University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—The Market-place at Ypres. In front, Van Whelk, a Householder, driving the last nails into a Scaffolding erected against his House. Van Winkel, another, looking on. A Woman is scouring the doorstead of the next house. At some little distance six Gallows-trees are seen, opposite the Stadt-House.
Whelk.
Room for five ducats at a groat a head.

Winkel.
'Twill be a piteous spectacle! Good-day,
How do you, Mistress?

Woman.
Thank you, how's yourself?

Winkel.
'Twill be a sight most piteous to behold!
A corporation hung!

Woman.
Alack a day!

Whelk.
'Twill be a sight that never yet was seen
Since Ypres was a town. A groat is cheap;
A groat is very reasonable cheap.

Winkel.
The Burgomaster was confess'd at seven;
He is the first.

Whelk.
Van Rosendael the next,
And then comes Drimmelen, Verstolken then,
And Goswin Hex, and Breero, and De Vry.

Winkel.
This ancient corporation!

Woman.
Wo's the day!
Poor gentlemen; alas, they did not think,
Nor no man else, the Regent would take life
So hastily.

Whelk.
The like was never seen,
Nor ever will be after.

Winkel.
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.

Woman.
Nay, God forbid!
Master Van Winkel, sure you say not so?

Winkel.
It is not saying it that hangs them, dame:
I tell you it is true.

Woman.
There's some have said
King Charles was tender-hearted as a lamb;
The Dukes his uncles likewise; and that none
Were loather to shed blood.

Winkel.
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.

Winkel.
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.

Whelk.
The Earl of Flanders is the French King's cousin.

Winkel.
To show his cousin kindness, good King Charles
Would canter over acres of our dead.
His cousin is in what he calls distress;
To succour the distress'd is kind and good;
So with an army comes the good King Charles
And kindly to his cousin cuts our throats.
And that is their humanity, and such
Is Man's humanity the wide world through.
Men's hearts you'll find on one side soft as wax,
Hard as the nether mill-stone on the other.

Whelk.
How is it with your own, Dame Voorst?

Woman.
God's love!
I would not hurt a hair upon the head
Of any man alive.

Winkel.
Look you—the Earl—
But hearken to a tale: Once in my youth—
Ah, Mistress Voorst! years, years, they steal upon us!
But what! you're comely yet,—well, in my youth
Occasion was that I should wend my way
From Reninghelst to Ronques, to gather there
Some moneys 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, weary and misdoubting of my way,
I spied the flickering of a cottage fire
Thorough the casements; thither sped my feet:
The door was open'd by a buxom dame
Who smiled and bade me welcome, and great cheer
She made me, with a jocund, stirring mien
Of kindly entertainment, whilst with logs
Crackled the fire, and seem'd the very pot
To bubble in a hospitable hurry
That I might sup betimes. Now say, Dame Voorst,
Was not the mistress of this cottage lone
A kind good soul?

Woman.
Yea, truly was she, Sir.

Winkel.
Master Van Whelk, what think you?

Whelk.
Let me see;
Did she take nothing from you?

Winkel.
Not a groat.

Whelk.
Why, that was charitable; that was kind;
That was a woman of the good old times.

Winkel.
Now mark, Van Whelk; now listen, Mistress Voorst.
The seething-pan upon the fire contain'd
Six craw-fish for my supper; as I stood
Upon the ruddy hearth, my addle head
As empty as my stomach but more at rest,
My eyes chanced fix upon the bubbling pot:
Unconsciously a while I gazed, as one
Seeing that sees not; but ere long appear'd
A tumbling and a labouring in the pot
More than of boiling water; whereupon,
Looking with eyes inquisitive, I saw
The craw-fish rolling one upon another,
Bouncing, and tossing all their legs abroad
That writhed and twisted as mix'd each with each
They whirl'd about the pan. God's grace! 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 turn'd me from the hearth
Feeling a sickness here; and inwardly
I cried Heigh-ho! that for one man's one meal
Six of God's creatures should be boil'd alive!

Woman.
Lord help us, Sir! you wail about the fish
As they were Christians.

Winkle.
Look you, Mistress Voorst;
The King will be as kind to Louis Mâle
As this good wife to me; for us mean folk
We are but craw-fish; in his noble zeal
To serve his cousin 'twere to him no sin
To boil us in a pot.—Back, back, Van Whelk!
Here be the Captains!

[They retire.
Enter Vauclaire, Roosdyk, and Van Den Bosch's Lieutenant.
Vauclaire.
Shrewd news! whence cams't thou last?

Lieutenant.
From St. Eloy.

Roosdyk.
On Monday did they cross?

Lieutenant.
On Monday night,
And all night long; they crossed by nines and tens;
The boat would hold no more.

