The Maid of Orleans (play) Read online

  The same. Three SENATORS.

  CHARLES.

  Welcome, my trusty citizens of Orleans!

  What tidings bring ye from my faithful town?

  Doth she continue with her wonted zeal

  Still bravely to withstand the leaguering foe?

  SENATOR.

  Ah, sire! the city's peril is extreme;

  And giant ruin, waxing hour by hour,

  Still onward strides. The bulwarks are destroyed-

  The foe at each assault advantage gains;

  Bare of defenders are the city walls,

  For with rash valor forth our soldiers rush,

  While few, alas! return to view their homes,

  And famine's scourge impendeth o'er the town.

  In this extremity the noble Count

  Of Rochepierre, commander of the town,

  Hath made a compact with the enemy,

  According to old custom, to yield up,

  On the twelfth day, the city to the foe,

  Unless, meanwhile, before the town appear

  A host of magnitude to raise the siege.

  [DUNOIS manifests the strongest indignation.

  CHARLES.

  The interval is brief.

  SENATOR.

  We hither come,

  Attended by a hostile retinue,

  To implore thee, sire, to pity thy poor town,

  And to send succor ere the appointed day,

  When, if still unrelieved, she must surrender.

  DUNOIS.

  And could Saintrailles consent to give his voice

  To such a shameful compact?

  SENATOR.

  Never, sir!

  Long as the hero lived, none dared to breathe

  A single word of treaty or surrender.

  DUNOIS.

  He then is dead?

  SENATOR.

  The noble hero fell,

  His monarch's cause defending on our walls.

  CHARLES.

  What! Saintrailles dead! Oh, in that single man

  A host is foundered!

  [A Knight enters and speaks apart with DUNOIS,

  who starts with surprise.

  DUNOIS.

  That too!

  CHARLES.

  Well? What is it?

  DUNOIS.

  Count Douglass sendeth here. The Scottish troops

  Revolt, and threaten to retire at once.

  Unless their full arrears are paid to-day.

  CHARLES.

  Duchatel!

  DUCHATEL (shrugs his shoulders).

  Sire! I know not what to counsel.

  CHARLES.

  Pledge, promise all, even unto half my realm.

  DUCHATEL.

  'Tis vain! They have been fed with hope too often.

  CHARLES.

  They are the finest troops of all my hosts!

  They must not now, not now abandon me!

  SENATOR (throwing himself at the KING'S feet).

  Oh, king, assist us! Think of our distress!

  CHARLES (in despair).

  How! Can I summon armies from the earth?

  Or grow a cornfield on my open palm?

  Rend me in pieces! Pluck my bleeding heart

  Forth from my breast, and coin it 'stead of gold!

  I've blood for you, but neither gold nor troops.

  [He sees SOREL approach, and hastens towards her

  with outstretched arms.

  SCENE IV.

  The same. AGNES SOREL, a casket in her hand.

  CHARLES.

  My Agnes! Oh, my love! My dearest life!

  Thou comest here to snatch me from despair!

  Refuge I take within thy loving arms!

  Possessing thee I feel that nothing is lost.

  SOREL.

  My king, beloved!

  [looking round with an anxious, inquiring gaze.

  Dunois! Say, is it true,

  Duchatel?

  DUCHATEL.

  'Tis, alas!

  SOREL.

  So great the need?

  No treasure left? The soldiers will disband?

  DUCHATEL.

  Alas! It is too true!

  SOREL (giving him the casket).

  Here-here is gold,

  Here too are jewels! Melt my silver down!

  Sell, pledge my castles-on my fair domains

  In Provence-treasure raise, turn all to gold,

  Appease the troops! No time to be lost!

  [She urges him to depart.

  CHARLES.

  Well now, Dunois! Duchatel! Do ye still

  Account me poor, when I possess the crown

  Of womankind? She's nobly born as I;

  The royal blood of Valois not more pure;

  The most exalted throne she would adorn-

  Yet she rejects it with disdain, and claims

  No other title than to be my love.

  No gift more costly will she e'er receive

  Than early flower in winter, or rare fruit!

  No sacrifice on my part she permits,

  Yet sacrificeth all she had to me!

  With generous spirit she doth venture all

  Her wealth and fortune in my sinking bark.

  DUNOIS.

  Ay, she is mad indeed, my king, as thou;

  She throws her all into a burning house,

  And draweth water in the leaky vessel

  Of the Danaides. Thee she will not save,

  And in thy ruin but involve herself.

  SOREL.

