University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Country near Bruges.—Citizens discovered.
FIRST CITIZEN.

They cannot tarry long. 'Tis many a day since the old
town saw such a fight as this bids fair to be.

SECOND CITIZEN.

I would I had a thousand crowns to stake upon Bouchard;
—I'd wager freely.

THIRD CITIZEN.

I know not, Thancmar is exceeding brave—a perfect
master of his weapon too.

FOURTH CITIZEN.

Few good men's prayers will aid him.

SECOND CITIZEN.

No! they will be Bouchard's—for he is ever the poor man's
friend, and strives against these laws, that would oppress
them.

Enter Denis and Antoine.
FIRST CITIZEN.

Ah! my good friends, stirring to see the fight?

DENIS.

Ay, to be sure,—'tis the Serf's holiday when Nobles cut
each other's throats!

ANTOINE.

Stirring! Why all the city's in a stir! and no man, who
can walk, keeps house to-day:—look yonder, if you would
see what such a day can do.

THIRD CITIZEN.

Philippe!—impossible!

FOURTH CITIZEN.

What, old Philippe! that we all thought would never
leave his house again!

ANTOINE.

Oh, how the poor old man must love a show!

THIRD CITIZEN.

Nay, 'tis no show has drawn him out; I warrant he has
read something in the stars.

DENIS.

'Twere well if he could read there how to patch his shattered
carcase up. The feeble wretch looks more a walking
corpse than a live man!

FIRST CITIZEN.

Nay, by my troth, but he is very feeble!

FOURTH CITIZEN.

This apparition, to my thinking, bodes some great events
from to-day's work.

DENIS.

'Tis not unlikely—for on such occasions men say that evil
spirits walk abroad.

ANTOINE.

Hush! should he hear you, you'll repent this.

SECOND CITIZEN.

See, he is here. [Enter Philippe.]
Good-day, sweet
master Philippe!

PHILIPPE.

Good-day, sweet—rogue.

SECOND CITIZEN.

Why, by my troth, I am glad you look so hale—ay, that
I am.

PHILIPPE.

What foolery's this!—I am sick—most sick!—and
feeble.

SECOND CITIZEN.

Nay, troth, you look so. Wherefore came you forth?

PHILIPPE.

For my affairs—not yours! Where is the Provost? has
he passed by?

SECOND CITIZEN.

Not yet.

PHILIPPE
[aside.]

This must be stayed—I had rather lose a thousand
crowns than lose Sir Thancmar.—Half my power upon
Bertulphe would go with him. Besides, he promised
largely.

ANTOINE.

Hark! they are coming!—Stand back—the Show!—the
Show!

[Trumpets heard—Philippe places himself on one side where the procession has to pass.—Enter Heralds, Men-at-Arms, Knights, Banners, &c. Thancmar supported by Hebert—Bouchard by Bertulphe: as they pass,
PHILIPPE.
Provost of Bruges, I must speak with you.

BERTULPHE.
Who's that?

PHILIPPE.
'Tis I!

BERTULPHE
[advancing.]
Philippe! what make you here?

PHILIPPE.
Bertulphe, I said that I must speak with you.

BERTULPHE.
Not here—not now—

PHILIPPE.
Yes, here and now, Bertulphe!—
Old, feeble as I am, I twice already
To-day have sought admission at your palace,
And twice you have denied me. You shall hear me!

BERTULPHE.
Be quick—what would you?

PHILIPPE.
Stay this combat.

BERTULPHE.
Stay it!—
Not though 'twere the condition of the fight
To hold it o'er my corse!

PHILIPPE.
Bertulphe, beware!—
Beware, great Provost, how you anger me!—

BERTULPHE.
Dog! do you threaten?

PHILIPPE.
Do not force me to it.

BERTULPHE.
Slave, would you beard me? Peace, thou drivelling dotard,
And home in silence—sound the trumpets.—Forward!—

[Exit with the procession—the greater part of the Citizens follow—a few remain behind.]
PHILIPPE.
What! does he mock me? Nay, but he shall hear me,
Or I will ruin both.

