DUNOIS. We have been true heart-friends, brothers in arms, Still have we battled in a common cause, And held together amid toil and death. Let not the love of woman rend the bond Which hath resisted every stroke of fate.
LA HIRE. Hear me, my prince!
DUNOIS. You love the wondrous maid, And well I know the purpose of your heart. You think without delay to seek the king, And to entreat him to bestow on you Her hand in marriage. Of your bravery The well-earned guerdon he cannot refuse But know,—ere I behold her in the arms Of any other——
LA HIRE. Listen to me, prince!
DUNOIS. 'Tis not the fleeting passion of the eye Attracts me to her. My unconquered sense Had set at naught the fiery shafts of love Till I beheld this wondrous maiden, sent By a divine appointment to become The savior of this kingdom, and my wife; And on the instant in my heart I vowed A sacred oath, to bear her home, my bride. For she alone who is endowed with strength Can be the strong man's friend. This glowing heart Longs to repose upon a kindred breast, Which can sustain and comprehend its strength.
LA HIRE. How dare I venture, prince, my poor deserts To measure with your name's heroic fame! When Count Dunois appeareth in the lists, Each humbler suitor must forsake the field; Still it doth ill become a shepherd maid To stand as consort by your princely side. The royal current in your veins would scorn To mix with blood of baser quality.
DUNOIS. She, like myself, is holy Nature's child, A child divine—hence we by birth are equal. She bring dishonor on a prince's hand, Who is the holy angel's bride, whose head Is by a heavenly glory circled round, Whose radiance far outshineth earthly crowns, Who seeth lying far beneath her feet All that is greatest, highest of this earth! For thrones on thrones, ascending to the stars, Would fail to reach the height where she abides In angel majesty!
LA HIRE. Our monarch must decide.
DUNOIS. Not so! she must Decide! Free hath she made this realm of France, And she herself must freely give her heart.
LA HIRE. Here comes the king!
SCENE II.
CHARLES, AGNES, SOREL, DUCHATEL, and CHATILLON. The same.
CHARLES (to CHATILLON). He comes! My title he will recognize, And do me homage as his sovereign liege?
CHATILLON. Here, in his royal town of Chalons, sire, The duke, my master, will fall down before thee. He did command me, as my lord and king, To give thee greeting. He'll be here anon.
SOREL. He comes! Hail beauteous and auspicious day, Which bringeth joy, and peace, and reconcilement!
CHATILLON. The duke, attended by two hundred knights, Will hither come; he at thy feet will kneel; But he expecteth not that thou to him Should yield the cordial greeting of a kinsman.
CHARLES. I long to clasp him to my throbbing heart.
CHATILLON. The duke entreats that at this interview, No word be spoken of the ancient strife!
CHARLES. In Lethe be the past forever sunk! The smiling future now invites our gaze.
CHATILLON. All who have combated for Burgundy Shall be included in the amnesty.
CHARLES. So shall my realm be doubled in extent!
CHATILLON. Queen Isabel, if she consent thereto, Shall also be included in the peace.
CHARLES. She maketh war on me, not I on her. With her alone it rests to end our quarrel.
CHATILLON. Twelve knights shall answer for thy royal word.
CHARLES. My word is sacred.
CHATILLON. The archbishop shall Between you break the consecrated host, As pledge and seal of cordial reconcilement.
CHARLES. Let my eternal weal be forfeited, If my hand's friendly grasp belie my heart. What other surety doth the duke require?
CHATILLON (glancing at DUCHATEL). I see one standing here, whose presence, sire, Perchance might poison the first interview.
[DUCHATEL retires in silence.
CHARLES. Depart, Duchatel, and remain concealed Until the duke can bear thee in his sight.
[He follows him with his eye, then hastens after and embraces him.
True-hearted friend! Thou wouldst far more than this Have done for my repose! [Exit DUCHATEL.
CHATILLON. This instrument doth name the other points.
CHARLES (to the ARCHBISHOP). Let it be settled. We agree to all. We count no price too high to gain a friend. Go now, Dunois, and with a hundred knights, Give courteous conduct to the noble duke. Let the troops, garlanded with verdant boughs, Receive their comrades with a joyous welcome. Be the whole town arrayed in festive pomp, And let the bells with joyous peal, proclaim That France and Burgundy are reconciled.
[A PAGE enters. Trumpets sound.
Hark! What importeth that loud trumpet's call?
PAGE. The Duke of Burgundy hath stayed his march.
[Exit.
DUNOIS. Up! forth to meet him!
[Exit with LA HIRE and CHATILLON.
CHARLES (to SOREL). My Agnes! thou dost weep! Even my strength Doth almost fail me at this interview. How many victims have been doomed to fall Ere we could meet in peace and reconcilement! But every storm at length suspends its rage, Day follows on the murkiest night; and still When comes the hour, the latest fruits mature!
ARCHBISHOP (at the window). The thronging crowds impede the duke's advance; He scarce can free himself. They lift him now From off his horse; they kiss his spurs, his mantle.
CHARLES. They're a good people, in whom love flames forth As suddenly as wrath. In how brief space They do forget that 'tis this very duke Who slew, in fight, their fathers and their sons; The moment swallows up the whole of life! Be tranquil, Sorel. E'en thy passionate joy Perchance might to his conscience prove a thorn. Nothing should either shame or grieve him here.
SCENE III.
The DUKE OF BURGUNDY, DUNOIS, LA HIRE, CHATILLON, and two other knights of the DUKE'S train. The DUKE remains standing at the door; the KING inclines towards him; BURGUNDY immediately advances, and in the moment when he is about to throw himself upon his knees, the KING receives him in his arms.
CHARLES. You have surprised us; it was our intent To fetch you hither, but your steeds are fleet.
BURGUNDY. They bore me to my duty. [He embraces SOREL, and kisses her brow. With your leave! At Arras, niece, it is our privilege, And no fair damsel may exemption claim.
CHARLES. Rumor doth speak your court the seat of love, The mart where all that's beautiful must tarry.
BURGUNDY. We are a traffic-loving people, sire; Whate'er of costly earth's wide realms produce, For show and for enjoyment, is displayed Upon our mart at Bruges; but above all There woman's beauty is pre-eminent.
SOREL. More precious far is woman's truth; but it Appeareth not upon the public mart.
CHARLES. Kinsman, 'tis rumored to your prejudice That woman's fairest virtue you despise.
BURGUNDY. The heresy inflicteth on itself The heaviest penalty. 'Tis well for you, From your own heart, my king, you learned betimes What a wild life hath late revealed to me.
[He perceives the ARCHBISHOP, and extends his hand.
Most reverend minister of God! your blessing! You still are to be found on duty's path, Where those must walk who would encounter you.
ARCHBISHOP. Now let my Master call me when he will; My heart is full, I can with joy depart, Since that mine eyes have seen this day!
BURGUNDY (to SOREL). 'Tis said That of your precious stones you robbed yourself, Therefrom to forge 'gainst me the tools of war! Bear you a soul so martial? Were you then So resolute to work my overthrow? Well, now our strife is over; what was lost Will in due season all be found again. Even your jewels have returned to you. Against me to make war they were designed; Receive them from me as a pledge of peace.
[He receives a casket from one of the attendants, and presents it to her to open. SOREL, embarrassed, looks at the KING.
CHARLES. Receive this present; 'tis a twofold pledge Of reconcilement and of fairest love.
BURGUNDY (placing a diamond rose in her hair). Why, is it not the diadem of France? With full as glad a spirit I would place The golden circle on this lovely brow.
[Taking her hand significantly.
And count on me if, at some future time You should require a friend.
[AGNES SOREL bursts into tears, and steps aside. THE KING struggles with his feelings. The bystanders contemplate the two princes with emotion.
BURGUNDY (after gazing round the circle, throws himself into the KING'S arms). Oh, my king!
[At the same moment the three Burgundian knights hasten to DUNOIS, LA HIRE, and the ARCHBISHOP. They embrace each other. The two PRINCES remain for a time speechless in each other's arms.
