Joan of Arc (Southey)/Book 4

by Robert Southey

JOAN of ARC.

 

BOOK THE FOURTH.

ARGUMENT.

 

A Messenger arrives from Orleans, representing the distress of that city, and requesting immediate succours. JOAN, in the presence of the King and assembled people, takes the armour of Orlando from his tomb in the church of St. Catharine of Fierbois. Strange conduct of the Messenger. The Maid recognizes him. She meets with Theodore. Returns despondently to the palace, and after expressing her disgust at the licentiousness of the court, announces her intention of marching on the morrow to relieve Orleans.

JOAN of ARC.

BOOK THE FOURTH.

THE feast was spread—the sparkling bowl went round, And to the assembled court the minstrel harp'd The song of other days. Sudden they heard The horn's loud blast. "This is no time for cares, Feast ye the messenger without," cried Charles, 5"Enough is given of the wearying dayTo the public weal."Obedient to the King The guard invites the traveller to his fare."Nay, I shall see the monarch," he replied,"And he shall hear my tidings, duty-urg'd; 10For many a long league have I hasten'd on, Not now to be repell'd." Then with strong arm Removing him who barr'd his onward way, The hall he enters."King of France! I come From Orleans, speedy and effectual aid 15Demanding for her gallant garrison, Faithful to thee, tho' thinn'd in many a fight, And wither'd now by want. Thee it beseems For ever anxious for thy people's weal,To succour these brave men whose honest breasts 20Bulwark thy throne."He said, and from the hall With upright step departing, in amaze At his so bold deportment left the court. The King exclaim'd, "But little need to sendQuick succour to this gallant garrison, 25If to the English half so firm a frontThey bear in battle!""In the field my liege," Dunois replied, "That man has serv'd thee well."Him have I seen the foremost of the fight, Wielding so fearfully his blood-red sword, 30His eye so fury-fired, that the pale foeLet fall their palsied arms with powerless stroke,Desperate of safety. I do marvel muchThat he is here. Orleans must be hard press'dWhen one the bravest of her garrison 35Is thus commission'd."Swift the Maid exclaim'd, "I tell thee Chief, that there the English wolves Shall never pour their yells of victory.The will of God defends those fated walls, And resting in full faith on that high will 40I mock their efforts. But the night draws on; Retire we to repose. To-morrow's sun Breaking the darkness of the sepulchre, Shall on that armor gleam, thro' many an ageKept holy and inviolate by time." 45She said, and rising from the board, retired.

 Meantime the herald's brazen voice proclaimed Coming solemnity: and far and wideSpread the strange tidings. Every labor ceas'd;The ploughman from the unfinish'd furrow hastes; 50The armourer's anvil beats no more the dinOf future slaughter. Thro' the thronging streetsThe buz of asking wonder hums along.

 On to St. Catherine's sacred fane they go; The holy fathers with the imag'd cross 55Leading the long procession. Next, as one Suppliant for mercy to the King of Kings, And grateful for the benefits of Heaven, The Monarch pass'd; and by his side the Maid; Her lovely limbs rob'd in a snow-white vest: 60Wistless that every eye dwelt on her form, With stately step she paced; her laboring soul To high thoughts elevate; and gazing round With the wild eye, that of the circling throng And of the visible world unseeing, saw 65The shapes of holy phantasy. By her The warrior Son of Orleans strode alongPreeminent. He, nerving his young limbsWith manly exercise, had scaled the cliff,And dashing in the torrent's foaming flood, 70Stemm'd with broad breast its fury: so his form,Sinewy and firm, and fit for loftiest deeds,Tower'd high amid the throng effeminate;His armour bore of hostile steel the marks,Many and deep. His pictur'd shield display'd 75A Lion vainly struggling in the toils,Whilst by his side the cub with pious rage,His young mane floating to the desart air,Rends the fall'n huntsman. Tremouille him behind,The worthless favourite of the slothful Prince, 80Stalk'd arrogant, in shining armour clasp'dWith gold and gems of richest hues emboss'd,Gaudily graceful, by no hostile bladeDefaced, and rusted by no hostile blood;Trimly-accoutred court habiliment, 85Gay, lady-dazzling armour, fit to adorn, In dangerless manœuvres some review,The mockery of murder! follow'd himThe train of courtiers, summer-flies that sportIn the sun-beam of favor, insects sprung 90From the court dunghill, greedy blood-suckers,The foul corruption-gender'd swarm of state.

