University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Ghent.—The House Van Artevelde.
Artevelde and Van den Bosch.
Van den Bosch.
When they were brought together in the square,
I spake. I told them that they lack'd a chief;
For though they saw that dangers clipped them round,
Amongst their captains there was none could win
The love of all, but still some guild or craft
Would stone him if they might. I bade them think
How Jacques Artevelde from humblest state
Had borne this city up to sovereign sway,
And how his son had lived aloof from strife,
To none bore malice, and wish'd well to all.
With that they caught thy name and shouted much;
And some old men swore they remember'd well
In the good times of Jacques Artevelde,
When they were young, that all the world went right,
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 grave regards
They were resolved to choose thee for their chief.
But “Soft! my friends,” quoth I; “ye know not yet
How he inclines to that you'd put upon him;
He hath no friends and favourites to reward;
He hath no adverse faction to repress;
Of what avail to him were power and place?
But nathless we'll entreat him.” “Bring him here!”
Was then the cry. “More meet it were, my friends,”
Quoth I, “that we go seek this noble youth;
On such high worth we humbly should attend,
And not expect such worth should wait on us.”
To this they gave assent, and they'll be here
So soon as all are muster'd.

Artevelde.
When they come
I'll tell them something of my mind.

Van den Bosch.
'Twere well.
Thou canst not miss to please them in this mood.
The trial will be after, when they flag
And want a long spur-rowel in their bellies.
Thou lack'st experience to deal with men;
Thou must take counsel.

Artevelde.
I will hear it. True;
It may be I have much to learn.

Van den Bosch.
Canst learn
To bear thee high amongst the Commons? Yea,
Canst thou be cruel? To be esteem'd of them,
Thou must not set more store by lives of men
Than lives of larks in season.

Artevelde.
Be it so.
What's needful I can do. I pray you, where
Abide the messengers from Bruges?

Van den Bosch.
Last night
'Twas in the Clothiers' Square they lodged. Belike
They thought their houses not so safe.

Artevelde.
Why so?

Van den Bosch.
They enter'd by that side, and as they reach'd
Sir Simon's, a few sturdy knaves with pikes,
Whom I had planted there, with hasty zeal
Brake out before their time, and that with howls
That Bruges itself might hear.

Artevelde.
So they were warned.

Van den Bosch.
They gallop'd to the Square, the while their train
Stood fast and fought it out; and mark you this,—
One that was of them shouted in the fray
The D'Arlon's war-cry, whence he may be known
Of that Lord's following, and wherefore here
We well may guess.

Artevelde.
Had he been slain 'twere well;
Had others been 'twere not. If I rule Ghent,
No man shall charge me that his life or goods
Are less secure than mine, so he but keep
The laws that I have made. Believe me, friend,
Thy scheme of rule works wastefully, self-sapped.
To make the needy and the desperate thine
Thou gav'st them up the plunder of the rich;
Now these, grown desperate and needy too,
Raise up a host against thee, whereupon,
No spoil remaining, thy good friends depart.

Van den Bosch.
God's curse go with them!

Artevelde.
Like enough it may;
They've carried it about these five long years;
They took it with them to the peasant's hut,
They took it with them to the burgher's stall;
A roving curse, it followed at their heels,
And with them it will like enough abide.

Van den Bosch.
Hark! here they come.
[Shouts of “Artevelde!” are heard from without.
Out, show thyself! Out, out!

Scene II.

—The Street in front of Artevelde's House.
Enter a multitude, led by Frans Ackerman, and the Deans of sundry Crafts.
1st Dean.

Well said, Sirs! Shout again.

Frans Ackerman.

Silence! Enough. There is a time for shouting and bellowing, and there is a time for speaking with our tongues like men and Christians. He will be here anon; and know ye what ye shall say to him? Know ye what ye would have? Know ye your own minds?

A Burgher.

We know our own minds, Sir, indifferently; but you know them better.

2nd Burgher.

We would have a man to rule us, and not to rob us.

3rd Burgher.

Right, right!

4th Burgher.

Rob thee, truly! Rob a scarecrow! What should he get by robbing thee?

2nd Burgher.

What thou shalt get in a minute, this dirk betwixt his ribs.

Frans Ackerman.

Silence! He's here.

Enter Van Artevelde and Van den Bosch.
Artevelde.
Well met, good Sirs: what brings you here? If aught
Wherein I can befriend you, speak your minds,
Or let one speak, and should he speak aright
Hold up your hands, that so I may receive
His words as yours.

Several Voices.
Frans Ackerman shall speak.

Frans Ackerman.
Sir, they are pleased to make a mouth of me;
And it behoves me first to bid you know
What manner of men they are. Sir, to say truth,
These men are honest; yea, and wise as honest;
And more, they're men of substance, pay their debts,
Live peaceably with all men, in good will
Like brothers. But this town is full of strife;
All men are not like these, who find it hard,
Though turning t'other cheek as is their wont,
To walk as they would wish. Now they are told,
And some of them remember, in time past,
When that your glorious father ruled the town,
The streets were like a church: no quarrels, brawls,
Nor no man dared so much as lay his hand
Upon his weapon. As the father is,
So is the son. They say that would you deign
To rule supreme in Ghent, the strife within
Would cease, and all our roisterers be thrown
Upon the foe without. If this their suit
You should be pleased to grant, most proud were they
To serve a chief so gracious and so good.