I could renounce you! I could bear your hate!
CHARLES. Hush! hush! No further!
BURGUNDY. I this English king Could crown! Swear fealty to this foreigner! And you, my sovereign, into ruin plunge!
CHARLES. Forget it! Everything's forgiven now! This single moment doth obliterate all. 'Twas a malignant star! A destiny!
BURGUNDY (grasps his hand). Believe me, sire, I'll make amends for all. Your bitter sorrow I will compensate; You shall receive your kingdom back entire, A solitary village shall not fail!
CHARLES. We are united. Now I fear no foe.
BURGUNDY. Trust me, it was not with a joyous spirit That I bore arms against you. Did you know? Oh, wherefore sent you not this messenger?
[Pointing to SOREL.
I must have yielded to her gentle tears. Henceforth, since breast to breast we have embraced, No power of hell again shall sever us! My erring course ends here. His sovereign's heart Is the true resting-place for Burgundy.
ARCHBISHOP (steps between them). Ye are united, princes! France doth rise A renovated phoenix from its ashes. The auspicious future greets us with a smile. The country's bleeding wounds will heal again, The villages, the desolated towns, Rise in new splendor from their ruined heaps, The fields array themselves in beauteous green; But those who, victims of your quarrel, fell, The dead, rise not again; the bitter tears, Caused by your strife, remain forever wept! One generation hath been doomed to woe; On their descendants dawns a brighter day; The gladness of the son wakes not the sire. This the dire fruitage of your brother-strife! Oh, princes, learn from hence to pause with dread, Ere from its scabbard ye unsheath the sword. The man of power lets loose the god of war, But not, obedient, as from fields of air Returns the falcon to the sportsman's hand, Doth the wild deity obey the call Of mortal voice; nor will the Saviour's hand A second time forth issue from the clouds.
BURGUNDY. Oh, sire! an angel walketh by your side. Where is she? Why do I behold her not?
CHARLES. Where is Johanna? Wherefore faileth she To grace the festival we owe to her?
ARCHBISHOP. She loves not, sire, the idleness of the court, And when the heavenly mandate calls her not Forth to the world's observance, she retires, And doth avoid the notice of the crowd. Doubtless, unless the welfare of the realm Claims her regard, she communes with her God, For still a blessing on her steps attends.
The same. JOHANNA enters. She is clad in armor, and wears a garland in her hair.
CHARLES. Thou comest as a priestess decked, Johanna, To consecrate the union formed by thee!
BURGUNDY. How dreadful was the maiden in the fight! How lovely circled by the beams of peace! My word, Johanna, have I now fulfilled? Art thou contented? Have I thine applause?
JOHANNA. The greatest favor thou hast shown thyself. Arrayed in blessed light thou shinest now, Who didst erewhile with bloody, ominous ray, Hang like a moon of terror in the heavens. [Looking round. Many brave knights I find assembled here, And joy's glad radiance beams in every eye; One mourner, one alone I have encountered; He must conceal himself, where all rejoice.
BURGUNDY. And who is conscious of such heavy guilt, That of our favor he must needs despair?
JOHANNA. May he approach? Oh, tell me that he may; Complete thy merit. Void the reconcilement That frees not the whole heart. A drop of hate Remaining in the cup of joy converts The blessed draught to poison. Let there be No deed so stained with blood that Burgundy Cannot forgive it on this day of joy.
BURGUNDY. Ha! now I understand!
JOHANNA. And thou'lt forgive? Thou wilt indeed forgive? Come in, Duchatel!
[She opens the door and leads in DUCHATEL, who remains standing at a distance.
The duke is reconciled to all his foes, And he is so to thee.
[DUCHATEL approaches a few steps nearer, and tries to read the countenance of the DUKE.
BURGUNDY. What makest thou Of me, Johanna? Know'st thou what thou askest?
JOHANNA. A gracious sovereign throws his portals wide, Admitting every guest, excluding none; As freely as the firmament the world, So mercy must encircle friend and foe. Impartially the sun pours forth his beams Through all the regions of infinity; The heaven's reviving dew falls everywhere, And brings refreshment to each thirsty plant; Whate'er is good, and cometh from on high, Is universal, and without reserve; But in the heart's recesses darkness dwells!
BURGUNDY. Oh, she can mould me to her wish; my heart Is in her forming hand like melted wax. —Duchatel, I forgive thee—come, embrace me! Shade of my sire! oh, not with wrathful eye Behold me clasp the hand that shed thy blood. Ye death-gods, reckon not to my account, That my dread oath of vengeance I abjure. With you, in yon drear realm of endless night, There beats no human heart, and all remains Eternal, steadfast, and immovable. Here in the light of day 'tis otherwise. Man, living, feeling man, is aye the sport Of the o'ermastering present.
CHARLES (to JOHANNA). Lofty maid! What owe I not to thee! How truly now Hast thou fulfilled thy word,—how rapidly Reversed my destiny! Thou hast appeased My friends, and in the dust o'erwhelmed my foes; From foreign yoke redeemed my cities. Thou Hast all achieved. Speak, how can I reward thee?
JOHANNA. Sire, in prosperity be still humane, As in misfortune thou hast ever been; And on the height of greatness ne'er forget The value of a friend in times of need; Thou hast approved it in adversity. Refuse not to the lowest of thy people The claims of justice and humanity, For thy deliverer from the fold was called. Beneath thy royal sceptre thou shalt gather The realm entire of France. Thou shalt become The root and ancestor of mighty kings; Succeeding monarchs, in their regal state, Shall those outshine, who filled the throne before. Thy stock, in majesty shall bloom so long As it stands rooted in the people's love. Pride only can achieve its overthrow, And from the lowly station, whence to-day God summoned thy deliverer, ruin dire Obscurely threats thy crime-polluted sons!
BURGUNDY. Exalted maid! Possessed with sacred fire! If thou canst look into the gulf of time, Speak also of my race! Shall coming years With ampler honors crown my princely line!
JOHANNA. High as the throne, thou, Burgundy, hast built Thy seat of power, and thy aspiring heart Would raise still higher, even to the clouds, The lofty edifice. But from on high A hand omnipotent shall check its rise. Fear thou not hence the downfall of thy house! Its glory in a maiden shall survive; Upon her breast shall sceptre-bearing kings, The people's shepherds, bloom. Their ample sway Shall o'er two realms extend, they shall ordain Laws to control the known world, and the new, Which God still veils behind the pathless waves.
CHARLES. Oh, if the Spirit doth reveal it, speak; Shall this alliance which we now renew In distant ages still unite our sons?
JOHANNA (after a pause). Sovereigns and kings! disunion shun with dread! Wake not contention from the murky cave Where he doth lie asleep, for once aroused He cannot soon be quelled? He doth beget An iron brood, a ruthless progeny; Wildly the sweeping conflagration spreads. —Be satisfied! Seek not to question further In the glad present let your hearts rejoice, The future let me shroud!
SOREL. Exalted maid! Thou canst explore my heart, thou readest there If after worldly greatness it aspires, To me to give a joyous oracle.
JOHANNA. Of empires only I discern the doom; In thine own bosom lies thy destiny!
DUNOIS. What, holy maid, will be thy destiny? Doubtless, for thee, who art beloved of heaven, The fairest earthly happiness shall bloom, For thou art pure and holy.
JOHANNA. Happiness Abideth yonder, with our God, in heaven.
CHARLES. Thy fortune be henceforth thy monarch's care! For I will glorify thy name in France, And the remotest age shall call thee blest. Thus I fulfil my word. Kneel down! [He draws his sword and touches her with it. And rise! A noble! I, thy monarch, from the dust Of thy mean birth exalt thee. In the grave Thy fathers I ennoble—thou shalt bear Upon thy shield the fleur-de-lis, and be Of equal lineage with the best in France. Only the royal blood of Valois shall Be nobler than thine own! The highest peer Shall feel himself exalted by thy hand; To wed thee nobly, maid, shall be my care!