[Hurries after him.
SECOND CITIZEN.
What may this mean?

FOURTH CITIZEN.
I know not—'tis most strange!—See, he has gained
Bertulphe—he stops his path—look how he clings to him!

THIRD CITIZEN.
Bertulphe's incensed.

SECOND CITIZEN.
Ha! he has struck him down!

FOURTH CITIZEN.
Nay, 'twas not so—he did but fling him from him—
'Twas the crowd.

THIRD CITIZEN.
The old man's hurt. They are bringing him this way.

[Re-enter Philippe, led in by two Citizens.]
SECOND CITIZEN.
How now, Philippe!

PHILIPPE
[choking with rage.]

Slave!—slave!—He called me slave!—struck me—
support me, friends—I am much hurt—slave!—he shall
pay for it. Proud as he is.—Here! [whispers one of the

Citizens who goes out.]
Slave!—The upstart!—strike me
too! softly! softly—bear me home—ungrateful!—
slave!—

[Exit, led off.—Re-enter Bertuplhe and Charente.]
BERTULPHE.
Where is the old man? I fear me I have hurt him.

CHARENTE.
Yonder I think they bear him.

BERTULPHE.
Follow after,
And bid him come to me: lose not a moment;—
And stay—here's gold—give him this too—and charge him,
As he would keep my favour, that he come
Upon the instant—come to the Chateau—
For I shall home at once—Speak kindly to him;—
Be liberal of all that thou canst offer;—
Give all he asks;—and look—old men are testy,
And nurse their anger—say, I did him wrong—
That I had cares that vex'd me:—you may add—
Yes—you may say I even am sorry for it:—
But look you bring him with you!—And now quick—
Away. [Exit Charente.]
Oh, fool!—impatient, headstrong fool!
To let my passion master me—I had not
But for his threat—and that—he could not mean it!—
'Twas but a threat—a fit of spleen—no more.
Yet I must see him:—What! my horse there! Ho!

[Exit.

SCENE II.

A Hall in the Chateau of Bertulphe.—Seneschal and Page discovered.—Page looking through a window.
PAGE.

I would I could hear some sound of this great day,
though it were but a distant shout.

SENESCHAL.

Tush, boy! You will have enough of this before you
have a beard.

PAGE.

Think you it is begun?

SENESCHAL.

Why, hardly yet.

PAGE.

And will they fight to the death?

SENESCHAL.

Marry, I think they will. I have served my Lord for
many a long year now, and know his manner; and he
looked this morning, just as he does before some mighty
battle—grave, silent, and determined. If he has any
influence with Bouchard, this will be no child's play. But
hark! what sound is that?

PAGE.
A horse's hoofs—and at his speed too!

SENESCHAL
[looking out.]
By St. Denis, it is my Lord—and unattended!

PAGE.
Bouchard must have been worsted!

SENESCHAL.
Hush!

Enter Bertulphe.
BERTULPHE.
Now, is Charente returned?

PAGE.
Charente! my Lord?

BERTULPHE.
I asked not for an echo of my words:—
Is he come home?

PAGE.
My Lord, I have not seen him
Since he left here with you.

BERTULPHE.
The slave grows sluggish!—
What could the dotard mean?—That threat! he dared not—
Would not for his own sake.

SENESCHAL.
My Lord, he comes.

Enter Charente.
BERTULPHE.
Wait you without.
[Exeunt Page and Seneschal.
Now, where is the old man?

CHARENTE.
Beyond your orders—he is dead, my Lord.

BERTULPHE.
Dead! Dar'st thou jest with me?

CHARENTE.
In truth, sir—dead!

BERTULPHE.
The old man dead! Say,—didst thou see the body?

CHARENTE.
My Lord, I did. He died while I was present.

