 | Joan of Arc, The Maid of Orleans |  |
SCENE I.
—Sunset. The Courtyard of a Hostel. Buildings on each side. The background, towards which a court is open, is formed of a landscape, in which are visible the fairy oak, a tree of large proportions, grotesquely wreathed, and a ruined chapel. On one side of the buildings are sheds for cattle.Enter Raimond, and two or three Peasants, R.
Rai.
Here, say you?
1st. Peasant (Colbert)
Yes, I'm sure I saw him steal by
these buildings, about this time last night.
2nd. Peasant (Gravelle)
Then 'tis like if we watch half
an hour he may come forth again.
Col.
Let's search for him—let's drag him forth; this
Englishman. I owe him a death for my poor murdered
father's sake!
Gra.
But one relation lost to urge your vengeance! The
invaders have reft me of all; from a man with kin and
friends around me, I stand a solitary ruined outcast!
Rai.
Who among us but owns such wrongs! Tush! they
are the burden of every tongue. Fire, famine, and the sword
are all that labour now in our hapless land, and desolation is
their harvest; the dead lie unburied, for they outnumber the
living! Curses on the tyrants that drive their hirelings on to
slaughter the innocent—Yes, let us search my friends,
there will be one devastating fiend the less on earth if we
slay one of Isabel's warhounds.
Col.
Search all round—you that way.
Rai.
I heard something stir here—the door is fast
(trying
the door of the stables or cattle sheds.)
your mattock Gravelle
invader shall die!
(As they are forcing down the door, Joan enters from the back, carrying buckets of water.
Joan.
Why, how now, masters!—would you rob me of
my young lambs, sheltered here? Why ye are as fearful
plunderers as the English!
Rai.
It is one of these plunderers we seek,—this Englishman.
Joan.
You seek him here?
Rai.
Pardon dear girl. It would be mine to guard you
and yours from wrong, but Colbert has seen him.
Joan.
Seen him!
Col.
Aye, last night—let's search. Down with the door!
Joan.
Stay friends, that is my charge. It is not my will
that you shall enter there!
Col.
What would you save?—
Joan.
I will guard my own committed trust, and I can
do so without your aid.
Col.
Will you tell us then? Do you know anything?
Rai.
Nay, tax her not with such foul treason! She harbour
an Englishman! why, a maiden of France would as soon
shelter a wolf in her lambfold! And do you suspect her?
her whose prayers and hopes have cheered you when all
else was terror? You have the key Joan?
Joan.
I have!
Rai.
And you know all that is within?
Joa.
I do!
Col.
She may be mistaken—I will go on!
Gra.
Down with the door if she will not open it.
Rai.
Mark ye, my masters, if you dream of force against
her, you have me to encounter. You don't expect me to
stand by and see the girl I adore ill-treated, because you
suspect that an Englishman has glided like a spirit through
the keyhole? Why, has she not the key? has she not told
you? Come, come, women have wilful ways! If you had
asked her, she would have let you pass; but now—well—
well—away with you, and we'll make better search for this
spirit.
(He gets them away a little.)
Joan, you are not anger'd
with me?
Joan.
Oh, no, no, you are ever kind—ever—Raimond.
Bless you for that smile, they shall not vex you.
Come this way, Colbert, come, Gravelle, let us away to the
road, and watch; he cannot escape if we post ourselves
upon the hillock, I warrant me. Forgive me, Joan, good
even.
[Exit with Gravelle and Colbert, R.
Joan.
Frank, noble Raimond! Indeed, you merit all
the love 'tis woman's to bestow; but my heart can never be
for thee. It is given entirely—fatally! Till I saw Lionel,
I thought only on the wrongs of my poor country, they
were my nightly dream, my daily vision! Ah, is it a
wonder that they should be so? is not the reality around
me in every horror war can perpetrate? France, have I not
prayed for thee? Peace, have I not wept for thee? And
yet—he!—Oh, does not mercy point the road to peace? Is
it not vengeance that desolates our country? They are
gone!—No one sees!—He must be gone too!—begone,
for ever! and I must send him hence! It must be!
(Opens the door.)
Lionel, come forth, Lionel!
Alas! alas! to part with thee now, when thou need'st more
tending yet. I hoped to see full health glow on thy cheek
again, and thanks sparkle from unclouded eyes; but we
must do our duty without the grudging hope of reward.
Your hiding is at length discovered, you must instantly begone!
Lionel.
But not unmindful of your reward! Dear,
generous girl, name what reward an English noble can pay,
and it is yours; earned, not given. Have you not saved my
life at the peril of your own, tended me many, many days,
with hourly care, healed the wounds that no less than
woman's pity could have staid from being mortal to me?
Name the worth of an earldom.
Joan.
An earldom! No, go, and show like mercy to
my countrymen.
Lion.
I am the sworn soldier of my King!
Joan,
And I should be your foe! but we will not dispute
this. Be merciful, Lionel, if you think you owe me
aught. It is all that I may ask of you; for you must begone
now, they are searching for you, and their revenge is
not satisfied with death, the road is clear if you pass yonder,
keenly as—as friendship! Go at once!
Lion.
Even thus? almost without a word? If it must
be, farewell, yet remember, Joan, that should the English
ever offer harm to you, or yours, call on the name of Lionel,
demand of them to see me if I were at my prayers; and
you shall find that for your sake I can and will save!
