[JOHANNA listens with close attention, and places the helmet on her head.

THIBAUT. But where were then our heroes? Where the swords Of Saintrailles, and La Hire, and brave Dunois, Of France the bulwark, that the haughty foe With such impetuous force thus onward rushed? Where is the king? Can he supinely see His kingdom's peril and his cities' fall?

BERTRAND. The king at Chinon holds his court; he lacks Soldiers to keep the field. Of what avail The leader's courage, and the hero's arm, When pallid fear doth paralyze the host? A sudden panic, as if sent from God, Unnerves the courage of the bravest men. In vain the summons of the king resounds As when the howling of the wolf is heard, The sheep in terror gather side by side, So Frenchmen, careless of their ancient fame, Seek only now the shelter of the towns. One knight alone, I have been told, has brought A feeble company, and joins the king With sixteen banners.

JOHANNA (quickly). What's the hero's name?

BERTRAND. 'Tis Baudricour. But much I fear the knight Will not be able to elude the foe, Who track him closely with too numerous hosts.

JOHANNA. Where halts the knight? Pray tell me, if you know.

BERTRAND. About a one day's march from Vaucouleurs.

THIBAUT (to JOHANNA). Why, what is that to thee? Thou dost inquire Concerning matters which become thee not.

BERTRAND. The foe being now so strong, and from the king No safety to be hoped, at Vaucouleurs They have with unanimity resolved To yield them to the Duke of Burgundy. Thus we avoid the foreign yoke, and still Continue by our ancient royal line; Ay, to the ancient crown we may fall back Should France and Burgundy be reconciled.

JOHANNA (as if inspired). Speak not of treaty! Speak not of surrender! The savior comes, he arms him for the fight. The fortunes of the foe before the walls Of Orleans shall be wrecked! His hour is come, He now is ready for the reaper's hand, And with her sickle will the maid appear, And mow to earth the harvest of his pride. She from the heavens will tear his glory down, Which he had hung aloft among the stars; Despair not! Fly not! for ere yonder corn Assumes its golden hue, or ere the moon Displays her perfect orb, no English horse Shall drink the rolling waters of the Loire.

BERTRAND. Alas! no miracle will happen now!

JOHANNA. Yes, there shall yet be one—a snow-white dove Shall fly, and with the eagle's boldness, tear The birds of prey which rend her fatherland. She shall o'erthrow this haughty Burgundy, Betrayer of the kingdom; Talbot, too, The hundred-handed, heaven-defying scourge; This Salisbury, who violates our fanes, And all these island robbers shall she drive Before her like a flock of timid lambs. The Lord will be with her, the God of battle; A weak and trembling creature he will choose, And through a tender maid proclaim his power, For he is the Almighty!

THIBAULT. What strange power Hath seized the maiden?

RAIMOND. Doubtless 'tis the helmet Which doth inspire her with such martial thoughts. Look at your daughter. Mark her flashing eye, Her glowing cheek, which kindles as with fire.

JOHANNA. This realm shall fall! This ancient land of fame, The fairest that, in his majestic course, The eternal sun surveys—this paradise, Which, as the apple of his eye, God loves— Endure the fetters of a foreign yoke? Here were the heathen scattered, and the cross And holy image first were planted here; Here rest St. Louis' ashes, and from hence The troops went forth who set Jerusalem free.

BERTRAND (in astonishment). Hark how she speaks! Why, whence can she obtain This glorious revelation? Father Arc! A wondrous daughter God hath given you!

JOHANNA. We shall no longer serve a native prince! The king, who never dies, shall pass away— The guardian of the sacred plough, who fills The earth with plenty, who protects our herds, Who frees the bondmen from captivity, Who gathers all his cities round his throne— Who aids the helpless, and appals the base, Who envies no one, for he reigns supreme; Who is a mortal, yet an angel too, Dispensing mercy on the hostile earth. For the king's throne, which glitters o'er with gold, Affords a shelter for the destitute; Power and compassion meet together there, The guilty tremble, but the just draw near, And with the guardian lion fearless sport! The stranger king, who cometh from afar, Whose fathers' sacred ashes do not lie Interred among us; can he love our land? Who was not young among our youth, whose heart Respondeth not to our familiar words, Can he be as a father to our sons?

THIBAUT. God save the king and France! We're peaceful folk, Who neither wield the sword, nor rein the steed. —Let us await the king whom victory crowns; The fate of battle is the voice of God. He is our lord who crowns himself at Rheims, And on his head receives the holy oil. —Come, now to work! come! and let every one Think only of the duty of the hour! Let the earth's great ones for the earth contend, Untroubled we may view the desolation, For steadfast stand the acres which we till. The flames consume our villages, our corn Is trampled 'neath the tread of warlike steeds; With the new spring new harvests reappear, And our light huts are quickly reared again!

[They all retire except the maiden.



SCENE IV.

JOHANNA (alone).

Farewell ye mountains, ye beloved glades, Ye lone and peaceful valleys, fare ye well! Through you Johanna never more may stray! For, ay, Johanna bids you now farewell. Ye meads which I have watered, and ye trees Which I have planted, still in beauty bloom! Farewell ye grottos, and ye crystal springs! Sweet echo, vocal spirit of the vale. Who sang'st responsive to my simple strain, Johanna goes, and ne'er returns again.

Ye scenes where all my tranquil joys I knew, Forever now I leave you far behind! Poor foldless lambs, no shepherd now have you! O'er the wide heath stray henceforth unconfined! For I to danger's field, of crimson hue, Am summoned hence another flock to find. Such is to me the spirit's high behest; No earthly, vain ambition fires my breast.

For who in glory did on Horeb's height Descend to Moses in the bush of flame, And bade him go and stand in Pharaoh's sight— Who once to Israel's pious shepherd came, And sent him forth, his champion in the fight,— Who aye hath loved the lowly shepherd train,— He, from these leafy boughs, thus spake to me, "Go forth! Thou shalt on earth my witness be.

"Thou in rude armor must thy limbs invest, A plate of steel upon thy bosom wear; Vain earthly love may never stir thy breast, Nor passion's sinful glow be kindled there. Ne'er with the bride-wreath shall thy locks be dressed, Nor on thy bosom bloom an infant fair; But war's triumphant glory shall be thine; Thy martial fame all women's shall outshine.

"For when in fight the stoutest hearts despair, When direful ruin threatens France, forlorn, Then thou aloft my oriflamme shalt bear, And swiftly as the reaper mows the corn, Thou shalt lay low the haughty conqueror; His fortune's wheel thou rapidly shalt turn, To Gaul's heroic sons deliverance bring, Relieve beleaguered Rheims, and crown thy king!"

The heavenly spirit promised me a sign; He sends the helmet, it hath come from him. Its iron filleth me with strength divine, I feel the courage of the cherubim; As with the rushing of a mighty wind It drives me forth to join the battles din; The clanging trumpets sound, the chargers rear, And the loud war-cry thunders in mine ear.

[She goes out.



ACT I.

SCENE I.

The royal residence at Chinon. DUNOIS and DUCHATEL.