DUNOIS (advancing). My heart made choice of her when she was lowly. The recent honor which encircles her, Neither exalts her merit nor my love. Here in my sovereign's presence, and before This holy bishop, maid, I tender thee My hand, and take thee as my princely wife, If thou esteem me worthy to be thine.
CHARLES. Resistless maiden! wonder thou dost add To wonder! Yes, I now believe that naught's Impossible to thee! Thou hast subdued This haughty heart, which still hath scoffed till now At love's omnipotence.
LA HIRE (advancing). If I have read Aright Johanna's soul, her modest heart's Her fairest jewel. She deserveth well The homage of the great, but her desires Soar not so high. She striveth not to reach A giddy eminence; an honest heart's True love content's her, and the quiet lot Which with this hand I humbly proffer her.
CHARLES. Thou, too, La Hire! two brave competitors,— Peers in heroic virtue and renown! —Wilt thou, who hast appeased mine enemies, My realms united, part my dearest friends? One only can possess her; I esteem Each to be justly worthy such a prize. Speak, maid! thy heart alone must here decide.
SOREL. The noble maiden is surprised, her cheek Is crimsoned over with a modest blush. Let her have leisure to consult her heart, And in confiding friendship to unseal Her long-closed bosom. Now the hour is come When, with a sister's love, I also may Approach the maid severe, and offer her This silent, faithful breast. Permit us women Alone to weigh this womanly affair; Do you await the issue.
CHARLES (about to retire). Be it so!
JOHANNA. No, sire, not so! the crimson on my cheek Is not the blush of bashful modesty. Naught have I for this noble lady's ear Which in this presence I may not proclaim. The choice of these brave knights much honors me, But I did not forsake my shepherd-walks, To chase vain worldly splendor, nor array My tender frame in panoply of war, To twine the bridal garland in my hair. Far other labor is assigned to me, Which a pure maiden can alone achieve. I am the soldier of the Lord of Hosts, And to no mortal man can I be wife.
ARCHBISHOP. To be a fond companion unto man Is woman born—when nature she obeys, Most wisely she fulfils high heaven's decree! When His behest who called thee to the field Shall be accomplished, thou'lt resign thy arms, And once again rejoin the softer sex, Whose gentle nature thou dost now forego, And which from war's stern duties is exempt.
JOHANNA. Most reverend sir! as yet I cannot say What work the Spirit will enjoin on me. But when the time comes round, his guiding voice Will not be mute, and it I will obey. Now he commands me to complete my task; My royal master's brow is still uncrowned, 'Twere better for me I had ne'er been born! Henceforth no more of this, unless ye would Provoke the Spirit's wrath who in me dwells! The eye of man, regarding me with love, To me is horror and profanity.
CHARLES. Forbear! It is in vain to urge her further.
JOHANNA. Command the trumpets of the war to sound! This stillness doth perplex and harass me; An inward impulse drives me from repose, It still impels me to achieve my work, And sternly beckons me to meet my doom.
SCENE V.
A KNIGHT, entering hastily.
CHARLES. What tidings? Speak!
KNIGHT. The foe has crossed the Marne, And marshalleth his army for the fight.
JOHANNA (inspired). Battle and tumult! Now my soul is free. Arm, warriors, arm! while I prepare the troops.
[She goes out.
CHARLES. Follow, La Hire! E'en at the gates of Rheims They will compel us to dispute the crown!
DUNOIS. No genuine courage prompts them. This essay Is the last effort of enraged despair.
CHARLES. I do not urge you, duke. To-day's the time To compensate the errors of the past.
BURGUNDY. You shall be satisfied with me.
CHARLES. Myself Will march before you on the path of fame; Here, with my royal town of Rheims in view, I'll fight, and gallantry achieve the crown. Thy knight, my Agnes, bids thee now farewell!
AGNES (embracing him). I do not weep, I do not tremble for thee; My faith, unshaken, cleaveth unto God! Heaven, were we doomed to failure, had not given So many gracious pledges of success! My heart doth whisper me that, victory-crowned, In conquered Rheims, I shall embrace my king.
[Trumpets sound with a spirited tone, and while the scene is changing pass into a wild martial strain. When the scene opens, the orchestra joins in, accompanied by warlike instruments behind the scene.
SCENE VI.
The scene changes to an open country skirted with trees. During the music soldiers are seen retreating hastily across the background.
TALBOT, leaning on FASTOLFE, and accompanied by soldiers. Soon after, LIONEL.
TALBOT. Here lay me down beneath the trees, and then Betake you back, with speed, unto the fight; I need no aid to die.
FASTOLFE. Oh, woful day! [LIONEL enters. Behold what sign awaits you, Lionel! Here lies our general wounded unto death.
LIONEL. Now, God forbid! My noble lord, arise! No moment this to falter and to sink. Yield not to death. By your all-powerful will Command your ebbing spirit still to live.
TALBOT. In vain! The day of destiny is come, Which will o'erthrow the English power in France. In desperate combat I have vainly risked The remnant of our force to ward it off. Struck by the thunderbolt I prostrate lie, Never to rise again. Rheims now is lost, Hasten to succor Paris!
LIONEL. Paris is with the Dauphin reconciled; A courier even now has brought the news.
TALBOT (tearing off his bandages). Then freely flow, ye currents of my blood, For Talbot now is weary of the sun!
LIONEL. I may no longer tarry: Fastolfe, haste! Convey our leader to a place of safety. No longer now can we maintain this post; Our flying troops disperse on every side, On, with resistless might, the maiden comes.
TALBOT. Folly, thou conquerest, and I must yield! Against stupidity the very gods. Themselves contend in vain. Exalted reason, Resplendent daughter of the head divine, Wise foundress of the system of the world, Guide of the stars, who art thou then if thou, Bound to the tail of folly's uncurbed steed, Must, vainly shrieking with the drunken crowd, Eyes open, plunge down headlong in the abyss. Accursed, who striveth after noble ends, And with deliberate wisdom forms his plans! To the fool-king belongs the world.
LIONEL. My lord, But for a few brief moments can you live— Think of your Maker!
TALBOT. Had we, like brave men, Been vanquished by the brave, we might, indeed, Console ourselves that 'twas the common lot; For fickle fortune aye revolves her wheel. But to be baffled by such juggling arts! Deserved our earnest and laborious life Not a more earnest issue?
LIONEL (extends his hand to him). Fare you well! The debt of honest tears I will discharge After the battle—if I then survive. Now Fate doth call me hence, where on the field Her web she waveth, and dispenseth doom. We in another world shall meet again; For our long friendship, this a brief farewell.
[Exit.
TALBOT. Soon is the struggle past, and to the earth, To the eternal sun, I render back These atoms, joined in me for pain and pleasure. And of the mighty Talbot, who the world Filled with his martial glory, there remains Naught save a modicum of senseless dust. Such is the end of man—the only spoil We carry with us from life's battle-field, Is but an insight into nothingness, And utter scorn of all which once appeared To us exalted and desirable.
SCENE VII.
CHARLES, BURGUNDY, DUNOIS, DUCHATEL, and Soldiers.
BURGUNDY. The trench is stormed!
DUNOIS. The victory is ours!
CHARLES (perceiving TALBOT.) Look! Who is he, who yonder of the sun Taketh reluctant, sorrowful farewell? His armor indicates no common man; Go, succor him, if aid may yet avail.
[Soldiers of the KING'S retinue step forward.
FASTOLFE. Back! Stand apart! Respect the mighty dead, Whom ye in life ne'er ventured to approach!
BURGUNDY. What do I see? Lord Talbot in his blood!
[He approaches him. TALBOT gazes fixedly at him, and dies.
FASTOLFE. Traitor, avaunt! Let not the sight of thee Poison the dying hero's parting glance.
