rillLlP VAN ARTEVELDE 
 
 5?l Dm mat if Womanrr. 
 
 IN TWO 1', VI ITS.
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE; 
 
 ^ dramatic Enmame. 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
 BY HENRY TAYLOR. 
 
 Dramatica Poesis est veluti Historia spectabilis" 
 
 Bacon db Avojibntis. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXLIV.
 
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. 
 
 This Book, though it should travel far and wide 
 
 As ever unripe Author's quick conceit 
 
 Could feign his page dispers'd, 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 embellished 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 sequestered seat. 
 
 ENGLISH
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 TO THE THIRD EDITION. 
 
 !>• 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 pub- 
 lications, and in the alteration of a few lines here and 
 there, made for the most part with a view to conso- 
 lidate the rhj-thm. 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 ;
 
 Tiii ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 yet the Author trusts that much improvement has 
 been eifected by the I'emoval 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 connection or separation. 
 
 LoN'DON, January, 1844.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 As this work, consisting of two Plays and an Inter- 
 lude, is equal in length to about six such plays as are 
 adapted to representation, it is almost unnecessary to 
 say that it was not intended for the stage. It is pro- 
 perly 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 abso- 
 lutely 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 to the admirers of that 
 highly coloured poetry which has been popular in these 
 latter years. If in the strictures which, with this
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 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 defei'ence 
 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 lite- 
 rature that every man of letters should maintain. 
 
 My views have not, in ti'uth, been founded upon any 
 predisposition to depreciate the popular poetry of the 
 times. It will always produce a powerful impression 
 upon very young readei-s, 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 
 Avill 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 after- 
 wai'ds. The poetical taste, to which some of the popular 
 poets of this cen tury gave birth, appeal's at present to 
 maintain a more uusha-ken dominion over the writers 
 of poetry, than over its readers. 
 
 These poets were characterised by great sensibility
 
 PREFACE. xi 
 
 and fervour, by a profusion of imagery, by force and 
 beauty of language, and by a vei'sification peculiarly 
 easy and adroit, and abounding in that sort of melody, 
 which, by its very obvious cadeuces, 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 indiffei'ence to 
 higher, graver, and moi^e 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 T 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 pos- 
 sessed, that it never seemed to be felt that anything 
 was deficient in them. Yet their deficiencies were 
 not unimportant. They wanted, in the first place, 
 subject matter. A feeling came more easily to them
 
 xii PRtiFACE!. 
 
 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 incon- 
 gruous, if suffered to mix with the strains of impas- 
 sioned 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- 
 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, though it may be excellent of its kind, will not
 
 PREFACE. xiii 
 
 long be reputed to be poetry of the highest order. 
 It may move the feehngs aud charm the fancy ; but 
 faihng 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 
 ^NTiter's mind is not difficult to understand, and suf- 
 ficiently explains the growth of his taste. 
 
 Had he united a philosophical intellect with his pecu- 
 liarly 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 philoso- 
 pher. ^Yhatever Lord Byron's natural powers may 
 have been, idleness and light reading, an early ac- 
 quisition 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 studies as would have tended 
 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 mould- 
 ing spirit, with a want of material to work up, — a
 
 great command of language, with a want of any views 
 or reflections which, if unembelUshed by imagery, or 
 unassociated with passionate feelings, it would be 
 very much worth while to express. Page after page 
 throughout his earlier poems, there is the same unin- 
 formed 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 ingem- 
 stiiium, or wit-stand : he felt, apparently, that the 
 food on which he had fed his mind had not been 
 invigorating ; but it 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 
 could recommend them to attention l)y such wit, bril- 
 liancy, 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, as- 
 sumed for purposes of effect. But whilst his ignorance 
 of the better elements of human nature may be 
 believed to have been in a great measure aff'ected,
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 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 imperfect 
 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 phi- 
 losophy, 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 tlie 
 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 percep- 
 tion 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 mystei'y 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 judg- 
 ment, would certainly excite no sentiment of admu-a- 
 tion, even if they did not provoke contempt. When
 
 xvi PREFACE. 
 
 the conduct and feelings attributed to them are reduced 
 into prose, and brought to the test of a rational con- 
 sideration, they must be perceived to be beings in 
 whom there is no strength, except that of their in- 
 tensely 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 
 novelty than for soundness. The public required 
 nothing more ; and if he himself was bi'ought 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 
 readei's, have been left equally without check or
 
 PREFACE. xvii 
 
 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 admu'e his poetry so ardently as they did, 
 do not appear in general to have transferred their 
 admiration to any worthier object. 
 
 Nor can it be said that anything better, or indeed 
 anything half so good, has been subsequently produced. 
 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 there- 
 fore 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 baiTen of understanding. 
 
 It may be proper, however, to take a distinction 
 between the ordinary Byronian poetry, and that which 
 may be considered as the offspring, either in the first 
 or second generation, of the genius of Mr. Shelley. 
 Mr. Shelley was a person of a more powerful and ex- 
 pansive imagination than Lord Byron, but he was 
 inferior to him in those practical abilities, which (unac- 
 ceptable as such an opinion may be to those who believe 
 themselves to be writing under the guidance of inspi- 
 ration) are essential to the production of consummate 
 poetry. The editor of Mr. Shelley's posthumous poems
 
 xviii PREFACE. 
 
 apologises for the publication of some fragments in Sl 
 very incomplete state, by remarking how much "more 
 than every other poet of the present day, every line 
 and 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 pecuhar. 
 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 foi'ms 
 and combinations in which they are never to be seen 
 through the mei'e 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 phautasma or a vision. A 
 poet is, in his estimation, (if I may venture to infer his 
 principles fi'om his practice,) purely and pre-eminently 
 a visionary. ]\Iuch 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 m this kind no more enriched 
 by having read Mr. Shelley's poems, than by having 
 gazed on so many gorgeously coloured clouds in an
 
 PREFACE. xix 
 
 evening sky. Surpassingly beautiful they were whilst 
 before his eyes ; but forasmuch as they had no rele- 
 vancy 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 understood to 
 oppugn, is the strange opinion which seems to prevail 
 amongst certain of our ^vriters 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, which is in- 
 compatible with the attributes of a sound understand- 
 ing and a just judgment, may make a rhapsodist, 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 passion 
 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
 
 XX PREFACE. 
 
 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 *." 
 
 Mx\ Shelley and his disciples, however, — the fol- 
 lowers (if I may so call them) of the phantastic 
 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 supre- 
 macy 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 expec 
 tation that he will find my work free either from the 
 faults v.'hich 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 ob- 
 serve, 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 censurable, 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
 
 PREFACE. xxi 
 
 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, admiration for the 
 powers which 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 capa- 
 bilities. 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 
 when it is misdirected or blindly indulged. There is 
 perhaps nothing which more enlarges or enriches the 
 mind, than the disposition to lay it genially open to 
 impressions of pleasure from the exercise of every 
 species of talent ; nothing by which it is more impo- 
 verished than 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 stultify- 
 ing the understanding. 
 
 London, Mav, 1834.
 
 IXTEODUCTION. 
 
 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 bailiifs 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.j and some of these crafts 
 were occasionally well affected towards the Earl, at the
 
 sxiy INTRODUCTION. 
 
 same time that others were disposed to rebellion. But 
 the chief opposition was between the rich inhabitants 
 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 circumstances 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 exclu- 
 sive possession or controul of the navigation up the 
 Lis. Like the " Crowning City'''' of moi'e ancient 
 days, '■^ tlie 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 entei-priser, 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 attempt of the people of
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxv 
 
 Bruges, supported by the Earl, to revive an old usage 
 of Ghent, by which all the disaffected were accustomed 
 to form themselves into a corps, distinguished 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 tliere to 
 deliver him ; but he hath plainly answered that he 
 will not deliver him, which is evidently against the 
 b
 
 xxvi INTRODLXTION. 
 
 privilege of this town of Ghent ; and so thereby 
 your privileges will be by degrees broken, which have 
 liitherto been so nobly and so highly praised, and 
 ))esides that, so well kept and maintained, that none 
 durst break them, and that the most noble Knight of 
 Flandei's 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 extendeth 
 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 baihff 
 auswei'ed, * What needeth all these words for a ma- 
 riner?' 'Say,' quoth the bailiff, who was named Roger 
 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 keeping 
 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 w^ere formed into companies, with captains 
 over them. The Earl then sent his bailiff to Ghent 
 
 i
 
 IXTRODUCTIOX. xxvii 
 
 with two hundred men, to seize and execute John 
 Lyon and other captains. This brought on an en- 
 counter 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 Flanders and 
 the town of Ghent, and in which the principal towns 
 on the part of the Earl were Bruges, Oudenarde, 
 Dendermonde, Lisle, and Tournay ; and those on the 
 part of Ghent were Damme, Ypres, Courtray, Gram- 
 mont, 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 pai't of Ghent would 
 bring on a general rising, almost throughout Christen- 
 dom, 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 Flamand deterred them from pulling down 
 the Louvre, by urging the expediency of waiting to see 
 what success might attend the Flemish insurgents. 
 At Rheims, Chalons on the Marne, at Orleans, Beau- 
 voisin, the like designs were entertained. " The
 
 xxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 rebellion of the Jacquerie," says Froissart, " was 
 never so terrible as this 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 contemporaneous, and not uncon- 
 nected 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 originated 
 are immediately conuected with those of my 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 Flanders towards the end of the 
 fourteenth centurv.
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 fart tije S^ixst 
 
 "So arts, no letters, no society, — and, which is -worst of all, continual 
 fear and dang-er of violent death, and the life of Man, solitary, poor, nasty, 
 brutish, and short." 
 
 LavTATHAN, Part I. c. 18.
 
 Bcamatis ^ergonar. 
 
 MEN OF GHENT. 
 
 Philip Van Artevelde. 
 Peter Van den Bosch, ~, 
 
 Sir Guy, Lord of Occo, ^ , ^ ., „r, .. „ ^ 
 Peter Van Nuitre, \ ^^«'^^'** ^-^ ^''^ WhitcHoods. 
 
 Frans Ackerman, J 
 
 Van Aeswyn, Squire to Sir Guy'o/ Occo. 
 Henry Van Drongelen, Page to Van Artevelde. 
 Father John op Heda, a Monk, formerly Preceptor to Van 
 Artevelde. 
 
 Van Mtok f -^^^"* ^-^^^^ ^^ '^'^ Crafts. 
 
 Ukenheim. a Citizen. 
 
 Sir SriviON Bette, -j 
 
 Sir Guisebert Grutt, ^ Wealthy Citizens. 
 
 Myk Steensel, J 
 
 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 JVan 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 of Occo, meeting Sm Simox Bette and Sir 
 
 GlISEBERT 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 S. 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 G. Yea, my lord : 
 
 It looks not well when nobles fall away 
 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 vour sometime selves 
 \2
 
 4 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Bore less goodwill towards 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 G. Truly, why not ? 
 
 To whoso merits it 'twill freely fall ; 
 So give us leave to make a good report 
 Of how you stand affected. 'T were 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 pai'ticular ransom, — though, to say truth, 
 The Earl should do himself but little service 
 Were he to deal too hardly with us all. 
 
 Sir S. 'Tis fairly spoken, sir. When we come back. 
 Bringing conditions with us as we trust, 
 We '11 look for aid from you amongst the Commons. 
 For truly there are here a sort of ci'afts 
 So factious still for war, and obstinate. 
 That we shall be endangered. Suing for peace 
 Is ever treason to the White-Hoods. Well, 
 We 'II look for your support. 
 
 Occo. God speed you, su's. 
 
 To fair conditions you shall find me friendly. 
 
 lExeiint Sir Simon Bette, and Sir Guisebert 
 Grutt. Van Aeswyn comes forward. 
 
 Aeswyn. 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 :
 
 SCENE n.l PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 5 
 
 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 any of her swains. 
 
 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 Merestt/n. 
 
 Adriaxa A' an Merestyx, and Clara Van Artevelde. 
 
 Clara. I do not bid thee take him or refuse him ; 
 I only say, think twice. 
 
 Adri. 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. 
 
 Adri. Yours ? why there 's Sir Walter. 
 
 Clara. Sir Walter ? very good ; but he 's at Bruges. 
 I want one here. 
 
 Adri. On days of truce he comes. 
 
 Clara. I want one every day. Besides, the war 
 Will never slacken now ; a truce to truces. 
 And though on moonless, cloud-encompassed nights, 
 He will, in his discretion, truce or none, 
 Hazard a trip, yet should he be discovered,
 
 6 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 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. 
 
 Adri. 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 ' no' 
 To pluck the sting. What think you I should say ? 
 
 Clara. 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 false. 
 Boastful, malicious ; that your wit is craft, 
 Your merriment unseemly, sadness sour ; 
 Your riches (which ai'e plunder) spent in pride. 
 Your favour got by fawning, your ill-will 
 Bestowed on worth, your injui-ies on your betters ; 
 That scorn (which masks your fear) of what is wise, 
 Noble, and honest, is your breath of life. 
 Detraction your fifth element. 
 
 Adri. 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 ; 
 That your blank eyes are borrowed of a fish, 
 Your eyebrows bald, your stony forehead low, 
 Your hair the colour of a blanket soiled ; 
 And for your bleak complexion, they aver 
 It comes of coldness of your blood ; your nose,
 
 SLE.VE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 7 
 
 They say, is built on spandrils and upturned 
 With an unmannerly and flaunting scoff 
 At neighbour mouth, only because his air 
 Is homely and uncouth, and that he's grovsTi, 
 Through a continual bandying of big words, 
 More sizeable than comely ; for your beard 
 They vow 'tis like your cook, that fattened is 
 With errant scraps and intercepted sops : — 
 All which imaginations, good my lord, 
 Grossly as they may counterfeit defect 
 Where merit most abounds, are yet so clenched 
 With cramps and dovetails in the minds of men. 
 That in despite of that so high esteem 
 In which I hold you, and against my will, 
 I am constrained to say your lordship's scullion 
 Should sooner be my husband than yourself. 
 
 Adri. Thanks for your counsel ; cunning is the maid 
 That can convert a lover to a fi'iend, 
 And you have imped me with a new device. 
 But look I 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, 
 It makes me merriest to see a boy 
 That wants to be a man. 
 
 Adri. His want fulfilled. 
 
 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 Adriaua 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 X 
 
 Clara. Why, when our pages steal away our loves,
 
 3 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act f. 
 
 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. 
 
 Clara. Who was it tlien ? Well—' kissing goes by 
 favour ' — 
 So saith the proverb ; truly, more 's 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 kissed my pug and parrot, 
 I have the matter of a mouthful left. 
 For fear of waste that 's worse FU spend them liere. 
 
 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. 
 
 Adri. 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 ? 
 
 Page. I am almost as old as you. 
 
 Clara. I grant thee ; 
 
 But we are women when boys 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 1
 
 scEXE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 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 fi'uitage, I should say to thee, 
 ' Rob me this orchard.' Then wouldst thou reply, 
 ' 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 ! 
 
 Adri. I am sore perplexed. 
 
 What shall I say ? 
 
 Clara. My counsel you have heard, 
 
 And partly shghted, wherefore seek to better ; 
 Take we direction from our full-grown friend. 
 Henry, a knight will presently be here 
 To ask our Adriana's hand in marriage : 
 What shall she answer ? 
 
 Page. Let her say — ^ ^ly 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. 
 
 Adri. Prithee, what truth ? There 's nothing to be 
 hidden. 
 
 Clara. There's nothing can from Clara. But enough; 
 We'll talk of that in season ; the knight comes. 
 
 Enter the Lord of Occo. 
 Occo. Fairest of ladies ! an unworthy knight 
 Does homage to your beauty. 
 
 Adri. 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 
 b3
 
 10 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act f. 
 
 And kindly converse I am brightened ever, — 
 A daughter of the House of Artevelde. 
 
 Occo. Fair damsel, I am happy in the fortune 
 Which shines upon me from two spheres at once. 
 
 Clara. Fair sir, I thank you 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 pei-formed 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 inspir'dyour 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 surviv'd ? 
 
 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 burned 
 By firing of a barn to which they'd fled. 
 
 Clara. Ah, was it so ? At Zeveren then surely — 
 
 Occo. What happened 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.
 
 scEXE ir.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 11 
 
 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 '11 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. 
 
 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 ; 
 Let 's to the poultry-yard and win our spurs. 
 Give you good day, my lord. 
 
 lExeiint Clara and Page. 
 
 Occo. A merry lady 
 
 Your friend appears ; but now that she is gone, 
 1 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 eartli 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 thii'st, and I must glut it now, 
 Or like a dog by summer solstice parch'd 
 I shall go mad. 
 
 Adri. no, my lord, your pardon ; 
 
 You flatter me or else deceive yourself ; 
 But, so far as I may, I yield you thanks,
 
 12 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Lamenting that I cannot be so grateful 
 As you may think I ought, 
 
 Occo. Nay, lady, nay : 
 
 Deem that I've been tormented long enough 
 And let this coyness have a timely end . 
 
 Adri. 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 ? 
 
 Adri. 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. 
 
 Adri. 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. 
 
 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 hira in the house of life ! 
 Who rides this way and waves that long salute ? 
 PhiHp Van Artevelde, as I'm a knight ! 
 Then no more need I knowledge of the stars.
 
 scENK III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Scene III.— The Stadt-Hoiise. 
 Enter Myk ^tee^sk-l, folloiced by several Burghers. 
 
 Alyk. And who is Van den Bosch, resolve me that : 
 I say, sirs, who is he to lay on taxes ? 
 
 1st Burgh. Or Ackerraan, or Lauuoy, who are they ? 
 
 Mi/k. 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. 
 
 2nd Burgh. Why, look you, sii's, our case stands 
 simply here : 
 The Earl of Flanders is a valiant lord. 
 And was a gracious master, till the Devil, 
 Who never sleeps, awakened them of Bruges 
 To dig about the Lis to turn the water. 
 But what, sirs, — we have fought enough for that. 
 
 3Ii/k. 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 Deaxs of the Crafts. 
 
 1*^^ Dean. Friends, have ye heard the news ? 
 
 Myk. 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. 
 
 '2nd Dean. No, this is what you '11 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 ? 
 
 2nd 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 ! '
 
 14 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 But from that force tlirice-told there came the cry 
 
 Of ' Flanders with the Lion of the Bastard ! ' 
 
 So then the battle joined, and they of Ghent 
 
 Gave back and opened after three hours' fight ; 
 
 And hardly flying had they gained Nivelle, 
 
 When the Earl's vanguard came upon their rear 
 
 Ere they could close the gate, and entered with them. 
 
 Then all were slain save Launoy and his guard, 
 
 Who barricaded in the minster tower 
 
 Made desperate resistance, whei-eupon 
 
 The Earl waxed wrothful and bade fire the church. 
 
 1*^ Burgh. Say'st thou ? sacrilege accursed ! 
 Was 't done ? 
 
 2nd 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 laughed 
 And mocked 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 reached 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. 
 
 Is; Burgh. A brave end. 
 
 'Tis certain we must now make peace betimes ; 
 The city will be starved else — Will be, said 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 '11 not have peace ; for well w ots 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 !
 
 SCENE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 1.". 
 
 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. 
 
 Burghs. 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 dev Bosch, Fraxs Ackerman, and the Lord of Occo, 
 with a retinue 0/ White- Hoods. 
 
 Van den B. Good morrow, worthy friends ; good 
 moiTow, 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. 
 And fasts and fills his belly with the east wind I 
 Poor souls and virtuous citizens they are ! 
 'Tis they that keep the franchises of Ghent. 
 But what I they must be fed ; they must have meat I 
 Sirs, have ye brought me these five hundred mai'ks 
 That they demanded ? 
 
 JMyk. 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 ; 
 But 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
 
 16 PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE, [act i. 
 
 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 B. 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. 
 As these thou seest about me. How can I, 
 Think you, give warranty that some good soul, 
 Inflam'd with anger at thy foolish speech. 
 May not cut out thy tongue and slit thy nose 
 For uttering of such treasons — how, indeed ? 
 
 Myk. Thouthink'st by thistohound 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 B. Oh, ho ! my masters ! 
 
 '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 pi'ay 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 '11 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 ?
 
 SCENE irr.j PHILIP TAX ARTEVELDE. ]7 
 
 Or sleeping off the wine of yesternight, 
 
 And deeming this some tustle with your wives 
 
 Fur puUing of a blanket here or there ! 
 
 Five hundred marks — begone, and bring the money. 
 
 BTijk. Begone we will. Let's to our homes,my friends. 
 And what we '11 bring thee thou shalt know betimes 
 Nor wait the setting of to-morrow's sun. 
 Not gold, sii", no, nor silver, be thou sure. 
 But what shall best befit a brave man's hand. 
 
 \_Exeunt MvK and the Burghers ; manent Van* den Bosch, 
 Occo, and Frans Ackermax. 
 
 Van den B. Ye see, sirs, how the knaves take heart 
 On this mishap. [and rail 
 
 , Occo I saw both that and more ; 
 
 Uur White-Hoods looked 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 B. 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, 
 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 B. Why, there be such ; 
 
 Though one that's wise would scarce be wise to take it.
 
 18 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 What think'stthou, Frans? And thou, my lord of Occo ? 
 Know ye a man that, being wise, were willing ? 
 
 Frans. 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 denB. That is well thought of. Let us try him then. 
 
 Scene IV. — The House Van Merestyn. 
 Adriana van MERKSTYJf and Clara van Artevelue. 
 
 Clara. So you've dismissed the Lord of Occo ? 
 
 Adri. Yes. 
 
 Clara. How many suitors have you discharged this 
 morning ? 
 
 Adri. How many ? 
 
 Clara. Yes. Was not my brother Philip here ? 
 
 Adri. He saw me through the lattice, and stayed his 
 horse an instant under the window. 
 
 Clara. Was that all ? 
 
 Adri. Yes — no — yes — I suppose so. 
 
 Clara. Oh that maids would learn to speak the 
 truth, or else to lie becomingly ! 
 
 Adri. Do / not lie becomingly \ — Well, 'tis from 
 want of use. What should I say ? 
 
 Clara. What say ? Had my sworn friend so ques- 
 tioned me, 
 And I been minded, maugre our sworn friendship, 
 To coil my thoughts up in my secret self, 
 I with a brave and careless hardihood 
 Had graced the disavowal of my love.
 
 scEXE IV.] PHILIP VAX ARTETELDE. 19 
 
 Adri. 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 1 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 mentioned in your prayers, 
 For how much love has he to be forgiven I 
 
 Adri. Alas ! I know not. 
 
 Clara. ^'ay> hut you can guess. 
 
 Adri. 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. 
 
 Clara. And all the while is he, I nothing doubt, 
 As wayward and as love- sick as yourself. 
 
 Adri. He love-sick 1 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 I 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.
 
 20 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Adri. But honestly, think you it must be love 
 He comes to speak of ? 
 
 Clara. Why, 'tis either that, 
 
 Or else to tell you of what fish he caught. 
 
 Adri. Oh, do not tease me ; for ray heart is faint 
 With over-fulness of its expectations. 
 
 Clara. Nay, if your love 's so lamentable sick. 
 Nurse it yourself ; I'll go. 
 
 Adri. 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. 
 And at this merry pace, an inch an hour. 
 We'll chase the snails, and catch them if we can. 
 
 Scene V. — The House Van Artevelde. 
 Philip Van Artevklde and Father John of Heda. 
 
 Artev. I never looked that he should live so long. 
 He was a man of that unsleeping spirit, 
 He seemed 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 
 Who wins the race of glory, but than him 
 A thousand men more gloriously endowed 
 Have fallen upon the course ; a thousand others 
 Have had their fortunes foundered by a chance. 
 Whilst lighter barks pushed past them ; to whom add 
 A smaller tally, of the singular few 
 Who, gifted with predominating powers.
 
 srEXK v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 21 
 
 Bear yet a temperate will and keep the peace. 
 The world knows nothing of its greatest men. 
 
 F. John. Had Launoy lived he might have passed 
 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 m Ghent be dimmed for 
 him. 
 
 Artev. 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 smirch'd the ray. 
 We have not time to mourn. 
 
 F. John. The worse for us ! 
 
 He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. 
 Eternity mourns that. 'Tis an ill cure 
 For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them. 
 Where sorrow's held intnisive and turned 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 ?
 
 22 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Canst tell whose chattels have been sold to-day 
 For payment of tire White-Hoods ? 
 
 Page. Sir, I cannot ; 
 
 'Tis at the house Van Merestyn I've been 
 To see the Lady Adriana. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. Now Father, mark you that ; hearts soft as 
 wax 
 These damsels would be thought to bear about, 
 Yet ever is the bloodiest knight the best ! 
 
 F. 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. 
 
 Artev. And whei-efore so ? Because the women's 
 heaven 
 Is vanity, and that is over all.
 
 SCENE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 23 
 
 What's firiest 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 admir'd of all, 
 They can admire — the glory, not the thing. 
 An unreflected 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. 
 
 F. John. Deem you not 
 
 There may be one who so transcends her sex 
 In loving, as to match the son of Saul ? 
 
 Artev. It may be I have deemed or dreamed 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. 
 
 Att. Sir, here is Master Van den Bosch below 
 Desires to speak with you. 
 
 A rtev. To speak with me ! 
 
 I marvel on what errand Van den Bosch 
 Can seek Van Artevelde. Say I attend him. 
 Tell me if I shall find you at your cell 
 After the hour of complines ? 
 
 F. John. Then and there 
 
 I shall be found, my son, and thou be welcome. 
 
 'Exev.nt.
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Scene VI. — The Market-place, at the entrance of 
 the Clothiers' Hall. 
 
 The Provost of the. Clothiers with several principal Burgesses 
 and the Chaplain of that craft. 
 
 Prov. Him ! did ye say ? Choose him for Captain ? So I 
 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 Burgess. Nay, Provost, nay ; 
 
 He is a worthy and a mild good man, 
 And we have need of such. 
 
 Chap. He's what you say ; 
 
 But 'tis not mildness of the man that rules 
 Makes the mild regimen, 
 
 Prov. Who's to rule the fierce ? 
 
 ' I prithee, Van den Bosch, cut not that throat ; 
 
 * Roast not this man alive, or for my sake, 
 
 * If roast he must, not at so slow a fire ; 
 ^ Nor yet so hastily impale this other, 
 
 ' But give him time to ruminate and foretaste 
 
 * So terrible an end.' Mild Philip, thus, 
 Shall read his lecture of humanity. 
 
 Chap. 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 du'ect us to a just conclusion ! 
 
 lExeunt all but ttco Burgesses. 
 
 1 st Burg. The scaffold, as I see, is newly wet ; 
 Who was the last that suffered ? 
 
 2nd Burg. What, to-day ? 
 
 I know not ; but the bi'ave Van Borselen's blood, 
 (God rest his soul !) can scarcely yet be dry. 
 That suffered yesterday. 
 
 1st Burg. For treason, was't not ? 
 
 Ind Burg. Ay ;
 
 SCEN'E VII.] PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. 2= 
 
 The treason of the times ; the being rich ; 
 
 His wealth was wanted. 
 
 1st Burg. Hath he not an heir 1 
 
 2nd Burg. A bold one if he claim the inheritance. 
 
 Come, pass we in. 
 
 Scene YII. — The House Van Artevelde. 
 Artkvblde and Yati den Bosch. 
 Ariev. This is a mighty matter, Van den Bosch, 
 And much to be revolv'd ere it be answered. 
 
 Fan den B. The people shall elect thee with one 
 I will ensure the White-Hoods, and the rest [voice. 
 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, 
 Fi'om end to end obey'd him as one town. 
 
 Artev. They may remember it — and Van den Bosch, 
 ^lay 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 B. Nay, Master, Philip, let the past be past. 
 Artev. Here on the dooi'stead 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 pui'pose of I'evenge, 
 I heard the tale — which like a daily prayer 
 Repeated to a rooted feeling grew — 
 How long he fought, how falsely came like friends 
 The villains Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, —
 
 26 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 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 B. Why, what if Jacques Artevelde was 
 He had his reign, and that for many a year, [killed ? 
 And a gi'eat 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 villauous 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. 
 
 Artev. They cannot render back 
 
 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 hearts' blood. 
 
 Van den B. Then will I call the people to the Square 
 
 And speak for your election. 
 
 Artev. Not so fast. 
 
 Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm : 
 
 She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell. 
 
 And you would make a jux"y-mast of me 
 
 Whei'eon 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 retii'ed beneath a quiet sky. 
 
 Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ? 
 
 Van den B. I pray you, speak it in the Burghers' 
 
 I lack the scholarship to talk in tropes. [tongue ;
 
 SCENE vix.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 27 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 
 Van df-n B. Times are sore chang'd 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. 
 
 Artev. With a good name tliou christenest the cause. 
 True, to make choice of despots is some freedom, 
 The only freedom for this tm'bulent town, 
 Rule 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 B. Betimes it must be ; for some two hours 
 I meet the Deans, and ere we separate [hence 
 
 Our course must be determined. 
 
 Artev. In two hours, 
 
 If I be for you, I will send this ring 
 In token I have so resolved. Farewell. 
 
 Van den B. Philip Van Artevelde, a greater man 
 Than ever Ghent beheld we '11 make of thee, 
 If thou be bold enough to try this venture. 
 God give thee heart to do so. Fare thee well. 
 
 \_Exit Tan den Bosch. 
 
 Artev. Is it vain -glory which thus whispers me 
 That 'tis ignoble to have led my life 
 c2
 
 28 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 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 tlie 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. 
 
 Artev. You heard me speak ? 
 
 Clara. I surely thought I heard you, 
 Just now, as I came in. 
 
 Artev. It may be so. 
 
 Clara. Was no one here then ? 
 
 Artev. No one, as you see. 
 
 Clara. Why then I 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 ? 1 've a tale to tell. 
 
 Artev. My fairest, sweetest, best beloved sister ! 
 Who in the whole world would px'otect thy youth 
 If I were gone ? 
 
 Clara. Gone ! where 1 what ails you, Philip ? 
 
 Artev. Nowhere, my love. Well, what hast thou to 
 tell? 
 
 Clara. When I came home, on entei-ing 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,
 
 scEXE VII.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 2! 
 
 Whilst maids and varlets stood disconsolate round. 
 What cheer I 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, 
 The stork, the stork, the stork ! What, he is sick ? 
 No, madam ; sick ! — he 's gone — he '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 ti'uth, I could have wisli'd 
 This had not happen'd. 
 
 Artev. 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 ofiice up 
 W^hich proved so fatal in the end, and then 
 The second time, the night before he died. 
 
 Artev. 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 thLs. 
 Thou hast been visiting thy friend to-day, — 
 The Lady Adriana. 
 
 Clara. I come thence : 
 
 She is impatiently expecting you. 
 
 Artev. Can she with such impatience flatter one 
 So slothful and obscure as Artevelde 1 
 
 Clara. How mean you ? 
 
 Artev. Clara, know I not your sex 
 
 Is she not one of you ? Are you not all,
 
 30 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act t. 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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, 
 And she will tell you it is no such man. 
 Why go you not ? 
 
 Artev. 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 Burgess 
 beticeen them, and folloived by an Executioner with an 
 axe, and a crowd of Citizens. A scaffold is seen at a distance. 
 
 1st Officer. Where hast thou put it ? 
 
 Burg. What ? Put what— put what 1 
 
 2nd Officer. A few last words — where is it 1 
 
 Burg. Mercy ! what % 
 
 \st Officer. Oh, very well ! Come, clap his thumb 
 
 in a winch. 
 Burg. No need of that — what is it that ye seek ? 
 \st Officer. Van Borselen's head. 'Twas sticking on 
 
 that spike 
 At nine last night. Who took it thence but thou ?
 
 s<:en-e IX,] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 31 
 
 Bur. I never touched it. 
 
 2nd Officer. Thou art next of kin, 
 
 And rightfully shouldst fill his vacancy. 
 
 \st Officer. Thy head to his stands in a just succession. 
 Besides, they are as like as are two cherries. 
 Bring him away. 
 
 2ni Officer. Friend with the axe, come on. 
 
 \_Exeunt all but tico Citizens. 
 
 \st at. When will this end ? 
 
 2nd Ci(. When Van den Bosch . . 
 
 \si at. Hush! Hush! 
 
 Scene IX. — The Entrance-Hall of the House 
 Van Merestyn. 
 
 Enter Artevelde, with Attendants. 
 
 Artev. 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) 'Sly service to the noble Lord of Occo ; 
 I thank him for his counsel and will weigh it. 
 ( 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 enters. 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Acquaint her then that I attend her leisure. 
 [^Exil Waiting- Woman. 
 
 There is but one thing that still harks me back. 
 To bring a cloud upon the summer day
 
 32 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 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 
 
 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. 
 
 lA pause. 
 Danger from foes — that is a dayhght 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.
 
 SCENE X.J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 33 
 
 Re-enter Waiting-woman. 
 IVailinor-icoman. My mistress, sir, so please you,, 
 takes liei' walk 
 Along the garden terrace, and desires 
 That you'll go forth to meet her. 
 
 Ar'tev. For if fate 
 Had done its best to single out a soul 
 Most formed for peaceful virtues ah ! I come. 
 
 Scene X. — A Garden. 
 ARTEVELDE and Adp.iaxa. 
 
 Artev. I have some little overstaid my time. 
 First let me plead for pardon of that trespass. 
 
 Adri. I said to Clara when the sun went down 
 Now if — though truly 'tis impossible — 
 He come not ere yon blushmg cloud grows gray, 
 His promises are no more worth than bubbles. 
 And look how gray it is ! 
 
 Artev. A hectic change. 
 
 The smiling daA^-n, 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 1 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 
 Showed 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. 
 
 Adri. Oh ! what a moody moralist you grow I 
 Yet in the even- down letter you are right ; 
 For Ursel, who is weatherwise, says always 
 c 3
 
 34 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 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 fishmg ! 
 Were I to hang upon a river's edge 
 So tediously, angling, angling still, 
 The fiend that watches our impatient fits 
 Would some time tempt me to jump headlong in. 
 And you — you cannot quit it for a day ! 
 Have I not read your sadness ? 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Adri. Why should we think it so ? 
 
 Artev. Sweet Adriana, 
 
 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. 
 
 Adri. What can have fiU'd you with such sad sur- 
 mises ? 
 You were not wont to speak despondently. 
 