DUNOIS. No longer I'll endure it. I renounce This recreant monarch who forsakes himself. My valiant heart doth bleed, and I could rain Hot tear-drops from mine eyes, that robber-swords Partition thus the royal realm of France; That cities, ancient as the monarchy, Deliver to the foe the rusty keys, While here in idle and inglorious ease We lose the precious season of redemption. Tidings of Orleans' peril reach mine ear, Hither I sped from distant Normandy, Thinking, arrayed in panoply of war, To find the monarch with his marshalled hosts; And find him—here! begirt with troubadours, And juggling knaves, engaged in solving riddles, And planning festivals in Sorel's honor, As brooded o'er the land profoundest peace! The Constable hath gone; he will not brook Longer the spectacle of shame. I, too, Depart, and leave him to his evil fate.

DUCHATEL. Here comes the king.



SCENE II.

KING CHARLES. The same.

CHARLES. The Constable hath sent us back his sword And doth renounce our service. Now, by heaven! He thus hath rid us of a churlish man, Who insolently sought to lord it o'er us.

DUNOIS. A man is precious in such perilous times; I would not deal thus lightly with his loss.

CHARLES. Thou speakest thus from love of opposition; While he was here thou never wert his friend.

DUNOIS. He was a tiresome, proud, vexatious fool, Who never could resolve. For once, however, He hath resolved. Betimes he goeth hence, Where honor can no longer be achieved.

CHARLES. Thou'rt in a pleasant humor; undisturbed I'll leave thee to enjoy it. Hark, Duchatel! Ambassadors are here from old King Rene, Of tuneful songs the master, far renowned. Let them as honored guests be entertained, And unto each present a chain of gold. [To the Bastard. Why smilest thou, Dunois?

DUNOIS. That from thy mouth Thou shakest golden chains.

DUCHATEL. Alas! my king! No gold existeth in thy treasury.

CHARLES. Then gold must be procured. It must not be That bards unhonored from our court depart. 'Tis they who make our barren sceptre bloom, 'Tis they who wreath around our fruitless crown Life's joyous branch of never-fading green. Reigning, they justly rank themselves as kings, Of gentle wishes they erect their throne, Their harmless realm existeth not in space; Hence should the bard accompany the king, Life's higher sphere the heritage of both!

DUCHATEL. My royal liege! I sought to spare thine ear So long as aid and counsel could be found; Now dire necessity doth loose my tongue. Naught hast thou now in presents to bestow, Thou hast not wherewithal to live to-morrow! The spring-tide of thy fortune is run out, And lowest ebb is in thy treasury! The soldiers, disappointed of their pay, With sullen murmurs, threaten to retire. My counsel faileth, not with royal splendor But meagerly, to furnish out thy household.

CHARLES. My royal customs pledge, and borrow gold From the Lombardians.

DUCHATEL. Sire, thy revenues, Thy royal customs are for three years pledged.

DUNOIS. And pledge meanwhile and kingdom both are lost.

CHARLES. Still many rich and beauteous lands are ours.

DUNOIS. So long as God and Talbot's sword permit! When Orleans falleth into English hands Then with King Rene thou may'st tend thy sheep!

CHARLES. Still at this king thou lov'st to point thy jest; Yet 'tis this lackland monarch who to-day Hath with a princely crown invested me.

DUNOIS. Not, in the name of heaven, with that of Naples, Which is for sale, I hear, since he kept sheep.

CHARLES. It is a sportive festival, a jest, Wherein he giveth to his fancy play, To found a world all innocent and pure In this barbaric, rude reality. Yet noble—ay, right royal is his aim! He will again restore the golden age, When gentle manners reigned, when faithful love The heroic hearts of valiant knights inspired, And noble women, whose accomplished taste Diffuseth grace around, in judgment sat. The old man dwelleth in those bygone times, And in our workday world would realize The dreams of ancient bards, who picture life 'Mid bowers celestial, throned on golden clouds. He hath established hence a court of love Where valiant knights may dwell, and homage yield To noble women, who are there enthroned, And where pure love and true may find a home. Me he hath chosen as the prince of love.

DUNOIS. I am not such a base, degenerate churl As love's dominion rudely to assail. I am her son, from her derive my name, And in her kingdom lies my heritage. The Prince of Orleans was my sire, and while No woman's heart was proof against his love, No hostile fortress could withstand his shock! Wilt thou, indeed, with honor name thyself The prince of love—be bravest of the brave! As I have read in those old chronicles, Love aye went coupled with heroic deeds, And valiant heroes, not inglorious shepherds, So legends tell us, graced King Arthur's board. The man whose valor is not beauty's shield Is all unworthy of her golden prize. Here the arena! combat for the crown, Thy royal heritage! With knightly sword Thy lady's honor and thy realm defend— And hast thou with hot valor snatched the crown From streams of hostile blood,—then is the time, And it would well become thee as a prince, Love's myrtle chaplet round thy brows to wreathe.

CHARLES (to a PAGE, who enters). What is the matter?

PAGE. Senators from Orleans Entreat an audience, sire.

CHARLES. Conduct them hither! [PAGE retires. Doubtless they succor need; what can I do, Myself all-succorless!



SCENE III.

The same. Three SENATORS.

CHARLES. Welcome, my trusty citizens of Orleans! What tidings bring ye from my faithful town? Doth she continue with her wonted zeal Still bravely to withstand the leaguering foe?

SENATOR. Ah, sire! the city's peril is extreme; And giant ruin, waxing hour by hour, Still onward strides. The bulwarks are destroyed— The foe at each assault advantage gains; Bare of defenders are the city walls, For with rash valor forth our soldiers rush, While few, alas! return to view their homes, And famine's scourge impendeth o'er the town. In this extremity the noble Count Of Rochepierre, commander of the town, Hath made a compact with the enemy, According to old custom, to yield up, On the twelfth day, the city to the foe, Unless, meanwhile, before the town appear A host of magnitude to raise the siege.

[DUNOIS manifests the strongest indignation.

CHARLES. The interval is brief.

SENATOR. We hither come, Attended by a hostile retinue, To implore thee, sire, to pity thy poor town, And to send succor ere the appointed day, When, if still unrelieved, she must surrender.

DUNOIS. And could Saintrailles consent to give his voice To such a shameful compact?

SENATOR. Never, sir! Long as the hero lived, none dared to breathe A single word of treaty or surrender.

DUNOIS. He then is dead?

SENATOR. The noble hero fell, His monarch's cause defending on our walls.

CHARLES. What! Saintrailles dead! Oh, in that single man A host is foundered!

[A Knight enters and speaks apart with DUNOIS, who starts with surprise.

DUNOIS. That too!

CHARLES. Well? What is it?

DUNOIS. Count Douglass sendeth here. The Scottish troops Revolt, and threaten to retire at once. Unless their full arrears are paid to-day.

CHARLES. Duchatel!

DUCHATEL (shrugs his shoulders). Sire! I know not what to counsel.

CHARLES. Pledge, promise all, even unto half my realm.

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

CHARLES. They are the finest troops of all my hosts! They must not now, not now abandon me!

SENATOR (throwing himself at the KING'S feet). Oh, king, assist us! Think of our distress!

CHARLES (in despair). How! Can I summon armies from the earth? Or grow a cornfield on my open palm? Rend me in pieces! Pluck my bleeding heart Forth from my breast, and coin it 'stead of gold! I've blood for you, but neither gold nor troops.

[He sees SOREL approach, and hastens towards her with outstretched arms.



