The Maid of Orleans (play) Page 4
CHARLES.
What could be done I have done. I have offered,
In single fight, to combat for the crown.
I was refused. In vain my people bleed,
In vain my towns are levelled with the dust.
Shall I, like that unnatural mother, see
My child in pieces severed with the sword?
No; I forego my claim, that it may live.
DUNOIS.
How, sire! Is this fit language for a king?
Is a crown thus renounced? Thy meanest subject,
For his opinion's sake, his hate and love,
Sets property and life upon a cast;
When civil war hangs out her bloody flag,
Each private end is drowned in party zeal.
The husbandman forsakes his plough, the wife
Neglects her distaff; children, and old men,
Don the rude garb of war; the citizen
Consigns his town to the devouring flames,
The peasant burns the produce of his fields;
And all to injure or advantage thee,
And to achieve the purpose of his heart.
Men show no mercy, and they wish for none,
When they at honor's call maintain the fight,
Or for their idols or their gods contend.
A truce to such effeminate pity, then,
Which is not suited to a monarch's breast.
Thou didst not heedlessly provoke the war;
As it commenced, so let it spend its fury.
It is the law of destiny that nations
Should for their monarchs immolate themselves.
We Frenchmen recognize this sacred law,
Nor would annul it. Base, indeed, the nation
That for its honor ventures not its all.
CHARLES (to the SENATORS).
You've heard my last resolve; expect no other.
May God protect you! I can do no more.
DUNOIS.
As thou dost turn thy back upon thy realm,
So may the God of battle aye avert
His visage from thee. Thou forsak'st thyself,
So I forsake thee. Not the power combined
Of England and rebellious Burgundy,
Thy own mean spirit hurls thee from the throne.
Born heroes ever were the kings of France;
Thou wert a craven, even from thy birth.
[To the SENATORS.
The king abandons you. But I will throw
Myself into your town-my father's town-
And 'neath its ruins find a soldier's grave.
[He is about to depart. AGNES SOREL detains him.
SOREL (to the KING).
Oh, let him not depart in anger from thee!
Harsh words his lips have uttered, but his heart
Is true as gold. 'Tis he, himself, my king,
Who loves thee, and hath often bled for thee.
Dunois, confess, the heat of noble wrath
Made thee forget thyself; and oh, do thou
Forgive a faithful friend's o'erhasty speech!
Come, let me quickly reconcile your hearts,
Ere anger bursteth forth in quenchless flame.
[DUNOIS looks fixedly at the KING, and appears to await an answer.
CHARLES.
Our way lies over the Loire. Duchatel,
See all our equipage embarked.
DUNOIS (quickly to SOREL).
Farewell.
[He turns quickly round, and goes out. The SENATORS follow.
SOREL (wringing her hands in despair).
Oh, if he goes, we are forsaken quite!
Follow, La Hire! Oh, seek to soften him!
[LA HIRE goes out.
SCENE VI.
CHARLES, SOREL, DUCHATEL.
CHARLES.
Is, then, the sceptre such a peerless treasure?
Is it so hard to loose it from our grasp?
Believe me, 'tis more galling to endure
The domineering rule of these proud vassals.
To be dependent on their will and pleasure
Is, to a noble heart, more bitter far
Than to submit to fate.
[To DUCHATEL, who still lingers.
Duchatel, go,
And do what I commanded.
DUCHATEL (throws himself at the KING'S feet).
Oh, my king!
CHARLES.
No more! Thou'st heard my absolute resolve!
DUCHATEL.
Sire, with the Duke of Burgundy make peace!
'Tis the sole outlet from destruction left!
CHARLES.
Thou giv'st this counsel, and thy blood alone
Can ratify this peace.
DUCHATEL.
Here is my head.
I oft have risked it for thee in the fight,
And with a joyful spirit I, for thee,
Would lay it down upon the block of death.
Conciliate the duke! Deliver me
To the full measure of his wrath, and let
My flowing blood appease the ancient hate.
CHARLES (looks at him for some time in silence, and with deep emotion).
Can it be true? Am I, then, sunk so low,
That even friends, who read my inmost heart,
Point out for my escape the path of shame?
Yes, now I recognize my abject fall.
My honor is no more confided in.
DUCHATEL.
Reflect--
CHARLES.
Be silent, and incense me not!
