 | The Works of Sir Henry Taylor |  |
Scene V.
—Artevelde's Pavilion in his Camp on the eastern side of the Lis, as in the last Scene but one. It is night. Artevelde is discovered sleeping upon a low couch beside the embers of a fire.Elena enters.Elena.
My Lord—Van Artevelde—up, up, my Lord!
I never knew him to sleep sound before!
Awake, my Lord, awake!
Artevelde.
Charge once again!
Elena.
Awake, Van Artevelde!
Artevelde.
Fall back! all's lost!
Not by the bridge—no, no, no, no, no, no.
Elena.
Arouse yourself, Van Artevelde, awake!
Artevelde
(awaking).
Elena, love, fly fly—Eh! what's the matter?
Elena.
Nay, start not—it is only my surmise,
But I could deem the Frenchman was afoot.
Artevelde.
Why think you so? Van Ryk! what ho! Van Ryk!
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I could not sleep, and sate without the tent,
And sudden from the river seem'd to rise
A din of battle, mix'd with lengthen'd shouts
That sounded hollow like a windy thaw.
I look'd, and in the cloudy western sky
There was a glow of fire, and then the cries
Were less confused, and I believed I heard
“Mount Joye, St. Denis!” “Flanders and the Lion!”
With that I came to waken you.
Artevelde.
Van Ryk!—
I'll go myself and hearken. Where's my page?
Send for Van Ryk, I say.
[He passes to the door of the tent.
Elena.
Courage, my soul!
Play thou the heroine's part for one half-hour
And ever after take thy woman's way.
Artevelde.
(returning).
Who is within?
Enter an Attendant.
Bid them to sound my trumpet.
[Exit the Attendant, and soon after a reveillée is sounded without. Then Van Ryk enters.
Artevelde.
What watch is this we keep? Here's battle join'd
And none of us astir!
Van Ryk.
Not so, my Lord.
Artevelde.
Heard you not war-cries coming from the river?
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'Tis true, my Lord, both they that had the watch,
And I myself, believed we heard a fight
With shouts and hootings on the river's marge;
But sending there, nought was there to be seen,
Nought to be heard, nor was a Frenchman found.
This thus made sure, we deem'd to rouse yourself
Or waken up the host, should bring us blame;
Wherefore we let it pass.
Artevelde.
'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?
Van Ryk.
Yes, a red light;
But that was cast from fires beneath the hedge
Upon Mount Dorre.
Artevelde.
This is a phantom fight.
The ghosts of them that are to fall to-morrow
(Rather to-day, for day begins to break)
Rehearse their parts. Van Ryk, we'll sleep no more
My trumpet has been sounded, and by this
The host is half in arms. We'll sleep no more
Till we have tried our fortune. Bid Vauclaire
And Ukenheim and Roosdyk, when they're arm'd
Meet me below beside the willow-grove.
Bid silence to be kept through all the host.
What think'st thou of the day? Will it be bright?
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A mist is spreading from the river up:
I think, my Lord, it shall not clear away
Till sunrise, or it may be not till noon.
Artevelde.
That is all well. Send me the Captains thither.
[Exit Van Ryk.
I go, my fairest! Should I not return,
There's nothing here that I shall leave with pain,
My beautiful Elena, save thyself.
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 best beloved!
Elena.
Farewell, my Lord.
Artevelde.
And if we meet no more, a heart thou hast,
Though heretofore misled, and like mine own
Bedarken'd in the gloom of devious ways,
Yet surely destined from the first by Heaven
To issue into light. My shade removed,
The radiance of redeeming love shall shine
Upon thine after-life and point the path
Through penitence to peace. Pray for me then,
And thou shalt then be heard.
Elena.
Farewell, my Lord.
Artevelde.
And is it thus we part? Enough, enough;
Full hearts, few words. But there is yet another
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To seek for pardon of my sins from Heaven,
To thee and for my sins against thyself
I shall not in the shortest sue in vain.
For reparation of one fatal fault
I would that I might be preserved to-day;
If not, I know that I shall fall forgiven.
Elena.
Try me no further, Artevelde; go, go;
If I should speak to thee one word of love
I should not hold myself on this side reason.
Go whilst I have my senses, Artevelde;
Or stay and hear the passion of my heart
Break out,—and not in words; if throes and shrieks
Thou wouldst be fain to witness, stay; if not,
Content thee with one bitter word—adieu!
Artevelde.
Dearest, be brave; no Fate forbids us yet
To trust that we shall meet again. Take heart,
And with a God-speed send me on my way.
Oh! look, the Knight of Heurlée hither hastes
To chide my lingering.
Elena.
He! He! I hate him.
Why is he with thee wheresoe'er thou goest?
It sends a very horror to my heart
To see his fiendish face! Why is it he
That comes to bring thee?
Artevelde.
What imports it? Nay,
Elena, love, what ails thee? What is this?
She hears me not—What ho! Cecile!
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There, take her.
Cecile.
She will be better soon, my Lord.
Artevelde.
Say worse.
'Tis better for her to be thus bereft.
Go, take her in—nay, stop—one kiss—the last—
One kiss—and not return'd—and not return'd—
And on a brow so cold! but colder still
Perchance may mine be when thy passionate lips
Shall press it once again. Unhappy girl!
The curse of beauty was upon thy birth,
Nor love bestow'd a blessing. Fare thee well!
| The Works of Sir Henry Taylor | |