SCENE IV.

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

CHARLES. My Agnes! Oh, my love! My dearest life! Thou comest here to snatch me from despair! Refuge I take within thy loving arms! Possessing thee I feel that nothing is lost.

SOREL. My king, beloved! [looking round with an anxious, inquiring gaze. Dunois! Say, is it true, Duchatel?

DUCHATEL. 'Tis, alas!

SOREL. So great the need? No treasure left? The soldiers will disband?

DUCHATEL. Alas! It is too true!

SOREL (giving him the casket). Here-here is gold, Here too are jewels! Melt my silver down! Sell, pledge my castles—on my fair domains In Provence—treasure raise, turn all to gold, Appease the troops! No time to be lost!

[She urges him to depart.

CHARLES. Well now, Dunois! Duchatel! Do ye still Account me poor, when I possess the crown Of womankind? She's nobly born as I; The royal blood of Valois not more pure; The most exalted throne she would adorn— Yet she rejects it with disdain, and claims No other title than to be my love. No gift more costly will she e'er receive Than early flower in winter, or rare fruit! No sacrifice on my part she permits, Yet sacrificeth all she had to me! With generous spirit she doth venture all Her wealth and fortune in my sinking bark.

DUNOIS. Ay, she is mad indeed, my king, as thou; She throws her all into a burning house, And draweth water in the leaky vessel Of the Danaides. Thee she will not save, And in thy ruin but involve herself.

SOREL. Believe him not! Full many a time he hath Perilled his life for thee, and now, forsooth, Chafeth because I risk my worthless gold! How? Have I freely sacrificed to thee What is esteemed far more than gold and pearls, And shall I now hold back the gifts of fortune? Oh, come! Let my example challenge thee To noble self-denial! Let's at once Cast off the needless ornaments of life! Thy courtiers metamorphose into soldiers; Thy gold transmute to iron; all thou hast, With resolute daring, venture for thy crown! Peril and want we will participate! Let us bestride the war-horse, and expose Our tender person to the fiery glow Of the hot sun, take for our canopy The clouds above, and make the stones our pillow. The rudest warrior, when he sees his king Bear hardship and privation like the meanest Will patiently endure his own hard lot!

CHARLES (laughing). Ay! now is realized an ancient word Of prophesy, once uttered by a nun Of Clairmont, in prophetic mood, who said, That through a woman's aid I o'er my foes Should triumph, and achieve my father's crown. Far off I sought her in the English camp; I strove to reconcile a mother's heart; Here stands the heroine—my guide to Rheims! My Agnes! I shall triumph through thy love!

SOREL. Thou'lt triumph through the valiant swords of friends.

CHARLES. And from my foes' dissensions much I hope For sure intelligence hath reached mine ear, That 'twixt these English lords and Burgundy Things do not stand precisely as they did; Hence to the duke I have despatched La Hire, To try if he can lead my angry vassal Back to his ancient loyalty and faith: Each moment now I look for his return.

DUCHATEL (at the window). A knight e'en now dismounteth in the court.

CHARLES. A welcome messenger! We soon shall learn Whether we're doomed to conquer or to yield.



SCENE V.

The same. LA HIRE.

CHARLES (meeting him). Hope bringest thou, or not? Be brief, La Hire, Out with thy tidings! What must we expect?

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

CHARLES. The haughty duke will not be reconciled! Speak! How did he receive my embassy?

LA HIRE. His first and unconditional demand, Ere he consent to listen to thine errand, Is that Duchatel be delivered up, Whom he doth name the murderer of his sire.

CHARLES. This base condition we reject with scorn!

LA HIRE. Then be the league dissolved ere it commence!

CHARLES. Hast thou thereon, as I commanded thee, Challenged the duke to meet him in fair fight On Montereau's bridge, whereon his father fell?

LA HIRE. Before him on the ground I flung thy glove, And said: "Thou wouldst forget thy majesty, And like a knight do battle for thy realm." He scornfully rejoined "He needed not To fight for that which he possessed already, But if thou wert so eager for the fray, Before the walls of Orleans thou wouldst find him, Whither he purposed going on the morrow;" Thereon he laughing turned his back upon me.

CHARLES. Say, did not justice raise her sacred voice, Within the precincts of my parliament?

LA HIRE. The rage of party, sire, hath silenced her. An edict of the parliament declares Thee and thy race excluded from the throne.

DUNOIS. These upstart burghers' haughty insolence!

CHARLES. Hast thou attempted with my mother aught?

LA HIRE. With her?

CHARLES. Ay! How did she demean herself?

LA HIRE (after a few moments' reflection). I chanced to step within St. Denis' walls Precisely at the royal coronation. The crowds were dressed as for a festival; Triumphal arches rose in every street Through which the English monarch was to pass. The way was strewed with flowers, and with huzzas, As France some brilliant conquest had achieved, The people thronged around the royal car.

SOREL. They could huzza—huzza, while trampling thus Upon a gracious sovereign's loving heart!

LA HIRE. I saw young Harry Lancaster—the boy— On good St. Lewis' regal chair enthroned; On either side his haughty uncles stood, Bedford and Gloucester, and before him kneeled, To render homage for his lands, Duke Philip.

CHARLES. Oh, peer dishonored! Oh, unworthy cousin!

LA HIRE. The child was timid, and his footing lost As up the steps he mounted towards the throne. An evil omen! murmured forth the crowd, And scornful laughter burst on every side. Then forward stepped Queen Isabel—thy mother, And—but it angers me to utter it!

CHARLES. Say on.

LA HIRE. Within her arms she clasped the boy, And herself placed him on thy father's throne.

CHARLES. Oh, mother! mother!

LA HIRE. E'en the murderous bands Of the Burgundians, at this spectacle, Evinced some tokens of indignant shame. The queen perceived it, and addressed the crowds, Exclaiming with loud voice: "Be grateful, Frenchmen, That I engraft upon a sickly stock A healthy scion, and redeem you from The misbegotten son of a mad sire!"

[The KING hides his face; AGNES hastens towards him and clasps him in her arms; all the bystanders express aversion and horror.

DUNOIS. She-wolf of France! Rage-breathing Megara!

CHARLES (after a pause, to the SENATORS). Yourselves have heard the posture of affairs. Delay no longer, back return to Orleans, And bear this message to my faithful town; I do absolve my subjects from their oath, Their own best interests let them now consult, And yield them to the Duke of Burgundy; 'Yclept the Good, he need must prove humane.

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

SENATOR (kneels down). My king! Abandon not thy faithful town! Consign her not to England's harsh control. She is a precious jewel in the crown, And none hath more inviolate faith maintained Towards the kings, thy royal ancestors.

DUNOIS. Have we been routed? Is it lawful, sire, To leave the English masters of the field, Without a single stroke to save the town? And thinkest thou, with careless breath, forsooth, Ere blood hath flowed, rashly to give away The fairest city from the heart of France?

CHARLES. Blood hath been poured forth freely, and in vain The hand of heaven is visibly against me; In every battle is my host o'erthrown, I am rejected of my parliament, My capital, my people, hail me foe, Those of my blood,—my nearest relatives,— Forsake me and betray—and my own mother Doth nurture at her breast the hostile brood. Beyond the Loire we will retire, and yield To the o'ermastering hand of destiny Which sideth with the English.