 Artev. Nor do I now despond. All my 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 T might have lived, 
 A life of temperate and thoughtful joy, 
 Yet I repine not, and from tliis time forth 
 Will cast no look behind.
 
 scEXE X.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 35 
 
 Adri. Oh Artevelde ; 
 
 What change hath come since mormng ! Oh ! how 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 
 Of words or vows, pledges or pi'otestations. 
 Let not such trust be hastily dissolved, 
 
 Adri. 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 ti'ust — and now — Oh God, my heart ! 
 It was not made to bear this agony — 
 Tell me you love me, or you love me not. 
 
 Artev. I love thee, deai-est, with as large a love 
 As e'er was compass'd in the brea-st 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. 
 
 Adri. What was it that you said then ? If you love. 
 Why have you thus tormented me ? 
 
 Artev. 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
 
 36 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Nor hears the loud lamenting of the blast 
 
 Nor heeds the weltering of the plangent wave, — 
 
 These have not hved more undisturb'd than I : 
 
 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 : 
 
 I 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 tb.e hazards of these troublesome times, 
 
 And in your own free choice take or resign me. 
 
 Adri. Oh Ai-tevelde, my choice is fi*ee 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 '11 love thee ; 
 In youth and age, in life and death I '11 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. 
 
 Artev. I fear, my Adriana, 'tis a rash 
 And passionate resolve that thou hast made ; 
 But how should / admonish thee, myself 
 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; 'tis late ; I 'm waited for ere this.
 
 scEXE XI.] PHILIP VAN ARTE\'T:LDE. 37 
 
 Adri. Upon this finger be the first tax raised. 
 
 [Draws of a ring, which site gives him . 
 Now what shall I receive ? 
 
 Artev. The like from mine, 
 
 I had forgotten — 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-mori'ow calm and strong. 
 
 Scene XI. — Bruges. — An Apartment in the Palace 
 of the Earl of Flanders. 
 
 The Earl and Sir Walter d'Arlox. 
 
 D^Arl. 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 ; 
 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 ray fleece he picks 
 The vermin that molest me. — Here he comes ! 
 
 Enter Gilbert Matthew. 
 Well, honest Gilbert, are the knights not gone ? 
 
 Gill. Not yet, my lord ; they urge in lieu of lives 
 The forfeiture of sundry burgages 
 To fill your coffers. I denied them roundly. 
 
 Earl. I bid thee not ! 
 
 Gilb. Lives, lives, my lord, take freely ;
 
 38 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act i. 
 
 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. 
 
 Glib. The knights wait here without. 
 
 They ask an audience of leave, and bring 
 A new adherent. 
 
 Earl. Give them entrance, Gilbert. 
 
 [Gilbert '^Iattuvav goes out, and returns with Sm Simov 
 Bette and Sm Guisebert Grutt. 
 
 Sir S. 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 S. He does ; 
 
 And with your highness' leave I '11 bring him to you. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Earl. Think'st thou he may be steadied 1 
 
 Gilb. 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. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Simov Bette vjith Occo. 
 You 're a bold man, my 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 afTairs, 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 ?
 
 5CEXE XI.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 39 
 
 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 G. 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 
 Have still indulged — we never ciy for peace 
 But when we're out of breath ; give breathing-time, 
 And ere the echo of our cry of peace 
 Have died away, we drown it with War ! war ! 
 Even now the faction hopes to be redeemed 
 By a new leader, Philip of Artevelde. 
 
 Earl. Ha I 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. 
 
 Gilb. Oh fear him not, my lord ; his father's name 
 Is all that from his father he derives. 
 He is a man of singular addi-ess 
 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 vour list.
 
 411 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Earl. Let him be noted. Think you, then, Sir Guy, 
 That they'll accept our terras, or still hold out ? 
 
 Occo. Let these good knights make instant speed to 
 Ghent 
 And call the burghers to the market-place ; 
 Then let to-nioiTOw, at their bidding, wear 
 The aspect of to-day, and all will prosper. 
 Take them wliilst yet Nivelle is in their thoughts. 
 
 Earl. You counsel well. Prepare, sirs, to depart; 
 We'll haA' e 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 
 SiAioN Bette. As Sir Guisebert Grutt is following, 
 he is detained bp D'Arlov. 
 
 D'Arl. One word, fair sir. 
 
 Sir G. My good lord, at your pleasure. 
 
 D'Arl. I have a foolish errand in your town. 
 
 There is a damsel but your head is white ; 
 
 You will not heed me. 
 
 Sir G. 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'Arl. 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. 
 
 Sir G. 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'Arl. Leave that to me. 
 
 M
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I.— Ghent. The House Van Artevelde. 
 Vax Artevelde, and Van den Bosch. 
 
 Van den B. 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. T 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, 
 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 favoux-ites 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.'
 
 42 PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. [act ir. 
 
 To this they gave assent, and will be here 
 So soou as the outlying crafts are niuster'd. 
 
 Artev. Good ! When they come I'll speak to them. 
 Van den B. '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. 
 
 Artev. I will hear it always. 
 
 But yet my task methinks were easy learnt. 
 
 Van den B. Canst learn to bear thee high amongst 
 the commons ? 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Be it so. 
 
 I can do what is needful. Where, I pray you, 
 Abide the messengers of peace from Bruges % 
 
 Van den B. They lodg'd last night i' the Clothiers' 
 Square, God's blood ! 
 They thought their houses not so safe, belike. 
 ■ Artev. Why thought they that ? 
 
 Van den B. 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. 
 Artev. So the knights took the warning ? 
 Van den B. 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. 
 
 Artev. 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
 
 scEKE II.] PHILIP TAX AHTEYELDE. 43 
 
 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 B. God's curse go with them ! 
 
 Artev. Like enough it may. 
 
 Thej''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 B. Hark ! here they come. 
 
 \_Shouts of'' Artevelde ! ' are heard from without. 
 Out, out ! and show thyself. 
 
 Scene II. — The Street in front of Van Arteveide's 
 
 House. 
 Vax Artevelde and Van den Bosch. The Multitude below. 
 
 Arte''. ^ly finends, 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. 
 
 Several Burgesses. ^^ay, blaster Philip !
 
 44 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Artev. 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 long 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 ? 
 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 ." 
 
 Artev. 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 hui-tful. 
 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 '11 kill the slave outright. 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 Is it the liberty to slay each other ? 
 Then better were it we had back again 
 Roger d'Auterne, the bailiff". No, my friends. 
 
 Si
 
 scEXE in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 45 
 
 It is the liberty to choose our chief 
 And bow to none beside. Now 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 
 We '11 kill him on the spot, and that is law. [die ; 
 
 Artev. 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\ 
 
 Artev. What further knowledge of my rules ye need 
 Ye peradventure may obtain, my friends, 
 INIore aptly from my pi-actice than my speech. 
 Now to the Stadt-House — bring the litter, fellows — 
 And there the deans of crafts shall do me homage. 
 
 Van den B. Ho ! stand apart. Bring in the litter, 
 
 Now sirs, let 's hear your voices as you go. [varlets. 
 
 \_Exeunt, tcith shouts of • Artevelde ! ' 
 
 ScEXE III. — The House Van Merestyn. 
 
 Sir Walter d'Arlon and Clara Van Artfa'elde. She is 
 
 engaged in binding up his arm, which is wounded. 
 
 Clara. False knight, thou com'st to see thyladye 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'Arl. Gramercy, 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. Go to ; confess thyself ; make a clean breast. 
 Thou'dst vow'd a vow to some fair dame at Bruges
 
 4G PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 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'Arl. Could you live backward for a hundred years, 
 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 ; honeyed 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 ray teeth ? 
 
 Enter Adrians. 
 Adri. My lord — good heaven ! Your arm — I fear 
 
 you 're hurt. 
 Clara. Hold, hush ! I '11 answer for thee. Merely 
 a scratch ; 
 A scratch, fair lady, — that, and nothing more ; 
 It gives us no concern ; 'twas thus we got it : 
 Riding 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.
 
 SCENE III.] PinLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 47 
 
 Unused to such demeanour, shook ourselves, 
 
 And pricked them with our lance ; a fray ensued, 
 
 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 nut. 
 
 Adri. 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. 
 
 Adri. No verily. But why, my lord, come here 
 At all this hazard only to be railed at ? 
 
 Clara. Yes, tell us why. 
 
 D\4rl. Behold the very cause. 
 
 Enter Artevelde. 
 
 Artev. {as he enters.) Let my guard wait without. 
 
 Clara. His guard ! What 's this ? 
 
 Artev. My Lord of Arlon, God be with your lordship I 
 And guide you upon less adventurous tracks 
 Than this you tread. I '11 speak with you anon. 
 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 clmk upon thine ears, 
 Save only in romaunt and roundelay. 
 Such is what should be, and behold what is I 
 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 fromhissleep,andthiuks the bells ringbackwards :
 
 48 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 A man begirt with eighty thousand swords, 
 
 Scai'ce knowing which are in the hands of Mends 
 
 And which against him ; — such a sort of man 
 
 Thy lover is — his fate for Ufe or death 
 
 Link'd to a cause which some deem desperate. 
 
 Such is Van Artevelde, for he is now 
 
 Chief Captain of the White-Hoods and of Ghent. 
 
 Clara. Nay ! is it even so ! 
 
 Artev. Even so it is. 
 
 Adri. 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 ! 
 
 Artev. Not so. 
 
 I purpose but to lead them where / will. 
 
 Adri. Then they will turn upon thee ; never yet 
 Would they endure a chief that cross'd their humour. 
 
 Artev. 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 ! 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Adru Alas ! and is it come to this !— Oh God ! 
 
 Artev. This I foresaw, and things have fallen out 
 No worse than I forewarned 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,
 
 scE.VE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. AU 
 
 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. 
 
 jldri. 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 'II 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 fhey crush thee, in the hour of death. 
 If thy ambition, late aroused, was that 
 Which pushed thee on this perilous adventure, 
 Then / 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. 
 
 Artev. The last of love for thee were last of all 
 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 constrained to say, is short in Ghent. 
 I hitherto have welcomed you amongst us, 
 
 D
 
 50 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 And kept the secret of your sojourns here ; 
 
 So doing, partly for respect to you, 
 
 And partly for her sake, this foolish gii'l's, 
 
 My pretty Clara's, who will let me say 
 
 I had not pleased her else ; but now, my lord, 
 
 As you have heard, 1 hold an office here 
 
 With duties appertaining, and must needs 
 
 (With sorrow for your sudden going hence) 
 
 Make offer of my passport, — good till sun-set. 
 
 D^Arl. If no discourtesy is meant by this 
 I have but to depart. 
 
 Clara. Depart ! and wherefore ? 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 D'Arl. 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. 
 
 Artev. On my faith, my lord, 
 
 I love you and respect you. 
 
 D'Arl. 'Tis enough. 
 
 Then I depai't 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 ! 
 l,'m to be whipped for crying after him ? 
 But let me tell thee, Philip, I 'ra the child 
 Of Jacques Artevelde — So look well to it. 
 An injury to myself I might forgive,
 
 SCENE 111.1 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 51 
 
 But one to D'Arlon — 
 
 IBurstinij into tears. 
 Sir, think twice upon it. 
 Lest you should lose a sister unawares. 
 
 D'ArL Nay Clara, nay, be not so troubled. 
 
 Artev. There — 
 
 You see the humour she is of, my lord : 
 But be my sins confessed, 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, [iveeping.] When will he come again ? 
 
 Artev. When peace comes, dearest ; 
 
 We '11 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. 
 
 D\4rl. 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. 
 
 Artev. Nobly said. 
 
 I leave her in your hands, and hope your aid 
 For bringing her to reason. 
 
 D'Arl. I entreat 
 
 One word in private with you ere we part. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 lExeunt Adriana and Clara. 
 
 D'Arl. Mv errand here 
 
 D 2 "
 
 52 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 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 elutch'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. 
 
 Artev. 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 't would 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'Arl. Whenso'the choice and noblest of my fi'iends 
 Are bid to memory's feast, then, Artevelde, 
 The place of honour shall be thine. Farewell. [E.vit. 
 
 Enter the Captain of Artevelde's Guard. 
 
 Capt. Sir, there 's a messenger from Van den Bosch 
 Who craves to see you instantly : another 
 Says the Lord Occo waits your leisure. 
 
 Artev. {after a pause.) Ha ! 
 
 Lord Occo, saidst thou ? tell me, what of hira ! 
 
 Capt. He waits your leisui'e, sir. 
 
 Artev. And when comes that ? 
 
 He shall Jiot wait my leisure. And what more ? 
 
 Capt. Sir, Van den Bosch would see you. 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 
 Capt. The citizens are trooping to the Stadt-House. 
 'Tis said Sir Simon and Sir Guisebert pass 
 From door to door incessantly. 
 
 Artev. ' To beg ?
 
 SCENE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 53 
 
 Capt. To gain a strong attendance. 
 
 Artev, Wo the while ! 
 
 A bear, a fiddle, and a pair of monkeys, 
 Had sped the service better. 
 
 Capt. Both mean and notable, and rich and poor, 
 Have they solicited, assuring all 
 That when it shall Idc heard what terms of peace 
 Are offered, they will hug the messengers 
 That after painful travail for their love 
 Have brought them such good news. 
 
 Artev. I '11 swear they will. 
 
 But what 1 Thou look'st not over cheerily ; 
 Think'st thou the knights have made some way then, ha? 
 
 Capt. The deacons of eight crafts have sided with 
 them, 
 And many of the aldermen. 
 
 Artev. Ay, truly ? 
 
 Capt. And all the men of lineage. 
 
 Artev. That's as thou hearest. 
 
 Capt. 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. 
 
 Artev. Build up, and then pull down, and then build 
 And always in the ruins some are — Well ! [up, — 
 
 Capt. And I 'm afeard, though loth I am to think it, 
 A few amongst your guard have fallen off 
 At seeing us outnumber'd thus. 
 
 Artev. 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.
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ir 
 
 Scene IV. — The Dwelling-house of the Lord of O ceo, 
 
 Occo and Van Aeswyn, 
 
 Occo. The mariners, then, are for us ? 
 
 Aeswyn. They are oui's. 
 
 Occo. And these are of the curriers that thou 
 
 bring'st me ? 
 Aeswyn. The deacons of that craft — they're back- 
 ward still : 
 They 're ever hai'ping 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 '11 deal with them the same as with the 
 fullers ; 
 So bring them in. [E.tit Van Aeswyn. 
 
 Well done, Sir Curriers ! 
 These precious moments must be given to you ! 
 The devil curry you for senseless boors ! 
 
 Re-enter \a^ Aesavvn, with the two Craftsmen. 
 
 Good-morrow, masters — Ha ! my valued friend, 
 Jacob Van Ryk ; and if my eyes see true. 
 Master 
 
 Aeswyn. Van Muck. 
 
 Occo. Tush, tush, sir ! tell not me. 
 
 Have t 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. 
 Rash 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,
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 I will confess I 'm not so subtle-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. 
 
 Van 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. 
 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, 
 Xor will they be unanswer'd, that I know: 
 * Fii'st 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. 
 
 Occo. 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
 
 56 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 To punishment, make head against the rest : 
 Tliese think no shame to say that all must die 
 To save their one — two — tlu'ee — half-dozen heads 
 From certain hazards. Why, if fall they must 
 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 desti'uction 
 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 Ai'tevelde. 
 
 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 aim'd at when the blow is struck. 
 
 Van 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,
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 57 
 
 He 's shot the bull he had his horns of — Ha ! 
 What will Dame Oda say to thee ? 
 
 Van Ryk. Go to ! 
 
 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 plung'd 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. 
 
 lA pause again. 
 
 Van Ryk. Why, if he must, he must, and there's 
 an end. 
 
 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 suatchers. 
 
 Van Ryk. 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, 
 D 3
 
 .".8 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ir. 
 
 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 (^0 a Serving-man, ly^o enters). What, sirrah ? — 
 speak — what now ? 
 
 IThe Serving-man whispers him. 
 Van Artevelde ! he is not coming here ? 
 Not now — not now ? 
 
 Servinp-man. Now, instantly, my lord. 
 
 Occo. Masters, I wish you both good-day — good-day. 
 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 su', 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. 
 Artev. 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 
 Better accompanied, — no, nor a foe 
 Better encountered, than by men like these. 
 Jacob Van Ryk, my father loved you much : 
 
 i
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 5i> 
 
 No raan 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 
 
 W'hom 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 chUd I lov'd. 
 
 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 ; 
 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 fr-iends 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.
 
 f)') PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Artev. {After a pause.) These are ambiguous 
 knaves. 
 
 Occo. True craftsmen both ! 
 
 Ever suspicious of nobility. 
 
 Artev. That am I not. You had some news to tell, 
 So your lieutenant said. 
 
 Occo. Intelligence 
 
 Has reached me of the terras the Earl will offer : 
 A guarantee of franchises and rights, 
 Conditional on some thi*ee hundred of us 
 Being delivered over to his mercy. 
 
 Artev. Of whom then is this number ? 
 
 <)cco. They must be 
 
 Whomso' 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. 
 
 Artev. By my faith, that 's strange ! 
 
 But are these tidings certain ? 
 
 Occo. Beyond doubt. 
 
 Artev. How came you by them, if they be so 
 certain ? 
 
 Occo. They 're ruraour'd — very confidently rumour'd. 
 I had them also from ray spies at Bruges ; 
 A most sagacious spy — he saw the lists ; 
 He never yet deceiv'd me — there's no doubt. 
 
 Artev. 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 ; 
 Thei'e 's none of all the crafts so wholly with us. 
 
 Artev. With which of us, my lord ? 
 
 Occo. With one and all.
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAX ARTETELDE. 61 
 
 Artev. 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 befal you. 
 I too have had my spies upon the watch, 
 And what they brought me sounded in my ears 
 A note of warning linked with names well known, 
 Xow 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, {Ejcit. 
 
 Enter Van- Aeswwv. 
 
 Aesu-yn. My lord. Sir Guisbert Grutt is much 
 impatient, 
 And sends one message on another's heels 
 To ask why tarr}' you ? 
 
 Occo. I am not well. 
 
 Aeswyn. But they are setting forth immediately ; 
 The market-place is full to overflowing. 
 
 Occo. Hark ye ! he knows it all. 
 
 Aesivyn. Van Artevelde ? 
 
 Occo. Knows every thing. 
 
 Aesivyn. And what is to be done ? 
 
 Occo, I 'ra ill at ease; I know not ; whatthink'st thou ? 
 
 Aeswyn. If he but knew it half an hour too soon, 
 His knowledge is of smaU account. 
 
 Occo. God's-death ! 
 
 But I am ignorant how long he 's knoMn it — 
 How many he has practised with and gained — 
 How many may have falsely seem'd to swerve 
 By his direction, only to delude
 
 62 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 And so embolden me to my destruction. 
 1 would this hour were past ! 
 
 Aeswyn. Resolve on something ; 
 
 Take one part or the other, lest it pass, 
 And leave you ruined both ways. 
 
 Occo. Ruined ! Ruined ! 
 
 He 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 prepar'd 
 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 I'ansom,— 
 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. 
 
 Artkvelde in a suit of armour, reclining in a window-seat. 
 The Page is standing by him. 
 Artev. Not to befear'd — Giveme mysword! Goforth, 
 And see what folk be these that throng the street. 
 
 lExit the Page. 
 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. 
 
 [Shouts are heard.
 
 SCENE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 6.3 
 
 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 arriv'd from 
 Bruges 
 Pass down the street, my lord, and many with them. 
 
 Artei\ 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. 
 
 lExit Page. 
 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 all together die the death of beasts. 
 
 lA 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 — 
 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 !
 
 fi4 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 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 '11 slay you, and thank God. 
 
 Enter Van den Bosch. 
 
 Van Den B. The common bell has rung ! the knights 
 are there ; 
 Thou must come instantly. 
 Artev. I come, T come. 
 
 Van Den B. Now,Master Philip, if thou miss thy way 
 Through this affaii', we 're lost. For Jesus' sake 
 Be counsell'd now by me ; have thou in mind — 
 
 Artev. Go to, I need not counsel ; I 'm resolv'd. 
 Take thou thy stand beside Sir Simon Bette, 
 As I by Grutt ; take note of all I do, 
 And do thyself accordingly. Come on. 
 
 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, 
 toith the aldermen of sundry guilds and the deans of the seve- 
 ral crafts of butchers, fishermen, glaziers, and cordivainers. 
 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 is coming 
 vp from the street. 
 
 Sir G. [aside to Sir Simon Bette.] God's life, sir ! 
 
 where is Occo ? 
 Sir S. Sick, sick, sick. 
 
 He has sent word he 's sick and cannot come. 
 
 Sir G. Pray God his sickness be the death of him ! 
 
 Sir S. Nay, his lieutenant 's here, and has his orders. 
 
 Van Den B. [aside to Artevelde.] I see there's 
 
 something that hath staggered them. 
 
 Now push them to the point. {Aloud.) ]\Iake wiiy 
 
 there, Ho !
 
 SCENE VI.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 65 
 
 Artev. [coming forward. '\ Some citizen hath brought 
 this concourse here. 
 Who is the man, and what hath he to say ? 
 
 Sir G. The noble Earl of Flanders of his grace 
 Commissions me to speak. 
 
 [Some White-Hoods interrupt him with cries of ' Ghent,' 
 on which there is a great tumult, and they are instantly 
 droicn'd in the cry of Flanders.'] 
 
 Artev. What, silence I peace ! 
 
 Silence^ and hear this noble Earl's behests, 
 Deliver'd by this thrice puissant knight. 
 
 Sir G. Fii'st 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 — 
 
 Artev. {aside to Van Den B.) Mark you that ? 
 
 {Then aloud to Sir G.) Where is this chatelain, your 
 speech's sponsor 1 
 
 Sir G. He 's sick in bed ; but were he here, he 'd 
 tell you 
 There 's not provision in the public stores
 
 66 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 To keep you for a day. Such is your plight. 
 Now hear the offer of your natural liege. 
 Mov'd 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 delivered up to his good pleasure. 
 
 Van Den B. Three hundred citizens ! 
 
 Artev. 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 B. Nay, 'tis black bile that chokes him. 
 Come, up with it ! 
 Be it but a gallon it shall ease thy stomach. 
 
 Several Cits. Silence ! Sir Simon Bette 's about to 
 speak. 
 
 Sir S. 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 lov'd best 
 And ravag'd all his parks at Andrehen, 
 All those delightful gardens on the plain :
 
 SCENE vx.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 67 
 
 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, sii's, 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 delivered many a time and oft 
 Out of his prisons burgesses of yours 
 Only to do you pleasure ; and when late 
 By kinsmen of the baihff whom ye slew, 
 Some marinei*s 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. 
 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 inclin'd, 
 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 1 
 Artev. First, if it be your pleasure, hear me speak. 
 iG^reat tumult, and cries of ' Flanders I ' 
 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
 
 68 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 The name and danger only, not tlie power ? 
 
 IThe tumult increases. 
 Sirs, if we needs must come to blows, so be it ; 
 For I have friends amongst you who can deal them. 
 
 Sir S. (aside to SirG.) Had Oeco now been here ! 
 but lacking him 
 It must not come to that. 
 
 Sir G. My loving friends, 
 
 Let us behave like brethren as we are. 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Peace let it be, if so ye will ; if not. 
 We are as ready as yourselves for blows. 
 
 One of the Cits. Speak, master Philip, speak, and 
 you '11 be heard. 
 
 Artev. 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 dishonoui*'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 veina 
 Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. 
 But had they guess'd, or could they but have dreamed 
 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. 
 Oh, then, with what an agony of shame,
 
 SCENE VI.] PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. C9 
 
 Their blushing faces buried in the dust. 
 
 Had theii' 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 thau 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 1 
 
 Oh, sirs ! look round you lest ye be deceived ; 
 
 Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, 
 
 Forgiveness may be wTitten with the pen. 
 
 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 morrow's mischief knocks them up. 
 
 There 's that betwixt you been which you yourselves, 
 
 Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves ;
 
 70 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 For must it not be thought some base men's souls 
 
 Have ta'eu the seats of yours and turn'd you out, 
 
 If in the coldness of a craven heart 
 
 Ye should foi'give this bloody-minded man 
 
 For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes ? 
 
 Think of your mai'iners, 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 prepai'ation 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 ; 
 
 iTo Grl'tt attd 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 sui'rendered 
 Up to that mercy which I tell you of — 
 That mercy whichyour'marinersprov'd — 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 mark'd men — and not a man stands here 
 But may be so. — Your pardon, siis, again ! 
 
 ITo Grutt and Bette. 
 You ax*e the pickers and the choosers here. 
 And doubtless vou 're all safe, ve think — ha ! ha !
 
 s( KNE VI.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 71 
 
 But we have pick'd and chosen, too, sir knights — 
 
 What was the law for I made yesterday — 
 
 What I is it you that would deliver up 
 
 Three hundi'ed citizens to certain death I 
 
 Ho ! Van den Bosch ! have at these traitors — ha — 
 
 iStabs Grltt, who/alls. 
 Van Den B. Die, treasonable dog — is that enough ? 
 
 Down, felon, and plot treacheries in hell. \_Stahs Bette. 
 iThe White-Hooiis draw their swords, with loud cries of 
 ' Treason,' ' Artevelde,' ' Ghent,' and ' The Chaperons 
 Blancs.' A citizen of the other party , who in the former 
 part of the scene had unfurled <7je Earl's banner, now 
 throws it down and files ; several others are followina 
 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 Aeswyx 
 is crossed by Van den Bosch. 
 Van Den B. Die thou, too, ti'aitor. 
 
 \_Aiming a blow at him. 
 Artev. (warding it off). Van den Bosch, foi'bear. 
 
 Up with your weapons, VVhite-Hoods ; nomoi^e blood. 
 
 These only are the guilty v.ho 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 
 Hzai'ds ! 
 
 Take they not heart the sooner, by St. Paul 
 
 They '11 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 gat€, postern and wicket too,
 
 n PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 And catch my Lord of Occo whei'e you can. 
 
 Stay — on thy Hfe let no man's house be plundered. 
 Van Den B. 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. 
 
 Artev. Well, 
 
 Thou to thy errand then, and I myself 
 
 Will go from street to street through all the town, ■ 
 
 To reassure the citizens ; that done 
 
 I '11 meet thee here again. Form, White-Hoods, form : 
 
 Range ten abreast ; I 'm coming down amongst you. 
 
 You Floris, Leefdale, Spanghen, mount ye here, 
 
 And bear me down these bodies. Now, set forth. 
 
 \_The White Hoods, by whose shouts of ' Artevelde for 
 Ghent' tJie latter part of the scene has heev^ frequentlii 
 interrupted, now join in a cry of triumph, and carru 
 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 1 then 
 halt, 
 And let the men of arms be drawn together 
 Where the ground 's open. Berckel, I'ide 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 

 
 SCEXE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 After we pass the gates but men of mine, 
 
 Nor ever let the litter be unclos'd. 
 
 Now, if we 're all in order, march we on. 
 
 Scene II. — A Banquetting hall in the Stadt-house 
 at Bruges. 
 
 Tables are spread, and the Earl of Flanders, the Hase of 
 Flanders, with several Lords, Knights, and followers of the 
 Earl, are entertained by the Mayor of Bruges, and the 
 
 Aldermen. 
 
 Earl. Sir ^layor, 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. 
 
 Aid. 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 ! 
 
 Van Hoist. That matter has been car'd 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 't were extempore for the nonce ; 
 He was no tavern cantabank that made it. 
 But a squire minstrel of your highness' court. 
 So — sing, sh' minstrel — there you have it — ah ! 
 Fal-lal — the very thing— the tune 's ' Green Sleeves.' 
 
 E
 
 74 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iir. 
 
 THE MINSTREL SINGS. 
 
 The little bird sat on the greenwood tree, 
 And the sun was 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 \vith my ears and I see with my eyes, 
 And I know what 1 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 ; 
 ' Ere a leaf be fallen or summer be spent,' 
 Quoth he, ' if God spare me, I '11 go to Ghent.' 
 
 * For a little bird sang and I dream'd beside 
 
 That the people of Ghent were puflF'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 tlie 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 broAvn on the lion's lair ; 
 The little bird pick'd a berry so red. 
 And dropt it do^vn 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.' 
 
 The lion stirred and awoke with a snort, 
 And swell'd with rage till his breath came short ; 
 ' Ere the brou-n leaf meet with the flake of snow 
 On the roimdabput stair, to Ghent I '11 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.'
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 75 
 
 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. 
 
 ■\Vo worth thee, Ghent ! if, having heard 
 The first and second, thou bidest the third ! 
 Flat stones and awry, grass, potsherd and shard, 
 Thy place shall be like an old churchyard. 
 
 Earl. A singular good song, and daintily accom- 
 panied with the music. Give him three florins, and a 
 denier for the lad withal. 
 
 Van Hoist. 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. Drmking 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. 
 
 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 Bi'uges, that 
 is well affected to your highness, said that three hun- 
 dred heads was too little. 
 
 Earl. By my faith they said true ; and Gilbert 
 E 2
 
 76 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 Matthew told me no less ; but I was persuaded by the 
 old Knights. 1 was too easy with them. Where is 
 Gilbert J\latthew ? 
 
 Gilb. Here, my lord. 
 
 Earl. Come hither, Gilbert. T have bethought me, 
 Gilbert, 
 I almost sinned against true chivalry 
 To let yon rabble oif. 
 
 Gilb. Your highness says it. 
 
 Earl. Thou'dst tell me 'twas not by thy counsel, — well. 
 
 Gilb. As many heads of each insurgent craft 
 Would not have been denied. A hundred nailed 
 Like weasels to the gates of each walled town 
 Thorough the States of Flanders — that had been 
 A warning wholesome and significant 
 To the good towns. 
 
 Earl. A salutary caution. 
 
 T would the bargain were to make again. 
 Why, so now ! who comes here ? the good Sir W^alter. 
 
 Enter Sir Walter D'Arlox. 
 D'Arlon, 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 1 — either way is well. 
 
 D^Arl. My lord, I come alone. 
 
 Earl. Why, still thou'rt welcome. 
 
 D'Arl. Yet there is something following at my heels 
 Wliich hardly shall your highness in like sort 
 Make welcome here. 
 
 Earl. Wliy, say'st thou ? what is that ? 
 
 D^Arl. Ill rumours, my good lord. 
 
 Earl. And of what import ? 
 
 D'Arl. The rebels are alive again and fresh. 
 The messengers of peace lie stabbed to death 
 Upon the steps i' the market-place. 
 
 n
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 77 
 
 Earl. Not so ! 
 
 It cannot be, — D'Arlon, it must be false. 
 
 D'Arl. 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'Arl. That v/ere 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^Arl. ]\Iy lord, I 'm fearful you mistake the man. 
 If my accounts be true, the life he 's led 
 Serv'd rather in its transit to eclipse 
 Than to show forth his nature ; and, that passed. 
 You '11 now behold him as he truly is, 
 One of a cold and of a constant mind. 
 Not quickened 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 % 
 
 D^Arl. With his own hand. 
 
 Earl. I tell thee it is false ; it cannot be. 
 Thou, Gilbert ^Matthew, how think'st thou o' the tale ? 
 
 Gilb. My lord, it may be there 's some stii' at Ghent, 
 Which rumour, floating like a mist before, 
 Augments to this. 
 
 Earl. Tliou deem'st it to be nothing. 
 
 Gilb. I deem of Ghent as of a fly m winter 
 That in a gleam of sunshine creeping forth 
 Kicks with stiff legs a feeble stroke or two 
 And falls upon its back. ]\Iy lord, 'tis nothing. 
 
 Earl. Gilbert, thy wisdom never was at fault. 
 Thou art a comfoi-table councillor. 
 Sirrah, what tidings ? [ To an Attendant xvho enters. 
 
 Ait. Sir, the Lord of Occo 
 
 Came with his men at arms before the walls. 
 Apprized that he was di'iven forth of Ghent
 
 78 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 The wai'ders 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 ! 
 
 Enter the Lord of Occo. 
 
 Speak, Sir Guy. 
 Out with the worst, for I have guess'd it all. 
 Fame was here fii'st as bi'eathless as you are. 
 
 Occo. '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 
 Despatch'd 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 ! 
 Rise, sirs, and feast no more. My Lord of Occo, 
 Such entertainment as such times afford 
 We 'II give you. Bid my chamberlain see to it. 
 Adieu, sirs ; when the walls of Ghent lie flat 
 Our revel we resume. 
 
 D^Arl. Leave me, my lord. 
 The entertainment of your friends from Ghent. 
 My house will hold them. — [Aside.'] Grant me this, 
 
 my lord ; 
 They need a supervisor. 
 
 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 HI.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 79 
 
 Scene III. — A Chamber in the Lorb of Arlon's 
 House. 
 
 Adriaxa Tan Merestyn, and three Attendants in the Lorp 
 OF Occo's livery. 
 
 Adri. Where have ye brought me to ? What house 
 is this ? 
 Nay, must I ask for ever 1 Wilt not speak ? 
 Nor thou, nor thou ? If ye are bid be dumb, 
 But say ye are so and I '11 ask no more. 
 First Ait. Madam, we are. 
 
 Adri. 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 ^^oe* out. She turns aside from the 
 others. 
 
 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 Aeswvx. 
 Aesivyn. [to the Attendants.] Depart the chamber. 
 \_Exeunt the Attendants. 
 Adri. Master Van Aeswyn ! 
 Aesivyn. Madam ! 
 
 Adri. It is thou 
 
 That thus abusest me ! 
 
 Aeswyn. I, Madam ! No.
 
 80 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act jh. 
 
 I have done nothing ; if a wrong there be. 
 It lies with otliei-s ; I have but obeyed 
 Whom I am bound to serve. 
 
 Adri. 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 
 With blot and stain of such addition vile 
 Of countenance and favour, bred of guilt. 
 As he that uses thee may please to shew thee : 
 Favour, that coming fi-om 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 sliould wear. 
 Than show of reprehension. Thou to stamp 
 A gentle name with stigma of such deeds ! 
 Oh curse of bad men's hire ! 
 
 Aesii-yn. Nay, madam, nay ; 
 
 'Tis not for hire, neither for countenance : 
 But 1 have taken service with this lord, 
 And by the law of arms — 
 
 Adri. What law is that ? 
 
 'Tis not the law of God, nor yet above it. 
 