Roosdyk.
And seen of none?
Were there none watching of those jobbernowls
That follow Van den Bosch?

Lieutenant.
The night was dark;
The most part of our men were sent to sleep
In quarters at Commines, that they might rise
Fresh on the morrow, when the French, 'twas thought,
Would try the passage by the bridge. The rest
Kept guard upon the causeway. Two miles down
The river crankles round an alder grove;
'Twas there they brought the boats; strong stakes were driven
In either bank, and ropes were pass'd betwixt,
Stretching athwart the stream; by aid of these
Hand over hand they tugged themselves across
And hid within the thicket; when day dawn'd
They still were crossing, but the Constable,
Who always kept his ground, made show to force
The passage of the bridge, and brought us there
To handy-strokes, which so misled our eyes
That nothing else was seen.

Roosdyk.
Ha, ha! I love you!
Set you to watch the cat!

Lieutenant.
When first we knew
Their stratagem, six banners could we count,
And thirty pennons on the hither bank,
The Lord 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 Guesclin,
Sir Tristram de la Jaille, and, to be short,
The flower of all their host, from Poictou, Troyes,
Artois and Hainault, Burgundy and France,
That had their station marshall'd in the van.

Vauclaire.
And there they stood?

Lieutenant.
As yet they had not fought
When I was order'd thence: for Van den Bosch
Upon the eminence beside the bridge
Awaited them as on a vantage ground,
Whilst they abode below to gather force
From them continually that cross'd the stream.

Vauclaire.
Then went you to the good towns near?

Lieutenant.
To Bergues,
To Poperinguen, Rolers, Warneston,
To Mesiers and Vertain, with strict command
From Van den Bosch to muster all their men
And send him succour; thence I hasten'd here
To pray you do the like.

Roosdyk.
Oh rare! What next?
Didst ever see one beggar dropping alms
Into another's hat?

Lieutenant.
My master sware
If he should lose the day the cause should lie
In that misfortunate wasting of his strength
By sending aid to Ypres.

Vauclaire.
Send it back
And he shall lose the battle, we the town,
Ere it shall reach him; from the nearer posts
He may get aid more opportune; meanwhile,
Lest evil hap betide him, which when known
Would bring a wild destruction upon us,
Behoves us send the Regent instant news
Of our predicament. Christoffel Waal,
Mount thee thy horse and hie to Oudenarde,
And bid the Regent know the Lis is pass'd.
That said is all said: he shall know by that
We shall have much ado with this good town
Ere many days be gone, or many hours.
If he can help us, so.

Roosdyk.
Ay, mount thy nag
And make his heels strike fire: away, begone!

Vauclaire.
Know'st thou thy message?

Waal.
Sirs, from point to point.

[Exit.
[A bell tolls. Muffled drums are heard, and the head of a Procession appears entering the Marketplace. The Procession is formed chiefly by Friars and Guards; and lastly appear the Burgomaster and Aldermen of several Guilds as Malefactors, with their arms pinioned. They form a line between the Gallows and the Stadt-house. The Market-place suddenly fills 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
And get our men of battle under arms;
This means a rescue; we shall have to fight.

Roosdyk.
Let the clerks hold the culprits unconfessed
Some fifteen minutes, and I'll bring you here
The most I can; and till I come again
Let no knave swing, for that should be their sign
Doubtless for rising. I'll be here anon.

[Exit.
Enter a Pricker.
Vauclaire.
Thy spurs are bloody—what, from Commines, ha!
A battle lost?

Pricker.
'Tis so, Sir. Van den Bosch
With what remains of us is flying hither
And wills you arm.

Vauclaire.
We shall be arm'd anon:
And some of us you see.
[He beckons to the Captain of the Guard who has charge of the prisoners.
Sir, draw your men
More close upon their charge and look about,
For here's foul weather.
[Cries begin to be heard and stones are thrown, one of which hits the steel cap of Vauclaire.
Said I not? look here!
These drops forerun the storm.
[A cry is heard at the opposite corner of the Marketplace, and Van den Bosch's Page is seen approaching.
Lo,—stand aside;
There is a face I'll swear I've sometimes seen
Attending Van den Bosch.

Pricker.
His page, I think.

Page.
My master, Sir, is near—

Vauclaire.
Say'st thou!—how near?

Page.
Close on the town; he enters now.

Vauclaire.
What force
Comes with him?

Page.
It is hard to say; they ride
So scatter'd and so broken, wounded most,
And mile by mile, now one and now another,
They tumble from their horses. He himself
Is sorely piked and gash'd, and of his hurts
One, the leech deems, is mortal.

Vauclaire.
Christ forbid!