Artevelde.
If this be your desire, hold up your hands.
[They hold up their hands.
So—if my sight deceive me not, all hands
Are held aloft. To all, then, this reply:
I thank you for the trust and good respect
In which you hold me; Sirs, I thank you all.
You say that for the love my father bore
To you, and you to him, you'd fain have me
What he was once—your Captain. Verily,
I think ye do not well remember, Sirs,
The end of all the love 'twixt you and him.
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.
Nay, Master Philip!

Artevelde.
Oh, Sirs, ye look not to such end, I know;
Nor may it be yourselves that bring it round:
But he who rules must needs be grudged of some,
And safeguard from the many should he find
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!”
Artevelde.
So be it.
Now listen to your Captain's first command.
It has been heretofore the use of some
On each cross accident, within, without,
To cry aloud for peace. This may not be;
It much unsettles brave men's minds, disturbs
The counsels of the wise, and daunts the weak.
Wherefore my pleasure is, and I decree,
That whoso shall but talk of terms of peace
From this time forth, save in my private ear,
Be deem'd a traitor to the town of Ghent
And me its Captain; and a traitor's death
Shall that man die.

Burgesses.
He shall, he shall, he shall!
We'll kill the slave outright.

Artevelde.
At my command,
Not otherwise; for mark me further thus:
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,
It is the liberty to choose our chief
And bow to none beside. Now ye choose me,
And in that choice let each man rest assured
That none but I shall dare to judge him: yes,
Whoso spills blood without my warranty,
High man or low, rich man or poor, shall die.

Burgesses.
The man shall die; he shall deserve to die!
We'll kill him on the spot, and that is law.

Artevelde.
Hold, hold, my friends! ye are too hasty here,
You shall not kill him; 'tis the headsman's part,
Who first must have my warrant for his death.

Burgesses.
Kill him who likes, the man shall die; that's law.

Artevelde.
What further knowledge of my rules ye need
Ye peradventure may obtain, my friends,
More aptly from my practice than my speech.
Now to the Stadt-house—bring the litter—There
The deans of crafts shall do me homage.

Van den Bosch.
Ho!
Bring ye the litter. Stand apart, good Sirs!
And now, let's hear your voices as ye go.

Scene III.

The House Van Merestyn.
Sir Walter D'Arlon and Clara Van Artevelde, she binding up his arm, which is wounded.
Clara.
Rude Knight, you come to see your ladye love,
And cannot stay your stomach for an hour
But you must fight i' the street. Your hungry sword—
Could it keep Lent no longer? By my faith,
You shall do penance at your lady's feet
The live-long night for this.

D'Arlon.
Nay, cry you mercy!
'Twere a sharp trial, one man to keep Lent
Whilst all around kept carnival; the sin
Was in the stomachs of your citizens:
But I will do the penance not the less.

Clara.
Come, come! confess yourself; make a clean breast;
You'd vow'd a vow to some fair dame at Bruges
To kill for her dear love a score of burghers.
Nay,—never cross yourself—'tis Gospel truth.
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 law. Ah, well!
Would I had lived a hundred years ago!

D'Arlon.
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 in more truth
Than I have loved.

Clara.
What, what! no truer Knight?
A seemly word, forsooth! Hast many more?
No truer knight!—'Tis thus you great Lords live
With flatterers round you all your golden youth,
And know yourselves as much as I know Puck—
Your heads so many bee-hives; honey'd words
Swarm in your ears, and others 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 your bandage with my teeth?

Enter Adriana.
Adriana.
My Lord—good heaven! Your arm—I fear you're hurt.

Clara.
Hold, hush! I'll answer for you. Just a scratch;
A scratch, fair lady,—that and nothing more.
It gives us no concern; we got it thus:
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 sinners were so rapt and lost,
They heeded not our Lordship: whereat we,
Unused to such demeanour, shook ourselves,
And prick'd them with our lance; a fray ensued,
And lo! as we were slaying some fourteen
That stayed 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' Heaven knows what.

Adriana.
My Lord, you know her; she is ever thus,—
Still driving things against you to your face,
And when you're gone, if I should chance let fall
A word, or but a hint of censure, as—
My Lord of Arlon is too rash, too hot,
Too anything—

Clara.
She sighs and says, too true.

Adriana.
No, verily. But why, my Lord, come here
At nothing less than peril of your life,
Only to hear her rail?

Clara.
Yes, tell us why.

D'Arlon.
Not only that to-day, though till to-day
That was enough. But here is one whose weal
Has charged me with an errand of less love
But graver import. Is't not? Yes, 'tis he!

Enter Artevelde.
Artevelde
(as he enters).
Let my guard wait without.

Clara.
His guard! What's this?