Joan.
You are yet weak?
Lion.
Strong enough to make an effort for safety. Joan,
heaven send the day that I may shew thee that English
hearts are grateful!
[Exit R.
Joan.
I have been very weak! yet could I watch by him,
could I sit there and see the life return and know I gave it
—know too that it might cost my own? Hear the faint
murmur of his thanks in fevered sleep—be all to him,
friend, nurse, defender—could I do this and not love? But
he is gone! He has passed safely!—they do not see him!
No, he is gone!—he is safe!—Oh, heaven, have I deserved
to be thus miserable? Can I not rejoice that he is safe?
Oh, he is gone for ever! But he is safe! I will be!—I am
—I am happy! I had forgotten my task.
(Goes C. to take up
her buckets but stands listlessly by them.)
Enter Thibaut, R. bearing Madelon, her hair is dishevelled and her dress bloodstained.
Thi.
(C)
Joan, Joan, art deaf or idiot! Look to thy sister!
Joan.
(Starting on seeing her.)
Madelon!
Thi.
Does she breathe still, or have they slain her too?
Joan.
No, no, father, she lives! Madelon, my Madelon!
Who has done this?
Thi.
The English! need you ask? She is not dead!
Joan.
No, no! The English!
Thi.
Poor wretch! perhaps, 'twere better she were dead.
It would be better all of us were dead! that something
universal as the deluge should sweep us all away, than
thus to die daily with those around us. He is murdered!
Joan)
He, father!—Who?
Thi.
Her husband! her's, your sister's husband! One
that I've called son—you brother! They have murdered
him!
Joan.
They?
Thi.
Would you ask again—the invaders! It is her
husband's blood that she is dyed with.
Heaven have mercy!
Thi.
Mercy! Call aloud for curses, girl, for they are now
our only prayers; for deepest curses, the blighting lightning,
and the storm of fire, earthquake, and pestilence,
and worse than all, man's cruelty! let's pray that they
may fall on them; and all that love them, that they love—
Joan.
Madelon!
Thi.
Do not wake her—bear her in! Here you, Louise!
Louise, I say, is she lost too? Louise!
Look here, and don't stand wondering, like Joan, but
bear in Madelon!
(To Joan.)
Don't touch her, since
you're grown so dull, Louise shall tend her, do you hear?
Leave her alone.
Aye, you were won't in dreams to pray for France,
And to see hope in visions—idle, weak thing,
Cannot you curse? Cannot you call for vengeance?
Dull dreamer! Hear, and rise with me to curses!
Marauding soldiers, hunting for their chief,
Beheld her beauty—do you wish to hear
From me, her father, what it shames a man
To speak? They seized on her, poor Claude came up,
They slew him! and his last groan was pour'd forth
For his wife's shame—his wife, your sister, Joan!
Can you not curse? (Looks at her tenderly.)
Girl, girl, how deadly pale!
And you weep now. Joan, I have wronged you, Joan!
Oh, Joan! my children, Joan! my son and daughter!
(They sink into each others arms, after a moment he starts up)
Will you not curse with me?
Joan.
Heaven! Heaven! have pity!
Enter Raimond R. his sword drawn and bleeding.
Rai.
They have escaped!
Thi.
Why need you tell me that?
All who do evil 'scape, the innocent fall
Like leaves in autumn—
Joan.
Father!
Silence, Joan!
Anguish must howl, or burst the heart that holds it.
Rai.
We clave down two of them, the rest were yielding,
When the pale man, that Colbert saw last night,
Came up with us, he snatched a sword from one,
Held us at bay, and made good their retreat.
While as they went they shouted “Lionel!”
Joan.
(R)
Lionel!
Rai.
Lionel! the man we sought.
Joan.
He sav'd them—sav'd the murderers: Lionel!
Rai.
Aye!
Thi.
He sav'd them! sav'd them, Joan!
Can you not hate? Can you not call for vengeance
On him?
Joan.
Forgive me, and forbear me, father!
I am not unduteous—I am not dull!
I am not unfeeling—I am not, my father!
Let me to Agnes' shrine!
Thi.
(L)
To dream anew!
Joan.
Father! It is not always by the strong
The victory comes. I know not what I am;
Impulses rise within me—new and strange,
And uncontroulable. Father, dear father!
'Tis not that my brain's wreck'd, for never held it
So much of thought. I know my duty, father!
I can breathe prayers, and they are for my country—
Alone for it! I have no other thought,
I can hope the destruction of the spoiler,
And yet it scarcely seems a mortal hope:
I feel a minister of solemn wrath.
In my poor sister's fate, and in Claude's death;
And in your agony I see all France,
For thousands weep, as we are weeping father!
I will not curse! I will strive not to feel!
But I will pray to smite!
(She is going L.)
Rai.
She goes to the shrine.
Joan
(Returns, R. and kneels.)
Bless me, my father! do not think me wayward!
Oh, love me father! What are home and country
But kindred's love, and parents' fondness—bless me!
For these are France to me, although they bid me
Devote myself for France: and do not doubt me,
As the hard trampling of the barbed horse
Beats fire from dullest stones. I suffer, father!
And I will do!—bless me!
Thi.
I bless thee, Joan!
MUSIC.—She rises and goes steadily towards St. Agnes shrine, L. Thibaut and Raimond go silently into the house R.
| Joan of Arc, The Maid of Orleans | |