DUNOIS. Resistless hero! Dread-inspiring Talbot! Does such a narrow space suffice thee now, And this vast kingdom could not satisfy The large ambition of thy giant soul! Now first I can salute you, sire, as king: The diadem but tottered on your brow, While yet a spirit tenanted this clay.
CHARLES (after contemplating the body in silence). A higher power hath vanquished him, not we! He lies upon the soil of France, as lies The hero on the shield he would not quit. Well, peace be with his ashes! Bear him hence!
[Soldiers take up the body and carry it away.
Here in the heart of France, where his career Of conquest ended, let his relics lie! So far no hostile sword attained before. A fitting tomb shall memorize his name; His epitaph the spot whereon he fell.
FASTOLFE (yielding his sword). I am your prisoner, sir.
CHARLES (returning his sword). Not so! Rude war Respects each pious office; you are free To render the last honors to the dead, Go now, Duchatel—still my Agnes trembles— Hasten to snatch her from anxiety— Bring her the tidings of our victory, And usher her in triumph into Rheims!
[Exit DUCHATEL.
SCENE VIII.
The same. LA HIRE.
DUNOIS. La Hire, where is the maiden?
LA HIRE. That I ask Of you; I left her fighting by your side.
DUNOIS. I thought she was protected by your arm, When I departed to assist the king.
BURGUNDY. Not long ago I saw her banner wave Amidst the thickest of the hostile ranks.
DUNOIS. Alas! where is she? Evil I forebode? Come, let us haste to rescue her. I fear Her daring soul hath led her on too far; Alone she combats in the midst of foes, And without succor yieldeth to the crowd.
CHARLES. Haste to her rescue!
LA HIRE. Come!
BURGUNDY. We follow all!
[Exit.
[They retire in haste. A deserted part of the battle-field. In the distance are seen the towers of Rheims illumined by the sun.
SCENE IX.
A KNIGHT in black armor, with closed visor. JOHANNA follows him to the front of the stage, where he stops and awaits her.
JOHANNA. Deluder! now I see thy stratagem! Thou hast deceitfully, through seeming flight, Allured me from the battle, doom and death Averting thus from many a British head. Destruction now doth overtake thyself.
BLACK KNIGHT. Why dost thou follow after me and track My steps with quenchless rage? I am not doomed To perish by thy hand.
JOHANNA. Deep in my soul I hate thee as the night, which is thy color; To blot thee out from the fair light of day An irresistible desire impels me. Who art thou? Raise thy visor. I had said That thou wert Talbot had I not myself Seen warlike Talbot in the battle fall.
BLACK KNIGHT. Is the divining-spirit mute in thee?
JOHANNA. His voice speaks loudly in my spirit's depth The near approach of woe.
BLACK KNIGHT. Johanna D'Arc! Borne on the wings of conquest, thou hast reached The gates of Rheims. Let thy achieved renown Content thee. Fortune, like thy slave, till now Hath followed thee; dismiss her, ere in wrath She free herself; fidelity she hates; She serveth none with constancy till death.
JOHANNA. Why check me in the midst of my career? Why bid me falter and forsake my work? I will complete it and fulfil my vow!
BLACK KNIGHT. Nothing can thee, thou mighty one, withstand, In battle thou art aye invincible. But henceforth shun the fight; attend my warning.
JOHANNA. Not from my hand will I resign this sword Till haughty England's prostrate in the dust.
BLACK KNIGHT. Behold! there Rheims ariseth with its towers, The goal and end of thy career. Thou seest The lofty minster's sun-illumined dome; Thou in triumphal pomp wouldst enter there, Thy monarch crown, and ratify thy vow. Enter not there! Return! Attend my warning!
JOHANNA. What art thou, double-tongued, deceitful being, Who wouldst bewilder and appal me? Speak! By what authority dost thou presume To greet me with fallacious oracles?
[The BLACK KNIGHT is about to depart, she steps in his way.
No, thou shalt speak, or perish by my hand!
[She endeavors to strike him.
BLACK KNIGHT (touches her with his hand, she remains motionless). Slay what is mortal!
[Darkness, thunder and lightning. The KNIGHT sinks into the earth.
JOHANNA (stands at first in amazement, but soon recovers herself). 'Twas nothing living. 'Twas a base delusion, An instrument of hell, a juggling fiend, Uprisen hither from the fiery pool To shake and terrify my steadfast heart. Wielding the sword of God, whom should I fear! I will triumphantly achieve my work. My courage should not waver, should not fail Were hell itself to champion me to fight!
[She is about to depart.
SCENE X.
LIONEL, JOHANNA.
LIONEL. Accursed one, prepare thee for the fight! Not both of us shall quit this field alive. Thou hast destroyed the bravest of our host The noble Talbot hath his mighty soul Breathed forth upon my bosom. I'll avenge The hero, or participate his doom. And wouldst thou know who brings thee glory now, Whether he live or die,—I'm Lionel, The sole survivor of the English chiefs, And still unconquered is this valiant arm.
[He rushes upon her; after a short combat she strikes the sword out of his hand.
Perfidious fortune!
[He wrestles with her. JOHANNA seizes him by the crest and tears open his helmet; his face is thus exposed; at the same time she draws her sword with her right hand.
JOHANNA. Suffer, what thou soughtest! The Virgin sacrifices thee through me!
[At this moment she gazes in his face. His aspect softens her, she remains motionless and slowly lets her arm sink.
LIONEL. Why linger, why withhold the stroke of death? My glory thou hast taken—take my life! I want no mercy, I am in thy power.
[She makes him a sign with her hand to fly.
How! shall I fly and owe my life to thee? No, I would rather die.
JOHANNA (with averted face). I will not know That ever thou didst owe thy life to me.
LIONEL. I hate alike thee and thy proffered gift. I want no mercy—kill thine enemy Who loathes and would have slain thee.
JOHANNA. Slay me, then, And fly!
LIONEL. Ha! What is this?
JOHANNA (hiding her face). Woe's me!
LIONEL (approaching her). 'Tis said Thou killest all the English whom thy sword Subdues in battle—why spare me alone?
JOHANNA (raises her sword with a rapid movement as if to strike him, but lets it fall quickly when she gazes on his face). Oh, Holy Virgin!
LIONEL. Wherefore namest thou The Holy Virgin? she knows naught of thee; Heaven hath no part in thee.
JOHANNA (in the greatest anxiety). What have I done? Alas! I've broke my vow!
[She wrings her hands in despair.
LIONEL (looks at her with sympathy and approaches her). Unhappy maid! I pity thee! Thy sorrow touches me; Thou hast shown mercy unto me alone, My hatred yielded unto sympathy! Who art thou, and whence comest thou?
JOHANNA. Away!
LIONEL. Thy youth, thy beauty, move my soul to pity! Thy look sinks in my heart. I fain would save thee! How may I do so? tell me. Come! oh, come! Renounce this fearful league—throw down these arms!
JOHANNA. I am unworthy now to carry them!
LIONEL. Then throw them from thee—quick! come, follow me!
JOHANNA (with horror). How! follow thee!
LIONEL. Thou may'st be saved. Oh, come! I will deliver thee, but linger not. Strange sorrow for thy sake doth seize my heart, Unspeakable desire to rescue thee——
[He seizes her arm.
JOHANNA. The Bastard comes! 'Tis they! They seek for me! If they should find thee——
LIONEL. I'll defend thee, maid.
JOHANNA. I die if thou shouldst perish by their hands!
LIONEL. Am I then dear to thee?
JOHANNA. Ye heavenly powers!
LIONEL. Shall I again behold thee—hear from thee?
JOHANNA. No! never!
LIONEL. Thus this sword I seize in pledge That I again behold thee!
[He snatches her sword.
JOHANNA. Madman, hold! Thou darest?
LIONEL. Now I yield to force—again I'll see thee! [He retires.
SCENE XI.
JOHANNA, DUNOIS, LA HIRE.
LA HIRE. It is she! The maiden lives!
DUNOIS. Fear not, Johanna! friends are at thy side.