As o'er some flowery field the busy bees Pour their deep music, pleasant melody To the tired traveller, under some old oak 95Stretch'd in the checquer'd shade; or as the sound Of far-off waters down the craggy steep Dash'd with loud uproar, rose the murmer round Of admiration. Every gazing eyeDwelt on the mission'd Maid. Of all besides, 100The long procession and the gorgeous train, Tho' glittering they with gold and sparkling gems, And their rich plumes high waving to the air, Heedless.The consecrated dome they reach, Rear'd to St. Catharine's holy memory. 105Her death the altar told, what time expos'dA virgin victim to the despot's rage,The agonizing rack outstretch'd her limbs,Till the strain'd muscles crack'd, and from their socketsStarted the blood-red eyes. Before her stood 110Glutting his iron sight, the giant formOf Maximin, on whose rais'd lip RevengeKindled a savage smile; whilst even the faceOf the hard executioner relax'd,And sternly soften'd to a maiden tear. 115

 Her eye averting from the storied woe, The delegated damsel knelt and pour'd To Heaven the prayer of praise.A trophied tomb Close to the altar rear'd its antique bulk. Two pointless javelins and a broken sword, 120Time-mouldering now, proclaim'd some warrior slept The sleep of death beneath. A massy stone And rude-ensculptur'd effigy o'erlaidThe sepulchre. Above stood Victory,With lifted arm and trump as she would blow 125The blast of Fame, but on her out-stretch'd armDeath laid his ebon rod.The Maid approach'd—Death dropt his ebon rod—the lifted trump Pour'd forth a blast whose sound miraculous Burst the rude tomb. Within the arms appear'd 130The crested helm, the massy bauldrick's strength, The oval shield, the magic-temper'd blade. A sound of awe-repress'd astonishment Rose from the crowd. The delegated Maid O'er her white robes the hallowed breast-plate threw, 135Self-fitted to her form. On her helm'd head The white plumes nod, majestically slow. She lifts the buckler and the magic sword, Gleaming portentous light.The amazed crowd Raise the loud shout of transport. "God of Heaven," 140 The Maid exclaim'd, "Father all merciful!Devoted to whose holy will, I wieldThe sword of Vengeance, go before our hosts!All-just avenger of the innocent,Be thou our Champion! God of Love, preserve 145Those whom no lust of glory leads to arms."

 She spake, and lo again the magic trump Breath'd forth the notes of conquest. The white plumes Responsive o'er the martial Maiden's head, Triumphant waved. They rais'd the chaunted mass 150 "Thee Lord we praise, our God." The assembled throng Join'd the loud hymn in choral harmony.

 As thro' the parting crowd the virgin pass'd, He who from Orleans on the yesternight Demanded succour, clasp'd with warmth her hand, 155And with a bosom-thrilling voice exclaim'd, "Ill-omen'd Maid! victim of thine own worth,Devoted for the King-curst realm of France! Ill-omen'd Maid, I pity thee." So saying,He turn'd into the crowd. At his strange words 160Disturb'd, the warrior virgin pass'd along,And much revolving in her troubled mind,Retreads the palace: there the feast was spread,And sparkling with the red dew of the vine-yard,The bowl went round. Meantime the minstrel struck 165His harp: the Palladins of France he sung;The warrior who from Arden's fated fountDrank of the bitter waters of aversion,And loathing beauty, spurn'd the lovely Maid,Suppliant for Love; soon doom'd to rue the charm 170Revers'd: and that invulnerable ChiefOrlando, he who from the magic hornBreath'd such heart-withering sounds, that every foeFled from the fearful blast, and all-appall'd,Spell-stricken Valour hid his recreant head. 175

 The full sound echoed o'er the arched roof, And listening eager to the favourite lay, The guests sat silent. When into the hallThe Messenger from that besieged town,Stalk'd stately. "It is pleasant, King of France, 180To feast at ease and hear the harper's song;Far other music hear the men of Orleans!Death is among them; there the voice of WoeMoans ceaseless.""Rude unmannerly intruder!"Exclaim'd the Monarch, "Cease to interrupt 185The hour of merriment; it is not thineTo instruct me in my duty."Of reproof Heedless, the stranger to the minstrel cried, "Why harpest thou of Good Rinaldo's fameAmid these walls? Virtue and Genius love 190That lofty lay. Hast thou no loose lewd taleTo pamper and provoke the appetite?Such should procure thee worthy recompence:Or rather sing thou of that mighty one,Who tore the ewe lamb from the poor man's bosom, 195 That was to him even as a daughter! Charles,This holy tale would I tell, prophet-like,And gazing on thee cry, "Thou art the man!"

 He said, and with a quick and troubled step Retired. Astonish'd at his daring phrase, 200The guests sat heedless of the minstrel's song, Pondering the words mysterious. Soon the harp Beguil'd their senses of anxiety.