BERTULPHE
[walking about.]
Nay—this surpasses reason!—I have lived
A life of fear because of that old man,
Whose years seemed lengthened but to torture me;—
Even in my proudest moments,—ay, when princes
Appear'd my suitors, and I dared to spurn them,
Even then I dared not think of that old man!—
His living image poison'd all my hours,—
Sicklied with terror every springing joy,
And now—the moment that I fear'd him most,—
They tell me he is dead! Be merry, heart!
Bertulphe! thou art now indeed great above fate;—
This crowns thy former greatness—stamps it real;—
Why dost thou tremble then!—Thou art a prince!
None can dispute thy title! [seeing Charente]
How now, sirrah
Wherefore delay you thus?—

CHARENTE.
There was a thing
I have not told, my Lord, which yet seem'd strange.

BERTULPHE.
Speak on—what was it?

CHARENTE.
By the old man's side
I found Sir Thancmar.

BERTULPHE.
Liar!

CHARENTE.
Nay, indeed
'Tis true!—He had been summon'd from the lists,
And ere the old man's parting breath had gone,
Spurr'd back in haste again.

BERTULPHE
[trembling.]
A chair—a chair! [sinks into it.]

I am very faint.

CHARENTE.
My Lord, I'll call for help.

BERTULPHE
[eagerly.]
No—not a word! 'tis past—a sudden weakness— [rapidly.]

Charente, my horse is at the gate. Go—take him—
Spare not his speed, but hasten to the lists;—
Tell Sir Bouchard, that as he loves his soul,
His fame, his lady's honour—by whatever
Thou canst conjure most strongly—bid him see
That Thancmar do not quit the field alive!—
Bid him not leave so much of breath in him
As may give utterance to a single word!—
Perform this well—and all thy fortune's made!
Away! [Exit Charente.]
Have mercy, Heaven!

Enter Servant.
SERVANT.
My Lord!

BERTULPHE.
How now!
Why stand'st thou gaping with that idiot stare?

SERVANT.
Because my lips will scarce deliver that
Which I would speak.

BERTULPHE.
Out with it, man, at once!

SERVANT.
Sir Thancmar left the lists, but soon return'd;
When, as Bouchard's defiance met his ear,
He threw his gauntlet back—toss'd by his lance—
And said that he disdain'd in knightly arms
To combat with a Serf!

BERTULPHE.
They did not fight?

SERVANT.
They did not, sir.

BERTULPHE.
Then, that last hope is gone!
Leave me—I'd be alone. [Exit Servant.]
—'Tis done, 'tis done!
All's over, and all known!—I have soar'd high,
But, like the Grecian boy, my waxen wings
Are melted in a moment, and I fall
Down—down—to utter ruin.

Enter Bouchard [hastily.]
BOUCHARD.
Bertulphe, am I a Serf?

BERTULPHE.
Why, now thou ravest.

BOUCHARD.
Fly not from the point,
But answer me. Am I a Serf, Bertulphe?

BERTULPHE.
There's not a Noble living in all Flanders
Can boast a purer ancestry.

BOUCHARD.
I know it:
But I have mix'd their lofty blood with thine.
'Tis there the blow would reach me;—'tis through thee!
Say—art thou free?

BERTULPHE
[undecidedly.]
Free?—Yes.

BOUCHARD
[with violent impatience.]
Torture me not,—
But tell me,—art thou free?

BERTULPHE.
I am—for I am a man!

BOUCHARD.
By Heaven, if thus thou playest with my words,
Thou'lt drive my frenzy to some desperate act,
My reason will repent!—Wert thou born noble?

