University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—The hall of the Monastery of Fierboys. An arch, through which is seen the church of St. Katharine, a noble, cathedral-like structure, nearly filling the space. Banners of France, suits of armour, &c., hanging on the walls, within the arch, indicate a royal residence near the seat of war.
Enter Montfort. Arnaud meets him R.
Mont.
Where is the King?

Arn.
He is dismounting.

Mont.
Thanks!
Will he come hither?

Arn.
Yes, he'll pass this hall.

Mont.
He must not pass till I have speech with him.

Attendants enter R. and L. and range themselves, then Charles's officers, from the arch R., lastly The King, with La Hire, Abbot, &c.
Charles.
Tell me no more La Hire, mine ears are drunken
With the bad tidings. Henry crown'd in Paris!
My cousin Burgundy, the crown's first vassal
Desert me in my need!

La Hire.
That's scarce the worst!
Your mother, sire, the Queen.

Charles.
She too, repels me!

La Hire.
With open mocks against you I beheld her
Seat your young rival on your throne!

Charles.
No more!
Even nature war against us in the breast,
That cradled our young life. The hate she bore
My father, now with more unnatural aim
Strikes me, his son and her's!

Mont.
Sire, grant me speech with you
I come from Orleans.

Charles.
Orleans!

Mont.
(Kneeling L.)
Send us succour
We crave it sire, as men in our extremity.
It is by miracle I've pass'd the walls,
Built by the English to encircle us;
Which have long barr'd us both from help and food,
So that if hearts be firm while yet they beat,
By very famine must the English conquer,
For our gaunt warriors drop down in the streets,
And all that we can do to hold the town,
Is that the English find us dead within it.

Charles.
Mother of mercy, this is pitiful!
Orleans! the best stay of my cause! Where's Xantrailles?
Can he not beat them back?

Mont.
He's dead, my liege!

Charles.
Aye, brave men ever snatch the shield of death,
To cover them from shame. Would I could die
To save my people, or forget their wrongs.
My all upon this chance! Where are my Scotch,
The brave Earl Douglas and his followers?

Arn.
My liege, his bands have mutinied for pay,
And the brave Earl is powerless to help you.

Charles.
Shall I not find men even to see me die?
You hear your answer.

Mont.
We must yield the town!

(He retires slowly.)
Charles.
And so I yield my kingdom. I'll not ask
Of them, or any to shed more blood for me.
(Takes off his crown.)
Here is my crown, the last wealth I have left,
I have no longer need of such a bauble,
Part here among you gold and gems, and so
I have given all. Dunois!

(Seeing him.)
Enter Dunois, L.C.
Dun.
My gracious liege!

Charles.
Strange! you speak cheerly! Welcome! cousin, welcome!

Dun.
I bring you tidings worthy of a welcome;
A maid, commissioned by no earthly power,
Demands that she be brought before her King,
Herald of weal and safety to the land.
Of terror and swift vengeance to its foes.

Charles.
We cannot jest, the realm is lost, Pray spare us
Unseasonable mirth.

Dun.
Believe and triumph;
Refuse and fall indeed.

Charles.
Your speek is earnest,
What proof hath won your credence?

Dun.
I look'd on her.
And saw high purpose brightening on her brow,
Such as no human mission ever bore.
Already from her looks have foemen fled,
Herself unarm'd, unaided, and the people
Throng round her, shout and call her prophetess
And bring her hither with loud songs of triumph.

Charles.
If she bear mission more than mortal to us
She will know to whom to bear it; if she err
The imposture is declared.

The first chorus in the vision is heard. The King places La Hire upon a seat which is brought in by two attendants, he then takes his station in the crowd of followers. Dunois goes and returns with Joan, R.
Joan.
That sound speaks certainty. It all shall happen
As it hath been foretold. (Sees La Hire.)
Dare you sit there?
To mock the solemn embassy I bear?
Dare you encounter all the wrath I bring?
(La Hire involuntarily rises, and quits the place.)
To vindicate my mission? King! your throne!
Nor meet with idle dalliance the fate
That speaks to you in me? Put on your crown,
For crowned I beheld you.
The King replacing his crown, resumes his seat, and then all arranging themselves in a very different manner from before, form the first Tableau of the vision. Joan kneels at The King's feet.
King! all hail!

(General acclamation.)
Dun.
Most happy omen!

Charles.
You have seen me then?

