 The bell of the city of Bruges in Flanders, the voice of the city, the voice of the people. For what is the city but people? Today, not only in Bruges, but all over Flanders, bells are ringing, and the voice of the people speaks out after a long silence. That is why we tell this story of another time in Flanders, a time more than six centuries ago, when the bell of Bruges rang and the people spoke, spoke for the first time. NBC University of the Air presents We Came This Way, a new historical series for our listeners at home and overseas. With John W. Vander Cook as the narrator, we present Chapter 3, a story of freedom in Flanders in We Came This Way. It was at the turn of the 14th century. After Grenada and the reopening of the Mediterranean to Western trade, Europe saw a boom, a boom in cities. Traders with the smell of the world above them and peddlers spreading out their packs at the great fairs became the first promoters of cities, boasting of the places they had been, the things they had seen. In the city of Bruges, I have seen cloth woven out of golden thread, cloth of gold, and in the cities of the Moselle, I've tasted wine such as we could never make under this cold and misty sky. I've seen in Venice silks the ship. Surfs who followed their lords to war on the Crusades returned to whisper in the ears of other surfs who would remain behind in landlocked villages. It is a fact. I have been there and seen it. In cities, all men are free men. They have a saying, the air of the city is free air. Once a man has lived for a year and a day in the city, surf or slave, though he was before, he is a free man under the law and his master cannot reap. Little wonder that by the thousands, men began breaking their feudal chains and flocking to the cities. And in those days, no cities drew greater numbers than those of the low countries where the two streams of European traffic met, industry flourished, and men's strength and skill were in demand. Runaway surfs and men who had fell cramped in the narrow confines of the medieval village swelled the cities of Bruges, Gants, Liège, Ypres, Dinant and Antwerp. They learned trades, became the makers of cloth that was worn all the courts of Europe, the makers of coin that supplanted the old bottle system of the feudal world, the makers of stone baptismal fonts found today in the villages of England, the makers of shoes and the makers of bread. And more than any of these things, the new men of the new cities became the makers of the democratic idea, the makers of social progress. It is Anders. I was one of the new men you have spoken of, but I knew nothing of social progress. I never even heard the word democracy. I was a weaver in a village in Flanders. I fell in love with the daughter of a peasant, and when I wished to marry her and take her off the manor, her lord refused. He said that way he would lose... lose her litter. So Joanna and I ran away, stole away in the dark of the night like thieves. We wanted to get to the city where we could be free to get to Bruges. Ask that old man, Anders. The roads in Flanders go no place, stranger. They stand still. It is the people of Flanders who go places. I see you make sport of me because of my country dress and manner. I meant no harm. What I said is true. Are not you and your young woman a walking proof that the people of Flanders do go places? You come from a way off, stranger. No, Anders, no. Tell him nothing. Oh, you have nothing to fear from me, my pretty one. If you have chosen to shake the dust of the manor from your feet, that is your own business. I am a poor man like yourselves, and poor men tell no tales. But you will tell us the way to Bruges, eh, grandfather? Half a leak, straight ahead. Listen, you can hear the bell. You'd better hurry if you want to get there before they close the gates at sundown. Hurry, Anders. Do hurry. I won't feel safe until we're inside Bruges. You're right, Joanna. For people like us, only the air of the city is free air. So Joanna and I sought the free air of the city. The year was 1300. You won't find our names in the history books. You won't even find much about the master weaver whom I went to work for, though he made history in Bruges during the next few years. He was a one-eyed man with a habit of saying what he thought. His name was Peter Koenig, and he was Dean of the Weavers Guild in Bruges. I learned much about weaving from Peter Koenig, and I learned much else, too. As our feet worked the treadles and our shuttles flew back and forth, we used to talk. So you're coming to the city to be free, eh, Anders? Yes, Master Koenig. I want to be my own man. Then open your eyes, boy. How can a man be free who has no voice in his government? Who do you think makes the laws here in Bruges? Why, the men of the city council? And who is that council? A few families of cloth merchants and exporters calling themselves patricians. Call yourself free if you like, but try to get a seat on the council. Is it a law that I can't? Ha! It's written in gold on parchment that no weaver, fuller, shearer, carpenter, or any who works with the oil, or any dyer who has blue nails, wool-beater or tinker who cries through the streets, cheese monger, beer cellar, dealer in salt and bread, worker in lamb skin. I had no idea there were so many of us plain people. None of these or any who sells by the pound can become a member of the council. That is, unless he renounces craft and give a mark of gold, or as much more or shall be thought good by the