Had I ten realms, on which to turn my back,
With my friend's life I would not purchase them.
Do what I have commanded. Hence, and see
My equipage embarked.
DUCHATEL.
'Twill speedily
Be done.
[He stands up and retires. AGNES SOREL weeps passionately.
SCENE VII.
The royal palace at Chinon.
CHARLES, AGNES SOREL.
CHARLES (seizing the hand of AGNES).
My Agnes, be not sorrowful!
Beyond the Loire we still shall find a France;
We are departing to a happier land,
Where laughs a milder, an unclouded sky,
And gales more genial blow; we there shall meet
More gentle manners; song abideth there,
And love and life in richer beauty bloom.
SOREL.
Oh, must I contemplate this day of woe!
The king must roam in banishment! the son
Depart, an exile from his father's house,
And turn his back upon his childhood's home!
Oh, pleasant, happy land that we forsake,
Ne'er shall we tread thee joyously again.
SCENE VIII.
LA HIRE returns, CHARLES, SOREL.
SOREL.
You come alone? You do not bring him back?
[Observing him more closely.
La Hire! What news? What does that look announce?
Some new calamity?
LA HIRE.
Calamity
Hath spent itself; sunshine is now returned.
SOREL.
What is it? I implore you.
LA HIRE (to the KING).
Summon back
The delegates from Orleans.
CHARLES.
Why? What is it?
LA HIRE.
Summon them back! Thy fortune is reversed.
A battle has been fought, and thou hast conquered.
SOREL.
Conquered! Oh, heavenly music of that word!
CHARLES.
La Hire! A fabulous report deceives thee;
Conquered! In conquest I believe no more.
LA HIRE.
Still greater wonders thou wilt soon believe.
Here cometh the archbishop. To thine arms
He leadeth back Dunois.
SOREL.
O beauteous
flower
Of victory, which doth the heavenly fruits
Of peace and reconcilement bear at once!
SCENE IX.
The same, ARCHBISHOP of RHEIMS, DUNOIS, DUCHATEL,
with RAOUL, a Knight in armor.
ARCHBISHOP (leading DUNOIS to the KING, and joining their hands).
Princes, embrace! Let rage and discord cease,
Since Heaven itself hath for our cause declared.
[DUNOIS embraces the KING.
CHARLES.
Relieve my wonder and perplexity.
What may this solemn earnestness portend?
Whence this unlooked-for change of fortune?
ARCHBISHOP (leads the KNIGHT forward, and presents him to the KING).
Speak!
RAOUL.
We had assembled sixteen regiments
Of Lotharingian troops to join your host;
And Baudricourt, a knight of Vaucouleurs,
Was our commander. Having gained the heights
By Vermanton, we wound our downward way
Into the valley watered by the Yonne.
There, in the plain before us, lay the foe,
And when we turned, arms glittered in our rear.
We saw ourselves surrounded by two hosts,
And could not hope for conquest or for flight.
Then sank the bravest heart, and in despair
We all prepared to lay our weapons down.
The leaders with each other anxiously
Sought counsel and found none; when to our eyes
A spectacle of wonder showed itself.
For suddenly from forth the thickets' depths
A maiden, on her head a polished helm,
Like a war-goddess, issued; terrible
Yet lovely was her aspect, and her hair
In dusky ringlets round her shoulders fell.
A heavenly radiance shone around the height;
When she upraised her voice and thus addressed us:
"Why be dismayed, brave Frenchmen? On the foe!
Were they more numerous than the ocean sands,
God and the holy maiden lead you on"!
Then quickly from the standard-bearer's hand
She snatched the banner, and before our troop
With valiant bearing strode the wondrous maid.
Silent with awe, scarce knowing what we did,
The banner and the maiden we pursue,
And fired with ardor, rush upon the foe,
Who, much amazed, stand motionless and view
The miracle with fixed and wondering gaze.
Then, as if seized by terror sent from God,
They suddenly betake themselves to flight,
And casting arms and armor to the ground,
Disperse in wild disorder o'er the field.
No leader's call, no signal now avails;
Senseless from terror, without looking back,
Horses and men plunge headlong in the stream,
Where they without resistance are despatched.
It was a slaughter rather than a fight!
Two thousand of the foe bestrewed the field,
Not reckoning numbers swallowed by the flood,
While of our company not one was slain.