 Aeswyn. An honest squii-e is bound by plighted faith. 
 And by the law of arms, to execute 
 His lord's behests. 
 
 Adri. Though they be base and foul \ 
 
 Oh Sin ! what thread or iilament 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 thee, glib Sin ! 
 But Virtue ! where is that indissolute chain
 
 SCEXE m.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 81 
 
 Which to thy anchored maudaments eterne 
 The floating soul shall grapple ! Law of arras ! 
 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. 
 
 Adri. Oh blind craft ! 
 
 Oh frail inventions of humanity ! 
 Me shall no eai'thly 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. 
 
 Adri. 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 1 
 Lo, here I stand in jeopardy and fear, 
 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 ; 
 Rather live out my reason thus, and twist 
 For I'estless 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 
 E 3
 
 82 PHILIP VAN AETEVELDE. [act ui. 
 
 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. 
 
 Aesivyn. Lady, 1 swear 
 I bore a part not willingly in this ; 
 And could I, without ruin of my fortunes, 
 Do aught that should redeem it 
 
 Adri. For thy fortunes 
 
 Trust them to me. 
 
 Enter one of the Attendants. 
 
 Attendant. My lord is at the gate, 
 
 And asks for you. [ Exit. 
 
 Adri. I say, trust them to me ; 
 
 Do to thyself the justice to renounce 
 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 ? 
 
 Aesivyn. Madam, I will. 
 
 Adri. Go now then to thy lord, 
 
 Lest he suspect thy tarriance. I, meanwhile, 
 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. 
 
 Scene IV. — An Ante-chamber in the EarV s Palace. 
 
 Sir Walter D'Arlon and Gilbert Matthew. 
 Gtlb. No sooner had his highness reach 'd the 
 palace 
 Than he sends back for me. 
 
 D'Arl. And me the same. 
 
 Glib. His highness is not happy.
 
 scEXE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 83 
 
 D'Arl. That is likely ; 
 
 But have you any private cause to think it I 
 
 Gilb. I have observed that when he is not happy 
 He sends for me. 
 
 D'Arl. And do you mend his mood \ 
 
 Gilb. Nay, what I can. His highness at such times 
 Is wishful to be counseU'd to shed blood. 
 
 D^Arl. 'Tis said that he is counseU'd oft to that. 
 
 Gilb. 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'Arl. How had they been killed ? 
 
 Gilb. By knocking on the head. 
 
 D' Art. And who had done it ? 
 
 GUb. The officers that walk'd before the Earl 
 To make him room to pass. The streets were full, 
 And many of the mean-crafts roamed about 
 Discoursing of the news they heard from Ghent ; 
 And as his highness pass'd they misbehaved, 
 And three were knocked upon the head with staves. 
 I knew by that his highness was not happy. 
 I knew I should be sent for. 
 
 Enter an Usher /rom an inner chamber. 
 Usher. Ho ! ]Master Gilbert Matthew to his highness. 
 IRe-cnters the chamber, followed hy Gilbert Maithew. 
 D'Arl. There 's some men of their bloody counsels 
 boast, 
 As though the heart were difficult to harden. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Alt. 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^Arl. His name \ 
 
 Alt. Van Aeswyn.
 
 84 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 D'Arl. What ! Sir Guy of Occo's squire ? 
 
 Alt. The same, my lord. 
 
 D'Arl. Yes, yes, the man I know, 
 
 But not the matter that he hath with me ; — 
 Unless it be some diiference with my steward 
 About his quarters. 
 
 Att. Something else than that. 
 
 Reenter ;7(e Usher. 
 
 Usher. The lord of Arlou to his highness. 
 
 D'Arl. Well ; 
 
 Say to Van Aeswyn, when I leave the Earl 
 I '11 see him. 
 
 Scene V. — A Chamber in the Earl'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 destroyed by chance, and the same hand 
 Which did us this good service may do more, 
 ^leantime we ' 11 pray duke Aubert and the bishop 
 To let no victual pass their lands to Ghent. 
 
 Gilb. 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 '11 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 
 AA'ith 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 pinched already. 
 
 Eari That is true. 
 
 Gilb. Yea, Sir, I know the White-Hoods. Wait a while.
 
 scESE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 80 
 
 And when they feel the vulture in their gut 
 They shall be busy whetting of their beaks. 
 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 '11 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 Arlox. 
 
 D^Arl. 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'Arl. IMy lord, my lord, 
 
 He is since yesterday, if not before, 
 The very lewdest villain that was e'er 
 A stain to knighthood. 
 
 Earl. Say'st thou so ? — go to ; 
 
 What are thy reasons ? 
 
 D'Arl. With a violent hand 
 
 He carried off from Ghent a noble lady, 
 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 '11 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_
 
 86 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 Have scarce deserved protection at our bauds ; 
 And when tlie time shall come, as come it will, 
 That Ghent is storm'd and sack'd, they '11 have no more 
 Than their deserts : free quartei's shall they give 
 To lusty kuight, hot squu-e, and man at arms. 
 Shall they not, Gilbert ? 
 
 Glib. Sir, the dames of Ghent 
 
 Must look for worse than what your highness hints. 
 
 Earl. Why then my Lord of Occo sinned not much 
 To seize occasion by the forelock, — ha ? 
 
 Gilb. My lord, he did but what was just and right. 
 
 D^ArL Peace, Master Gilbert Matthew — stand 
 apart ; 
 I seek an audience direct and free. 
 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 voluntai'y heart, not bound 
 By duty or allegiance to bear arms. 
 For in my native land the while was peace. 
 1 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 played 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. 
 
 Earl. Come, Walter, come, you 're idle ; 
 
 When cause and opportunity are rife 
 For reasonable fighting, we might well
 
 SCENE v.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 87 
 
 Dispense with all knight-errantry. Go to ; 
 See the moon out, and if thy humour hold 
 It shall have way ; the next that shines, I trust, 
 Shall cast upon the battered walls of Ghent 
 A thorough light. 
 
 D^ArL And if T live to see it 
 
 I '11 claim the combat. Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Earl. Was ever man, with denizens for foes 
 And foi'eigners 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. 
 
 Glib. By your leave, 
 
 I could not wish your highness better fortune, 
 Than that the fools you count amongst your friends 
 Were numbered with your foes, — or with the dead. 
 
 Enter Attendant, 
 Att. According to the summons, please your high- 
 ness. 
 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 rne. May 't be soon ! 
 
 \_Exennt.
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Ghent. The platform at the top of the 
 steeple of St. Nicholas^ church. Tone, day-break. 
 
 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, joined 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 squandered, 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 
 
 And lie where I shall front them ; — here, I think. 
 
 IHe 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, 
 Brmgs slumber bountifully whereupon 
 
 I
 
 sfEXE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 89 
 
 We give her sleepy welcome if all this 
 
 Were honourably over Adriaua — 
 
 'iFalls asleep, but starts up almost instantly. 
 I heard a hoof, a horse's hoof I '11 swear, 
 Upon the road from Bruges, — or did I dream \ 
 No ! 'tis the gallop of a horse at speed. 
 
 Vanden Bosch. \_ivUhout.'] What ho! Van Arte velde 1 
 
 Ariev. Who calls ? 
 
 Van den B. [entering. '\ 'Tis I. 
 
 Thou art an early riser, like myself ; 
 Or is it that thou hast not been to bed ? 
 
 Artev. What are thy tiduigs \ 
 
 Van den B. Nay, what can they be I 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Be quiet ; listen to the westerly wind, 
 And tell me if it bring thee nothing new. 
 
 Van den B. Nought to my ear, save howl of hungry 
 dog 
 That hears the house is stirring — nothing else. 
 
 Artev. No, — now — I hear it not myself — no — nothing. 
 The city's hum is up — but ere you came 
 'Twas audible enough. 
 
 Van den B. In God's name what ? 
 
 Artev. A horseman's tramp upon the road from 
 Bruges. 
 
 Van den B. 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. 
 
 Artev. And send him back to Bruges ? 
 
 Van, den B. Send him to hell — and that 's a better 
 
 place. 
 Artev. Nay, softly, Van den Bosch ; let war be war. 
 But let us keep its ordinances.
 
 90 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act m. 
 
 Van den B. 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. 
 
 Artev. Not so, not so. 
 
 My rule of governance has not been such 
 As e'er to issue in so foul a close. 
 
 Van den B. What matter by what rule thou may'st 
 have governed ? 
 Think'st thou a hundred thousand citizens 
 Shall stay the fury of their empty maws 
 Because thou 'st ruled them justly ? 
 
 Artev, It may be 
 
 That such a hope is mine. 
 
 Van den B. Then thou art mad, 
 
 And I must take this matter on myself. \is going. 
 
 Artev. Hold, Van den Bosch ; I say this shall not be. 
 I must be madder than I think I am 
 Ere 1 shall yield up my authority. 
 Which I abuse not, to be used by thee. 
 
 Van den B. This comes of Ufting 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. V 
 
 Artev. Why, know I not it does 1 M 
 
 What hath it hung by else since Utas' eve 1 » 
 
 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 performed, 
 To cater for our joint security ? 
 No, verily ; not such my high ambition. 
 I bent my thoughts on yonder city's weal ; 
 I looked to give it victory and freedom ; 
 And working to that end, by consequence 
 Fi'om one great peril did deliver thee — 
 Not for the love of thee or of thy life,
 
 SCENE r.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 91 
 
 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 B. Thou wilt ? 
 
 Artev. I will. 
 
 Van den B. 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 ? 
 
 Artev. Unto His sovex*eignty 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 mov'd from wires we see not, 
 I were to toss thee from this steeple's top, 
 I should be but the instrument — no moi'e — 
 The tool of that chastising Providence 
 Which doth exalt the lowly and abase 
 The violent and proud : but let me hope 
 Such is not mine appointed task 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 my 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 B. Tush, tush, Van Artevelde ; thoutalk'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. 
 
 Artev. I know, sir, no man better, where my talk
 
 92 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Is serviceable singly, where it needs 
 To be by acts enforced. I say, beware, 
 And brave not mine authority too far. 
 
 Van den B. Hast thou authority to take my life ? 
 What is it else to let yon herald in 
 To bargain for our blood ? 
 
 Artev. 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 upon the balance of such scales. 
 I too would live — I have a love for life — 
 But rather than to live to chai-ge 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 B. I 'd like to see thee do it. 
 
 Artev. 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 B. Beshrew thee ! 
 
 Thou shalt not have the start of me in this. 
 
 \_Ue follows, and the scene closes. 
 
 ScEXE II. — The House Van Artevelde. 
 
 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.
 
 SCEN'E ir.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 93 
 
 Van Muck. Why we ourselves fare better. 
 
 Van Ryk. I fare somewhat better, aud for thee, 
 thou wouldst make a famine where there was none. 
 No more than this morsel of meat in four-and-twenty 
 hours ! 
 
 Urscl. No more ; and if he hath been abroad, 'tis 
 more than likely that he shall bring home some little 
 child, or seme sick woman to share it with him, 
 
 Vaji Ryk. It is wonderful how stout he is withal. 
 Some men shall but bite their nails and their belly 's 
 full. 
 
 Van Mnck. 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. 
 
 Enter Artevelde. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Van JMuck. Sir, at your pleasure. 
 
 Ariev. And 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 ]\Iuck. Sir, safe he shall be, whosoe'er would 
 harm him. \^E.iit.
 
 94 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Clara enters, hut remains behind. 
 
 Artev. And now, Van Ryk, I have a charge for thee. 
 Thou m the porch of Old St. Nicholas' Church 
 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 fai'es my sister ? nay — 
 come hither, Clara. 
 
 Clara. No nearei', Philip, for I breathe contagion- 
 
 Artev. What, com'st thou from the hospital ? 
 
 Clara. Sti'aight thence. 
 
 God help me for a pestilent little fool ! 
 I tend the sick fx-om weary day to da}', 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 reward. 
 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 brmgs, 
 Calamity, most like a frosty night 
 That ripeneth the grain, completes at once. 
 But now that we 'i*e alone, not gone. Van Ryk ? 
 
 Van Ryk. Six*, 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, — 
 
 Artev. Tut, tut, Van Ryk ; 'twill come, the time 
 will come.
 
 SCENE iJ.] PHILIP TAX ARTEVELDE. 95 
 
 And action to thy heart's content thou 'It have. 
 
 lExitYAy RvK. 
 Now render me account of what befel, 
 Where thou hast been 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 we 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, 
 And with a low obeisance, and a smile 
 That look'd like watery moonlight on his face, 
 So pale and Aveak a smile, he bade me Avelcome, 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Poor soul ! and wherefore 1 
 
 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,
 
 96 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Each with its arm about the other's neck, 
 
 So that a fairer sight I had not seen 
 
 Than those two cliildreu, witli 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 wcalcness of his frame and his great grief. 
 
 Artev. Much pity was it he so long deferred 
 To come to us for aid. 
 
 Clara. It was indeed. 
 
 But whatsoe'er had been his former pride, 
 He seem'd a humbled and heart-broken man. 
 He tliank'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 bis 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. 
 
 Arte". 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, 
 
 Enter Father John of ITeda. 
 
 Artev. What cheer, good father ? 
 
 F.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-vard.
 
 SCENE iJ.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 97 
 
 Artev. Tx-uly 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. 
 Repair thee to the captains of the guards, 
 And give my orders that from this time forth 
 No funerals be allowed till after dark. 
 
 lExit Steward. 
 And so the sickness spreads ? 
 
 F. 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 seiz'd with racking pains ; 
 Then shift they to his chest, with change as quick, 
 Then to his loins, and strangury succeeds, 
 With clammy sw^eat, 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 
 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, 
 
 F
 
 93 PHILIP VA>' ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 And with collected senses and calm speech 
 Tell the by-standers that their hour is come. 
 
 Artev, 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 tvithout. The Page enter*. 
 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 
 Foi'bids that any word should pass his lips 
 Till he have speech of you. 
 
 Artev. Van Muck is right. 
 
 Page. But oh ! you never saw such wrathful men ! 
 They '11 tear them both to pieces. 
 
 Artev. Have no fear. 
 
 Van Muck will make his way. Aye, here they come. 
 
 Page. The man has enter'd by the other door ; 
 I see him not amongst them. 
 
 Clara. He is here. 
 
 Enter Van Muck and Van Aesvvyn. 
 
 Artev. 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 1 
 
 Aeswyn. Under your favour 
 
 The Lord of Occo, sir 
 
 Artev. I'm bound by oath, 
 
 If I survive this hapless city's siege. 
 That instant to pursue the traitorous villain 
 By day and night, o'er mountain and o'er plain, 
 Thi'ough solitudes or cities, land or sen, 
 Though he should fly me to the ends o' the earth, 
 And never cease from seeking and pursuing,
 
 STEVE ir.] PHILIP VAN ARTETELDE. 93 
 
 Till I shall set ray heel upon his neck. 
 What dost thou here ? 
 
 Aeswyn. I come not here from him. 
 
 For since he made his war upon a damsel, 
 I have renounc'd his service ; more than that, 
 I to the Lord of Arlon did that errand 
 Which wrought to her deliverance. 
 
 Artev. Aha ! 
 
 I crave your pardon. I had heard 'twas you, 
 Though it escaped me. Tell your tale ; but first 
 W^hat tidings of that lady ? 
 
 Aeswyn. She I'emains 
 
 By her own will, sir, in the knightly hands 
 Of my good Lord of Arlon. 
 
 Artev. Say no more ; 
 
 Elsewhere I would not wish her. 
 
 [The tumult increases without. a>id Artevelde'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 Van Aeswyn to my private chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Artevelde and Claba. 
 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. Arteveldb 
 passes into an external gallery, which overlooks the 
 street, and is heard addressing the people. 
 Artev. Hence to the Stadt-house, fi'iends ; I '11 meet 
 you there. 
 And either bring the messenger himself, 
 Or tell you of his tidings : hence — begone. 
 
 [The noise subsides as the people disperse; Arteveldb 
 passes over the stage ,- and the scene closes. 
 
 F 2
 
 100 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Scene III. — Before the Stadt- House, as in the last 
 scene of the second act. 
 
 The people assemble. Fraxs Ackeraian and Peter Van Nlitrk 
 in front. 
 
 Ack. 'Tis certain something hath befallen him. 
 
 Van NuL But where ? He might be found, if so 
 it were. 
 
 Ach. Hast sought him at Jozyne's estaminet ? 
 
 VanNui. There, and at every lodgment in the city. 
 Old mother Van den Bosch was confident 
 He went forth early to Van Artevelde's. 
 
 Ack. Sure nothing can have happen'd to him there. 
 
 Van Nui. That 's what I doubt. The best will have 
 their failings. 
 They were not in such unison of mind 
 As might have been desired. 
 
 Aik. I cannot think it. 
 
 But this day's business shall proceed no farther 
 Until the truth appear. Soft ! now he comes. 
 
 [Van Artevelde enters. There is a dead silence. He 
 walks, sloicbj and with a mournful appearance, up the 
 steps of the platform. 
 
 Arlev. Are we all here ? 
 
 One from the crowd. What's left of us is here, — 
 Our bones. 
 
 Artev. We 're wasted in the flesh, 'tis true ; 
 
 But w^e have spirits left. We all are here. 
 
 Ack. I will say nay to that. Where 's Van den 
 Bosch ? 
 
 Artev. Silence! Frans Ackerman ; we want not him. 
 
 Ack. Then I demand if he be dead or living, 
 
 Artev. He lives. 
 
 Ack. Where is he, then ? 
 
 Artev. Where all shall be 
 
 Who seek, by mutiny against their chief. 
 To do unlawful deeds. What ask ye more ? 
 He is arx'ested and confined.
 
 SCENK iir.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 101 
 
 Ack. What cause 
 
 For this proceeding hath that brave man given ? 
 
 Artev. If, as his friend, tliou ask wherein he erred, 
 I '11 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 
 And put to death — yea, nothing less would serve, — 
 That so the tidings which I 'ra here to tell 
 Might never reach your ears. To place restraint 
 Upon this obstinate 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 \ 
 
 Artev. Frans Ackerman, thou hear'st what cause 
 consti^ained 
 Me, much reluctant, thus to use thy friend. 
 Art thou content ? 
 
 Ack. I am. 
 
 Artev. 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, 
 And place their lives and chattels at his mercy.
 
 102 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 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 '11 light a flame 
 
 That shall not be extinguished. Speak your minds. 
 
 Will ye accept the proffer'd tei'ms, or no ? 
 
 Burghers. Give us your counsel. Tell us what is best. 
 
 Artev. 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 whei'ewithal 
 To linger out three days. For corn, there 's none ; 
 A mouse imi)rison'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. 
 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 jieople speak in consultation with each other, and tvith 
 the Deacons. 
 
 Deacofi of the Mariners. We of the mariners' craft 
 approve the counsel. 
 
 Deacon of the Cordtvainers. There 's nothing better 
 can be done.
 
 SCENE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 103 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 
 Artev. If thei-ebe found amongst youmen 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 ; 
 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. 
 
 Artev. If by my choice 
 
 Ye will abide — a soldier's death for me ! 
 
 A great rnanii voices. To Bruges, to Bruges ; a 
 venture forth to Bruges. 
 
 Artev. Why yet, then, in our embers there is life ! 
 Let whosoe'er would follow me, repair 
 To the West Poi-t. Five thousand will I choose 
 From them that come, if there should be so many : 
 And when night falls, we '11 sally from the gates. 
 
 Many Citizens again. For Bruges ! for Bi'uges ! 
 'tis gallantly resolved. 
 
 Artev. Then fare ye well, ye citizens of Ghent ! 
 This is the last time you will see me here,
 
 104 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Unless God prosper me past liuman hope. 
 I thank you for the dutiful demeanour 
 Which never — no not once — in any of you 
 Have I found wantincr, thouo;h sevei-ely tried 
 When discipline might seem without reward. 
 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 lieart 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 hira 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. 
 
 1st at. Oh, Master Philip, there is none— not one. 
 
 2nd CV. Most justly and most wisely you have ruled 
 us. 
 
 Artev. I thank you, sirs ; farewell to you, once more. 
 Once more, fai-ewell. 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 1 
 To Him and to His providence I leave you. 
 
 [//f descends. The people come round him, seizing his hands, 
 and crying con/usedli/, ' God bless you, blaster Philip ! 
 God 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 disheartened by these tears ; 
 Or else should I reprove them — so — farewell ! 
 
 IHc passes through the crowd, which disperses, a}}d the 
 scene closes.
 
 scBXB IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Scene l\.— The Vestibule of the Church of St. 
 Nicholas. 
 
 At the extreme end of it. Van Ryk is seen keejmig guard over 
 the door, which gives access to the church tower. In front, 
 Clara appears, followed at a little distance hy Van Aeswvn. 
 
 Clara. Still he pursues me ; but I will not bear it. 
 How now, Sir Squii'e \ whom seek you ? 
 
 Aeswyn. With your leave, 
 
 I have an errand for your private ear. 
 
 Clara. ^Nly private ear ! I have no private ear ! 
 My eai's will not be private. 
 
 Aeswyn. I beseech you 
 
 To pardon my presumption. 
 
 Clara. Nay, go to ; 
 
 It is not past forgiveness ; no, no, no, 
 I freely pardon you, 
 
 Aeswyn. I thank you, madam ; 
 
 And were I but permitted to speak out 
 All that he bade me say — 
 
 Clara. That he ! what he ? 
 
 Aeswyn. The Loi'd of Arlon, madam. 
 
 Clara. Lord of what \ 
 
 Aeswyn. 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 '11 be seated : for you look so pale 
 I fear you 're ill. 
 
 Clara. Oh, never mind the bench ; 
 
 r 3
 
 10() PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 No, I can stand — I think — well then, I '11 sit. 
 So now, your errand ? 
 
 Aeswyn. The Lord of Arlou, 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 yon 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 tnrn'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 poisoned. 
 
 Clara. Alas, poor D'Arlon ! but I cannut help him. 
 
 Aesivyn. Himself thinks otherwise ; he bade me say 
 That he implores you to fly hence to him. 
 
 Clara. No, never, never. 
 
 Aesivyn. And his aunt at Bruges, 
 
 Tlie prioi'ess, will have you in her care 
 Till it shall please you to permit his suit. 
 
 Clara. I tell thee, never. I a fugitive ! 
 Whilst Pliilip lives and holds the city out, 
 Nor pestilence nor famine, fire nor sword. 
 Nor evil here nor good elsewhere divides us. 
 IVInch may he lose, and much that's far more worth, 
 But never this reliance. 
 
 Aeswyn. With your leave, 
 
 I would make bold to ask you if your absence. 
 In these extremities might not rejoice 
 Kather than grieve him. 
 
 Clara. No, 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 quarrelFd with him oft,
 
 SCE.VE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 10? 
 
 And all our loA'es and quarrels past are links 
 
 That no adversity shall e'er dissever. 
 
 .Vnd I am useful, too ; he '11 tell you that ; 
 
 We Arteveldes were made for times like these ; 
 
 The Deacon of the Mariners said well 
 
 That we ai'e of such canvas as they use 
 
 To make storm- stay-sails. I have much in charge, 
 
 And I '11 stand by him and abide the worst. 
 
 Aeswyn. Then I must 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 natui-e's making 
 Whom, being kind, her misery made not kinder. 
 
 Aesivyn. The thought of that may solace him. Fare- 
 well. 
 
 Clara. Fai'ewell. I mount the tower to look abroad. 
 A^fter your private conference at noon, 
 My brother arm'd himself and bade his horse 
 Be ready harnessed 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 '11 look. 
 
 iShe approaches the door of the Tower, and perceives Van 
 Ryk, who plants himself before her. 
 
 Van Ryk. You cannot pass, my lady. 
 
 Clara. How ! not pass { 
 
 Van Ryk. The door is lock'd ; your brother keeps the 
 And I am stationed here with strict command [key : 
 To suffer none to pass. 
 
 Clara. How could they pass, 
 
 If what thou sayst be true ? thou hast the key. 
 
 Van Ryk. Upon my faith I have it not, my lady.
 
 10« PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iV. 
 
 But hither comes my prince of spies, the Page, 
 To tell what's doing iu 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 dis- 
 course of, 
 There 's cause for Ghent to tremble or rejoice, 
 And liberty for me : if Philip goes 
 I have no business here. 
 
 Aesivyn. Most surely none ; 
 
 And you will now betake yourt^elf 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 AESWY>f, and Page. 
 
 Enter Van Artevklde, icho advances to the door of the Tower 
 where Van Ryk is statiotted. 
 
 Artev. 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 armed, 
 And rages like a man possess'd by devils. 
 
 Artev. 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 dooi', that I was much in doubt 
 Whether the triple bars had strength to hold it.
 
 s<E.vE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 109 
 
 Then — God be merciful ! the oaths and curses ! 
 Faster they came than I could tell my beads. 
 
 Artev. But all is silent now. 
 
 Va)i Ryk. The last half-hour 
 
 I have not heard him. 
 
 Artev. Open me the door. 
 
 Van Ryk. Surely you will not enter ? 
 
 Artev. . Nay, I must. 
 
 We must be friends again. His aid is wanted. 
 
 Va7i Ri/k. He will assault you ere a word be spoken. 
 
 Artev. He is a hasty man ; but we must meet. 
 
 Van Ryk. Then I will enter with you. 
 
 Artev. Noj Van Ryk ; 
 
 I seek his confidence ; a show of force 
 Were sure to baffle me, I go alone. 
 
 Van Ryk. For mercy's sake forbear. Should you 
 go in, 
 Or you or he will ne'er come out alive. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 lEjcity and the scene changes. 
 
 Scene V. — The platf>rm at the top of the steeple. 
 As in the first scene in this act. 
 Vax Artevelde, and Van pen Bosch. 
 Artev. 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 iiis 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.
 
 110 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 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 — 
 
 IHe 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 B. What noisy villain 's this ? — Van 
 Artevelde ! 
 
 Artev. Nay, never grope and fumble for thy weapons ; 
 They are conveyed away. 
 
 Van den B. Oh ! bloody villain. 
 
 And wilt thou murder me unarm'd ? 
 
 Artev. 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 B. 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. 
 
 Artev. Nay, softly, friend. 
 
 Van den B. I'm robb'd, I'm robb'd, 
 
 I'm plundered — 
 I 'ra plundered 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 '11 kill thee. 
 
 Artev. Do that, and thou shalt need thy sword no 
 longer. 
 
 Van den B. Thou coward, wilt thou give me back 
 my sword ?
 
 SCE.VE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. Ill 
 
 Artev. There— take it, and the devil give thee 
 good on 't ! 
 Now that thou hast it, mayhap thou 'It be brought 
 To leave thy bellowing and listen. Hark ! 
 
 Vail den B. I have thee now, Van Artevelde, I 
 have thee. 
 Ha, ha ! I have my sword — I have thee now. 
 
 Artev. 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 I 
 
 Van den B. No. 
 
 Thou art a liar. Draw thy sword and fight. 
 
 Artev. I give thee back thy lie, and take thy challenge. 
 To mortal proof we '11 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 B. A murrain on thy reasons ! draw thy 
 sword. 
 
 Artev. {draii's his sword and flings it from him). 
 I '11 fight thee when I please, and not before. 
 
 Van den B. Art thou a coward \ wherefore wilt not 
 fight ? 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 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 repelled, 
 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 mov'd the pe<)ple to a Last attempt
 
 112 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE [act ir. 
 
 Of desperate daring, and we go to-night, 
 Five thousand men, to seek the earl at I3ruges. 
 Now, Peter Van den Bosch, give ear to me : 
 Thy mouth has been, this man}- a day, stuffed 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 honoured 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 suffered 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 ; 
 For I had counted on thy aid to-day 
 To do the things that tliou so oft hast threatened, 
 
 fail den B. Van Artevelde, I never yet forgave 
 So deep an injury as thou hast done me ; 
 But seeing how things bear, 1 '11 pass it by, 
 Until this last adventure have an end. 
 Then shalt thou reckon with me for the past. 
 
 Artev. For that 1 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 thou 'It find 
 All fit observance. 
 
 Van den B. I will take my charge.
 
 SCEXE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 113 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 Scene I. — The field of IMerlf, in the environs of 
 Bruges. 
 
 Vax Artevelue, V.ax den Bosch, Vax Ryk, Van Mvck, aud 
 others. 
 
 Artev. 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 
 In which they needs must perish should they yield. 
 We can't be better. 
 
 Van den B. Let it then be here. 
 
 I 've probed the slough. 
 
 Artev. That I did too ; 'tis deep. 
 
 Van den B. He is a taller man than you or I, 
 That finds the bottom with his head above. 
 
 Artev. It is an hour to sunset. 
 
 Van Ryk. ^^ay* 'tis more. 
 
 Artev. A little more, Van Ryk. I would to God 
 The sun might not go down upon us here 
 Without a battle fought ! 
 
 Van den B. If so it should, 
 
 We pass a perilous night. 
 
 Artev. A nipping night, 
 
 And wake a wasted few the morrow morn. 
 
 Van Muck. We have a supper left. 
 
 Artev. My lady's page 
 
 If he got ne'er a better should be wroth. 
 And bui'n in effigy my lady's steward. 
 For us and for one supper 'twill suffice ; 
 But he 's a skilful man at splitting haii^ 
 That can make two on 't.
 
 114 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v- 
 
 Fa7i Ryk. Aye, or leave behind 
 
 A bi'eakfast in his dish. 
 
 Artev. 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 undiscover'd in, we shall not miss 
 To profit by his skill. 
 
 Van den B. We '11 hope the best ; 
 
 But if there be a knave in power unhanged, 
 And in his head a grain of sense undrown'd, 
 He '11 be their caution not to — 
 
 Artev. Van den Bosch, 
 
 Talk we of battle and survey the field. 
 For I li'ill fight. Let stakes be driven in 
 Amongst the rushes at the nether end 
 Of this morass. Van Ryk, 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 with due diligence. 
 
 Scene IL — An open tent erected for public entertain- 
 ment in the Market-place of Bruges. 
 
 Boisterous songs, and other sounds of riot and jollity are heard 
 on all sides. Within the tent a iniscellancous 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 acquaintance. 
 
 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 celebi'ated ? Dost see what a devotion 
 there is to it ! 
 
 Trickle. I see very many righteous gentlemen very
 
 SCEXE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 115 
 
 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 1 
 
 Trickle. Mine is a rare helpmate. 
 
 Lunyz. Let the church speak. Father Swillen, is 
 not this as it should be \ 
 
 F. Swillen. My son, and worthy burgesses, and be- 
 loved bi'ethi-en ! Of the present solemnity, I will 
 deliver my opinion according to the canons. Wine is 
 to be used cum abstinentia et temperantia, for the 
 recovery of the sick, 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 example. [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, — 1 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. 
 
 F. Sicillen. God requite you, my son ! for their sal- 
 vation, — for their salvation — nothing else. 
 
 Lunyz [looking out into the Market-place.] Here 
 is a minstrel twiddles with the strings of his cithern. 
 Now we shall hear a songr.
 
 116 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING SONG IS SUNG TO A VULGAU TUNE. 
 
 Who mounts the meny -go-round with me, 
 
 Who mounts the merry-go-round ? 
 "fis I, I, I, — and who be ye 
 
 That would mount the merry-go-round ? 
 
 A blacksmith I, — spearlieads as good 
 
 As e'er from Bordeaux came, 
 I've made and would in (Jhcntsmen's blood 
 
 Be bold to dip tlie 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 momits the merry-go-round. 
 
 A Barber I,— and well appear 'd 
 
 My handicraft, for when 
 A Ghentsman's beard 1 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. 
 
 Kroolkhuys. I'faith he sings like a nightingale. No 
 more thank you, — I cannot — cannot. . .well, if I must. . . 
 [drinks']. 'Tis a chai'ming lullaby, and the sentiment
 
 SCE.VE in.l PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 117 
 
 very tender and soothing. Let us all do as we would 
 
 be done by, God bless us ! [Falls asleep, 
 
 Suddenfy is heard from the Market-place a loud cry of 
 
 'To arms ! To arms !' 
 
 Ukenhnm. [starting up and droicing his sivord]. To 
 
 arms ? what ! the men of Ghent come to us ? What I 
 
 the scareei'ows from Ghent ! To arms ! to arms ! out 
 
 and down with them ! to arms ! to arms ! 
 
 Kroolkhuys, waking. Why how is this ? the men of 
 Ghent ! what ho ! give me my coat of proof. 
 
 Ukenheim. Let cowards stay behind. To arms ! to 
 arms ! 
 They rush out confusedly. Tackexham creeps 
 from under the table, where he had remained in a 
 rerlininp posture. 
 Tack. To arms ! I look upon Father Swillen to be 
 an oi'acle, and it were to be wished that all men paid 
 tlie church her dues. 
 
 Scene lll.— ThePalacp. 
 The Lord of Occo and Gilbert Matthew. 
 
 Gilh. His Highness will be here anon. Sir Guy, 
 Freely accept the combat for the morrow. 
 Count on my speed. There's not a man in Bruges 
 Who has outliv'd the day I wished him dead. 
 The threads of many destinies 1 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 — 
 ^ Gilh. Hark ! 
 
 'Tis over, that. He loves him now no more. 
 For every philtre that can make men love, 
 1 know the secret of an antidote. 
 I've warned him of those private ties in Ghent. 
 Enough. I've dosed him.
 
 118 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act r. 
 
 Occo. Well, it shall be doue. 
 
 Gilb. 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. 
 
 Gilb. I have you then ; 'tis Erclo and Romero. 
 
 Occo. The same. 
 
 Enter the Earl. 
 
 Earl. What shouting's this I hear abroad 1 
 
 Occo. The revellei's, 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, 
 I'll meet Sir Walter D'Arlon. 
 
 Gilb. 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 back- 
 wards. 
 
 Occo, 'Tis an alarm. 
 
 Enter the Lord of Arlox, Sir Robert Mareschavlt 
 and others. 
 
 Earl. Well, D'Arlon, what is this ? 
 
 D^Arl. The men of Ghent, my lord, the men of 
 Ghent. 
 
 Earl. What, here? 
 
 D'Arl. Two miles aloof they make a stand. 
 
 Earl. What, are they mad ? 
 
 D'Arl. 1 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 bannei', summon all to arms, 
 Then foi'th and fight them. 
 
 Gilb. Please you, sir, to say 
 
 How many they may number.
 