LA HIRE. Is not that Lionel who yonder flies?
DUNOIS. Let him escape! Maiden, the righteous cause Hath triumphed now. Rheims opens wide its gates; The joyous crowds pour forth to meet their king.
LA HIRE. What ails thee, maiden? She grows pale—she sinks!
[JOHANNA grows dizzy, and is about to fall.
DUNOIS. She's wounded—rend her breastplate—'tis her arm! The wound is not severe.
LA HIRE. Her blood doth flow.
JOHANNA. Oh, that my life would stream forth with my blood!
[She lies senseless in LA HIRE'S arms.
ACT IV.
A hall adorned as for a festival; the columns are hung with garlands; behind the scene flutes and hautboys.
SCENE I.
JOHANNA.
Hushed is the din of arms, war's storms subside, Glad songs and dance succeed the bloody fray, Through all the streets joy echoes far and wide, Altar and church are decked in rich array, Triumphal arches rise in vernal pride, Wreathes round the columns wind their flowery way, Wide Rheims cannot contain the mighty throng, Which to joyous pageant rolls along.
One thought alone doth every heart possess, One rapt'rous feeling o'er each breast preside. And those to-day are linked in happiness Whom bloody hatred did erewhile divide. All who themselves of Gallic race confess The name of Frenchman own with conscious pride, France sees the splendor of her ancient crown, And to her monarch's son bows humbly down.
Yet I, the author of this wide delight, The joy, myself created, cannot share; My heart is changed, in sad and dreary plight It flies the festive pageant in despair; Still to the British camp it taketh flight, Against my will my gaze still wanders there, And from the throng I steal, with grief oppressed, To hide the guilt which weighs upon my breast!
What! I permit a human form To haunt my bosom's sacred cell? And there, where heavenly radiance shone, Doth earthly love presume to dwell? The savior of my country, I, The warrior of God most high, Burn for my country's foeman? Dare I name Heaven's holy light, nor feel o'erwhelmed with shame?
[The music behind the scene passes into a soft and moving melody.
Woe is me! Those melting tones! They distract my 'wildered brain! Every note, his voice recalling, Conjures up his form again
Would that spears were whizzing round! Would that battle's thunder roared! 'Midst the wild tumultuous sound My former strength were then restored.
These sweet tones, these melting voices, With seductive power are fraught! They dissolve, in gentle longing, Every feeling, every thought, Waking tears of plaintive sadness.
[After a pause, with more energy.
Should I have killed him? Could I, when I gazed Upon his face? Killed him? Oh, rather far Would I have turned my weapon 'gainst myself! And am I culpable because humane? Is pity sinful? Pity! Didst then hear The voice of pity and humanity When others fell the victims of thy sword? Why was she silent when the gentle youth From Wales entreated thee to spare his life? Oh, cunning heart! Thou liest before high heaven! It is not pity's voice impels thee now! Why was I doomed to look into his eyes! To mark his noble features! With that glance, Thy crime, thy woe commenced. Unhappy one! A sightless instrument thy God demands, Blindly thou must accomplish his behest! When thou didst see, God's shield abandoned thee, And the dire snares of hell around thee pressed!
[Flutes are again heard, and she subsides into a quiet melancholy.
Harmless staff! Oh, that I ne'er Had for the sword abandoned thee! Had voices never reached mine ear, From thy branches, sacred tree! High queen of heaven! Oh, would that thou Hadst ne'er revealed thyself to me! Take back—I dare not claim it now— Take back thy crown, 'tis not for me!
I saw the heavens open wide, I gazed upon that face of love! Yet here on earth my hopes abide, They do not dwell in heaven above! Why, Holy One, on me impose This dread vocation? Could I steel, And to each soft emotion close This heart, by nature formed to feel?
Wouldst thou proclaim thy high command, Make choice of those who, free from sin, In thy eternal mansions stand; Send forth thy flaming cherubim! Immortal ones, thy law they keep, They do not feel, they do not weep! Choose not a tender woman's aid, Not the frail soul of shepherd maid!
Was I concerned with warlike things, With battles or the strife of kings? In innocence I led my sheep Adown the mountain's silent steep, But thou didst send me into life, Midst princely halls and scenes of strife, To lose my spirit's tender bloom Alas, I did not seek my doom!
SCENE II.
AGNES SOREL, JOHANNA.
SOREL (advances joyfully. When she perceives JOHANNA she hastens to her and falls upon her neck; then suddenly recollecting herself; she relinquishes her hold, and falls down before her). No! no! not so! Before thee in the dust——
JOHANNA (trying to raise her). Arise! Thou dost forget thyself and me.
SOREL. Forbid me not! 'tis the excess of joy Which throws me at thy feet—I must pour forth My o'ercharged heart in gratitude to God; I worship the Invisible in thee. Thou art the angel who has led my lord To Rheims, to crown him with the royal crown. What I ne'er dreamed to see is realized! The coronation march will soon set forth; Arrayed in festal pomp the monarch stands; Assembled are the nobles of the realm, The mighty peers to bear the insignia; To the cathedral rolls the billowy crowd; Glad songs resound, the bells unite their peal: Oh, this excess of joy I cannot bear!
[JOHANNA gently raises her. AGNES SOREL pauses a moment, and surveys the MAIDEN more narrowly.
Yet thou remainest ever grave and stern; Thou canst create delight, yet share it not. Thy heart is cold, thou feelest not our joy, Thou hast beheld the glories of the skies; No earthly interest moveth thy pure breast.
[JOHANNA seizes her hand passionately, but soon lets it fall again.
Oh, couldst thou own a woman's feeling heart! Put off this armor, war is over now, Confess thy union with the softer sex! My loving heart shrinks timidly from thee, While thus thou wearest Pallas' brow severe.
JOHANNA. What wouldst thou have me do?
SOREL. Unarm thyself! Put off this coat of mail! The God of Love Fears to approach a bosom clad in steel. Oh, be a woman, thou wilt feel his power!
JOHANNA. What, now unarm myself? Midst battle's roar I'll bare my bosom to the stroke of death! Not now! Would that a sevenfold wall of brass Could hide me from your revels, from myself!
SOREL. Thou'rt loved by Count Dunois. His noble heart, Which virtue and renown alone inspire, With pure and holy passion glows for thee. Oh, it is sweet to know oneself beloved By such a hero—sweeter still to love him!
[JOHANNA turns away with aversion.
Thou hatest him?—No, no, thou only canst Not love him:—how could hatred stir thy breast! Those who would tear us from the one we love, We hate alone; but none can claim thy love. Thy heart is tranquil—if it could but feel——
JOHANNA. Oh, pity me! Lament my hapless fate!
SOREL. What can be wanting to complete thy joy? Thou hast fulfilled thy promise, France is free, To Rheims, in triumph, thou hast led the king, Thy mighty deeds have gained thee high renown, A happy people praise and worship thee; Thy name, the honored theme of every tongue; Thou art the goddess of this festival; The monarch, with his crown and regal state, Shines not with greater majesty than thou!
JOHANNA. Oh, could I hide me in the depths of earth!
SOREL. Why this emotion? Whence this strange distress? Who may to-day look up without a fear If thou dost cast thine eyes upon the ground! It is for me to blush, me, who near thee Feel all my littleness; I cannot reach The lofty virtue, thy heroic strength! For—all my weakness shall I own to thee? Not the renown of France, my Fatherland, Not the new splendor of the monarch's crow, Not the triumphant gladness of the crowds, Engage this woman's heart. One only form Is in its depths enshrined; it hath no room For any feeling save for one alone: He is the idol, him the people bless, Him they extol, for him they strew these flowers, And he is mine, he is my own true love!
JOHANNA. Oh, thou art happy! thou art blessed indeed! Thou lovest, where all love. Thou may'st, unblamed Pour forth thy rapture, and thine inmost heart, Fearless discover to the gaze of man! Thy country's triumph is thy lover's too. The vast, innumerable multitudes, Who, rolling onward, crowd within these walls, Participate thy joy, they hallow it; Thee they salute, for thee they twine the wreath, Thou art a portion of the general joy; Thou lovest the all-inspiring soul, the sun, And what thou seest is thy lover's glory!
