 
 And Goswin Hex, and Breero, and De Vry. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 This ancient corporation ! 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Wo's the day ! 
 Poor gentlemen ! alas, they did not think, 
 Nor no man else, the Eegent would take life 
 So hastily. 
 
 VAN WHELK. 
 
 The like was never seen, 
 Nor ever will be after. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Hold you there ; 
 
 
iv. PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 321 
 
 Come tbe French king, and we shall see this square 
 More thick with gallows than with butchers' stalls 
 Upon a market day. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Nay, God forbid ! 
 Master Van Stockenstrom, you will not say so ? 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 It is not saying it that hangs them, dame : 
 I tell you it is true. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 There's some have said, 
 How that King Charles was mighty tender-hearted ; 
 The dukes his uncles likewise ; and that none 
 Were lother to shed blood. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Those burghers said it. 
 Whom yonder gallows wait for ; and if lies 
 Were worthy hanging, they deserved their doom. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Well, sirs, I know not. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Tut ! King Charles, I say, 
 The dukes his uncles, and his councillors all, 
 Are of one flesh and follow after kind. 
 There are humane amongst them ! how humane ? 
 Humane to lords and ladies, kiugs and counts. 
 Humane to such as we ? Believe it not. 
 
 VAN WHELK. 
 
 The Earl of Flanders is the French king's cousin. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 His majesty, to show his cousin kindness, 
 
322 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv 
 
 Would canter over acres of our bodies. 
 His cousin is in what he calls distress ; 
 To succour the distress'd is kind and good ; 
 So with an army comes the good King Charles, 
 And kindly to his cousin cuts our throats. 
 And that is their humanity, and such 
 Is man's humanity the wide world through ! 
 Men's hearts you'll find on one side soft as wax, 
 Hard as the nether mill-stone on the other. 
 
 VAN WHELK. 
 
 How is it with your own, Dame Voorst ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 God save us ! 
 I would not hurt a hair upon the head 
 Of any man alive. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Look you, the earl — 
 But hearken to a tale : Once in my youth — 
 Ah, Mistress Voorst ! years, years, they steal upon us ! 
 But what ! you're comely yet, — well, in my youth, 
 Occasion was that I should wend my way 
 From Reninghelst to Ronques, to gather there 
 Some monies that were owing me ; the road 
 Went wavering like jagged lightning through the 
 
 moors, — 
 For mind, Van Whelk, in those days Rening Fell 
 Was not so sluiced as now ; the night was near 
 And wore an ugly likeness to a storm, 
 W x hen I, misdoubting of my way and weary, 
 Descried the flickering of a cottage fire 
 Thorough the casements ; thither sped my feet : 
 
SOME iv.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 The door was open'd by a buxom dame 
 
 That smiled and bade me welcome, and great cheer 
 
 She made me, with a jocund, stirring mien 
 
 Of kindly entertainment, whilst with logs 
 
 Crackled the fire, and seem'd the very pot 
 
 To bubble in a hospitable hurry 
 
 That I might sup betimes. Now say, Dame Voorst, 
 
 Was not the mistress of this cottage lone 
 
 A kind good soul ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Yea, truly was she, sir. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Master Van Whelk, what think you ? 
 
 VAN WHELK. 
 
 Let me see ; 
 Did she take nothing from you? 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Not a stiver. 
 
 VAN WHELK. 
 
 Why, that was charitable ; that was kind ; 
 That was a woman of the good old times. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Now mark, Van Whelk ; now listen, Mistress Voorst. 
 
 The seething-pan upon the fire contain 'd 
 
 Six craw-fish for my supper : as I stood 
 
 Upon the ruddy hearth, my unlaced thoughts 
 
 Fall'n to a mood of idle cogitation, 
 
 My eyes chanced fix upon the bubbling pot : 
 
 Unconsciously awhile I gazed, as one 
 
 Seeing that sees not ; but ere long appear'd 
 
 A tumbling and a labouring in the pot 
 
 t2 
 
324 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act it. 
 
 More than of boiling water ; whereupon, 
 Looking with eyes inquisitive, I saw 
 The craw-fish rolling one upon another, 
 Bouncing, and tossing all their legs abroad 
 That writhed and twisted, as mix'd each with each 
 They whirl'd about the pan. God's love ! quoth I, 
 These craw-fish are alive ! Yea, sir, she answered, 
 They are not good but when they're sodden quick. 
 I said no more, but tum'd me from the hearth, 
 Feeling a sickness here ; and inwardly 
 I cried heigh-ho ! that for one man's one supper 
 Six of God's creatures should be boil'd alive ! 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Lord help us, sir ! You wail about the fish 
 As they were Christians. 
 
 VAN STOCKENSTROM. 
 
 Look you, Mistress Voorst ; 
 The King will be as kind to Louis Male 
 As this good wife to me : of us mean folk 
 He will take count as of so many craw-fish ; 
 To please his cousin 'twere to him no sin 
 To boil us in a pot. — Back, back, Van Whelk ! 
 Here be the captains ! 
 
 [They retire. 
 
 Enter Vauclaire, Eoosdyk, and Van den Bosch's Lieutenant. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Shrewd news ! whence cam'st thou last ? 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 From St. Eloy. 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 On Monday was it that the French pass'd over ? 
 
iv] PHI UP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 All Monday night 'twould seem that they were crossing 
 By nines and tens ; the craft would hold no more. 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 Were there none watching of those jobbernowls 
 That follow Van den Bosch ? 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 The night was dark ; 
 The most part of our men were sent to sleep 
 In quarters at Commines, that they might rise 
 Fresh on the morrow, when the French, 'twas thought. 
 Would try the passage by the bridge. The rest 
 Kept guard upon the causeway. Two miles down 
 The river crankles round an alder grove ; 
 'Twas there they brought the boats ; strong stakes were 
 
 driven 
 In either bank, and ropes were pass'd betwixt 
 Stretching athwart the stream ; by aid of these 
 Hand over hand they tugged themselves across, 
 And hid within the thicket ; when day dawn'd 
 They still were crossing, but the constable, 
 Who always kept his ground, made show to force 
 The passage of the bridge, and brought us there 
 To handy-strokes, which so misled our eyes 
 That nothing else was seen. 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 Ha, ha ! I love you ! 
 Set you to watch the cat ! 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 When first we knew 
 Their stratagem, six banners could we count, 
 And thirty pennons on the hither bank, 
 
326 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 The Lord of Saimpi leading them : were there 
 Sir Herbeaux of Bellperche, Sir John of Boy, 
 The Lords of Chaudronne, Malestroit, Sanxere, 
 All Bretons, with Sir Oliver of Guesclin, 
 The Lords of Laval, Rohan, Belliers, Meaulx, 
 Sir Tristram de la Jaille, and to be short, 
 The flower of all their host, from Poictou, Troyes, 
 Artois and Hainault, Burgundy and France, 
 That had their station marshall'd in the van. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 And there they stood ? 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 As yet they had not fought, 
 When I was order'd thence ; for Van den Bosch 
 Upon the eminence beside the bridge 
 Awaited them as on a vantage ground, 
 Whilst they abode below to gather force 
 From them continually that cross 'd the stream. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Then went you to the good towns near. 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 To Bergues, 
 To Poperinguen, Holers, Warneston, 
 To Mesiers and Vertain, with strict command 
 From Van den Bosch to muster all their men 
 x\nd send him succour ; thence I hasten'd here 
 To pray you do the like. 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 Oh rare ! I love you ! 
 Didst ever see one beggar dropping alms 
 Into another's hat ? 
 
iv.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 827 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 My master sware, 
 If he should lose the day the cause should lie 
 In that misfortunate wasting of his strength 
 By sending aid to Ypres. 
 
 , VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Send it back, 
 And we shall lose the town, and he the battle, 
 Ere it shall reach him : from the nearer towns 
 He may be timeously recomforted. 
 Meanwhile lest ill betide him, which, when here 
 It should be known, would bring a wild destruction 
 On us and ours, behoves us send forthright 
 Unto the Regent, to advise his Highness 
 Of what hath come to pass. Christoffel Waal, 
 Mount thee thy horse and hie to Oudenarde, 
 And bid the Regent know the Lis is pass'd. 
 That said is all said : he shall know by that 
 We shall have much ado with this good town 
 Ere many days be gone, or many hours. 
 If he can help us, so. 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 Aye, mount thy nag, 
 And make his heels strike fire ; away, begone ! 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Know'st thou thy message ? 
 
 WAAL. 
 
 Sirs, from point to point. ^ ExiL 
 
 \_A bell tolls. Muffled drums are heard, and the head of a Procession 
 appears, entering the Market-place. The Procession is formed 
 chiefly by Friars and Guards; and lastly appear the Burgo- 
 master and Aldermen of several Guilds as Malefactors, v:ith 
 their arms pinioned. They form a line between the Gallows arid 
 the Stadt-House. The Market-place suddenly fills with the 
 Populace. 
 
328 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 This folk looks strangely ! guess you what's toward ? 
 Is the news known ? 
 
 ROOSDYK. 
 
 I see no women here ; 
 There is a mischievous intent. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Go you 
 And get our men of battle under arms ; 
 We shall have righting ; this must mean a rescue. 
 
 ROOSDTK. 
 
 Let the clerks hold the culprits in confession 
 Some fifteen minutes, and I'll bring you here 
 The most I can, and till I come again 
 Let no thief swing, for that should be their sign 
 Doubtless for rising. I'll be here anon. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter a Pricker. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Thy spurs are bloody — what, from Commines, ha ! 
 A battle lost ? 
 
 PRICKER. 
 
 'Tis so, sir. Van den Bosch 
 With what remains of us is flying hither, 
 And wills you arm. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 We shall be arm'd anon : 
 And some of us you see. 
 
 [He beckons to the Captain of the Guard, who has charge of 
 
 the prisoners. 
 
 Sir, draw your men 
 More close upon their charge, and look about you, 
 For here's foul weather. 
 
 [Cries begin to be heard and stones are thrown, one of which 
 hits the steel cap of Vauclaiee. 
 
iv.j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. I 
 
 Said I not ? look here ! 
 These drops fore-run the storm. 
 
 [A cr// is heard at the opposite corner of the Market-place, and 
 \ w i>i.\ Bob h's Page is seen approaching. 
 
 Lo, — stand aside ; 
 There is a face I'll swear I've sometime seen 
 Attending Van den Bosch. 
 
 PRICKER. 
 
 His Page, sir, surely. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 My master, sir, is near — 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Say st thou ! how near ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Close on the town. He enters now. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 What force 
 
 Comes with him ? 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 It is hard to say ; they ride 
 So scatter'd and so broken, wounded most, 
 And mile by mile, now one and now another, 
 They tumble from their horses. He himself 
 Is sorely piked and gash'd, and of his hurts, 
 One, the leech deems, is mortal. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Christ forbid ! 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 They bear him in a litter, and each jog 
 
 They give him, when the bearers change their hands, 
 
 Makes him to bleed afresh. 
 
330 PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 PRICKER. 
 
 See, there he comes ! 
 
 \_The tumult which had been increasing, is in some measure stilled 
 as Van den Bosch is borne across the Market-place to the 
 front of the scene. 
 
 van den bosch {raising himself in the litter). 
 Who's that ? Vauclaire ? We're ruin'd, sir, we're lost ! 
 How stand ye here ? 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 The worst is what I see. 
 Yet hath the town an evil inclination, 
 And we shall feel it suddenly. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Send forth — 
 Be still thou jumping villain, with thy jolts ! 
 Thou grind's t my bones to powder. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 
 I would thou hadst my shoulder.' — Send abroad, 
 And bid the Commons to the market-place. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Nay, here they are, as thick as they can stand. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Are they ? My eyesight fails me. And is this 
 The market-place ? Oho ! then lift me up 
 Upon some cart or tumbril or the like 
 That I may make a preachment to the people. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Leave that to me : betake thee to thy bed ; 
 Roosdyk is making muster of our force, 
 And what is instant to be cared for here 
 We will perform. 
 
 VAN DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Not whilst I live, Vauclaire. 
 
i\.j PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 
 
 The leech, I think, lias patch'd me up this hody 
 
 To last a season. Hoist me — have a care — 
 
 Mount me upon this scaffolding : up, up — 
 
 Smoothly and altogether — there we go — 
 
 Oh ! oh ! that's thou again, uneasy whelp ! 
 
 Hast the string-halt ? Now set me down ; — so — so. 
 
 Let silence be commanded. 
 
 [The soldiery fall tack, so as to admit the people to the space imme- 
 diately in front of the scaffolding. Sundry officers pass to and 
 fro, vociferating • Silence ! ' which is obtained. 
 
 Friends, sirs of Ypres ! 
 Dear friends of Ypres ! we have lost a battle. 
 This once, by evil hap, the day is theirs : 
 Which is no fault of mine ; for, sirs, I'll tell you 
 How this hath chanced. 
 
 By the Black Art (which Frenchmen dare to use 
 For lack of godlier courage) — by this art 
 They brought a cloudy film upon the eyes 
 Of half our host, the half that should have watch'd ; 
 Which was on Monday night : and thus ere dawn 
 They cross'd the Lis. Then, sirs, what force had I, 
 Without advantage to affront the flower 
 Of the French van ? Solely twelve thousand spears ! 
 Yet, like a hedge-pig, tuck'd I up my power 
 The softer parts within ; and when Sanxere 
 Came nuzzling like a dog to find some flesh 
 Whereon to fix and turn me inside out, 
 I'll warrant you I prick'd his snout a little ! 
 Well, sirs, we might have conquer'd, but that then 
 The Commons of Commines — bell, book, and candle 
 Curse them that pass for Flemings and are none ! — 
 They of Commines, that call'd themselves so stout, 
 Show'd such a fear and faintness of their hearts 
 
332 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act it. 
 
 As makes me sweat with shame to think upon ; 
 
 And, traitors in their flight, they fired the town, 
 
 To stay the following French. From that time forth 
 
 Seeing we had no holding-place behind, 
 
 The best began to falter ; and, in brief, 
 
 Ye see us here. — Fellow, some wine ; I tire ; 
 
 I've lost some blood. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Prithee go in-a-doors, 
 x\nd let thy hurts be tended. 
 
 van den bosch (a cup of wine is brought, which he drinks off). 
 
 Fair and softly ! 
 There's more to say. 
 
 [An arrow, shot from the crowd, strikes the scaffolding close to 
 Van den Bosch, whereupon loud cries are heard from both 
 parties and some blows pass between them, followed by great 
 uproar and confusion. 
 
 Who hinders my discourse 
 With shooting cross-bow shafts ? Oh, there you are ! 
 See you yon villain there that gapes and shouts ? 
 Send me an arrow down his throat. — I say, 
 This battle lost is nothing lost at all. 
 For thus the French are wiled across the Lis, 
 Which ne'er shall they repass. Inveigled on 
 By wheedling fortune, they shall thus be snared : 
 For hither comes the Regent from the Scheldt, 
 And hither come the English, that are now 
 Landed at Dunkirk — landed now, I tell you ; 
 The news was brought me yesterday ; which heard, 
 Verily I was glad I lost this battle, 
 Although it cost me something — (for ye see 
 How I am troubled in my head and shoulder) — 
 
PI 1 1 LIP VAN AETEVELDE. 
 
 Yea truly I rejoiced that thus the French 
 
 Should run upon a pit-fall, whilst we sweep 
 
 A circle round them, so that none more wine- 
 
 [Sinka suddenly back 
 
 Here is a bandage loose — staunch me this blood — 
 Look ye, I bleed to death — oh, doctor vile ! 
 Oh treacherous chirurgeon ! — endless fire 
 Crumble his bones in hell ! — I die, I die ! 
 
 vauclaire (helpiny to re-adjust the bandage). 
 
 Another plie ; now draw it tight ; anon 
 Roosdyk will come and give us escort hence ; 
 Meanwhile defend yourselves and shoot again 
 If you be shot at. 
 
 VAX DEN BOSCH. 
 
 Now the trumpets sound ! 
 Chains for the King ! The trumpets sound again ! - 
 Chains for the knights and nobles ! Victory ! 
 Thou gaoler, shut the doors. 'Tis very dark ! 
 Whose hand is this ? — Van Artevelde's ? — I thank you : 
 'Twas Fortune favour'd me. Chains, chains and death ! 
 Chains for the King of France ! — You've shut me in. 
 It is all over with me now, good mother. 
 Let the bells toll. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Bring him behind these boards ; 
 
 The arrows now come quickly. Send a flight 
 
 They've loosed the prisoners. See, they bear this way ; 
 Shoot well together once and then fall back, 
 And force a road to Ghent with Van den Bosch 
 Alive or dead. I follow if I can. 
 
334 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act v. 
 
 Well shot ! — they're flutter'd : steadily, my friends ; 
 Take forth the litter first ; now close your ranks ; 
 Show a back front ; so — -off ye go — well done ! 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Van Arteveldes Tent, in the Flemish camp 
 before Oudenarde. 
 
 Elena and Cecile. 
 elexa (singing). 
 
 Quotli tongue of neither maid nor wife 
 To heart of neither wife nor maid, 
 
 Lead we not here a jolly life 
 Betwixt the shine and shade. 
 
 Quoth heart of neither maid nor wife 
 To tongue of neither wife nor maid, 
 
 Thou wag'st, but I am worn with strife, 
 And feel like flowers that fade. 
 
 There was truth in that, Cecile. 
 
 Fie on such truth ! 
 Eather than that my heart spoke truth in dumps, 
 I'd have it what it is, a merry liar. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Yes, you are right ; I would that I were merry ! 
 Not for my own particular, God knows ! 
 But for his ease ; he needs to be enliven'd ; 
 And for myself in him ; because I know 
 That often he must think me dull and dry, 
 I am so heavy-hearted, and at times 
 
BCENB i.] PniLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 325 
 
 Outright incapable of speech. Oh me! 
 I was not made to please. 
 
