The lion of Flanders. Vol. I

abundantly provided. The bystanders strained their eyes and wits to anticipate from his countenance what his speech would be; naught, however, was discernible but calm and cool reflection. Deconinck's heart, meanwhile, with all its self-possession and courage, was not one of those that were elate with hope and confidence. He saw plainly that it would be impossible finally to resist the force of the besiegers; the gigantic catapults and lofty movable towers gave the French considerable advantage over the citizens, who were totally unprovided with any equivalent apparatus. He had soon convinced himself that the town must in the end be stormed, and so given up to fire and sword. He resolved therefore to recommend, sad as it was, the one only possible means of safety; and, turning to his fellow-deans, thus slowly spoke:

"Comrades, our need is urgent! Our city, the flower of Flanders, has been traitorously sold over our heads, or rather behind our backs; and now our only safety is in prudence. However great the violence you must do to your noblest feelings, I pray you well to weigh that fact. As there is glory for the hero who pours out his blood for the rights of his fellows, even so there is bitter blame for the rash and reckless citizen who brings danger upon his country without need or without hope. Here, now, no resistance can avail us aught—"

"What? what?" interrupted impetuously Jan Breydel; "no resistance can avail us? What words are those? and what spirit are they of?"

"Even of the spirit of prudence and true patriotism," answered Deconinck. "We, as beseems good Flemings, can well die sword in hand upon the smoking ruins of our city—can fall with a shout of joy amid the bleeding corpses of our friends and fellows. We are men; but our wives, our children! —can we expose them, helpless and deserted, to the excited passions of our enemies?—to their vengeance, and worse still? No! courage has been given to man, that he may protect the defenseless ones of his kind. We must surrender!"

At this word the bystanders started, as though a thunderbolt had fallen amid them; and from every side looks of anger and suspicion were directed against the Dean. To some, his advice sounded even like treason; all regarded it as an insult. One universal cry of astonishment burst from their lips:

''Surrender? We?"

Deconinck met with unaltered mien their indignant looks, and calmly replied:

"Yes, fellow-citizens; however much it may afflict your free hearts, it is the only way that remains to save our city from destruction."

Jan Breydel, meanwhile, had listened to the words of the Dean in a very fever of impatience; and now, seeing that many of their fellows were wavering, and half-inclined to consent to a surrender, his indignation burst all bounds.

"The first of you," he passionately exclaimed, "that breathes a word of surrender, I will lay a corpse at my feet. Welcome a glorious death upon the body of a foe rather than life with dishonor! Think you that I and my Butchers are afraid? Look at them yonder, with their arms bared for the fight! How bravely their hearts beat, and how they long to be at their day's work! And shall I talk to them of surrender? They would not understand the word. I tell you, we will hold our own; and he whose heart fails him may keep house with the women and children. The hand that would open yon gates shall never be lifted again; this arm shall do justice on the coward!"

Fuming with rage, he hastened off to his Guildsmen; and pacing up and down in front of their ranks:

"Surrender! We surrender!" he exclaimed again and again, in a tone of mingled anger and contempt; and at last, in reply to the anxious questions of his comrades, he thus broke forth:

"Heaven have mercy on us, my men! My blood is ready to boil over at the thought; it is an insult —an intolerable insult! Yes; the Clothworkers would have us surrender our good town to the French villains yonder; but be true to me, my brothers, and we will die like Flemings! Let us say to ourselves, 'The ground we are treading upon has often been red with the blood of our fathers, and it shall be red with our own—with our own heart's blood—and that of the accursed foreigner!' Let the coward that hath no stomach for the fight depart; but he that will cast in his lot with us, let him cry, 'Liberty or death!' "

As He ceased to speak, one universal shout arose from the band of the Butchers, and the terrible word "death!" three times repeated, reverberated through their ranks like a hollow echo from the abyss. "Liberty or death!" was the cry which issued from seven hundred throats; and the oath by which they bound themselves to live or die together was mingled with the grinding sound of their axes as they whetted them upon their steels.

Meanwhile, the assembly of the Deans, or at least the greater part of them, convinced by the reasoning of Deconinck, and terrified at the sight of the engines of assault which now stood ready within the hostile lines, were disposed to submit to necessity, and to open negotiations with the enemy with a view to the surrender of the town; but Breydel, restless and suspicious, soon perceived their intentions. Raging like a wounded lion, and with words half-choked with fury, he rushed up to Deconinck; while his Butchers, easily comprehending the cause of his sudden movement, broke their ranks, and followed him in wild disorder.

"Slay! slay!" was the savage outcry; "death to the traitor! death to Deconinck!"

Not small was the peril in which the Dean of the Clothworkers now stood. Nevertheless, he saw the furious crowd approach without the slightest mark of terror upon his countenance; its expression, indeed, was rather that of deep compassion. *