SOREL. God forbid That we in weak despair should quit this realm! This utterance came not from thy heart, my king, Thy noble heart, which hath been sorely riven By the fell deed of thy unnatural mother, Thou'lt be thyself again, right valiantly Thou'lt battle with thine adverse destiny, Which doth oppose thee with relentless ire.

CHARLES (lost in gloomy thought). Is it not true? A dark and ominous doom Impendeth o'er the heaven-abandoned house Of Valois—there preside the avenging powers, To whom a mother's crime unbarred the way. For thirty years my sire in madness raved; Already have three elder brothers been Mowed down by death; 'tis the decree of heaven, The house of the Sixth Charles is doomed to fall.

SOREL. In thee 'twill rise with renovated life! Oh, in thyself have faith!—believe me, king, Not vainly hath a gracious destiny Redeemed thee from the ruin of thy house, And by thy brethren's death exalted thee, The youngest born, to an unlooked-for throne Heaven in thy gentle spirit hath prepared The leech to remedy the thousand ills By party rage inflicted on the land. The flames of civil discord thou wilt quench, And my heart tells me thou'lt establish peace, And found anew the monarchy of France.

CHARLES. Not I! The rude and storm-vexed times require A pilot formed by nature to command. A peaceful nation I could render happy A wild, rebellious people not subdue. I never with the sword could open hearts Against me closed in hatred's cold reserve.

SOREL. The people's eye is dimmed, an error blinds them, But this delusion will not long endure; The day is not far distant when the love Deep rooted in the bosom of the French, Towards their native monarch, will revive, Together with the ancient jealousy, Which forms a barrier 'twixt the hostile nations. The haughty foe precipitates his doom. Hence, with rash haste abandon not the field, With dauntless front contest each foot of ground, As thine own heart defend the town of Orleans! Let every boat be sunk beneath the wave, Each bridge be burned, sooner than carry thee Across the Loire, the boundary of thy realm, The Stygian flood, o'er which there's no return.

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 maid? 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, To which the pious pilgrims oft repaired; Hard by a holy oak, of blessed power, Standeth, far-famed through wonders manifold. Beneath the oak's broad shade I loved to sit Tending my flock—my heart still drew me there. And if by chance among the desert hills A lambkin strayed, 'twas shown me in a dream, When in the shadow of this oak I slept. And once, when through the night beneath this tree In pious adoration I had sat, Resisting sleep, the Holy One appeared, Bearing a sword and banner, otherwise Clad like a shepherdess, and thus she spake: "'Tis I; arise, Johanna! leave thy flock, The Lord appoints thee to another task! Receive this banner! Gird thee with this sword! Therewith exterminate my people's foes; Conduct to Rheims thy royal master's son, And crown him with the kingly diadem!" And I made answer: "How may I presume To undertake such deeds, a tender maid, Unpractised in the dreadful art of war!" And she replied: "A maiden pure and chaste Achieves whate'er on earth is glorious If she to earthly love ne'er yields her heart. Look upon me! a virgin, like thyself; I to the Christ, the Lord divine, gave birth, And am myself divine!" Mine eyelids then She touched, and when I upward turned my amaze, Heaven's wide expanse was filled with angel-boys, Who bore white lilies in their hands, while tones Of sweetest music floated through the air. And thus on three successive nights appeared The Holy One, and cried,—"Arise, Johanna! The Lord appoints thee to another task!" And when the third night she revealed herself, Wrathful she seemed, and chiding spake these words: "Obedience, woman's duty here on earth; Severe endurance is her heavy doom; She must be purified through discipline; Who serveth here, is glorified above!" While thus she spake, she let her shepherd garb Fail from her, and as Queen of Heaven stood forth Enshrined in radiant light, while golden clouds Upbore her slowly to the realms of bliss.

[All are moved; AGNES SOREL weeping, hides her face on the bosom of the KING.

ARCHBISHOP (after a long pause). Before divine credentials such as these Each doubt of earthly prudence must subside, Her deeds attest the truth of what she speaks, For God alone such wonders can achieve.

DUNOIS. I credit not her wonders, but her eyes Which beam with innocence and purity.

CHARLES. Am I, a sinner, worthy of such favor? Infallible, All-searching eye, thou seest Mine inmost heart, my deep humility!

JOHANNA. Humility shines brightly in the skies; Thou art abased, hence God exalteth thee.

CHARLES. Shall I indeed withstand mine enemies?

JOHANNA. France I will lay submissive at thy feet!

CHARLES. And Orleans, say'st thou, will not be surrendered?

JOHANNA. The Loire shall sooner roll its waters back.

CHARLES. Shall I in triumph enter into Rheims?

JOHANNA. I through ten thousand foes will lead you there.

[The knights make a noise with their lances and shields, and evince signs of courage.

DUNOIS. Appoint the maiden to command the host! We follow blindly whereso'er she leads! The Holy One's prophetic eye shall guide, And this brave sword from danger shall protect her!

LA HIRE. A universe in arms we will not fear, If she, the mighty one, precede our troops. The God of battle walketh by her side; Let her conduct us on to victory!

[The knights clang their arms and step forward.

CHARLES. Yes, holy maiden, do thou lead mine host; My chiefs and warriors shall submit to thee. This sword of matchless temper, proved in war, Sent back in anger by the Constable, Hath found a hand more worthy. Prophetess, Do thou receive it, and henceforward be——

JOHANNA. No, noble Dauphin! conquest to my liege Is not accorded through this instrument Of earthly might. I know another sword Wherewith I am to conquer, which to thee, I, as the Spirit taught, will indicate; Let it be hither brought.

CHARLES. Name it, Johanna.

JOHANNA. Send to the ancient town of Fierbois; There in Saint Catherine's churchyard is a vault Where lie in heaps the spoils of bygone war. Among them is the sword which I must use. It by three golden lilies may be known, Upon the blade impressed. Let it be brought For thou, my liege, shalt conquer through this sword.

CHARLES. Perform what she commands.

JOHANNA. And a white banner, Edged with a purple border, let me bear. Upon this banner let the Queen of Heaven Be pictured with the beauteous Jesus child Floating in glory o'er this earthly ball. For so the Holy Mother showed it me.

CHARLES. So be it as thou sayest.

JOHANNA (to the ARCHBISHOP). Reverend bishop; Lay on my head thy consecrated hands! Pronounce a blessing, Father, on thy child!

[She kneels down.

ARCHBISHOP. Not blessings to receive, but to dispense Art thou appointed. Go, with power divine! But we are sinners all and most unworthy.

[She rises: a PAGE enters.

PAGE. A herald from the English generals.

JOHANNA. Let him appear, for he is sent by God!

[The KING motions to the PAGE, who retires.



SCENE XI.

The HERALD. The same.

CHARLES. Thy tidings, herald? What thy message! Speak!

HERALD. Who is it, who for Charles of Valois, The Count of Pointhieu, in this presence speaks?

DUNOIS. Unworthy herald! base, insulting knave! Dost thou presume the monarch of the French Thus in his own dominions to deny? Thou art protected by thine office, else——

HERALD. One king alone is recognized by France, And he resideth in the English camp.

CHARLES. Peace, peace, good cousin! Speak thy message, herald!