 Yourself, my lady ; 
 Tis true to please yourself you were not made, 
 Being truly by yourself most hard to please ; 
 But speak for none beside ; for you were made 
 Come gleam or gloom, all others to enchant, 
 Wherein you never fail. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Yes, but I do ; 
 How can I please him when I cannot speak ? 
 When he is absent I am full of thought, 
 And fruitful in expression inwardly, 
 And fresh and free and cordial is the flow 
 Of my ideal and unheard discourse, 
 Calling him in my heart endearing names, 
 Familiarly fearless. But alas ! 
 No sooner is he present than my thoughts 
 Are breathless and bewitch 'd, and stunted so 
 In force and freedom, that I ask myself 
 Whether I think at all, or feel, or live, 
 So senseless am I ! 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Heed not that, my lady ; 
 Men heed it not ; I never heard of one 
 That quarrell'd with his lady for not talking. 
 I have had lovers more than I can count, 
 And some so quarrelsome, a slap in the face 
 Would make them hang themselves if you'd believe them ; 
 But for my insufficiencies of speech 
 
336 PHILIP TAN AKTEYELDE. [act 
 
 They ne'er reproach'd me : no, the testiest of them 
 Ne'er fish'd a quarrel out of that. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Thy swains 
 Might hear their provocations in that kind, 
 Yet not of silence prove themselves enamour'd. 
 But mark you this, Cecile : your grave and wise 
 x\nd melancholy men. if they have souls, 
 As commonly they have, susceptible 
 Of all impressions, lavish most their love 
 Upon the blithe and sportive, and on such 
 As yield their want and chase their sad excess 
 With jocund salutations, nimble talk, 
 And buoyant bearing. Would that I were merry ! 
 Mirth have I valued not before ; but now 
 What would I give to be the laughing fount 
 Of gay imaginations ever bright, 
 And sparkling fantasies ! Oh, all I have, 
 (Which is not nothing though I prize it not,) 
 My understanding soul, my brooding sense, 
 My passionate fancy, and the gift of gifts 
 Dearest to woman which deflowering Time, 
 Slow ravisher, from clenched'st fingers wrings — 
 My corporal beauty, would I barter now 
 For such an antic and exulting spirit 
 As lives in lively women. Who comes hither ? 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 Tis the old friar ; he they sent to England ; 
 That ancient man so yellow ! By our Lady ! 
 He*s yellower than he went. Note but his look ; 
 His rind's the colour of a mouldy walnut. 
 
■CBXB I.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Troth ! his complexion is no wholesomer 
 Than a sick frog's. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Be silent ; he will hear you. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 It makes me ill to look at him. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 It makes me very ill. 
 
 Enter Father John of Heda. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Your pardon, lady, 
 I seek the Regent. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Please you, sit awhile ; 
 He comes anon. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 This tent is his ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 It is. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 And likewise yours. — (Aside.) Yea, this is as I heard ; 
 A wily woman hither sent from France. 
 Alas ! alas ! how frail the state of man ! 
 How weak the strongest ! This is such a fall 
 As Samson suffer 'd. 
 
 cecile (aside to Elena.) 
 
 How the friar croaks ! 
 What gibbering is this ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 May we not deem 
 
338 PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. [act y. 
 
 Your swift return auspicious ? Sure it denotes 
 A prosperous mission ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 What I see and hear 
 Of sinful courses, and of nets and snares 
 Encompassing the feet of them that once 
 Were steadfast deem'd, speaks only to my heart 
 Of coming judgments. 
 
 CECILE. 
 
 What I see and hear 
 Of naughty friars and of 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Peace, Cecile ! 
 Go to your chamber ; you forget yourself. 
 Father, your words afflict me. 
 
 {Exit Cecils. 
 Enter Van Artevelde. 
 artevelde (as he enters). 
 
 Who is it says 
 That Father John is come ? Ah ! here he is. 
 Give me your hand, good Father ! For your news, 
 Philosophy befriend me that I show 
 No strange impatience ; for your every word 
 Must touch me in the quick. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 To you alone 
 Would I address myself. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay heed not her ; 
 She is my privy councillor. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 My lord, 
 Such councillors I abjure. My function speaks, 
 
n i.j rillLIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 And through me speaks the Master whom I serve : 
 After strange women them that went astray 
 God never prosper'd in the olden time, 
 Nor will he bless them now. An angry eye 
 That sleeps not, follows thee till from thy camp 
 Thou shalt have put away the evil thing. 
 This in her presence will I say — 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh God ! 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 That whilst a foreign leman — 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, spare her ; 
 To me say what thou wilt. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Thus then it is : 
 This foreign tie is not to Heaven alone 
 Displeasing, but to those on whose firm faith 
 Rests under Heaven your all ; — 
 It is offensive to your army — nay 
 And justly, for they deem themselves betray 'd, 
 When circumvented thus by foreign wiles 
 They see their chief. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh ! let me quit the camp. 
 Misfortune follows wheresoe'er I come ! 
 My destiny on whomsoe'er I love 
 Alights ! It shall not, Artevelde, on thee ; 
 For I will leave thee to thy better fortune, 
 And pray for thee aloof. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Thou shalt do well 
 
 z2 
 
340 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 For him and for thyself; the camp is now 
 A post of danger. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Artevelde ! Oh God ! 
 In such an hour as this, then, must I quit thee ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 As thou wouldst make his danger more or less 
 So now demean thyself — stay or depart. 
 I say again the universal camp, 
 Nay more — the towns of Flanders are agape 
 With tales of sorceries, witcheries, and spells, 
 That blind their chief, and yield him up a prey 
 To treasons foul. How much is true or false 
 I know not, and I say not ; hut this truth 
 I sorrowfully declare, — that ill repute 
 And sin and shame grow up with every hour 
 That sees you link'd together in these bonds 
 Of spurious love. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Father, enough is said. 
 Clerk's eyes nor soldier's will I more molest 
 By tarrying here. Seek other food to feed 
 Your pious scorn and pertinent suspicions. 
 I am a sinful and unhappy creature : 
 Yet may be injured ; there is room to wrong me, 
 As you will find hereafter. I will go, 
 Lest this injustice done to me work harm 
 Unto my lord the Regent. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Hold, Elena ; 
 Give me a voice in this. You, Father John, 
 I blame not, nor myself will justify ; 
 
 LL 
 
SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. 841 
 
 But call my weakness what you will, the time 
 
 Is past for reparation. Now to cast off 
 
 The partner of my sin were further sin ; 
 
 Twere with her first to sin, and next against her. 
 
 And for the army, if their trust in me 
 
 Be sliding, let it go ; I know my course ; 
 
 And be it armies, cities, people, priests, 
 
 That quarrel with my love, wise men or fools, 
 
 Friends, foes, or factions, they may swear their oaths, 
 
 And make their murmur — rave, and fret, and fear, 
 
 Suspect, admonish — they but waste their rage, 
 
 Their wits, their words, their counsel : Here I stand 
 
 Upon the deep foundations of my faith 
 
 To this fair outcast plighted ; and the storm 
 
 That princes from their palaces shakes out, 
 
 Though it should turn and head me, should not strain 
 
 The seeming silken texture of this tie. — 
 
 To business next. — Come hither, my Elena ; 
 
 I will not have thee go as one suspect ; 
 
 Stay and hear all. Father, forgive my heat, 
 
 And do not deem me stubborn. Now at once 
 
 The English news ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Your deeds upon your head ! 
 Be silent, my surprise — be told, my tale. 
 No open answer from the English king 
 Could we procure, no honest yea or nay, 
 But only grave denotements of good-will, 
 With mention of the perils of the seas, 
 The much tempestuous season, and the loss 
 Unspeakable that England suffer'd late 
 In her sea-strengths ; but not the less, they said, 
 
342 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 By reason of good love and amity, 
 
 The king should order reckonings to be made, 
 
 By two sufficient scholars, of the charge 
 
 Of what we sought ; his parliament then sitting 
 
 He would take counsel of, and send you word 
 
 What might be done. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A leisurely resolve. 
 The king took council of his own desires, 
 Ere of his lords and commons. Had he wish'd 
 To do this thing, he had not ask'd advice. 
 In the pure polity of a monarch's mind 
 The will is privy-councillor to the judgment. 
 When shall his answer reach us ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 In my wake 
 Sir Richard Farrington, I found, had follow 'd ; 
 And sped by favourabler winds than mine, 
 Reach'd Dunkirk with me. Letters seal'd he brought ; 
 But hearing how far forth the French had fared, 
 He halted, and would neither bring nor send 
 His letters, nor their purport would disclose. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Have you no guess of their contents ? 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 A shrewd one. 
 They promised, doubtless, largely ; but were meant 
 To be deliver 'd should you thrive — not else. 
 The English nobles, though they'd use your arms 
 If victory crown'd them, to encumber France, 
 Much in their secret minds mislike your cause. 
 Jack Straw, Wat Tvler, Lister, Walker, Ball, 
 
I0BN8 I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That against servage raised the late revolt, 
 Were deem'd the spawn of your success : last year 
 Has taught the nobles that their foes at home 
 Are worthier notice than the French. In truth 
 They should not be displeased at any ill 
 That might befall you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Father, so I think. 
 Lo ! with the chivalry of Christendom 
 I wage my war — no nation for my friend, 
 Yet in each nation having hosts of friends ! 
 The bondsmen of the world, that to their lords 
 Are bound with chains of iron, unto me 
 Are knit by their affections. Be it so. 
 From kings and nobles will I seek no more 
 Aid, friendship, nor alliance. With the poor 
 I make my treaty, and the heart of man 
 Sets the broad seal of its allegiance there, 
 And ratines the compact. Vassals, serfs, 
 Ye that are bent with unrequited toil, 
 Ye that have whiten'd in the dungeon's darkness 
 Through years that knew not change of night and day — 
 Tatterdemalions, lodgers in the hedge, 
 Lean beggars with raw backs and rumbling maws, 
 Whose poverty was whipp'd for starving you, — 
 I hail you my auxiliars and allies, 
 The only potentates whose help I crave ! 
 Richard of England, thou hast slain Jack Straw, 
 But thou hast left unquench'd the vital spark 
 That set Jack Straw on fire. The spirit lives ; 
 And as when he of Canterbury fell, 
 His seat was fill'd by some no better clerk, 
 
344 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 So shall John Ball that slew him be replaced ; 
 And if I live and thrive, these English lords 
 Double requital shall be served withal 
 
 For this their double-dealing. Pardon me ; 
 
 You are but just dismounted, and the soil 
 
 Of travel is upon you ; food and rest 
 
 You must require . Attendance there ! what ho ! 
 
 Enter two Serving-men. 
 These will supply your wants. To-morrow morn 
 We will speak more together. Father John, 
 Though peradventure fallen in your esteem, 
 I humbly ask your blessing, as a man 
 That having pass'd for more in your repute 
 Than he could justify, should be content, 
 Xot with his state, but with the judgment true 
 That to the lowly level of his state 
 Brings down his reputation. 
 
 FATHER JOHN. 
 
 Oh, my son ! 
 High as you stand, I will not strain mine eyes 
 To see how higher still you stood before. 
 God's blessing be upon you ! Fare you well. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The old man weeps. Let England play me false : 
 
 The greater is my glory if the day 
 
 Is won without her aid. I stand alone ; 
 
 And standing so against the mingled might 
 
 Of Burgundy and France, to hold mine own 
 
 Is special commendation ; to prevail 
 
 So far as victory were high renown ; 
 
 To be foredone no singular disgrace. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
bcevk i.J rillLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. B4JS 
 
 Enter an Attendant, followed by a Man-at-arms. 
 
 Whom have we here, Rovarden ? 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 Please your highness, 
 A scout from Van den Bosch. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And with ill news 
 Thy face would say. What is it ? 
 
 SCOUT. 
 
 With your leave, 
 My master hids you know that yesterday 
 Some cunning Frenchmen stole across the Lis 
 In boats and rafts, a league below Commines, 
 And now they press him hard upon his rear ; 
 Wherefore he w 7 arns you that you look to Ypres, 
 Which he can do no longer. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The Lis past ! 
 Mischief, be welcome, if thou com'st alone ! 
 Is that the worst ? 
 
 SCOUT. 
 
 Tis all, my lord, I know. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Is it so very bad ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 No, no, 'tis not. 
 Let him have food and wine ; he has ridden hard, 
 And lacks refreshment. Go, repair thy looks, 
 And make me no such signals in my camp 
 Of losses and mishap. Speak cheerily 
 To whomsoe'er thou seest. 
 
 Exeunt Attendant and Scout. 
 
 No, 'tis untoward, 
 
346 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Luckless, unfortunate ; but that is all. 
 
 If Ypres bear as stoutly up against it 
 
 As I can do, we're not so much the worse. 
 
 Enter Van Eyk, followed by a Messenger. 
 
 TAN RYK. 
 
 A messenger, my lord, arrived from Ypres. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Here is another ugly face of news ! 
 What now ? 
 
 MESSENGER, 
 
 My lord, sure tidings came last night 
 That Van den Bosch was worsted on the Lis, 
 And with a broken force was falling back 
 On Ypres for protection. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Is that all ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 It is, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It is enough. "What news 
 Had ye of Menin, Werwick, and Messines ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 The bells were rung in each, and they were bid 
 To send all aid that they could muster straight 
 To Van den Bosch ; but little went, or none. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And doubtless now the Frenchman has them all ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 I know not that, my lord. 
 
a i.] PIIILI1' VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 But I do. Go ; 
 Thou art a wofuller fellow than the last, 
 Yet cheerfuller than what is like to follow. 
 Get thee to dinner, and he spare of speech. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 My master hade me to entreat your highness 
 To send him instant succour. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What, to Ypres ? 
 He's mad to think it ! How should aid get there, 
 With all the Upper Lis, as past a douht 
 It must be now, from Wameston to Courtray, 
 O'errun with French? I will not send a man. 
 It were but to lose more. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 My master, sir, 
 Was fearful of the burghers. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 So he might, 
 And I am troubled at his jeopardy ; 
 Far liefer would I part with this right hand, 
 Than with Vauclaire, his service and his love. 
 I think the burghers will hold off awhile 
 To see the issue of my personal arms. 
 If not, I cannot help him. If they do, 
 That which is best for all is best for him. 
 Go ; keep thy counsel ; talk not in the camp. 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 My lord, the rumour in the camp goes further 
 Than where his story stops. 
 
348 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Aye, does it ; how ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Ypres revolted ; Van den Bosch, Vauclaire, 
 And Eoosdyk slain or taken. So it runs. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh, this is worse and worse ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Go in Elena. 
 These are not matters for a feminine council. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh, let me stay with you. 
 
 * 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Go in, my love. — 
 
 [Exit Elena. 
 
 Worst rumours now will still be likest truth ; 
 And yet if Ypres truly had revolted, 
 Undoubted tidings of so great a matter 
 Had surely reached us. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 If you mark, my lord, 
 Mostly a rumour of such things precedes 
 The certain tiding. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 It is strange, yet true, 
 That doubtful knowledge travels with a speed 
 Miraculous, which certain cannot match. 
 I know not why, when this or that has chanced, 
 The smoke should come before the flash ; yet 'tis so. 
 Why who comes here ? Vauclaire himself ! 
 
■cnm i.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 848 
 
 Enter Vauclaire, in disordered apparel, and covered with the 
 soil of travel. 
 
 Vauclaire, 
 Thy coming speaks ; it tells of Ypres lost ; 
 Perhaps of worse ; and thou art welcome still ! 
 Can friendship speak thee fairer ? 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Thanks, my lord. 
 You have lost Ypres, 'tis no worse nor better. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I can spare Ypres so I keep Vauclaire. 
 Let the town go. How came you off alive V 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 The rascal burghers tied me hand and foot, 
 And like a thief upon a hurdle trailed me 
 Toward lung Charles's camp upon the mount ; 
 Half way to which some twenty of my guard, 
 With Roosdyk at their head, brake in upon them, 
 Crying a rescue, and ere aid could come 
 We were safe mounted upon chosen nags 
 That distanced all pursuit. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Why that is well. 
 W T here's Roosdyk ? 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Eating, I'll be sworn, and drinking. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And Van den Bosch ? 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 That is a sadder story ; 
 I fear he lives no longer. 
 
350 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 AETEVELDE. 
 
 Aye, Vauclaire ! 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Much wounded from Comniines he came to Ypres, 
 Whence we despatched him, less alive than dead, 
 Upon the road to Ghent. I hardly think 
 That he can live the journey through. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 Brave Van den Bosch ! and God assoile thy soul ! 
 Vauclaire, we must be stirring ; to the dead 
 An after time will give the meed of mourning ; 
 Our present days are due to them that live. 
 Let us to council with my officers ; 
 And sit by me ; for in my host henceforth 
 Thou shalt be next me in authority. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 Deep are my debts to your good- will, my lord ; 
 More than my life can pay. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nay, say no more ; 
 You owe me nothing ; what I have to give 
 Is held in trust and parted with for service. 
 Value received is writ on my commissions, 
 Nor would I thank the man that should thank me 
 For aught as given him gratis. Let's to council ; 
 I'll lie no longer here at Oudenarde 
 To hear of towns betraying me. Our camp 
 We must break up to-morrow and push on 
 Boldly to Courtray and the Lower Lis. 
 The towns to the North and West will falter else 
 
6CENE ii.] PHILIP VAN AJSTEVELDE. 861 
 
 And Frenchify their faith. It is God's mercy 
 
 That some seven thousand citizens of Bruges 
 
 Are in my host, whose heads will pledges he 
 
 For what might fail me there. From Damme and Slays, 
 
 From Dendermonde, the Quatre-Metiers, Ghent, 
 
 From Ardenhurgh and Grammont and Alost, 
 
 We'll bring the rear-guard up. The Lis, the Lis ! 
 
 Let me but reach the Lis before King Charles ! 
 
 YAUCLAIRE. 
 
 The Upper Lis were easily regain 'd 
 Could w r e but keep the Lower. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Now to council. 
 Eater Van Kyk. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 A countryman, my lord, arrived from Heule 
 
 Says that King Charles is on his march to Rosebecque. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 To Rosebecque let him come ! With God's good-speed 
 I shall be there before him. Sirs, to council. 
 
 Scene II. — The French Camp at Winkel St. Floy. 
 
 Enter from opposite sides the Duke of Burgundy and Tristram 
 of Lestovet. 
 
 burgundy. 
 Another town come in, I hear ; that's ten. 
 Now they will own I knew my way to Flanders. 
 Ypres, and Dunkirk, Cassel, Thorout, Bergues, 
 Make five wali'd towns, and Poperinguen six; 
 
352 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 And then there's Werwick, Vailant, and Messines, 
 And now comes Rousselaere, which rounds the tale. 
 Anon they'll say that I had reason, ha ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 They will, my lord. Success will couch the blind. 
 The wise by speculation know to trade, 
 And give their wits long credit and they thrive ; 
 A scrambling wit must live from hand to mouth 
 On issues and events. Prosperity 
 Is warranty of wisdom with the world ; 
 Failure is foolishness. Now all will prize 
 Your grace's judgment at its worth. 
 