 SCENE irr.J PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. IIP 
 
 Sir R. At a guess 
 
 About five thousand, 
 
 Gilb. May they move, or stand ? 
 
 Sir R. Since they were first descried they have not 
 stirred. 
 
 Earl. Forth with my banner ; out with horse and 
 foot. 
 Sir knights, we muster in the Market-place. 
 Bring me my armour, ho ! 
 
 Giib. 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 flushed 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 moiniing breaks 
 You '11 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. Nay, nay, they '11 think we 
 fear them. 
 
 Gilb. 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 sui-e to thin their ranks 
 Of fighting men ; and if they' re scantly stored 
 With victual, which is probable to think, 
 They shall endure it worse. 
 
 Enter the Mayor iti haste. 
 
 Mayor. My lord, my lord. 
 
 The crafts fly forth by thousands from the gates. 
 Unordered and unled. 
 
 Earl. Who kept the gates ?
 
 120 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 How came they open ? Walter, haste thee, haste ! 
 And brmg the madmen back. [Ea;ii D'Arlox, 
 
 How came tliey open ? 
 
 Mayor. A simple mariner avouched, my lord, 
 That he had heard your Highness's own mouth 
 Give out the order. 
 
 Earl. Hang the slave ! he lied. 
 
 Mayor. Why so the wax'ders 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. 
 
 Earl. Now, Gilbert, we must forth. 
 
 Gilb. Aye, go we forth. 
 
 Fifty to five, we surely must do well, 
 Though peradventure, for the sparing lives 
 We might have done more wisely. 
 
 Earl. Sirs, be sudden ; 
 
 And when you 're mounted in the market-place, 
 I '11 give you there your charges. Sound to horse. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Field of Merle, as in the First Scene. 
 Van Artevelde, Van Ryk, Van Muck, and others. 
 
 Artev. See'st thou yon sweeping section of the roaf 
 That leads by Ecdorf to the Eastern gate ? 
 My eyes are strained, but yet I thought I saw 
 A moving mass of men. 
 
 Van Ryk. I thought so too. 
 
 When I had held mine eyes a minute fixed. 
 As in a morsel of dry mouldered cheese, 
 I thought I could descry a tumbling movement. 
 
 ii
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 121 
 
 Artev. 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 ! 
 
 Enter Van den Bosch. 
 I give you joy ! by Heaven, we have our wish. 
 
 Va7i den B. Yea, sir, they come, and now betide 
 what may, 
 We '*11 mix the Evil One a mess for supper 
 In yonder darksome pool. 
 
 Artev. 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 '11 sup. 
 And after that we '11 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 '11 send thee. 
 
 Van Ryk. Nay, 
 
 I shall want nothing, sir. 
 
 Artev. I tell thee, eat, 
 
 Eat and be fresh. I '11 send a priest to shrive thee. 
 Van Muck, thou tak'st small comfort in thy prayers; 
 7ut thou thy muzzle in yon tub of wine, 
 'ow, Van den Bosch, or ere the sun go down, 
 
 e "11 know Heaven's will. 
 
 Van den B. Have with thee, Artevelde ! 
 
 ou art a brave and honourable man, 
 nd I would have thee know that should we fall, 
 :iither or both, I bear thee now no grudge ; 
 ind so may Heaven forgive my many sins, 
 Vs I do thee. 
 
 G
 
 122 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Artev. Why, thou art now thyself ; 
 
 With heart and hand we '11 fall upon the foe. 
 And do the work like brothers. Come thy ways. 
 
 \_Exeunt all hut Van Ryk and Van Muck, 
 
 Van Byk. 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 '11 shout, and hail thee. [Ea^it, 
 
 Enter Artevelde's Page. 
 
 Van Ryk. 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 Ryk. What took thee there ? 
 
 Page. I went with Mistress Clara 
 
 Who sojourns with the Prioress of St. Anne 
 Till all be over. 
 
 Van Ryk. And with her, my boy, 
 
 Thou shouldst have stayed. 
 
 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 me 
 They charged to keep good watch and bring them word 
 How he shall fare ; but by my Halidom 
 I will not run of eiTands now ; I '11 fight. 
 
 Van Ryk. God's mercy on the Knight thou fall'stj 
 upon ! 
 Nay, nay, content thee ; couch thee by yon carts, 
 And dream not thou of fighting. 
 
 Page. Is it true 
 
 That half an hour will bring the battle on ? 
 
 Va7i Ryk. Less time than that. Thou see'st hov 
 fast they come. 
 But now we scarce distinguish'd if they moved, 
 And now upon the skirts of yonder mass, 
 I can discern them, single man by man.
 
 SCENE v.] PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. 12.3 
 
 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 ; 
 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. 
 
 Van Rijk. If he be, 
 
 His pennon is not. 
 
 Page. ^'ay, but look again ; 
 
 I see some knights that gallop up behind, 
 And pennons now come streaming on the road, 
 Betwixt the town and them. 
 
 Van Ryk. Good faith, 'tis true. 
 
 Thou hast sharp eyes. 
 
 Page. And there — upon the bridge — 
 Whose is that pennon ? 
 
 Van Ryk. Presently I '11 tell thee ; 
 
 I cannot yet distinguish. Come this way 
 And we shall see them better. Through the gap. 
 
 Scene V. — Another part of the Field. 
 Tan Artevelde and others. 
 Artev. Their cross-bow shafts have touched 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 '11 hover here ; 
 And soon as he have turn'd his back o' the sun, 
 Let him stand fast and shoot. Thou hast tliine errand ; 
 Let it not cool. And you, sirs, follow me. {Ejcennt. 
 
 g2
 
 124 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Scene VI. — Another part of the Field. 
 The Lord of Arlon and Gilbert Matthew. 
 
 Gilb. How came they thus ? My lord, I needs must 
 say, 
 A soldier's courage, not a leader's skill, 
 Has placed them here. 
 
 D'Arl. Skill ! what can skill avail ? 
 
 Could skill have made men sober that were drunk ! 
 The meanest archer with his senses whole 
 Would not have rushed to stare the sun i' the face 
 As these have done ; — but nothing could withhold them. 
 
 GUb. They will not long hold out. 
 
 D\4rL I prithee fly, 
 
 And tell the earl to send us succours up. 
 I '11 keep them steady, if I can, till then. 
 
 Scene VII. — Another part of the Field. 
 Van Artevelde's Page following an Archer. 
 
 Page. Stay, hearken. 
 
 Archer. Faith of my body ! what is here ? 
 A raannikin at arms ? Why clutch you me ? 
 If you 're afraid, why came you out ? 
 
 Page. Take that. 
 
 For saying I 'm afraid. 
 
 Archer. Ho ! we are slain 
 With buffet of a mighty man of war ! 
 Well, thou hast metal ; what is thy will with me 1 
 
 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 —
 
 SCENE VIII.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 125 
 
 By Heaven ! But I think no — a minute since 
 
 It there was flying, but I think 'tis down. [Exit Page. 
 
 Enter Van Artevelds, with followers from the one side, and 
 Van Ryk with followers /row the other. 
 
 Artev. How is 't with you \ On our side all is well. 
 One half their host is foundered in the swamp, 
 The other full in flight. 
 
 Van Ryk. On our side too 
 
 They all have fled ; but fiu'ther down the fleld 
 The D'Arlon still stands fast. 
 
 Artev. Set on, — set on — 
 
 Make for the spot. But hurt ye not that knight. 
 
 Scene VIII. — A Street in Bruges. 
 
 It is night. The Earl of Flaxders and Sir Robert Mares- 
 CHAULT enter, preceded hy Attendants bearing torches. 
 
 Earl. What succours we can find I '11 lead 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 '11 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 way ! the men of Ghent are there. 
 Fly, fly, my lord I 
 
 Earl. The men of Ghent are where ? 
 
 Soldier. V the market-place, my lord. 
 
 Earl. What, there already ! 
 
 Sir R. Put out your lights. 
 
 Earl. Aye, truly, now all 's lost.
 
 126 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 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 R. 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 R. 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 ? 
 
 Earl. 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 '11 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 ! 
 
 Oh mercy ! my good lord, and is it you ? 
 Woe 's me ! I '11 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. 
 Come in, my gracious lord ; up yonder steps 
 You '11 find a cock-loft and a couch of straw ; 
 Betwixt the mattress and the boards lie flat,
 
 SCENE VIII.] PniLIP YAN ARTEVELDE. 127 
 
 And you may well be hidden. Here are lights ! 
 Come in, come in. [ They enter the house. 
 
 Enter Van ^Iick, /oUoiced by several Men of Ghent. He knocks 
 
 at the door. 
 
 Van 3fi{ck. No answer ? Nay then, knock me in 
 
 this door. [ The iroman opens it. 
 
 Woman. Why, gentlemen, you would not sure molest 
 
 A widow and her children. 
 
 Van Muck. Who 's within ? 
 
 Woman. 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. 
 'Twas I looked out and emptied down a bucket. 
 A man ! God help us ! no. 
 
 Van Muck. Go in and see. 
 
 [_Some of the men enter the house. 
 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 '11 keep the door. 
 Woman. These times, sweet sii'. 
 
 Are hard for widowed women and their babes. 
 
 \_The Men come out 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 Van Muck and his men. 
 Woman. Beshrew your hearts, ye filthy dogs of 
 Ghent I
 
 128 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 The devil catch you by the throat ! for once 
 
 You 've missed your game. Ah, ray sweet lord, away ! 
 
 Scene IX. — The Market-place of Bruges. 
 Ill front Van Artevelde, tvitli Claka and D'Arlon. Next, 
 Ukenheim, Frans Ackkrman, Van Nuitre, and other 
 Leaders. Behind them are crotvds of armed Followers a7id 
 Attendants, bearing torches,- of whom sovie companies 
 march off from time to time under orders from their 
 Captains, and others remain keeping guard over prisoners 
 and spoil. 
 
 Artev. War hath dealt hardly with the noble D'Arlon ; 
 Him gold not ransoms, and to stricter bonds 
 A captive knight was never yet consigned. 
 
 ^Turning to his Followers. 
 Van Muck returns not. Who amongst you all 
 Hath eye of lynx and leveret's foot to speed 
 Thi'ough all the town with inquisition sure, 
 And leave no corner of a house unsearched. 
 Where is Van Ryk ? 
 
 Uken. He left us at the gates. 
 
 Artev. 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 Loi*d of Occo. 
 
 [Occo is brought forward bound. 
 So, my lord ! 
 Enter Van Muck and his party. 
 Van Muck. A prisoner, sir, we briug ; 'tis Gilbert 
 
 Matthew. 
 Artev. And not the earl ? 
 
 Van Muck. 'Tis said that he 's escap'd, 
 
 And ta'en the road to Lisle. He lay some space
 
 SCENE IX.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 129 
 
 Hid in a hovel till the search went by, 
 And then he fled away. 
 
 Artev. Long must thou wait, 
 
 Earl, ere thou see thy heritage again ! 
 Bring Gilbert Matthew forth. [He is brought in houyid. 
 So, Gilbert Matthew ! 
 
 Gilb. Young upstart, what wuuldst thou with 
 Gilbert Matthew ? 
 Artev. 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 l^urghers of each town 
 Send me its keys. Well met, bold Van den Bosch ! 
 
 Enter Van den Bosch, v:ith followers. 
 
 Well met at Bruges, my brethren in arras ! 
 
 As ye were brave, so be ye temperate now. 
 
 Let not the small-crafts suff'er. 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 Gilbert Matthew. 
 Look, Van den Bosch, upon your former friends, 
 And tell me what 's their due. 
 G 3
 
 230 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. ^ [act v. 
 
 Va7i den B. 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, thoit wilt not stain thy hands 
 By killing in cold blood two helpless men ! 
 If thou 'rt a soldier, do not such a deed. 
 Soldiers by soldiers in the field are slain, 
 Not murder'd in the market-place. 
 
 Artev. I grant thee. 
 
 And if the name of soldier can be claim'd 
 By both or one of you, ye shall not die. 
 Bring forth tlie friar. [A Friar is brought forward. 
 
 Save you, holy Father ! 
 Say in the face of these two that stand here, 
 That which thou said'st to me. 
 
 Friar. Sir, it was this : 
 
 Here in the hospital expir'd but now 
 Of many wounds a Florentine, by name 
 Romero, who, repentant ere his death, 
 Confess'd to me that he received a bi'ibf? 
 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. 
 ]\Iaster Van Artevelde, my Lord of Arlon, 
 Believe not I would sin in such a sort. 
 Have mercy on a miserable man ! \^Falls on his knees. 
 Oh God ! there 's some mistake, or else he lied. 
 
 Gilb. How say'st thou that he lied ? Sirs, it is true 
 I with this craven beggarly companion — 
 Of whose accompliceship to do the deed. 
 And 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
 
 SCENE IX.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 131 
 
 Have baulked my purpose, and I go myself. 
 Wherefore, sii'S, God be with you ! To the block ! 
 What are ye dreaming of, ye sluggish hinds ? 
 
 Artev£lde (signing to the Men at Arms, who lead out 
 Gilbert ]NLa.tthew). 
 
 Artev. 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 doomed, 
 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 Ryk, condt(cting Adriana, tcho throws her- 
 self into the arms o/Van Artevelde. He svppartshtr 
 and addresses himself to Occo. 
 Artev. Lo ! here a witness ! look upon this face, 
 x\nd l)id death welcome. Lead him to the block. 
 Adri. Oh, spare him ; speak not now of shedding 
 blood, 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Not though an angel plead. Vengeance is 
 But God doth oftentimes dispense it here [God's ; 
 
 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.
 
 132 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The curtain falls upon the fancied starve. 
 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 tcriter whose romantic heart 
 Lov'd war in every shape, — its pride, its art. 
 Its shows, appurtenance ,—ichose page is still 
 The theatre of war, turn where tve will, — 
 That old historian, oftchose truthful text 
 I dog (he heels,— me whither leads he next 9 
 To dark descents he guides me ; sad and stern, 
 Uim following forth, the lesson that I learn ; 
 That in the shocks of powers so icild 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 armed 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 unvouched, 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, thou 'It see 
 
 In this prefigured her that is to be, 
 
 And find what life teas hei^ before the date 
 
 That with (he Fleming's fordmes linked her fate. 
 
 This sang she (o herself one sutnmer's eve, 
 
 A recrean( from fesdvides that grieve 
 
 The heart not festive ; stealing to her bower, 
 
 With this she whiled aicay the lonely evening hour.
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE 
 
 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 uttered 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 pi'aise what heart refuse I 
 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. 
 
 They lightly rise, 
 
 And scale the skies. 
 And groves and gardens still abound ; 
 
 For where no shoot 
 
 Could else take root, 
 The pealvs 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.
 
 134 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Looks out the white-walled cottage here, 
 The lowly chapel rises near ; 
 Far dowu 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 launched on Corao'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 tossed ? 
 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, 
 May work her harm, or a rougher blast 
 
 May come from yonder cloud, 
 And that her bark 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.
 
 PniLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 And 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 ;
 
 136 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And he had closed tlie 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 : 
 Dismayed 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 fastened naked to a tree ! 
 
 Much dreaming these, yet was she much awake 
 
 To portions of things earthly, for the sake 
 
 Whereof, as witli 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 gi-ace, 
 
 Might not escape her, hidden though it were 
 
 From courtly cognisance ; 'twas not with her 
 
 As with the tribe who see not Nature's boons 
 
 Save by the festal lights of gay saloons ; 
 
 Beauty in plain attii'e her heart could fill — 
 
 Yea, though in beggarly, 'twas beauty still. 
 
 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 ; — 
 
 She loved too soon in life ; her dawn 
 
 Was bright with sunbeams, whence is drawn 
 
 A sure prognostic that the day
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 137 
 
 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 
 
 AMth 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, 
 
 I >r if a darker hour perforce 
 
 At times o'ertook him in his course, 
 
 ■Still sparkling thick like glow-worms showed 
 
 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 performed 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 possessed her now 
 Was novel in degree alone ; 
 Love early marked her for his own ; 
 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 strengthened with her strength, and how 
 Could love be new, unless in name, 
 Degree, and singleness of aim ? 
 A tenderness had filled her mhid 
 Pervasive, viewless, undefined ; — 
 As keeps the subtle fluid oft 
 Its secret, gathering in the soft
 
 138 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And sultry air, till felt at length 
 In all its desolating strength, 
 So silent, so devoid of dread, 
 Her objectless affections spread ; 
 Not wholly unemployed, but squandered 
 At lai'ge where'er her fancy wandered ; 
 Till one attraction, one desire 
 Concentred all the scattered fire ; 
 It broke, it burst, it blazed amain, 
 It flashed its light o'er hill and plain, 
 O'er earth below and heaven above, — 
 And then it took the name of love. 
 
 How fai'ed that love 1 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, 
 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 riclily 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 gloamings grew, 
 And wore the woods a sicklier hue ;
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 139 
 
 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 played 
 
 Around their path, he loved the maid ; 
 
 Loved in half gay, half tender mood, 
 
 By passion touched, but not subdued ; 
 
 Laughed at the flame he felt or lit ; 
 
 Replied to tenderness with wit ; 
 
 Sometimes when passion brightiier burned, 
 
 Its tokens eagerly returned, 
 
 Then calm, supine, but pleased no less, 
 
 Softly sustained each soft caress. 
 
 She, watching with delight the while 
 
 His half-closed eyes and gradual smile, 
 
 (Slow pleasure's smile, how far more worth, 
 
 More beautiful than smiles of mii'th !) 
 
 Seemed 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 filled with glory and with light 
 Had now revealed 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 renowned of old :
 
 140 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 And easier than the most was this, 
 For they were sorted more amiss 
 
 Than outward things foretold. 
 The goddess, that with cruel mirth 
 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 her's grew dim ; 
 Too high, too grave, too lai'gc, too deep. 
 Her love could neither laugh nor sleep — 
 And thus it tired him ; his desu-e 
 Was for a less consuming fire : 
 He wished that she should love him well, 
 Not wildly ; wished 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. 
 And as that common day advanced 
 His heart was wholly unentranced. 
 
 What followed was not good to do, 
 Nor is it good to tell ;
 
 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 
 
 The anguish of that worst adieu 
 Which parts with love and honour too, 
 
 Abides not, — so far well. 
 The human heart can not sustain 
 Prolonged 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 destroyed 
 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 curbed 
 These transports of a mind disturbed ; 
 For grief is then the worst of foes 
 When, all intolerant of repose, 
 It sends the heart abroad to seek 
 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 bi-ight-eyed floweret grown 
 
 To please a favourite child. 
 Delighted was the child to call 
 
 The plot of garden-ground her own :
 
 142 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Delighted was she at the fall 
 
 Of evening mild when shadows tall 
 
 Cross-barred the mound and cottage wall, 
 
 To linger there alone. 
 Nor seemed the garden flowers less fair, 
 Nor loved she less to linger there. 
 When glistened in the morning dew 
 Each lip of red and eye of blue ; 
 And when the sun too brightly burned 
 Towards the foi-cst's verge she turned, 
 Where stretched away from glade to glade 
 A green interminalile 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, 
 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 gaixlen in the wood ; 
 All that was formed to give delight 
 Destruction levelled in a night ; 
 The morning broke, 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 repau* 
 The garden which had been so fair. 
 Then roamed she through the forest walks. 
 Cropping the wild flowers by their stalks, 
 And divers full-blown blossoms gay 
 She gathered, and in fair array
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 143 
 
 Disposed, and stuck them in the mound 
 
 Which had been once her garden ground. 
 
 They seemed to flourish for awhile, 
 
 A moment's space she seemed to smile ; 
 
 But brief the bloom, and vain the toil, 
 
 They were not native to the soil. 
 
 That other child, beneath whose zone 
 
 Were passions fearfully full-grown, — 
 
 She too essayed to deck the waste 
 
 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 breast, 
 
 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 Ijefore they are. 
 But she that loved them — sh^ 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 tethered in its wooded cove 
 Mid gentle waves that sport around 
 And rock it with a gurgling sound. 
 Keel up, it i-ots upon the strand. 
 Its gunwale sunken in the sand, 
 Where suns and tempests warped and shrank 
 Each shattered rib and riven plank. 
 Never again that land-wrecked 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.
 
 144 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 A foreign 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 
 Fi'om 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 thi'ong ; 
 And should the sound of music fall 
 Upon her ear in thart high hall, 
 The smile was gone, the eye that shone 
 So brightly, would be dimmed anon, 
 And objectless would then r.ppear 
 As stretched to check the starting tear. 
 The chords within responsive rung. 
 For music spoke her native tongue. 
 
 And then the c;ay and glittering crowd 
 Is heard not, laugh they ne'er so loud ; 
 Nor then is seen the simpering row 
 Of flattei-ers, bend they ne'er so low ; 
 For there before her where she stands. 
 The mountains rise, the lake expands ; 
 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 foi'est's varied green below. 
 And far its vaulted vistas through 
 A distant grove of darker hue,
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 145 
 
 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 turi'ets 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, 
 
 Survej-ing 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 revealed to him 
 
 Who questioned thus, the vision bright 
 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 ?
 
 146 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 — 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 ARTEYELDE. 
 
 13art tje Seconlr. 
 
 " Oh Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, 
 That chanpeth as the mone ! 
 My somers day in lusty May 
 Is derked before the none." 
 
 The Not-bhowke 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 willful! foly made yow to ryse agayne 
 Yowre natuxall lord ? " 
 
 Skelton.
 
 (SECOND PART,) 
 
 MEN OF FLANDERS. 
 
 Philip Van Artevelde, Regent of Flanders. 
 Peter Van den Bosch. 
 Van Ryk, 
 Van Muck, 
 
 Vauclaire, ) .,^ command at Ypres. 
 roosdyk, j 
 Father John of Hbda. 
 A Page of Van Artevelde's. 
 A Friar. 
 
 Van Stockenstrom, ) ^.^.^^„^ ^^ ypres. 
 Van Whelk, j 
 
 The Burgomaster and divers Burgesses of Ypres, Officers, 
 Messengers, &c. 
 
 MEN OF FRANCE. 
 
 King Charles the Sixth. 
 
 The Di:ke of Burgundy, his uncle, and heir presumptive to 
 
 the Earl of Flanders. 
 The Duke of Bovhbos, also uncle to the king. 
 Sir Fleureant of IIedrlee, a Follower 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 Coucv, aiid many other Lords 
 
 and Knights belonging to the French King's Council. 
 Tristram of Lestovet, Clerk of the Council. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 Elena della Torre, an Italian Lady. 
 
 Cecile, her Attendant. 
 
 Dame A'oorst, a Woman of Ypres. 
 
 The Scene is laid sometimes in Flanders and sometimes 
 in France.
 
 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — An Ante-room to the State Apartments of 
 the Grand Justiciar?/ 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 Jiim Sir Fleureant 
 OF Heuri.ee. 
 
 Sir F. If I may be so bold, friend, whence art thou ? 
 The times are stii-ring, and come whence thou may'st 
 Thou must bring news. 
 
 Yeo. So please your worship's grace 
 
 I come from this side Tournay ; I am French, 
 And though I say it, sir, an honest yeoman. 
 
 Sir F. And, honest yeoman, what 's thine errand 
 here ? 
 
 Yeo. I have a suit, sir, to my noble lord 
 The Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 S)r F. Why, what ?_what suit ? 
 
 Yeo. 'Tis but for justice, sir ; I crave but justice. 
 
 Sir F. Hast thou the price of justice in thy pocket ? 
 
 Yeo. Nay, sir, I am poor. 
 
 Sir F. Poor, and want justice ? — where was thy 
 mother 's thrift 
 To bring thee up in such a poor estate,
 
 150 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act r. 
 
 And yet to lack such dainties ! Say wherein 
 Would'st thou be justified ? who is 't hath wronged 
 thee? 
 
 Veo. Last Wednesday, sir, a troop of Flemings, led 
 By fierce Frans Ackerman, the frontier passed 
 And burned my homestead, ravaged all my fields, 
 And did sore havoc in the realm of France. 
 
 Sir F. What say'st thou ? is it so ? Go to — go to — 
 This is high matter. Thou 'It be heard on this. 
 
 Enter Usher. 
 
 Usher. Depart ye, sirs ; his grace is with the king j 
 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 and the king are coming hither. 
 And would be private ; — prithee, sir, depart, 
 
 ITo the Yeoman, who lingers. 
 
 Sir F. 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 bestowed without 
 Till he be called. 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. 
 
 lExit, with the Yeoman. 
 
 Enter the Dukes of Burgundy and Bourbon, in close 
 conference. 
 Bur. 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, backed by all the council, — yea, by all, 
 For I '11 be warranty no voice dissents, —
 
 -LENE 1.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 25 
 
 Backed by the council, wherein weighty reasons 
 Shall be well urged 
 
 Bour. Ay, brother, there it is ! 
 
 That you have reasons no man doubts at all, 
 -iud 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. 
 
 Bur. In Jacques Bonhomrae's throat 
 
 I '11 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. Go to ; 
 Lay we before the council the sad truth 
 Of these distractions that so rock the realm, — 
 Paris possessed 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, 
 And every reach of road from Paris south : 
 Then point we to the North, where Artevelde 
 Wields at his single vv'ill 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.
 
 152 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Bonr. But Philip speaks us fair. 
 
 Bur. As fair as false. 
 
 Sir F. 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. 
 
 Bur. There, good brother, there ! 
 
 There's Flemish friendship, Flemish love of peace ! 
 Shall we make nought of this ? 
 
 Bour. We'll sift it, brother, 
 
 And find if it be true. 
 
 Bur. Where is the man ? 
 
 Sir F. I'll bring him in, my Lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter the Kjno tcith a Hawk on his hand. 
 
 Bur. How now, my royal cousin, have you done 1 
 Can you repeat the speech ? 
 
 King. Oh yes, good uncle. 
 
 ' Right noble our liege councillors all, We greet you ! 
 We have required your — ' 
 
 Bur. Presence here this day. 
 
 King. ' We have requu-ed your pi'esence here this 
 day 
 On matters of high import, which surcharge 
 Our royal mind, that still affects the weal 
 Of our beloved 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, Jei-ry, Jerry, Jerry ! 
 He is a Marzarolt, uncle, just reclaimed ; 
 The best in France for flying at the fur. 
 Whew ! Jerry, Jerry, Jerry ! 
 
 Bur. Cousin, stay. 
 
 Enter Sm 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 I
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 15.J 
 
 Here, worthy yeoman, you shall kiss our hand. 
 Get off there, Jerry. 
 
 IThe Yeoman kneels and kisses his hand- 
 
 Bour. Now, sir, from what place 
 
 In France or Flanders, com'st thou \ 
 
 Yeo. Please your Highness, 
 
 *Twas a small holding from my lord of Vergues 
 Close to the liberties of Fontenoy. 
 
 Bour. This side the bourn ? 
 
 Yeo. Three miles, my lord, and long ones. 
 
 Bur. Three miles in France. 
 
 Bour. And what befell thee there ? 
 
 Yeo. My lord, my wife and I, on Wednesday night, 
 Saw fires to the north and westward, up by Orcq 
 And round to Beau-Reuard, and knew by that 
 The Flemish commons had been there, that late 
 Have roamed through Flanders, burning where they 
 
 came 
 The houses of the gentlemen and knights. 
 Then said ray wife, (Pierilla, if it please you,) 
 ' 'Tis weU 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 burned. 
 We fled away, and looking back, beheld 
 Our humble dwelling flaming like a torch. 
 So, then, quoth I, we '11 to my Lord the King, 
 And tell what 's come to pass. 
 
 Bur. Thou hast done well ; 
 
 Retire : His Majesty will bring thy case 
 Before the council. Hold thyself prepared 
 To tell thy story there. \_Exit Yeoman. 
 
 I think my royal cousin, though he 's young, 
 Bears yet a mind too mettlesome to brook 
 H 3
 
 lo4 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, [act r. 
 
 Sucii wrongs as these. Your Majesty has heard : 
 
 The Flemish hordes hft plunder in your i-ealm, 
 
 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, when the woodsman walks the forest through, 
 
 He marketh ft)r the axe. Your Majesty, 
 
 When once you take the field, shall make brief work 
 
 With the base Flemings, and with one sharp blow 
 
 Cut short by the head some twenty thousand treasons 
 
 Hatched lately, so to say, beneath the wings 
 
 Of this Van Artevelde, which chipped the shell 
 
 Two months agone when Paris grew too hot 
 
 To hold us, and that now are fledged and entered. 
 
 I would your Majesty were now in arms, 
 
 Leading your gallant troops. 
 
 KiuQ. To-morrow, uncle ! 
 
 We will be armed and lead our troops to-morrow. 
 We '11 ride the chestnut with the bells at his heels. 
 Let it be done to-morrow. 
 
 Bour. Should the council 
 
 Declare for war, your force can not so soon 
 Be drawn together as your highness thinks, 
 Though it lies mainly hereabouts. 
 
 Bur. 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 '11 put to it 
 Touching this yeoman's grief — come in with me — 
 Ho ! take away this hawk — and you shall have it. 
 
 \_Exeuut Duke of Burgundy and the King.
 
 s. E.VE I.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 155 
 
 Bour. My brother, Fleureant, is all too liot 
 In this affair ; he 's ever taking starts, 
 And leaving them that he should cany with him. 
 He '11 fright the council fi-om their calmer sense, 
 And drive them to some rash resolve. 
 
 Sir F. 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. 
 
 Bour. The constable, 
 
 The Earls of Ewe, and Blois, St. Poule, and Laval, 
 Guesclin, St. Just, the Seneschal of Rieux, 
 Raoul of Raneval, — 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 F. 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. 
 
 Bour. I spake with one last night who came from 
 Bruges, 
 And on his way had sojourned 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 mai'ket 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 GeiTuany ; but Frenchmen were forbidden.
 
 156 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Van Artevelde, he said, in all things apes 
 The state and bearing of a sovereign prince ; 
 Has bailifis, masters of the horse, receiver's, 
 A chamber of accompt, a hall of audience, 
 Off gold and silver eats, is clad in robes 
 Of scarlet furred with minever, gives feasts 
 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 fi'om Liege 
 I could rejoin her, to the conquei'or's hands 
 She fell when Bruges was taken. 
 
 Sii- F. Soh, my Lord ! 
 
 That lady hath a hook that twitches still. 
 If what I heai'd in Gascony be true 
 You claimed her from A''an Artevelde in vain. 
 Who answered not your missives. 
 
 Bout. True it is ; 
 
 And he shall answer for so answering not, 
 If any voice of potency be mine 
 Touching this war. 13ut he may yet take thought 
 And make amends ; I '11 send him once again 
 A message, and I know not who 's so fit 
 To take it as thyself. 
 
 Sir F. My Lord, my tongue 
 
 Can utter nought with so much grace by half 
 As what you bid it speak ; I '11 bear your message. 
 
 Bojir. Not that for foolishness and woman's love 
 I would do this or that, but you shall note 
 My honour is impawned. Some half-hour hence 
 Come to my chamber, where in privacy 
 We '11 further speak of this ; and bring thou there 
 The yeoman of Tournesis ; he must learn 
 How to demean himself before the Council. 
 He has been tampered with, I nothing doubt, 
 And what he 's tutored to must we unteach. 
 Things run too fast to seed. {Exit,
 
 scE.VE II.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 157 
 
 Sir F. What soldier's heart 
 
 By dotage such as his was e'er possessed 
 Upon a paramour ! 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 0/ Van Artevelde's Tent. 
 
 Enter Vav Artevelde and Van Ryk. 
 
 Van Ryk. You seem fatigued, my lord. 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 
 Van Ryk. The moon has not yet risen, 
 
 It cannot yet be nine. 
 
 Artev. 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 crossed the bi-idge of Rosebecque. 
 
 Van Ryk. 'Twas thereabouts, my lord. 
 
 Artev. _ Tell me, Van Ryk, 
 
 Was anything of moment in your thoughts 
 As we were ci'ossing. 
 
 Van Ryk. In my thoughts, my lord ? 
 
 Nothing to speak of. 
 
 Artev. Well now it is strange ! 
 
 I never knew myself to sleep o' horseback, 
 And yet I must have slept. The evening's heat
 
 158 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 Had much oppressed 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. 
 
 Vati Ri/k. I saw not that you did, my lord. 
 
 Artei\ I did ; 
 
 Ay, and dreamed too. 'Twas an unwholesome dream, 
 If dream it was — a nightmai'e rather : first 
 A stifling pressure compassed in my heart ; 
 On my dull ears, with thick and muflled 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 chambei's 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 drowned them all ! 
 But still it grew and swelled, and therewithal 
 The burthen thickened on my heart ; my blood, 
 That had been flowing freshly from my wounds, 
 Trickled, then clotted, and then flowed no more : 
 My horse upon the barrier of the bridge 
 Stumbled ; I started ; and was wide awake. 
 'Twas an unpleasant dream. 
 
 Vail Ryk. It was, my lord. 
 
 I wonder how I marked not that you slept. 
 
 Artev. I must be wakeful now. Who waits ? who"^ 
 there ? 
 
 [To an Attendant, who enters. 
 The man I sent to Ypres with a letter — 
 Has he returned ? 
 
 Att. But now, my lord, arrived ; 
 
 And with him Father John. 
 
 Artev. He come already ! 
 
 With more alacrity he meets my wish 
 Than I deserve. Prithee, conduct him hither.
 
 SCE.VE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 159 
 
 ^tt. He comes, my lord. 
 
 Artev. Then leave us — No, Van R\ k, 
 
 Not you ; or if you will, lie down within. 
 And rest you till I call. 
 
 Van Ryk. My lord, I will. 
 
 \_Exeunt Van R'iK ay\d the Attendant. 
 Enter Father John. 
 
 Artev. My honoured master, if a thousand welcomes 
 Could carry moi'e than one, I "d say the word 
 More oft than you your Ave and your creed. 
 But welcome is enough. 
 
 F. 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, unaltered, 
 
 Artev. Unaltered, 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 stedfast 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. 
 
 F. .John. It is your place, my son ; private respects 
 Should be far from you — 'tis no blame of yours. 
 But whence the present call ? 
 
 Artev. To that at once. 
 
 France is in arms ; the earl that was of Flanders 
 From Hedin went by Arras to Bapaume 
 On Wednesday se'nnight, if my scouts say true, 
 And there my lord of Burgundy he met. 
 And with him made a covenant ; from thence 
 They went to Senlis, where the young king lies, 
 And there the dukes of Burgundy and Bourbon 
 Had gathered from all parts a mighty force. 
 Some eighty or a hundred thousand men. 
 May that not startle me ? 
 