Artevelde.
My Lord of Arlon, God be with you ever,
And guide you upon less adventurous tracks
Than this you tread. I'll 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 clink upon thine ears
Save only in romaunt and roundelay.
Such is what should be, and behold what is!
A man of many cares new taken up,
To whom there's nothing more can come in life
But what is serious and solicitous:
One who betakes him to his nuptial bed,
His thoughts still busy with the watch and ward,
And if his love breathe louder than her wont
Starts and believes the bells ring backwards: yes,
A man begirt with eighty thousand swords,
Scarce knowing which are in the hands of friends
And which against him; such a sort of man
Thy lover is, his fate for life or death
Link'd to a cause which some deem doomed and lost.
Such is Van Artevelde, for he is now
Chief Captain of the White-Hoods and of Ghent.

Clara.
Nay! is it even so?

Artevelde.
Even so it is.

Adriana.
And you are Captain of these savages!
And you will trample with them through the blood
Of fellow-men,—alas it may be, too,
Of fellow-citizens—for what care they?
And you, the gentle-hearted and the good,
Must lead these monsters where they will!

Artevelde.
Not so;
I purpose but to lead them where I will.

Adriana.
Then they will turn upon you; never yet
Would they endure a Chief that cross'd their mood.

Artevelde.
That is the patience they've to learn from me.
The times have tamed them, and mischance of late
Has forced an iron bit between their teeth
By help whereof I hope to rein them round.

Clara.
Oh, they will murder you!

Artevelde.
It may be so,
But I hope better things. Yet this is sure,
That they shall murder me ere make me go
The way that is not my way for an inch.

Adriana.
Alas! and is it come to this!—Oh God!

Artevelde.
This I foresaw, and things have fallen out
No worse than I forewarn'd you that they might.
The course I follow is a course ordained;
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. Everything is clear.
And take this with you for your comfort too—
That man is not the most in tribulation
Who, resolute of mind, walks his own way,
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,
The fate foreshown for you.

Adriana.
For me? What fate
Could e'er be nobler? Vex not your heart for that,
Nor think of me so all unworthily,
Nor fancy for me fears I have not: no,
In either fortune to be with you still,
Still to be with you is the single joy
Can find henceforth a corner in my heart;
My glory to be ever by your side
In weal or woe or danger or distress,
In all mishaps or mischiefs that befall you,
In all temptations when bad men beset you,
In all the tempests that must now rave round you,
And, should they wreck you, in the hour of death.
If your ambition, late aroused, was that
Which push'd you on this perilous attempt,
Then I will be ambitious too; if not,
And 'twas but your ill-fortune, be it so;
Then I will be unfortunate no less.
In that will I be like you, and all else
Wherein a woman may; what once I prized,
Serenity, contentment, heavenly peace,
God's blessings on my earlier years bestow'd
I fling them to the winds nor heed their loss,
So that your love outlast them.

Artevelde.
Bride in life,
And bride in death, if bridals then may be,
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 through the power of love.
Bring me but 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
And kept the secret of your sojourns here;
So doing, partly for respect to you,
And partly for her sake, this foolish girl's,
My pretty Clara's, who will let me say
I had not pleased her else; but now, my Lord,
As you have heard, I hold an office here
With duties appertaining, and must needs
(With sorrow for your sudden going hence)
Proffer my passport,—good till set of sun.

D'Arlon.
If no discourtesy is meant by this
I have but to depart.

Clara.
Depart! and why?

Artevelde.
There's nothing meant but honour, nothing else,
Howe'er to rude appearances enforced.
When there is peace between the Earl and Ghent
'Twill be a joy to me to see again
The gallant Lord of Arlon; till that time
We meet not, save in hostile ranks opposed,
Or captive, I in Bruges or he in Ghent.

D'Arlon.
Sir, it is not for me to say you nay
In a strange town, and all the town your own;
Nor would I willingly distrust your word
That all is honourably meant; for else
I scarce should miss to find a future time
For fair requital.

Artevelde.
On my faith, my Lord,
I love you and respect you.

D'Arlon.
'Tis enough.
Then I depart in peace.

Clara.
Depart! what's this?
What's all the coil about? Say you, depart?
That's when I bid him, not an hour before.
Dismiss him thus, and ne'er to come again!
Then what becomes of me? Oh, I'm a child!
I'm to be whipp'd for crying after him?
But let me tell you, Philip, I'm the child
Of Jacques Artevelde—So look well to it.
An injury to myself I might forgive,
But one to D'Arlon—
[Bursting into tears.
Sir, think twice of that,
Lest you should lose a sister unawares.

D'Arlon.
Nay, Clara, nay, be not so troubled.

Artevelde.
There—
You see the humour she is of, my Lord;
But be my sins confess'd, the fault is mine.
An orphan sister and an only one,
What could I less but let her have her will
In all things possible? An easy man
She still has found me, and knows nothing yet
Of opposition to her high commands.
You, if you e'er should take her to yourself,
May teach her better doctrine. Dry these tears,
Clara, my love; nor let this Knight discern
His future trials thus presignified
In rain and lightning; let him not, my love.