CHARLES.
'Tis strange, by heaven! most wonderful and strange!
SOREL.
A maiden worked this miracle, you say?
Whence did she come? Who is she?
RAOUL.
Who she is
She will reveal to no one but the king!
She calls herself a seer and prophetess
Ordained by God, and promises to raise
The siege of Orleans ere the moon shall change.
The people credit her, and thirst for war.
The host she follows-she'll be here anon.
[The ringing of bells is heard, together with the clang of arms.
Hark to the din! The pealing of the bells!
'Tis she! The people greet God's messenger.
CHARLES (to DUCHATEL).
Conduct her thither.
[To the ARCHBISHOP.
What should I believe?
A maiden brings me conquest even now,
When naught can save me but a hand divine!
This is not in the common course of things.
And dare I here believe a miracle?
MANY VOICES (behind the scene).
Hail to the maiden!-the deliverer!
CHARLES.
She comes! Dunois, now occupy my place!
We will make trial of this wondrous maid.
Is she indeed inspired and sent by God
She will be able to discern the king.
[DUNOIS seats himself; the KING stands at his right hand,
AGNES SOREL near him; the ARCHBISHOP and the others opposite;
so that the intermediate space remains vacant.
SCENE X.
The same. JOHANNA, accompanied by the councillors and many knights,
who occupy the background of the scene; she advances with noble
bearing, and slowly surveys the company.
DUNOIS (after a long and solemn pause).
Art thou the wondrous maiden--
JOHANNA (interrupts him, regarding him with dignity).
Bastard of Orleans, thou wilt tempt thy God!
This place abandon, which becomes thee not!
To this more mighty one the maid is sent.
[With a firm step she approaches the KING, bows one
knee before him, and, rising immediately, steps back.
All present express their astonishment, DUNOIS forsakes
his seat, which is occupied by the KING.
CHARLES.
Maiden, thou ne'er hast seen my face before.
Whence hast thou then this knowledge?
JOHANNA.
Thee I saw
When none beside, save God in heaven, beheld thee.
[She approaches the KING, and speaks mysteriously.
Bethink thee, Dauphin, in the bygone night,
When all around lay buried in deep sleep,
Thou from thy couch didst rise and offer up
An earnest prayer to God. Let these retire
And I will name the subject of thy prayer.
CHARLES.
What! to Heaven confided need not be
From men concealed. Disclose to me my prayer,
And I shall doubt no more that God inspires thee.
JOHANNA.
Three prayers thou offeredst, Dauphin; listen now
Whether I name them to thee! Thou didst pray
That if there were appended to this crown
Unjust possession, or if heavy guilt,
Not yet atoned for, from thy father's times,
Occasioned this most lamentable war,
God would accept thee as a sacrifice,
Have mercy on thy people, and pour forth
Upon thy head the chalice of his wrath.
CHARLES (steps back with awe).
Who art thou, mighty one? Whence comest thou?
[All express their astonishment.
JOHANNA.
To God thou offeredst this second prayer:
That if it were his will and high decree
To take away the sceptre from thy race,
And from thee to withdraw whate'er thy sires,
The monarchs of this kingdom, once possessed,
He in his mercy would preserve to thee
Three priceless treasures-a contented heart,
Thy friend's affection, and thine Agnes' love.
[The KING conceals his face: the spectators
express their astonishment. After a pause.
Thy third petition shall I name to thee?
CHARLES.
Enough; I credit thee! This doth surpass
Mere human knowledge: thou art sent by God!
ARCHBISHOP.
Who art thou, wonderful and holy m
aid?
What favored region bore thee? What blest pair,
Beloved of Heaven, may claim thee as their child?
JOHANNA.
Most reverend father, I am named Johanna,
I am a shepherd's lowly daughter, born
In Dom Remi, a village of my king.
Included in the diocese of Toul,
And from a child I kept my father's sheep.
And much and frequently I heard them tell
Of the strange islanders, who o'er the sea
Had come to make us slaves, and on us force
A foreign lord, who loveth not the people;
How the great city, Paris, they had seized,
And had usurped dominion o'er the realm.
Then earnestly God's Mother I implored
To save us from the shame of foreign chains,
And to preserve to us our lawful king.
Not distant from my native village stands
An ancient image of the Virgin blest,