J. A. Sargant

“ Who fears defeat in what the maid devises?
Du N. Heaven doth not always smile on those he loves.
Time offers marvels: once the name of Joan
I scorned, abhorred! I do not hate it now,
Though now I've cause. She robs me of renown,
And at her bidding I unsheath my sword.
Xaint. She may be proud!—a victory she has won,
That spirit to subdue. She hath in truth
A charm to make stern hearts most meek, and yet
She is not beautiful, as men count beauty.
Du N. She is the better suited to my taste;
I do despise the doll, where nought of soul
Is ever seen to light the faultless eye. ”

“ A rebel's doom deferred now justly waits thee.
Joan. That I have erred, I own with deepest sorrow;
But 'twas through weakness: with like justice might
The poor, fond bird, unwitting of deceit,
Be blamed because it fell into the snare
The cunning fowler laid for its destruction.
It was a cruel deed—but let it pass:
Not so thy charge of rebel—I repel it.
Here silence would be guilty fear—not innocence.
Who rears his country's standard 'gainst the foe—
'Gainst the usurper, claims a nobler epithet.
The God of heaven approves the patriot's aim,
And sanctifies the deed. ”

“ Or plucking wild flowers from the bank to crown thee,
Than hail thee, Warwick, conqueror of France.
Ha! there is blood upon thy arm!
War. For shame!
Turn pale—a very coward thou.
Count. Not I:
But nature is to blame, who doth abhor
The sight of blood: but if I must, as fits
A soldier's wife, enquire of war, then tell me,
Not how many thousands perished, but what
New honours thou hast gained; and better still,
Say, how much nearer is the end of strife.
War. My honours gained is not to feel disgraced. ”

“ Would I'd known thee!
How sweet to mark developement of mind
Pregnant as thine!
Joan. Thou might'st have been as others.
I was not loved. I was not understood.
Some deemed me void of Nature's kindly gifts,
In intellect deficient, and in heart
Most cold. Oh! how they wronged that heart! I loved
Too keen, alas! yet had but few to love,
And fewer still to answer to my love.
Ber. I pain thee now.
Joan. Regret it not; the heart,
Like the swelled ocean, must exceed its bounds,
And find departed calm best in exhaustion. ”

“ Arlington. Officer.
Off. Here let us rest till morning. Like ourselves,
The foe are glad to seek that needful rest
Which victory and defeat alike demand.
Arl. No, let us on. We yet may find it hard
To reach our friends, and Richemont hovers near us.
Off. Whate'er the peril, here I swear to rest me.
See! the bright moon looks down upon the field,
As if in scorn to view such waste of life.
Arl. It is a ghastly sight. Not drops of heaven
Bedew the earth, but blood of men; and blood
Has dyed the stream so deep, that thirsty lip
Of death rejects the draught it craved so wistfully. ”

“ And all of life, of hope, of fond affection
Has been passed in springtide. I never shed
A tear till my great father died; and those
First tears were wiped away by him whom first
I loved.
War. But how! thou dost not even ask
If Salisbury's sad death has been avenged!
Count. Contains revenge then ought that may impart
Joy to felicity, or make repose
More tranquil, which already was complete,
That it should be desired?
War. Nor yet enquire
How speeds the war?
Count. I love not war.
War. And yet
Art Salisbury's child, art—
Count. Warwick's bride, thou'dst say. ”

“ Joan. What may this mean? Hath pity touched their breast?
Why has the dungeon's gloom been changed for light
That cheers, for air that wakens life, not chills?
Oh, beauteous light! oh, sweet and balmy breeze!
Thy Maker's smile, thy Maker's breath art thou,
And I am in His presence. Tears! the dungeon
Scarce forced one drop, one sigh of sorrow;
But now for very happiness I weep.
Surely I never felt till now the luxury
That conscious being can confer. Oh, death!
I've looked upon thee till thy form's familiar ”

“ War. Earth's potentates combined should fail to part us.
Du N. Warwick! there was a time when ice had bound
These lips, and easier 'twere to die than speak.
I felt ashamed it should be thought I loved;
But now, with equal agony and pride,
I own—I love.—
War. The maid! unhappy friend!
Du N. Thou hast not, then, forgot thy former pledge—
The pledge thou gav'st, when from my hands redeemed,
"Should ever need be thine—remember Warwick."
I claim it now.
War. Name ought I can concede,
But spare, oh, spare what honour must forbid
Du Nois to ask, or Warwick grant. ”