councilman. Beat that if you can, Anders. But if there are so many of us, there are so many more than there are of them. Hey, go ahead, say it. Then why shouldn't we have some say-so about things, about the wages we get, the taxes we pay? Why, indeed. Men have asked that before you. Three years ago, our guilds rose up and questioned the power of the council. We had the count of Flanders on our side, too. So what happened? The patricians appealed to the king of France and he sent an army against us. Well, what did he have to do with it? Was France just waiting for a sign of weakness in Flanders to assert authority over us? You see, the count had renounced his allegiance to France and made an alliance with England. Had promised his daughter, Philippine, to the Prince of Wales and marriage. And the king of France didn't like that. Like it? He decoyed the count's daughter to Paris and strangled her. I see. I remember now we heard in the village about the fighting in the cities. So that's what the fighting was about. And it came to nothing. The French soon won. The count and his sons were taken to Paris to jail. That's why the banner of the lily now flies from the bell tower of Rue. And that's why the king and queen of France are coming here on a visit. Exactly. This very cloth we're working on is for a cloak that the merchant Van Gelder and the other councilmen will present to the king. For the favor he did them in putting down weavers like us. How do you like that, Anders? Every merchant's wife in Bruges had a silk dress for the king's coming. And when they bowed low before his royal majesty Philip called the fair and his queen Isabel, there was a great rustling sound. But when the king and queen stood on the balcony with the councilmen and were presented to the people, there was no sound at all. Fools. Fools, why don't they cheer? Why do they just stand there like oxen? What does majesty think? Perhaps he will think Van Gelder's that though we merchants were able to force a king upon the people, we cannot force them to like him. And they'll like even less what is to follow. I thought I'd find you still a chalume. I got the money from Van Gelder's for the cloth. Here are your wages. To tell the truth, I was waiting for my wages, sir. Joanna put the last of our flower in this morning's dough cake. Thank you, sir. Don't thank me. Weaver earns every penny he gets and more, and it's little enough. I tell you, Anders, you'll see men falling dead of hunger in the streets when the new levee is put through. Levee, Master Connick. I had it from Van Gelder's. The people are going to pay for the king's visit. The whining and dining and the banners and the music. Even that croak they gave him, we'll pay for in the end. But it's unfair we didn't ask him here. We didn't want him. We ate none of the roast capon and we'll pay for them, too. The council has decided. Master Connick, my wages now barely pay for the hobble we live in and buy us food. And Joanna's with child. I can't meet the levee. I know. I know. You're not the only one. Then what are we to do? Pay it and starve like sheep? You're the dean of the Weavers Guild. You tell me. Anders, alone, the Weavers can do nothing. But there are 51 other guilds in Bruges. If we all stand together... What would our stand be? I must have time to think it through. Wait. I'll call a meeting of all the guilds at the marketplace tomorrow. Be there as the bell is rung for sundown. Many of Bruges, I say to you that the new levee the council is ramming down our throats is outrageous and must not be stomached. If you are men, you will not take food out of the mouths of your children to pay for the pleasuring of a foreign king. If you are men, you will not let one growth of your meagre wages go to the support of a municipality in which you have no voice. I forbid you to speak further. A municipality which cares no more for us than for the sheep that grow the wool we weave. How dare you stir up the people against their rightful ruler? Our rightful ruler is the Count of Flanders. And the Count of Flanders is where the people live. Silence! Silence, all of you! Sergeant, arrest this man, Peter Konink. Go to your homes, all of you. There shall be no more public meetings. Our new governor, his majesty's lieutenant, Jacques de Chatillon, will arrive in Bruges within the week. He will see that we have order. Meanwhile, the council will decide, Peter Konink, whether to have you drawn and quartered as a traitor or banished as a fool. The council was shrewd. It's dangerous to make martyrs of men. So though in days gone by weavers who had set themselves against authority had been drawn and quartered or broken on the wheel, Master Konink's sentence was to be banished forever from the city of Bruges. Five thousand of us would have gone with him, but he would not have it. He left alone except for myself who walked with him to the city gates. We're coming to the gates now, Anders. Say the word and I go with you, sir. No, Anders. Your work is here. I have lost my master. You work not for good alone now, Anders, but for justice. Justice is a dangerous trade, sir. I have a child on the way to think of... You work for him, too. Better he be, still born Anders, than come into the world to be as voiceless and driven as the weavers of Bruges are today. What is it you want me to do? Stand with the other artisans. John Bidell of the Butcher's Guild will take my place. He will tell you what to do. Listen, drums. It's Chatillon with the French garrison