BERTULPHE
[calmly.]
No!—Never clasp thy hands in idle rage,
But listen!—I was born of humble stock,—
Since now 'tis useless to affect concealment—
Serfs—as your nobles call them: but I found
That in my breast which might have fill'd a king's—
A heart as proud as ever chafed at bondage.
When manhood had braced up my limbs, I left
My adopted home—it was the old Philippe's,—
For both my parents died:—this was the tie
Gave him such power on me: I left my country—
I fled the soil they would have chained me to,
And join'd the foreign wars. In my first fight
I cleft a Noble to the waist. How now!
I cried: is this a Serf? Another fell;
'Twas strange a Serf should mow down knights like grass!—
My fortune smiled—I rose to a command;
And still was conqueror, till my fame so grew,
That Nobles flock'd to fight beneath my banner.
Oh! then how the Serf smiled! I join'd the Council,
And baffled haughty princes, crafty statesmen—
All of most noble blood;—yet none could stand
Before the Serf—until at length this Earl,
Even Charles himself, besought my powerful arm,
On Baldwin's death, to prop his infant cause;—
I placed him on his throne—I—I—Bertulphe!
I placed him—held him there! Now tell me, boy,
Where is the drop of blood within these veins,
That speaks its baseness? or, if none, confess
Heaven made no Serfs, but only man's device
To trample on his fellows!

BOUCHARD.
I confess
That you are great—wise—I believe you good!
But you have wrong'd me foully—sunk me—crush'd me—
Blasted the honour of my noble house—
Degraded—lost me.—Heavens! Bouchard a Serf!—
Villain! this was a plot from the beginning—
A trick to gild with my more noble name
Thine own base metal,—and you angled for me
With a girl's smiles;—your daughter for a bait!

BERTULPHE
[with fury.]
Bouchard!—But no, you are angry,—I forgive you—
'Twas not your heart spoke that;—go, I forgive you.

BOUCHARD.
Oh! you are wondrous calm amid the ruin
That you have wrought! yet why should it seem strange,—
'Tis nature in you—you were bred to it.
Go, do your master's bidding,—dig his fields,—
Crouch, fawn, and flatter for the crust that feeds you!
I cannot do this—I was born a Noble;
My father's blood is stirring in my veins,
And bids me nobly die!—Bertulphe, farewell!

[going.]
BERTULPHE.
Stay!—I command you.

BOUCHARD.
What! a Serf already
To be commanded!

BERTULPHE.
Yes—with such fond sway
As fathers exercise upon their sons!
Thou art my son, Bouchard; I had no boy
Till I chose thee as such, and loved thee so,
Nor loved thee thanklessly:—come, come,—enough
Of childish raving;—now we'll talk like men.
Thou think'st our state is hopeless,—'tis not so:
This law is but a fanciful caprice
That cannot bear enforcement; if it could,
'Twould not be first let loose upon his friends:—
Or even could this be, I have deserved
Too well of Charles to meet with such return:
Or grant him even willing, where's the proof?—
A dotard's ravings in the hour of death,
When the tongue speaks without the sense's guidance.
See you not this?—Go to!—Go to!—thou art frighted
With such a phantom, would not scare a child!

BOUCHARD.
O misery! to cling to hopes like these,
Once having been so great.

BERTULPHE.
Look you, Bouchard,—
'Tis idle to repine;—'tis base,—'tis girlish!
Bind all your friends with double bands around you,
And meet the peril boldly. This remember,
That thou and I are one: not all thy power
Can shake me off:—we stand, or fall together.

BOUCHARD.
Too well I see it.

BERTULPHE.
Let us then be friends!

BOUCHARD.
Friends?

BERTULPHE.
Yes, disunion will effect far more
Than all our foes can compass;—cease these sighs;—
Off with this childish sorrow!—By my soul
I took thee for a man,—but now I think
Thou art some whining girl!—Where is thy spirit?

BOUCHARD.
Lost, with my honour;—the Serf weighs me down,—
I feel its influence!—But I will not drag
On this degraded life.

[Going.]
BERTULPHE.
Then hear me, Serf!—
Since thou wilt be a slave, and so wilt die,—
Go,—give this triumph to thy foes,—and let them
Raise over thee a mocking monument,
And say,—Here lies Bouchard, the Serf of Thancmar!