HERALD. My noble general laments the blood Which hath already flowed, and still must flow. Hence, in the scabbard holding back the sword, Before by storm the town of Orleans falls, He offers thee an amicable treaty.

CHARLES. Proceed!

JOHANNA (stepping forward). Permit me, Dauphin, in thy stead, To parley with this herald.

CHARLES. Do so, maid! Determine thou, for peace, or bloody war.

JOHANNA (to the HERALD). Who sendeth thee? Who speaketh through thy mouth?

HERALD. The Earl of Salisbury; the British chief.

JOHANNA. Herald, 'tis false! The earl speaks not through thee. Only the living speak, the dead are silent.

HERALD. The earl is well, and full of lusty strength; He lives to bring down ruin on your heads.

JOHANNA. When thou didst quit the British army he lived. This morn, while gazing from Le Tournelle's tower, A ball from Orleans struck him to the ground. Smilest thou that I discern what is remote? Not to my words give credence; but believe The witness of thine eyes! his funeral train Thou shalt encounter as you goest hence! Now, herald, speak, and do thine errand here.

HERALD. If what is hidden thou canst thus reveal, Thou knowest mine errand ere I tell it thee.

JOHANNA. It boots me not to know it. But do thou Give ear unto my words! This message bear In answer to the lords who sent thee here. Monarch of England, and ye haughty dukes, Bedford and Gloucester, regents of this realm! To heaven's high King you are accountable For all the blood that hath been shed. Restore The keys of all the cities ta'en by force In opposition to God's holy law! The maiden cometh from the King of Heaven And offers you or peace or bloody war. Choose ye! for this I say, that you may know it: To you this beauteous realm is not assigned By Mary's son;—but God hath given it To Charles, my lord and Dauphin, who ere long Will enter Paris with a monarch's pomp, Attended by the great ones of his realm. Now, herald, go, and speedily depart, For ere thou canst attain the British camp And do thine errand, is the maiden there, To plant the sign of victory at Orleans.

[She retires. In the midst of a general movement, the curtain falls.



ACT II.

Landscape, bounded by rocks.



SCENE I.

TALBOT and LIONEL, English generals, PHILIP, DUKE OF BURGUNDY, FASTOLFE, and CHATILLON, with soldiers and banners.

TALBOT. Here let us make a halt beneath these rocks, And pitch our camp, in case our scattered troops, Dispersed in panic fear, again should rally. Choose trusty sentinels, and guard the heights! 'Tis true the darkness shields us from pursuit, And sure I am, unless the foe have wings, We need not fear surprisal. Still 'tis well To practice caution, for we have to do With a bold foe, and have sustained defeat.

[FASTOLFE goes out with the soldiers.

LIONEL. Defeat! My general, do not speak that word. It stings me to the quick to think the French To-day have seen the backs of Englishmen. Oh, Orleans! Orleans! Grave of England's glory! Our honor lies upon thy fatal plains Defeat most ignominious and burlesque! Who will in future years believe the tale! The victors of Poictiers and Agincourt, Cressy's bold heroes, routed by a woman?

BURGUNDY. That must console us. Not by mortal power, But by the devil have we been o'erthrown!

TALBOT. The devil of our own stupidity! How, Burgundy? Do princes quake and fear Before the phantom which appals the vulgar? Credulity is but a sorry cloak For cowardice. Your people first took flight.

BURGUNDY. None stood their ground. The flight was general.

TALBOT. 'Tis false! Your wing fled first. You wildly broke Into our camp, exclaiming: "Hell is loose, The devil combats on the side of France!" And thus you brought confusion 'mong our troops.

LIONEL. You can't deny it. Your wing yielded first.

BURGUNDY. Because the brunt of battle there commenced.

TALBOT. The maiden knew the weakness of our camp; She rightly judged where fear was to be found.

BURGUNDY. How? Shall the blame of our disaster rest With Burgundy?

LIONEL. By heaven! were we alone, We English, never had we Orleans lost!

BURGUNDY. No, truly! for ye ne'er had Orleans seen! Who opened you a way into this realm, And reached you forth a kind and friendly hand When you descended on this hostile coast? Who was it crowned your Henry at Paris, And unto him subdued the people's hearts? Had this Burgundian arm not guided you Into this realm, by heaven you ne'er had seen The smoke ascending from a single hearth!

LIONEL. Were conquests with big words effected, duke, You, doubtless, would have conquered France alone.

BURGUNDY. The loss of Orleans angers you, and now You vent your gall on me, your friend and ally. What lost us Orleans but your avarice? The city was prepared to yield to me, Your envy was the sole impediment.

TALBOT. We did not undertake the siege for you.

BURGUNDY. How would it stand with you if I withdrew With all my host?

LIONEL. We should not be worse off Than when, at Agincourt, we proved a match For you and all the banded power of France.

BURGUNDY. Yet much you stood in need of our alliance; The regent purchased it at heavy cost.

TALBOT. Most dearly, with the forfeit of our honor, At Orleans have we paid for it to-day.

BURGUNDY. Urge me no further, lords. Ye may repent it! Did I forsake the banners of my king, Draw down upon my head the traitor's name, To be insulted thus by foreigners? Why am I here to combat against France? If I must needs endure ingratitude, Let it come rather from my native king!

TALBOT. You're in communication with the Dauphin, We know it well, but we soon shall find means To guard ourselves 'gainst treason.

BURGUNDY. Death and hell! Am I encountered thus? Chatillon, hark! Let all my troops prepare to quit the camp. We will retire into our own domain.

[CHATILLON goes out.

LIONEL. God speed you there! Never did Britain's fame More brightly shine than when she stood alone, Confiding solely in her own good sword. Let each one fight his battle for himself, For 'tis eternal truth that English blood Cannot, with honor, blend with blood of France.



SCENE II.

The same. QUEEN ISABEL, attended by a PAGE.

ISABEL. What must I hear? This fatal strife forbear! What brain-bewildering planet o'er your minds Sheds dire perplexity? When unity Alone can save you, will you part in hate, And, warring 'mong yourselves, prepare your doom?— I do entreat you, noble duke, recall Your hasty order. You, renowned Talbot, Seek to appease an irritated friend! Come, Lionel, aid me to reconcile These haughty spirits and establish peace.

LIONEL. Not I, madame. It is all one to me. 'Tis my belief, when things are misallied, The sooner they part company the better.

ISABEL. How? Do the arts of hell, which on the field Wrought such disastrous ruin, even here Bewilder and befool us? Who began This fatal quarrel? Speak! Lord-general! Your own advantage did you so forget, As to offend your worthy friend and ally? What could you do without his powerful arm? 'Twas he who placed your monarch on the throne, He holds him there, and he can hurl him thence; His army strengthens you—still more his name. Were England all her citizens to pour Upon our coasts, she never o'er this realm Would gain dominion did she stand alone; No! France can only be subdued by France!

TALBOT. A faithful friend we honor as we ought; Discretion warns us to beware the false.

BURGUNDY. The liar's brazen front beseemeth him Who would absolve himself from gratitude.

ISABEL. How, noble duke? Could you so far renounce Your princely honor, and your sense of shame, As clasp the hand of him who slew your sire? Are you so mad to entertain the thought Of cordial reconcilement with the Dauphin, Whom you yourself have hurled to ruin's brink? His overthrow you have well nigh achieved, And madly now would you renounce your work? Here stand your allies. Your salvation lies In an indissoluble bond with England?