riding into the city. What can we do against that? They say, Master Peter, that Chatillon is bringing rope with him to hang any who resists his rule, even women and children. I think that instead of hanging women and children, Jacques de Chatillon will hang himself with his rope. Hang himself? Like every tyrant swollen with power, he will go too far, and then the people will rise up and slay. But we have no leader. Without a leader, we're nothing but a mob pulled this way and that way. Any hour comes and the people are sick of Jacques de Chatillon. They will send for Peter the weaver. Then I will come back. God go with you, Master Koenig. God keep Bruges. Jacques de Chatillon rode into Bruges on horseback, surrounded by his knights, and Peter the weaver walked out, alone. But in the days that followed, the weaver we listened to, not Chatillon, we listened to him, though he was many miles away in the city of Dom. He sent messages to John Bridel, and John Bridel told us what to do. Stand together. Resist the council. Refuse to pay the levee. Every guildman must stand with the others. We stood together and resisted, and Chatillon forced collections with his soldiers. Children died of hunger and men cursed, but I remembered what Master Koenig had said, and I waited and watched Chatillon draw the rope tighter and tighter around his own neck. Chatillon has said the people will be punished for refusing to pay. He has ordered the levee raised. The deans and second deans of the guilds must make a public apology for inciting the people to resist. They must be dressed in black and fall upon their knees and confess sorrow for their disloyal conduct. And last of all, the bell of Bruges to be silenced from this day forth. Have you heard our bell? The bell of Bruges to be silenced. Yes, Joanna. I'm glad. You're away so much. Every night it's lonely. I miss the bell striking the hour. Oh, Anders, I'm afraid sometimes. Perhaps we should not have come to Bruges. Perhaps we should go back. Would you want our child to be born a serf, Joanna? No, Anders, no. Then never talk of going back. It's hard this waiting. But it will end soon. You mean the child will soon be born? The child, yes. And something more. Joanna, the men of Bruges have sent for Peter Koenig. Give a penny for the poor and the blessing of St. Francis. Arms for the poor. Here, old friend, I'll give you a penny. Though who is poorer than a weaver of Bruges, I'd... Master Koenig. Be quiet, Anders, you fool. Why do you think I've gone to the trouble of disguising myself? The market is full of people. And not a one of them would lay hands on Peter the weaver. It's like you said. The people only wait for a signal from you to rise. Listen, Anders, one week from tonight on Friday the 13th, the moon will be down. That is the night. The smiths and carpenters have sent boar spears and plowshares in long clubs as you sent word for them to do. And there is one for every artisan? Every artisan in Bruges will be armed. I'll give you a song, brother, that we, friars, sings at matins. They pour sweet potentes de se de, et exaltar vitum. I know no Latin, old friend. Then you shall have it in the language of the people. He will put down the mighty from their seats, and he will exalt the humble. What will be the signal for the rising? The ringing of the bell. It's forbidden. There's a guard at the bell tower. You will go to the tower at midnight, kill the guard and ring the bell. I am to kill a man? I am to give the signal for men to rise up and kill other men? Killing is bad, Anders. But there are other things that are worse. There is no other way. Blood must be spilled before Bruges free. If I had a son, if you were that son, I would say the same. This is what you must do. I'll ring the bell, Master Koenig. Loud and strong. We'll be waiting. I must go now, Anders, and see Brydell and the others. One last thing. What is the watchword for the night? Buckler and friend. And woe betide any man who says it with a French accent. Arms for the poor, arms for the poor. It's time for me to go, Joanna. You must go. Yes, Joanna. I must go. Anders. Yes? When you ring the bell, our men will rise up again, Chateaune's men, and men will die. Yes, men will die. On both sides? Yes, Joanna. Anders, I must say this to you. We plain people seldom speak of things like this. We have so little time for it. The words come hard, but... Anders, I have loved you so very much. I love you too, Joanna. Oh, Anders, must you leave me? I must. I wish it were a time, Joanna, when men could stay at home by their own hearts, when men could sit and watch the firelight on their wives' faces. It was black as pitch in the streets. I stole along the shadows, and once when I heard the watch coming, I pressed myself against the doorway, and I was afraid he would hear my heart. It beat so loud. It was May, and the night was chilly, but my jerkin was wet with sweat. At the bell tower, the guard was half asleep, and I sprang on him like a cat and killed him. And I searched him, found the key, unlocked the iron gate to the belfry, and felt my way up the narrow twisting steps. The bell rope was heavy, and I pulled and pulled, and not a sound came, and then I thought of Master Koenig and the others waiting, and I pulled harder, and the bell began to ring, fade anyway. I heard screams in the streets below, and men running. I heard a little sound, a creak on the stairs, and I shouted the password, Buckler and friend! I knew by the accent it was one of Shuddy's men, so