 F. John. 'Tis a large levy 
 
 But yet you muster more.
 
 160 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 Artev. Of men at arms 
 
 Not half the tale ; and those for Senlis bound 
 Would double — so says fame — tliose now arrived. 
 It were a vain and profitless attempt 
 To disbelieve my danger, howsoe'er 
 I show a careless aspect 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 my fortunes, — where am I ? 
 
 /'. John. At England's council board in Edward's 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 asked 
 Your presence then in England. 
 
 F. John. Nay, my son, 
 
 Six have you sent already — on their way 
 Our humble hospitality they shared 
 At Ypres. 
 
 Artev. Then their quality you saw. 
 They were the best, methought, that I could spare 
 For foreign service, whilst thus pressed at home. 
 The first for state and dignity was named ; 
 He whom Pope Urbayne, after Ghent rebelled, 
 Appointed bishop to receive the dues 
 Which else had fallen to the see of Tournay,
 
 SCENE II.] PinLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 161 
 
 Where Clement is acknowledged ; for this end 
 Was he a bishop made, and to say truth 
 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. 
 
 F. John. LoLs de Vaux 
 
 And master Blondel-Vatre have glib tongues. 
 
 A rtev. 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 '11 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 
 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 steppmg backwards, an adept
 
 162 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act i. 
 
 At auguring eclipses ; but admit 
 
 His appreliensions and demand, what then ? 
 
 And you shall find you 've turned the blank leaf over. 
 
 F. John. Still three are left. 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 
 F. John. With my best of service. 
 
 Such as it may be. To King Richard's court 
 I will set forth to-morrow. 
 
 Artev. Ever kind ! 
 
 The faithful lest, as the first of all my friends. 
 Early to-morrow then we '11 treat in full 
 The matter of your mission. Now, good night. 
 
 F. John. Adieu till then, and peace be with your 
 slumbex's. [Exit. 
 
 Artev. Their hour is yet to come. What ho ! Van 
 Ryk! 
 
 Enter Tax Rvk. 
 You 're sure. Van Ryk, it has not yet transpired 
 That I am in the camp ? 
 
 Va7i Ryk. Certain, my lord. 
 
 Artev. Then come with me ; we '11 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. 
 
 Van Ri/k. Your spirits were wont to bear you up 
 more freshly. 
 If I might speak, my lordj my humble mind. 
 You have not, since your honoured lady's death, 
 In such a sovereignty possessed yourself. 
 As you were wont to say that all men should. 
 Your thoughts have been more inwardly directed,
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 163 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. That was a loss, Van Ryk ; that was a loss. 
 The love betwixt us was not as the flush 
 And momentary kindling in warm youth ; 
 But max'riage and what term of time was given 
 Brought hourly increase to our common store. 
 Well — I am now the sport of circumstance, 
 Driven from my anchorage ;— yet deem not thou 
 That I my soul suri-ender 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 '11 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. 
 
 Artev. Not so ; 
 
 Your talk is always welcome. There \vithin 
 You '11 find a wardrobe, with some vai'lets' cloaks 
 For use at need ; take one about yourself, 
 And meet me with another at the gate. 
 
 lExit VAX RvK. 
 A serviceable, faithful, thoughtful friend. 
 Is old Van Ryk, — a man of humble heart, 
 And yet with faculties and gifts of sense
 
 164 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 Which place him justly on no lowly level — 
 Why should I say a lowliei* 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 Attend- 
 ants. 2'^(' French Herald fl«rf Sir Flecreant ok Heirlee. 
 Artevelde rises to receive the Herald and reseats himself. 
 
 Artev. 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 deemed some barbarous tribe. 
 That knew no usages of Christian lands. 
 Had dispossessed you and usurped the realm. 
 
 Sir F. My lord, you have your messenger again. 
 
 Artev. Ay sir, but not through courtesy I think. 
 Nor yet through love. [ 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. 
 
 Artev. 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.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 165 
 
 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 Harlebecque, Poperinguen, Dendermonde, 
 Alost and Grammont ; 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 spawned thee ; — and for these and sundry more 
 Just reasons and sufficient, thou art warned 
 To make thy peace betimes, and so God keep thee ! 
 
 Artev. 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 mai'ket-place)
 
 166 PHILIP A'AN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 He with a silent and a bitter mii'th 
 Had listened 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 
 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 : stinp me the two, 
 This were the humblest, that the noblest, beggar 
 That ever braved a storm ! 
 
 Sir F. My lord, your pardon ; 
 
 Nothing was uttered in disparagement 
 Of your famed father, though a longer life 
 And better would he assuredly have lived, 
 Had it seemed good to him to follow forth 
 His former craft, nor turn aside to brew 
 These frothy insurrections. 
 
 Artev. Sir, your back 
 
 Shows me no tabard, nor a sign beside. 
 Denoting what your office is that asks 
 A hearing in this presence ; nor know I yet
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 167 
 
 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 1 — 
 
 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 administered, 
 
 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 gi-eat ? whom 
 
 wise ? 
 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
 
 168 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 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 where 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 vei'y life 
 
 Of innocency out ! What then remains 
 
 But in the cause of nature to stand foi'th, 
 
 And turn this frame of things the right side up ? 
 
 For this the hour is come, the sword is di'awn, 
 
 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 Fi-ance, 
 
 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 
 
 la the blood.sloken soil, but ci'ies to heaven. 
 
 Their cruelties and wrongs against the poor 
 
 Shall quicken into swarms of venomous snakes, 
 
 And hiss through all tlie earth, till o'er the earth, 
 
 That ceases then from hissings and from groans, 
 
 Rises the song — How are the mighty fallen ! 
 
 And by the peasant's hand ! Low lie the proud ! 
 
 And smitten with the weapons of the poor — 
 
 The blacksmith's hammer and ihe woodman's axe. 
 
 Their tale is told ; and for that they were rich, 
 
 And robbed the poor ; and for that they were strong, 
 
 And scourged the weak ; and for that they made laws 
 
 Which turned 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 enfranehiseil man 
 
 To a sweet savour. These things come to pass 
 
 From small beginnings, because God is just. 
 
 Sir F. Sir, you are bold in prophecy, but words 
 Will not demolish kingdoms. This alone
 
 SCE.VK I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 169 
 
 Is clear, that we are charged to carry back 
 A warlike answer. 
 
 Artev. You have caught my sense. 
 
 Let no more words be wasted. What I said 
 Shall be engrossed, and rendered to your hands 
 To spare your memoi-ies ; 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 aou, my honoured 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 Van Artevelde and 
 Father John remain. After a pause Artevelde 
 proceeds. 
 
 Did I say too much ? 
 What think you ? was I rash 1 
 
 F. 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 opened out 
 A way to concord. Casualties or care 
 Might yet have counselled peace, and was it well 
 To send this challenge ? 
 
 Artev. 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, thtir advance delay. 
 And raise the spirits of my friends. 
 
 F. John My son, 
 
 These are the after-thoughts that reason coins 
 To justify excess, and pay the debts 
 Of passion's prodigaUty. 
 
 I
 
 17(^ PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii 
 
 Artev. Nay, nay ! 
 
 Something of passion may have mixed with this, 
 Good Father, but I lost not from my thoughts 
 The poHcy I speak of. 
 
 F. John. IMight I use 
 
 The Uberty of former days to one 
 That 's since so much exalted, I would tell 
 How it is said abroad that Artevelde 
 Is not unaltered since he rose to power ; 
 Is not unvisited of worldly pride 
 And its attendant passions. 
 
 Arlev. 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 deemed 
 A proof of pride, — yet they that these contemn 
 Know little of the springs that move mankind. 
 'Tis but a juvenile philosophy 
 That casts such things aside. 
 
 Which, be they in themselves or vile or precious, 
 Are means to govern. Or I 'm deemed moi'ose. 
 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 1 own not) 
 I have drunk deeper of ambition's cup, 
 Be it remembered that the cup of love 
 Was w rested 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. 
 
 F. John. My horses wait 
 
 And I am ready. I will bear in mind
 
 SCENE 11.] PHILIP VAN' ARTEVELDE. 171 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 numbered, and that three 
 Shall close this contest. I am harping still 
 On the same string ; but you, my friend revered, 
 Will kindly pardon my solicitudes. 
 1 keep you now no longer ; fare you well. 
 And may we meet again and meet in joy ! 
 God grant it ! fare you well. 
 
 F. John. My horses, ho ! 
 
 Artev. Let me attend you. 
 
 Scene II. — A Platform near Artevelde''s Pavilion. 
 
 Van Muck is seated at some distance in the background. 
 
 Enter Sm Fleureant and the Herald. 
 
 Sir F. Then be it as I said : the sun shall set 
 'Twixt seven and eight ; ere then I '11 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 F. Assure yourself 'twill otherwise befal. 
 I 2
 
 172 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 He will x'etain 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 
 
 JNIy underworkiugs. 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 
 
 I hazard in his service loss of all 
 
 I have to lose, — my life. 
 
 Herald. Loth should I be 
 
 To leave you so, but rest assured your zeal > 
 Shall to the Duke be zealously commended. 
 
 Sir F. [discovering Van Muck.] Whom have we 
 here ? a listener ? God forbid ! 
 And yet he seems attentive, and his ears 
 Are easy of approach, the covered way, 
 Scarp, counterscarp, and parapet, is rased. 
 Holloa, sir, are you there ! Give you good-day ! 
 What think you we were saying ? 
 
 Fan Muck. I 'm hard of hearing, sir, I ask your 
 pardon. 
 
 Sir F. Oh ! we can pardon that ; what, deaf — 
 stone-deaf ? 
 
 Van JMuck. No, sir, thank God ! no deafer than 
 yourself. 
 But slowish, su*, of hearing. 
 
 Sir F. 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 F. Content thee, friend ; 
 
 Thine eai's are sharper than thine apprehension. 
 But wherefore want they flaps % who docked them thus ? 
 
 Van Muck. It is no trouble nor no loss to you, 
 Whoever did it. 
 
 Sir F. Pardon me, my friend, 
 
 It troubles me, and doth offend mine eyes,
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. I73 
 
 To see thee lack those handles to thy head. 
 Tell me who snipped them ? 
 
 Van Muck. 'Twas my lord, the regent. 
 
 ^i> F. The regent 1 \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 ? 
 
 Va7i Muck. Yea, sir. 
 
 Herald. And wherefore ? what was thy offence ? 
 
 Van Muck. I was a little mastered, sir, with drink, 
 The night we carried Yerken, and a maid 
 That ran upon me, sir, I know not how, 
 Forswore herself, and said I forced her will. 
 
 Sir F. Well. 
 
 Van Muck. And'twas this that lost me my command. 
 
 Sir F. Impossible ! I 've done as much myself 
 A thousand times. 
 
 Van Muck. 'Twas nothing, sir, but this. 
 
 Sir F. Oh, monstrous ! and you ask him to replace 
 you ? 
 
 VanMuck. Yea, sir, to give me my command again. 
 
 Sir F. And wilt thou ask him to replace thine ears ? 
 
 Van Muck. No, sir. 
 
 Sir F. You 'd best ; for you '11 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 pardoned 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 F. 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 '11 show thee many such, and to begin,
 
 174 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Here is myself. What lack'st tliou 1 Money ? See — 
 
 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 '11 be bound to do it. 
 
 Sir F. And 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 F. And why were they dismissed ? 
 
 Van Muck. 'Twas by the regent's order ; 'tuas, he 
 said. 
 Because they made more riots in the camp 
 Than they prevented. 
 
 Sir F. He is hard to please. 
 
 What are they called ? 
 
 Van Muck. Jan Bulsen and Carl Kortz. 
 
 \_Trumpets are heard at a little distance. 
 
 Herald. Hark to the regent's trumpets. 
 
 Van Muck. He has finished 
 
 His daily rounds, and will be here anon. 
 
 Sir F. Name me a place of meeting. 
 
 Van Muck. The west dyke. 
 
 Behind the sutler Merlick's tent. 
 
 Sir F, 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 I'egent meet thee not. [Exit Van Muck. 
 
 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.
 
 bCEN'K tr.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 175 
 
 Herald, 'Tis more than time 
 
 That I were fairly on the road to France. 
 You 're pushing on apace. 
 
 Sir F. Our thrift lies there. 
 
 Spare time, spend gold, and so you win the day ! 
 
 * For strongest castle, tower, and toirn, 
 The golden hidlet heateth down /' 
 
 ITrumpets again. 
 
 Enter Tax Artevelde. 
 
 Artev. You are equipped, I see, for taking horse ; 
 I pray you have Sir Charles of France informed 
 It was your diligence with such speed dismissed 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. iEx'it Herald. 
 
 Artev. You are not, I will hope, so much in haste ? 
 
 Sir F. My lord, I tanw but an hour behind, 
 And not for idleness. My lord, 1 'm charged 
 With a strange mission, as to you 'twill seem, 
 But of great moment, from his grace of Bourbon. 
 
 Artev. Sir, I attend ; his grace has all ray ears. 
 What would he ? 
 
 Sir F. 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, 
 Envenomed, and if justice were but done him 
 He might be pacified, and turn the coui'se 
 Of these precipitate counsels. 
 
 Artev. By mine honour, 
 
 If there be justice I can render him, 
 He should receive it from my ready hands, 
 Although his voice in council were as small 
 As a dog- whistle. What may be his grief ? 
 
 Sir F. My lord, he sent you letters that pourtrayed
 
 176 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act /i. 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Sir, he 's tlu'ice welcome to his paramour ; 
 I never have withheld her. 
 
 Sir F. Then to me, 
 
 A servant of the prince, 'tis his desire 
 She be consigned, to take her to the palace 
 At Senlis. 
 
 Artev. 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 F. Do I learn from this 
 
 The lady is reluctant ? 
 
 Artev. By no means. 
 
 The dangers of the journey have deterred her 
 From taking my safe conduct heretofore. 
 When, at the instance of the Duke of Bourbon, 
 I ofifered it ; but, having come thus far 
 Toward the frontier, she may travel hence 
 In your protection safely. 
 
 Sir F. May I learn 
 
 Her pleasure from herself ? 
 
 Artev. I 'II name your wish 
 
 To see her, and she doubtless will comply. 
 Attendance here ! 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 Apprize the foreign lady. 
 That with her leave, at her convenient leisure, 
 I will entreat admittance for some words 
 Of brief discourse. [Ej:it Attendant. 
 
 We '11 walk towards her tent, 
 If that 's your pleasui-e. 
 
 Sir F. Still at your command.
 
 SCENB III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 177 
 
 Scene HI. — 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. 
 And carry dulness with me as the wind 
 Cannes 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, 
 I 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, 
 
 ^^^lat answer did he give ? 
 The dog that 's lame is much to blame, 
 
 He is not fit to Uve. 
 
 Lo ! some one comes. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 Alt. The regent, madam, would attend your leisure 
 For some few moments' private conversation, 
 If it might please you to admit him. 
 
 Elena. Surely ; 
 
 I 3
 
 178 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Acquaint him that I wait upon his pleasure. 
 
 lExit Attendant. 
 What can he want ! he never asked before 
 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 di'essed 
 This morning ; put it right. Look, here he comes ; 
 But there 's one with him — said he not alone 
 He wished to see me ? I will go within 
 And thou canst say that I expect him there. [Ej:it. 
 
 Enter A'an Artevelde and Sir Fleureant. 
 
 Cecile {^addressing the former). My lady waits your 
 pleasure, sir, within. 
 [Van Artevelde })asses into the inner apartment. 
 Your servant, sir ; would you too see my mistress ? 
 
 Sir F. If it so please your master. 
 
 Cecile. Who 's my master ? 
 
 Sir F. I cry you mercy, is it not the regent ? 
 
 Cecile. The regent is no mastex", sii*, of mine. 
 
 Sir F. No? 
 
 Cecile. By no means. 
 
 Sir F. But he is often here 1 
 
 Cecile. No oftener than it pleases him to come 
 And her to see him. 
 
 Sir F. Which is twice a-day. 
 
 Cecile. Who told you that ? 
 
 Sir F. A Cupid that brake loose 
 
 From the close service he was sent upon, 
 Which was to watch then* meetmgs. 
 
 Cecile. Said he so ? 
 
 A runaway then told a fool a lie. 
 
 .S'lV F. 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 F. Come, then, the truth ? 
 
 Cecile. The well is not so deep but you may see it. 
 The regent sometimes at the close of day
 
 SCENK 111.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 179 
 
 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 hird 
 Which entertains his ears. 
 
 Sir F. The live-long night \ 
 
 Cecile. An hour or two, no more. 
 
 Sir F. Which being past — 
 
 Cecile. Which being past, he wishes her good rest 
 And so departs. 
 
 Sir F. And all the while he 's there 
 
 Are you there too ? 
 
 Cecile. Never an instant gone. 
 
 Sir F. Will you swear that ? 
 
 Cecile. Assuredly I will. 
 
 Sir F. Or any thing beside. 
 
 Cecile. I crave your pardon ; 
 
 I would not swear that you had learnt good manners ; 
 That you 'd been whipped 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 F. Quarter, quarter ! — truce to your would not 
 swearing ! 
 Here -is the regent. 
 
 Enter Artevelde with Elena. 
 
 Artev. Sir Fleureant, I have pled in your behalf 
 And gained you audience ; for the rest, your trust 
 Is in your eloquence. 
 
 Sir F. Alas ! my lord. 
 
 In nothing better ? I had placed ray 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 be ne'er so ready. 
 
 Artev. I am here 
 
 But an intruder. I will say no more,
 
 180 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ii. 
 
 Save that the lady's choice, be what it may, 
 Commands my utmost means and best good-will. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 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 F. Such is his — what ? — his madness had I 
 Before I saw you, — but I call it now [called it 
 
 Ov\y 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 fjime 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. 
 
 Sir F. 'Tis a grief 
 
 More cutting as anticipated less ; 
 For though the tie had not the churcli's sanction, 
 He had not deemed 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 treacheruus wiles 
 Could not unfix him from his fast belief. 
 Moreover he has proffered 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 k 
 
 Just cause of discontent, with this rich freight J 
 
 Might you depai-t 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,
 
 scEXE iir.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 181 
 
 But truer far that scripture is which saith 
 'Put not your trust in princes,' 
 
 Sir F. This is strange, 
 
 And would amaze him much. In what, I pray. 
 Has he deceived you ? 
 
 Elena. Men, sir, think it little ; 
 
 '"Tis less than little in a prince's judgment ; 
 In woman's estimation it is much. 
 
 Sir F. 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 bestowed for many a year. 
 And did bestow at first, and all went well. 
 But soon the venomous world wherein we lived 
 Assailed 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 vanquished by his paramour ! 
 So the word went, and as it reached 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. 
 Had shamefully belied his own belief — 
 For firm belief he had — that I was chaste. 
 
 Sir F. Oh mischief ! you gave credence to such 
 tales !
 
 182 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iir. 
 
 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 vauity 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 fulfilled, (I 'm sorry from my soul, 
 If it ofFeud) I wish you, sir, farewell. 
 
 \_Exit, CEciLE/oUoicing. 
 
 Sir F. 'Tis a magnanimous harlot ! By my faith 
 Of all the queans that on my humble head 
 Have poured the vials of their wrath aud 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 fix-m resolve 
 Was not fast clenched till Artevelde took Bruges. 
 Whichever way it be, my path is plain 
 Though slippery, and forth I go upon it. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Night. — A dingle in the outskirts of the 
 camp, behind a Sutler's tent. 
 
 Van Kortz, to u-hom enter Van Mcck. 
 Van Kortz. Who 's there — Van Muck ? halloa you, 
 
 boy ! what speed ? 
 Van Muck. Hush, hush ! speak low ; is no one 
 
 here but you I 
 Van Kortz. No jolly soul beside. 
 Van Muck. Has the watch past ? 
 
 Van Kortz. By my permission, yes. I drew a shaft
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 183 
 
 Chock to the steel, and from behind this tree 
 Aimed 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 baulked our meeting. 
 
 Van Kortz. What care I ? 
 
 Van JMuck. It is a matter of five hundred merks 
 White money down. 
 
 Van Kortz. Aye, let me see it down. 
 
 And I '11 believe you. 
 
 Van JMtick. He will soon be here, 
 
 And then you '11 — 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 '11 bring the money here ? 
 
 Van Muck. I saw it in his hands ; doubtless he '11 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 boiled in. 
 
 Van Muck. For mercy's sake do nothing to molest 
 him !
 
 184 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 'Twas 1 that brought him here, and God he kuows 
 I did not go about to take his life. 
 
 Van Kortz. Why, go thy way then ; two like me and 
 Are men enough. [Bulsen 
 
 Bulsen. Enough 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 iumeats first. 
 
 Bulsen. Thou 'dst 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 butching thee from nape to rump, 
 
 Bulsen. Go thou thy ways, and thank thy prosperous 
 Thou art let live. [stars 
 
 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 ! 
 1 see \\\n\ coming. 
 
 Sir F. (without). Soft ! was that the tent 
 He spoke of ? surely then — or — nay, 1 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 Heurle'e, 
 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, six', here. 
 Enter Sir Fleureant of IIeurlee. 
 
 Va)i Muck {passing between Sir F. and the others) 
 Your sword, Sii' Fleureant ! stand upon your 
 guard ;
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 185 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Bulseyi. Never fear, Van Muck ; 
 
 If any such should break upon our meeting 
 We 'd parley with them first, and see what good 
 Might come of fighting or of speaking fair. 
 
 Sir F. Where is the danger ? you are dreaming, 
 friends ! 
 Let me explain the matter I 've in hand. 
 
 Van Kortz. Come, come. Sir Hurly-Burly ! where 's 
 your metal ? 
 Write us the matter down 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 entrapped 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 chinkers. 
 
 Sir F. {to Van 3Tuck). 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 F. 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 '11 earn 
 By carrying of my letters ; it is thus : 
 So much I '11 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. 
 
 Buhen. It is well ; 
 
 We will convey your letters, sir, with speed. 
 
 Van Kortz. We '11 trust to meet you afterward at 
 To see us justly paid. [court
 
 18f) PHILIP VAX ARTEYELDE. [act ttr. 
 
 Sir F. 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 woi'd 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 '11 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 ? 
 
 Vail Muck. It is the second watch. 
 
 Sir F. Away then ; — fare you well. 
 
 \_Exeunt Van Muck, Kortz, and Bulsen. 
 Now if one miscreant of the three play false 
 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 Jet II. 
 
 Artevelde and Elena. Cecile attending in the back (i7-out)d. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Artev. 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 tossed from hand to hand 
 Of men more thriftless than a miser's heir.
 
 scENK II.] PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. 187 
 
 I liked it not ; my task, it seemed, was done ; 
 The arrow sped, the bow unbent, the cord 
 Soundless and slack. I came away ill pleased. 
 
 Elena. Perhaps you suffered losses in the siege ? 
 
 Artev. Not in the siege ; but I have suffered 
 something. 
 There is a gate in Ghent — I passed beside it — 
 A threshold there, worn of my frequent feet, 
 Which I shall cross no more. But wherefore thus 
 Divert me fropi the topics I pursue \ 
 Think once again upon the proffered choice 
 Of French pi"otection. 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; 
 
 Arlev. Am I in life's embellishments so rich, 
 In pleasures so redundant, as to wish 
 The chiefest one away ? No, fairest friend ; 
 Mine eyes have travelled this horizon I'ound, 
 Ending where they began ; and they have roved 
 The boundless empjTean up and down. 
 And 'mid the undistinguished tumbling host 
 Of the black clouds, have liglited on a soft 
 And solitai-y 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 feared 
 A woman's company and trifling talk 
 Would only importune you. 
 
 Artev. Think not so. 
 
 The sweets of converse and society 
 Are sweetest when they 're snatched ; the often-comer, 
 The boon companion of a thousand feasts, 
 Whose eye has grown familiar with the fair, 
 Whcse tutored tongue, by practice perfect made,
 
 18« PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. Tact iir. 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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, 
 Sequestered or frequented, smooth or rgugh, 
 Down the deep valley amongst tinkling fiocks. 
 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 sti'ife, remains ; 
 But great men mostly lose the taste of joy, 
 Save from such things as make their greatness greater, 
 Which, gi-owing still, o'ershadows more and more 
 Of less enjoyments, until all ax"e sunk 
 In business of the state. 
 
 Artev. '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. 
 And clogs those entries of the soul of man 
 Which lead the way to what he hath of heaven : 
 This was not meant, and mo may not befal 
 Whilst thou I'emind'st me of those heavenly joys 
 I once possessed in peace. Life — life, my friend. 
 May hold a not unornamented coui'se 
 Wherever it shall flow ; be the bed rocky, 
 Yet are there flowers, and none of brighter hue.
 
 SCENE 11/ PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 189 
 
 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 — 
 
 Arter. What hinders you, Cecile ? 
 
 Elena. Nought ever did, my lord, nor ever will; 
 When she has breath you'll hear her. 
 
 Cecile. " Oh, my lady I 
 
 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 — 
 
 Artev. Who is it that she speaks of? 
 
 Elena. His name is — nay, God help my memory ! 
 What is his name, Cecile ? 
 
 Cecile. Van Kortz, my lady. 
 
 Artev. Not he that once was mai'shalsman ? 
 
 Cecile The same. 
 
 Artev. 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 hanged him, — nothing else. 
 
 Artev. And yet he comes again ? 
 
 Cecile. Even now, my lord, 
 
 He came as though it were to wi'eak his spite,
 
 inO PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 And sliowed 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 priie and gi'eed ; Ji 
 
 So with that word he set his spleen abroach, W 
 
 And cursing all the camp, and most your highness, 
 
 Swore he could buy and sell the best amongst you. 
 
 Artev. What, said he so ? and showed you bags of 
 gold? 
 He has been selling something. Ho, Van Ryk ! 
 Van Ryk is waiting, no I 
 
 Cetile. He is, my lord. 
 
 En(crYAS Ryk. 
 
 Artev. Van Ryk, a word ; 
 Thou know'st Van Kortz, the marshalsman that was — 
 He pai'ted hence but now, and 1 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. 
 
 ; lExit Van Ryk, 
 
 Elena. What is it you suspect ? 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 
 Artev. From him whom France sent here 
 
 Doubtless to bring it, — fi'om the Knight of Heurle'e. 
 
 Elena. Oh, surely, surely not, — a man who came 
 With sacred mission clothed, to seek for peace 
 Under protection of a hei-ald's office ! 
 It were but common honesty —
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 191 
 
 Artev. 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 Ryk, with Van Kortz, guarded. 
 Whom hast thou there, Van Ryk, thus manacled, 
 And what is Ms offence ? i 
 
 Van Ryk. My Lord, Van Kortz. 
 
 Artev. Van Kortz ! The gudgeon whom Sir Fleu- 
 reant hired 
 To do French service, then betrayed, to save 
 His proper head I 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 touched 
 The faith I owed your highness, and 
 
 Artev. Van Ryk, 
 
 Bring me Sir Fleureant of Heurlee hither. 
 Soft ye awhile 1 — what found you on Van Kortz I 
 
 Van Ryk. My lord, this paper, and a bag of money. 
 
 Artev. [reading the paper.] ' Worthy masters of 
 Ghent. — this is to make it knoivn unto you, that we are 
 hastily to corne down into Flanders ivith a hundred 
 thousand men, and with God's help to replace our 
 worthy cous^in, Lois of Flanders, in his ancient estate 
 and royalties, reducing to his obedience all that be right- 
 fully 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 array the heads of these folloicing : that is to say, 
 Jacob Maurenbrecker, John Stotler, and Ralph of 
 Kerdell, which done, toe shall receive all others what- 
 soever to our fnendship, and promise by these presents 
 that none., saving these only, shall be calkd to answer 
 v:hat is piost.
 
 192 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 * Wntfen and sealed with the Iroad seal of France, 
 in our host before Senlis, the 2nd day of October j 
 in the year of grace 1382, by the king in his 
 council.'' 
 
 Stay, what is here ? an afterthought of mischief : 
 
 ' You are to Tcnoio that we hare 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 J 
 
 Who are the messengers to Bruges and Ypres ? 
 
 Van Kortz. Van Muck, my lord, to Bruges ; to 
 Ypi'es, Bulsen. 
 They have set forth. 
 
 Artev. 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 Van- Ryk, xoith Van "Kortz, guardtd. 
 
 Cecile. Oh Lord, the villain ! and he came to me 
 So proud and saucy ! Truly it is said 
 Give rope enough to rogues, they '11 hang themselves. 
 
 Elena. And must he die, my lord? 
 
 Artev. What plea can save him ? 
 
 Cecile That he should jeopardise his wilful head 
 Only for spite at me ! 
 
 Elena 'Tis wonderful ! 
 
 Artev. That Px'ovidence which makes the good take 
 heed 
 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 
 Bedai'kens and confounds the mind of man. 
 Human intelligence on mui'ders bent
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 193 
 
 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-engendered hate. 
 
 Cecile. I thank you, madam. 
 
 The scornful knave ! to bring his gold to me 
 That never would have looked 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 ? 
 
 A rtev. Those are there here 
 
 That hardly will be governed save by men 
 Of fierce and forward natures. He was known 
 For daring deeds from childhood ; in his youth, 
 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 walled town, by stipend lured, or vill 
 Surprised and sacked, by turns he lived at large, 
 And learned the vice indigenous to each. 
 Nought in dai-k 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 blows, the cry of murder, 
 Were to his ears indiff'erently 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 joined my camp. 
 
 Enter Sir Fleureaxtof Heijrlee. 
 Sir F. So, my lord regent I what is this I hear
 
 )&4 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 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 1 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 ! 
 
 Artev. This is well spoken. 
 
 Cecile. Oh, my lord, for that, 
 
 He 's free enough 
 
 Elena. Peace ! peace ! Cecile ; be silent. 
 
 Artev. What you have here delivered, sir, I say 
 Hath beeJi well spoken : it remains to ask 
 Hthat which you have perpetrated here 
 Hath been well done. Know you this writing ? 
 
 Sir F. Yes. 
 
 1 know it well ; 'twas by the king my master 
 Writ to the mayor and citizens of Ghent. 
 
 Artev. By you brought here; by you to one Van 
 Kortz 
 Delivered 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 histoi'y past, and blot me from the future ! 
 This was a worthy business. 
 
 Sir F. 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 I 
 
 Artev. Let him try ; 
 
 And gainsay those that can my privilege 
 To hang the bearers. Thou, Sir Flcureant, 
 liast by thy treachery betrayed thyself,
 
 SCENE ir.] PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. 195 
 
 And unavoidably must suffer death. 
 
 Thou cara'st a sharer iu a herald's office 
 
 Ensuing peace ; and cloaked 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 coloured 
 
 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 F. Spare your pity. 
 
 And use your power. You see before you one 
 Who would more willingly confront the worst 
 Unpitying power inflicts, than cry Gramercy ! 
 I have been used to deem the loss of life 
 But as a dead man's loss, that feels it not. 
 
 Artev. 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 for some barefoot friar for the nonce, 
 And bid him come so stored and with such speed 
 As on a death-bed summons. 
 
 \_He steps to a door of the tent and calls some Soldiers cf 
 his guard. 
 
 Cecile . Yes, my lord, 
 
 I '11 go myself and say what work awaits him. 
 
 Sir F. And prithee, wench, find me a merry 
 friar, 
 Who shall beguile the time. 
 
 Cecile. A merry friar ! 
 
 SirF. Aye, wench ; if any in the camp there be 
 K 2
 
 196 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 They will be known to tliee ; a hearty man ; 
 For I have ever looked 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 F. Confession will not hold us long ; I 'm young, 
 And have not yet had time enough to act 
 Sins that are long in telling : 
 
 [Then to Artevklue, tvho returns tcith two Soldiers of 
 the guard. 
 
 You, ray lord. 
 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 remembered in return. 
 
 Elena. Alas ! 
 
 Would I could stead you more than with the prayers 
 Of such a sinful creature ! 
 
 Sir F. Soon, sweet lady. 
 
 You '11 need them for yourself. This fair array 
 Of warlike multitudes you see around you. 
 Will sunder and dissolve like wi'eaths 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 turned at Oudenarde, 
 And in a lover shall you find a foe. 
 I pray you think upon it. 
 
 Artev. Fare you well.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 197 
 
 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 F. My lord, farewell. 
 
 I hardly know what words should thank your bounty 
 That grants me eveiy thing — except my life. 
 
 \_Ex it guarded. 
 
 Eletia. Oh, would my lord that you could grant 
 him that ! 
 He is a gallant gentleman. 
 
 Artev. 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 nothing 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 lurd ? 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. Do I so 1 
 
 That was not wont to be my fault. In truth 
 There is a season when the plainest men 
 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 marshalled by the name of love, 
 To meet such entertainment as he may. 
 
 Elena, I have been much unfortunate, my lord ; 
 I would not love asjain.
 
 198 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 Artev. And so have I ; 
 
 Nor man nor woman more unfortunate, 
 As none more blessed in what was taken from him ! 
 Dearest Elena, — of the living dearest, — 
 Let my misfortunes plead, and know their weight 
 By knowing of tlie 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 world's contentions, if tliey touched 
 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 world's ambitious empty cares, 
 Its small disquietudes and insect stings 
 Disturbed her never, she was one made up 
 Of feminine affections, and lier life 
 Was one full btream of love from fount to sea. 
 These are but words. 
 
 Elena. My lord, they're full of meaning. 
 
 Artev. 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 lier 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 turned them pale. I would that you had seen her 
 Living or dead. 
 
 Elena. I wish I had, my lord ; 
 
 I should liave 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. 
 
 Artev. She was so fair that in the angelic choir
 
 SCENE n.l PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 1;)9 
 
 She will not need put on another shape 
 
 Than that she bore on earth. Well, well, — 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 : 
 
 And surely as man's health and strength are whole 
 
 His appetites regerminate, his heart 
 
 Re-opens, and his objects and desires 
 
 Shoot up renewed. What blank I found before me 
 
 From 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 other's gi*ave 
 Grew sweetly, in the tear-besprinkled soil 
 Finding moist nourishment — this seedling sprung 
 Where recent grief had like a ploughshare passed 
 Through the soft soul and loosened its affections — 
 Should this new-blossomed hope be coldly nipped, 
 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 feared another could not fill
 
 200 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act ur. 
 