BURGUNDY. Far is my thought from treaty with the Dauphin; But the contempt and insolent demeanor Of haughty England I will not endure.

ISABEL. Come, noble duke? Excuse a hasty word. Heavy the grief which bows the general down, And well you know misfortune makes unjust. Come! come! embrace; let me this fatal breach Repair at once, ere it becomes eternal.

TALBOT. What think you, Burgundy? A noble heart, By reason vanquished, doth confess its fault. A wise and prudent word the queen hath spoken; Come, let my hand with friendly pressure heal The wound inflicted by my angry tongue.

BURGUNDY. Discreet the counsel offered by the queen! My just wrath yieldeth to necessity.

ISABEL. 'Tis well! Now, with a brotherly embrace Confirm and seal the new-established bond; And may the winds disperse what hath been spoken.

[BURGUNDY and TALBOT embrace.

LIONEL (contemplating the group aside). Hail to an union by the furies planned!

ISABEL. Fate hath proved adverse, we have lost a battle, But do not, therefore, let your courage sink. The Dauphin, in despair of heavenly aid, Doth make alliance with the powers of hell; Vainly his soul he forfeits to the devil, For hell itself cannot deliver him. A conquering maiden leads the hostile force; Yours, I myself will lead; to you I'll stand In place of maiden or of prophetess.

LIONEL. Madame, return to Paris! We desire To war with trusty weapons, not with women.

TALBOT. GO! go! Since your arrival in the camp, Fortune hath fled our banners, and our course Hath still been retrograde. Depart at once!

BURGUNDY. Your presence here doth scandalize the host.

ISABEL (looks from one to the other with astonishment). This, Burgundy, from you? Do you take part Against me with these thankless English lords?

BURGUNDY. Go! go! The thought of combating for you Unnerves the courage of the bravest men.

ISABEL. I scarce among you have established peace, And you already form a league against me!

TALBOT. Go, in God's name. When you have left the camp No devil will again appal our troops.

ISABEL. Say, am I not your true confederate? Are we not banded in a common cause?

TALBOT. Thank God! your cause of quarrel is not ours. We combat in an honorable strife.

BURGUNDY. A father's bloody murder I avenge. Stern filial duty consecrates my arms.

TALBOT. Confess at once. Your conduct towards the Dauphin Is an offence alike to God and man.

ISABEL. Curses blast him and his posterity! The shameless son who sins against his mother!

BURGUNDY. Ay! to avenge a husband and a father!

ISABEL. To judge his mother's conduct he presumed!

LIONEL. That was, indeed, irreverent in a son!

ISABEL. And me, forsooth, he banished from the realm.

TALBOT. Urged to the measure by the public voice.

ISABEL. A curse light on him if I e'er forgive him! Rather than see him on his father's throne——

TALBOT. His mother's honor you would sacrifice!

ISABEL. Your feeble natures cannot comprehend The vengeance of an outraged mother's heart. Who pleasures me, I love; who wrongs, I hate. If he who wrongs me chance to be my son, All the more worthy is he of my hate. The life I gave I will again take back From him who doth, with ruthless violence, The bosom rend which bore and nourished him. Ye, who do thus make war upon the Dauphin, What rightful cause have ye to plunder him? What crime hath he committed against you? What insult are you called on to avenge? Ambition, paltry envy, goad you on; I have a right to hate him—he's my son.

TALBOT. He feels his mother in her dire revenge!

ISABEL. Mean hypocrites! I hate you and despise. Together with the world, you cheat yourselves! With robber-hands you English seek to clutch This realm of France, where you have no just right, Nor equitable claim, to so much earth As could be covered by your charger's hoof. —This duke, too, whom the people style the Good, Doth to a foreign lord, his country's foe, For gold betray the birthland of his sires. And yet is justice ever on your tongue. —Hypocrisy I scorn. Such as I am, So let the world behold me!

BURGUNDY. It is true! Your reputation you have well maintained.

ISABEL. I've passions and warm blood, and as a queen Came to this realm to live, and not to seem. Should I have lingered out a joyless life Because the curse of adverse destiny To a mad consort joined my blooming youth? More than my life I prize my liberty. And who assails me here——But why should I Stoop to dispute with you about my rights? Your sluggish blood flows slowly in your veins! Strangers to pleasure, ye know only rage! This duke, too—who, throughout his whole career, Hath wavered to and fro, 'twixt good and ill— Can neither love or hate with his whole heart. —I go to Melun. Let this gentleman, [Pointing to LIONEL. Who doth my fancy please, attend me there, To cheer my solitude, and you may work Your own good pleasure! I'll inquire no more Concerning the Burgundians or the English.

[She beckons to her PAGE, and is about to retire.

LIONEL. Rely upon us, we will send to Melun The fairest youths whom we in battle take.

[Coming back.

ISABEL. Skilful your arm to wield the sword of death, The French alone can round the polished phrase.

[She goes out.



SCENE III.

TALBOT, BURGUNDY, LIONEL.

TALBOT. Heavens! What a woman!

LIONEL. Now, brave generals, Your counsel! Shall we prosecute our flight, Or turn, and with a bold and sudden stroke Wipe out the foul dishonor of to-day?

BURGUNDY. We are too weak, our soldiers are dispersed, The recent terror still unnerves the host.

TALBOT. Blind terror, sudden impulse of a moment, Alone occasioned our disastrous rout. This phantom of the terror-stricken brain, More closely viewed will vanish into air. My counsel, therefore, is, at break of day, To lead the army back, across the stream, To meet the enemy.

BURGUNDY. Consider well——

LIONEL. Your pardon! Here is nothing to consider What we have lost we must at once retrieve, Or look to be eternally disgraced.

TALBOT. It is resolved. To-morrow morn we fight, This dread-inspiring phantom to destroy, Which thus doth blind and terrify the host Let us in fight encounter this she-devil. If she oppose her person to our sword, Trust me, she never will molest us more; If she avoid our stroke—and be assured She will not stand the hazard of a battle— Then is the dire enchantment at an end?

LIONEL. So be it! And to me, my general. leave This easy, bloodless combat, for I hope Alive to take this ghost, and in my arms, Before the Bastard's eyes—her paramour— To bear her over to the English camp, To be the sport and mockery of the host.

BURGUNDY. Make not too sure.

TALBOT. If she encounter me, I shall not give her such a soft embrace. Come now, exhausted nature to restore Through gentle sleep. At daybreak we set forth.

[They go out.



SCENE IV.

JOHANNA with her banner, in a helmet and breastplate, otherwise attired as a woman. DUNOIS, LA HIRE, knights and soldiers appear above upon the rocky path, pass silently over, and appear immediately after on the scene.

JOHANNA (to the knights who surround her while the procession continues above). The wall is scaled and we are in the camp! Now fling aside the mantle of still night, Which hitherto hath veiled your silent march, And your dread presence to the foe proclaim. By your loud battle-cry—God and the maiden!

ALL (exclaim aloud, amidst the loud clang of arms). God and the maiden! [Drums and trumpets.

SENTINELS (behind the scene). The foe! The foe! The foe!

JOHANNA. Ho! torches here. Hurl fire into the tents! Let the devouring flames augment the horror, While threatening death doth compass them around!