Joan.
I've never left till now my native fields
Where you have never been, at Dom Remi,
Yet have I seen you; and to look upon you.
Assures me of the truth of all to come.

Charles.
What art thou?

Joan.
But an humble village girl
That liv'd by tending on my father's sheep.

Abbot.
Can such a one work wonders, and restore
With power supernal the estate of France?

Joan.
Lord, Abbot, you should know that oft humility
Is chosen to confound the proud.

Abbot.
If so
Give, us a sign and proof of such high calling.

Joan.
Look round you. See, the land is desolate;
Fire and the sword make earth the reign of hell!
Need you another sign?

Abbot.
For the pretence
Of inspiration.

Joan.
The pretence: Lord Abbot!
I came as doth the fresh wind, when the pestilence
Stagnates all life; to do the high behests,
Which are my nature, and which are no more
My own will, than that wind's, when it restores
Health to the sick. I come with no pretence
But my devotion to my task.

Charles.
She answers
Firmly.

Dun.
And truly.

Joan.
Pause you yet for signs?
Are they not in your hearts and sufferings?
Is there one here whose blood cries not on murder
Of some dear friend, of parent or of child?
And he is happy if the butchery
Hath struck no deeper? Are these bloods so tame,
That all the shames your sisters, children, wives,
Have suffer'd, dooming them to living death,
Will let you pause, and calmly ask for signs?
Such murder have I seen, and such worse cruelty
And I, a woman, sate not tamely down
To wring my hands, but pray'd and arm'd for vengeance,
Wrestled with wishes, till my hopes were signs,
My miseries signs, anguish'd remorse a sign,
And all the agonies that man appeals with,
To heaven, the cry of blood, unerring signs
That vengeance should be granted!

Dun.
Wherefore pause we?

Joan.
You are wise to palter, when you stake so deeply!
Nobles of France, which of you hath a rood
Of land, or a poor vassal if the English,
Strike but another blow? Are ye not beaten
Till even honour turns her back on you
And cries “Shame,” to the chivalry of France?
Ask of your fathers' bones within their tombs
A sign! and the grim spectres shall rise up
And shout to you “Your house's infamy,”
Where not a man unbeaten, or a maid
Unstain'd, survives to bear that house's name.
Yes, Knights of France, you've time to pause for signs!

Dun.
My liege—my friends!

Arn.
For France! let our swords answer!

Joan.
(Kneels,)
King! by the glory of thy crown, cast down
And trampled on the earth, by all the mockeries
That now await thee from insulting foes,
By the cold life imprisonment they doom thee—
By thy long line extinguish'd and forgotten—
By all the curses which thy people pour
On him who swore to guard them, yet betrays them
And as thou'lt answer to the highest crown—
In heaven's and thy country's cause, send forth
Her sons to victory!

All.
To victory!

(All strike their swords on their shields)
Joan
(C)
Hear—hear ye that! ye who demand a sign,
Look on each eye, behold each swelling breast—
List to the thrilling shout, and take the deeds
That wait on such inspirings for your sign!

Charles
Take thou this sword, the constable of France,
Resign'd it but this morn—and now I place it
In thy more worthy hand.

Joan
Not so my liege!
Go to St. Katharine's church—dig up the stone
Before the altar, thence bring sword and armour.
On the sword blade three fleur-de-lis are graven;
These only must I bear!

Abbot,
That altar stone
This morning hath been mov'd—the arms there found
Are here by my command. Maiden, go forth
And conquer, for thou speakest truth.

(The sword and armour are brought by his attendants to her.)
Joan
Enough.
Who here will bear a letter to the citizens
Of Orleans, that when they behold our banner
And hear our onset cry, they sally forth.
(Raimond advances from the throng.)
Thou!

Rai.
(L.C,)
I! I came to follow all thy fortunes
Though I may not partake them.

Joan
(R.e.)
Thou!—Yet be it so—
The best, and thou art one—are sacrifices
Fit for our freedom's altar. Be the letter
Written and given to him. 'Tis thy life
Thou put'st in peril.

Rai.
I know well its danger—
I am prepared, even were the worst assured.

Joan
Such are the hearts we want, for where such are,
Freedom and peace, glory, security,
Never desert the land. Give me my arms,
Then all that love their land, their king, their homes,
Follow to Orleans! Follow me, and turn not,
Till you behold me turn!—Follow to Orleans!

(Chorus. The white banner described in the second vision is brought. Joan receives it with recognition and reverence, she wahes it, and all rush off following her, C)