 The place of her you lost, being so fair 
 And perfect as you give her out. 
 
 Artev. '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 
 Alight 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 Tlialassian Venus : your's is clear 
 But bloodless, and though beautiful as night 
 I a cloudless ether clad, not frank as day : 
 Such is the tinct of your diversity ; 
 Sex'enely radiant she, you darkly fair. 
 
 Elena. Dark still has been the colour of my fortunes, 
 And having not sci*enity of soul, 
 How should I wear the aspect ? 
 
 Artev. 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, 
 In other days, an enterprise of passion ; 
 Yea, like a witch, would whistle for a whirlwind. 
 But I have been admonished : painful years 
 Have tamed and taught me : I have suffered much. 
 Kind Heaven but gi'aut ti*anquillity ! I seek 
 No further boon. 
 
 Artev. And may not love be tranquil ? 
 
 Elena. It may in some ; but not as I have known it. 
 
 Artev. Love, like an insect frequent in the woods,
 
 STE.VE ii.j PHILIP VAX ARTETELDE. 201 
 
 Will take the colour of the tree it feeds ou ; 
 
 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 T not hope, or rather can I hope. 
 
 That for such brief and bounded space of time 
 
 As are my days on earth, you 'II yield yourself 
 
 To love me living and to mourn me dead i 
 
 Elena. Oh, not, my lord, to mourn vou — why — 
 oh God ! 
 "Why will you say so ? You are wise and brave — 
 You will pursue your triumphs many a year, 
 x\.nd victory shall wait upon your steps 
 As heretofore, and death be distant far. 
 Take back those words ; I cannot bear them ; no. 
 They hang upon my heart too heavily ; 
 Tell me your 're sure to conquer, as you are. 
 
 Artev. So, loveliest, let us hope. It may be so. 
 I '11 swear it shall be, so you '11 swear in turn 
 To give me up your heart. 
 
 Elena, I cannot — no — 
 
 I cannot give you what you 've had so long ; 
 Nor need I tell you what you know so well. 
 I must be gone. 
 
 Artev. y^y, sweetest, why these tears ? 
 
 Elena. No, let me go — I cannot tell — no — no — 
 I want to be alone — 
 Oh ! Artevelde, for God's love let me go ! [EvU. 
 
 Artev. [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 ambushed, dawn were near. — 
 Yes, I have wasted half a summer's night. 
 Was it well spent ? Successfully it was. 
 K 3
 
 2i>2 PHILTP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act hi. 
 
 How little flattering is a woman's love ! — 
 
 Worth to the heart, come how it may, a world ; 
 
 Worth to men's measures of their own deserts, 
 
 If weighed in wisdom's balance, merely nothing. 
 
 The few hours left are precious — who is there i 
 
 Ho ! Nieuverkerchen ! — when we think upon it, 
 
 How little flattering is a woman's love ! 
 
 Given commonly to whosoe'er is nearest 
 
 And propped 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 thex'e women will not love, so taught 1 
 
 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 ? 
 
 0#. • My lord, ^: 
 
 Bulsen is taken ; but Van Muck, we fear. 
 Has got clear off. 
 
 Artev. Let Bulsen, too, be hung 
 
 At break of day. Let there be priests to shrive them. 
 Who guards the knight, Sir Fleureant of Heurlee ? 
 
 Off. Sasbout, my lord, and Tuning. 
 
 Artev. Very well. 
 
 Mount me a messenger ; I shall have letters 
 To send to Van den Bosch ufon the Lis. 
 Let Grebber wait upon me here. Go thou 
 Upon thine errands. [Exit Ofiicer.] — So, Van Muck 
 
 escaped ! 
 And Ypres will receive its invitation. 
 I think, then, Van den Bosch must spare a force
 
 SCENE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 2 
 
 To Strengthen us at Ypres for a season. 
 
 I '11 send him orders. And Van Muck the traitor ! 
 
 Stupidity is seldom soundly honest ; 
 
 I should have known him better. Live and learn ! 
 
 Scene III. — The interior of a Tent. 
 
 Sir Fleureaxt of Heurlee is seated at a table, on which tcine 
 and re/reshmetits are placed. Guards are seen icithoitt, walk- 
 ing backwards and furviards before the doors of the Tent. 
 
 Sir F, T 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 ray heart is dead already — 
 An omen that did cross me ne'er before 
 Jn any jeopardy of life. 
 
 Cecile enters with a Friar. 
 This wind 
 Is cold, raethinks, that comes through yonder door. 
 I thought I had a cloak. 
 
 Cecile, The friar, sir. 
 
 Sir F. Well, this is strange ; — I surely had a cloak. 
 
 Cecile. Sir, would you see the friar ? 
 
 Sir F. Eh ? what ? who ? 
 
 Cecile. The friar, sir. 
 
 Sir F. What friar ? — oh, your pardon 1 
 
 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 F. What is't o'clock \
 
 204 PHILIP TAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 Cecile. An hour or two, no more, 
 
 Piist midnight. 
 
 S.ir F. Yes, I wished myself confessed ; 
 
 But, by your leave, not now ; — my eyes are lieavy. 
 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. 
 
 Sir F. 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 F. My health ! ha, ha ! I '11 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 F. I thank you ; 
 
 I shall sleep sound to-mon*ow. 
 
 Cecile. Put this cushion 
 
 Under your head. 
 
 Sir F. Ah, you are kind, wench, now ; 
 
 You 're not so saucy as jou were. So, — there. 
 
 Friar. And this I drink to your dear soul's salva- 
 tion. 
 
 Cecile. I 'd tend you ail night long, with all my 
 heai't, 
 ]f it might do you good. 
 
 Sir F. Good night, good night. 
 
 Friar. What, doth he sleep ? Then sit you down, 
 my maid, 
 And quaff me off this flask of Malvoisie. 
 Come suni-ise and he '11 lay his curly head 
 Upon a harder pillow — So it is ! 
 
 * As a man lives so sJiall he die, 
 As a tree falls so shall it Z/c' 
 
 Take off thy glass, my merry wench of all ; 
 
 Thou know'st the song that Jack the headsman sings —
 
 SCENE Jii.j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 20r. 
 
 'Tis never to snivel nnd 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. 
 
 Cecilc. Be not so loud, good friar, let him sleep. 
 He '11 pass the time more easy. 
 
 Friar. Let him sleep ! 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Cf-cile. 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 by these twenty years. 
 I 've life and mettle in me yet, my woman, 
 For twenty summers more — 
 
 Cecile. Out ! ancient blotch ! 
 
 Enter Artevelde. 
 Artev. [stumbling against Sir Fletjiieant, ivho 
 wakes and sits up.] So, what is this ? Mhat 
 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 I 
 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 
 
 Artev. Soft you, Cecile ! 
 
 Friar. Oh, she 's a light-skirts ! — yea, and at this 
 present 
 A little, as you see, concerned with liquor.
 
 206 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act in. 
 
 Cecile. A light -skirts ! If it were not for thy 
 cowl 
 I have that lesson at my fingers' ends 
 Should teach thee how to lay thy lechex'ous sins 
 Upon an honest maid. 
 
 Artev. Peace, peace, I say ! 
 
 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. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Cecile. I thank your highness — Oh the mouldy 
 villain ! 
 I thank you, sir. Good even to your highness. \^Exit. 
 
 Artev. Good night, Cecile. — Sir, I disturbed your 
 rest ; 
 I saw not that you lay there. 
 
 Sir F. Oh, my lord, 
 
 It matters not ; to-morrow I shall lie 
 Where you will not disturb me. 
 
 Artev. So you think. 
 
 Sir F. So you, my lord, have said. 
 
 Artev. You stand condemned. 
 
 Yet 'tis a word that I would fain unsay. 
 
 Sir F. 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 ; 
 And if my life it please you now to spare. 
 You may find mercy for yourself in straits 
 According as you show it. 
 
 Artev. 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
 
 SCEN'E III.] PHILIP VAN AKTEVELDE. 207 
 
 I grant thy life, absolving thee, not freely, 
 But on conditions. 
 
 Sir F. Whatsoe'er they be 
 
 I will be bound most solemnly by oath, 
 So God be my salvation, to fulfil them. 
 
 Artev. '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 F. I 'm bound to her for ever. 
 
 Artev. Sometime hence 
 
 Mischances may befal 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 wrecked upon some reef 
 Of adverse fortune, there is cause to fear 
 Her former lord, thy master, who suspects 
 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 F. I were ungrateful past all reach of words 
 That speak of baseness and ingi^atitude, 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 F. As you please, my lord. 
 
 Artev. [after a pause}. What, watch there, ho !
 
 20B PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 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, 
 When I do trust a man, to trust him wholly. 
 You shall not riuit my camp ; but that word given, 
 You are at large withiu it. 
 
 Sir F. Sir, your trust 
 
 Shall not appear misplaced. 
 
 Artev. Give you good rest ! 
 
 And better dreams than those I woke you from. 
 
 Sir F. With grateful heart I say, my lord, God 
 keep you ! 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene I. — Ypres. 
 
 The Burgomaster o/" Ypres, with several Burghers «/</«« French 
 faction, and "Van Muck. 
 
 Burgo. Well, well, God bless us ! liave 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. 
 
 Burgo. Nay, but you must. And Roosdyk — speak 
 him fair : 
 For give him but a saucy word, he 's out, 
 And twinkling me his dagger in the sun, 
 Says, " take you that," and you are dead for good. 
 
 Van Muck. I '11 speak him fair. 
 
 Burgo. Nay, but I say you shall. 
 
 'Tis a good rule to be more civil-spoken 
 Thau wantonly be cut and stabbed for nothing.
 
 stKNE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 2U9 
 
 Van Muck. 'Tis so, your worship. 
 
 Burgo. Cast not away your life. 
 
 Van Muck. 'Tis as your worship pleases. 
 
 \st Burgh. But if Vauclaire, or Roosdyk, or the 
 captains 
 Should ask him whence he comes, or what 's his craft, 
 Being strange-looking for a citizen. 
 What should he answer \ 
 
 Burgo. 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 ? 
 
 Burgo. You 've sold 'em. 
 
 Say you praise God. Say you 're a thriving man. 
 
 \st Burgh, [aside to second]. This matter wiU be out. 
 
 2nd Burgh. Why so 1 
 
 \st Burgh. Good friend. 
 
 Didst ever know a secret to lie close 
 Under a goose's wing i 
 
 2nd Burgh. I think 'twill out. 
 
 'Twill surely out. 
 
 \st Burgh. The frightened fox sits fast, 
 
 Folly with fear will flutter still and cackle. 
 [Aloud]. This will be known. I am for rising now, 
 Slaying Vauclaire and Roosdyk 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. 
 
 Burgo. Mercy ! what foolishness wiU young men 
 talk ! 
 
 Isi Burgh. Under your favour — old men too at times. 
 
 3rd Burgh. De Vry, a word. I marvel at thy rash- 
 ness ; 
 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.
 
 21X> PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Then were the time to rise, for all the town 
 Would then rise with us. 
 
 2nd Burgh. In good time, Verstolken ; 
 
 The axe's edge is turn'd toward us now, 
 And what shall save us, if this mooncalf here 
 Should let his ei'rand out ? 
 
 Van Muck. Call you me mooncalf? 
 
 I am an honest man ; I dare you, sir, 
 To signify me other. 
 
 Ind Burgh. Hold thy peace. 
 
 Whilst the French king is looked for at Commines, 
 Too wise is Van den Bosch to break his strength 
 With sending soldiers hither. He but counts 
 Nine thousand men. 
 
 Ath Burgh. The double were too few 
 
 To be divided. 
 
 bth Burgh. ^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. 
 
 2nd Burgh. He '11 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 King Cliarles. 
 
 Enter a Sixth Burgher. 
 
 6/// Burgh. Away, away ! 
 
 Vauelaire has word of all you do ; a troop. 
 Despatched by Van den Bosch to give him aid 
 Is riding into town. Van Muck's commission 
 Is whispered of, and loudly. 
 
 Burgo. There now, there ! 
 
 I told you so — I told you this would come ; 
 But still you talked of rising. Run, Van Muck, 
 Thou villain run, and be not seen abroad 
 With honest citizens. 
 
 2nd Burgh. Aye, get thee hence ;
 
 scENK i.l PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 211 
 
 Best quit the town, and make thy way to France. 
 Van Muck. I will, your worships. 
 
 lExit, but returns immediately/. 
 Please you, sir, the street 
 Is full of men-at-arms that come tliis way. 
 
 Burgo. I said so ; there ! and still you hearkened 
 not! 
 Oh Holy Ghost ! Oh wala-wa ! Oh me ! 
 '6rd Burgh. What shall we do ? 
 2nd Burgh. Van Muck, stand fast ; they come : 
 It is Vauclaire himself. 
 
 Buryo. Say you sell pots. 
 
 Enter Vacclaire and Roosvyk, followed hjj a troop 6/Men-at- 
 arms. 
 
 Vauclaire. Ah, blaster Burgomaster, here you are ! 
 
 Roosdyk. Make fast the dooi's. 
 
 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 ^Iiick ! where are you ? — which is he ? 
 
 3rd Burgh. What is it, sii'S, you charge us with ? 
 
 Roosdyk. What think ye ? 
 
 Say treason, and I '11 call you conjurors. 
 
 Vauclaire. I have my orders — stand thou forth, 
 Van j\Iuck — 
 And I must needs obey 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 ! 
 Put irons on them all, and give Van Muck 
 A taste of what vou have.
 
 212 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE [act iv. 
 
 Burgo. Hold off ! what 's this ? 
 
 I am your master. 
 
 Roosdyk. Kuock him on the head ; 
 
 Bid him be patient. 
 
 Vauclaire. I am amazed at this ! 
 
 So sweetly as you all demeaned yourselves ! 
 A guileful world we live in ! God forgive us ! 
 Make fast the gyves, and take them off to prison. 
 
 Burgo. Sirs, hear me, oh ! 
 
 Roosdyk. Gag me this grey -beard ! 
 
 Burgo. Oh ! 
 
 1st Burgk. 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 '11 tell it all. 
 
 Roosdyk. That shall you, or the rack 
 
 Is not so good a singing-master now 
 As it was wont to be. 
 
 Van Muck. Oh Lord ! oh Lord ! [ He is taken out. 
 
 Vaucliiirc. Bring them away : we '11 hear tliem at 
 the Stadt-house, 
 Each by himself. Bring them away at once ; 
 Keep them apai't, 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. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The French Court at Arras. 
 
 An Antechamber in the Maison de Ville. Tristram of Lesto- 
 VET, Clerk of the Council, and Sir Fleureant of IIeurlkk. 
 
 Sir F. When I forgive him, may the stars rain down 
 And pierce me with ten thousand points of fire ! 
 His whore ! his leman !
 
 SCENE II.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 213 
 
 Lestovet. Had she been his wife, 
 
 A small transgression might have passed. 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 F. 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. 
 Let but the council hear me ; I shall tell 
 What shall 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. 
 
 Bur. 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 F. I give your highness thanks. 
 
 Bur. So, so, 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 bettei'. 
 
 Bur. 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. 
 
 Sir F. The towns 
 
 Betwixt the Scheldt and Lis, your grace should know,
 
 214 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 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, 
 Aud Ingehnunster gape to take you in. 
 
 Bur. 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, Ohver of Clisson ! 
 That such a man as thou, at such a time, 
 Should hold the staff of constable of Fi-ance ! 
 Well ! such men are ! 
 
 Lestovet. My loi-d, 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 1 have deemed 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 Boui'bon, but full many lords 
 Who bear a part against you in the council, 
 Would yield upon a gentle provocation, 
 That stiffen with a rougher. 
 
 Bur. That may be ; 
 
 But, Lestovet, to sue to them to turu ! 
 I cannot do it. 
 
 Lestovet. May it please your grace 
 
 To leave it in my hands, ^^'ith easier ear 
 They listen to a man of low condition ; 
 Aud 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. 
 
 Bur. Nay ;
 
 SCE.VE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 215 
 
 But how can I be absent from the board 
 At such a time as this ? 
 
 Lesiovet. A seizure, say, 
 
 Of sudden illness. They '11 be here anon, — 
 I think I hear them now. 
 
 Sir F. There is a sound 
 
 Of horses' feet below us. 
 
 Bur. Well, 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. 
 
 Bur. Farewell to you ; improve your time. [Eiit. 
 
 Lesiovet. Ha ! ha ! the council ! they are men of 
 spirit. 
 Arouse their passions, and they '11 have opinions ; 
 Leave them but cool, they know not what to think. 
 
 Sir F. You '11 tell them I am here. 
 
 Lestovet. Before they rise 
 
 You shall be 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 Couneil Chamber. 
 The KiXG is brought in by the Duke of Bourbox, and seated 
 on a Chair of State at the head of the Board ; three seats are 
 placed below, on two of tchich the Dukes of Bourbon and 
 Berry place themselves. The other Councillors then enter, 
 and take their seats in succession, to the number of twelve ; to 
 wit. Sir Oliver of Clisso.v, Constable of France ; Sir Johx 
 OF ViE.v, Admiral of France ; the Lord of Coucy, Sir 
 
 WlLLfAM of PorCTIERS, SiR AyMENOX OF PUMIERS, tkC 
 
 Bastard of Laxgres, Sir Raoul of Raneval, the Lord 
 OF St. Just, the Lord of Sai.mpi, Sir Maurice of Trkssi-
 
 216 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 QuiDY, Sir Lois OF Saxxere, and the Beguk of Villaines. 
 A desk is placed opposite the lowci' end of the Board, at 
 which is seated Tristram of Lestovet, Clerk of the Council- 
 
 Bour. j\Iy brother of Burgundy is sick to-day ; 
 Your majesty excuses his attendance. 
 
 The King. We do. 
 
 Bour. Save him, our number is complete. 
 
 Sir Oliver of CHsson, 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 ? 
 
 Bour. 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 Armenticres to Quesnoy, and the Marque 
 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-passed 
 W^ithout 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 ?
 
 SCENE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 217 
 
 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 crossed. 
 
 The Constable. My Lord of Saimpi, 
 
 Surely it may be crossed, if other ways 
 Present no better hope. My lords, ye all 
 Have voices in the council ; speak your minds, 
 And God foi^fend that any words of mine 
 Should blind your better judgments. 
 
 Sir Aymenon of Pumiers. Higher up, 
 
 A few leagues south, by Yenay 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 
 Were doubtless overjoyed to see us strike, 
 Amidst the di'enching of these torrents, deep 
 Into the lands of Cassel and Yertus ; 
 An English force, for aught we know, the while 
 Borne like a flock of wild geese o'er the seas, 
 And dropped 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 Sanjcere. Yea, wet-footed. 
 
 Sir Raoul of Raneval. What say you ? » 
 
 Sir Lois of Sanxere. For the love of God, ray lords, 
 Keep we dry feet. Rheumatic pains, catarrhs, 
 And ka«tty 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 furnished outside of thy skull. 
 
 Sir Lois of Sanxere. I say, my lords, take heed of 
 mists and swamps ; 
 
 L
 
 218 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Eschew rain water ; think on winter nights ; 
 
 Beware the Flemish on the Lis ; beware 
 
 The Enghsh, 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 
 
 Swells rivers and makes floods ; whereof advised, 
 
 Take the king back with all convenient speed, 
 
 And shut him uj> at Senlis. 
 
 The King. Hold, Sir Lois ; 
 
 I will not go. 
 
 Sir Lois of Sanxere. I crave your grace's pardon ; 
 I little dreamed you would ; you are a man. 
 
 Sir Riioul 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 Ruoul of Raneval. [^drawing off his glove. '\ Lois 
 of Sanxere — 
 \_Here Tristram of Lestovkt, in arranging some parch- 
 ments, touches the mace, which rolls heavily from the 
 table, and falls close to the feet of Sir Raoul of Ra- 
 NEVAL. He starts tip.'] 
 Lestovet. No hurt, my lord, I hope ? Thank God ! 
 thank God ! 
 Most humbly do I sue to you, my lord. 
 To grant mo your forgiveness. 
 
 Sir Raoul of Raneval. Nay, tis nothing ; 
 It might have been a bruise, but 
 
 Enter an Vsher, followed bp Sir Flecreant ok IIelrlee. 
 
 Usher. Please your grace, 
 
 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. 
 
 Bour. Now we ^11 see !
 
 SCENE III] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 219 
 
 This is an apt arrival ; welcome, sir ! 
 What is the news you bring us i 
 
 Sir F. 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 
 Duubtless the terms have spread. The regent, 
 
 warned 
 Of what was machinated, as I hear. 
 Sent orders to the Lis for Van den Bosch 
 To split his power, and throw a third to Ypres 
 To fortify Vauclaire ; 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. 
 
 Bi ur. 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 your views, 
 
 Begue. 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 Raneval. Should these towns turn, 
 A larger force the regent were constrained 
 To keep i' the west ; and passing down the Scheldt 
 By Tournay, we are less opposed. 
 
 Sir Lois of Saihvere. Not so. 
 
 Sir Raoul of Raneval. I say we meet with opposi- 
 tion less 
 Upon the Scheldt at Tournay. 
 
 Sir Lois of Sunxere. I say, no. 
 
 Turning our faces from these doubting towns, 
 What can they but fall back ? 
 
 Sir Raoul of Raneval. Wilt have it so \ 
 
 L 2
 
 220 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Methinks, my lords, if turning and backsliding 
 And lack of loyalty 
 
 Lestovet. [to Sir Fleureant of Heurlee.] Hilloa, 
 You cannot go, you must not quit the board ; [sir, ho ! 
 My lords will further question you anon. 
 Spake you not of the Scheldt \ doubtless my lords 
 Would hear you upon that. 
 
 Hour. Aye, aye, the Scheldt ; 
 
 What say'st thou of the Scheldt ? 
 
 Sir F. My lords, your pardon ; 
 
 With mv own eyes I have not viewed 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 Ronne 
 Its tide contributes elbowing EscanafFe, 
 At Pontespiers and Pecq, and divei's 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 witliin the stream. 
 
 Sir Raoul of Raneval. Then let us find them ! 
 
 Who is it now that flinches and postpones ? 
 I say, once passed the Scheldt, and better far 
 We should confront the Flemish spears ; so belt ! 
 We 'd give the villains such a taste of France 
 That thence for evermore ' Mount Joye St. Denis ' 
 Should be a cry to make their life-blood freeze 
 And teach rebellion duty. 
 
 Sir Lois of Sanxere. Fee, faw, fum ! 
 
 Lestovet. Sir John de Yien would speak ; sir John 
 Hath not yet spoken, [de Yien
 
 SCENE lu.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 221 
 
 Sir John de Vien. Here we lie, my lords, 
 At Ari-as 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, ray 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. 
 And sudden in the crossing of the seas ; 
 And should we linger here with winter coming, 
 We were not called 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 ? 
 
 Bour. 'Tis noon, sweet cousin. 
 
 The King, I want my dinner. 
 
 Bour. Presently, fair cousin. 
 
 Sir Lois of Sanxere. Your majesty is of the 
 admiral's 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. 
 
 Bour. Then pass we to the vote. 
 
 The Constable. So be it ; to the vote. 
 
 Others. Agreed : to the vote. 
 
 Lestovet. ^ly 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.
 
 222 rillLIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Bour. So, do, Lestovet. 
 
 LestovPt. First, my lord constable : he bade you 
 What length of way and waters lay between [think 
 Ere you could reach the Lis ; where when you come 
 You find no bridge, and on the further bank 
 The Flemish power : then spake my lord of Sairapi, 
 Touching a passage nearer to the springs 
 By Venay and St. Yenant : whereunto 
 My lord of Ilane\ al made answer meet, 
 That though the Lis were fordable above, 
 Yet in the lands of Cassel and Yertus 
 There dwelt a dangerous people, sulking boors, 
 "Who, when we straggled, as perforce we must, 
 Through bye-ways sundered by the branching waters, 
 Should fall upon us, foundered 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 diminished 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, gagged, jaw-locked, 
 With here a turnpike, and with there a turnpike. 
 And Friesland hoi'ses. 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 rejoined 
 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 
 
 Sir Raoul of Raneval. Permit me, sir, the Lis 
 I spake not of. 
 
 Lestovet. 1 humbly crave your pardon ; 
 My memory is but crazy, good my lords ;
 
 SCEXK III.] THILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 223 
 
 It oft betrays me vilely. Sir Raoul, 
 I do beseech you pardon me ; I deemed 
 (Misled perchance by that so rife renown 
 Which plants you ever foremost) that your voice 
 Was mainly raised for speed. 
 
 Sir Raoul of RanevaL I grant you that ; 
 
 No man is more for speed, my lords, than I, 
 So we outrun not wisdom. 
 
 Bour. 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' jo'urney ; 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 gathered, here and there. 
 Which hap\v not unwortliy of your ears 
 You might, when heard, pronounce. 
 
 Bour. Say on, Lestovet. 
 
 Lestovet. At Paris, when the commons and vile 
 people 
 Beat in the prison doors, ye know, my lords, 
 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 looked abroad, and journeying up and down. 
 He practised with the towns upon the Marne, 
 With Rheims and Chalons, Toul and Bar-le-Due, 
 With sundry villages in Yermandois, 
 And Brioche and Laon ; so he moved the poor 
 (Through help, as I believe, of something evil. 
 From which God shield good men !) that straight they 
 The chatelains and farmers of the aids. [slew 
 
 They next would raise a power and march to Paris ; 
 But Nicholas le Flainand bade them wait 
 Until the Scheldt wei-e '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
 
 224 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 And Burgundy, to make the mean-folk lords. 
 This have I gathered from the last that left 
 Champagne and Beauvoisin. 
 
 Bour. Something of this 
 
 Reached me last night. 
 
 The Constable. I had some tidings, too. 
 
 Sir John de Vien. And I. 
 
 Bour. I think, my lords, this matter asks 
 
 A further inquest. If the whole be true. 
 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-moi*row. 
 
 Lord of Saimpi. To-morrow be it, then. 
 
 Sir John de Vien. At noon, my lords ? 
 
 Bour. 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 ? 
 
 Bour. It is. 
 
 The King. Take that, old Tristram. 
 
 Bour. Soberly, fair cousin ; 
 
 You do not well to toss about the parchments. 
 Ho ! tell my serving men we ride to Vis, 
 The constable and I. Adieu, fair sirs. 
 
 [_Exeunt the King and the Lords of the Council. Manent 
 Tristram of Lestovet, and Sir Fleireant of Heurlee. 
 
 Lestovet. Go to the duke ; tell him the point is 
 
 Sir F. But is it so ? [carried. 
 
 Lestovet. It is as good. 
 
 Sir F. They seek 
 
 Some further knowledge. 
 
 Lestovet. Tut ! they know it all ; 
 They knew it ere I told them ; but my mind
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 As touching it, they knew not of till now. 
 
 Run to the duke ; pray him to keep his chamber 
 
 Let him but stand aloof another day, 
 
 And come the next, we march upon Commines. 
 
 ScEXE IV. — The market-place at Ypres. 
 
 In front, Va>t Whelk, a Householder, driving the last nails 
 into a scaffolding erected against his house. Van Stocken- 
 bTKOM, another, looking on. A woman is scouring the door- 
 stead of the next house. At some Utile distance sijn gallows- 
 trees are seen, opposite the Stadthouse. 
 
 Van Whelk. Room for five ducats at a groat a head. 
 
 Van. Stock. 'Twill be a piteous spectacle ! Good 
 day, 
 How do you, misti-ess ? 
 
 Woman. Thank you, how 's yourself ? 
 
 Van Stock. 'Twill be a sight most piteous to behold ! 
 A corporation hung I 
 
 fVomun. Alack a day ! 
 
 Fan Whelk. 'Twill be a sight that never yet was 
 Since Ypres was a town. A groat is cheap ; [seen 
 A groat is very reasonable cheap. 
 
 Van Stock, The burgomaster was confessed at 
 He is the first. [seven ; 
 
 Van Whelk. Van Rosendael the next, 
 And then comes Drimmelen, Verstolken then. 
 And Goswin Hex, and Breero, and De Vry. 
 
 Van Stock. This ancient corporation ! 
 
 Woman. Wo's the day ! 
 
 Poor gentlemen ! alas, they did not thiuk, 
 Nor no man else, the regent would take life 
 So hastily. 
 
 Van Whelk. The like was never seen, 
 Nor ever will be after. 
 
 Van Stock. Hold you there ; 
 
 Come the French king, and we shall see this square 
 More thick with gallows than with butchers' stalls 
 Upon a market day. 
 
 L 3
 
 226 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act rv. 
 
 Woman. ^^Y) Grod forbid ! 
 
 Mastex' Van Stockenstrom, you will not say so ? 
 
 Van Slock. 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 Stock. 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. 
 
 Va7i Stock. 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, kings and counts. 
 Humane to such as we \ Believe it not. 
 
 Van Whelk. The Earl of Flanders is the French 
 king's cousin. 
 
 Van Stock. His majesty, to show his cousin kind- 
 ness. 
 Would canter over acres of our bodies. 
 His cousin is in what he calls distress ; 
 To succour the distressed is kind and good ; 
 So with an army comes the good king Cliarles, 
 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 '11 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 liead 
 Of any man alive. 
 
 Van Stock. Look you, the earl — 
 
 But hearken to a tale : Once in my youtli — 
 Ah, Mistress Voorst ! years, years, they steal upon us ! 
 But what ! you 're comely yet, — well, in my youth.
 
 scEJJB IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 227 
 
 Occasion was that I should wend my way 
 
 From Reniughelst 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, 
 When I, misdoubting of my way and weary, 
 Descried the flickering of a cottage fire 
 Thorough the casements ; thither sped my feet : 
 The door was opened by a buxora dame 
 That smiled and bade me welcome, and gx'eat cheer 
 She made me, with a jocund, stirring mien 
 Of kindly entertainment, whilst with logs 
 Crackled the fire, and seemed 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 Stock. Master Van Whelk, what think you ? 
 
 Va7i Whelk. Let me see ; 
 
 Did she take nothing from you ? 
 
 Van Stock. Not a stiver. 
 
 Van Vhelk. Why, that was chai-itable ; that was kind ; 
 That was a woman of the good old times. 
 
 Van Stock. Now mark, Van Whelli ; now listen. 
 Mistress Voorst. 
 The seethiug-pan upon the fire contained 
 Six craw-fish for my supper : as I stood 
 Upon the ruddy hearth, my unlaced thoughts 
 Fallen 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 appeared 
 A tumbling and a labouring in the pot 
 More than of boiling water ; whereupon, 
 Looking with eyes inquisitive. I saw
 
 228 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 The craw-fish rolling one upon another, 
 Bouncing, and tossing all their legs abroad 
 That writhed and twisted, as mixed each with each 
 They whirled 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 turned me from the hearth, 
 Feeling a sickness here ; and inwardly 
 I cried lieigh-ho ! that for one man's one supper 
 Six of God's creatures should be boiled alive ! 
 
 JVoma7i. Lord help us, sir ! you wail about the fish 
 As they were Christians. 
 
 Van Stock. Look you. Mistress Voorst ; 
 
 The king will be as kind to Louis j\Iale 
 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 ! [ Thei/ retire. 
 
 Enter VAUCLAraE, Roosdyk, and Van den BoschV Lieutenant. 
 
 Vauclaire. Shrewd news ! whence cam'st thou last ? 
 
 lAeu. ' From St. Eloy. 
 
 Roosdyk. On Monday was it that the French passed 
 over ? 
 
 Lieu. All Monday night 'twould seem that they were 
 ci-ossing 
 By nines and tens ; the craft would hold no more. 
 
 Roosdyk. Were there none watching of those job- 
 That follow Van den Bosch ? [bernowls 
 
 Lieii. 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 bi'idge. 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
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 229 
 
 In either bank, and ropes were passed betwixt 
 Stretching athwart the stream : by aid of tliese 
 Hand over hand they tugged themselves across, 
 And hid witliin the thicket ; when day dawned 
 They still were crossing, but the constable, 
 Who alway 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 ! 
 
 L'eu. When first we knew 
 
 Their stratagem, six banners could we count. 
 And thirty pennons on the hither bank. 
 The I'ird of Saimpi leading them : were there 
 Sir Herbeaux of Bellperche, sir John of Roy, 
 The lords of Chaudronne, Malestroit, Sanxere, 
 All Bretons, with Sir Oliver of Guesclln, 
 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 Fi-ance, 
 That had their station marshalled in the van. 
 
 Vauclaire. And there they stood ? 
 
 Lieu. As yet they had not fought, 
 
 When I was ordered 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 
 ■"^rom them continually that ci'ossed the stream. 
 
 Vauclaire. Then went you to the good towns 
 near. 
 
 Lieu. To Bergues, 
 
 To Poperinguen, Rolers, Warneston, 
 To JMesiers and Yertain, with strict command 
 From Van den Bosch to muster all their men 
 And send him succour ; thence I hastened here 
 To pray you do the like. 
 
 Roosdyk. Oh rare ! I love vou !
 
 230 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Didst ever see one beggar dropping alms 
 Into another's hat ? 
 
 Lieu. My master sware, 
 
 If he should lose the day the cause should lie 
 In that niisfortunate 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 tiraeously 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 hatli come to pass, ChristofFel Waal, 
 Mount thee thy hoi*se and hie to Oudenai'de, 
 And bid the re!];ent know the Lis is passed. 
 That said is all said : he shall know by that 
 We shall have much ado with this good town 
 Ere many days are 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. \_Eji'it. 
 
 lA bell tolls. Muffled drums are heard, and the Head of a 
 Procession appears, entering the Market-place. The 
 Procession is formed chiefli/ by FriMS a)id Guards; 
 and lastly appear the Burgomaster and the Aldermen 
 of several Guilds as Male/actors, with their arms 
 pinioned. They form a line between the Gallows and 
 the Stadt-House. The Market-place suddenly Jills with 
 the Populace.'^ 
 
 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
 
 SCENE iv.j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 231 
 
 And get our men of battle under arras ; 
 
 We shall have fighting ; this must mean a rescue. 
 
 Roosdyk. Let the clerks hold the culprits in confes- 
 Some fifteen minutes, and 1 '11 bring you here [siou 
 The most I can, and till I come again 
 Let no thief swing, for that should be their sign 
 Doubtless for rising. I '11 be here anon. [E.rU, 
 
 Enter a Pricker. 
 