Clara
(weeping).
When will he come again?

Artevelde.
When peace comes; yes,
We'll make him welcome then to bower and hall,
And thou shalt twine a garland for his brow
Of olive and of laurels won from me.

D'Arlon.
Be pacified, sweet Clara; dry your tears.
He but deals with me as he has the right
And deems himself in duty bound; such things
Shall jar no string between us.

Artevelde.
Nobly said.
I leave her in your hands, and hope your aid
For bringing her to reason.

D'Arlon.
I entreat
One word in private with you ere we part.

Artevelde.
Take in my sister, Adriana—go,
Impart to her a portion of that strength
Whereby your spirit, ruler of itself,
Rules what betides it: teach her to subdue
Her woman's wifulness.

[Exeunt Adriana and Clara.
D'Arlon.
My errand here
Is not so wholly idle as no doubt
You deem it. I would first have warned you off
The office which, with most unhappy haste,
Already you have clutch'd. Since that is vain
I next would bid you to beware false friends;
Look that there be no treason in your camp;
I may not now say more; but be assured
'Twill be your life you fight for.

Artevelde.
Gallant friend,
It is a grief to me that we should meet
In opposition thus. I'll look around
And profit by your warning if I may.
Trust me, 'twould irk my heart no less than yours
(And may this show in all my acts henceforth!)
To enter in alliance with foul play
For any earthly meed. Sir, fare you well.

D'Arlon.
Whenso' the choice and noblest of my friends
Are bid to memory's feast, then, Artevelde,
The place of honour shall be yours. Farewell.

[Exit.
Enter the Captain of Artevelde's Guard.
Captain.
Sir, there's a messenger from Van den Bosch
Who craves to see you instantly: another
Says the Lord Occo waits your leisure.

Artevelde
(after a pause).
Ha!
Lord Occo, saidst thou? Tell me, what of him?

Captain.
He waits your leisure, Sir.

Artevelde.
And when comes that?
He shall not wait my leisure. And what more?

Captain.
Sir, Van den Bosch would see you.

Artevelde.
So he shall:
I will attend the Lord of Occo first,
And Van den Bosch shall find me at my house
Some half hour hence. How look we, Sir, abroad?

Captain.
The citizens are trooping to the Square.
'Tis said Sir Simon and Sir Guisebert pass
From door to door incessantly.

Artevelde.
To beg?

Captain.
To gain a strong attendance.

Artevelde.
Woe the while!
A bear, a fiddle, and a pair of apes
Had sped the service better. Well; what else?

Captain.
Both mean and notable and rich and poor
Have they solicited, assuring all
That when it shall be heard what terms of peace
Are offer'd, they will hug the messengers
That after painful travail for their love
Have brought them such good tidings.

Artevelde.
Hug them? Ay,
With such a hugging as shall stop their breath.
But what! Thou look'st not over cheerily;
Think'st thou the Knights have made some way then, ha?

Captain.
The deacons of eight crafts have ta'en their part,
And many of the aldermen.

Artevelde.
Is't so?

Captain.
And all the men of lineage.

Artevelde.
As thou hearest.

Captain.
The citizens pass'd by me in the street
By scores and hundreds, and of them I saw
The most were plainly not for us.

Artevelde.
Build up,
And then pull down, and then again build up,—
And always in the ruins some are—Well?

Captain.
And I'm afeared, though loth to think it, some
Amongst your guard have fallen from their faith
At seeing us outnumbered thus.

Artevelde.
Is't so?
Why, wherefore should I wish that it were not?
The more faint hearts fall off the better; so
Sick fear shall purge us to a sounder health.
Now to the Lord of Occo. Follow thou
With such as follow me; the rest discard.

Scene IV.

—The Dwelling-house of the Lord of Occo.
Occo and Van Aeswyn.
Occo.
The mariners, then, are for us?

Aeswyn.
They are ours.

Occo.
And these are of the curriers that thou bring'st?

Aeswyn.
The deacons of that craft—they're backward still:
They're ever harping upon Artevelde,
Who told their worships when they took the oath
If his poor humour govern'd, nothing else
But leathern jerkins should be worn in Ghent.

Occo.
We'll deal with them as with the fullers; go
And bring them in.
[Exit Van Aeswyn.
Well done, Sir Curriers!
These precious moments must be given to you!
The Devil curry you for senseless boors!
Re-enter Van Aeswyn with the two Craftsmen.
Good morrow, Masters—Ha! my valued friend,
Jacob Van Ryk; and if mine eyes see true,
Master—

Aeswyn.
Van Muck.

Occo.
Tush, tush, Sir! tell not me;
Have I forgotten my old friend Van Muck,
Or any of my friends?—though time is short
And we must scant our greetings. Worthy Sirs,
We're in a perilous predicament,
And I should take no step without advice.
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,
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.
Ay, 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, not follow,—these
Have rightful claims; yes, boldly these may say
Reward us, for the first and foremost we;
Nor will they be unanswer'd, that I know:
“First serve the first,” is what they say at Bruges.

