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Read Ebook: Joan of Arc: A Play in Five Acts by Sargant J A Jane Alice
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Ebook has 439 lines and 27511 words, and 9 pages
ach distant quarter had disgorged itself Of its inhabitants. Age had forgotten All its decrepitude; sickness, its pains. Walls, windows, streets, each edifice and pillar Seemed as a living mass; and waving hands And loud acclaims filled the astonished air. The sun burst forth in joy. Onward she came, Our civil functionaries at her head, The wonderous sword and standard borne before her. The princely Duke Alen?on at her side, His stately countenance impressed alike With patriotic joy and martial pride.
ARN. And thou wert in the fight?
VAL. I was, and near her; A proud distinction, for where'er she stood There hottest battle raged: the foe to crush her, Friends to rival her. Sight alone of her Gave spirit to the faint, and kindled courage E'en to its height. Herself in ev'ry part, Like lightning's bolt was seen, sudden as fatal.
ARN. The night was terrible. The heavens appeared To threaten earth with wreck.
VAL. It has no fellow. Terrific thunders rattled through the sky, And fiery vengeance hissed upon the ground, With human gore and heavy rain deep drenched. "See! Heaven itself doth fight for us!" she cried. As struck with terror back our troops recoiled. The happy augury was hailed with shouts, And victory was ours.
ARN. But yet, methinks, The hand of woman should be free from stain, And most from stain of blood: the lamb for innocence, The kite for prey.
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.
VAL. Forth armed she went, A graceful female, though in martial garb. He marked her lack of sword and loosed his own; And with a curled lip and mock humility He turned the heft, and offered it in silence. "I may not trust to arms," she calmly said. His searching eye glanced on her countenance, He coloured crimson deep, and the proud sneer Forsook his lip, and, like a lion tamed, He showed him gentlest where he least intended.
VAL. Why should the thought Dart agony like this into my heart?
ARN. What next is her intent?
VAL. To pass to Rheims. Thither, at dawn, the prince departs to join her, And the army she conducts.
ARN. Heaven speed the journey.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
WARWICK AND ARLINGTON.
WAR. How swift a courier is this winged love! Why I have made this journey in less time, Impelled by thought of her, than ere before, Though martial glory spurred me on the way, And every proud ambitious hope to boot.
ARL. Our jaded horses prove that truth.
WAR. And yet They sped not swift enough for my fond wishes. Say, hast thou ever marked the moon's full beams Upon the wave, when broken by the breeze? Such is the image of my heart: joy's rays Illume its depths and sparkle on its surface; But all within is restless--bright confusion.
ARL. Well may she wake such love, such fond impatience; Not breath of closing flowers, not eve's soft beam--
WAR. With nought that marks decline compare my Alice. She is the blush of morn first caught by earth, When seraph hands unbar the gates of heaven, And from its courts bright beams of glory stream. Fresh as the od'rous breath by zephyr scattered, When first from dewy flowers he springs rejoicing; Light as the froth by chafed ocean cast, When young Aurora, laughing at his suit, Refuses to retard her rosy steps; And playful as the changeful hues reflected Upon its quivering breast.
ARL. She comes.--Farewell. Love bears no eyes but those he lights to view The rapture he creates, and turns offended From the stranger's gaze. And claim it witness to the truth it speaks. For my brave sire, old England, and St. George! Sum Talboti, sur vincere inimicos meos.
WARWICK.
JOHN T. Hold! cowards! when did England's sons e'er turn Their backs to Frenchmen--seeking mean safety? Have ye then quite forgot proud Cressy's field, Poictiers or Agincourt?
JOHN T. Then back to England, quick, disgrace to men; Tell there your sons ye fled a woman's arm, And ask your wives to welcome back their slaves. Give them your swords, and take instead their distaffs, And let the colour which has fled your cheeks Rest in hot blushes on the veteran brows Of your more valiant fathers. Away! ye are not worthy of your name; But in your flight, if ye should meet John Talbot, As like ye may, tell him, "We left your son To wipe out our disgrace in his heart's blood!"
SOL. Lead us back!--A Talbot!
JOHN T. Come on! and when they speak of this in England, Bold ones and brave shall wish they had been with us.
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!
SUF. Our troops at length give way: four times th' attack Has been renewed; bravely as oft repelled. If Talbot tarry long the day is lost.
WAR. Our bravest veterans are seized with dread, Thinking they fight against a power unearthly.
WAR. Back to your ranks, base cowards!
SOL. We fight in vain!--John Talbot--
WAR. What of him?
SOL. Is either dead, or taken prisoner.
WAR. I'll rescue him, or perish!--dead or living His father shall again behold him.
JOAN. DU NOIS. FRENCH OFFICERS.
DU N. The field is ours! the victory complete! The foe on all sides flies! Talbot is ta'en!
XAINT. The glory be our champion's--
JOAN. Forbear! Give not the instrument the Giver's meed; But rather let us imitate his mercy. Quick! let the carnage cease! and ev'ry tenderness Show friend and foe. Now let our clarions Proclaim the joyful news of our success! Fling wide the sound, ye gales of heav'n! hills, vales Re-echo it, and tell th' awakened land Her freedom is begun!--her chains are broken!
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
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.
OFF. Wide is the difference 'twixt the gallant scene Ere fight begins, and that which marks its close: Bright shields and dancing plumes, and brighter eyes, And animating speech abrupt, and tramp Of martial steed, and neigh, impatient sent, And spirit-stirring trumpet, and the drum; The banner waving wide, and heavy sound Of mighty engines breathing fire, showed life This morn in brightest mood and proudest pomp; 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.
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