SOREL (falling on her neck). Thou dost delight me, thou canst read my heart! I did thee wrong, thou knowest what love is, Thou tell'st my feelings with a voice of power. My heart forgets its fear and its reserve, And seeks confidingly to blend with thine——
JOHANNA (tearing herself from her with violence). Forsake me! Turn away! Do not pollute Thyself by longer intercourse with me! Be happy! go—and in the deepest night Leave me to hide my infamy, my woe!
SOREL. Thou frighten'st me, I understand thee not, I ne'er have understood thee—for from me Thy dark mysterious being still was veiled. Who may divine what thus disturbs thy heart, Thus terrifies thy pure and sacred soul!
JOHANNA. Thou art the pure, the holy one! Couldst thou Behold mine inmost heart, thou, shuddering, Wouldst fly the traitoress, the enemy!
SCENE III.
DUNOIS, DUCHATEL, and LA HIRE, with the banner of JOHANNA.
DUNOIS. Johanna, thee we seek. All is prepared; The king hath sent us, 'tis his royal will That thou before him shouldst thy banner bear, The company of princes thou shalt join; And march immediately before the king: For he doth not deny it, and the world Shall witness, maiden, that to thee alone He doth ascribe the honor of this day.
LA HIRE. Here is the banner. Take it, noble maiden Thou'rt stayed for by the princes and the people.
JOHANNA. I march before him? I the banner bear?
DUNOIS. Whom else would it become? What other hand Is pure enough to bear the sacred ensign! Amid the battle thou hast waved it oft; To grace our glad procession bear it now.
[LA HIRE presents the banner to her, she draws back, shuddering.
JOHANNA. Away! away!
LA HIRE. Art thou terrified At thine own banner, maiden? Look at it!
[He displays the banner.
It is the same thou didst in conquest wave. Imaged upon it is the queen of heaven, Floating in glory o'er this earthly ball; For so the Holy Mother showed it thee.
[JOHANNA gazing upon it with horror.
'Tis she herself! so she appeared to me. See, how she looks at me and knits her brow, And anger flashes from her threatening eye!
SOREL. Alas, she raveth! Maiden, be composed! Collect thyself! Thou seest nothing real! That is her pictured image; she herself Wanders above, amid the angelic choir!
JOHANNA. Thou comest, fearful one, to punish me? Destroy, o'erwhelm, thy lightnings hurl, And let them fall upon my guilty head. Alas, my vow I've broken. I've profaned And desecrated thy most holy name!
DUNOIS. Woe's us! What may this mean? What unblest words?
LA HIRE (in astonishment, to DUCHATEL). This strange emotion canst thou comprehend?
DUCHATEL. That which I see, I see—I long have feared it.
DUNOIS. What sayest thou?
DUCHATEL. I dare not speak my thoughts. I would to heaven that the king were crowned!
LA HIRE. How! hath the awe this banner doth inspire Turned back upon thyself? before this sign Let Britons tremble; to the foes of France 'Tis fearful, but to all true citizens It is auspicious.
JOHANNA. Yes, thou sayest truly! To friends 'tis gracious! but to enemies It causeth horror!
[The Coronation march is heard.
DUNOIS. Take thy banner, then! The march begins—no time is to be lost!
[They press the banner upon her; she seizes it with evident emotion, and retires; the others follow.
[The scene changes to an open place before the Cathedral.
SCENE IV.
Spectators occupy the background; BERTRAND, CLAUDE MARIE, and ETIENNE come forward; then MARGOT and LOUISON. The Coronation march is heard in the distance.
BERTRAND. Hark to the music! They approach already! What had we better do? Shall we mount up Upon the platform, or press through the crowd, That we may nothing lose of the procession?
ETIENNE. It is not to be thought of. All the streets Are thronged with horsemen and with carriages. Beside these houses let us take our stand, Here we without annoyance may behold The train as it goes by.
CLAUDE MARIE. Almost it seems As were the half of France assembled here, So mighty is the flood that it hath reached Even our distant Lotharingian land And borne us thither!
BERTRAND. Who would sit at home When great events are stirring in the land! It hath cost plenty, both of sweat and blood, Ere the crown rested on its rightful head! Nor shall our lawful king, to whom we give The crown, be worse accompanied than he Whom the Parisians in St. Denis crowned! He is no loyal, honest-minded man Who doth absent him from this festival, And joins not in the cry: "God save the King!"
SCENE V.
MARGOT and LOUISON join them.
LOUISON. We shall again behold our sister, Margot! How my heart beats!
MARGOT. In majesty and pomp We shall behold her, saying to ourselves: It is our sister, it is our Johanna!
LOUISON. Till I have seen her, I can scarce believe That she, whom men the Maid of Orleans name, The mighty warrior, is indeed Johanna, Our sister whom we lost!
Musicians, with flutes and hautboys, open the procession. Children follow, dressed in white, with branches in their hands; behind them two heralds. Then a procession of halberdiers, followed by magistrates in their robes. Then two marshals with their staves; the DUKE of BURGUNDY, bearing the sword; DUNOIS with the sceptre, other nobles with the regalia; others with sacrificial offerings. Behind these, KNIGHTS with the ornaments of their order; choristers with incense; two BISHOPS with the ampulla; the ARCHBISHOP with the crucifix. JOHANNA follows, with her banner, she walks with downcast head and wavering steps; her sisters, on beholding her, express their astonishment and joy. Behind her comes the KING under a canopy, supported by four barons; courtiers follow, soldiers conclude the procession; as soon as it has entered the church the music ceases.
SCENE VII.
LOUISON, MARGOT, CLAUDE MARIE, ETIENNE, BERTRAND.
MARGOT. Saw you our sister?
CLAUDE MARIE. She in golden armor, Who with the banner walked before the king?
MARGOT. It was Johanna. It was she, our sister!
LOUISON. She recognized us not! She did not feel That we, her sisters, were so near to her. She looked upon the ground, and seemed so pale, And trembled so beneath her banner's weight When I beheld her, I could not rejoice.
MARGOT. So now, arrayed in splendor and in pomp, I have beheld our sister—who in dreams Would ever have imagined or conceived, When on our native hills she drove the flock, That we should see her in such majesty?
LOUISON. Our father's dream is realized, that we In Rheims before our sister should bow down. That is the church, which in his dream he saw And each particular is now fulfilled. But images of woe he also saw! Alas! I'm grieved to see her raised so high!
BERTRAND. Why stand we idly here? Let's to the church To view the coronation!
MARGOT. Yes! perchance We there may meet our sister; let us go!
LOUISON. We have beheld her. Let us now return Back to our village.
MARGOT. How? Ere we with her Have interchanged a word?
LOUISON. She doth belong To us no longer; she with princes stands And monarchs. Who are we, that we should seek With foolish vanity to near her state? She was a stranger while she dwelt with us!
MARGOT. Will she despise, and treat us with contempt?
BERTRAND. The king himself is not ashamed of us, He kindly greets the meanest of the crowd. How high soever she may be exalted, The king is raised still higher!
[Trumpets and kettle-drums are heard from the church.
CLAUDE MARIE. Let's to the church!
[They hasten to the background, where they are lost among the crowd.
SCENE VIII.
THIBAUT enters, clad in black. RAIMOND follows him, and tries to hold him back.
RAIMOND. Stay, father Thibaut! Do not join the crowds! Here, at this joyous festival you meet None but the happy, whom your grief offends. Come! Let us quit the town with hasty steps.
THIBAUT. Hast thou beheld my child? My wretched child? Didst thou observe her?
RAIMMOND. I entreat you, fly!
THIBAUT. Didst mark her tottering and uncertain steps, Her countenance, so pallid and disturbed? She feels her dreadful state; the hour is come To save my child, and I will not neglect it.