Page.
They bear him in a litter, and each jog
They give him, when the bearers change their hands,
Makes him to bleed afresh.

Pricker.
See, there he comes!

[The tumult, which had been increasing, is in some measure stilled as Van den Bosch is borne across the Market-place to the front of the scene.
Van den Bosch
(raising himself in the litter).
Who's that? Vauclaire? We're ruin'd, Sir, we're lost!
How stand ye here?

Vauclaire.
The worst is what I see.
Yet hath the town an evil inclination,
And we shall feel it suddenly.

Van den Bosch.
Send forth—
Be still, thou jumping villain, with thy jolts!
Thou grind'st my bones to powder. Oh! oh! oh!
I would thou hadst my shoulder.—Send abroad,
And bid the Commons to the Market-place.

Vauclaire.
Nay, here they are, as thick as they can stand.

Van den Bosch.
Are they? My eyesight fails me. And is this
The Market-place? Oh, ho! then lift me up
Upon some cart or tumbril or the like
To make a preachment to the people.

Vauclaire.
Nay,
Leave that to me: betake thee to thy bed;
Roosdyk is making muster of our force,
And what is instant to be cared for here
We will perform.

Van den Bosch.
Not whilst I live, Vauclaire.
The leech, I think, has patch'd me up this body
To last a season. Hoist me—have a care—
Mount me upon this scaffolding: up, up—
Smoothly and all together—there we go—
Oh! oh! that's thou again, uneasy whelp!
Hast the string-halt? Now set me down;—so—so.
Let silence be commanded.
[The soldiery fall back so as to admit the people to the space immediately in front of the scaffolding. Sundry officers pass to and fro, vociferating “Silence!” which is obtained.
Friends, Sirs of Ypres!
Dear friends of Ypres! we have lost a battle.
This once, by evil hap, the day is theirs:
Which is no fault of mine; for, Sirs, I'll tell you
How this hath chanced.
By the Black Art (which Frenchmen dare to use
For lack of godlier courage)—by this art
They brought a cloudy film upon the eyes
Of half our host, the half that should have watch'd;
Which was on Monday night: and thus ere dawn
They cross'd the Lis. Then, Sirs, what force had I
Without advantage to affront the flower
Of the French van? Solely twelve thousand spears!
Yet like a hedge-pig tuck'd I up my power
The softer parts within, and when Sanxere
Came nuzzling like a dog to find some flesh
Whereon to fix and turn me inside out,
I'll warrant you I prick'd his snout a little!
Well, Sirs, we might have conquer'd but that then
The Commons of Commines—bell, book, and candle
Curse them that pass for Flemings and are none!—
They of Commines, that call'd themselves so stout,
Show'd such a fear and faintness of their hearts
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.

Van den Bosch
(a cup of wine having been brought, which he drinks off).
Softly, Sirs:
There's more to say.
[An arrow, shot from the crowd, strikes the scaffolding close to Van den Bosch, whereupon loud cries are heard from both parties and some blows pass between them, followed by great uproar and confusion.
Who hinders my discourse
With shooting croos-bow shafts? Oh, there you are!
See you you 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 come the Regent from the Scheldt,
And hither come the English, that are now
Landed at Dunkirk—landed now, I tell you;
The news was brought me yesterday; which heard,
Verily I was glad I lost this battle,
Although it cost me something—(for ye see
How I am troubled in my head and shoulder)—
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—
Sinks suddenly back in the litter.
Here is a bandage loose—stanch me this blood—
Look ye, I bleed to death—oh, doctor vile!
Oh treacherous chirurgeon!—endless fire
Crumble his bones in hell!—I die! I die!

Vauclaire.
(helping to re-adjust the bandage).
Another ply; how draw it tight; anon
Roosdyk will come and give us escort hence;
Meanwhile defend yourselves and shoot again
If ye be shot at.

Van den Bosch.
Now the trumpets sound!
Chains for the King! The trumpets sound again!
Chains for the Knights and Nobles! Victory!
Thou gaoler, shut the doors. 'Tis very dark!
Whose hand is this?—Van Artevelde's?—I thank you:
'Twas fortune favour'd me. Chains, chains and death!
Chains for the King of France!—You've shut me in.
It is all over with me now, good mother.
Let the bells toll.

Vauclaire.
Bring him behind these boards;
The arrows now come quickly. Send a flight—
They've loosed the prisoners. See, they bear this way.
Shoot well together once and then fall back
And force a road to Ghent with Van den Bosch
Alive or dead. I follow if I can.
Incomparably shot!—they're flutter'd; aye,
And well they may; there-steadily, my friends;
Take forth the litter first; now close your ranks;
Show a back front; so—off ye go—well done!