“ Brave men no omen fear but lukewarm hearts.
Val. That ill-timed taunt thou shalt repent ere long.
I'll lead where few shall dare to follow.
Joan. Cease!
Waste not the time in words! renew the attack!
These guard our rear—Xaintrailles must lead with me.
Val. Shall I then be forgot? E'en on this field
Must I receive fresh proof of hate?
Joan. Forbear!
Love is not ours, but hate thee, Valancour!
Oh! wrong me not so sorely.
Val. No matter,
Loved or despised I will be first in danger!
And if I meet with death I'll welcome him,
As sent from thee. ”

“ Joan. Man, man abandons me,
Not Heaven! we are betrayed, but not by thee!
And see! the beauteous bow his hand hath bent,
And token made of peace, where mercy sits
To smile away despair. My spirit's free,
And my heart beats as formerly 'twas wont.
Forward, ye brave! Remember Orlean's walls,
And let us pluck, if not the conqueror's crown,
A wreath to deck the grave our land shall hallow.
For the last time, Xaintrailles, wilt follow me?
Xaint. Wherever thou shalt lead—be it to death! ”

“ And plead for thee when other deeds may fail thee.
Count. Blame not my Warwick for his stern resolve:—
Firm as he is, he has a tender heart.
Had not his face been buried in his arm,
To hide the tears he shed, I had not thus
Escaped him unperceived.
Du N. Yet is there hope.
Ah! say, couldst thou be plucked from this dread fate.
Joan. Delude me not with erring thought of bliss,
Nor yet deceive thyself—ere morrow's dawn
The dews will bathe the spot where earthly suff'ring
Hath found an end. No hand, though brave as thine,
Can pluck me from it. ”

“ This I pledge thee!
The foe shall fly, the land once more be free,
The sceptre to thy line shall be confirmed,
And holy hands at Rheims shall crown thee.
Cha. Thy bearing
Forbids all thought of fraud, and proves that thou
And falsehood have no fellowship: thou art
Thyself deceived.
Joan. I know that I may seem
A mere enthusiast, a frail, weak woman:
None think more meanly of me than myself:
But sense of weakness proves me not deceived. ”

“ Du Nois. Joan.
Du N. New vigour suddenly hath armed the foe,
While our brave troops, fatigued with their own valour,
Now sorely pressed, pause in their course, and deal
Uncertain blows. The fate of this day's battle
Hangs on a point.
Joan. Is not His promise ours
Who leads the hosts of heaven? Who doubts then victory?
Onward, ye brave! yon lightnings be your guide!
The hand that wields them is the patriot's shield! ”

“ Then springing to his feet she sobbed convulsed,
"Though all the world desert thee will not I!"—
She leaves at dawn.
Riche. Du Nois?
Val. Will follow us.
Xaintrailles, myself, are ordered to attend her.
Riche. Fortune doth smile on thee! the friend of both,
Sharer of their toils!—needs of their felicity:
The foe dispersed, the nuptial feast succeeds,
And grateful to thy heart the thought, thy arm,
Thy blood their fondest, gentlest wishes aided.
Val. Forbear, my lord! the subject is no jest.
Riche. What envy thou wilt raise! ”

“ Which make obedient slaves and friends of devils.
Wid. And thou of hell's worst crimes—of pride, of murder.
Richemont, I know thee, who thou art and what!
Put up thy ready dagger; I despise it—
Ay, mock thy wrath! my misery is my safeguard;
None care, not even thou, to murder one
Who would most gladly die!
Riche. What thus unnerves
My arm and chains my tongue?
Wid. Thy wishes too,
Thy aim I know. The maid has roused thy hate,
And thou wouldst work her fall:—'tis worthy thee.
There is no need of aiding hand of thine—
Her lamp burns dim, to utter darkness dim. ”

“ The fonder heart—a chain that galls the cold!
Ber. But thou wert born to bless! ay, to be blessed!
A heart like thine must find—
Joan. I do believe
That nought on earth may hold fond thought from me.
The love which in another would have nourished
What most it prized, has but in me proved fatal,
And wrought its ruin.
Ber. Thou dost chase a shade,
To wither ev'ry flower within thy path.
No bliss can rise through him, while Valancour—
Joan. I cannot love, and therefore will not wed him. ”