 Vauclaire. Thy spurs are bloody — what, from Com- 
 mines, ha ! 
 A. battle lost ? 
 
 Pricker. 'Tis so, sir. Van den Bosch 
 With what remains of us is flying hither. 
 And wihs you arm. 
 
 Vauclaire. , We shall be armed anon : 
 
 And some of us you see. 
 
 \_He beckons to the Captain of the Guard, who has charge 
 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 
 u'hich hits the steel cap o/ Vauclaire. 
 
 Said I not ? look here ! 
 These drops fore-run the storm. 
 
 lA cry is heard at the opposite corner of the Market-place, 
 and Van den Bosch's Page is seen approaching. 
 Lo, — stand aside ; 
 There is a face I '11 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 scattered and so broken, wounded most, 
 And mile by mile, now one and now another,
 
 232 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, [act iv. 
 
 They tumble from their horses. He himself 
 Is sorely piked and gashed, 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. 
 
 Pricker. See, there he comes ! 
 
 [r/je tumult, which had been increasinrj, is in some 
 measure stilled as Van den Bosch is borne across the 
 Market-place to the front of the Scene- 
 Van den B. {raising himself in the litter). Who 's 
 that ? Vauclaire ? We're ruined, 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 B. Send forth — 
 
 Be still, thou jumping villain, with thy jolts ! 
 Thou grind'st my bones to powder. Oh ! oh ! oh 1 
 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 B. 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 peoj>le. 
 
 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 D. Not whilst I live, Vauclaire. 
 The leech, I think, has patched me up this body 
 To last a season. Hoist me — have a care — 
 Mount me upon this scaffolding : up, up — 
 Smoothly and altogether — there we go —
 
 scE.VK IV.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 233 
 
 Oh ! oh ! that 's thou again, uneasy whelp ! 
 
 Hast the string-halt ? Now set me down ; — so — so. 
 
 Let silence be commanded. 
 
 IThe soldiery fall back, so as to admit the people to the 
 space ivimediately in front of the scaffolding. Sundry 
 officers pass to and fro, vociferating ' Silence,' vjkick 
 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 '11 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 watched ; 
 Which was on ^Monday night : and thus ere dawn 
 They crossed 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, tucked I up my power 
 The softer pai-ts within ; and when Sanxere 
 Came nuzzling like a dog to find some flesh 
 Whereon to fix arid turn me inside out, 
 I '11 warrant you I pricked 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 called themselves so stout, 
 Showed such a fear and faintness of their hearts 
 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, 
 
 And let thy hurts be tended.
 
 234 PniLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act iv. 
 
 Van den li. {A cup of tcine 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, tvhereupon loud cries are 
 heard from both parties, and some blows pass bettceen 
 them, followed by great uproar and confusion. 
 
 Who hinders my discourse 
 With shooting cross-how 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 fi'om 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) — 
 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 
 
 ISinks suddenli/ back in the litter. 
 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 ! 
 
 Vaiiclaire. {helping 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. 
 
 Van den B. Now the trumpets sound ! 
 
 Chains for the king ! The trumpets sound again ! 
 Chains for the knights and nobles ! Victory ! 
 Thou gaoler, shut the dooi's. 'Tis very dark !
 
 scEN-E IV. j PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 23; 
 
 Whose hand is this? — Yan Artevelde's ?— I thank you 
 'Twas Fortune favoured me. Chains, chains and death 
 Chains for the king of France ! — You'a-c shut me in. 
 It is all over with me now, good mother. 
 Let the bells toll. 
 
 Vaiiclaire. 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. 
 
 "Well shot 1 — they 're fluttered : steadily, my friends ; 
 
 Take forth the litter first ; now close your ranks ; 
 
 Show a back front ; so— off ye go— well done ! 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 Scene i. — Van Artevelde's tent, in the Flemish camp 
 before Oudencrde. 
 
 Elena and Cecile. 
 
 ELEN'A (singing). 
 Quoth 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. 
 
 Cecile. Fie on such truth ! 
 
 Kather 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 wer'3
 
 236 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, [act v. 
 
 Not for my own particular, God knows ! 
 But for his ease : he needs to be enlivened ; 
 And for myself in him ; because I know 
 That often he must think me dull and dry, 
 1 am so heavy-hearted, and at times 
 Outright incapable of speech. Oh me ! 
 I was not made to please. 
 
 Cecile. 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 wei'e 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 bewitched, and stunted so 
 In force and freedom, that 1 ask myself 
 Whether I think at all, or feel, or live, 
 So senseless am 1 ! 
 
 Cecile. Heed not that, my lady ; 
 
 Men heed it not ; I never heard of one 
 That quarrelled with his lady for not talking. 
 I have had lovers more than I can count ; 
 And some so quarx'clsome, a slap in the face 
 Would make them hang themselves if you 'd believe 
 
 them ; 
 But for my insufficiencies of speech 
 They ne 'er reproached me : no, the testiest of them 
 Ne 'er tish'd a quarrel out of that. 
 
 Elena. Thy swains 
 
 Might bear their provocations in that kind, 
 Yet not of silence prove themselves enamoured.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 237 
 
 But mark you this, Cecile : your grave and wise 
 
 And 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 l^arter now 
 
 For such an antick 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. 
 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. 
 
 F. John. Your pardon, lady, 
 
 I seek the regent. 
 
 Elena. Please you, sit awhile ; 
 
 He comes anon. 
 
 F. .John. This tent is his ? 
 
 Elena, It is.
 
 238 PUILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [ait v. 
 
 F. 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 suffei'ed. 
 
 Cecile. [aside to Elena.'] How the friar croaks ! 
 What gibbering is this ? 
 
 Elena. May we not deem 
 
 Your swift return auspicious i Sure it denotes 
 A prosperous mission ? 
 
 F. John. What I see and hear 
 
 Of sinful courses, and of nets and snares 
 Encompassing the feet of them that once 
 Were steadfast deemed, speaks only to my heart 
 Of coming judgments. 
 
 Cecile. What 1 see and hear 
 Of naughty friars and of 
 
 Elena. Peace, Cecile ! 
 
 Go to your chamber ; you forget yourself. 
 Father, your words attlictme. {Exit Cecile. 
 
 Enter Van Arteveldk. 
 
 Artev. [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. 
 
 F.John. To you alone 
 
 Would I address myself. 
 
 Artev. Nay, heed not her ; 
 
 She is my privy councillor. 
 
 F. John. My lord, 
 
 Such councillors I abjure. My function speaks, 
 And through me speaks the ]\Iaster whom 1 serve : 
 After strange women them that went astray 
 God never prospered in the olden time,
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 239 
 
 Nor will he bless them now. An angry eye 
 That sleeps not, follows thee till fx'om thy camp 
 Thou shalt have put away the evil thuig. 
 This in her presence will I say — 
 
 Eleyia. Oh God ! 
 
 F. John. That whilst a foreign leraan — 
 
 Ariev. Spare her, Father. 
 
 To me say what thou wilt. 
 
 F. 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 betrayed, 
 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. 
 
 F. John. Thou shalt do well 
 
 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 ? 
 
 F. John . As thou wouldst make his danger more or les& 
 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 ; but this truth 
 I sorrowfully declare, — that ill repute 
 And sin and shame grow up with every hour 
 That sees you Hnked together in these bonds 
 Of spurious love.
 
 240 PHILIP VAX AHTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Elena. Fathei*, 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. 
 
 Artev. Hold, Elena ; 
 
 Give me a voice in this. You, Father John, 
 I blame not, nor myself will justify ; 
 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, theu* 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 ? 
 
 F. 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,
 
 SCE.VE I.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 241 
 
 With mention of the perils of the seas, 
 
 The much tempestuous season, and the loss 
 
 Unspeakable that England suffered late 
 
 In her sea-strengths ; but not the less, they said. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ariev. A leisurely resolve. 
 
 The king took counsel of his own desires. 
 Ere of his lords and commons. Had he wished 
 To do this thing, he had not asked advice. 
 In the pure polity of a monarch's mind 
 The will is privy-councillor to the judgment 
 When shall his answer reach us ? 
 
 F. John. In my wake 
 
 Sir Richard Farrington, I found, had followed 4 
 And, sped by favourabler winds than mino, 
 Reached Dunkirk with me. Letters sealed 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. 
 
 Artev. Have you no guess of their contents 1 
 
 F. John. A shrewd one. 
 
 They promised, doubtless, largely ; but were meant 
 To be delivered should you thrive — not else. 
 The English nobles, though they 'd use your arms, 
 If victory crowned them, to encumber France, 
 Much in their secret minds mislike your cause. 
 Jack Straw, Wat Tyler, Lister, Walker, BalL 
 That against servage raised the late revolt, 
 Were deemed 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 befaU you. 
 
 Artev. Father, so I thmlc
 
 242 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Lo ! with the chivalry of Christendom 
 
 I wage my war — no nation for my friend', 
 
 Yet in each nation having hosts of friends ! 
 
 Tlie bondsmen of the world, that to their lords 
 
 Are bound with chains of ii'on, unto me 
 
 Are knit by their affections. Be it so. 
 
 From kings and nobles will I seek no more 
 
 Aid, fx'iendship, nor alliance. With the poor 
 
 I make my treaty, and the heart of man 
 
 Sets the broad seal of its allegiance there. 
 
 And ratifies the compact. Vassals, serfs, 
 
 Ye that are bent with unrequited toil, 
 
 Ye that have whitened in the dungeon's darkness . 
 
 Through years that knew not change of night and I 
 
 day — 
 Tatterdemalions, lodgers in the hedge, 
 Lean beggai's with raw backs and rumbling maws, 
 Whose poverty was whipped for starving you, — 
 I hail you my auxiliai's and allies. 
 The only potentates whose help I crave ! 
 Richard of England, thou hast slain Jack Straw 
 But thou hast left unquenched the vital spark 
 Tiiat set Jack Straw on fix-e. The spirit hves ; 
 And as when he of Canterbury fell, 
 His seat was filled by some no better clerk. 
 So shall John Ball that slew him be replaced ; 
 And if I live and thrive, these English lords 
 Double I'equital shall be served whhal 
 
 For this their double-dealing. Pardon me ; 
 
 You are but just dismounted, and the soil 
 
 Of travel is upon you ; food and i*est 
 
 You must require. Attendance there ! what ho ! 
 
 Enter tivo Serving Men. 
 These will supply your wants. To-morrow morn 
 We will speak more together. Father John, 
 Though peradventure fallen in your esteem, 
 1 humbly ask your blessing, as a man. 
 That having passed for more in your repute
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 243 
 
 Than he could justify, should be content, 
 Not with his state, but with the judgment true 
 That to the lowly level of his state 
 Bi'ings down his reputation. 
 
 F. John. Oh, my son ! 
 
 High as you stand, I will not strain mine eyes 
 To see how higher stUl you stood before. 
 God's blessing be upon you ! Fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Elena. Look ! a horse-stranger comes. 
 
 Enter an Attendant, followed by a Man-atarms. 
 
 Atten. ]\Iay 't please your highness, 
 
 A scout from Van den Bosch. 
 
 Artev, And with ill news 
 
 Thy face would say. What is it 1 
 
 Scout. Please your highness. 
 
 My master bids you know that yesterday 
 Some cunning Fi'enchmen stole across the Lis 
 In boats and rafts, a league below Coramines, 
 And now they press him hard upon his rear ; 
 Wherefore he warns you that you look to Ypres, 
 Which he can do no longer. 
 
 Artev. 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 1 
 
 Artev. No, no, 'tis not. 
 
 Let him have food and wine ; he has ridden hard. 
 And lacks refi'eshmeut. Go, repair thy looks, 
 m2
 
 244 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 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, 
 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 V as Ryk, foU owed by a Messenger. 
 
 Tan liyk. A messenger,my lord,arrived from Ypres. 
 
 Artev. Here is another ugly face of news ! 
 What now ? 
 
 Mess. 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. 
 
 Artev. Is that all ? 
 
 Mess. It is, my lord. 
 
 Artev. It is enough. What news 
 
 Had ye of Menin, Werwick, and Messines ? 
 
 Mess. 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. 
 
 Artev. And doubtless now the Frenchman has 
 them all ? 
 
 Mess. I know not that, my lord, 
 
 Artev. But I do. Go ; 
 
 Thou art a wofuller fellow than the last, 
 Y'et cheerfuller than what is like to follow. 
 Get thee to dinner, and be spare of speech. 
 
 3Iess. My master bade me to entreat your highness 
 To send him instant succour. 
 
 Artev. What, to Ypres ? 
 
 He 's mad to think it ! How should aid get there, 
 With all the Upper Lis, as past a doubt 
 It must be now, from Warneston to Courtray, 
 O'errun with French ? I will not send a man. 
 It were but to lose more.
 
 SENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 245 
 
 Mess. My master, sir, 
 
 Was fearful of the burghers. 
 
 Ariev. 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 :VIessenger. 
 
 Van Ryk. My lord, the rumour in the camp goes 
 fiu-ther 
 Than where his story stops. 
 
 Artev. Aye, does it ; how 1 
 
 Van Ryk. Ypres revolted ; Van den Bosch, Vau- 
 claire, 
 And Roosdyk slain or taken. So it runs. 
 
 Elena. Oh, this is worse and worse ! 
 
 Artev. Go in, Elena. 
 
 These are not matters for a feminine council. 
 
 Elena. Oh, let me stay with you. 
 
 Artev. Go in, my love. — [Exit Elena. 
 
 Worst rumours now will still be Ukest truth ; 
 And yet if Ypres truly had revolted, 
 Undoubted tidings of so great a matter 
 Had surely reached us. 
 
 Van Ryk. If you mark, my lord, 
 
 Mostly a rumour of such things precedes 
 The certain tiding. 
 
 Artev. It is strange, yet true. 
 
 That doubtful knowledge travels with a speed 
 Aliracuious, 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 !
 
 246 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. I can spare Ypres so I keep Vauclaire. 
 Let the town go. How came you off alive ? 
 
 Vauclaire. The rascal burghers tied me hand and 
 foot, 
 And like a thief upon a hurdle trailed me 
 Toward King 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. 
 
 Artev. Why that is well. 
 
 Where 's Roosdyk 1 
 
 Vauclaire. Eating, I '11 be sworn, and drinking. 
 
 Artev. And Van den Bosch ? 
 
 Vauclaire. That is a sadder story ; 
 
 I fear he lives no longer. 
 
 Artev. Aye, Vauclaire ! 
 
 Vauclaire. Much wounded from Commmes 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. 
 
 Artev. Farewell ! 
 
 Brave Van den Bosch ! and God assoile thy soul ! 
 Vauclaii'e, we must be stii-ring : 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.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 547 
 
 Vaiiclaire. Deep are ray debts to your good-will, my 
 lord; 
 More than my Kfe can pay. 
 
 Ariev. ^'ay, 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 '11 lie no longer here at Oudenarde 
 To hear of towns betraying me. Our canrp 
 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 
 And Frenchify their faith. It is God's mercy 
 That some seven thousand citizens of Bruges 
 Are in my host, whose heads will pledges be 
 For what might fail me there. From Damme and 
 
 Sluys, 
 From Dendermonde, the Quatre-Metiers, Ghent, 
 From Ardenburgh and Grammont and A lost, 
 We'll bring the rear-guard up. The Lis, the Lis1 
 Let me but reach the Lis before King Charles ! 
 
 Vauclaire. The Upper Lis were easily regained 
 -Could we but keep the Lower. 
 
 Artev. Now io council. 
 
 Enter VanHyk. 
 Van Ri/k. A countryman, my lord, arrived from 
 Heule 
 Says that King Charles is on his march to Rosebecque. 
 Artev. To Rosebecque let him come ! With God's 
 good-speed 
 I shall be there before him. Sirs, to council.
 
 248 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v 
 
 Scene II. — The French Camp at Winkel St. Eloy. 
 
 Enter from opposite sides the Duke of Burgundy and 
 Tristram of Lestovet. 
 
 Bur. Another town come iu, I hear ; that's ten. 
 Now they will own I knew my way to Flanders. 
 Ypres, and Dunkirk, Cassel, Thorout, Bergues, 
 Makes five walled towns, and Poperinguen six ; 
 And then there 's Werwick, Vailant, and Messines, 
 And now comes Rousselaere, which rounds the tale. 
 Anon, they '11 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. 
 
 lA cry within ' Place ho ! ' 
 
 lEnter theKing,with the Coxstable, <lie Lords of Saimpi 
 and Sanxere, a7id others, and lastli/, somewhat apart 
 from the rest. Sir Fleurkant of Heurlee. 
 
 The King. Well uncle, here we are ! Get supper 
 ready. 
 How fast you rode ! I galloped 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 galloped — 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. 
 
 Bur. Cousin, you are not tall enough to wear it
 
 SCENE ir.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 249 
 
 The King. Not tall enough indeed ! Is supper ready I 
 When shall we get to Rosebecque ? Here 's St. Poule. 
 
 Enter St. Foule. 
 So, here you come, you broken-wuided 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 thei-e should be made 
 Before the battle joins, and I 'm to make them ; 
 My loi'd of Clisson am I not ? Thwack, thwack, 
 Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, will go my sword, 
 
 thwack, thwack. 
 You Tristram of Lestovet, kneel you do\\'Ti 
 And I will— thwack — I'll try my hand— thwack, 
 thwack. 
 
 Bur. Come, cousin, come, you 're wanton. Go within 
 And eat your supper. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 lExit, foUoiced hy all hut the Duke of Bcrgu.vdy and 
 Lestovet. 
 Bur. It looks like rain, Lestovet ; were it much 
 Our van could hardly, in but one day's march, 
 Arrive at Rosebecque ; or if pressed so far, 
 "Twould tell agamst their strength upon the morrow, 
 And stop them there. 
 
 M 3
 
 2.i(» PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Lestovet. ]\Iy lord, that there they '11 stop 
 
 I doubt not ; for I'm inmostly assui'ed 
 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 capahility, 
 Will justly deem their all to be impiedged. 
 '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. 
 
 Bur. 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. 
 Whex'e'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. 
 
 Lestovet. My lord, 
 
 That this vile Flemish scum, with coats of mail 
 
 Not wortli three folds of cloth, should hold at bay 
 
 The spear-heads of Bourdeaux, were doubtless strange ; 
 
 And yet such things have happened. 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 necromancer's aid ; 
 
 If he be not the devil's feudatory. 
 
 He holds in soccage of a fiend that is. 
 
 *You '11 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. 
 
 Bur. At Bruges, 'tis true, 
 
 They dared but little less. 
 
 Lestovet. Methinks, my lord, 
 
 The Knight of Heurlee is of late much altered. 
 
 Bur. It may be so ; what, since he joined us last ? 
 Lestovet. He hath a dirty, wild, neglected favour ;
 
 scEXE ri.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 251 
 
 Is careless of bis garb, gets dinink 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. 
 
 And them less savoury seasoned ; what was once 
 
 An ounce of venom to a pound of mirth 
 
 Apportioned t'other way. In truth, he 's changed ; 
 
 A moody, heavy, sad-conditioned man. 
 
 That had from nature a most mounting heart, 
 
 And revelled formerly in joys to him 
 
 As native and as unsolicited 
 
 As to the lark her song. 
 
 Bur. Whence comes this change ? 
 
 Lestovet. In truth, my lord, I know not. 
 
 Bur. Hear you nothing ? 
 
 Is nothing said, surmised ? what think you, ha ? 
 Some secret discontent 1 
 
 Lestovet. Not that, my lord. 
 
 More likely that he finds his knightly name 
 Something bedimmed, 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. 
 
 Bur. Nothing more 1 
 
 Lestovet. That is one woimd ; but there is yet 
 another. 
 Whether by word, or blow, or both, 'twas dealt, 
 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 entertained the damsel for himself. 
 Moved by his anger, offered to the knight.
 
 •2rf2 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act y. 
 
 In act or threat, some dire indignity, 
 
 Tliat ever since hath poisoned all the springs 
 
 At which his spirit drank, and is the cause, 
 
 If my conjecture err not, that he stands 
 
 The withered, blackened, and disfigui-ed stump 
 
 We see him now. 
 
 Bur. If that be all, his grief 
 
 Toucheth not us. 
 
 Leslovet. 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 bi'ave^ 
 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. 
 
 Bur. Yes, it were very strange. 
 
 Lestovet. Your grace was right I 
 
 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, 
 1 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. 
 
 Bur. 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, 
 And it is that we hear. 
 
 Bur. Upon what ground 
 
 Deemed you the earl of Conversana's fate 
 Should figure forth Van Artevelde's 1
 
 SCENE ]i.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 253 
 
 Lestovet. My lord ? 
 
 Bur. 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, 
 
 'Twas but a stumbling comment of my thought. 
 When we have strained our foresight past its power 
 Fantastic flashes oft will come across it, 
 And whence we nothing know. 
 
 Bur. Come, come, Lestovet, 
 
 Let us be open and direct. Thy drift ? 
 What did thy thought contain, that being stirred 
 Sent to the top this story of a murder I 
 
 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 — 
 Th gh whether mounted to survey the ground, 
 Or "lu 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 
 Vanished his host. 
 
 Bur. This was a waking dream. 
 
 Lestovet. I mused upon it waking. 
 
 Bur. And this dream 
 
 Thou think'st will peradventure come to pass ? 
 
 Lestovet. If fate so orders it, my lord. 
 
 Bur. And fate 
 
 Will find some human furtherance ; is it so ? 
 
 Lestovet. Were it a thing well warranted, my lord, 
 It might be well attended. 
 
 Bur. 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
 
 254 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE.' [act v. 
 
 Of dukes and regal potentates, whose power 
 May currently avouch her doubtful deeds, 
 If haply called m question. 
 
 Bur. Six o'clock 
 
 Were not too soon to be afoot to-morrow, 
 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. 
 
 Bur. 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. 
 
 Your grace's scruples master not your heart. 
 But serve your reputation. This is conscience ; 
 A herald marshalling each act its place 
 By its erablazonx'y and cognisance. 
 My lord of Burgundy, your grace is wary ; 
 So, by your leave, is Tristram of 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 '11 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 hank of 
 the Lis, between Disseghem and Rosehecque. 
 Van Artevelde'6 Pavilion. Artevjelde and Elena. 
 Elena. What is it that disturbs you ? 
 Artev. Nothing, dearest ; 
 
 I am not disturbed. 
 
 Elena. You are not like yourself. 
 
 What took you from your bed ere break of day 1 
 Where have you been ? I know you 're vexed with 
 
 something. 
 Tell me, now, what has happened.
 
 SCEXE III.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 255 
 
 Artev. Be at rest. 
 
 No accident, save of the world within ; 
 Occurrences of thought ; 'tis nothing more. 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. They stumbled in the dusk 'twixt night and 
 day. 
 I dreamed distressfully, and waking knew 
 How an old sorrow had stolen upon my sleep, 
 Molesting midnight and that short repose 
 Which industry had earned, 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 essayed 
 To rally, and the mind, unsubjugate, 
 Took its direction from a driftless dream. 
 Then passed I forth. 
 
 Elena. You stole away so softly 
 
 I knew it not, and wondered when I woke. 
 
 Artev. The gibbous mooii was in a wan decline. 
 And all was silent as a sick man's chamber. 
 Mixing its small beginnings with the di-egs 
 Of the pale moonshine and a few faint stars. 
 The cold uncomfortable day-Ught dawned ; 
 And the white tents, toppmg a low ground-fog. 
 Showed like a fleet becalmed. I wandered far. 
 Till reaching to the bridge I sate me down 
 Upon the parapet. Much mused I there. 
 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 followed then 
 I hardly may relate, for you would smile, 
 And say T might have dreamed as well a-bed 
 As gone abi'oad to dream.
 
 256 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 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 broiv. 
 How should it make me smile ? What followed, say, 
 After your meditations on the bridge ? 
 
 Artev. I '11 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 like- 
 
 ness 
 
 Artev. That such existences thei'e 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 ? 
 
 Artev. To-day ? 
 
 Elena. Last night — 
 
 This morning — when you sate upon the bridge. 
 
 Artev. 'Twas a fantastic sight. 
 
 Elena. What sort of sight ? 
 
 Artev. [after a pause'\. Once in my sad and philo- 
 sophic youth — 
 For vei'y philosophic in my dawn 
 And twilight of intelligence was I — 
 Once at this cock-crow of philosophy, 
 Much tired with rest aud with the stable earth, 
 1 launched my little bai'k and put to sea. 
 Errant for geste and enterprise of wit 
 Through all this circumnavigable globe. 
 I cavilled at the elements — what is earth 1 
 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 ?
 
 SCENE in.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE 257 
 
 A motion and a pressure : fire, a change ; 
 
 And light the language of the things called dumb. 
 
 Elena. I have been told the studies of your youth 
 Were strangely thought of, but I 'm well assured 
 They never were xmlawful. 
 
 Artev. You are right. 
 
 My meditations in their outset wore 
 The braveries of ignorance and youth, 
 But cast them, and were innocent thenceforth ; 
 For they were followed with a humble heart. 
 Though an inquisitive ; and humbler still 
 In spirit waxed 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 covered ; 
 A comprehensive atom, all the world 
 In act of thought embracing ; in the world 
 A grain scarce filling a particular place ! 
 Thus travelled I the region up and down 
 Wherein the soul is circumscribed below ; 
 And unto what conclusion ? 
 
 ElevM. Nay, your promise !
 
 £58 PmLIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act 
 
 Tell what you saw ; I must not be denied 
 After a promise given ; tell me of that. 
 
 Artev. I say to what conclusion came I then. 
 These winding links to fasten ? 
 
 Elena. I surmise 
 
 To none ; sucTi ramblings end where they begin. 
 
 Artev, Conclusions inconclusive, that I own; 
 Yet, I would say, not vain, 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, organLses, 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 else how 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 
 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
 
 scEN-E in.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 259 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 \ 
 
 Artev. Touching this eye-creation ; 
 What is it to surprise us ? Here we are 
 Engendered 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 
 What is not, and has never been at all ; 
 What should forbid his fancy to restore 
 A being passed 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 ? 
 
 Artev. Yes. 
 
 Elena. Like any you had known in life ? 
 
 Artev. ' Most like ; 
 
 Or more than like, it was the very same. 
 It was the image of my wife. 
 
 Elena. Of her ! 
 
 The Lady Adriana ? 
 
 Artev. My dead wife. 
 
 Elena. Oh God ! how strange ! 
 
 Artev. And wherefore ?— wherefore strange 1
 
 260 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Why should not fancy summon to its presence 
 This shape as soon as any ? 
 
 Elena. Gracious heaven ? 
 
 And were you not afraid ? 
 
 Artev. 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 ? 
 
 Artev. I cannot tell. 
 
 I did not mark. 
 
 Elena. And what was that appearance 
 
 You say was so unsightly ? 
 
 Artev. She appeared 
 
 In white, as when I saw her last, laid out 
 After her death ; suspended in the air 
 She seemed, and o'er her breast her arms were crossed ; 
 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 remained inflexible as stone 
 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 
 Peeled off upon the water, which, as she vanished. 
 Appeared all blood, and swelled and weltered 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 passed. 
 
 And I perceived the river and the bridge, 
 
 The mottled sky and horizontal moon, 
 
 The distant camp, and all things as they were.
 
 scEXE iir.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 261 
 
 Elena. If you are not afraid to see such things, 
 I am to hear them. Go not near that bridge ; — 
 You said that something happened there before — 
 Oh, cross it not again ; for my sake do not. 
 
 Artev. The river cannot otherwise be passed. 
 
 Elena. Oh, ci-oss it not ! 
 
 Artev. That were a strange resolve. 
 
 And to the French most a<;ceptable : 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 watched so late. 
 
 Vauclaire. And you, my lord. 
 
 Artev, For me, ray eyes untasked 
 
 Close with the owl's and open with the lark's ; 
 Almost have they forgot the use of sleep. 
 Have any scouts come in ? 
 
 Van Ryk. Yes, two, my lord. 
 
 Artev. Ah ! and with tidings ? Nothing good, I know; 
 But let me hear. 
 
 Vauclaire. In truth, it is not good. 
 
 They say that Popei-inguen, Rousselaere, 
 And Thorout have declared for France. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. We will to council, and consider there 
 What may be best. If they be here to-night. 
 We may abide them. Whither away, Vauclaire ?
 
 262 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Vauclaire. You '11 wish, my lord, to have the scouts, 
 and others 
 That are informed, before you. 
 
 Artev. It were well. \_Exit Vauclaire. 
 
 And thou, Van Ryk, 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. 
 
 Artev. Two months ago, 
 
 My presence was a spell omnipotent 
 That seemed 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, 
 Repairs 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, 
 A most unprofitable, idle charge. 
 So soon as my advance made Courtray sure. 
 Thence sent I with all speed to Rousselaere 
 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. 
 
 Artev. I stand reproved. 
 
 'Tis time and circumstance that tries us all ; 
 And they that temperately take their start. 
 And keep their souls indifferently sedate
 
 SCENE III.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 263 
 
 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 endangered. 
 
 Artev. Even so. 
 
 A mother dotes upon the reckling child 
 More than the strong : solicitous cares, sad watchings, 
 Rahies, reverses, all vicissitudes, 
 Give the affection exercise and growth. 
 So is it in the nursing a sick hope. 
 
 Enter Vauclaire's Lieutenant. 
 
 Lieu. The captains are in council met, my lord, 
 And wait upon your leisure. 
 
 Artev. I am coming. 
 
 Lieu. My master, sir, has heard, he bade me say, 
 That Cassel has revolted. 
 
 Artev. What of that ? 
 
 Lieu. He wished that you should know it first, my 
 lord. 
 And judge if it were fit to be disclosed 
 Before the council. 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 [£j?if 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 
 Were to win back my losses ; that to lose
 
 264 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Were to make all that I had lost before 
 Into one sum of loss. 
 
 Elena. I feel assured 
 
 That you will win the day ! 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. 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 faltered. I have anxious hours, 
 As who in like extremities hath not ? 
 But I have something stable here within 
 Which bears their weight. 
 
 Enter Van Rvk. 
 
 I keep the council waiting ; 
 Here comes Van Ryk to tell me so. 
 
 Elena. 'Twas I, 
 
 Master Van Ryk, that stayed him : 'tis my fault, 
 And lest I make it more, I '11 take me hence. {Exit. 
 Van Ryk. The council can abide your time, my lord. 
 There waits without a stranger just arrived.
 
 SCENE III.] PHILIP VAX ARTEYELDE. 265 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. Desert to me 
 
 I thought desertion looked the other way. 
 What is he hke ? 
 
 Van Ri/k. I think he is of rank. 
 
 In his deportment knightly eyes might see 
 What they would gladly imitate. 
 
 Artev. Of rank ! 
 
 This is the very madness of desertion ! 
 Go, fetch him in. {Eccit Van Ryk. 
 
 Thorout and Poperinguen ! 
 Cassel and Rousselaere ! i\nd who, I wist, 
 Can keep a town's allegiance on its legs, 
 If not Walraven ? 
 
 Re-enter Van Ryk, conducting Sir Fleitreant of Heitilee 
 in armour, with his vizor dusid. 
 
 Give us leave, A"an Ryk. 
 
 lExit Van Ryk. 
 Well, sir ! your pleasure ? and say first by whom 
 My camp is honoured thus. 
 
 Sir F. By one, my lord, 
 
 Known to your host by all reproachful names 
 Of miscreant, perfidious traitor, knave, 
 Caitiff, and cur. 
 
 Artev. These, sir, are shrewd additions. 
 
 And not, I hope, deserved. 
 
 Sir F. They have been so ; 
 
 Had not contrition washed deser^ with tears, 
 They were so still. I am that perjured knight, 
 Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 
 Artev. Art thou he indeed ? 
 
 Wliat brings thee hither ? 
 
 Sir F. Tliat which brings the proud 
 
 To crave a low equality with dust ; 
 
 N
 
 ■266 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v 
 
 Which arms the lover lorn, the suitor cast, the sinner 
 
 The courtier supplanted, with the knife, [caught, 
 
 Or bowl, or halter — for their several griefs 
 
 The sovereign cures. My lord, what brings mo 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 pai'tly spared) 
 
 To run upon your sword. 
 
 Artev. I am not bound 
 
 To find thee in a hangman. Go thy ways ! 
 Thou ai't a slight, inconstant, violent man. 
 
 Sir F. My lord, I come prepared for your disdain. 
 And slender were 1 in my penitence 
 If I should not confess it well bestowed. 
 But light and fickle as you justly deem me. 
 To one fixed purpose am I wedded now 
 For better and for worse — 'tis to repair 
 The wrong that I have done you, and to die. 
 
 Artev. Sir, you may live or die, as likes you best. 
 It is your own affair ; to me all's one. 
 The hurt your treachciy has done to me 
 Can neither be repeated nor repaired. 
 No further harm can follow from your life. 
 Save in the sundering my time and thoughts 
 From matters of moi'e moment. 
 
 Sir F. Pause, my lord, 
 
 Ere you pronounce me as mept 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 scoi'u myself 
 With such a bitterness as bars all taste 
 Of other's scorn. But from this bitter tree 
 Good fruitage, if so please you, you may pluck, 
 I have been well esteemed for soldiership. 
 And none can better know your enemy's host. 
 Where soft, where hard, where rotten,and where sound,
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 267 
 
 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. 
 
 Artev. iVIethinks I barely comprehend your con- 
 For sickened with one treasonable poison, [science ; 
 'Twould seem to seek another for a cui'e. 
 What says your conscience on your king's behalf ? 
 
 Sir F. It says, my lord, that there all claims are 
 cancelled, 
 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, 
 
 Artev. 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 Rosebecque. 
 The Ki.vG is discovered rising from supper, and bidding adieu to 
 his Uncles, <^e Admiral of France, the Lord of Coucy, and 
 a number of other guests tvho are leaving the Pavilion. Sir 
 Guy 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 
 Sir Constable— he's gone — Sir Constable — [night. 
 Run after him. Sir Guy, and bring him back. 
 
 \_Exit Sir Guy of Baveux. 
 Uncle of Burgundy, what says your grace ? 
 Shall it be now ? 
 
 Bur. 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. 
 N 2
 
 268 PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Guv of Baveux icitli The Constable. 
 
 We called 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 stunned my hearing. 
 