I let go the rope, and ran at him with a boar spear, which was the only weapon I had. I killed him before he had time to cry out, and then I joined our men in the streets, and after that I don't remember how many men I killed. It was over very quick by dawn. The dawn looked very real and natural, and the bodies in the streets were like a nightmare. I remember I stumbled over one that was my friend, Derek, and another. But there were more of them than of us. We had won! What was left of Shuddy's men had fled the city with him. I was too tired that day for rejoicing. The rejoicing came later. There were parades and music, and the banner of the lily came down, and the lion of Flanders went up in its place, and Master Koenig spoke to us in the square below the bell. Men of Rouge, we have fought, and we have won. But we fought for justice, not for vengeance. Besides, vengeance will not go long on revenge. Let us bury our hates with the dead. Let us not live in civil strife. Let us not exchange a tyranny of patricians for a tyranny of weavers. I say to you, let us have a government of the people. Some of us listened to Master Koenig, and some would not. It was only human that men who had been kept down so long would want to use the power that had been used against them. The old magistrates were thrown out, and our captains appointed to rule instead. Yes, we made mistakes, for we had no pattern, but had to cut our government out of whole cloth. But for all its faults and weaknesses, it was more a government of the people than any Rouge had ever seen before. The town's eep and dam and coutret and eventually gang all followed our lead, and all over Flanders, the people ruled, and the air of the cities was in truth free air. Then, then the king of France, angry at what we'd done, began to raise an army to send against us. Robert of Artois was at its head, and following him was all the chivalry of France and the knights from Spain and Italy. The army wore golden spurs that glinted in the sun, and the number of chariots and horsemen was so great they hid the ground they passed over. By July they'd passed Lee, and word came to us that they had left a trail of blood and destruction behind them. So we put up our looms and our jewels, and with pikes and halberts went out on foot to meet them. At our heads were Peter the Weaver and Peter the Butcher, and the Count of Flanders' sons, who had escaped from jail in Paris and come back to help us. At Quattré, Robert of Artois halted, pitched his silk content, and heard the reports of his scouts. The Highness, the enemy has spread out in a single phalanx on the plain. How are they armed? They have no arms except pikes and halberts. Some even carry their artisans' tools. They go half naked and are bareheaded. Rabble, we'll cut them to pieces. We've had indigestion from the horrid food ever since we came. Your Highness, I'm afraid the enemy is well situated. On the west they are protected by the entrenchments of Quattré, and on the south they need... Do you dare tell me that this rabble army can stand against the chivalry of Europe? Give the order to attack at once. And as the army of the king marched against us, every man took up a handful of Flemish earth and pressed it to his lips. And the priests who had followed us to battle held the host high above our heads and gave us a last blessing. In nominee patrice et thilly et spiritus sancti. Amen. And that was the way we went into battle. The Weaver Anders fell in the first onrush of France's army. So the rest of our story we must get from history books. It is written that Robert of Artois's men never once broke through the close array opposing them. The solid wall of men, of ragged, barefoot men whose only weapons were their pikes and halberds. By nightfall Robert of Artois and Chatillon were dead, along with 75 nobles, a thousand knights, 3,000 squires, and 20,000 men. The victory was a people's victory. 700 golden spurs were gathered from the field of battle and hung up in the church of Saint Mary's at Quattré. Peter the Weaver and John Breidel the butcher were knighted on the field of battle and beneath the shadow of the belfry of Bruges a statue was erected to these two who had made the people rule in Flanders. After the battle the plain people marched home again to their plain jobs and there was much joy in all the cities. In Bruges the Weaver Anders wife Joanna pale and shaking from her lying in took her newborn son to the public square and held him up to hear the bell of Bruges rung in triumph. Today not only the bell of Bruges but bells all over Flanders ring and the voice of the people speaks out again after a long silence. The NBC University of the Air has brought you chapter three of the new historical series We Came This Way. Next week We Came This Way will present the story of Andreas with Katina Paxenou a handbook containing background information with suggestions for further reading is now in publication. We shall be happy to send you at cost of mailing this valuable We Came This Way Handbook especially written for the current series. Send 25 cents to cover the cost of printing and mailing to We Came This Way Post Office 30, Station J New York 27, New York. Tonight's script was written by Frank Wells and directed by Ira Avery. The music was conducted by Milton Catons. Members of the cast were James Monks, Joe DeSantis, Mary Patton, Bernard Lenro, Lamport Hill, Walter Appler. John W. Vander Cook was the narrator. This is the National Broadcasting Company.