Van Ryk.
'Tis a good proverb, Sir, for early men;
And we have ne'er been slack in things of credit;
But we have scruples here. We see it thus:
If we should but shout peace with half the town
The Earl would scarce take count of us; again,
Should we make haste in raising of our hands
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 fill'd) 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 lot of desperate-minded men,
Who, deeming the rendition gives up them
To punishment, make head against the rest:
These think no shame to say that all must die
To save their one—two—three—half-dozen heads
From certain hazards. Why if fall they must,
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 its doom
For private and particular ends of theirs.
Then let us rally round the public weal
And link our names with that.

Van Ryk.
The city's weal
Doth one way beckon us, it must be own'd;
But some of us there are that but last night
Swore fealty to Artevelde.

Occo.
What then?
That was but for the war—not knowing then
That it was ended by your deputies
And peace concluded: answer not so idly.
Swore ye not fealty to the Earl before?
Come, come, my friends—we're all as one, I see;
And let me tell you that the whole of Ghent,
Almost the whole, is minded like yourselves.
Strange is it men shall meditate and muse
In secret all alike, and show no sign
Till a blow's struck, and then they speak it out,
And each man finds in each his counterpart,
And, as a sluice were opened, 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,
He's shot the bull he had his horns of—Ha!
What will Dame Oda say to thee?

Van Ryk.
Come, come!
If that's our archery, Frans Fleisch for thee.

Occo.
My friends, we'll settle all such scores at will.
But is not Ghent more precious than our wives?
And who debauches her? When she was fain
To creep into her long-left Lord's embrace,
Who came at night and whistled her away?
This is the aggravation that most stirs
The choler of the Earl. The other Chiefs,
Men that by accidents and long degrees
Became entangled in rebellion,—them
He can forgive; but he that plunged plump in
And so new troubled what was settling down,
This is the man that he has mark'd for death.
Whoso brings down that head has hit a mark
That's worth five hundred crowns. What say you, friends?
Who strikes a good stroke with his sword for this?
[A pause.
To speak it with no mincing of the sense,
Van Artevelde, you understand, must die;
His life the Earl must have. Who hath the guerdon
Is not of moment 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 men like you should win the prize
Than see it snatch'd by luck; when die we must,
'Tis better that thereby good men should thrive
Than snatchers.

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
Would say the deed was good: but Artevelde
Has, as it were, a creditable name,
And men would say we struck not for revenge
But only lucre, which were scandalous;
And also, Sir—

Occo
(to a Serving-man who enters).
What, sirrah?—Speak—what now?
[The Serving-man whispers him.
Van Artevelde! what say'st thou?—coming here?
Not now—not now?

Serving-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 here
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 crowns—

Occo.
Just as ye will, Sirs—any way ye please;
I bid God speed you, and so fare ye 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 coin,
And Ackerman's for love and pure good-will.

Van Muck.
And Sir, as touching Artevelde—

Occo.
Nay, nay,
I will not press it further.

Van Muck.
If the crowns—

Occo.
Peace, on your lives, he's here!

Enter Artevelde.
Artevelde.
My Lord of Occo, at your pleasure. Ha!
Attended, too, as I could wish. God's love!
I'd not desire to see a friend of mine
Better accompanied,—no, nor a foe
Better encounter'd, than by men like these.
Jacob Van Ryk, my father loved you much;
No man knew better, Jacob, none than he,
Who were the worthiest of his love and trust,
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 of his escort to and fro
From post to pillar: it was always thou
Whom he would choose from them that brought him home
To ask thy company; and in thine arms
He oft would put me for his more repose,
For I was stillest there. Times change, Van Ryk;
Years shift us up and down; but something sticks;
And for myself, there's nothing as a man
That I love more than what my childhood loved.
Honest Van Muck, thy hand—thou look'st abash'd—
Ah, thou bethink'st thee of thy little debt,
The money that I lent thee for the close.
Why, what of that, man? Didst thou ever hear
An Artevelde would hurt his friend for gold?
Thy debt is cancell'd—think of it no more;
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 your debtor more
Than ever I was yet. God guard you, Sir,
And specially in your perils near at hand!

Van Ryk.
Master Van Artevelde, God grant you grace
To read men's hearts,—the gift your father had.
Look for your friends amongst the Commons ever;
An 'twere not for Lord Occo standing here,
I'd bid you trust in ne'er a Lord of Ghent.

[Exeunt the Craftsmen.
Artevelde
(after a pause).
These are ambiguous knaves.

Occo.
True craftsmen both!
Ever suspicious of nobility.

Artevelde.
That am not I. You had some news to tell,
So your Lieutenant said.

Occo.
Intelligence
Has reach'd me of the terms the Earl will grant;
A guarantee of franchises and rights
Conditional on some three hundred souls
Being surrender'd to his mercy.

Artevelde.
Ay;
Of whom then is this number?

Occo.
Whom the Earl
May please to name hereafter; but meanwhile
The lists are written out, though not divulged;
And what is worthiest note, upon the file
Your name appears not.

Artevelde.
By my faith, that's strange!
But are the tidings sure?