 [A cry within, ' Place ho ! 
 
 
 Enter the King, with the Constable, the Lords of Satmpi and 
 Sanxere, and others, and lastly, somewhat apart from the 
 rest, Sir Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Well uncle, here we are ! Get supper ready. 
 How fast you rode ! I gallop'd half a mile — 
 But then St. Poule, he blew — oh he's too fat ! 
 Is not the bastard of St. Poule too fat? 
 
 LORD of saimpi. 
 
 May't please your majesty he's grossly fat. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 I gallop'd — uncle, what is this ? Lo me ! 
 A span-new sword — by God, of Spanish steel, 
 And longer than mine own — uncle, by God, 
 A king's sword should be longer than a duke's ; 
 I must have this ; this is a royal sword. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Cousin, you are not tall enough to wear it. 
 
ii.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDB. 
 
 THE KINO. 
 
 Not tall enough indeed ! Is supper ready ? 
 
 When shall we get to Rosebecque ? Here's St. Poule. 
 
 Enter St. Poule. 
 So, here you come, you broken- winded bastard, 
 You're always left behind. How far to Rosebecque'.' 
 Tell me, my lords, shall we be there to-morrow ? 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 Your majesty, with weather to your wish, 
 
 Might lodge at Rosebecque with your vanguard force 
 
 To-morrow night. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 And when shall come the rear ? 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 On Wednesday morning. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 And on Thursday night 
 The bastard of St. Poule. Hurrah for Rosebecque ! 
 Remember, uncle, when the armies meet, 
 I am to make the knights ; four hundred of them ; 
 The constable himself will tell you so. 
 Four hundred fire-new knights there should be made 
 Before the battle joins, and I'm to make them ; 
 My lord of Clisson am I not ? Thwack, thw T ack, 
 Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, will go my sword, 
 
 thwack, thwack. 
 You Lestovet, you Tristram, kneel you down 
 And I will — thwack — I'll try my hand — thwack, thwack. 
 
 BUKGUNDY. 
 
 Come, cousin, come, you're wanton. Go within 
 And eat your supper. 
 
354 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 What, is supper ready? 
 Lights, lights here, ho ! Come, bastard, come along. 
 
 The first of a feast and the last of a fray, 
 Has been a wise word for this many a day ! 
 
 [Exit, followed oy all hut the Duke of Burgundy 
 and Lestovet. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Yon southern sky is black ; were rain to fall 
 
 Our van could hardly, in but one day's march, 
 
 Arrive at Rosebecque ; or if press'd so far, 
 
 T would tell against their strength upon the morrow, 
 
 And stop them there. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 My lord, that there they'll stop 
 I doubt not ; for I'm inmostly assured 
 That we shall find upon the Lower Lis 
 The total Flemish host : the Lower Lis 
 They to the utterance will dispute ; for there 
 Their chief, who lacks not capability, 
 Will justly deem their all to be impledged. 
 'Twere not amiss to slack the vanguard's pace 
 And quicken up the rear, that like a worm 
 The army's tail should gather to its head 
 Before it move again. 
 
 BUEGUXDY. 
 
 It may be well. 
 Your thought is mine touching the Flemish host ; 
 It will be found at Rosebecque, and, God willing, 
 It shall be left to feed the vultures there. 
 Where'er tis met, that such will be its fate 
 I am as sure as that this glove is steel, 
 And I am Duke of Burgundy. 
 

 ii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 LE8T0VET. 
 
 My lord, 
 That this vile Flemish scum, with coats of mail 
 Not worth three folds of cloth, should hold at bay 
 The spear-heads of Bourdeaux, were doubtless strange ; 
 And yet such things have happen'd. In their chief 
 Resides the spell which makes this herd so mad 
 To brave the chivalry of France in arms. 
 Their chief is either leagued with hell himself, 
 Or hath some potent necromancers aid ; 
 If he be not the devil's feudatory, 
 He holds in soccage of a fiend that is. 
 You'll see a hundred thousand spell-bound hearts 
 By art of witchcraft so affatuate, 
 That for his love they'd dress themselves in dowlas 
 And fight with men of steel. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 At Bruges, 'tis true, 
 They dared but little less. 
 
 LESTOYET. 
 
 Me thinks, my lord, 
 The Knight of Heurlee is of late much alter'd. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 It may be so ; what, since he join'd us last ? 
 
 LESTOYET. 
 
 He hath a dirty, wild, neglected favour ; 
 Is careless of his garb, gets drunk alone, 
 Lies late a-bed, as skulking from the day, 
 Curses his serving- men, avoids his friends, 
 Is quarrelsome and very meagre-witted 
 To what he was, save only in his gibes, 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. 
 
 And them less savoury season'd ; what was once 
 An ounce of venom to a pound of mirth 
 Apportion 'd t'other way. In truth, he's changed ; 
 A moody, heavy, sad-condition'd man, 
 That had from nature a most mounting heart, 
 And re veil 'd formerly in joys to him 
 As native and as unsolicited 
 As to the lark her song. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Whence comes this change ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 In truth, my lord, I know not. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Hear you nothing ? 
 Is nothing said, surmised ? what think you, ha ? 
 Some secret discontent? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Not that, my lord. 
 More likely that he finds his knightly name 
 Something bedimm'd, and held in less esteem, 
 By reason of his flight from Oudenarde : 
 For though he will not own it, 'tis believed 
 He was at large upon his honour's pawn 
 To keep within the Flemish camp, and fled 
 Leaving the pledge behind him. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Nothing more ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 That is one wound ; but there is yet another ; 
 Whether by word, or blow, or both, 'twas dealt, 
 
 « 
 
 
bcene n.] nilLIP VAN ABTETELDE. 867 
 
 I know not, for he's reticent and shy 
 
 To a close question ; but this much I know, 
 
 That in the sleeping-chamber of a maid 
 
 (So called for courtesy) he was caught at night, 
 
 Concealed for no good purpose, whereupon 
 
 The Regent (so by courtesy again — 
 
 As much a regent he as she a maid) 
 
 Who entertain'd the damsel for himself, 
 
 Moved by his anger, offer'd to the knight, 
 
 In act or threat, some dire indignity, 
 
 That ever since hath poison'd all the springs 
 
 At which his spirit drank, and is the cause, 
 
 If my conjecture err not, that he stands 
 
 The withered, blacken'd, and disfigured stump 
 
 We see him now. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 If that be all, his grief 
 Touch eth not us. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 The contrary, my lord ; 
 It touches more the enemy. Your grace 
 Has possibly had read to you the tale, 
 Long chronicled, of an Earl of Conversana, 
 Who in the day of battle met his death, 
 Not from his opposites in the field, though brave, 
 But from the hand of one who rode beside him. 
 An ancient grudge had treasured been till then 
 When death were doubly bitter, bringing down 
 Defeat and overthrow and loss of lands 
 And ruin to his friends. Twere strange, my lord, 
 If such a fate befel Van Artevelde. 
 
358 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Yes, it were very strange. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Your grace was right ! 
 We shall have rain ; the sky looks wondrous heavy. 
 I know not if your grace gave heed to it, 
 But yesterday at noon or thereabouts 
 I heard some grumblings up amongst the clouds 
 That much resembled thunder : Pish ! quoth I, 
 The year is too far wearing from its prime 
 To speak in thunder now. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Who was that earl ? 
 The Earl of Conversana ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 He, my lord. 
 But yet again I heard it, and more plain ; 
 And then, quoth I, if this be aught but thunder, 
 The God of thunder keeps a mocking bird, 
 x\nd it is that we hear. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Upon what ground 
 Deem'd you the Earl of Conversana's fate 
 Should figure forth Van Artevelde's ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 My lord ? 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 What mean you by this history of that earl ? 
 How doth it typify Van Artevelde's ? 
 How lights the one the other ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Nay, my lord, 
 
ii. j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Twa8 but a stumbling comment of my thought. 
 When we have strain'd our foresight past its power 
 Fantastic flashes oft will come across it, 
 And whence we nothing know. 
 
 BURGUNDY* 
 
 Come, Lestovet, 
 Let us be open and direct. Thy drift ? 
 What did thy thought contain, that being stirr'd 
 Sent to the top this story of a murder? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 The honest truth to tell, my lord, a dream, 
 
 Whether by good or evil spirit drawn 
 
 Upon the vacant canvass of my sleep, 
 
 Your grace shall be the judge, — a dream it was 
 
 Showed me Van Artevelde upon his horse — 
 
 Though whether mounted to survey the ground, 
 
 Or to array his host, or lead the charge, 
 
 I saw not, — but there sitting as he gazed 
 
 Upon an undistinguishable blank 
 
 Of anything or nothing — what I know not — 
 
 Struck from behind he fell — and with his fall 
 
 Yanish'd his host. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 This was a waking dream. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 I mused upon it waking. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 And this dream 
 Thou think'st will peradventure come to pass ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 If fate so orders it, my lord. 
 
360 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Ariel fate 
 Will rind some human furtherance ; is it so ? 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Were it a thing well warranted, my lord, 
 It might be well attended. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Truly fate 
 Should do the King a singular good service 
 If this should happen. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Destiny, my lord, 
 Is oft-times worked upon by mighty names 
 Of dukes and regal potentates, whose power 
 May currently avouch her doubtful deeds, 
 If haply called in question. 
 
 BERGUNDY. 
 
 Six o'clock 
 Were not too soon to be afoot to-mcrrow, 
 If, as is likely, there be waters out 
 Upon our lines of march. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 There's light at six. 
 Two words, my lord, were warranty enough. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Why, very well then ; six is late enough. 
 Tell my lord constable before he sleeps 
 To let the trumpets sound us a reveillee 
 Some half an hour to six. 
 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 LESTOVET. 
 
 Well said, my lord. 
 
in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 881 
 
 Your grace's scruples master not your heart, 
 
 But serve your reputation. This is conscience ; 
 
 A herald marshalling each act its place 
 
 By its emblazonry and cognisance. 
 
 My Lord of Burgundy, your grace is wary ; 
 
 So, by your leave, is humble Lestovet. 
 
 If policy stick fast, be tried revenge ; 
 
 And what revenge more sharp, my Lord of Bourbon, 
 
 Than what is sprung of jealousy. That bites. 
 
 My lord, I'll pluck your jealousy by the ear, 
 
 And if it wake not, why your grace's bosom 
 
 Is not the serpent's nest I take it for. 
 
 Scene III. — The Flemish Camp on the Eastern Bank of the 
 Lis, hetween Desselghem and Rosebecque. — Van Artevelde's 
 Pavilion. 
 
 Van Artevelde and Elena. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 What is it that disturbs you ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Nothing, dearest ; 
 I am not disturb 'd. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 You are not like yourself. 
 What took you from your bed ere break of day ? 
 Where have you been ? I know you're vex'd with some- 
 thing. 
 Tell me, now, what has happen'd. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Be at rest. 
 No accident, save of the world within ; 
 Occurrences of thought ; 'tis nothing more. 
 
362 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 ELENA, 
 
 It is of such that love most needs to know. 
 The loud transactions of the outlying world 
 Tell to your masculine friends : tell me your thoughts. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 They stumbled in the dusk 'twixt night and day. 
 
 I dream'd distressfully, and waking knew 
 
 How an old sorrow had stolen upon my sleep, 
 
 Molesting midnight and that short repose 
 
 Which industry had earn'd, so to stir up 
 
 About my heart remembrances of pain 
 
 Least sleeping when I sleep, least sleeping then 
 
 When reason and the voluntary powers 
 
 That turn and govern thought are laid to rest. 
 
 Those powers by this nocturnal inroad wild 
 
 Surprised and broken, vainly I essay 'd 
 
 To rally, and the mind, unsubjugate, 
 
 Took its direction from a driftless dream. 
 
 Then pass'd I forth. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 You stole away so softly 
 I knew it not, and wonder'd when I woke. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The gibbous moon was in a wan decline, 
 And all was silent as a sick man's chamber. 
 Mixing its small beginnings with the dregs 
 Of the pale moonshine and a few faint stars, 
 The cold uncomfortable daylight dawn'd ; 
 And the white tents, topping a low ground- fog, 
 Show'd like a fleet becalm'd. I wander'd far, 
 'Till reaching to the bridge I sate me down 
 Upon the parapet. Much mused I there, 
 
III.] PHILIP VAN AIlTl.VI.I.Di:. 
 
 Revolving many a passage of my life, 
 And the strange destiny that lifted me 
 To be the leader of a mighty host 
 And terrible to kings. What follow'd then 
 I hardly may relate, for you would smile, 
 And say I might have dream 'd as well a-bed 
 As gone abroad to dream. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I shall not smile ; 
 And if I did, you would not grudge my lips 
 So rare a visitation. But the cause, 
 Whate'er it be, that casts a shadow here, 
 
 [Kissing his trow. 
 
 How should it make me smile ? What follow'd, say, 
 After your meditations on the bridge ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I'll tell it, but I bid you not believe it ; 
 For I am scarce so credulous myself 
 As to believe that was, which my eyes saw — 
 A visual not an actual existence. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 What was it like ? Wore it a human likeness ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That such existences there are, I know ; 
 For whether by the corporal organ framed, 
 Or painted by a brainish fantasy 
 Upon the inner sense, not once nor twice, 
 But sundry times, have I beheld such things 
 Since my tenth year, and most in this last past. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 What was it you beheld ? 
 
364 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 To-day? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Last night — 
 This morning — when you sate upon the bridge. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 'Twas a fantastic sight. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 What sort of sight ? 
 
 artevelde {after a pause). 
 
 Once in my sad and philosophic youth — 
 
 For very philosophic in my dawn 
 
 And twilight of intelligence was I — 
 
 Once at this cock-crow of philosophy, 
 
 Much tired with rest and with the stable earth, 
 
 I launch'd my little bark and put to sea, 
 
 Errant for geste and enterprise of wit 
 
 Through all this circumnavigable globe. 
 
 I cavilled at the elements — what is earth ? 
 
 A huge congestion of unmethodised matter 
 
 With but a skin of life — a mighty solid 
 
 Which Nature, prodigal of space, provides 
 
 For superficial uses : and what air ? 
 
 A motion and a pressure : fire, a change ; 
 
 And light the language of the things call'd dumb. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I have been told the studies of your youth 
 Were strangely thought of, but I'm well assured 
 They never were unlawful. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You are right. 
 
scene in.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 My meditations in their outset wore 
 
 The braveries of ignorance and youth, 
 
 But cast them, and were innocent thenceforth ; 
 
 For they were follow'd with a humble heart, 
 
 Though an inquisitive ; and humbler still 
 
 In spirit wax'd they as they further went. 
 
 The elements I left to contemplate. 
 
 Then I considered life in all its forms, 
 
 Of vegetables first, next zoophytes, 
 
 The tribe that dwells upon the confine strange 
 
 Twixt plants and fish ; some are there from their mouth 
 
 Spit out their progeny, and some that breed 
 
 By suckers from their base or tubercles, 
 
 Sea-hedgehog, madrepore, sea-ruff, or pad, 
 
 Fungus, or sponge, or that gelatinous fish 
 
 That taken from its element at once 
 
 Stinks, melts, and dies a fluid ; — so from these, 
 
 Through many a tribe of less equivocal life, 
 
 Dividual or insect, up I ranged, 
 
 From sentient to percipient — small advance — 
 
 Next to intelligent, to rational next, 
 
 So to half-spiritual human-kind, 
 
 And what is more, is more than man may know. 
 
 Last came the troublesome question — what am I ? 
 
 A blade, a seedling of this growth of life 
 
 Wherewith the outside of the earth is cover'd ; 
 
 A comprehensive atom, all the world 
 
 In act of thought embracing; in the world 
 
 A grain scarce filling a particular place ! 
 
 Thus travell'd I the region up and down 
 
 Wherein the soul is circumscribed below ; 
 
 And unto what conclusion ? 
 
366 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 ELEXA. 
 
 Nay, jour promise ! 
 Tell what you saw ; I must not be denied 
 After a promise given ; tell me of that. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 I say to what conclusion came I then, 
 These winding links to fasten ? 
 
 I surmise 
 To none ; such ramblings end where they begin. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Conclusions inconclusive, that I own ; 
 
 Yet, I would say, not vain 5 not nothing worth. 
 
 This circulating principle of life 
 
 That vivifies the outside of the earth 
 
 And permeates the sea ; that here and there 
 
 Awakening up a particle of matter, 
 
 Informs it, organises, gives it power 
 
 To gather and associate to itself, 
 
 Transmute, incorporate other, for a term 
 
 Sustains the congruous fabric, and then quits it ; 
 
 This vagrant principle so multiform. 
 
 Ebullient here and undetected there, 
 
 Is not unauthorised, nor increate, 
 
 Though indestructible. Life never dies ; 
 
 Matter dies off it, and it lives elsewhere, 
 
 Or elsehow circumstanced and shaped ; it goes ; 
 
 At every instant we may say 'tis gone, 
 
 But never it hath ceased ; the type is changed, 
 
 Is ever in transition, for life's law 
 
 To its eternal essence doth prescribe 
 
 
BCENB ill.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 Eternal mutability : and thus 
 
 To say I live — says, I partake of that 
 
 Which never dies. But how far I may hold 
 
 An interest indivisible from life 
 
 Through change (and whether it be mortal change, 
 
 Change of senescence, or of gradual growth, 
 
 Or other whatsoever 'tis alike) 
 
 Is question not of argument, but fact. 
 
 In all men some such interest inheres ; 
 
 In most 'tis posthumous ; the more expand 
 
 Our thoughts and feelings past the very present, 
 
 The more that interest overtakes of change 
 
 And comprehends, till what it comprehends 
 
 Is comprehended in eternity, 
 
 And in no less a span. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Love is eternal. 
 Whatever dies, that lives, I feel and know. 
 It is too great a thing to die. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 So be it ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 But, Artevelde, you shall not lead me off 
 
 Through by-ways from my quest. Touching this sight 
 
 Which you have seen. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Touching this eye-creation ; 
 What is it to surprise us ? Here we are 
 Engender 'd out of nothing cognisable. 
 If this be not a wonder, nothing is ; 
 If this be wonderful, then all is so. 
 Man's grosser attributes can generate 
 
36S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 What is not, and has never been at all ; 
 What should forbid his fancy to restore 
 A being pass'd away ? The wonder lies 
 In the mind merely of the wondering man. 
 Treading the steps of common life with eyes 
 Of curious inquisition, some will stare 
 At each discovery of nature's ways, 
 As it were new to find that God contrives. 
 The contrary were marvellous to me, 
 And till I find it I shall marvel not. 
 Or all is wonderful, or nothing is. 
 As for this creature of my eyes 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 What was it ? 
 The semblance of a human creature ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Like any you had known in life ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Most like ; 
 Or more than like; it was the very same. 
 It was the image of my wife. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Of her ! 
 The Lady Adriana ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 My dead wife. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh God ! how strange ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And wherefore ? — wherefore strange ? 
 