  Believe him not! Full many a time he hath

  Perilled his life for thee, and now, forsooth,

  Chafeth because I risk my worthless gold!

  How? Have I freely sacrificed to thee

  What is esteemed far more than gold and pearls,

  And shall I now hold back the gifts of fortune?

  Oh, come! Let my example challenge thee

  To noble self-denial! Let's at once

  Cast off the needless ornaments of life!

  Thy courtiers metamorphose into soldiers;

  Thy gold transmute to iron; all thou hast,

  With resolute daring, venture for thy crown!

  Peril and want we will participate!

  Let us bestride the war-horse, and expose

  Our tender person to the fiery glow

  Of the hot sun, take for our canopy

  The clouds above, and make the stones our pillow.

  The rudest warrior, when he sees his king

  Bear hardship and privation like the meanest

  Will patiently endure his own hard lot!

  CHARLES (laughing).

  Ay! now is realized an ancient word

  Of prophesy, once uttered by a nun

  Of Clairmont, in prophetic mood, who said,

  That through a woman's aid I o'er my foes

  Should triumph, and achieve my father's crown.

  Far off I sought her in the English camp;

  I strove to reconcile a mother's heart;

  Here stands the heroine-my guide to Rheims!

  My Agnes! I shall triumph through thy love!

  SOREL.

  Thou'lt triumph through the valiant swords of friends.

  CHARLES.

  And from my foes' dissensions much I hope

  For sure intelligence hath reached mine ear,

  That 'twixt these English lords and Burgundy

  Things do not stand precisely as they did;

  Hence to the duke I have despatched La Hire,

  To try if he can lead my angry vassal

  Back to his ancient loyalty and faith:

  Each moment now I look for his return.

  DUCHATEL (at the window).

  A knight e'en now dismounteth in the court.

  CHARLES.

  A welcome messenger! We soon shall learn

  Whether we're doomed to conquer or to yield.

  SCENE V.

  The same. LA HIRE.

  CHARL
ES (meeting him).

  Hope bringest thou, or not? Be brief, La Hire,

  Out with thy tidings! What must we expect?

  LA HIRE.

  Expect naught, sire, save from thine own good sword.

  CHARLES.

  The haughty duke will not be reconciled!

  Speak! How did he receive my embassy?

  LA HIRE.

  His first and unconditional demand,

  Ere he consent to listen to thine errand,

  Is that Duchatel be delivered up,

  Whom he doth name the murderer of his sire.

  CHARLES.

  This base condition we reject with scorn!

  LA HIRE.

  Then be the league dissolved ere it commence!

  CHARLES.

  Hast thou thereon, as I commanded thee,

  Challenged the duke to meet him in fair fight

  On Montereau's bridge, whereon his father fell?

  LA HIRE.

  Before him on the ground I flung thy glove,

  And said: "Thou wouldst forget thy majesty,

  And like a knight do battle for thy realm."

  He scornfully rejoined "He needed not

  To fight for that which he possessed already,

  But if thou wert so eager for the fray,

  Before the walls of Orleans thou wouldst find him,

  Whither he purposed going on the morrow;"

  Thereon he laughing turned his back upon me.

  CHARLES.

  Say, did not justice raise her sacred voice,

  Within the precincts of my parliament?

  LA HIRE.

  The rage of party, sire, hath silenced her.

  An edict of the parliament declares

  Thee and thy race excluded from the throne.

  DUNOIS.

  These upstart burghers' haughty insolence!

  CHARLES.

  Hast thou attempted with my mother aught?

  LA HIRE.

  With her?

  CHARLES.

  Ay! How did she demean herself?

  LA HIRE (after a few moments' reflection).

  I chanced to step within St. Denis' walls

  Precisely at the royal coronation.

  The crowds were dressed as for a festival;

  Triumphal arches rose in every street

  Through which the English monarch was to pass.

  The way was strewed with flowers, and with huzzas,

  As France some brilliant conquest had achieved,

  The people thronged around the royal car.

  SOREL.

  They could huzza-huzza, while trampling thus

  Upon a gracious sovereign's loving heart!

  LA HIRE.

  I saw young Harry Lancaster-the boy-

  On good St. Lewis' regal chair enthroned;

  On either side his haughty uncles stood,

  Bedford and Gloucester, and before him kneeled,

  To render homage for his lands, Duke Philip.

  CHARLES.

  Oh, peer dishonored! Oh, unworthy cousin!

  LA HIRE.

  The child was timid, and his footing lost

  As up the steps he mounted towards the throne.

  An evil omen! murmured forth the crowd,

  And scornful laughter burst on every side.