Occo.
Beyond all doubt.

Artevelde.
How came you by them, if they be so sure?

Occo.
They're rumour'd—confidently rumour'd—Nay,
I had them also from my spies at Bruges;
A most sagacious spy—he saw the lists;
He never vet deceived me—there's no doubt.

Artevelde.
And what do you advise, if this be truth?

Occo.
Why, if the town be obstinately bent
On making peace, my counsel to yourself,
Whose life peace places not in jeopardy,
Would be to leave the forward part to us
Whose only safety lies in holding out;
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 revolt,
To throw yourself among the mariners:
There's none of all the crafts so wholly with us?

Artevelde.
With which of us, my Lord?

Occo.
With one and all.

Artevelde.
Ay, say you so? And my part, as you think,
Is to stand back and see you play the game.
I have a notion of a leader's part
That looks another way. Your counsel asked
Not wholly without profit have I heard:
Now I will give you mine; and be you pleased
To profit in like sort lest worse befall you
I too have had my spies upon the watch,
And what they brought me sounded in my ears
A note of warning link'd with names well known,
Now known for traitors' names. I hereupon
Took order for a numerous company
Selected for their hardihood and faith
To be for ever close upon the heels
Of these same traitors at all guild-assemblies,
And use their weapons on a sign from me.
Which matters recommending to your care
I counsel you to stay at home. Farewell.

[Exit.
Enter Van Aeswyn.
Aeswyn.
My Lord, Sir Guisebert is impatient much,
And sends one message on another's heels
To ask why tarry you?

Occo.
I am not well.

Aeswyn.
But they must needs set forth at once; ere this
The market-place is full; they cannot wait.

Occo.
Hark you! he knows it all.

Aeswyn.
Van Artevelde?

Occo.
Knows everything.

Aeswyn.
And what is to be done?

Occo.
I'm ill at ease; I know not; what think'st thou?

Aeswyn.
If he but knew it half-an-hour too soon,
His knowledge is of small account.

Occo.
God's death!
But who can tell how long he's known it—nay,
How many he have practised with and gain'd—
How many may have falsely seem'd to swerve
By his direction, only to delude
And so embolden me to my defeat.
I would this hour were over!

Aeswyn.
Choose your course;
Take one part or the other, lest it pass,
And leave you ruined both ways.

Occo.
Ruin'd! Ruin'd!
He told me if I ventured to the Square
His followers should slay me.

Aeswyn.
Yours may him;
'Tis a fair challenge, let us fight it out.

Occo.
Why, that is bravely said. Then be it so;
Thou shalt have warranty to fight it out;
And if we're beaten, I shall stand prepared
To fly to Bruges with any that way bent.
And hark you, friend! not empty-handed, no,
We'll take what's worth our ransom ten times told,—
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 and a litter near.
Shouldst thou be worsted in the market-place
I will be nigh thee to protect thy flight
Till thou mayst reach the gates. God speed thee well!

[Exit.
Aeswyn.
The dastard! when the service touches life
The follower must lead, and venture all
For him that ventures nothing. Are we fools?

Scene V.

—The House Van Artevelde.—Artevelde and the Page.
Artevelde.
Not to be fear'd—Give me my sword! Go forth,
And see what folk be these that throng the street.
[Exit Page.
Not to be fear'd is to be nothing here:
And wherefore have I taken up this charge
If I be nothing in it? There they go.
[Shouts are heard.
Of them that pass my house some shout my name,
But the most part pass silently; and once
I heard the cry of “Flanders and the Lion.”

Re-enter Page.
Page.
The Knights that newly have arrived from Bruges
Pass down the street, my Lord, with many more.

Artevelde.
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.
[Exit 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 render up God's gift a 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.
[A pause.
These hands are spotless yet—
Yea, white as when in infancy they strayed
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—first and last
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! Then be it as ye will!
Sir Knights, ye drive me close upon the rocks,
And of my cargo you're the vilest bales,
So overboard with you! What, men of blood!
Can the son better auspicate his arms
Than by the slaying of who slew the father?
Some blood may flow because that it needs must,
But yours by choice—I'll slay you and thank God.

Enter Van den Bosch.
Van den Bosch.
The common bell hath rung! the Knights are there;
Thou must come instantly.

Artevelde.
I come—I come.

Van den Bosch.
Now, Master Philip, if thou miss thy way
Through this affair, we're lost. 'Tis blood for blood—
Be counsell'd now by me; have thou in mind—

Artevelde.
Enough; I need not counsel; I'm resolved.
Take thou thy stand beside Sir Simon Bette,
As I by Grutt! take note of all I do,
And do thyself accordingly. All's said.

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. On this platform appear Sir Guisebert Grutt, with the aldermen of sundry guilds and the deans of the several crafts of butchers, fishermen, glaziers, and cordwainers. Also Frans Ackerman, Van Nuitre, and others of the White-Hood party.
A Weaver.
Speak up, Sir Guisebert; speak, Sir Guisebert Grutt.

A Fuller.
Sir Simon Bette,—we'll hear Sir Simon first.