BOBVE ill.] rillLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Why should not fancy summon to its presence 
 This shape as soon as any ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! 
 And were you not afraid ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I felt no fear. 
 Dejected I had been before : that sight 
 Inspired a deeper sadness, but no fear. 
 Nor had it struck that sadness to my soul 
 But for the dismal cheer the thing put on, 
 And the unsightly points of circumstance 
 That sullied its appearance and departure. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 For how long saw you it ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I cannot tell. 
 I did not mark. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 And what was that appearance 
 You say was so unsightly ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 She appear 'd 
 In white, as when I saw her last, laid out 
 After her death ; suspended in the air 
 She seem'd, and o'er her breast her arms were cross'd : 
 Her feet were drawn together pointing downwards, 
 And rigid was her form and motionless. 
 From near her heart, as if the source were there, 
 A stain of blood went wavering to her feet. 
 So she remain 'd inflexible as stone 
 
 B B 
 
370 PHILIP VAN APvTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 And I as fixedly regarding her. 
 
 Then suddenly, and in a line oblique, 
 
 Thy figure darted past her, whereupon, 
 
 Though rigid still and straight, she downward moved, 
 
 And as she pierced the river with her feet 
 
 Descending steadily, the streak of blood 
 
 Peel'd off upon the water, which, as she vanish'd, 
 
 Appeared all blood, and swell'd and welter'd sore, 
 
 And midmost in the eddy and the whirl 
 
 My own face saw I, which was pale and calm 
 
 As death could make it : then the vision pass'd, 
 
 And I perceived the river and the bridge, 
 
 The mottled sky and horizontal moon, 
 
 The distant camp, and all things as they were. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 If you are not afraid to see such things, 
 I am to hear them. Go not near that bridge ; — 
 You said that something happen'd there before— 
 Oh, cross it not again ; for my sake do not. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The river cannot otherwise be pass'd. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh, cross it not ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That were a strange resolve, 
 And to the French most acceptable : yes, 
 You will be held of council with King Charles, 
 Opposing thus my passage. 
 
 Enter Vauclaire and Van Ryk. 
 
 Sirs, good day ! 
 You're soon astir for men that watch 'd so late. 
 
 
SCENE in. | PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. S7l 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 And you, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 For me, my eyes untask'd 
 Close with the owls and open with the lark's ; 
 Almost have they forgotten the use of sleep. 
 Have any scouts come in. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Yes, two, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Ah ! and with tidings ? Nothing good, I know : 
 But let me hear. 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 In truth, it is not good. 
 They say that Poperinguen, Rousselaere, 
 And Thorout have declared for France. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Three more ! 
 That is a heavy falling-off, my friends, 
 And arrantly ill-timed. Despatch ! despatch ! 
 The cure for these defections must be found 
 At any hazard. Forward must we press, 
 And try our fortune ere another town 
 Can find occasion to play foul. ♦ 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 To-night, 
 If I mistake not, they would reach us here ; 
 And better were it, in my mind, the stream 
 Should be betwixt us, than as much dry land. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 We will to council, and consider there 
 
 B b 2 
 
372 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act y. 
 
 What may be best. If they be here to-night, 
 We may abide them. Whither away, Vauclaire ? 
 
 VAUCLAIRE. 
 
 You'll wish, my lord, to have the scouts, and others 
 That are inform'd, before you. 
 
 AETEVELDE. 
 
 It were well. 
 
 [Exit Vauclaire. 
 
 And thou, Van Kyk, go round, and fetch to council 
 The captains of the host. 
 
 [Exit Van Ryk. 
 
 This troubles me. 
 Three towns, and two before ! — a deadly blow ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh say not so ; when once they know you're near, 
 The towns will all hold out — all will be well. 
 Your presence ever righted your affairs, 
 Whatever was amiss. 
 
 AETEVELDE. 
 
 Two months ago 
 My presence was a spell omnipotent 
 That seem'd of power to win me all the world. 
 But now my fortune wears a faded beauty ; 
 And as some dame, her hour of conquest past, 
 Eepairs her ravaged charms, and here a tooth 
 Replaces, where the flesh had else fallen in 
 Making a wrinkle in the rounded cheek, 
 And there the never more redundant locks 
 Replenishes — so do I waste my pains 
 In patching fortunes which are past their prime. 
 It is a useless trouble ; by my faith, 
 
in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A most unprofitable, idle charge. 
 So soon as my advance made Courtray sure, 
 Thence sent I with all speed to llousselaere 
 My best of chatelains, Walraven. Nay ! 
 Labour in vain! Precautions and endeavours 
 Null, fruitless all! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Too anxious, Artevelde, 
 And too impatient are you grown of late. 
 You used to be so calm and even-minded, 
 That nothing ruffled you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I stand reproved. 
 'Tis time and circumstance that tries us all ; 
 And they that temperately take their start, 
 And keep their souls indifferently sedate 
 Through much of good and evil, at the last 
 May find the weakness of their hearts thus tried. 
 My cause appears more precious than it did 
 In its triumphant days. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 You prize it more 
 The more it is endanger'd. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Even so. 
 A mother dotes upon the reckling child 
 More than the strong ; solicitous cares, sad watchings, 
 Rallies, reverses, all vicissitudes, 
 Give the affection exercise and growth. 
 So is it in the nursing a sick hope. 
 
374 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 Enter Vauclaire's Lieutenant. 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 The captains are in council met, my lord, 
 And wait upon your leisure. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I am coming. 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 My master, sir, has heard, he bade me say, 
 That Cassel has revolted. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 What of that? 
 
 LIEUTENANT. 
 
 He wish'd that you should know it first, my lord, 
 And judge if it were fit to be disclosed 
 Before the council. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Fit to be disclosed ! 
 Pooh ! Tell the council I am coming. No ; 
 I'll have no secrets. And for this forsooth, 
 What is it but that we are in the moult, 
 And here's a feather fallen ? Say I come. 
 
 [Exit Lieutenant. 
 
 Another stab, and in a vital part ! 
 For Cassel's defalcation is no less. 
 'Twere hard to keep a secret that is shared 
 By yonder ape ; my nose took note of that, 
 Admonished by the musk upon his beard 
 As up and down his salutations tost it, 
 Like a hen drinking. Well, it matters not. 
 The battle now is all, and that to win 
 
scene in.] PniLTP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Were to win back my losses ; that to lose 
 Were to make all that I bad lost before 
 Into one sum of loss. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I feel assured 
 That you will win the day ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 You choose to say so. 
 Elena, think not that I stand in need 
 Of false encouragement. I have my strength, 
 Which, though it lie not in the sanguine mood, 
 Will answer my occasions. To yourself, 
 Though to none other, I at times present 
 The gloomiest thoughts that gloomy truths inspire, 
 Because I love you. But I need no prop ; 
 Nor could I find it in a tinsel show 
 Of prosperous surmise. Before the world 
 I wear a cheerful aspect, not so false 
 As for your lover's solace you put on ; 
 Nor in my closet does the oil run low, 
 Or the light flicker. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Lo now ! you are angry 
 Because I try to cheer you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 No, my love, 
 Not angry ; that I never was with you ; 
 But as I deal not falsely with my own, 
 So would I wish the heart of her I love 
 To be both true and brave; nor self-beguiled, 
 Nor putting on disguises for my sake, 
 As though I falter'd. I have anxious hours. 
 
376 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act t. 
 
 As who in like extremities hath not ? 
 But I have something stable here within 
 Which bears their weight. 
 
 Enter Van Ryk. 
 
 I keep the council waiting j 
 Here comes Van Ryk to tell me so. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 'Twas I, 
 
 Master Van Ryk, that stay'd him : 'tis my fault, 
 And lest I make it more, I'll take me hence. 
 
 [Exit. 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 The council can abide your time, my lord. 
 
 There waits without a stranger just arrived 
 
 Whom it were well you speak with ere you go. 
 
 He will not lift his beaver save to you, 
 
 But boldly calls himself an arrant traitor 
 
 That left the French last night, and seeks your camp 
 
 To sell you what he knows. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Desert to me ! 
 I thought desertion look'd the other way. 
 What is he like ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 I think he is of rank. 
 In his deportment knightly eyes might see 
 What they would gladly imitate. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Of rank ! 
 This is the very madness of desertion ! 
 Go, fetch him in. 
 
 [Exit Van Ryk. 
 
 
bob*! in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 877 
 
 Thorout and Poperinguen ! 
 Cassel and Rousselaere ! And who, I wist, 
 Can keep a town's allegiance on its legs, 
 If not Walraven ? 
 
 Re-enter Van Ryk, conducting Sir Fleureant of Heurlee 
 in armour, ivitk his vizor closed. 
 
 Give us leave, Van Ryk. 
 
 [Exit Van Ryk. 
 
 Well, sir ! your pleasure ? and say first by whom 
 My camp is honour'd thus. 
 
 sir fleureant. 
 
 By one, my lord, 
 Known to your host by all reproachful names 
 Of miscreant, perfidious traitor, knave, 
 Caitiff, and cur. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 These, sir, are shrewd additions, 
 And not, I hope, deserved. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 They have been so ; 
 Had not contrition wash'd desert with tears, 
 They were so still. I am that perjured knight, 
 Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Art thou he indeed ? 
 What brings thee hither ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 That which brings the proud 
 To crave a low equality with dust ; 
 
378 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Which arms the lover iorn, the suitor cast, the sinner 
 
 caught, 
 The courtier supplanted, with the knife, 
 Or bowl, or halter — for their several griefs 
 The sovereign cures. My lord, what brings me here 
 Is of that grain — a loathing of my life ; 
 And, to come closer, such a sort of grief 
 As wrung Iscariot's heart when forth he went 
 And hung himself upon the field of blood, 
 Has made me thus (in my Aceldama 
 The sin of self-destruction partly spared) 
 To run upon your sword. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I am not bound 
 To find thee in a hangman. Go thy ways ! 
 Thou art a slight, inconstant, violent man. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 My lord, I come prepared for your disdain, 
 And slender were I in my penitence 
 If I should not confess it well bestow'd. 
 But light and fickle as you justly deem me, 
 To one fix'd purpose am I wedded now 
 For better and for worse — 'tis to repair 
 The wrong that I have done you, and to die. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir, you may live or die, as likes you best. 
 It is your own affair ; to me all's one. 
 The hurt your treachery has done to me 
 Can neither be repeated nor repair'd. 
 No further harm can follow from your life, 
 
BCENE in.] PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE. 379 
 
 Save in the sundering my time and thoughts 
 From matters of more moment. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Pause, my lord, 
 Ere you pronounce me as inept for good 
 As I am harmless. Slight me as you may, 
 You cannot cast me in mine own esteem 
 More low than where I lie ; I scorn myself 
 With such a bitterness as bars all taste 
 Of others' scorn. But from this bitter tree 
 Good fruitage, if so please you, you may pluck. 
 I have been well esteem'd for soldiership, 
 And none can better know your enemy's host, 
 Where soft, where hard, where rotten, and where sound, 
 Their hopes and fears, the order of their march, 
 Their counsels and intents. If all I know 
 With what small service I by deeds might render, 
 May be accepted as a sacrifice 
 My conscience to appease, I die content. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Methinks I barely comprehend your conscience ; 
 For sicken'd with one treasonable poison, 
 T would seem to seek another for a cure. 
 What says your conscience on your king's behalf? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 It says, my lord, that there all claims are cancell'd. 
 All ties dissolved ; for never was a knight 
 Of prowess known, more thanklessly repaid, 
 More scurvily entreated, than by him 
 And by his ingrate uncles and his court 
 Was Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 
380 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Are you there ! 
 Ah ! now I understand you. Come this way. 
 My council is awaiting me. Ere night 
 I will speak further with you. Until when — 
 
 Scene IV. — The Royal Pavilion in the French Camp at Mount 
 Dorre, on the western bank of the Lis, at the distance of a 
 league from Rosebecqu-e. The King is discovered rising from 
 supper and lidding adieu to his Uncles, the Admiral of 
 France, the Lord of Couct, and a number of other guests 
 who are leaving the Pavilion. Sir Gut of Baveux is in 
 attendance, and the Duke of Burgundy remains behind the 
 others. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 My lords, we wish you all a sweet good night. 
 Sir Constable — he's gone — Sir Constable — - 
 Eun after him, Sir Guy, and bring him back. 
 
 [Exit Sib Guy of Baveux. 
 
 Uncle of Burgundy, what says your grace ? 
 Shall it be now ? 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Fair cousin, now or never, 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 He will be mightily displeased ! I swear 
 I have no heart to speak it ! Me ! I quake. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Guy of Baveux with the Constable. 
 We call'd you back, Sir Oliver ; you heard not. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 Your grace shall pardon me ; my ears are dull ; 
 A blow was dealt upon my head at Nantes 
 That something stunn'd my hearing. 
 
bcbnb iv.] PHILIP VAN A 1 1 T E V E L I ) i: . 381 
 
 Till: KING. 
 
 Sir, the love 
 We bear you is well known ; and for this night 
 And for the morrow, out of love and grace, 
 We would that you should tarry by our person, 
 And give your baton to my Lord of Coucy. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 Most gracious sir ! I am amazed at this ! 
 
 I do beseech you hear me. Well I know 
 
 No greater honour can your servant share 
 
 Than to help guard your person ; but, dear sir, 
 
 Think how the van should marvel, first to miss me 
 
 At such a time ! Sir, do not shake them so ; 
 
 Nor do not, I entreat your majesty, 
 
 Unsettle what advisedly was fixed 
 
 To be for your advantage. Be assured 
 
 (I say it with all deference to such counsel 
 
 As may have moved your majesty to this) 
 
 The parting from your purposes thus late 
 
 Will put you in much peril. For myself 
 
 I have perform'd my function with such zeal 
 
 As doth not, I am bold to say, deserve 
 
 That I should be degraded. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Constable, 
 I know that you have well discharged your office 
 In my time and my father's ; 'tis the great trust 
 And sure affiance that both he and I 
 Have ever placed in you, which makes me speak 
 To have you still beside me in this business. 
 
 CONSTABLE. 
 
 Most noble sir, you are so well begirt 
 
3S2 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 With valiant men, and all is so well order'd, 
 That nought can be amended. Wherefore, sir, 
 You and your council ought to be content. 
 I pray you, sir, maintain me in mine office, 
 And if I err not, you will find no cause 
 To-morrow to repent it. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 By St. Denis, 
 Good constable, your pleasure shall be mine ; 
 So exercise your office at your will, 
 And I will say no more : for by St. Denis, 
 You have seen further into this than I, 
 Or they that moved me in the matter first. 
 To-morrow come to me at mass. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 Kind sir, 
 Most willingly I will. God keep your grace ! 
 All has been well disposed. The rear is up, 
 Save only skeletons of squadrons dropp'd 
 Upon our line of march : with tents and fires 
 They make a show of forces left behind, 
 So to beguile the Fleming, who will deem 
 We are not whole. God give your grace good rest ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Good night, sir constable. To bed, to bed ! 
 
 Scene V. — Van Artevelde's Pavilion, in his camp, on the 
 eastern side of the Lis, as in the last Scene but one. It is 
 night. Van Artevelde is discovered sleeping upon a low 
 couch beside the embers of afire. Elena enters. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 My lord — Van Artevelde — up, up, my lord ! 
 
 
scene v.] PIIILII* VAN ABTEVELDE. 3i 
 
 I never knew him to sleep sound before ! 
 Awake, my lord, awake ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Charge once again ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Awake, Van Artevelde ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Fall back ! all's lost ! 
 Not by the bridge — no, no, no, no, no, no. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Arouse yourself, Van Artevelde, awake ! 
 
 artevelde {awaking). 
 Elena, love, fly, fly ! Eh ! what's the matter ? 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Nay, start not — it is only my surmise ; 
 But I could deem the Frenchman was afoot. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Why think you so ? Van Byk ! what ho ! Van Ryk ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I could not sleep, and sate without the tent, 
 
 And sudden from the river seem'd to rise 
 
 A din of battle, mix'd with lengthened shouts 
 
 That sounded hollow like a windy thaw. 
 
 I look'd, and in the cloudy western sky 
 
 There was a glow of fire, and then the cries 
 
 Were less confused, and I believed I heard 
 
 ' Mount Joye, St. Denis ! ' ' Flanders and the Lion ! 
 
 With that I came to waken you. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Van Ryk !— 
 
3S4 PHILIP YAN ARTEYELDE. [act v. 
 
 I'll go myself and hearken. Where's my page ? 
 Send for Van Eyk, I say. 
 
 [He passes to the door of the tent. 
 ELENA. 
 
 Courage, my soul ! 
 Play thou the heroine's part for one half hour, 
 And ever after take thy woman's way. 
 
 arteyelde (returning). 
 
 Who is within ? 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Bid them to sound my trumpet. 
 
 [Exit the Attendant, and soon after a reveillee is sounded without. 
 Then Yax Rtk enters. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 What watch is this we keep ? Here's battle join'd 
 And none of us astir ! 
 
 YAN RTK. 
 
 Not so, my lord. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Heard you not war-cries coming from the river ? 
 