[He is about to retire.
RAIMOND. What would you do?
THIBAUT. Surprise her, hurl her down From her vain happiness, and forcibly Restore her to the God whom she denies.
RAIMOND. Oh, do not work the ruin of your child!
THIBAUT. If her soul lives, her mortal part may die.
[JOHANNA rushes out of the church, without her banner. The people press around her, worship her, and kiss her garments. She is detained in the background by the crowd.
She comes! 'tis she! She rushes from the church. Her troubled conscience drives her from the fane! 'Tis visibly the judgment of her God!
RAIMOND. Farewell! Require not my attendance further! Hopeful I came, and sorrowful depart. Your daughter once again I have beheld, And feel again that she is lost to me!
[He goes out. THIBAUT retires on the opposite side.
SCENE IX.
JOHANNA, People. Afterwards her Sisters.
JOHANNA (she has freed herself from the crowd and comes forward). Remain I cannot—spirits chase me forth! The organ's pealing tones like thunder sound, The dome's arched roof threatens to overwhelm me! I must escape and seek heaven's wide expanse! I left my banner in the sanctuary, Never, oh, never, will I touch it more! It seemed to me as if I had beheld My sisters pass before me like a dream. 'Twas only a delusion!—they, alas! Are far, far distant—inaccessible— E'en as my childhood, as mine innocence!
MARGOT (stepping forward). 'Tis she! It is Johanna!
LOUISON (hastening toward her). Oh, my sister!
JOHANNA. Then it was no delusion—you are here— Thee I embrace, Louison! Thee, my Margot? Here in this strange and crowded solitude, I clasp once more my sisters' faithful breasts!
MARGOT. She knows us still, she is our own kind sister.
JOHANNA. Your love hath led you to me here so far! So very far! You are not wroth with her Who left her home without one parting word!
LOUISON. God's unseen providence conducted thee.
MARGOT. Thy great renown, which agitates the world, Which makes thy name the theme of every tongue, Hath in our quiet village wakened us, And led us hither to this festival. To witness all thy glory we are come; And we are not alone!
JOHANNA (quickly). Our father's here! Where is he? Why doth he conceal himself?
MARGOT. Our father is not with us.
JOHANNA. Not with you? He will not see me, then! You do not bring His blessing for his child?
LOUISON. He knoweth not That we are here.
JOHANNA. Not know it! Wherefore not? You are embarrassed, and you do not speak; You look upon the ground! Where is our father?
MARGOT. Since thou hast left——
LOUISON (making a sign to MARGOT). Margot!
MARGOT. Our father hath Become dejected.
JOHANNA. Ah!
LOUISON. Console thyself! Our sire's foreboding spirit well thou knowest! He will collect himself, and be composed, When he shall learn from us that thou art happy.
MARGOT. And thou art happy? Yes, it must be so, For thou art great and honored!
JOHANNA. I am so, Now I again behold you, once again Your voices hear, whose fond, familiar tones Bring to my mind my dear paternal fields. When on my native hills I drove my herd, Then I was happy as in paradise— I ne'er can be so more, no, never more!
[She hides her face on LOUISON'S bosom. CLAUDE MARIE, ETIENNE, and BERTRAND appear, and remain timidly standing in the distance.
MARGOT. Come, Bertrand! Claude Marie! come, Etienne! Our sister is not proud: she is so gentle, And speaks so kindly,—more so than of yore, When in our village she abode with us.
[They draw near, and hold out their hands; JOHANNA gazes on them fixedly, and appears amazed.
JOHANNA. Where am I? Tell me! Was it all a dream, A long, long dream? And am I now awake? Am I away from Dom Remi? Is't so? I fell asleep beneath the Druid tree, And I am now awake; and round me stand The kind, familiar forms? I only dreamed Of all these battles, kings, and deeds of war,— They were but shadows which before me passed; For dreams are always vivid 'neath that tree. How did you come to Rheims? How came I here? No, I have never quitted Dom Remi! Confess it to me, and rejoice my heart.
LOUISON. We are at Rheims. Thou hast not merely dreamed Of these great deeds—thou hast achieved them all. Come to thyself, Johanna! Look around— Thy splendid armor feel, of burnished gold!
[JOHANNA lays her hand upon her breast, recollects herself, and shrinks back.
BERTRAND. Out of my hand thou didst receive this helm.
CLAUDE MARIE. No wonder thou shouldst think it all a dream; For nothing in a dream could come to pass More wonderful than what thou hast achieved.
JOHANNA (quickly). Come, let us fly! I will return with you Back to our village, to our father's bosom.
LOUISON. Oh, come! Return with us!
JOHANNA. The people here Exalt me far above what I deserve. You have beheld me weak and like a child; You love me, but you do not worship me.
MARGOT. Thou wilt abandon this magnificence.
JOHANNA. I will throw off the hated ornaments Which were a barrier 'twixt my heart and yours, And I will be a shepherdess again, And like a humble maiden I will serve you, And will with bitter penitence atone, That I above you vainly raised myself.
[Trumpets sound.
SCENE X.
The KING comes forth from the church. He is in the coronation robes. AGNES SOREL, ARCHBISHOP, BURGUNDY, DUNOIS, LA HIRE, DUCHATEL, KNIGHTS, COURTIERS, and PEOPLE.
Many voices shout repeatedly, while the KING advances,— Long live the king! Long live King Charles the Seventh!
[The trumpets sound. Upon a signal from the KING, the HERALDS with their staves command silence.
KING. Thanks, my good people! Thank you for your love! The crown which God hath placed upon our brow Hath with our valiant swords been hardly won: With noble blood 'tis wetted; but henceforth The peaceful olive branch shall round it twine. Let those who fought for us receive our thanks; Our pardon, those who joined the hostile ranks, For God hath shown us mercy in our need, And our first royal word shall now be, mercy!
PEOPLE. Long live the king! Long live King Charles the good!
KING. From God alone, the highest potentate, The monarchs of the French receive the crown; But visibly from his Almighty hand Have we received it. [Turning to the MAIDEN. Here stands the holy delegate of heaven, Who hath restored to you your rightful king, And rent the yoke of foreign tyranny. Her name shall equal that of holy Denis, The guardian and protector of this realm, And to her fame an altar shall be reared.
PEOPLE. Hail to the maiden, the deliverer!
[Trumpets.
KING (to JOHANNA). If thou art born of woman, like ourselves, Name aught that can augment thy happiness. But if thy fatherland is there above, If in this virgin form thou dost conceal The radiant glory of a heavenly nature, From our deluded sense remove the veil, And let us see thee in thy form of light As thou art seen in heaven, that in the dust We may bow down before thee.
[A general silence; every eye is fixed upon the MAIDEN.
JOHANNA (with a sudden cry). God! my father!
SCENE XI.
THIBAUT comes forth from the crowd, and stands opposite to her. Many voices exclaim,—
Her father!
THIBAUT. Yes, her miserable father, Who did beget her, and whom God impels Now to accuse his daughter.
BURGUNDY. Ha! What's this?
DUCHATEL. Now will the fearful truth appear!
THIBAUT (to the KING). Thou think'st That thou art rescued through the power of God? Deluded prince! Deluded multitude! Ye have been rescued through the arts of hell!
[All step back with horror.
DUNOIS. Is this man mad?
THIBAUT. Not I, but thou art mad. And this wise bishop, and these noble lords, Who think that through a weak and sinful maid The God of heaven would reveal himself. Come, let us see if to her father's face She will maintain the specious, juggling arts Wherewith she hath deluded king and people. Now, in the name of the blest Trinity, Belongst thou to the pure and holy ones?
[A general silence; all eyes are fixed upon her; she remains motionless.
SOREL. God! she is dumb!