 The King. Sir, the love 
 
 We bear you is well known ; and for this night 
 And lor the mori'ow, out of love and gi'ace, 
 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 
 I 'do beseech you hear me. Well I know [this ! 
 
 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 
 (J 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. Fur myself 
 I have performed 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 ofSce 
 In my time and my fiither'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. 
 
 The Constable. Most noble sir, you are so well begirt 
 With valiant men, and all is so well ordered, 
 That nought can be amended. Wherefore, sir, 
 You and your council ought to be content. 
 I pray you, sir, maintain me in mine office,
 
 .SCENE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEYELDE. 2G9 
 
 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-moi-row 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 squadi-ons dropped 
 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 gi'ace 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 loic 
 couch beside the embers of afire. Elena enters. 
 
 Elena. My lord — Van Artevelde — up, up, my lord ! 
 I never knew him to sleep sound before ! 
 Awake, my lord, awake ! 
 
 Artev. Charge once again ! 
 
 Elena. Awake, Van Artevelde ! 
 
 Artev. Fall back ! all 's lost ! 
 
 Not by the bridge — no, no, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Elena. Arouse yourself. Van Artevelde, awake ! 
 
 Artev. {awaking). Elena, love, fly, fly I Eh! what's 
 the matter ? 
 
 Elena. Nay, start not — it is only my surmise ; 
 But I could deem the Fi-enchraau was afoot. 
 
 Artev. Whv think you so ? Van Ryk ! what ho ! 
 Van Rvk !
 
 270 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Elena. I could not sleep, and sate without the tent, 
 And sudden from the river seemed to rise 
 A din of battle, mixed with 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 
 ' jNIount Jove, St. Denis !' ' Flanders and the Lion !' 
 With that I came to waken you. 
 
 Artev. Van Ryk ! — 
 
 I '11 go myself and hearken. Where's my page ? 
 Send for Van Ryk, I say. 
 
 [_lle 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. 
 
 Artev. (reluming). Who is within ? 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Bid them to sound my trumpet. 
 \_Exit the Attendant, and soon after a reveillee is sounded 
 icilhout. Then Van Ryk enters. 
 
 Artev. What watch is this we keep ? Here 's battle 
 And none of us astii' ! [joiu"d 
 
 Van Rijk. Not so, my lord, 
 
 Artev. Heard you not war-ci"ies coming from the 
 river ? 
 
 Van Ryk. 'Tis true, my lord, both they that had the 
 And I myself, believed we heai'd a fight, [watch, 
 
 With shouts and hootings on the river's marge ; 
 But sending there, nought was thei*e to be seen. 
 Nought to be heard, nor was a Frenchman stu'ring. 
 This thus made sure, we deemed to rouse yourself. 
 Or waken up the host, should bring us blame ; 
 Wherefore we let it pass. 
 
 Artev. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 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 ?
 
 SCENE v.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 271 
 
 Van Ryk. Yes, a red light ; 
 
 But that was cast from fii-es beneath the hedges 
 Upon Mount Dorre. 
 
 Artev. This is a phantom fight. 
 
 The ghosts of them that are to fall to-raorrow 
 (To-day I might have said, for day is bi'eaking) 
 Rehearse their parts. Van Ryk, we '11 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 fortun-e. Bid Vauelaire 
 And Ukenheim and Roosdyk, when they 'I'e armed, 
 JMeet 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 i-iver up : 
 I think, my lord, it shall not clear away 
 Till sunrise, or it may be not till noon. 
 
 Artev, That is all well. Send me the captains there. 
 
 lExlt Van Ryk. 
 I go, ray fairest ! Should I not return, 
 There 's nothing here that I shall leave with pain 
 Except thyself, my beautiful Elena ! 
 What strange forgetfulness appears it now 
 So many mis-spent moments to have given 
 To anything but love ! They 're gone for ever 
 With all their wasted sunshine ! Now is left 
 One moment but to spare, one word to speak ; 
 Farewell, my dearest love ! 
 
 Elena. Farewell, my lord. 
 
 Arlev. And if we meet no more, a heart thou hast, 
 Though heretofore misled, and like mine own 
 Bedarkened 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.
 
 '272 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Artev. 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 vaiu. 
 For reparation of one fatal fault 
 1 would that I might be preserved to-day ; 
 If nut, I know that I shall fall forgiven. 
 
 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 ami 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 ! [calm ; 
 
 Artev. This fair hand trembles. Dearest, be thou 
 Calm and courageous. I commend thy silence. 
 Yonder 's the Knight of Heurlee ; he is coiuing 
 To sunimou me away. 
 
 Elena. Oh God ! I hate him ! 
 
 Why is he with thee whereso'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 ? 
 
 Artev. Dearest, what imports it \ 
 
 Nay — what is this ? Elena — Sweet Elena — 
 She hears me not — What ho ! Cecile ! 
 
 Enter Cecile, 
 
 There, take her. 
 Cecile. She will be better soon, my lord. 
 Artev. Say worse : 
 
 'Tis better for her to be thus bereft. 
 One other kiss on that bewitching brow, 
 Pale hemisphere of charms ! Unhappy girl ! 
 The cui'se of beauty was upon thy birth. 
 Nor love bestowed a blessuig. Fare tliee well !
 
 SCENE VII.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDR 
 
 Scene VI. — The western side of the Lis. 
 
 A watch-Jire in advance of the French Encampment. Two 
 Soldiers 0/ the Watch. 
 
 First Soldier sings. 
 Four stakes and a mat 
 
 Make a very good house : 
 'Tis ill foirnd, quoth the rat ; 
 
 Not a whit, said the louse. 
 
 2nd Soldier. The devil catch thy breath and mar 
 thy smging ! 
 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. 
 
 2nd 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. 
 
 Scene VII, — The eastern side of the Lis, 
 Van Artevelde, his Page, and Sir Fleureant of Heurlee. 
 Artev. 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 F. He is at your's, my lord. 
 
 n3
 
 274 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 
 
 Scene VIII. — A rising groxind, entrenched and strongly 
 
 guarded, in the rear of the French Host. 
 The Kino attended hji the Lords of Covc\ and Poictiers, 
 
 the Bastard OF St. Polle, ^c. Messengers arriving and 
 
 departing. 
 
 The King. Here comes another— well sir — tell 
 nie — what ? 
 
 Mess. Sire, when Van Artevelde had crossed the 
 bridge 
 
 Lord of Coucy. What ! crossed the bridge alive ? 
 
 The King. Well, well ; what then ? 
 
 Mess. He poured himself upon the Breton flank, 
 Wliich stumbled back a step, but rallied soon, 
 Spurred by the lords of Sainipi and St. Just, 
 V\'\\o hastened to the spot ; and there it is 
 Tliat 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. 
 
 Lord of Poictiers. Your majesty should bear in 
 
 mind another ! ; 
 
 Enter a second INIessen^er. 
 
 The King. Whence com'st thou ? speak. 
 
 2nd Mess. Sire, I was sent to say 
 
 Van Artevelde was killed ; 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 Coney. Have with your grace ! I cannot 
 blame you much. 
 Though you shall fret your uncles.
 
 scE.vE IX.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE, 275 
 
 The King. By St. Denis ! 
 
 Rather than stay I'll fight ray uncles too. 
 
 Scene IX. — A part of the Field on the western side of 
 
 the Lis. 
 
 Vax Artevelde attended hy several Q'SiG^n and Pages. 
 
 Artev. Who 's here ? Fly, Sibrand, to the further left ; 
 
 Bid Eversdyk and Alphen wheel their force 
 
 To prop me on my flank. [Ej:it Sibra.nd. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Run thou, De Roo — 
 Mess. Vauclaire, my lord, is slain. 
 Artev. Is slain — hah — slain — 
 Thou to the rear De Roo, and bid Van Ryk 
 Keep open passage on the bridge. Thou, Paul 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 2nd Mess. Roosdyk, my lord, is dying of his 
 wounds. 
 
 Artev. 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 know n I live. Up with my cry I 
 
 Scene X. — Another part of the Field still on the icestern 
 side of the Lis. 
 
 The Duke of Burgundy, Sir Fleureant of Heurl'ee and 
 Followers. 
 
 Bur. Another charge like that — ill-sorted knaves ! 
 They stumbled on each other, each by each 
 Pegged in and pinioned. Now they 'I'e loose enough 
 Another charge — they scurry to j\Iount Dorre. 
 We '11 drive them up the hill, and from the top 
 Like a staved cask shall they be trundled down. 
 What wait we for ? 
 
 Sir F. Truly the cask rings hollow ;
 
 ?76 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Yea, sir, the wine is spilt that made them bold. 
 Lo I yonder goes the king. 
 
 Bur. "What ! breaking bounds 1 
 
 He must not be before us. Scale the hill. 
 
 Scene XI. — Another pari of the Field, on the same 
 side of the Lis, near the Bridge. 
 
 Van Artevelde and Vax Ryk. 
 
 Artev. I bleed, Van Ryk. Can anything be done ? 
 For if there can, my spirit's sight is dimmed, 
 And I discern it not. 
 
 Van Ryk. To fly, my lord, 
 
 Is what remains, 
 
 Artev. 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. 
 
 Artev. Never, Van Ryk. My errand upon earth 
 Ends in this overthrow. Bind up my wound ; 
 Give me but strength again to reach the field, 
 And I will carve myself a nobler death 
 Than they designed me. God would not permit 
 That I should fall by any hand so base 
 As his who hurt me thus. 
 
 Va7i Ryk. Whose hand was that ? 
 
 Artev. Sir Fleureant's : he stabbed me on the bridge. 
 And fled amongst the French. 
 
 Van Ryk. Oh, monstrous deed ! 
 
 Artev. I hid it whilst I could, which was not long ; 
 Aud being seen so totteinng in my seat, 
 The rumour ran that I was hurt to death, 
 Aud then they staggered. Lo ! we're flying all ! 
 Mount, mount, old man ; at least let one be saved I 
 Roosdyk ! Vauclaire ! the gallant and the kind ! 
 "Who shall inscribe your merits on your tombs I 
 Mav mine tell nothing to the world but this :
 
 SCENE XI.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 277 
 
 That never did that prince or leader Uve, 
 Who had more loyal or more loving friends ! 
 Let it be >^Titten 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. 
 
 Artev. The bridge ! my soul abhors — but cross it 
 thou ; 
 And take this token to my Love, Van Ryk ; 
 Fly for my sake in hers, and take her hence ; 
 It is my last command. See her conveyed 
 To Ghent by Olsen, or what safer road 
 Thy prudence shall descry. This do, Van Ryk — 
 Lo ! now they pour upon us like a flood ! — 
 Thou that didst never disobey me yet, 
 Tliis last good office render me. Begone ! 
 Fly whilst the way is free. 
 
 Van Ryk. 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 
 
 Artev. ' Farewell, Van Ryk, 
 
 Van Ryk. Fellows, stand back ! What ! see you not 
 my lord ? 
 Stand back, I say ! 
 
 Artev. Ho ! turn ye round once more ! 
 
 Cry Artevelde ! and charge them once again ! 
 What ! courage, friends ! We 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 ? 
 
 Van Ryk. Nay, sirs, nay, stand back. 
 
 [Tax Rvk is forced off by the crotcl. 
 
 Artev. Shame on you, cowards ! what ! do you know 
 me ! back ! 
 Back, villains ! will you suffocate your lord ?
 
 278 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 Back, or I '11 stab you with ray dagger. Oh ! 
 Give me but space to breathe ! Now Go I 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 soldiei''s passage for my soul. 
 
 lExit, borne along in the rout towards the bridge. 
 
 Scene XII. — The same. 
 Enter the Dukes of Burgundy and Bourbon, ivith Followers 
 on the one side, and Sir Lois of Sanxere, icith 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. 
 
 Bur. A lath should bear up us, 
 
 We ai'e 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 shattered arch. 
 And presently the passage shall be safe 
 For all the host ; but farther down the stream 
 There are some boats, though but a few, for those 
 Who would be foremost. 
 
 Bur. 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 Ryk. 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.
 
 SCENB xJii.] PHILIP VAX ARTEVELDE. 279 
 
 Van Byk. Leave her to me. 
 
 Fly, if thou lov'st thy life, and make for Ghent. 
 
 lExit Page. 
 jSIadam, 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. 
 
 Elena. Take him then too. 
 
 Van Ryk. The enemy is near 
 
 In hot pursuit ; we cannot take the body. 
 
 Elena. The body ! Oh ! 
 
 Enter Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Bur. What hideous cry was that ? 
 
 What are ye ? Fleminsjs I 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 wished to die ; but Avhat of that ? 
 For death to be behiud-hand but a day 
 Is but a little grief. 
 
 Bur. Well said, old man ; 
 
 And who is she ? 
 
 Van Ryk. Sir, she is not a Fleming. 
 
 Enter the King, the Dike of Bourbov, the Earl of Flanders, 
 Sir Fleureant of Heurlee, the Constable, Tristram of 
 Lestovet, the Lord of Coucv, and many other Lords and 
 Knights, ivith Guards ««<? Attendants. 
 
 The King. What is your parley, uncle ; who are 
 
 these ? 
 Bur. Your majesty shall ask them that yourself ; 
 I cannot make them tell. 
 
 The King. Come on, come on !
 
 280 PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. [act v. 
 
 We 've sent a hundred men to search the field 
 For Artevelde's dead body. 
 
 Sir F. Sire, for that 
 
 You shall need seek no further ; there he lies. 
 
 The King. What, say you so ? What ! this Van Arte- 
 God's me ! how sad a sight ! [velde ? 
 
 Bur. But are you sure ? 
 
 Lift up his head. 
 
 The Constable. Sir Fleureant, is it he ? 
 
 Sir F. Sirs, this is that habiliment of flesh 
 Which clothed the spirit of Van Artevelde 
 Some half an hour agone. Between the i*ibs 
 You '11 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 ! 
 
 Bur. And who is she ? 
 
 [Elena raises her head from the body. 
 
 Bour. That / can answer : she 's a traitress vile, 
 The villain's paramour. 
 
 Sir F. 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, (upringing upon her feel) 'Tis false! thou 
 liest ! I WAS his paramour. 
 
 Botir. Ohjshameless 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. 
 
 Elexa (snatching Artevelde's dagger frotn its sheath. 
 Miscreant foul ! 
 Black-hearted felon ! 
 
 lAims ablow at the Di'ke of Bourbon, tvhich Sir Flku- 
 RKAXT intercepts.
 
 scRNE XIII.] PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE. 281 
 
 Aye, dost baulk me ! there — 
 
 As good for thee as him ! 
 
 iStabs Sir Fleurkant, tcho falls dead. 
 Bur. Seize her ! secure her ! tie her hand and foot ! 
 What ! routed we a huudi-ed thousand men 
 Here to be slaughtered by a crazy wench ! 
 
 [The Guards rush upon Elena ; Van Hyk. interposes for her 
 defence ; after some struggle, both are struck down and slain. 
 
 Bout. So ! curst untoward vermin ! are they dead ? 
 His very corse breeds maggots of despite ! 
 
 Bur. I did not bid them to be killed. 
 
 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, stone 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. 
 
 Boar. 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. 
 
 Bur. 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 
 Was he endowed, — 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 subteri-anean fire 
 That stirred and lifted him to high attempts. 
 So prompt and capable, and yet so calm. 
 He notiiiag lacked 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 Yauc|uished one so wise.
 
 282 PHILIP VAN ARTETELDE. [act v. 
 
 So valiant, so renowned. 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.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 PREFACE, PAGE XV. 
 
 " Lord Byron's conception of a hero is an evidence, not only 
 of scanty materials of knowledge from tchich to construct the 
 ideal of a human being, but also of a want 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 
 accomplishment 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 publica- 
 tion, 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, im- 
 objectionable on this score; and they contain (besides the 
 expression of opinion to which I have adverted) an acknow- 
 ledgment of intellectual 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 learned I to despise that far-famed school 
 Who place in wickedness their pride, and deem 
 
 Power chiefly to be shown where passions rule. 
 
 And not where they are ruled : in whose new scheme 
 Of heroism, self-government should seem
 
 281 NOTES. 
 
 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 
 iZven 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. 
 
 :^ ^ :)c two friends 
 
 Lent me a further light, whose equal hate 
 On all imwholesome 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 laurelled 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. 
 With him the strong hilarity of youth 
 
 Abides, despite grey hairs, a constant guest. 
 
 His sun has veered 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 set.
 
 NOTES. 265 
 
 ****** 
 
 Thus rjiirtured, 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, borrowed 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 I 
 
 PREFACE, PAGE Xll. 
 
 " Poetry of tchich sense is not the basis, though it may he ex- 
 ccUent of its kind, will not long he reputed to be poetry of the 
 highest order." 
 
 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 
 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 3Ioimt at the same time with myself, that some parts of 
 my preface have been borrowed from Mr. Wordsworth's conver- 
 sation. I dare say 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.
 
 286 NOTES. 
 
 PREFACE, PAGE Xlll. 
 
 " He (Lord Byron) was in knowledge vierely a man 0/ belles 
 lettres." 
 
 I am aware that Lord Bj-ron 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 my- 
 self 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 I., ACT I., SCEXE I., PAGE 4. 
 
 " For trull/ 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 in- 
 fluences 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 :— 
 
 " That 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, 
 destruction 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 
 
 * The year 1834.
 
 IS^OTES. 287 
 
 ordered and digested opinion, in which alone consists the 
 much boasted strength of these much boasted Political Com- 
 binations ; as I should hate, in short, to live in a land T\-here 
 men should act in multitudes, and think in multitudes, 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 flourish and 
 wealth increase, that she might be full, even to fatness, with 
 the glory of political wealth, and political conqu^t, and poli- 
 tical independence. But I do deny that any one of these things, 
 or 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 Eng- 
 land 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 con- 
 sent 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 
 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 vmions 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 Ridgway 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
 
 288 NOTES. 
 
 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 
 Parliamentai'y reputation might be built upon a tithe of the 
 merit. 
 
 PARS I., ACT I., SCEXE III., PAGE 14. 
 
 This description of Laimoy's fate is little more than a ver- 
 sification of the following account of it : — 
 
 "When the I'.arl of Flanders came to the minster, and saw 
 them of Ghent fly into the church, he commanded the minster 
 to be set on fire, whicli was quickly done, and tlie fire soon 
 mounted to the covering of the minster. There they of Ghent 
 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 witliout, ' liaiisom ! I^ansom ! ' and 
 oS'ered his cont, 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 tlie 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 25, AND PART I., ACT If., 
 SCENE I., PAGE 41. 
 
 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 pi)litical 
 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 downfal was brousht 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
 
 NOTES. -280 
 
 descent. " "When he returned, he came into Ghent about noon ; 
 they of the town knew of his coining, 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 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 ex- 
 pressions 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 fas- 
 tened 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 ? why are you so much incensed against 
 me ? 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 
 Flanderj 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 — ' Xay, we will have an account imme- 
 diately ; you shall not escape us so ; we know that you have 
 sent great riches into England without our knowledge, there- 
 fore you shall die.' When he heard"this, he clasped his hands, 
 and weeping said — ' Sirs, such as I am you have made me, and 
 you have sworn to me before this to defend me against all per- 
 sons, 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 have done 
 you and your town : you know that commerce was nearly 

 
 290 NOTES. 
 
 annihilated in this country, and by my means it is recovered ; 
 I have also governed you peaceably ; for during my govern- 
 ment ye have had all things as you could desire ; corn, riches, 
 and all sorts of merchandize.' 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 unbe- 
 coming an officer to do, to receive the goods of his lord, or of 
 a coimtry, 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 3G. 
 
 "Nor heeds the weltering of the plangent icave" 
 
 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 I., LAST SCENE, PAGES 37, 38. 
 
 " Lives, lives, my lord, take freely ; 
 
 But spare the lands and burgages and monies. 
 
 The father dead shall sleep and be forgotten; 
 
 The patrimony gone, that 7nakcs a tvottnd 
 
 That 's slow to heal ; heirs are above-ground ever." 
 It would be diflicult 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 
 che, se non acquista I'amore e' fugga 1' odio ; perche puo 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 convenicnte, 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. 
 
 PART I., ACT I., LAST SCENE, PAGE 39. 
 
 " Tou know, my lord, the humour we of Ghent 
 Have still indulged." 
 A hundred years produced little change in the humour of the
 
 NOTES. 291 
 
 people of Ghent, whose dispositions towards peace and a dutiful 
 demeanour, appear to have been as equivocal imder the House 
 of Burgundy in the fifteenth centurj-, 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, sho'wn any imfriendly dispositions towards him- 
 self ; for it was indeed a proverb, that " Ceulx de Gand 
 aj-moient bien le filx de leur Prince, mais le Prince non 
 jamais." Charles reljing upon his former relations with Ghent, 
 and upon the assurances of the magistrates and rich citizens 
 that he would be received vnth. 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 grievances of the people 
 had been a certain tax upon com, 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 complaint, 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 proces- 
 sion in his shrine to the village of Holtheim, the spot of his 
 martyrdom, where they passed the night with him, taking him 
 back 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 com. 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 groimd, 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 glNing way to the 
 2
 
 2.02 NOTES. 
 
 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., SM^Barante, vol. ix., p. 7- 
 
 PART I., ACT II., SCENE I., PAGE 41. 
 
 " 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-llood party tliis 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 
 scant a prononcer." 
 
 PART I., ACT ir., SCENE III., PAGE 48. 
 
 " And thou who wert a penile-hearted man. 
 Must lead these monsters tchere they will ! " 
 It is a remark of Cicero that, "bellorum civilium ii semper 
 sunt exitus, ut non ea soliim fiant qua? velit victor, sed etiam 
 ab iis mos gerendus sit, quibus adjutoribus parta sit victoria." 
 
 PART I., ACT ir., LAST SCENE, PAGE /O. 
 
 « Tliink of your mariners." 
 The relatives of the earl's bailiff, who had been slain by the 
 "White-IIoods, as Froissart says, " somewhat revenged the death 
 of their cousin," by seizing the crews of forty ships belonging 
 to Ghent, and putting out their eyes."^Froissart, vol. ii., 
 chap. Ixxxviii. 
 
 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 A\ill not be thought unreasonable. 
 
 MO.VOLOGUE. SCENE, IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 (The Speaker above one hundred years old)— Time, early 
 Morninp. 
 Dawn smiles ; around the golden isle of heav'n 
 Break the white-rushing clouds in paler spray ;
 
 NOTES. 293 
 
 Till do^\•Il among the eastern heights she sets. 
 And night, a second night, a paler shade, 
 Vancom-ier 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 shado^^'y 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-distinguished 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; — Avorn out Remembrance 
 Puts forth her light, that, like the eternal lamps 
 Of tombs, bums 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 
 Around, below, a wide and rustling shade, 
 A green pavilion, broad and beautiful. 
 
 Have withered into leafless stocks ; alas ! 
 
 There is no blessing in so long a life ; . . . . 
 I left this valley yet a little child. 
 And have returned beneath a load of years ; 
 JVIen 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 
 ■\Vho in the valleys is so old as he ? 
 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 ? 
 Babes held the princedom of Jerusalem ? 
 Slaves worn the purple of most mighty Rome ? 
 Aye, and the growth of yonder mountain firs 
 "\Miere I was wont to have my gay expanse 
 Of garden-ground, gives me a deeper sadness 
 Than mournful tales of ruined monarchies. 
 Dismantled cities, nations past away.—
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Mom 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 untempered 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 repelled. 
 
 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 
 
 Hath spread into a dark, unbealthful 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, 
 
 AMien 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 outstretched hand, and disappoints. 
 
 'Tis hard — to feel cheeks wrinkle-ploughed like these 
 
 "Wetted with tears — Not yet .' I have not yet, 
 
 Old as I am, reached second infancy ; 
 
 IMy soul hath lost her fire, but not her force. 
 
 Dry up, thou sun, these drops I Remembrance struck 
 
 This arid rock, and they have gushed 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
 
 NOTES. 295 
 
 and afBuent imagination be, as I believe, the constituents of 
 true genius, he was possessed of it. 
 
 PART T., ACT v., SCENE VIH., PAGE 125, ET SEQ. 
 
 It is impossible to represent the Earl's adventures upon his 
 defeat at Bruges, with more of dramatic effect than belongs to 
 them, as related by Froissart : — 
 
 " In the mean time that the Earl was at his lodging, and sent 
 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 Avith them of Bruges ; and as soon as they were within 
 the tovm, 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 theu- enemies all ranged in the 
 place said to the Earl — ' Su-, return again ; if you go any farther 
 3'ou will be killed or taken by yoiu- enemies, for they^are ranged 
 in the market-place, and wait for you.' They shewed 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 re- 
 covered 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, sir, you cannot issue out of any of the gates, 
 for the enemy is possessed of them ; nor can you return to your
 
 296 NOTES. 
 
 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 far- 
 ther, 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 
 east 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 any thing 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 mid- 
 night 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 la}'. Then the Earl, much alarmed and 
 trembling, said as he entered — ' O good woman, save me I 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 betu often at his gate to fetch alms, and had often 
 seen him going and returning from sporting ; so she immediately 
 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 tliere, where 
 my children sleep.' And in the mean time the woman 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 imme- 
 diately 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 Asoman sitting at the fire with her child. Then 
 they said — ' Good woman, where is the man we saw enter this 
 house before ue, and shut the door after him ?' 'Sirs,' quoth she,
 
 NOTES. 297 
 
 ■ I 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 were 
 here I could not hide him ; you see all my house at once ; here 
 is my hed, 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 uncertain are the affairs of this world ! ' Yet 
 it was fortunate he escaped with his life : howbeit this danger- 
 ous 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, 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 adven- 
 tures ; 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 horsehack.."— Froissart, vol. ii.. 
 chap, cxxxii. 
 
 3
 
 298 NOTES, 
 
 Notwithstanding the orders which Froissart relates to have 
 been given by Van Arteveldc 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 acci- 
 dents 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 touchercnt jamais." — Lib. ii., chap. iv. 
 
 PART I., ACT v., LAST SCENE, PAGE 129. 
 
 " As ye icere brave, so he 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 com- 
 mand, 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, cxxxii. 
 
 PART n., ACT T., SCENE I., PAGE 152. 
 
 " Enter the King with a hawk on his hand." 
 The partiality of this boy- king for hawking, may be inferred 
 from his dreams : — 
 
 «' 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 Eai'l of Flanders, and pre- 
 sented him with a fine falcon pelerin, saying to him—' 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—' INIy dear cousin, I thank you.' And 
 therewith 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
 
 NOTES, 299 
 
 Into the fields and found plenty of herons to pursue. Then the 
 King said — ' Constable, let the falcon fly, and we shall see how 
 she -will pursue her game.' Then the constable cast 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 ; 
 Mhich being unable to pass on horseback, they alighted : and 
 then he thought that ser^-ants 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 diSiculty, 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 Constable—' Remain here, sir, and I will mount on 
 this hart, and so follow my falcon.' And so the King thought 
 he mounted this fiying 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 Con- 
 stable 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 
 moimted and took the highway, and so returned to Arras. And 
 therewith the King awoke, and was much amazed at that vision, 
 and he remembered every thing thereof perfectly well, and he 
 shewed it to them of his chamber that were about him. And 
 the figtire of this hart pleased him so much, that all his imagi- 
 nation was set thereon. And this was one of the first circum-
 
 300 NOTES. 
 
 stances that occasioned him, when he went into Flanders to 
 fight against the Flemings, to bear in his arms the flying hart." 
 —Froissart, vol. ii., chap, cxxxvii. 
 
 PART II., ACT II., SCEN'E I., PAGE 169. 
 
 " We have been too successful to be safe 
 In standing still." 
 
 When "Vespasian was so f.avourably 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 concupisse : confugiendum est ad imperium." — 
 Tac Hist. ii. 76. Machiavelli, who studied Tacitus for his 
 philosophy as diligently as he consulted Li^'y for his facts, 
 generalises the observation : •' Ne possono gli uomini che hanno 
 qualita eleggere lo starsi, quando bene lo ellegessino veramente, 
 et senza alcuna ambitione ; 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 wTote as follows : " Because tlierebe 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 i., Ch. 13. 
 
 PART II., ACT II., SCENE II., PAGE 174. 
 
 " The injury that disables is more icise 
 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 
 occasions. 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 
 flight, the view of the matter which was taken by that severe
 
 NOTES. m 
 
 and intrepid commander is expressed in these words : " Nunc 
 hostes, quia molle servitium : cum spoliati, exutique fuerint, 
 amicos fore."— Machiavelli, in his exposition of the various 
 means for retaining conquered and distant territories in obe- 
 dience, makes a maxim of the same policy : •' Si ha a notare, 
 che li uomini si debbono, 6 vezzeggiare, 6 spegnere ; perche si 
 vendicano delle leggieri offese, delle gravi non possono."— 
 Principe, cap. liL 
 
 PART II., ACT ni., SCENE II., PAGE 193. 
 
 "In his youth 
 Famed/or his great desire of doing evil 
 He was elected into Testenoire's troop 
 Of free companions." 
 
 ^'Geoflfrey Testenoire," says Froissart, "was a cruel man, 
 and void of feeling, and icoitld as soon kill a knight or squire as 
 a villain." — 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 fol- 
 lowing 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 com- 
 plaints to each other ; and among them there was a knight, a 
 bastard brother of the king of England, called Sir John Soun- 
 der, who was very bold in speaking, and said, ' The Earl of 
 Cambridge hath brought us hither ; we are always ready to 
 venture our lives for him, and yet he withboldeth our wages ; 
 I counsel, let us all be of one accord, and let us among ourselves 
 raise up the banner of St. George, and be friends to God and 
 enemies to all the world ; for unless we make oui'solves feared, 
 we shall get nothing.' — ' By my faith,' quoth Sir AVilliam 
 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 cajAain than Sir John Sounder, 
 for he had then great desire to do evil, and they thought him 
 more competent thereto than any otfier."— Froissart, vol. ii., 
 chap, cxxiv.
 
 302 NOTES, 
 
 PART II., ACT III., SCENE II., PAGE 199. 
 
 •' Pain and grief 
 Are transitory things no less than joy, 
 And though they leave t(s not the men we were. 
 Yet they do leave us. You behold me here 
 A tnan 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 poivers .- 
 And surely as man's health and strength are whole. 
 His appetites regerminate, his heart 
 Reopens, and his objects and desires 
 Shoot up renewed." 
 
 The mixed state of feeling which is expressed or implied in 
 this and other passages in the same scene, has been character- 
 istically treated by South, in his comments upon " Sorrow for 
 Sin." — '-As Solomon says, ' in the midst of laughter the heart 
 is sorrowful,' so in the midst of soitow 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 tlie other. But then for the 
 external expressions and vent of sorrow, we 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 
 him opportunity thus to ease it, has one pleasure in this world 
 yet 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 foUow in constantly mitigated 
 succession, the first only may be as a pain, and the rest as
 
 NOTES. 303 
 
 pleasures, to the patient or sentient ; these being felt as pleasures 
 relatively to ^/iaftheforegoingexcessof pain ; though aMahsolute 
 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, cceteris paribus, to the former. WhUst 1 
 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 
 description of the aflFections 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 
 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 rtm out in voice, orundecent 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 wring- 
 ing of the hands, knocking of the breast, or wishing oneself un- 
 born ; 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 ex- 
 haust the man, but not eject the burthen. Sorrow then would 
 have been as silent as thought, as severe as philosophy."
 
 NOTES. 
 
 PART II., ACT IV., SCENE 11., PAGE 214. 
 
 " and oh ! 
 
 That constable ! oh, Oliver of Cllsson ! 
 That such a man as thou, at such a time. 
 Should hold the staff 0/ constable 0/ France." 
 I have represented sir Oliver of Clisson according to the im- 
 pression which his conduct in this campaign certainly appears 
 to be calculated to convey. I have made him pliant and irre- 
 solute. 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. 
 
 PART II., ACT v., SCENE III., PAGE 256. 
 
 " Once i}i my sad and philosophic youth— 
 For very philosophic in my dawn 
 And ticiliffht of intelligence was I— 
 Once at this cock-crow of philosophy. 
 Much tired with rest, and with the stable earth, 
 I launched my little bark and put to sea, 
 Errant for geste and enterprize 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 
 ccchange 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 sub- 
 ject 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," Howmany, 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
 
 NOTES. 305 
 
 tranquillity by their bright resemblance of it, and which after- 
 wards 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 ivish I could despise you : but alas ! I am a runaway 
 slave, and/rom the best of mistresses to theioorst of masters ,- I 
 serve at a tavern ivhere every hour is dinner-time, and pick a 
 hone upon a silver dish.' " I never recur to Mr. Lander's volumes 
 without renewed admiration of his abilities, nor without the 
 wish that his writings could be cleared from the tone of imcalled- 
 for defiance and unnecessary self-assertion which lowers them. 
 
 PART II., ACT v., SCK.VE III., PAGE 263. 
 
 " A mother dotes upon the reckling child 
 More than the strong ; solicitous cares, sad icatchings, 
 Rallies, 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 IVIadoc, or was unconsciously borrowed from it : — 
 
 " Have I not nursed for two long -wTetched 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 270. 
 " ELENA. 
 
 I could not sleep, and sate without the tent, 
 
 And sudden from the river seemed to rise 
 
 A din of battle, mixed with lengthened shouts 
 
 That sounded hollow like a tcindy thatc. 
 
 J looked, and in the cloudy western sky 
 
 There was a gloiv of red, 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." 
 
 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,
 
 306 NOTES. 
 
 (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 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 cry- 
 ing Mountjoy '. St. Denis ! and other cries ; and this she thought 
 was on Mount Dorre, between there and Rosebecque ; of this 
 thing she was much afraid, and so entered the pavilion, and 
 suddenly awaked Philip, and said—' Sir, rise and arm yourself 
 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 imme- 
 diately 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. ' What then," 
 said Philip, ' was that noise on Mount Dorre ? ' ' 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 nut 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 H., ACT v., SCENE XI., PAGE 277- 
 
 " Oh for a icound as wide as famine's 7uouth, 
 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
 
 NOTES. 307 
 
 pressed to death, without striking any stroke : and 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 himdred 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 n., ACT v., SCENK LAST, PAGE 282. 
 
 " WoJ/o/the weald and yellow-footed kite. 
 Enough is left for you of meaner prey." 
 
 " ilore 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 Brun- 
 naburgh, a.d. 938. It is quoted by 3Ir. Southey, whose 
 unequalled command 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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