 'Tis true, my lord, both they that had the watch, 
 And I myself, believed we heard a fight, 
 With shouts and hootings on the river's marge ; 
 But sending there, nought was there to be seen, 
 Nought to be heard, nor was a Frenchman stirring. 
 This thus made sure, we deem'd to rouse yourself, 
 Or waken up the host, should bring us blame ! 
 Wherefore we let it pass. 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Tis verv strange. 
 
scene v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 386 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 It was as much a battle to the ear 
 As sound could make it. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Saw you not besides 
 A redness in the sky ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Yes, a red light ; 
 But that was cast from fires beneath the hedges 
 Upon Mount Dorre. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 This is a phantom fight. 
 The ghosts of them that are to fall to-morrow 
 (To-day I might have said, for day is breaking) 
 Rehearse their parts. Van Ryk, we'll sleep no more. 
 My trumpet hath been sounded, and by this 
 The host is arming. We will sleep no more 
 Till we have tried our fortune. Bid Vauclaire 
 And Ukenheim and Boosdyk, when they're arm'd, 
 Meet me below beside the willow-grove. 
 Bid silence to be kept through all the host. 
 What think'st thou of the day ? Will it be bright ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 A mist is spreading from the river up : 
 I think, my lord, it shall not clear away 
 Till sunrise, or it may be not till noon. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 That is all well. Send me the captains there. 
 
 [Exit Van Ryk. 
 
 I go, my fairest ! Should I not return, 
 There's nothing here that I shall leave with pain 
 
.386 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 Except thyself, my beautiful Elena ! 
 What strange forgetfulness appears it now 
 So many mis-spent moments to have given 
 To anything hut love ! They're gone for ever 
 With all their wasted sunshine ! Now is left 
 One moment hut to spare, one word to speak ; 
 Farewell, my dearest love ! 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Farewell, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And if we meet no more, a heart thou hast, 
 Though heretofore misled, and like mine own 
 Bedarken'd in the gloom of devious ways, 
 Yet surely destined from the first by Heaven 
 To issue into light. My shade removed, 
 The radiance of redeeming love shall shine 
 Upon thine after-life, and point the path 
 Thro' penitence to peace. Pray for me then, 
 And thou shalt then be heard. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Farewell, my lord. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And is it thus we part ? Enough, enough ; 
 
 Full hearts, few words. But there is yet another 
 
 I would not leave unsaid. If time be short 
 
 To seek for pardon of my sins from Heaven, 
 
 To thee and for my sins against thyself, 
 
 I shall not in the shortest sue in vain. 
 
 For reparation of one fatal fault 
 
 I would that I might be preserved to-day ; 
 
 If not, I know that I shall fall forgiven. 
 
:: v.] PHILIP VAN A.ETEVELDE. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Try me no further, Artevelde ; go, go ; 
 
 If I should speak to thee one word of love 
 
 I should not hold myself on this side reason. 
 
 Go whilst I have my senses, Artevelde ; 
 
 Or stay and hear the passion of my heart 
 
 Break out, — and not in words ; if throes and shrieks 
 
 Thou wouldst be fain to witness, stay ; if not 
 
 Content thee with one bitter word, adieu ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 This fair hand trembles. Dearest, be thou calm ; 
 Calm and courageous. I commend thy silence. 
 Yonder's the Knight of Heurlee ; he is coming 
 To summon me away. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Oh God ! I hate him ! 
 Why is he with thee wheresoe'er thou goest ? 
 It sends a very horror to my heart 
 To see his fiendish face ! Why is it he 
 That comes to bring thee ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Dearest, what imports it ? 
 Nay — what is this ? Elena — Sweet Elena — 
 She hears me not — What ho ! Cecile ! 
 
 Enter Cecile. 
 
 cecile. 
 She will be better soon, my lord. 
 
 There, take her. 
 
 artevelde. 
 
 Say worse : 
 Tis better for her to be thus bereft. 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 One other kiss on that bewitching brow, 
 Pale hemisphere of charms ! Unhappy girl ! 
 The curse of beauty was upon thy birth, 
 Nor love bestow'd a blessing. Fare thee well ! 
 
 Scene VI. — The western side of the Lis. — A watch-fire in advance 
 of the French Encampment. Two Soldiers of the Watch. 
 
 first soldier (sings). 
 Four stakes and a mat 
 
 Make a very good house : 
 'Tis ill found, quoth the rat ; 
 
 Not a whit, said the louse. 
 
 SECOND SOLDIER. 
 
 The devil catch thy breath and mar thy singing ! 
 The trumpets of the Flemish host may sound, 
 And nothing to be heard for thy fond ballads. 
 
 first soldier (still singing). 
 More happy are we than the count and the earl, 
 More happy are we than the gold-hatching churl, 
 Than the squire and friar, and seller and buyer, 
 Than he that is high, who still sees something higher. 
 Your ear and I'll tell you 
 
 The why and the wherefore — 
 He that hath nothing 
 Hath nothing to care for. 
 
 second soldier. 
 Be still, I say ; I hear a trumpet now. 
 Hark ! hush ! now — there — a trumpet clear as day ! 
 Be brisk and handy ; bundle up your blankets, 
 And hie we to the captain of the watch. 
 
KKXi vim. J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Scene VIL— The eastern side of the Lis. 
 Van Artevelde, his Page, and Sir Fleureant of Heuri.i':e. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 They gather on the left. Fly to Vauclaire, 
 And bid him when he sees me pass the bridge, 
 To drive his force along as though the devil 
 Were at his heels. 
 
 [Exeunt Van Artevelde and Page. 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 He is at yours, my lord. 
 
 Scene VIII. — A rising ground, entrenched and strongly guarded, 
 in the rear of the French Host. — The King, attended htj the 
 Lords of Coucy and Poictiers, the Bastard of St. Poule. 
 tkc. Messengers arriving and departing. 
 
 the king. 
 Here comes another — well, sir — tell me — what? 
 
 messenger. 
 Sire, when Van Artevelde had cross'd the bridge 
 
 lord of coucy. 
 What ! cross'd the bridge alive ? 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Well, well ; what then ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 He poured himself upon the Breton flank, 
 Which stumbled back a step, but rallied soon, 
 Spurr'd by the Lords of Saimpi and St. Just, 
 
330 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Who hasten'd to the spot ; and there it is 
 That now the battle rages. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Ho ! my horse ! 
 My lords, do you your pleasures ; it is mine 
 To get upon my horse and take what's going. 
 
 LOED OF POICTIERS. 
 
 Your majesty should bear in mind another ! 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Whence com'st thou ? speak 
 
 SECOND MESSENGER. 
 
 Sire, I was sent to say 
 Van Artevelde was kill'd ; so went the cry 
 Where I was — on the right ; but coming hither 
 The knight of Saimpi did I jump withal 
 Borne wounded to the rear, and learnt from him 
 That Artevelde was living, proof whereof 
 He bore upon his body, for his wounds 
 Were got in fighting with him hand to hand. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 My horse ! I'll fight him hand to hand myself! 
 Stay you, my lords, or go ; I mount my horse. 
 
 LORD OF COUCT. 
 
 Have with your grace ! I cannot blame you much, 
 Though you shall fret your uncles. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 By St. Denis 
 Rather than stay I'll fight my uncles too. 
 
PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE 
 
 Scene IX. — A part of the Field on the western side of the Lis. — 
 Van Arteyelde, attended by severed Officers and Pages. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Who's here? Fly, Sibrand, to the further left; 
 Bid Eversdyk and Alphen wheel their force 
 To prop me on my flank. 
 
 [Exit Sibrand. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Run thou, De Roo — 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Vauclaire, my lord, is slain. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Is slain — hah — slain — 
 Thou to the rear, De Roo, and bid Van Ryk 
 Keep open passage on the bridge. Thou, Paul 
 
 E?iter a second Messenger. 
 
 SECOND MESSENGER. 
 
 Roosdyk, my lord, is dying of his wounds. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I cannot help it. Keep the causeway clear, 
 And summon Reehorst to my aid. We shake. 
 The cry is, still, Van Artevelde is slain. 
 Go make it known I live. Up with my cry ! 
 
 Scene X. — Another part of the Field, still on the western side 
 of the Lis. — The Duke of Burgundy, Sir Fleureant of 
 Heurlee, and Followers. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 • Another charge like that — ill-sorted knaves ! 
 
 i 
 
392 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 They stumbled on each other, each by each 
 Pegg'd in and pinion'd. Now they're loose enough. 
 Another charge — they scurry to Mount Dorre. 
 We'll drive them up the hill, and from the top 
 Like a staved cask shall they be trundled down. 
 What wait we for ? 
 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 Truly the cask rings hollow : 
 Yea, sir, the wine is spilt that made them bold. 
 Lo ! yonder goes the King. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 What ! breaking bounds ! 
 He must not be before us. Scale the hill. 
 
 Scene XI. — Another part of the Field, on the same side of the 
 Lis, near the Bridge. 
 
 Van Artevelde and Yan Eyk. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I bleed, Van Ryk. Can anything be done ? 
 For if there can, my spirit's sight is dimm'd, 
 And I discern it not. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 To fly, my lord, 
 Is what remains. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 To fly ! Then mount my horse, 
 And make away before the general flight 
 Chokes up the bridge. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Not I, my lord. Your horse 
 Should bear his proper burthen : mount yourself. 
 
 
• xi.J IMII LIT VAN A.RTEVELDE. 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Never, Van Ryk. My errand upon earth 
 Ends in this overthrow. Bind up my wound ; 
 Give rne hut strength again to reach the field, 
 And I will carve myself a nohler death 
 Than they design'd me. God would not permit 
 That I should fall hy any hand so hase 
 As his who hurt me thus. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Whose hand was that ? 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Sir Fleureant's : he stabb'd me on the bridge, 
 And fled amongst the French. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Oh, monstrous deed ! 
 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I hid it whilst I could, which was not long ; 
 And being seen so tottering in my seat, 
 The rumour ran that I was hurt to death, 
 And then they stagger'd. Lo ! we're flying all ! 
 Mount, mount, old man ; at least let one be saved ! 
 Roosdyk ! Vauclaire ! the gallant and the kind ! 
 Who shall inscribe your merits on your tombs ? 
 May mine tell nothing to the world but this : 
 That never did that prince or leader live, 
 Who had more loyal or more loving friends ! 
 Let it be written that fidelity 
 Could go no farther. Mount, old friend, and fly ! 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 With you, my lord, not else. A fear-struck throng 
 Comes rushing from Mount Dorre. Sir, cross the bridge. 
 
394 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 The bridge ! my soul abhors — but cross it thou ; 
 And take this token to my Love, Van Byk ; 
 Fly for my sake in hers, and take her hence ; 
 It is my last command. See her convey'd 
 To Ghent by Olsen or what safer road 
 Thy prudence shall descry. This do, Van Eyk — 
 Lo ! now they pour upon us like a flood ! — 
 Thou that didst never disobey me yet, 
 This last good office render me. Begone ! 
 Fly whilst the way is free. 
 
 My lord, alas ! 
 You put my duty to the sternest test 
 It ever yet endured ; but I obey. 
 I do beseech you come across the bridge ; 
 This rush of runaways 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Farewell, Van Eyk. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Fellows, stand back ! What ! see you not my lord ? 
 Stand back, I say ! 
 
 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 Ho ! turn ye round once more ! 
 Cry Artevelde ! and charge them once again ! 
 What ! courage, friends ! W T e yet can keep the bridge. 
 Three minutes but stand fast, and our reserves 
 Shall succour us. Heigh, heigh, sir ! who are you 
 That dares to touch me ? 
 
.m. Mi, rillUI' VAN ABTEVELDE. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Nay, sirs, nay, stand back. 
 
 [Van Rye is forced off by th< i 
 ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Shame on you, cowards ! what ! do you know me ! back ! 
 
 Back, villains ! will you suffocate your lord ? 
 
 Back, or I'll stab you with my dagger. Oh ! 
 
 Give me but space to breathe ! Now God forgive me ! 
 
 What have I done ? — why such a death ? — why thus ? — 
 
 Oh ! for a wound as wide as famine's mouth, 
 
 To make a soldier's passage for my soul. 
 
 [Exit, borne along in the rout toioards the bridge. 
 
 Scene XII. — TJic same. Enter the Dukes of Burgundy and 
 Bourbon with Followers on the one side, and Sir Lois of 
 Sanxere with Followers on the other. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 Halt ye a space, my lords, ye cannot pass : 
 
 The bridge has broken down beneath the weight 
 
 Of them that fly. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 A lath should bear up us, 
 We are so light of heart, so light of heel ! 
 It was the leaden spirit of defeat 
 That brake the bridge. Shoot me a plank across, 
 And see if I shall strain it ! 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 Stay, my lord ; 
 They're pushing beams athwart the shatter'd arch, 
 And presently the passage shall be safe 
 For all the host ; but farther down the stream 
 
396 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 There are some boats, though but a few, for those 
 Who would be foremost. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 I am of them. Who follows ? 
 
 Scene XIII. — A part of the Field on the eastern side of the Lis. 
 It is strewn with the dead and wounded and other wreck of the 
 Battle. In front is the Body of Van Artevelde. Elena 
 is kneeling beside it. Van Ryk and one of Van Artevelde's 
 Pages are standing near. Trumpets are heard from time to 
 time at a distance. 
 
 VAN RTK. 
 
 Bring her away. Hark ! hark ! 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 She will not stir. 
 Either she does not hear me when I speak, 
 Or will not seem to hear. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Leave her to me. 
 Fly, if thou lov'st thy life, and make for Ghent. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Madam, arouse yourself ; the French come fast : 
 Arouse yourself, sweet lady ; fly with me. 
 I pray you hear ; it was his last command 
 That I should take you hence to Ghent by Olsen. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 I cannot go on foot. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 No, lady, no, 
 You shall not need ; horses are close at hand. 
 Let me but take you hence. I pray you, come. 
 
bobki xiii.J PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDE 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 Take him then too. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 The enemy is near 
 In hot pursuit ; we cannot take the body. 
 
 ELENA. 
 
 The body ! 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 Enter Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 What hideous cry was that ? 
 What are ye ? Flemings ? Who art thou, old sir ? 
 Who she that flung that long funereal note 
 Into the upper sky ? Speak. 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 What I am, 
 Yourself have spoken. I am, as you said, 
 Old and a Fleming. Younger by a day 
 I could have wish'd to die ; but what of that ? 
 For death to be behind-hand but a day 
 Is but a little grief. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Well said, old man ; 
 And who is she ? 
 
 VAN RYK. 
 
 Sir, she is not a Fleming. 
 
 Enter the King, the Duke of Bourbon, the Earl of Flanders, 
 Sir Fleureant of Heurlee, the Constable, Tristram of 
 Lestovet, the Lord of Coucy, and many other Lords and 
 Knights, with Guards and Attendants. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 What is your parley, uncle ; who are these ? 
 
398 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Your majesty shall ask them that yourself; 
 I cannot make them tell. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Come on, come on ! 
 We've sent a hundred men to search the field 
 For Artevelde's dead hody. 
 
 SIR ELEUREANT. 
 
 Sire, for that 
 You shall need seek no further ; there he lies. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 What, say you so ? What ! this Van Artevelde ? 
 God's me ! how sad a sight ! 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 But are you sure ? 
 Lift up his head. 
 
 THE CONSTABLE. 
 
 Sir Fleureant, is it he ? 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Sirs, this is that habiliment of flesh 
 Which clothed the spirit of Van Artevelde 
 Some half an hour ago. Between the ribs 
 You'll find a wound, whereof so much of this 
 
 [Drawing his dagger. 
 
 As is imbrued with blood, denotes the depth. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Oh me ! how sad and terrible he looks ! 
 
 He hath a princely countenance. Alas! 
 
 I would he might have lived, and taken service 
 
 Upon the better side ! 
 
 
sczxb xiii. | PHILIP VAN ABTEVELDI CI 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 And who is she ? 
 
 [ Ki.kna raises her head from the hwly. 
 BOURBON. 
 
 That I can answer : she's a traitress vile, 
 The villain's paramour. 
 
 SIR FLEUREANT. 
 
 Beseech you, sir, 
 Believe it not ; she was not what you think. 
 She did affect him, but in no such sort 
 As you impute, which she can promptly prove. 
 
 elena {springing upon her feet). 
 Tis false ! thou liest ! I was his paramour. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Oh, shameless harlot ! dost thou boast thy sin ? 
 
 Aye, down upon the carrion once again ! 
 
 Ho, guards ! dispart her from the rebel's carcase, 
 
 And hang it on a gibbet. Thus and thus 
 
 I spit upon and spurn it. 
 
 elena (snatching Artevelde's dagger from its sheath). 
 Miscreant foul ! 
 Black-hearted felon ! 
 
 [Aims a blow at the Duke of Bourbon, which Sir Fleueea.nt 
 
 intercepts. 
 
 Aye, dost baulk me ! there — 
 As good for thee as him ! 
 
 [Stabs Sir Fleureant, who falls dead. 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Seize her ! secure her ! tie her hand and foot ! 
 
400 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 What ! routed we a hundred thousand men 
 Here to be slaughter'd by a crazy wench ! 
 
 [The Guards rush upon Elexa ; Van Eyk interposes for her 
 defence; after some struggle, both are struck down and 
 slain, 
 
 BOURBON, 
 
 So S curst untoward vermin ! are they dead ? 
 His very corse breeds maggots of despite ! 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 I did not bid them to be kill'd. 
 
 CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD. 
 
 My lord, 
 They were so sturdy and so desperate 
 We could not else come near them. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 Uncle, lo ! 
 The Knight of Heurlee, too, stoue dead. 
 
 SIR LOIS OF SANXERE. 
 
 By Heaven 
 
 This is the strangest battle I have known ! 
 First we've to fight the foe, and then the captives. 
 
 BOURBON. 
 
 Take forth the bodies. For the woman's corse, 
 Let it have Christian burial. As for his, 
 The arch-insurgent's, hang it on a tree 
 Where all the host may see it. 
 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 Brother, no ; 
 It were not for our honour, nor the king's, 
 To use it so. Dire rebel though he was, 
 Yet with a noble nature and great gifts 
 
SCUTE xiii.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 101 
 
 Was he endow'd, — courage, discretion, wit, 
 
 An equal temper and an ample soul, 
 
 Rock-bound and fortified against assaults 
 
 Of transitory passion, but below 
 
 Built on a surging subterranean fire 
 
 That stirr'd and lifted him to high attempts. 
 
 So prompt and capable, and } r et so calm, 
 
 He nothing lack'd in sovereignty but the right, 
 
 Nothing in soldiership except good fortune. 
 
 Wherefore with honour lay him in his grave, 
 
 And thereby shall increase of honour come 
 
 Unto their arms who vanquish'd one so wise, 
 
 So valiant, so renown'd. Sirs, pass we on, 
 
 And let the bodies follow us on biers. 
 
 Wolf of the weald and yellow-footed kite, 
 
 Enough is spread for you of meaner prey. 
 