BOUCHARD.
Of Thancmar!

BERTULPHE.
Ay! 'Twas on his father's land
My father dwelt;—if we are Serfs, Bouchard,
He is our master,—he thy lord,—thy wife's!
Now dost thou ask wherefore I hated him?

BOUCHARD.
There needed only this!

BERTULPHE.
Wilt die his Serf?

BOUCHARD.
No,—not if living through the heaviest ills
That fate can pour, or trembling nature bear,
Will give one hope of vengeance.

BERTULPHE.
Bravely said!
It shall,—thy hand!—Good!—now look boldly on
The danger thou wouldst conquer as thou'dst look
Upon a foe in battle:—and remember,
Great minds are mightiest upon great occasions;—
Go,—leave the rest to me,—and chance what may,
Think nothing lost till we desert ourselves.

BOUCHARD.
I will expect you,—look you fail me not!

[Exit.
BERTULPHE.
I have turn'd his headlong passion for awhile,
And must employ the interval.—But how!
Heaven guide me!—for my own distracted sense
Knows not what course to take,—but overpower'd
Loses its early strength, and, palsied, sinks!

[Exit.
Enter HACKEL, GAUTIER, ALBERT, and SENESCHAL.
SENESCHAL.
Indeed, my Lords, you cannot see Bouchard.

HACKEL.
We must.

SENESCHAL.
Dear sirs, I pray you have compassion—
Press not upon him now,—he is distracted:—
A message from the Court has just arrived,—
He cannot see you.

GAUTIER.
Ha! so soon upon him!
Bear you our wishes,—leave the rest to us,—
Say, we would see him instantly.

[Exit Seneschal.
ALBERT.
This looks indeed like action.

HACKEL.
Doubt it not,
Since Thancmar has the handling on't.

ALBERT.
Yet tell me—
How does the city bear these startling tidings?

GAUTIER.
Nay, 'tis no time for question.—Consternation
As yet hath found no tongue,—all is amazement;—
Men meet and stare into each other's faces,
And each forbears to speak, lest the mere words,
The Provost is a Serf,—should stamp him madman.

HACKEL.
He was the poor man's hope:—and now they stand,
Like frighted cattle that beneath an oak
Had sought protection from the threatening storm,
And find the forked lightning's earliest flash
Strike even there where they had made their shelter.

ALBERT.
Bouchard is here.

Enter Bouchard.
BOUCHARD.
Now,—where are these intruders?

GAUTIER.
'Tis your friends.

BOUCHARD.
Friends!—why then leave me.

HACKEL.
Nay, we come to aid you.

BOUCHARD.
If you are men,—if you have souls, sense, feelings,—
If you would have me keep one spark of reason,—
Go,—leave me!—leave me!

GAUTIER.
We come to offer you assistance,—counsel.

BOUCHARD.
Counsel to such a madden'd wretch as I?
Go,—go,—prate to the whirlwind.

GAUTIER.
Yet one word:—
A messenger has been with you,—his purpose?

BOUCHARD.
To summon me, as Thancmar's Serf, to hasten
To his estate, and wait his will!

GAUTIER.
Your answer?

BOUCHARD.
Answer?—I struck him dead! Nay, spare your wonder:—
And now you have my news; go, be content,—
No further words.

HACKEL.
We'll speak with you to-morrow.

BOUCHARD.
To-morrow, ay, or any time but now!
There—go—go—go! [Exeunt.]
I shall be calm to-morrow!
Exceeding calm!—his Serf!—his—Thancmar's Serf!

[Walking about.]
Enter Constance.
CONSTANCE.
Bouchard!

BOUCHARD.
Again!—I have avoided you—
I pray you, Madam, hang not on my steps—
I have some mischievous feelings in my breast
That cannot brook your presence,—pray you, leave me!—
Why stand you gazing with doubtful look?
Conceive you not my words? Leave me, I say!

