That it is the same Philip Van Artevelde we are in company with, the manner in which he enters into this new love will abundantly testify. He has been describing to Elena his former wife, Adriana. The description is very beautiful and touching. He then proceeds with his wooing thus:--
"_Artev._ ... Well, well--she's gone, And I have tamed my sorrow. Pain and grief Are transitory things no less than joy, And though they leave us not the men we were, Yet they do leave us. You behold me here A man bereaved, with something of a blight Upon the early blossoms of his life And its first verdure, having not the less A living root, drawing from the earth Its vital juices, from the air its powers: And surely as man's health and strength are whole, His appetites regerminate, his heart Reopens, and his objects and desires Shoot up renewed. What blank I found before me, From what is said you partly may surmise; How I have hoped to fill it, may I tell? _Elena._ I fear, my lord, that cannot be. _Artev._ Indeed! Then am I doubly hopeless.... _Elena._ I said I feared another could not fill The place of her you lost, being so fair And perfect as you give her out."
In fine, Elena is conquered, or rather led to confess a conquest already achieved.
"_Elena._ I cannot--no-- I cannot give you what you've had so long; Nor need I tell you what you know so well. I must be gone. _Artev._ Nay, sweetest, why these tears? _Elena._ No, let me go--I cannot tell--no--no-- I want to be alone-- Oh! Artevelde, for God's love let me go! [_Exit._ _Artev._ (_after a pause._) The night is far advanced upon the morrow, --_Yes, I have wasted half a summer's night_. Was it well spent? Successfully it was. How little flattering is a woman's love! Worth to the heart, come how it may, a world; Worth to men's measures of their own deserts, If weighed in wisdom's balance, merely nothing. The few hours left are precious--who is there? Ho! Nieuverkerchen!--when we think upon it, How little flattering is a woman's love! Given commonly to whosoe'er is nearest And propped with most advantage; outward grace Nor inward light is needful; day by day Men wanting both are mated with the best And loftiest of God's feminine creation. Ho! Nieuverkerchen!--what, then, do we sleep? Are none of you awake?--and as for me, The world says Philip is a famous man-- What is there woman will not love, so taught? Ho! Ellert! by your leave though, you must wake. (_Enter an officer._) Have me a gallows built upon the mount, And let Van Kortz be hung at break of day."