A White-Hood.
Not to waste time, let's hear them both at once;
For bawling as we do, one word in ten
Were much to reach us.

A Glazier.
It is you that bawl,
You villain White-Hoods—And there come the men
That teach it you; but we've a muster here
Shall choke your bawling with a churchyard sod.

Enter Van Artevelde and Van Den Bosch.
Artevelde.
Well met, my friends, if friends you be; if not,
Why then, well met, my foes.

Sir Guisebert
(descending some steps to meet Sir Simon Bette, who comes up from the street).
I' the name of God! Where is the Lord of Occo?

Sir Simon.
Sick, Sir, sick.
He has sent word he's sick and cannot come.

Sir Guisebert.
Pray God his sickness be his death!

Sir Simon.
Amen!
But his Lieutenant and his troop are here.

Van den Bosch
(aside to Artevelde)
There's something that has staggered them: Up, up,
And push them to the point. [Aloud.]
Make way there, Ho!

Artevelde
(coming forward).
Some citizen hath brought this concourse here;
Who is the man, and what hath he to say?

Sir Guisebert.
The noble Earl of Flanders of his grace
Commisions me to speak.

[Some White-Hoods interrupt him with cries of “Ghent!” which are presently lost in the cry of “Flanders!”
Artevelde.
What, silence! peace!
Silence, and hear this noble Earl's behests,
Deliver'd by this thrice puissant Knight.

Sir Guisebert.
First will I speak—not what I'm bid to say,
But what it most imports yourselves to hear.
For though ye cannot choose but know it well,
Yet by these cries I deem that some there are
Would, much like madmen, cast their knowledge off,
And both of that and of their 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, Dinant, St. Tron, and Huy:
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 ye then within?
Ask of your Chatelain, the Lord of Occo;
Which worthy Knight will tell you—

Artevelde.
(aside to Van den Bosch)
Mark you that? [Then aloud to Sir Guisebert.]

Where is this sponsor of your speech—where is he?

Sir Guisebert.
He's sick in bed; but were he here, he'd say,
There's not provision in the public stores
To keep you for a week. Such is your plight.
Now hear the offer of your natural Liege.
Moved to compassion by our prayers and tears,
By good Duke Aubert aided, and with him
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 misdeeds,
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 surrendered and abide his will.

Van den Bosch.
Three hundred citizens!

Artevelde.
Peace, Van den Bosch.
Hear we this other Knight. Well, worthy Sir,
Hast aught to say, or hast not got thy priming,
That thus thou gaspest like a droughty pump?

Van den Bosch.
Nay, 'tis black bile that chokes him.
Come, up with it!
Be it but a gallon it shall ease thy stomach.

Several Citizens.
Silence! Sir Simon Bette's about to speak.

Sir Simon.
Right worthy Burgesses, good men and rich!
Much trouble ye may guess, and strife had we
To win his Highness to this loving humour;
For if ye rightly think, Sirs, and remember,
You've done him much offence—not of yourselves,
But through ill guidance of ungracious men.
For first ye slew his Bailiff at the cross,
And with the Earl's own banner in his hand,
Which falling down was trampled under foot
Through heedlessness of them that stood about.
Also ye burn'd the castle he loved best
And ravaged all his parks at Andrehen,
All those delightful gardens on the plain:
And ye beat down two gates at Oudenarde
And in the dike ye cast them upside down:
Also ye slew five Knights of his, and worse
Ye brake the font wherein he was baptized.
Wherefore it must be own'd, Sirs, that much cause
He had of quarrel with the town of Ghent.
For what, Sirs, had ye suffered from the Earl
That ye should thus dishonour him? 'Tis true
At Erclo once a Burgess was detain'd
Through misbehaviour of the Bailiff; still
He hath deliver'd many a time and oft
Out of his prisons Burgesses of yours
Only to do you pleasure; and when late
By kinsmen of the Bailiff whom ye slew
Some mariners of yours were sorely maim'd,
(Which was an inconvenience to this town,)
What did the Earl? To prove it not his act
He banish'd out of Flanders them that did it.
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 consider'd, Sirs, I counsel you
That ye accept this honourable peace,
For mercifully is the Earl inclined,
And ye may surely deem of them he takes
A large and liberal number will be spared,
And many here who least expect his love
May find him-free and gracious. Sirs, what say ye?

Artevelde.
First, if it be your pleasure, hear me speak.
[Great tumult and cries of “Flanders!”
What, Sirs, not hear me? was it then for this
Ye made me your chief Captain yesternight,—
To snare me in a trust, whereof I bear
The name aud danger only, not the power?
[The tumult increases.
Sirs, if we needs must come to blows, so be it;
For I have friends can deal them.

Sir Simon
(aside to Sir Guisebert).
Mercy! No—
Had Occo now been here! but lacking him
It must not come to that.

Sir Guisebert.
My loving friends,
Let us behave like brethren as we are,
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, peace!

Artevelde.
Peace let it be, if so ye will; if not,
We are as ready as yourselves for blows.