“ Beau. (to Bed.) She threatens!
Beware lest some malign, some fatal influence—
Joan. Blind Man! the dumb e'en now have found a voice
To curb injustice. The poor worm itself
Will, by its very writhings, plead its wrongs,
And show the cruelty of him that crushed it.
Oh! not for life I plead—death hath no terror,
Existence scarce one charm to cheat my eyes.
Grant me the doom thou threat'st—nor passing sigh,
Nor murmur shall escape me; but to die
On this most monstrous charge! I kneel to thee
And thus would stir the soldier in thy breast,
The patriot, the upright man, if not the judge. ”

“ Val. No blood has stained her hand.
The sword she bears nor forms defence, nor wounds,
But guides the fight. Amidst its loudest din
And fiercest rage she shows a countenance
Most calmly brave, most femininely gentle.
Arn. And he, great Orleans' valiant son, was he—
Val. Ah! 'twas a curious sight to see how proud
He scorned the maid when first she reached the camp.
His great heart swelled against her, and his gibe,
Keen as his sword, betrayed contempt.
Arn. And well
He might be pardoned, if he deemed the thought
Injurious, that a woman should succeed
Where he himself had failed. ”

“ And prizing life, yet view in death a friend,
Or clothed in frowns, or robed in smiles,—this, this
Alone is to be great:—then needs there rank
To make me such?
Alen. The brave lives not for to-day.
He thinks of generations yet to come,
And trusts his ashes e'en will speak his praise,
And bid his memory live.
Joan. No eye must read,
On tablet proud, what recompense were mine,
Lest it mistake the cause which prompted me.
In history's living page let me appear,
Simply as Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans.
Cha. And wilt thou have it seen in that same page
Thy king ungrateful proved? ”

“ Thou hast companion been in arms, and fought
With Orleans' bastard son, and knowst, no doubt,
That he, forsooth, must shortly play the fool,
And wed, to please the royal will, the maid.
The prospect charms thee, sure!
Val. (The royal will,
It is his own request! aside.) The proud Du Nois?
It cannot be. Not so. (Has hell worse torture? aside.)
Riche. Du Nois! the proud, unbending, stern Du Nois!
He with Alençon now is with the king,
On weighty news from Compeigne, which he brings:
The governor beseeches instant aid,
And who but the redoubted maid must lead it? ”

“ Joan. Fly from the foe!
Leave thy inheritance! forfeit thy birthright!
Desert the post consigned to thee! the shepherd
Throw thus aside his crook, mean safety seeking,
And leave the hapless flock the fell wolf's prey!
O! France! poor land! then art thou lost indeed,
Though not by Heaven cast off. Thy prince deserts thee—
In evil hour betrays himself and thee. ”

“ Who fell on Compeigne's field, men's awe of thee—
Confess the truth—declare what witchery used.
Joan. What witchery used! the witchery which a mind,
Bent on one single project, can exert,
When fitting opportunity doth meet
The master-passion which has fed its fires:
That witchery, harsh man and most unjust,
By which insulted virtue makes thee crouch,
As now thou dost, beneath a prisoner's eye,
Though deemed forsaken and alone.
Bed. No more!
Thou dost but aggravate the guilt too clear. ”

“ Now Death sits centinel in horrid silence.
Arl. Our loss is great, and will be greater still
If we continue this unhallowed war:
Many brave men this day have breathed their last:—
Most I regret young Talbot.
Off. Is he dead?
I saw brave Warwick rushing to his rescue.
Arl. He came too late. From heaps of slain he snatched him,
Then bore him to a distance, yet alive;
But dews of death were gathering on his brow,
And his dim eye betrayed departure near.
He dared not turn him on his side, lest life
From that deep welling wound should 'scape too fast. ”

“ Who honour, glory, high renown, or wealth,
Seeks for himself alone, and sheds the blood
She justly claims for selfish hope or aim.
Lou. Ambition is the offspring of all hearts
In which a germ of noble passion dwells.
None who in secret feel themselves above
The sphere of those with whom they move, but sighed
For greatness—rank.
Joan. What is it to be great?
To live in tapestried halls, beneath gay domes,
To sleep on beds of down, eat costly food,
Midst trembling slaves, who watch the stern command ”

“ Val. Earl Richemont here!
Riche. He is!
But would be known by none. Thou hast my secret:
Silence I demand!
Val. It is thine, but much
I marvel to behold—
Riche. The sovereign's scorn
Infects thee, then?
Val. None owns respect
More deep than I; my wonder only rose
To see thee here, whom I believed in Normandy;—
So the maid besought!
Riche. The maid besought! ”