 Other interment than your maws afford 
 
 Is due to these. At Courtray we shall sleep, 
 
 And there I'll see them buried side by side. 
 
 THE END. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Preface, page xv. 
 
 u Lord Byron's conception of a hero is an evidence, not only of scanty materials 
 of knowledge from which to construct the ideal of a human being, but also of a 
 xoant of perception of what is great or noble in our nature." 
 
 I will beg to extract here, as an Appendix to my Preface,* 
 three or four stanzas from the conclusion of a poem written 
 above six years ago, which will support the assertion that some 
 of the opinions I have expressed, obnoxious as I am afraid they 
 may at first sight appear to the charge of presumption, are not 
 hastily hazarded, or now first adopted. The poem from which 
 the extracts are taken, was written in anticipation of the accom- 
 plishment of the work now published, and was intended as a 
 proem or poetical introduction to it. But writing then with 
 no more than a distant and indistinct prospect of publication, I 
 was betrayed into a sort of domestic egoism, which, now that 
 the time comes to print, I do not venture to present to public 
 notice. The stanzas which follow, are, I trust, unobjectionable 
 on this score; and they contain (besides the expression of 
 opinion to which I have adverted) an acknowledgment of intel- 
 lectual obligations which I am unwilling to omit, and a tribute 
 of respect and admiration which I confess that it is a pleasure 
 to me to pay in public ; and which is not improperly so paid, 
 because the person spoken of is one with whom it cannot be 
 said that the public have no concern. 
 
 * * •* * * 
 
 Then learn'd I to despise that far-famed school 
 Who place in wickedness their pride, and deem 
 
 * Dated in 1834. 
 
 D D 2 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Power chiefly to be shown where passions rule, 
 
 And not where they are ruled : in whose new scheme 
 Of heroism, self-government should seem 
 
 A thing left out, or something to contemn, — 
 Whose notions, incoherent as a dream, 
 
 Make strength go with the torrent, and not stem, 
 
 For ' wicked and thence weak' is not a creed for them. 
 
 I left these passionate weaklings : I perceived 
 What took away all nobleness from pride, 
 
 All dignity from sorrow ; what bereaved 
 Even genius of respect ; they seemed allied 
 To mendicants that by the highway side 
 
 Expose their self-inflicted wounds, to gain 
 The alms of sympathy — far best denied. 
 
 I heard the sorrowful sensualist complain, 
 
 If with compassion, not without disdain. 
 
 * two friends 
 Lent me a further light, whose equal hate 
 On all unwholesome sentiment attends, 
 Nor whom may genius charm where heart infirm offends. 
 
 In all things else contrarious were these two : 
 
 The one, a man upon whose laurell'd brow 
 Grey hairs were growing ! glory ever new 
 
 Shall circle him in after years as now, 
 
 For spent detraction may not disavow 
 The world of knowledge with the wit combined, 
 
 The elastic force no burthen e'er could bow, 
 The various talents and the single mind 
 Which give him moral power and mastery o'er mankind. 
 
 His sixty summers — what are they in truth ? 
 By Providence peculiarly blest, 
 
 
MOTES 
 
 With him the strong hilarity of youth 
 
 Abides, despite grey hairs, a constant guest. 
 His sun has veer'd a point toward the west, 
 
 But light as dawn his heart is glowing yet ; 
 
 That heart the simplest, gentlest, kindliest, best, 
 
 Where truth and manly tenderness are met 
 
 With faith and heavenward hope, the suns that never Bet 
 
 Thus nurtured and thus disciplined in thought 
 
 By kindred and associates, strange it were 
 If work of mine, though faint, should not have caught 
 
 Some colour of transmitted light, some stir 
 
 Of congruous emotion. If I err 
 In deeming that some portion of my tale 
 
 Impersonates the virtues I aver 
 To hold in admiration, — if I fail 
 In this, then what is writ will be of no avail. 
 
 But if from time to time upon the page 
 
 Some token of these higher aims be traced, 
 Some fair ideal, borrow'd from an age 
 
 Of ruder but of less emasculate taste, 
 
 Some nook whence Nature hath not been displaced 
 For Fashion's sake ; if mine it be to feed 
 
 To a robust complexion, not to waste 
 With idle stimulation them that read, 
 Then forth upon my way I go with God to speed ! 
 
 Preface, page xiii. 
 "Poetry of which sense is not the basis, &c. 
 
 Till this moment, when recurring for another purpose to 
 Mr. Wordsworth's preface to his poems, and to Mr. Coleridge's 
 remarks upon them in his "Biographia Literaria," I was not 
 aware for how many of my tenets I was indebted to those 
 
406 NOTES. 
 
 admirable specimens of philosophical criticism. The root of 
 the matter is to be found in them. 
 
 In the first and second editions this note ended here. I have 
 since been informed by a friend who was once a visitor at Rydal 
 Mount at the same time with myself, that some parts of my 
 preface have been borrowed from Mr. Wordsworth's conversa- 
 tion. I daresay this is the case. I can only wish that my 
 mind and writings were as much enriched as they ought to be, 
 by the abundant opportunities I have enjoyed of drawing from 
 the same source. 
 
 Preface, page xiii. 
 il He {Lord Byron) was in knowledge merely a man of belles letfres." 
 
 I am aware that Lord Byron made out a long catalogue of 
 books read in his early youth. I cannot help feeling persuaded 
 that there must be mistakes in the enumeration. I have too 
 high an opinion of Lord Byron's natural capacity, to allow 
 myself to believe that he could have read some of the profound 
 and philosophical works mentioned in his catalogue without 
 deriving benefit from them as a writer. 
 
 Part L, Act I., Scene I., page 5. 
 
 " For truly there are here a sort of crafts 
 So factious still and obstinate^ &c. 
 
 It is curious to observe in these trade unions of the fourteenth 
 century, compared with those of the present day,* the tendency 
 of society, from time to time, in conjunctures when the influences 
 of physical force, commercial wealth, and prescriptive polity, 
 reach certain approximations to an equipoise, to throw itself 
 into something like the same forms and divisions. Our own 
 political unions, and the effects which they are calculated to 
 produce, have never been described in a more philosophic spirit 
 and temper, or more forcibly, than in the speech from which 
 the following extract is taken : — 
 
 The year 1834. 
 
NOTES. 407 
 
 u Tliat Political Unions are an evil, no one is readier to declare 
 than I. I do not hesitate to say that such institutions are 
 fraught with destruction more than can be calculated, destruc- 
 tion to all government, destruction to all property, destruction 
 to all freedom, destruction to the very nature and characters of 
 Englishmen. I should hate to live in a country in which such 
 institutions predominated, (and predominate they must if they 
 exist at all,) as I should hate to live in a country in which great 
 measures were concerted silently and executed speedily; in 
 which men should meet together in multitudes, to agree upon 
 secret schemes and spread them abroad secretly and put them 
 in operation secretly; in which all individual liberty, and all 
 individual responsibility, without which no man can be good or 
 wise or strong or happy, should be bowed into uniformity with 
 the general will, (if through fear, bad enough — if willingly, still 
 worse,) should be merged and melted down and mingled up 
 into that great mass of ordered and digested opinion, in which 
 alone consists the much-boasted strength of these much-boasted 
 Political Combinations ; as I should hate, in short, to live in a 
 land where men should act in multitudes, and think in multi- 
 tudes, and be free in multitudes I do not deny that 
 
 such a nation might triumph over every outward obstacle ; I do 
 not deny that, in such a nation, commerce might nourish and 
 wealth increase, that she might be full, even to fatness, with 
 the glory of political wealth and political conquest and political 
 independence. But I do deny that any one of these things, of 
 all these things together, make up one item in the happiness, 
 the virtue, the wisdom, or the real freedom of a nation. I do 
 deny that, for all these things, I would consent to make England 
 a nation of politicians ; say rather of political instruments, of 
 men, that the whole together might be powerful, consenting to 
 be each man a slave. I say, I do deny, that for centuries of 
 such wealth, such glory, and such independence, I would consent 
 to barter one hour of that domestic comfort, and domestic 
 freedom, household strength, and household virtue, -with which 
 it is our boast to have been blest above other nations, and which 
 all come of the sacred inheritance of individual freedom, the 
 
408 NOTES. 
 
 free thought of the free soul, for which the worst of occasional 
 convulsions and calamities are not too dear a price to pay." 
 
 After some account of the manner in which these unions are 
 generated, he proceeds : — 
 
 "And there are not wanting men wiser in their generation, 
 with other and further views, whose game it is to excite and 
 inflame these discontents ; men who, if they can get any hold 
 by which to sway this ' huge and fiery mass of passion,' from 
 being the outcasts of society can make themselves its terrors ; 
 and there is no lack of meaning and stirring phrases which 
 spread anger and disobedience like wildfire from eye to eye and 
 from mouth to mouth. And then begins the vast and vital 
 disorder ; for as yet we have traced it only to its beginnings ; 
 then begins the fearful and ever-widening breach between the 
 very rich and the very poor ; the poor looking on the rich with 
 hatred springing from sense of wrong ; the rich upon the poor, 
 first with cold and distant pride, then with the angry and 
 jealous alarm of pride frightened from its propriety." 
 
 I have quoted these passages from an anonymous pamphlet, 
 published by Eidgway in 1832, entitled "Substance of a Speech 
 against Political Unions, delivered in a Debating Society in the 
 University of Cambridge." It is a singular trait of the times, 
 that a speech containing so much of sagacity and mature 
 reflection as is to be found in this exercitation, should have 
 been delivered in an academical debating club, and should 
 have passed away in a pamphlet, which, as far as I am aware, 
 attracted no notice. Time and place consenting, a brilliant 
 Parliamentary reputation might be built upon a tithe of the 
 merit. 
 
 Part I., Act I., Scene III., page 19. 
 
 This description of Launoy's fate is little more than a ver- 
 sification of the following account of it : — 
 
 " When the Earl of Flanders came to the minster, and saw 
 them of Ghent fly into the church, he commanded the minster 
 to be set on fire, which was quickly done, and the fire soon 
 mounted to the covering of the minster. There they of Ghent 
 
NOTES. 4<>0 
 
 died in great pain, for they were burnt alive, and such of them 
 as issued out were slain, and cast into the fire again. John 
 Launoy, who was in the steeple, seeing himself about to be 
 burnt, cried to them without, ' Ransom ! Ransom ! ' and offered 
 his coat, which was full of florins, to save his life; but they 
 without did but laugh at him, and said, ' John, come out at some 
 window and speak with us, and we shall receive you : make a 
 leap, as you have made some of us leap within this year ; it 
 behoveth you so to do.' When John Launoy found he could 
 not escape and that the fire came so near him, he thought he 
 had better be slain than burnt, and so he leaped out at a window 
 among his enemies, and was there received on spears and 
 swords, and cut to pieces, and cast into the fire again. Thus 
 ended John Launoy." — Froissart, vol. ii., chap. cix. 
 
 Part I., Act I., Scene VII., page 35, and Part I., Act II., Scene I., 
 page 58. 
 
 The history of Jacques Van Artevelde, the father, is more 
 generally known to the English reader than that of Philip, the 
 son ; for his power lasted longer, and he was in close political 
 connection with Edward the Third of England. " To speak 
 properly," says Froissart, " there never was in Flanders, nor in 
 any other country, prince, duke, or other, that ruled a country 
 so peaceably, so long, as this James D'Arteville ruled Flanders." 
 His downfall was brought about by an attempt to stretch his 
 power to the extent of substituting the issue of Edward the 
 Third for that of the Earl of Flanders, in the inheritance of 
 that territory. The good town of Ghent had long supported 
 him in usurping the Earl's actual authority and dominion ; but 
 they revolted against the idea of altering the legitimate descent. 
 " When he returned, he came into Ghent about noon ; they of 
 the town knew of his coming, and many were assembled together 
 in the street as he was to pass, and when they saw him they 
 began to murmur, and said — ' Behold yonder Great Master who 
 would order all Flanders after his pleasure, which is not to be 
 suffered.' They also whispered through all the town that 
 James D'Arteville had received for nine years all the revenues 
 
410 NOTES. 
 
 of Flanders, without giving any account, and thereby hath 
 maintained his dignity, and also sends great riches out of the 
 country, into England privately. These expressions fired them 
 of Ghent, and as he rode through the street he perceived that 
 they were incensed at him, for such as had formerly made 
 reverence to him as he passed, now turned their backs to him 
 and entered their houses: then he began to be alarmed, and 
 as soon as he had entered his house, he fastened his gates, 
 doors, and windows ; this was scarcely done before the street 
 was full of men, and especially those of the smaller crafts. 
 There they assailed his house both behind and before, and 
 broke it open : he and his people within defended themselves 
 for a long time, and slew and wounded many without; but 
 finally he could not sustain it, for three parts of the townsmen 
 were at the assault. "When James saw that he was so severely 
 oppressed, he came to a window with great humility, bare- 
 headed, and said, with fair language — ' Good people, what ails 
 you 1 why are you so much incensed against me 1 how have I 
 displeased you? inform me, and I shall make you amends:' 
 Then those who heard him answered all with one voice — ' We 
 desire an account of the great treasure of Flanders that you 
 have sent away, without any reason.' Then James answered 
 meekly, and said — ' Certainly, sirs, I never took any of the 
 treasure of Flanders ; withdraw quietly into your houses, and 
 return in the morning, and I will give you so good an account, 
 that you should reasonably be satisfied.' Then they all answered 
 — ' Nay, we will have an account immediately ; you shall not 
 escape us so ; we know that you have sent great riches into 
 England without our knowledge, therefore you shall die.' When 
 he heard this, he clasped his hands, and weeping said — e Sirs, 
 such as I am you have made me, and you have sworn to me 
 before this to defend me against all persons, and now you would 
 slay me without reason ; you may do it if you please, for I am 
 but one man among so many ; for God's sake take better advice, 
 and remember the time past, and consider the great favours and 
 courtesy that I have done you and your town : you know that 
 commerce was nearly annihilated in this country, and by my 
 
NOTES. 411 
 
 means it is recovered ; I have also governed you peaceably ; for 
 during my government ye have had all things as you could 
 desire ; corn, riches, and all sorts of merchandise.' Then they 
 all exclaimed as with one voice, ' Come down to us, and talk not 
 so high, and give us an account of the great treasure of Flanders, 
 that you have controlled so long without accounting for, which 
 is unbecoming an officer to do, to receive the goods of his lord, 
 or of a country, without accounting.' When James saw that he 
 could not appease them, he drew in his head and closed his 
 window, and so thought to steal out by the back door, into a 
 church that adjoined his house, but four hundred persons had 
 entered into his house ; and finally there he was taken and 
 slain." — Froissart, vol. i., chap. cxv. 
 
 Part I., Act I., Scene X., page 50. 
 11 Nor heeds the weltering of the plangent wave." 1 
 
 I have adopted this (as it sounds to my ears) very euphonous 
 epithet, from a little poem called " The Errors of Ecstacie," by 
 Mr. Darley — a poem which is full of this sort of euphony, and 
 remarkable on other accounts. 
 
 Part I., Act L, Last Scene, page 53. 
 
 " Lives, lives, my lord, take freely ; 
 But spare the lands and burgages and moneys. 
 The father dead shall sleep and be forgotten ; 
 The patrimony gone, that makes a wound 
 That's slow to heal ; heirs are above-ground everT 
 
 It would be difficult to find in the works of Machiavelli a 
 more characteristic passage than that from which the above is 
 taken : " Deve nondimeno il principe farsi temere in modo 
 ehe, se non acquista V amore e' fugga V odio ; perche pud molto 
 bene star insieme, esser temuto e non odiato ; et quando pure 
 gli bisognasse procedere contro al sangue di qualcuno, farlo 
 quando vi sia giustificatione conveniente, et causa manifesta; 
 ma sopra tutto astenersi dalla robba d' altri, perche gli uomini 
 dimenticano piu tosto la morte del padre, che la perdita del 
 patrimonio." — Principe, cap. xvii. 
 
412 NOTES. 
 
 A 
 
 Part I., Act I., Last Scene, page 55. 
 
 " You know, my lord, the humour we of Ghent 
 Have still indulged." 
 
 A hundred years produced little change in the humour of the 
 people of Ghent, whose dispositions towards peace and a dutiful 
 demeanour appear to have been as equivocal under the House 
 of Burgundy in the fifteenth century, as under that of Flanders 
 in the fourteenth. An indication of this is to be found in a 
 whimsical proceeding of theirs related by Commines as having 
 taken place upon the accession of Charles the Bold. Ghent had 
 been in rebellion against his father, Philip, but had been brought 
 to terms, and had never, whilst most disaffected to his father, 
 shown any unfriendly dispositions towards himself; for it was 
 indeed a proverb, that " Ceulx de Gand aymoient bien le filx de 
 leur Prince, niais le Prince non jamais." Charles, relying upon 
 his former relations with Ghent, and upon the assurances of the 
 magistrates and rich citizens that he would be received with the 
 utmost joy and good-will, made a solemn entry into the town, 
 on the morning of the 28th of June, 1467. He was, to all 
 appearance, exceedingly well received ; the streets were hung 
 with the most beautiful tapestries, stages were erected from 
 place to place on which mysteries were performed, the chimes 
 were rung out from all the steeples, and there was every possible 
 demonstration of loyalty and respect. One of the chief griev- 
 ances of the people had been a certain tax upon corn, which 
 had been levied to pay the expenses of a former rebellion, and 
 which was continued though the people were persuaded that 
 all those expenses had been long since paid. Even this com- 
 plaint, however, was scarcely heard, or but very softly uttered, 
 in the universal happiness which appeared to prevail upon the 
 entry of the Duke into his good town of Ghent. The day of his 
 entry happened to be that of the celebration of the martyrdom 
 of St. Lievin, who was the favourite saint of the mean crafts. 
 According to their use on this day they carried him in procession 
 in his shrine to the village of Holtheim, the spot of his martyr- 
 dom, where they passed the night with him, taking him back 
 
NOTES. 418 
 
 the next day to the Church of St. Bavon, which was his ordinary 
 place of abode. Directly on their way back through the Market- 
 place to the Church, stood the house which had been erected 
 for the purpose of levying there the obnoxious gabelle upon 
 corn. They knocked the shrine against the wall of the house, 
 and then, alleging that the Saint would not turn out of the 
 straight road, they forthwith levelled the building to the ground, 
 and carried him over the ruins. The indignation of Charles the 
 Bold may easily be imagined ; but for once he was brought to 
 feel the necessity of placing his temper under restraint, and 
 after incurring some danger by giving way to the first burst of 
 anger, he betook himself to dissimulation and fair words, and 
 departed from the city ostensibly in peace. — Commines, lib. ii., 
 chap, iv., and Barante, vol. ix., p. 7. 
 