[Soldiers hasten on, she is about to follow.

DUNOIS (holding her back). Thy part thou hast accomplished now, Johanna! Into the camp thou hast conducted us, The foe thou hast delivered in our hands, Now from the rush of war remain apart! The bloody consummation leave to us.

LA HIRE. Point out the path of conquest to the host; Before us, in pure hand, the banner bear. But wield the fatal weapon not thyself; Tempt not the treacherous god of battle, for He rageth blindly, and he spareth not.

JOHANNA. Who dares impede my progress? Who presume The spirit to control which guideth me? Still must the arrow wing its destined flight! Where danger is, there must Johanna be; Nor now, nor here, am I foredoomed to fall; Our monarch's royal brow I first must see Invested with the round of sovereignty. No hostile power can rob me of my life, Till I've accomplished the commands of God.

[She goes out.

LA HIRE. Come, let us follow after her, Dunois, And let our valiant bosoms be her shield!

[Exit.



SCENE V.

ENGLISH SOLDIERS hurry over the stage. Afterwards TALBOT.

1 SOLDIER. The maiden in the camp!

2 SOLDIER. Impossible! It cannot be! How came she in the camp?

3 SOLDIER. Why, through the air! The devil aided her!

4 AND 5 SOLDIERS. Fly! fly! We are dead men!

TALBOT (enters). They heed me not! They stay not at my call! The sacred bands of discipline are loosed! As hell had poured her damned legions forth, A wild, distracting impulse whirls along, In one mad throng, the cowardly and brave. I cannot rally e'en the smallest troop To form a bulwark gainst the hostile flood, Whose raging billows press into our camp! Do I alone retain my sober senses, While all around in wild delirium rave? To fly before these weak, degenerate Frenchmen Whom we in twenty battles have overthrown? Who is she then—the irresistible— The dread-inspiring goddess, who doth turn At once the tide of battle, and transform The lions bold a herd of timid deer? A juggling minx, who plays the well-learned part Of heroine, thus to appal the brave? A woman snatch from me all martial fame?

SOLDIER (rushing in). The maiden comes! Fly, general, fly! fly!

TALBOT (strikes him down). Fly thou, thyself, to hell! This sword shall pierce Who talks to me of fear, or coward flight!

[He goes out.



SCENE VI.

The prospect opens. The English camp is seen in flames. Drums, flight, and pursuit. After a while MONTGOMERY enters.

MONTGOMERY (alone). Where shall I flee? Foes all around and death! Lo! here The furious general, who with threatening sword, prevents Escape, and drives us back into the jaws of death. The dreadful maiden there—the terrible—who like Devouring flame, destruction spreads; while all around Appears no bush wherein to hide—no sheltering cave! Oh, would that o'er the sea I never had come here! Me miserable—empty dreams deluded me— Cheap glory to achieve on Gallia's martial fields. And I am guided by malignant destiny Into this murderous flight. Oh, were I far, far hence. Still in my peaceful home, on Severn's flowery banks, Where in my father's house, in sorrow and in tears, I left my mother and my fair young bride.

[JOHANNA appears in the distance.

Wo's me! What do I see! The dreadful form appears! Arrayed in lurid light, she from the raging fire Issues, as from the jaws of hell, a midnight ghost. Where shall I go? where flee? Already from afar She seizes on me with her eye of fire, and flings Her fatal and unerring coil, whose magic folds With ever-tightening pressure, bind my feet and make Escape impossible! Howe'er my heart rebels, I am compelled to follow with my gaze that form Of dread!

[JOHANNA advances towards him some steps; and again remains standing.

She comes! I will not passively await Her furious onset! Imploringly I'll clasp Her knees! I'll sue to her for life. She is a woman. I may perchance to pity move her by my tears!

[While he is on the point of approaching her she draws near.



SCENE VII.

JOHANNA, MONTGOMERY.

JOHANNA. Prepare to die! A British mother bore thee!

MONTGOMERY (falls at her feet). Fall back, terrific one! Forbear to strike An unprotected foe! My sword and shield I've flung aside, and supplicating fall Defenceless at thy feet. A ransom take! Extinguish not the precious light of life! With fair possessions crowned, my father dwells In Wales' fair land, where among verdant meads The winding Severn rolls his silver tide, And fifty villages confess his sway. With heavy gold he will redeem his son, When he shall hear I'm in the camp of France.

JHANNA. Deluded mortal! to destruction doomed! Thou'rt fallen in the maiden's hand, from which Redemption or deliverance there is none. Had adverse fortune given thee a prey To the fierce tiger or the crocodile— Hadst robbed the lion mother of her brood— Compassion thou might'st hope to find and pity; But to encounter me is certain death. For my dread compact with the spirit realm— The stern inviolable—bindeth me, To slay each living thing whom battle's God, Full charged with doom, delivers to my sword.

MONTGOMERY. Thy speech is fearful, but thy look is mild; Not dreadful art thou to contemplate near; My heart is drawn towards thy lovely form. Oh! by the mildness of thy gentle sex, Attend my prayer. Compassionate my youth.

JOHANNA. Name me not woman! Speak not of my sex! Like to the bodiless spirits, who know naught Of earth's humanities, I own no sex; Beneath this vest of steel there beats no heart.

MONTGOMERY. Oh! by love's sacred, all-pervading power, To whom all hearts yield homage, I conjure thee. At home I left behind a gentle bride, Beauteous as thou, and rich in blooming grace: Weeping she waiteth her betrothed's return. Oh! if thyself dost ever hope to love, If in thy love thou hopest to be happy, Then ruthless sever not two gentle hearts, Together linked in love's most holy bond!

JOHANNA. Thou dost appeal to earthly, unknown gods, To whom I yield no homage. Of love's bond, By which thou dost conjure me, I know naught Nor ever will I know his empty service. Defend thy life, for death doth summon thee.

MONTGOMERY. Take pity on my sorrowing parents, whom I left at home. Doubtless thou, too, hast left Parents, who feel disquietude for thee.

JOHANNA. Unhappy man! thou dost remember me How many mothers of this land your arms Have rendered childless and disconsolate; How many gentle children fatherless; How many fair young brides dejected widows! Let England's mothers now be taught despair, And learn to weep the bitter tear oft shed By the bereaved and sorrowing wives of France.

MONTGOMERY. 'Tis hard in foreign lands to die unwept.

JOHANNA. Who called you over to this foreign land, To waste the blooming culture of our fields, To chase the peasant from his household hearth, And in our cities' peaceful sanctuary To hurl the direful thunderbolt of war? In the delusion of your hearts ye thought To plunge in servitude the freeborn French, And to attach their fair and goodly realm, Like a small boat, to your proud English bark! Ye fools! The royal arms of France are hung Fast by the throne of God; and ye as soon From the bright wain of heaven might snatch a star As rend a single village from this realm, Which shall remain inviolate forever! The day of vengeance is at length arrived; Not living shall ye measure back the sea, The sacred sea—the boundary set by God Betwixt our hostile nations—and the which Ye ventured impiously to overpass.

MONTGOMERY (lets go her hands). Oh, I must die! I feel the grasp of death!