One of the Citizens.
Speak, Master Philip, speak, and you'll be heard.

Artevelde.
I thank you, Sirs; I knew it could not be
But men like you must listen to the truth.
Sirs, ye have heard these Knights discourse to you
Of your ill fortunes, numbering in their glee
The worthy leaders ye have lately lost:
True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs,
And ill would it become us to make light
Of the great loss we suffer by their fall:
They died like heroes; for no recreant step
Had e'er dishonour'd them,—no stain of fear,
No base despair, no cowardly recoil:
They had the hearts of freemen to the last,
And the free blood that bounded in their veins
Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy.
But had they guess'd, or could they but have dream'd,
The great examples which they died to show
Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here,
That men should say, “For liberty these died,
Wherefore let us be slaves,”—had they thought this,
Oh then with what an agony of shame
Their blushing faces buried in the dust
Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven!
What! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth
To write that in five bodies were contain'd
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 to scourge her lightly! No,
It shall not be—no verily! for now,
Thus looking on you as ye gather round,
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 moved!
And surely if we, rather than revenge
The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame,
And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinn'd,
Then will the Earl take pity on his thralls
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 call'd pardons.
And did it seal their pardons, all this blood?
Had they the Earl's good love from that time forth?
Oh, Sirs! look round you lest ye be deceived;
Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue,
Forgiveness may be written with the pen,
But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon
Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart.
There's that betwixt you been men ne'er forget
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;
For must it not be thought some base men's souls
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turn'd you out
If in the coldness of a craven heart
Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man
For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes?
Think of your mariners, three hundred men,
After long absence in the Indian seas,
Upon their peaceful homeward voyage bound,
And now, all dangers conquer'd as they thought,
Warping the vessels up their native stream,
Their wives and children waiting them at home
In joy, with festal preparation made,—
Think of these mariners, their eyes torn out,
Their hands chopp'd off, turn'd staggering into Ghent
To meet the blasted eye-sight of their friends!
And was not this the Earl? 'Twas none but he!
No Hauterive of them all had dared to do it
Save at the express instance of the Earl.
And now what asks he? Pardon me, Sir Knights,
[To Grutt and Bette.
I had forgotten, looking back and back
From felony to felony foregoing,
This present civil message which ye bring:
Three hundred citizens to be surrender'd
Up to that mercy which I tell you of—
That mercy which your mariners proved—which steep'd
Courtray and Ypres, Grammont, Bruges, in blood!
Three hundred citizens,—a secret list—
No man knows who—not one can say he's safe—
Not one of you so humble but that still
The malice of some secret enemy
May whisper him to death—and hark—look to it!
Have some of you seem'd braver than their peers,
Their courage is their surest condemnation;
They are marked men—and not a man stands here
But may be so.—Your pardon, Sirs, again!
[To Grutt and Bette.
You are the pickers and the choosers here,
And doubtless you're all safe, ye think—ha! ha!
But we have pick'd and chosen, too, Sir Knights—
What was the law for I made yesterday—
What! is it you that would deliver up
Three hundred citizens to certain death?
Ho! Van den Bosch! have at these traitors—there—

[Stabs Grutt, who falls.
Van den Bosch.
Die, treasonable dog—is that enough?
Down, felon, and plot treacheries in Hell.

[stabs Bette.
[The White-Hoods draw their swords, with loud cries of “Treason!” “Artevelde!” and “Ghent!” A citizen of the other party, who in the former part of the scene had unfurled the Earl's banner, now throws it down and flies; several others are following him, and the Aldermen and Deans, some of whom had been dropping off towards the end of Artevelde's speech, now quit the platform in haste. Van Aeswyn is crossed by Van Den Bosch.
Van den Bosch.
Die, thou, too, traitor.

[Aiming a blow at him.
Artevelde
(warding it off).
Van den Bosch, forbear.
Up with your weapons, White-Hoods; no more blood.
These only are the guilty who lie here.
Let no more blood be spilt on pain of death.
Sirs, ye have nought to fear; I say, stand fast;
No man shall harm you; if he does, he dies.
Stand fast, or if ye go, take with you this,—
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 touch his goods or him.
Haste, Van den Bosch! by Heav'n they run like hares!
Take they not heart the sooner, by St. Paul
They'll fly the city, and that cripples us.
Haste with thy company to the west wards
And see thou that no violence be done
Amongst the weavers and the fullers—stay—
And any that betake themselves to spoil
Hang without stint—and hark—begone—yet stay;
Shut the west gate, postern and wicket too,
And catch my Lord of Occo where thou canst,—
Stay—on thy life let no man's house be forced.

Van den Bosch.
That is not to my mind; but have thy way.
Thou'st play'd the game right boldly, and for me,
I've sworn to stead thee,—and what's more, I will.

Artevelde.
Thou to thine errand, then, and I myself
Will go from street to street through all the town
To reassure the citizens; that done,
I'll meet thee here again. Form, White-Hoods, form:
Range ten abreast; I'm coming down; but stay—
You Floris, Leefdale, Spanghen, mount ye here,
And bear me down these bodies. Now, set forth.