Joan of Arc Part 19

BEAU. But pledged to whom? a guilty, low-born woman.

BED. Whether to monarch or to slave, all one, 'Tis pledged, and I'll not break it. Honour fled From common b.r.e.a.s.t.s, must shelter in the n.o.blest.

BEAU. (_Aside._ Proud, haughty prince!) Why generous by halves?

Why not then grant her all,--ease, liberty, With means again to lord it over those Whose path 'tis outrage she should dare to cross?

Richemont hath offered well, and reasoned wisely.

BED. And wouldst thou move me to a coward's deed To soothe his wounded vanity? Shame on 't!

Talk of ambition, love of fame, revenge, Aye, e'en of avarice, and call them selfish, Prodigal of life, cruel; why vanity, That vice of little minds, out-tops them all!

Cold, selfish, marble-hearted vanity!

Whose G.o.d is self, whose greedy appet.i.te, Fed still on self, is gorged but never full.

Never again shall she behold the light Of sun. I promised life on one condition-- That she be never clad in armour more.

That condition honoured--she shall live.

BEAU. Broken?

BED. She shall die.

[_Exit._

BEAU. Then hast thou sealed her doom. Richemont I thank thee for the hint.

SCENE III.--_An Apartment in the same._--_Two Soldiers bearing Armour._

FIRST SOL. What does it mean?

SECOND SOL. What mean!--that she must die, And some new charge too must be found against her, Let her but wear this once again, and--

FIRST SOL. Folly!

How's this to tempt her?

SECOND SOL. How! Do we not hang The captive linnet who denies to sing, In sight of his own fields and native woods, To cheat him into song?

FIRST SOL. A cursed deed Is this, and 'tis the curse of villany To be a villain's tool--an honest man Had ne'er received such charge.

SECOND SOL. Fool--lay it down.

See what dents are in this breastplate!--observe How b.l.o.o.d.y 'tis within: a foul wound.--

FIRST SOL. Peace!

A choking's in my throat, a swelling here I might mistake for pity, if, d.a.m.ned thought, Pity and I had not too long been strangers.

The prey comes!--See, the tiger's to his lair!

_Enter BEAUVAIS._

BEAU. Begone. (_Exit_ SOL.) She hath withstood all former trials.

All fails to move her. Weary hours I've pa.s.sed Within her dungeon, urging all arguments, Painting all horrors, sundry deaths to fright her.

Confession she denies--all ghostly aid, (Sold though to h.e.l.l,) and all reproof rejects.

Baffled as yet in each attempt to snare her, This shall succeed, or be she fiend or woman.

_Enter JOAN._ [_BEAUVAIS conceals himself._

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; E'en till thy ugliness had almost vanished, So well hath darkness and thyself agreed; But now this gentle gale, these sunny beams, This perfumed scent of flowers do tell a tale Of home--of loved companions, and I sigh To be, as I was once, a joyous child; Although I would not live my life again For all that sight or smell or hope could offer.

And, hark! the sound of trumpet clanging shrill-- I hear the tramp of martial feet--of horse!

My spirit bursts these walls! My country's voice Is echoed in that swell, and my full heart Heaves with tumultuous force to answer her.

Hours of past glory, are ye gone for ever?

Crowd ye upon my mind alone to torture me, Or are ye pledge of wonders yet to come?

Ha!--armour here!--would that--it is my own!

Welcome, thrice welcome!--But how dimmed its brightness!

[_BEAUVAIS advances._ And the vile spider's cast her web across it.

Off, off, and let me wipe this rust away.

I gaze, and the whole field is now before me-- Proud steeds and gallant forms, war's panoply!

Oh! happy hours, when thus I clasped thee on me-- Thus kneeling, prayed for thee, my king, my country, Thus rising bade--defiance to the foe!

BEAU. Offspring of h.e.l.l, accursed, shame of thy s.e.x!

Incorrigible wretch! Guards, to the council, Thus arrayed, conduct her. Hence!

JOAN. Oh! hear me!

BEAU. Not if thou wert to plead.

JOAN. I plead for nought.

Think not, howe'er, I cannot now decipher What thy malice had suggested. I see it; See it and pity thee.

SCENE IV.

COUNCIL. BEDFORD. BEAUVAIS, &c. &c. JOAN.

BED. Advance!

Thou knowest the conditions upon which Thy life was spared--thou hast presumed to break them-- Thine are the consequences. Found in arms, 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 pa.s.s: 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 n.o.bler epithet.

The G.o.d of heaven approves the patriot's aim, And sanctifies the deed. Not mine, not mine The traitor's guilt, the traitor's doom: I die, As I have wish'd to die,--in proof, in seal Of my fidelity.

BEAU. Think'st thus to die?

More weighty crimes deserve more weighty punishment.

Whence this boldness, unnat'ral to thy s.e.x?

Whence but in strength of some infernal spell, Of the foul prompting of some lying fiend?

Remember thy connexion with the hag 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-pa.s.sion 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.