JOHANNA. Die, friend! Why tremble at the approach of death? Of mortals the irrevocable doom? Look upon me! I'm born a shepherd maid; This hand, accustomed to the peaceful crook, Is all unused to wield the sword of death. Yet, snatched away from childhood's peaceful haunts, From the fond love of father and of sisters, Urged by no idle dream of earthly glory, But heaven-appointed to achieve your ruin, Like a destroying angel I must roam, Spreading dire havoc around me, and at length Myself must fall a sacrifice to death! Never again shall I behold my home! Still, many of your people I must slay, Still, many widows make, but I at length Myself shall perish, and fulfil my doom. Now thine fulfil. Arise! resume thy sword, And let us fight for the sweet prize of life.

MONTGOMERY (stands up). Now, if thou art a mortal like myself, Can weapons wound thee, it may be assigned To this good arm to end my country's woe, Thee sending, sorceress, to the depths of hell. In God's most gracious hands I leave my fate. Accursed one! to thine assistance call The fiends of hell! Now combat for thy life!

[He seizes his sword and shield, and rushes upon her; martial music is heard in the distance. After a short conflict MONTGOMERY falls.



SCENE VIII.

JOHANNA (alone). To death thy foot did bear thee—fare thee well!

[She steps away from him and remains absorbed in thought.

Virgin, thou workest mightily in me! My feeble arm thou dost endue with strength, And steep'st my woman's heart in cruelty. In pity melts the soul and the hand trembles, As it did violate some sacred fane, To mar the goodly person of the foe. Once I did shudder at the polished sheath, But when 'tis needed, I'm possessed with strength, And as it were itself a thing of life, The fatal weapon, in my trembling grasp, Self-swayed, inflicteth the unerring stroke.



SCENE IX.

A KNIGHT with closed visor, JOHANNA.

KNIGHT. Accursed one! thy hour of death has come! Long have I sought thee on the battle-field, Fatal delusion! get thee back to hell, Whence thou didst issue forth.

JOHANNA. Say, who art thou, Whom his bad genius sendeth in my way? Princely thy port, no Briton dost thou seem, For the Burgundian colors stripe thy shield, Before the which my sword inclines its point.

KNIGHT. Vile castaway! Thou all unworthy art To fall beneath a prince's noble hand. The hangman's axe should thy accursed head Cleave from thy trunk, unfit for such vile use The royal Duke of Burgundy's brave sword.

JOHANNA. Art thou indeed that noble duke himself?

KNIGHT (raises his visor). I'm he, vile creature, tremble and despair! The arts of hell shall not protect thee more. Thou hast till now weak dastards overcome; Now thou dost meet a man.



SCENE X.

DUNOIS and LA HIRE. The same.

DUNOIS. Hold, Burgundy! Turn! combat now with men, and not with maids.

LA HIRE. We will defend the holy prophetess; First must thy weapon penetrate this breast.

BURGUNDY. I fear not this seducing Circe; no, Nor you, whom she hath changed so shamefully! Oh, blush, Dunois! and do thou blush, La Hire To stoop thy valor to these hellish arts— To be shield-bearer to a sorceress! Come one—come all! He only who despairs Of heaven's protection seeks the aid of hell.

[They prepare for combat, JOHANNA steps between.

JOHANNA. Forbear!

BURGUNDY. Dost tremble for thy lover? Thus Before thine eyes he shall——

[He makes a thrust at DUNOIS.

JOHANNA. Dunois, forbear! Part them, La Hire! no blood of France must flow: Not hostile weapons must this strife decide, Above the stars 'tis otherwise decreed. Fall back! I say. Attend and venerate The Spirit which hath seized, which speaks through me!

DUNOIS. Why, maiden, now hold back my upraised arm? Why check the just decision of the sword? My weapon pants to deal the fatal blow Which shall avenge and heal the woes of France.

[She places herself in the midst and separates the parties.

JOHANNA. Fall back, Dunois! Stand where thou art, La Hire! Somewhat I have to say to Burgundy.

[When all is quiet.

What wouldst thou, Burgundy? Who is the foe Whom eagerly thy murderous glances seek? This prince is, like thyself, a son of France,— This hero is thy countryman, thy friend; I am a daughter of thy fatherland. We all, whom thou art eager to destroy, Are of thy friends;—our longing arms prepare To clasp, our bending knees to honor thee. Our sword 'gainst thee is pointless, and that face E'en in a hostile helm is dear to us, For there we trace the features of our king.

BURGUNDY. What, syren! wilt thou with seducing words Allure thy victim? Cunning sorceress, Me thou deludest not. Mine ears are closed Against thy treacherous words; and vainly dart Thy fiery glances 'gainst this mail of proof. To arms, Dunois! With weapons let us fight, and not with words.

DUNOIS. First words, then weapons, Burgundy! Do words With dread inspire thee? 'Tis a coward's fear, And the betrayer of an evil cause.

JOHANNA. 'Tis not imperious necessity Which throws us at thy feet! We do not come As suppliants before thee. Look around! The English tents are level with the ground, And all the field is covered with your slain. Hark! the war-trumpets of the French resound; God hath decided—ours the victory! Our new-culled laurel garland with our friend We fain would share. Come, noble fugitive! Oh, come where justice and where victory dwell! Even I, the messenger of heaven, extend A sister's hand to thee. I fain would save And draw thee over to our righteous cause! Heaven hath declared for France! Angelic powers, Unseen by thee, do battle for our king; With lilies are the holy ones adorned, Pure as this radiant banner is our cause; Its blessed symbol is the queen of heaven.

BURGUNDY. Falsehood's fallacious words are full of guile, But hers are pure and simple as a child's. If evil spirits borrow this disguise, They copy innocence triumphantly. I'll hear no more. To arms, Dunois! to arms! Mine ear, I feel, is weaker than mine arm.

JOHANNA. You call me an enchantress, and accuse Of hellish arts. Is it the work of hell To heal dissension and to foster peace? Comes holy concord from the depths below? Say, what is holy, innocent, and good, If not to combat for our fatherland? Since when hath nature been so self-opposed That heaven forsakes the just and righteous cause, While hell protects it? If my words are true, Whence could I draw them but from heaven above? Who ever sought me in my shepherd-walks, To teach the humble maid affairs of state? I ne'er have stood with princes, to these lips Unknown the arts of eloquence. Yet now, When I have need of it to touch thy heart, Insight and varied knowledge I possess; The fate of empires and the doom of kings Lie clearly spread before my childish mind, And words of thunder issue from my mouth.

BURGUNDY (greatly moved, looks at her with emotion and astonishment). How is it with me? Doth some heavenly power Thus strangely stir my spirit's inmost depths? This pure, this gentle creature cannot lie! No, if enchantment blinds me, 'tis from heaven. My spirit tells me she is sent from God.

JOHANNA. Oh, he is moved! I have not prayed in vain, Wrath's thunder-cloud dissolves in gentle tears, And leaves his brow, while mercy's golden beams Break from his eyes and gently promise peace. Away with arms, now clasp him to your hearts, He weeps—he's conquered, he is ours once more!

[Her sword and banner fall; she hastens to him with outstretched arms, and embraces him in great agitation. LA HIRE and DUNOIS throw down their swords, and hasten also to embrace him.



ACT III.

Residence of the KING at Chalons on the Marne.



SCENE I.

DUNOIS, LA HIRE.

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.



SCENE IV.

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.