 Part I., Act II., Scene I., page 59. 
 
 u And wenches who were there said Artevelde 
 Was a sweet name and musical to hear.'" 
 
 I have thought it expedient to confine to the female portion 
 of the White-Hood party this motive for placing themselves 
 under the command of Van Artevelde; though the historian 
 relates, without any such limitation, that he was chosen for the 
 reason, amongst others, that his name was " Le mieulx seant a 
 prononcer." 
 
 Part I., Act II., Scene III., page 68. 
 
 a And thou who wert a gentle-hearted man, 
 Must lead these monsters where they will ! " 
 
 It is a remark of Cicero that, " bellorum civilium ii semper 
 sunt exitus, ut non ea solum fiant quae velit victor, sed etiam ab 
 iis mos gerendus sit, quibus adjutoribus parta sit victoria." 
 
 Part I., Act II., Last Scene, page 99. 
 u Think of your mariners. 1 ' 
 
 The relatives of the Earl's bailiff, who had been slain by the 
 White-Hoods, as Froissart says, " somewhat revenged the death 
 
414 NOTES. 
 
 of their cousin, by seizing the crews of forty ships belonging 
 to Ghent, and putting out their eyes." — Froissart, vol. ii., 
 chap, lxxxviii. 
 
 Part I., Act IV., Scene I., page 88. 
 
 I have borrowed, in this place, a line from a poem by a near 
 relative, who died several years ago, at an early age. I will take 
 this opportunity of printing that poem, persuaded that by those 
 who can appreciate the strain of thought and feeling which 
 pervades it, the indulgence of a natural wish to preserve it will 
 not be thought unreasonable : — 
 
 MONOLOGUE. SCENE, IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 (The Speaker above one hundred years old) — Time, early Morning. 
 
 Dawn smiles ; around the golden isle of heav'n 
 
 Break the white-rushing clouds in paler spray ; 
 
 Till down among the eastern heights she sets, 
 
 And night, a second night, a paler shade, 
 
 Van-courier of the morn, is on the skies. 
 
 Twilight with trembling fingers sketches there 
 
 Vast outlines, mountains summitless, grey wastes, 
 
 Now caught against the clouds, and now all dark. 
 
 Forth from the bosoms of those shadowy mounds 
 
 Launch the fresh breezes on their early voyage, 
 
 And the dark eaglets from their aeries watch 
 
 The nearing sun .... Sounds, that are gathering round me, 
 
 And the half- distinguish' d landscape's glimmerings, 
 
 Rouse in my heart the waning thoughts of times 
 
 That have past far away .... a concourse strange 
 
 As haunts that eve when charnels give to air 
 
 Their white-robed tenantry ; — worn out Eemembrance 
 
 Puts forth her light, that, like the eternal lamps 
 
 Of tombs, burns only to illuminate 
 
 Sepulchral gloom, and cheer cold isolation. 
 
 These oaks have waved here for a hundred years 
 
 Since I first knew this vale, and they which flung 
 
 
NOT' -115 
 
 Around, below, a wide and rustling shade, 
 
 A green pavilion, broad and beautiful, 
 
 Have wither' d into leafless stocks ; . . . . alas ! 
 
 There is no blessing in so long a life ; . . . . 
 
 I left this valley yet a little child, 
 
 And have return'd beneath a load of years ; 
 
 Men with grey beards look up to me ; yea dotards 
 
 Ask of their ancestry from me ; and dames 
 
 Pray in their folly that their infants reach 
 
 Such age as mine ; and the babes gaze with awe 
 
 At the old Gaffer's long white beard, and ask 
 
 Who in the valleys is so old as he 1 
 
 Men have seen changes — mighty changes wrought — 
 
 And in few years — and over potent states — 
 
 Have not the raven and the vulture dwelt 
 
 Among the empty stones of Judah's towers ? 
 
 Have not the desert rushes waved in Tyre 1 
 
 Babes held the princedom of Jerusalem ? 
 
 Slaves worn the purple of most mighty Eome \ 
 
 Aye, and the growth of yonder mountain firs 
 
 Where I was wont to have my gay expanse 
 
 Of garden-ground, gives me a deeper sadness 
 
 Than mournful tales of ruin'd monarchies, 
 
 Dismantled cities, nations past away. — 
 
 Morn of white front and pearly eye ! that now 
 
 Thy kindly salutations giv'st to all, 
 
 I cannot win one joyful thought from thee. 
 
 I view thy roseate chaplettings of cloud 
 
 With an untemper'd fancy, the cold spleen 
 
 And heartless weariness of extreme age, 
 
 A weak recoil from all that's gay and fair ; 
 
 For the young mind clings at the first approach 
 
 Of Pleasure's magnet ; but we travel on, 
 
 Creep to the further pole, and are repell'd. 
 
 Life's earliest fountain-gush is pure from heaven, 
 
 And all the after-stream with earth-sprung taints, 
 
 And gathering lutulence, made foul : and mine 
 
416 NOTES. 
 
 Hath spread into a dank, unhealthful marsh ; 
 
 An obstinate stagnation. — They are all, 
 
 All gone ; — with whom how fondly once I loved 
 
 To seek this height and wander through yon dells — 
 
 None left upon the earth ; all laid beneath ; — 
 
 Death, like a kindly shepherd, came to them, 
 
 When they were straying in the vale of years, 
 
 And took them to their fold, and bade them sleep ; 
 
 But he hath been to me a jealous master ; 
 
 Hovering for years around me ; with approach 
 
 Enfeebling, but forbearing still to touch, 
 
 He tempts with outstretch'd hand, and disappoints. 
 
 'Tis hard — to feel cheeks wrinkle-plough' d like these 
 
 "Wetted with tears — Not yet ! I have not yet, 
 
 Old as I am, reach'd second infancy ; 
 
 My soul hath lost her fire, but not her force. 
 
 Dry up, thou sun, these drops ! Remembrance struck 
 
 This arid rock, and they have gush'd unbidden. — 
 
 But that is o'er ; and high Resolve hath set 
 
 Her seal upon the heart ; and I will gaze, 
 
 "With a clear eye and steady lip, around, 
 
 On hill and heath, that are the cenotaphs 
 
 Of those I will not name again. — 'Tis day .... 
 
 Back to the vale ; to men ; to life ! I bear 
 
 "Within me warm and urgent thanksgivings 
 
 For the gifts left me ; the time-scorning power, 
 
 And constancy of thought ; — the unchanged command, 
 
 And might of the invulnerable mind. 
 
 He died within two or three days after he had completed his 
 twentieth year. If a powerful reasoning faculty and an ardent 
 and affluent imagination be, as I believe, the constituents of 
 true genius, he was possessed of it. 
 
 Part I., Act V., Scene VIII., page 177, et seq. 
 It is impossible to represent the Earl's adventures upon his 
 
NOTES. 117 
 
 defeat at Bruges, with more of dramatic effect than belongs to 
 them, as related by Froissart : — 
 
 . "*fii the mean time that the Karl was at his lodging, and scut 
 forth the clerks of every ward from street to street, to have 
 every man to draw to the market-place to recover the town, 
 they of Ghent pursued their enemies so fiercely, that they 
 entered into the town with them of Bruges ; and as soon as they 
 were within the town, the first thing they did they went straight 
 to the market-place, and there set themselves in array. The 
 Earl had then sent a knight of his, called Sir Robert Mareschault, 
 to the gate, to see what they of Ghent did ; and when he came 
 to the gate he found it beaten down, and the enemy masters of 
 the passage : and some of them of Bruges met with him and 
 said — ' Sir Robert, return and save yourself if you can, for the 
 town is in the possession of our enemies/ Then the knight 
 returned to the Earl as fast as he could, who was coming out of 
 his lodging on horseback, with a great number of cressets and 
 torches with him, and was going to the market-place ; and as he 
 was entering, such as were before him, seeing their enemies all 
 ranged in the place, said to the Earl — • Sir, return again ; if you 
 go any farther you will be killed or taken by your enemies, for 
 they are ranged in the market-place, and wait for you.' They 
 showed him truth. And when the conquerors saw those clear 
 lights coming down the street they said — ' Yonder cometh the 
 Earl, he will fall into our hands.' And Philip D'Arteville had 
 commanded from street to street, as he went, that if the Earl 
 came among them no man should do to him any bodily harm, 
 but take him alive, and then have him to Ghent, and so to make 
 
 their peace as they pleased The Earl, who hoped to have 
 
 recovered all, came near to the place where they of Ghent were. 
 Then divers of his men said — 'Sir, go no further, for your 
 enemies are lords of the market-place and of the town ; if you 
 enter into the market-place, you are in danger of being taken or 
 slain : a great number of your enemies are going from street to 
 street seeking their enemies ; they have certain of them of the 
 town to conduct them from house to house, where they would 
 be ; and, sjr, you cannot issue out of any of the gates, for the 
 
 E E 
 
41S NOTES. 
 
 enemy is possessed of them ; nor can you return to your own 
 lodging, for your enemies are going thither.' And when the 
 Earl heard those tidings, which much distressed him, as may be 
 imagined, he was greatly alarmed, and considered the danger he 
 was in. Then he believed the counsel, and would go no farther, 
 but endeavour to save himself; and so he took his own counsel. 
 He commanded all the lights to be put out ; and said to them 
 that were about him — 'I see well there is no recovery: let 
 every man depart, and save himself as well as he can.' And it 
 was done as he commanded ; the lights were quenched and cast 
 into the street, and every man departed. The Earl then went 
 into a back lane, and made a varlet of his to unarm him, and 
 cast away his armour, and put on an old cloak of his varlet's, 
 and then said to him — - Go thy way from me, and save yourself 
 if you can ; and have a good tongue if you fall into the hands of 
 your enemies ; and if they ask anything of me do not acknow- 
 ledge that I am in the town.' He answered and said — ' Sir, I 
 
 had rather die than betray you.' Thus about the hour of 
 
 midnight the Earl went from street to street and by back lanes, 
 so that at last he was fain to take a house, or else he had been 
 taken by his enemies ; and so, as he went about the town, he 
 entered into a poor woman's house, which was not fit for such 
 a lord :• there was neither hall, parlour, nor chamber ; it was a 
 poor smoky house ; there was nothing but one poor place, black 
 with smoke, and above a small room with a ladder of seven 
 steps to go up to it ; and in that room was a mean couch, where 
 the poor woman's children lay. Then the Earl, much alarmed 
 and trembling, said as he entered — ' good woman, save me ! I 
 am thy lord, the Earl of Flanders ; but now I must hide myself, 
 for my enemies pursue me ; and if you do me a service now, I 
 shall reward you for it hereafter.' The poor woman knew him 
 well, for she had been often at his gate to fetch alms, and had 
 often seen him going and returning from sporting ; so she imme- 
 diately consented ; for if she had made any delay, he had been 
 taken talking with her by the fire. Then she said — ' Sir, mount 
 up this ladder, and lay yourself under the bed you find there, 
 where my children sleep.' And in the mean time the woman 
 
NO! 119 
 
 sat down by the fire with another child that she had in her arms. 
 So the Earl mounted the ladder as well as he could, and crept 
 between the couch and the straw, and lay as flat as possible. 
 And immediately some of his enemies entered the house, for 
 some of them said they had seen a man enter the house before 
 them ; and so they found the woman sitting at the fire with her 
 child. Then they said — ■ Good woman, where is the man we 
 saw enter this house before us, and shut the door after him ' ' 
 ' Sirs,' quoth she, 4 1 saw no man enter here this night : I went 
 out just now, and cast out a little water, and shut my door 
 again. If any w T ere here I could not hide him ; you see all my 
 house at once ; here is my bed, and up this ladder lie my poor 
 children.' Then one of them took a candle and mounted up the 
 ladder, and looked and saw only the poor couch where the 
 children lay asleep ; and so he looked all about, and then said 
 to his company — ' Let us go hence, we are losing time : the 
 poor woman speaks the truth, here is no creature but she and 
 her children :' and then they departed out of the house. After 
 that, there was none entered to do any hurt. All these words 
 the Earl heard well, while he lay under the couch : you may 
 suppose he was in great fear for his life. He might well say — 
 ' I am now one of the poorest princes in the world : how uncer- 
 tain are the affairs of this world ! ' Yet it w T as fortunate he 
 escaped with his life : howbeit this dangerous adventure might 
 well be to him a memorial all his life after, and an example to 
 all others." — Froissart, vol. ii., chap, cxxxi. 
 
 The Earl's final escape is thus told : — 
 
 " I was informed, and I believe it to be true, that on the 
 Sunday at night the Earl of Flanders issued out of the town at 
 Bruges, by what means I cannot say, but I believe he was 
 assisted. He issued out all alone on foot, in an old simple 
 cloak ; and when he came into the fields he was glad, for then 
 he thought he had escaped great danger ; so he went forth at 
 a venture, and stopped at a thick bush, to see what way he 
 might take, for he knew not the ways, nor was he accustomed 
 to travel on foot : and as he stood under the bush, he heard by 
 chance a man speak as he came by, and it was a knight of his. 
 
 e e 2 
 
420 NOTES. 
 
 called Sir Robert Mareschault, who had married his bastard 
 daughter. The Earl knew him by his voice, and as he passed 
 by he said — ' Robert, are you there ] ' The knight, who knew 
 the Earl by his speech, said — ' Ah, sir, I have been seeking for 
 you this day in many places about Bruges : how did you get 
 out ? ' ' Let us go our way,' quoth the Earl, ' it is not time to 
 tell our adventures ; I pray you let us endeavour to get a horse, 
 for I am greatly fatigued with going on foot, and I pray you let 
 us take the way to Lisle, if you know it.' ' Yes, sir,' replied the 
 knight, 'I know it well;' and so they travelled till the next 
 morning without being able to get a horse ; but they found a 
 mare, which they took from a poor man in a village, and on 
 which the Earl rode without saddle or pannel, and at night 
 came to Lisle, where the greatest part of his knights had arrived 
 who fled from the field, some on foot and some on horseback." 
 — Froissart, vol. ii., chap, cxxxii. 
 
 Notwithstanding the orders which Froissart relates to have 
 been given by Van Artevelde to take the Earl alive and not do 
 him any bodily harm, he says, in another place, that had he 
 been taken his life would have been in danger. If any danger 
 was to be apprehended, it was probably rather from the accidents 
 of tumult and disorder than from any deliberate purpose to put 
 him to death. About a century later the people of Ghent are 
 thus spoken of by Commines : — " Apres le peuple du Liege, il 
 n'en est nul plus inconstant que ceulx de Gand. Une chose ont 
 ils assez honneste, selon leur mauvaistie : car a la personne de 
 leur Prince ne toucherent jamais." — Lib. ii., chap. iv. 
 
 Part I., Act V., Last Scene, page 184. 
 "As ye were brave, so be ye temperate now." 
 
 " No people ever acted more mildly with their enemies than 
 they of Ghent did with them of Bruges ; for they did no injury 
 to any man of the small crafts of the town, unless he was greatly 
 accused. When Philip d' Artevelde and the captains of Ghent 
 saw that they were lords of Bruges, and all was at their 
 
NOTES 
 
 command, then they made proclamation that every man, on pain 
 of death, should draw to his lodging, and not plunder, or make 
 any disturbance, unless they were commanded." — Froissart, 
 vol. ii., chap, exxxii. 
 
 Note to the Sixth Edition.— Part II., Dramatis Pen* 
 
 Elena. 
 
 This accentuation is said to be erroneous, and nothing was 
 more likely than that I should commit an error of this kind. 
 But a friend more learned than myself supplies me with an old 
 prosodial rule, which takes the distinction of " meretrix Helena 
 sed sancta Helena," whence it may be inferred that in the 
 middle ages the name was, sometimes at least, accented on the 
 second syllable. 
 
 Part II., Act I., Scene I., page 213. 
 '•Enter the King with a hawk on his hand." 1 
 
 The partiality of this boy-king for hawking, may be inferred 
 from his dreams : — 
 
 u It happened while the King lay at Senlis, one night as he 
 was asleep in bed, he had a vision. It seemed to him clearly 
 that he was in the city of Arras, where he had never been before, 
 and with him were all the most valiant men of France : and he 
 thought that there came to him the Earl of Flanders, and pre- 
 sented him with a fine falcon pelerin, saying to him — l Sir, I 
 give you this falcon, as the best that ever I saw, for pursuing and 
 destroying of fowls.' Of this present the king thought he had 
 great joy, and said — ' My dear cousin, I thank you.' And there- 
 with he thought he regarded the Constable of France, Sir Oliver 
 Clisson, and said unto him — ' Sir Oliver, let us two go into the 
 fields to prove this excellent falcon that my cousin of Flanders 
 hath given me.' And then he thought the constable said to him 
 — ' Sir, let us go when it pleases you.' And so then he thought 
 that they took their horses, they two alone, and went into the 
 fields and found plenty of herons to pursue. Then the King 
 
422 NOTES. 
 
 said — ' Constable, let the falcon fly, and we shall see how she 
 will pursue her game.' Then the Constable east off the falcon, 
 and she mounted so high into the air that they could hardly see 
 her, and the King thought that she proceeded directly towards 
 Flanders. Then the King said — ' Let us ride after my bird, I 
 should be sorry to lose her.' And so he thought they rode after 
 her till they came to a great marsh and a thick wood ; which 
 being unable to pass on horseback, they alighted : and then he 
 thought that servants came to them and took their horses. And 
 so the King and the Constable entered into the wood with great 
 difficulty, and travelled so long that they came to a fine piece 
 of land; and there the King thought he saw his falcon chasing 
 herons, and fighting with them, and they with him; and it 
 appeared to the King that his falcon pursued the herons till at 
 last he lost sight of her, wherewith he thought he felt much 
 disappointed, seeing that he could not follow his hawk ; and he 
 thought he said to the Constable — ' Ah, I fear I shall lose my 
 falcon, whereof I am sorry, and I have nothing to allure her 
 back.' "While in this difficulty, the King thought there appeared 
 before him a great hart with wings, and inclined himself before 
 him, whereof he had great joy, and thought he said to his Con- 
 stable— ' Eemain here, sir, and I will mount on this hart, and so 
 follow my falcon.' And so the King thought he mounted this 
 flying hart, which, according to his desire, bore him over all the 
 great woods and trees, and there he saw his falcon beating down 
 a vast number of fowls ; and then it appeared to the King, when 
 his falcon had destroyed many herons, that he called her, and 
 the falcon immediately came and settled on his hand ; and then 
 the hart flew again over the woods, and brought the King to 
 the same land where the Constable tarried for him, who was 
 very glad of his return : and as soon as he was alighted, he 
 thought the hart departed, and then he never after saw him. 
 And so there the King thought he told the Constable that the 
 hart had borne him more easily than ever he had ridden before ; 
 and also he thought he told him of the success of his falcon. 
 And therewith it seemed to him that his servants came to them 
 and brought them their horses, and they mounted and took the 
 
KOTES 
 
 highway, and so returned to Arras. And therewith the King 
 awoke, and was much amazed at that vision, and lie remembered 
 
 every thing thereof perfectly well, and he showed it to them of 
 his chamber that were about him. And the figure of this hart 
 pleased him so much, that all his imagination was set thereon. 
 And this was one of the first circumstances that occasioned 
 him, when he went into Flanders to fight against the Flemings, 
 to bear in his arms the flying hart." — Frousart, vol. ii.. 
 chap, exxxvii. 
 
