ACT IV.

SCENE I.

GHENT.

The platform at the top of the steeple of St. Nicholas' church. Time, day-break.

ARTEVELDE (alone).

There lies a sleeping city. God of dreams!

What an unreal and fantastic world

Is going on below!

Within the sweep of yon encircling wall,
How many a large creation of the night,
Wide wilderness and mountain, rock and sea,
Peopled with busy transitory groups,

Finds room to rise, and never feels the crowd!
-If when the shows had left the dreamers' eyes
They should float upward visibly to mine,
How thick with apparitions were that void!
But now the blank and blind profundity
Turns my brain giddy with a sick aversion.
-I have not slept. I am to blame for that.
Long vigils, joined with scant and meagre food,
Must needs impair that promptitude of mind,
And cheerfulness of spirit, which, in him
Who leads a multitude, is past all price.

I think I could redeem an hour's repose
Out of the night that I have squandered, yet.
The breezes, launched upon their early voyage,
Play with a pleasing freshness on my face.
I will enfold my cloak about my
And lie where I shall front them;

If this were over

limbs

- here, I think.
(He lies down.)

blessed be the calm

That comes to me at last! A friend in need

Is nature to us, that when all is spent,

(Falls asleep, but starts up almost instantly.)

I heard a hoof, a horse's hoof I'll swear,

Upon the road from Bruges, or did I dream?
No! 'tis the gallop of a horse at speed.

VAN DEN BOSCH (without).

What ho! Van Artevelde!

ARTEVELDE.

Who calls?

VAN DEN BOSCH (entering).

Thou art an early riser, like myself;
Or is it thou hast not been to bed?

What are thy tidings?

ARTEVELDE.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

"T is I.

Nay, what can they be?

A page from pestilence and famine's day-book;

So many to the pest-house carried in,

So many to the dead-house carried out.

The same dull, dismal, damnable old story.

ARTEVELDE.

Be quiet; listen to the westerly wind,
And tell me if it bring thee nothing new.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

Nought to my ear, save howl of hungry dog
That hears the house is stirring — nothing else.

Why then be certain, 't is a flag of truce!

If once he reach the city we are lost.

Nay, if he be but seen, our danger's great.

What terms so bad they would not swallow now?

Let's send some trusty varlets forth at once

ARTEVELDE.

Nay, softly, Van den Bosch; let war be war,
But let us keep its ordinances.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

Tush!

I

say,

but let them see him from afar,

And in an hour shall we, bound hand and foot,
Be on our way to Bruges.

ARTEVELDE.

Not so, not so.

My rule of governance has not been such

As e'er to issue in so foul a close.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

What matter by what rule thou may'st have governed?
Think'st thou a hundred thousand citizens

Shall stay the fury of their empty maws
Because thou 'st ruled them justly?

ARTEVELDE.

It may be

That such a hope is mine.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

Then thou art mad,

And I must take this matter on myself.

ARTEVELde.

(Is going.)

Hold, Van den Bosch; I say this shall not be.

I must be madder than I think I am
Ere I shall yield up my authority,
Which I abuse not, to be used by thee.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

This comes of lifting dreamers into power.
I tell thee, in this strait and stress of famine,
The people, but to pave the way for peace,
Would instantly despatch our heads to Bruges.
Once and again I warn thee that thy life
Hangs by a thread.

ARTEVELDE.

Why, know I not it does!

What hath it hung by else since Utas' eve?
Did I not by mine own advised choice

Place it in jeopardy for certain ends?

And what were these? To prop thy tottering state?

To float thee o'er a reef, and, that performed,
To cater for our joint security?

No verily; not such my high ambition.

I bent my thoughts on yonder city's weal;
I looked to give it victory and freedom;
And working to that end, by consequence
From one great peril did deliver thee -
Not for the love of thee or of thy life,
Which I regard not, but the city's service;
And if for that same service it seem good,
I will expose thy life to equal hazard.

Thou wilt?

VAN DEN BOSCH.

ARTEVELDE.

I will.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

Oh, Lord! to hear him speak,