University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Before the Stadt-House, as in the last Scene of the Second Act.
—The people assemble. Frans Ackerman and Peter Van Nuitre in front.
Ackerman.
'Tis certain something has befallen him.

Van Nuitre.
But where? He might be found, if so it were.

Ackerman.
Hast sought him at Jozyne's estaminet?

Van Nuitre.
There and at every lodgment in the town.
Old mother Van den Bosch will take her oath
He went forth early to Van Artevelde's.

Ackerman.
Sure nothing can have happen'd to him there.

Van Nuitre.
That's what I doubt. The best will sometimes trip.
They were not in such unison of mind
As we could wish.

Ackerman.
I cannot think it—No—
But this day's business shall no farther fare
Until the truth appear. Soft! now he comes.

Artevelde enters. There is dead silence. He walks slowly up the steps of the platform.
Artevelde.
Are we all here?

One from the Crowd.
What's left of us is here,
Our bones.

Artevelde.
We're wasted in the flesh, 'tis true;
But we have spirits left. We all are here.

Ackerman.
I will say nay to that. Where's Van den Bosch?

Artevelde.
Silence, Frans Ackerman! we want not him.

Ackerman.
Then I demand if he be dead or living?

Artevelde.
He lives.

Ackerman.
Where is he, then?

Artevelde.
Where all shall be
Who seek, by mutiny against their Chief,
To do unlawful deeds. What ask ye more?
He is arrested and confined.

Ackerman.
What cause
For this proceeding hath that brave man given?

Artevelde.
If, as his friend, thou ask wherein he err'd,
I'll tell it to this people and to thee,—
Not, mark you me, as rendering account,
For that were needless,—but of free good-will.
Sirs, Van den Bosch insisted, in despite
Of all dissuasion, all authority,
The messenger from Bruges should be waylaid
And put to death—yea, nothing less would serve,—
That so the tidings which I'm here to tell
Might never reach your ears. To place restraint
Upon this obstinate humour and give scope
To your deliberations, for a while
He is in duress. Are ye well content?

Many Voices.
Content, content! The tidings, what are They?

Artevelde.
Frans Ackerman, thou hear'st what cause constrain'd
Me, much reluctant, thus to use thy friend.
Art thou content?

Ackerman.
I am.

Artevelde.
So far is well;
And we set forth unanimous, to end
I trust no otherwise. Fair Sirs of Ghent!
Van Aeswyn, the Ambassador from Bruges,
Comes with credentials from the Earl, to show
What mind he bears toward you. Bitterer words
Did never Christian man to Christians send.
But we are fallen, my friends, and vain it were
For us to quarrel with the proud man's scorn.
Then to the matter take ye heed alone
And trouble not your hearts for aught beside.
He will admit you to no terms but these,—
That every man and woman born in Ghent
Shall meet him on the road, half way to Bruges,
Bare-footed and bare-headed, in their shirts,
With halters on their necks, and there kneel down
And put their lives and chattels at his feet.
This if ye do not now, he's sworn an oath
That he will never hearken to you more,
But famine shall consume you utterly,
And in your desolate town he'll light a flame
That shall not be extinguish'd. Speak your minds.
Will ye accept the proffer'd terms or no?

Burghers.
Give us your counsel. Tell us what is best.

Artevelde.
What can I say? Ye know that as ye are
Ye cannot live. Death opens every door
And sits in every chamber by himself.
If what might feed a sparrow should suffice
For soldiers' meals, ye have not wherewithal
To linger out three days. For corn, there's none;
A mouse imprison'd in your granaries
Were starved to death. And what then should I say?
Why truly this: that whatsoe'er men's plight,
There is a better choosing and a worse,
If their discretion be not overthrown
By force of their calamities. Three things
Ye have to choose of. Ye may take his terms
And go with halters round your necks to Loo.
Ye 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 flow'd,
He will be satiate and stay his hand.
If this to try be your deliberate choice,
I will not say that ye be ill-advised.
How are ye minded? Let your Deacons speak.

[The people speak in consultation with each other and with the Deacons.
Deacon of the Mariners.
We of the mariners deem that this were best.

Deacon of the Cordwainers.
There's nothing better can be done.

Deacon of the Fullers.
Agreed.
Our craft was never forward in the war.

Deacon of the Weavers.
But, Master Philip, said you not three ways
There were to choose of? Tell us what remains.

Artevelde.
Ye may have patience and expect the close
If nothing else seem fit, betake yourselves
Unto your churches; at the altar's foot
Kneel down and pray and make a Christian end,
And God will then have mercy on your souls.
This is the second way.

Deacon of the Weavers.
And what the third?

Artevelde.
If there be found amongst you men whose blood
Runs not so chilly yet as thus to die,
Then there's this third way open—but not else:—
That they whose plight is best and hearts are stout
Be muster'd suddenly, equipp'd and arm'd;
That with our little left of food and wine
The sumpter beasts be laden for their use;
That then they follow me: to-morrow's eve
Should find us knocking at the gates of Bruges,
And then we'd strike a stroke for life or death.
This is the third and sole remaining course.
Choose of the three.

Many voices.
Choose for us, Master Philip:
You are more wise than we.

Artevelde.
If by my choice
Ye will abide, a soldier's death for me.

Many voices.
To Bruges! to Bruges! a venture forth to Bruges!

Artevelde.
Why yet, then, in our embers there is life.
Let whosoe'er would follow me, repair
To the West Port. From them that come I'll choose
Five thousand, if so many there should be,
And when night falls, we'll sally from the gates.

Many citizens again.
For Bruges! for Bruges! 'tis gallantly resolved.

Artevelde.
Then fare ye well, ye citizens of Ghent!
This is the last time ye will see me here
Unless God prosper me past human hope.
I thank you for the dutiful demeanour
Which never—never—verily no, not once,
Have I found wanting, though severely 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:
“His rule was brief, calamitous—but just.”
No glory which a prosperous fortune gilds,
If shorn of this addition, could suffice
To lift my heart so high as it is now.
This is that joy in which my soul is strong,
That there is not a man amongst you all
Who can reproach me that I used my power
To do him an injustice. If there be,
It is not to my knowledge; yet I pray
That he will now forgive me, taking note
That I had not to deal with easy times.

First citizen.
Oh, Master Philip, there is none-not one.

Second citizen.
Most justly and most wisely you have ruled.

Artevelde.
I thank you, Sirs; farewell to you once more;
Once more, farewell. If I return to Ghent
A glory and dominion will be yours
Such as no city since the olden time
Hath been so bold to conquer or to claim.
If I return no more, God's will be done!
To Him and to His providence I leave you.
[He descends. The people come round him, seizing his hands and crying confusedly, “God bless you, Master Philip! God be with you!”
Nay, press not on me, friends; I see ye weep,
Which ye did never for your past mishaps.
But ye shall be disburthen'd of your griefs
The rather than dishearten'd by these tears,
Or else should I reprove them—so—farewell!