THIBAUT. Before that awful name, Which even in the depths of hell is feared, She must be silent! She a holy one, By God commissioned? On a cursed spot It was conceived; beneath the Druid tree Where evil spirits have from olden time Their Sabbath held. There her immortal soul She bartered with the enemy of man For transient, worldly glory. Let her bare Her arm, and ye will see impressed thereon The fatal marks of hell!
BURGUNDY. Most horrible! Yet we must needs believe a father's words Who 'gainst his daughter gives his evidence.
DUNOIS. The madman cannot be believed Who in his child brings shame upon himself.
SOREL (to JOHANNA). Oh, maiden, speak! this fatal silence break! We firmly trust thee! we believe in thee! One syllable from thee, one single word Shall be sufficient. Speak! annihilate This horrid accusation. But declare Thine innocence, and we will all believe thee.
[JOHANNA remains motionless; AGNES steps back with horror.
LA HIRE. She's frightened. Horror and astonishment Impede her utterance. Before a charge So horrible e'en innocence must tremble.
[He approaches her.
Collect thyself, Johanna! innocence Hath a triumphant look, whose lightning flash Strikes slander to the earth! In noble wrath Arise! look up, and punish this base doubt, An insult to thy holy innocence.
[JOHANNA remains motionless; LA HIRE steps back; the excitement increases.
DUNOIS. Why do the people fear, the princes tremble? I'll stake my honor on her innocence! Here on the ground I throw my knightly gage; Who now will venture to maintain her guilt?
[A loud clap of thunder; all are horror-struck.
THIBAUT. Answer, by Him whose thunders roll above! Give me the lie! Proclaim thine innocence; Say that the enemy hath not thy heart!
[Another clap of thunder, louder than the first; the people fly on all sides.
BURGUNDY. God guard and save us! What appalling signs!
DUCHATEL (to the KING). Come, come, my king! Forsake this fearful place!
ARCHBISHOP (to JOHANNA). I ask thee in God's name. Art thou thus silent From consciousness of innocence or guilt? If in thy favor the dread thunder speaks, Touch with thy hand this cross, and give a sign!
[JOHANNA remains motionless. More violent peals of thunder. The KING, AGNES SOREL, the ARCHBISHOP, BURGUNDY, LA HIRE, DUCHATEL retire.
DUNOIS. Thou art my wife; I have believed in thee From the first glance, and I am still unchanged. In thee I have more faith than in these signs, Than in the thunder's voice, which speaks above. In noble anger thou art silent thus; Enveloped in thy holy innocence, Thou scornest to refute so base a charge. Still scorn it, maiden, but confide in me; I never doubted of thine innocence. Speak not one word; only extend thy hand In pledge and token that thou wilt confide In my protection and thine own good cause.
[He extends his hand to her; she turns from him with a convulsive motion; he remains transfixed with horror.
SCENE XIII.
JOHANNA, DUCHATEL, DUNOIS, afterwards RAIMOND.
DUCHATEL (returning). Johanna d'Arc! uninjured from the town The king permits you to depart. The gates Stand open to you. Fear no injury,— You are protected by the royal word. Come follow me, Dunois! You cannot here Longer abide with honor. What an issue!
[He retires. DUNOIS recovers from his stupor, casts one look upon JOHANNA, and retires. She remains standing for a moment quite alone. At length RAIMOND appears; he regards her for a time with silent sorrow, and then approaching takes her hand.
RAIMOND. Embrace this opportunity. The streets Are empty now. Your hand! I will conduct you.
[On perceiving him, she gives the first sign of consciousness. She gazes on him fixedly, and looks up to heaven; then taking his hand she retires.
Blest youth to whom those tears are given— The tears that change his earth to heaven; His best reward those melting eyes— For him new suns are in the skies!
Thy soul—a crystal river passing, Silver-clear, and sunbeam-glassing, Mays into bloom sad Autumn by thee; Night and desert, if they spy thee, To gardens laugh—with daylight shine, Lit by those happy smiles of thine! Dark with cloud the future far Goldens itself beneath thy star. Smilest thou to see the harmony Of charm the laws of Nature keep? Alas! to me the harmony Brings only cause to weep!
Holds not Hades its domain Underneath this earth of ours? Under palace, under fame, Underneath the cloud-capped towers? Stately cities soar and spread O'er your mouldering bones, ye dead! From corruption, from decay, Springs yon clove-pink's fragrant bloom; Yon gay waters wind their way From the hollows of a tomb.
From the planets thou mayest know All the change that shifts below, Fled—beneath that zone of rays, Fled to night a thousand Mays; Thrones a thousand—rising—sinking, Earth from thousand slaughters drinking Blood profusely poured as water;— Of the sceptre—of the slaughter— Wouldst thou know what trace remaineth? Seek them where the dark king reigneth!
Scarce thine eye can ope and close Ere life's dying sunset glows; Sinking sudden from its pride Into death—the Lethe tide. Ask'st thou whence thy beauties rise? Boastest thou those radiant eyes?— Or that cheek in roses dyed? All their beauty (thought of sorrow!) From the brittle mould they borrow. Heavy interest in the tomb For the brief loan of the bloom, For the beauty of the day, Death the usurer, thou must pay, In the long to-morrow!
Maiden!—Death's too strong for scorn; In the cheek the fairest, He But the fairest throne doth see Though the roses of the morn Weave the veil by beauty worn— Aye, beneath that broidered curtain, Stands the Archer stern and certain! Maid—thy Visionary hear— Trust the wild one as the sear, When he tells thee that thine eye, While it beckons to the wooer, Only lureth yet more nigh Death, the dark undoer!
Every ray shed from thy beauty Wastes the life-lamp while it beams, And the pulse's playful duty, And the blue veins' merry streams, Sport and run into the pall— Creatures of the Tyrant, all! As the wind the rainbow shatters, Death thy bright smiles rends and scatters, Smile and rainbow leave no traces;— From the spring-time's laughing graces, From all life, as from its germ, Grows the revel of the worm!
Woe, I see the wild wind wreak Its wrath upon thy rosy bloom, Winter plough thy rounded cheek, Cloud and darkness close in gloom; Blackening over, and forever, Youth's serene and silver river! Love alike and beauty o'er, Lovely and beloved no more!
Maiden, an oak that soars on high, And scorns the whirlwind's breath Behold thy Poet's youth defy The blunted dart of Death! His gaze as ardent as the light That shoots athwart the heaven, His soul yet fiercer than the light In the eternal heaven, Of Him, in whom as in an ocean-surge Creation ebbs and flows—and worlds arise and merge! Through Nature steers the poet's thought to find No fear but this—one barrier to the mind?
And dost thou glory so to think? And heaves thy bosom?—Woe! This cup, which lures him to the brink, As if divinity to drink— Has poison in its flow! Wretched, oh, wretched, they who trust To strike the God-spark from the dust! The mightiest tone the music knows, But breaks the harp-string with the sound; And genius, still the more it glows, But wastes the lamp whose life bestows The light it sheds around. Soon from existence dragged away, The watchful jailer grasps his prey: Vowed on the altar of the abused fire, The spirits I raised against myself conspire! Let—yes, I feel it two short springs away Pass on their rapid flight; And life's faint spark shall, fleeting from the clay, Merge in the Fount of Light!
And weep'st thou, Laura?—be thy tears forbid; Would'st thou my lot, life's dreariest years amid, Protract and doom?—No: sinner, dry thy tears: Would'st thou, whose eyes beheld the eagle wing Of my bold youth through air's dominion spring, Mark my sad age (life's tale of glory done)— Crawl on the sod and tremble in the sun? Hear the dull frozen heart condemn the flame That as from heaven to youth's blithe bosom came; And see the blind eyes loathing turn from all The lovely sins age curses to recall? Let me die young!—sweet sinner, dry thy tears! Yes, let the flower be gathered in its bloom! And thou, young genius, with the brows of gloom, Quench thou life's torch, while yet the flame is strong! Even as the curtain falls; while still the scene Most thrills the hearts which have its audience been; As fleet the shadows from the stage—and long When all is o'er, lingers the breathless throng!