 Part II., Act II., Scene I., page 237. 
 
 " We have been too successful to be safe 
 In standing still.'' 
 
 When Vespasian was so favourably situated that no one would 
 believe him to be without designs upon the purple, Mucianus 
 explained to him, in a few words, the dangers of moderation : 
 "Abiit jam, et transvectum est tempus, quo posses videri con- 
 cupisse : coufugiendum est ad imperiiim.'* — Tac. Hist., ii. 76. 
 Machiavelli, who studied Tacitus for his philosophy as diligently 
 as he consulted Livy for his facts, generalises the observation : 
 " Ne possono gli uomini che hanno qualita eleggere lo starsi, 
 quando bene lo ellegessino veramente, et senza alcuna ambi- 
 tione ; perche non e loro creduto ; tal che se si vogliono star 
 loro, non sono lasciati stare da altri." — Discorsi, iii. 2. 
 
 Hobbes would seem to have had this passage in his memory 
 when he wrote as follows : " Because there be some that taking 
 pleasure in contemplating their own power in the acts of con- 
 quest which they pursue farther than their security requires ; 
 if others, that otherwise would be glad to be at ease within 
 modest bounds, should not by invasion increase their power, 
 they would not be able, long time, by standing only on their 
 defence, to subsist. And by consequence, such augmentation of 
 dominion over men, being necessary to a man's conservation, it 
 ought to be allowed him." — Leviathan, part L, chap. 13. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Part II., Act II., Scene II., page 244. 
 
 " The injury that disables is more ivise 
 Than that which stings.'' 
 
 In the preceding note I have cited one instance in which 
 Machiavelli has developed, in a general maxim, the philosophy 
 with which Tacitus seldom fails to impregnate the speeches 
 which he represents to have been delivered on particular occa- 
 sions. I am here tempted to quote another example. When 
 the Belgic provinces rose against Vocula, and placed him in 
 such extremity that he was urgently counselled to night, the 
 view of the matter which was taken by that severe and intrepid 
 commander is expressed in these words : " jS\vnc hostes, quia 
 molle servitium : cum spoliati, exutique fuerint, aniicos fore." — 
 Machiavelli, in his exposition of the various means for retaining 
 conquered and distant territories in obedience, makes a maxim 
 of the same policy : " Si ha a notare, che li uomini si debbono, o 
 vezzeggiare, 6 spegnere ; perche si vendicano delle leggieri offese, 
 delle gravi non possono." — Principe, cap. iii. 
 
 Part II., Act III., Scene II., pages 272-3. 
 
 " In his youth 
 Famed for his great desire of doing evil 
 He was elected into Testenoire 's troop 
 Of free companions." 
 
 K Geoffrey Testenoire," says Froissart, " was a cruel man, and 
 void of feeling, and would as soon kill a knight or squire as a 
 villainy — Vol. ii, chap, clxxi. Testenoire, however, was in the 
 regular service of the English king, and it is perhaps doing him 
 some injustice to represent him as the leader of a free company. 
 Of the manner in which such a company was formed, and the 
 qualifications required in its captain, the following is a lively 
 account. The parties are certain English and Gascon auxiliaries 
 of the king of Portugal, and their pay was in arrear : — " Then 
 they began to speak, and make their complaints to each other ; 
 and among them there was a knight, a bastard brother of the 
 king of England, called Sir John Sounder, who was very bold 
 
NOTES. 
 
 in speaking, and said, 'The Earl of Cambridge liath brought llfl 
 hither ; we are always ready to venture our lives for him, and 
 
 yet lie withholdcth our wages; I counsel, let us all be of one 
 accord, and let us among ourselves raise up the banner <>f 
 St. George, and be friends to God and enemies to all the world : 
 for unless we make ourselves feared, we shall get nothing.' — 
 • By my faith/ quoth Sir William Helman, 'you speak well, and 
 so let us do.' They all agreed with one voice, and so considered 
 among themselves who should be their captain. Then they 
 agreed that in this case they could not have a better captain than 
 Sir John Sounder, for he had then great desire to do evil, and they 
 thought him more competent thereto than any other." — Froissart, 
 vol. ii., chap, exxiv. 
 
 Part II., Act III., Scene II., page 280. 
 
 " Pain and grief 
 Are transitory things no less than joy, 
 And though they leave us not the men we were, 
 Yet they do leave us. You behold me here 
 A man bereaved, with something of a blight 
 Upon the early blossams of his life 
 And its first verdure, having not the less 
 A living root, and drawing from the earth 
 Its vital juices, from the air its powers: 
 And surely as man's health and strength are toh 
 His appetites regerminate, his heart 
 Re-opens, and his objects and desires 
 Shoot up renew edr 
 
 The mixed state of feeling wdiich is expressed or implied in 
 tins and other passages in the same scene, has been character- 
 istically treated by South, in his comments upon " Sorrow for 
 Sin." — rt As Solomon says, ' in the midst of laughter the heart 
 is sorrowful,' so in the midst of sorrow here, the heart may 
 rejoice : for while it mourns, it reads, that those that mourn 
 shall be comforted ; and so while the penitent weeps with one 
 eye, he views his deliverance with the other. But then for the 
 external expressions and vent of sorrow, w r e know that there is 
 a certain pleasure in weeping ; it is the discharge of a big and 
 swelling grief, of a full and strangling discontent; and there- 
 fore he that never had such a burthen upon his heart as to give 
 
426 NOTES. 
 
 hiro. opportunity thus to ease It, has one pleasure in this world 
 vet to come." 
 
 Reading this with the free mind and easy acceptation which 
 should be brought to the perusal of what concerns the moral 
 affections, no one can fail to understand what it means, and feel 
 the truth as well as the liveliness of the remark. It may be 
 worth while, however, to take the exception to it to which it 
 is logically liable, for the sake of the metaphysical proposition 
 which it involves. If the matter be stated strictly, then, the 
 admixture of better feelings with the sorrow can only be so far 
 a recommendation, as the sorrow is thereby not so bad as it 
 might be; but so far as the thing is taken as an individual 
 entity and properly called a sorrow, it must be qualified by the 
 term which belongs to the balance of its constituent feelings, 
 and called painful. In a series of sensations whereof the first is 
 the most painful, and the rest follow in constantly mitigated 
 succession, the first only may be as a pain, and the rest as plea- 
 sures, to the patient or sentient; these being felt as pleasures 
 relatively to that the foregoing excess of pain ; though all absolute 
 pains, *. e. pains relatively to a state of indifference — all and 
 singular of them substantive pains — all as comprehending that 
 first excess in virtue of which only any pass for pleasures — each 
 singularly taken, because, taken without relation to its ante- 
 cedents, the object of comparison with each is of course a state 
 of indifference. In the reversal of this order of succession, the 
 feelings passing from less to more intense, instead of from more 
 to less, is to be found the root of the distinction between the 
 pains of sorrow and those of anxiety, and the cause of the pre- 
 ference to be given, costeris paribus, to the former. Whilst I am 
 upon such subjects, I shall easily be excused for presenting the 
 reader with another extract from South — an extract of so much 
 as relates to joy and sorrow, from that writer's admirable de- 
 scription of the affections of man such as they were before his 
 fall from a state of innocence : — " In the next place for the 
 lightsome passion of Joy. It was not that which now often 
 usurps this name ; that trivial, vanishing, superficial thing, that 
 only gilds the apprehension, and plays upon the surface of the 
 
NOTES. 127 
 
 soul. It was not the mere crackling of thorns, a sudden blaze 
 of the spirits, the exultation of a tickled fancy or a pleased 
 appetite. Joy was then a masculine and a severe thing; the 
 recreation of the judgment, the jubilee of reason. It was the 
 result of a real good suitably applied. It commenced upon the 
 solidities of truth, and the substance of fruition. It did not 
 run out in voice, or undecent eruptions, but filled the soul 
 as God does the universe, silently and without noise. It was 
 refreshing but composed ; like the pleasantness of youth tem- 
 pered with the gravity of age; or the mirth of a festival 
 managed with the silence of contemplation. And, on the other 
 side, for Sorrow. Had any loss or disaster made but room for 
 grief, it would have moved according to the severe allowances 
 of prudence, and the proportions of the provocation. It would 
 not have sallied out into complaint or loudness, nor spread 
 itself upon the face, and writ sad stories upon the forehead. No 
 wringing of the hands, knocking of the breast, or wishing oneself 
 unborn ; all which are but the ceremonies of sorrow, the pomp 
 and ostentation of an effeminate grief: which speak not so much 
 the greatness of the misery, as the smallness of the mind. Tears 
 may spoil the eyes, but not wash away the affliction. Sighs may 
 exhaust the man, but not eject the burthen. Sorrow then would 
 have been as silent as thought, as severe as philosophy." 
 
 Part II., Act IV., Scene II., page 303. 
 
 " and oh t 
 
 That constable I Oh, Oliver of Clisson ! 
 That such a man as thou, at such a time, 
 Should hold the staff of constable of France." 
 
 I have represented Sir Oliver of Clisson according to the 
 impression which his conduct in this campaign certainly appears 
 to be calculated to convey. I have made him pliant and irreso- 
 lute. It should be observed, however, that the history of other 
 wars in which he bore a most conspicuous part, ascribes to him 
 no such weaknesses ; and to his character for vigour of one kind 
 his soubriquet of ' Oliver the Butcher ' bears testimony. 
 
428 NOTES. 
 
 Part II., Act V., Scene III., page 364. 
 
 " Once in my sad and philosophic youth — 
 For very philosophic in my dawn 
 And twilight of intelligence was I — 
 Once at this cock-crow of philosophy , 
 Much tired vnth rest.and with the stable earth, 
 Ilaunclid my little bark and put to sea, 
 Errant for geste and enterprise of wit 
 Through all this circumnavigable globe." 
 
 I have represented Van Artevelde, in this scene principally, 
 and incidentally also elsewhere, as not forgetful of the studies 
 of his earlier years ; and although such studies were not common 
 in the age in which he lived, and though in every age, men but 
 rarely carry such remembrances along with them after they 
 have embarked in public life, yet the peculiar course of the life 
 led by Van Artevelde, and the almost compulsory character of 
 the exchange which he made of a meditative privacy for a 
 military and political career, has appeared to me to render not 
 unnatural the combination, in his case, of thoughtfulness with 
 the activity which his public station required of him. I revert 
 to the subject here, chiefly for the purpose of quoting a passage 
 from Mr. Landor's " Imaginary Conversations," — a work, in my 
 estimation, more rich in thought and brilliant in expression than 
 any that has been published of late years. " How many," says 
 Sir Philip Sidney, one of the imaginary collocutors, "How many, 
 who have abandoned for public life the studies of philosophy 
 and poetry, may be compared to brooks and rivers, which in the 
 beginning of their course have assuaged our thirst, and have 
 invited us to tranquillity by their bright resemblance of it, and 
 which afterwards partake the nature of that vast body into which 
 they run, its dreariness, its bitterness, its foams, its storms, its 
 everlasting noise and commotion ? I have known several such, 
 and when I have innocently smiled at them, their countenances 
 seemed to say, — ( I wish I could despise you : but alas ! I am a 
 runaway slave, and from the best of mistresses to the worst of 
 masters ; I serve at a tavern where every hour is dinner-time, and 
 pick a bone upon a silver dish.' " I never recur to Mr. Landor's 
 volumes without renewed admiration of his abilities, nor without 
 
NOTES. 
 
 the wish that his writings could be cleared from the tone of 
 uncalK d-for defiance and unnecessary self-assertion which lowers 
 them. 
 
 Part II., Act V., Scene III., pa^e 878. 
 
 •• A mother dotes upon the reckling child 
 Mors than the strong : solicitous cres, sad ivatchings, 
 Bailies, reverses, all vicissitudes. 
 Give the affection exercise and growth. 
 So is it in the nursing a sick hope." 
 
 This either is casually concurrent with the following passage 
 in Madoc, or was unconsciously borrowed from it : — 
 
 " Have I not nursed for two long wretched years 
 That miserable hope, which every day 
 Grew weaker, like a baby sick to death, 
 Yet dearer for its weakness day by day." 
 
 Part II., Act V., Scene V., page 383. 
 
 "ELENA. 
 
 I could not sleep, and sate without the tent, 
 
 And sudden from the river seeirfd to rise 
 
 A din of battle, mixed ivith lengthened shouts 
 
 That sounded hollow like a windy thaw. 
 
 I looked, and in the cloudy western sky 
 
 There was a glow of red, and then the cries 
 
 Were less confused, and I believed I heard 
 
 ' Mount Joye, St. Denis I ' ' Flanders and the Lion ! ' 
 
 With that I came to waken your 
 
 I will extract here the picturesque and romantic passage in 
 Froissart, upon which the above is founded : — 
 
 "Thus when the Flemings were at rest in their lodgings, 
 (howbeit they knew well their enemies were on the hill not 
 more than a league from them), Philip d'Arteville had brought 
 a damsel with him out of Ghent ; and as Philip lay and slept on 
 a couch, by the side of a little fire of coals in a pavilion, this 
 said damsel, about midnight, went out of the pavilion to take 
 the air, and to see what time it appeared to be, for she could 
 not sleep ; she looked towards Rosebecque, and saw in the sky 
 
430 NOTES. 
 
 smoke and fire (it was the reflection of the fires the French made 
 under hedges and bushes) ; this damsel hearkened, and thought 
 she heard much noise between the two armies, and the French 
 crying 'Mountjoy! St. Denis!' and other cries; and this she 
 thought was on Mount Dorre, between there and Eosebecque ; 
 of this thing she was much afraid, and so entered the pavilion, 
 and suddenly awaked Philip, and said — ' Sir, rise and arm your- 
 self quickly, for I have heard a great noise on the Mount Dorre ; 
 I believe it is the French coming to attack you.' "With these 
 words he rose and cast on his gown, took his axe in his hand, 
 and issued out of the pavilion to see what it was ; and he heard 
 the same noise the damsel had told him of, and it seemed to 
 him that there was a great tournament on the said hill : then 
 he immediately entered his pavilion, and caused his trumpet to 
 be blown, when every man rose and armed himself. They of 
 the watch immediately sent to Philip d'Arteville, to know why 
 he stirred up the host, seeing there was no cause, for that they 
 had sent to the enemy's host, and there was nothing stirring. 
 'W 7 hat then,' said Philip, 'was that noise on Mount Dorre V 
 1 Sir,' said they, ' we heard the same, and sent to know what it 
 was, but they that went said that when they went they heard 
 nor saw nothing : therefore, sir, we did not rouse the army, for 
 we should have been blamed if we had done so without a cause.' 
 And when they of the watch had told Philip this, he appeased 
 himself and all the host, but yet he was astonished at this 
 phenomenon. Some said it was fiends of hell, who played 
 there where the battle was to be the next day, for joy of the 
 great prey they were likely to have there." — Froissart, vol. ii, 
 chap. cl. 
 
 Part II., Act V., Scene XI., page 395. 
 
 " Oh for a wound as wide as famine's mouth, 
 To make a soldier s passage for my soul" 
 
 "So these men of arms pressed so close upon the Flemings, 
 that they could not defend themselves; so there were many 
 that lost their strength and breath, and fell upon each other, 
 and were pressed to death, without striking any stroke : and 
 
NOTES. 131 
 
 there was Philip d'Arteville wounded and beaten down among 
 his men of Ghent; and when his page with his horse saw that 
 his master was defeated, he departed and left his master, for he 
 could not render him any assistance, and so rode to Courtray, 
 
 on the way to Ghent Thus when the battle was ended, 
 
 they at last left the pursuit, and trumpets sounded the retreat. 
 
 Then the King said to them that were about him, ' Sirs, 
 
 I wish to see Philip d'Arteville, whether he be alive or dead/ 
 They answered that they would do their best to gratify him. 
 And then it was proclaimed through the host that whoever 
 could find Philip d'Arteville should have a hundred francs for 
 his labour. Then many went among the dead bodies, who were 
 most all stripped of their clothes; at last there was such search 
 made that he was found and known by a varlet who had served 
 him long before, and he recognised him by many tokens ; so he 
 was brought before the king's pavilion, and the king and all the 
 lords beheld him for some time ; and the body was examined, to 
 see what wounds he had, but they could see none that appeared 
 to be mortal; but it was judged that he fell into a little dike, 
 and many of them of Ghent upon him, and was so pressed to 
 death." — Froissart, vol. ii., chap, cliii., cliv. 
 
 Part II., Act V., Scene last, page 401. 
 
 u Wolf of the weald and yellow-footed kite, 
 Enough is left for you of meaner prey P 
 
 " More bodies were left on the field for the yellow-footed kite 
 and the eagle, and the grizzly wolf of the weald, than had fallen 
 under the edge of the sword in any battle since the Angles and 
 Saxons first came over the broad sea," is the account given by an 
 Anglo-Saxon poet, of the carnage at the battle of Brunnaburgh, 
 a.d. 938. It is quoted by Mr. Southey, whose unequalled com- 
 mand of the materials which poetry supplies for the elucidation 
 of history, is nowhere more apparent than in the work in which 
 this quotation occurs, the Naval History of England. 
 
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