  Then forward stepped Queen Isabel-thy mother,

  And-but it angers me to utter it!

  CHARLES.

  Say on.

  LA HIRE.

  Within her arms she clasped the boy,

  And herself placed him on thy father's throne.

  CHARLES.

  Oh, mother! mother!

  LA HIRE.

  E'en the murderous bands

  Of the Burgundians, at this spectacle,

  Evinced some tokens of indignant shame.

  The queen perceived it, and addressed the crowds,

  Exclaiming with loud voice: "Be grateful, Frenchmen,

  That I engraft upon a sickly stock

  A healthy scion, and redeem you from

  The misbegotten son of a mad sire!"

  [The KING hides his face; AGNES hastens towards him

  and clasps him in her arms; all the bystanders express

  aversion and horror.

  DUNOIS.

  She-wolf of France! Rage-breathing Megara!

  CHARLES (after a pause, to the SENATORS).

  Yourselves have heard the posture of affairs.

  Delay no longer, back return to Orleans,

  And bear this message to my faithful town;

  I do absolve my subjects from their oath,

  Their own best interests let them now consult,

  And yield them to the Duke of Burgundy;

  'Yclept the Good, he need must prove humane.

  DUNOIS.

  What say'st thou, sire? Thou wilt abandon Orleans!

  SENATOR (kneels down).

  My king! Abandon not thy faithful town!

  Consign her not to England's harsh control.

  She is a precious jewel in the crown,

  And none hath more inviolate faith maintained

  Towards the kings, thy royal ancestors.

  DUNOIS.

  Have we been routed? Is it lawful, sire,

  To leave the English masters of the field,

  Without a single stroke to save the town?

  And thinkest thou, with careless breath, forsooth,

  Ere blood hath flowed, rashly to give away

  The fairest city from the heart of France?

  CHARLES.

  Blood hath been poured forth freely, and in vain

  The hand of heaven is visibly against me;

  In every battle is my host o'erthrown,

  I am rejected of my parliament,

  My capital, my people, hail me foe,

  Those of my blood,-my nearest relatives,-

  Forsake me and betray-and my own mother

  Doth nurture at her breast the hostile brood.

  Beyond the Loire we will retire, and yield

  To the o'ermastering hand of destiny

  Which sideth with the English.

  SOREL.

  God forbid

  That we in weak despair should quit this realm!

  This utterance came not from thy heart, my king,

  Thy noble heart, which hath been sorely riven

  By the fell deed of thy unnatural mother,

  Thou'lt be thyself again, right valiantly

  Thou'lt battle with thine adverse destiny,

  Which doth oppose thee with relentless ire.

  CHARLES (lost in gloomy thought).

  Is it not true? A dark and ominous doom

  Impendeth o'er the heaven-abandoned house

  Of Valois-there preside the avenging powers,

  To whom a mother's crime unbarred the way.

  For thirty years my sire in madness raved;

  Already have three elder brothers been

  Mowed down by death; 'tis the decree of heaven,

  The house of the Sixth Charles is doomed to fall.

  SOREL.

  In thee 'twill rise with renovated life!

  Oh, in thyself have faith!-believe me, king,

  Not vainly hath a gracious destiny

  Redeemed thee from the ruin of thy house,

  And by thy brethren's death exalted thee,

  The youngest born, to an unlooked-for throne

  Heaven in thy gentle spirit hath prepared

  The leech to remedy the thousand ills

  By party rage inflicted on the land.

  The flames of civil discord thou wilt quench,

  And my heart tells me thou'lt establish peace,

  And found anew the monarchy of France.

  CHARLES.

  Not I! The rude and storm-vexed times require

  A pilot formed by nature to command.

  A peaceful nation I could render happy

  A wild, rebellious people not subdue.

 
I never with the sword could open hearts

  Against me closed in hatred's cold reserve.

  SOREL.

  The people's eye is dimmed, an error blinds them,

  But this delusion will not long endure;

  The day is not far distant when the love

  Deep rooted in the bosom of the French,

  Towards their native monarch, will revive,

  Together with the ancient jealousy,

  Which forms a barrier 'twixt the hostile nations.

  The haughty foe precipitates his doom.

  Hence, with rash haste abandon not the field,

  With dauntless front contest each foot of ground,

  As thine own heart defend the town of Orleans!

  Let every boat be sunk beneath the wave,

  Each bridge be burned, sooner than carry thee

  Across the Loire, the boundary of thy realm,

  The Stygian flood, o'er which there's no return.