CONSTANCE.
Bouchard!—my Lord!—Oh, no! 'tis not my Lord
Who speaks so cruelly.

BOUCHARD.
What would you have?

CONSTANCE.
Alas! I know not! and yet this I know,—
Bouchard has often said, if care annoy'd him,
'Twas but to look into his Constance' eyes,
And all was sunshine! Oh, mine own loved Lord,
Have I no comfort for thee now!

BOUCHARD.
Comfort from thee!
Ha! ha! why look you, Lady—yesterday
There was a Knight of Flanders, called Bouchard,—
A man of proud and unstain'd pedigree,
High in his Prince's favour—high in honours,—
Blest—oh, how blest!—in one he call'd his wife.
To-day he is a slave—a Serf—a bondsman!
And 'tis his wife has sunk him! 'tis her hand
Has bound his chains—and now she comes with comfort!

CONSTANCE.
Oh, thou dost hate me! this I had thought!
My unambitious heart knew but to love
Thee, not thy station:—'twas enough for me
To see thee,—hear thee speak,—to sit by thee,—
Walk by thy side,—breathe the same air thou breathedst,
And read each feeling of my heart reflected
In a more noble character from thine;—
And this I deem'd might still have been our lot
In any station, or in any land;—
But thou dost hate me!

BOUCHARD.
Come hither, mistress!—nearer!
So, I would look upon thee, and discover
Where lies the baseness that has tainted me.—
[Gazing on her, then gradually softening.]
No! all is still the same as when we loved.

CONSTANCE.
As when we loved!

BOUCHARD.
Oh, thou inborn corruption!
Thou speck of taint, that leaven'st all the mass
So godlike else! where is the sign to know thee?
Not on that brow, upon whose polish'd throne
So mild a dignity hath ever sat,—
That cheek, whose flickering, ever-changing dyes
Index'd the artless soul within,—those eyes
That never knew a tear till now, unless
For other's woes, wept but to be relieved;—
Those lips, that never open'd but to bless,—
That never knew to form an unkind word—
Not even now!—those lips so often press'd
To mine, and breathing in my soul such rapture—
I clung and worshipp'd there!—and now to spurn them!
Oh, wretch! infuriate madman! base, most base!—
Constance! my love, my own unequall'd wife!
Forgive me even here! [Throwing himself into her arms.]


CONSTANCE.
It is Bouchard!—
It is my Lord come back again!

BOUCHARD.
Constance—

CONSTANCE.
No more—I would not hear another word,—
'Twas dreadful, but 'tis past—we will forget it.

BOUCHARD.
Thou know'st not how I have been lash'd to frenzy—
Thou know'st not all.—But there is danger, girl!
It tracks upon our heels—we must to home,—
There is no safety here.

CONSTANCE.
My father?

BOUCHARD.
In our stay
We but endanger him.—We must be instant.—
I know not if we have not lost e'en now
Some moments not to be recall'd. But I was reckless,
And cared for nothing, while I loved not thee!—

CONSTANCE.
Thou'lt grant one word of parting?

BOUCHARD.
Nay, indeed,—
'Twere but a useless pain.

CONSTANCE.
Only his blessing!

BOUCHARD.
It clings for ever round thee! [leading her.]


CONSTANCE.
I must see him.

BOUCHARD.
And I must be the sacrifice of all!
My safety for a father's kiss!—

CONSTANCE
[reproachfully.]
Bouchard!

BOUCHARD.
Nay, nay, forgive my selfish wretchedness!
I had forgot—thou wilt be better here—
Stay with thy father—thou'lt be more secure,
When I am gone—Heaven bless thee!

CONSTANCE.
Part from thee!
Never, Bouchard!—lead where thou wilt, I am thine!

BOUCHARD.
Wilt share my peril, girl!

CONSTANCE.
Ay, to the last!—
My father! Heaven preserve thy childless path!
Lead on, Bouchard—I'll follow—to the death!

[Exeunt.