Scene IX.
—The Entrance-Hall of the House Van
Merestyn.
Enter
Artevelde
with Attendants.
Artevelde.
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)
The Lord of Occo's counsel I will weigh;
So tell him, with my service and my thanks.
(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.
Artevelde.
Acquaint her then that I attend her here.
[
Exit Waiting-Woman.
There is but one thing that still harks me back.
To bring a cloud upon the summer's day
Of one so made for happiness and peace,—
It is a hard condition. For myself,
I know not that the circumstance of life,
Change how it may, can so far work within
As makes it much worth while to look before.
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 which vivifies the one
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 springing 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 road be full of hazardous turns,
And they that walk with me must look to meet,
Not lions only in the path, but snakes.—
Danger from foes—a daylight danger that;
Danger from tyrants—that too is seen and known;
But jealous multitudes and envious friends—
In dusk to walk through endless ambuscades—
[A pause.
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.
Re-enter Waiting-Woman.
Waiting-Woman.
My Mistress, Sir, so please you, takes her walk
Along the garden terrace, and desires
That you'll go forth to meet her.
Artevelde.
For if Fate
Had done its best to single out a soul
Whose very birthright should ensure her—Ah!
The garden say you, and the terrace? So.
[Exit.
Waiting-Woman.
Now there's a man might make my
Lady happy if he would but waken up. That's the
point. Comely we may grant him and gracious; but
though a lover were never so goodly to behold, what is
the use of him walking in his sleep like a bat or a
dormouse?—Coming, coming, Steward, I hear you.
Always shouting after me. Truly there is a whisper
abroad that he cannot live without me.