 The court dispers'd: retiring from the hall, Charles and the delegated damsel sought 205The inner palace. There awaited them The Queen: with her JOAN loved to pass the hours, By various converse cheer'd; for she had won The Virgin's heart by her mild melancholy, The calm and duteous patience that deplor'd 210A husband's cold half-love. To her she told With what strange words the messenger from Orleans Had rous'd uneasy wonder in her mind; For on her ear yet vibrated the voice,"Ill-omen'd Maid I pity thee!" when lo! 215Again that man stalk'd to the door, and stoodScowling around."Why dost thou haunt me thus," The Monarch cried, "Is there no place secureFrom thy rude insolence? unmanner'd Man!I know thee not!""Then learn to know me, Charles!" 220Solemnly he replied; "read well my face,That thou mayest know it on that dreadful day, When at the throne of God I shall demandHis justice on thee!" Turning from the King, To Agnes as she enter'd, in a tone 225More low, more awfully severe, he cried,"Dost thou too know me not?"She glanced on him, And pale and breathless hid her head convuls'd In the Maid's bosom."King of France!" he said, "She lov'd me! day by day I dwelt with her, 230Her voice was music—very sweet her smiles!I left her! left her Charles, in evil hour,To fight thy battles. Thou meantime didst come,Staining most foul her spotless purity;For she was pure—my Agnes! even as snow 235Fall'n in some cleft where never the fierce SunPours his hot ray—most foul, for once most fair:My poor polluted Agnes!—Thou bad man!Thou hast almost shaken my faith in Heaven.I see thee rioting in sloth and guilt, 240And yet thou restest pillowing thy headEven on her bosom! I, tho' innocentOf ill, the victim of another's vice,Drag on the loathsome burthen of existence,And doubt Heaven's justice!"So he said, and frown'd 245Dark as that, man who at Mohammed's door Knock'd fierce and frequent; from whose fearful look Bath'd with cold damps, every beholder fled. Even he the prophet almost terrifiéd,Endur'd but half to view him, for he knew 250Azarael, stern-brow'd Messenger of Fate,And his death-day was come. Guilt-petrifiedThe Monarch sat, nor could endure to faceHis bosom-probing frown. The mission'd MaidRead anxious his stern features and exclaim'd 255"I know thee Conrade!" Rising from her seat,She took his hand, for he stood motionless,Gazing on Agnes now with full-fix'd eye,Dreadful though calm: him from the Court she drew,And to the river's banks resisting not, 260Both sadly silent led; till at the lastAs from a dream awaking, Conrade look'dFull on the Maid, and falling on her neck,He wept."I know thee, Damsel!" he exclaim'd, "Dost thou remember that tempestuous night, 265When I, a weather-beaten traveller, soughtYour hospitable doors? ah me! I then Was happy! you too sojourn'd then in peace.Fool that I was I blam'd such happiness,Arraign'd it as a guilty selfish sloth, 270Unhappily prevailing, so I fear me,Or why art thou at Chinon?"Him the Maid Answering, address'd. "I do remember well That night: for then the holy Spirit first, Wak'd by thy words, possessed me."Conrade cried, 275"Then I have one more sin to answer for!Oh Maiden, thou wert happy! thou hadst liv'dBlessing and blest, if I had never stray'dNeedlessly rigid from my peaceful path.And thou hast left thine home then, and obey'd 280The feverish fancies of thine ardent brain!And hast thou left him too, the youth whose eyeFor ever glancing on thee, spake so wellAffection's eloquent tale?So as he said, Rush'd the warm purple to the Virgin's cheek. 285"I am alone" she answer'd, "for this realmDevoted." Nor to answer more the maidEndur'd; for many a melancholy thoughtThrong'd on her aching memory. Her mind's eyeBeheld Domremi and the fields of Arc: 290She gaz'd amid the air with such sad look,Yet such sweet solacing of self-applause,As he the virtuous exile feels, who, driven^[1]By "that dark Vizier" from his native land,^[2]Roams on the sea beach, while the roaring waves 295Rocking his senses, break upon the shore.Lost in sad dreams his distant home he sees,His friends, and haply too an aged MotherThat weeps for him in bitterness of heart.All, all he loved fond fancy sees again, 300Till the big tear-drop rushes o'er its orb,And drowns the soft enchantment.By the hand Her Conrade held and cried, "Ill-fated Maid,That I have torn thee from Affection's breast,My soul will groan in anguish. Thou wilt serve 305Like me, the worthless Court, and having serv'd,In the hour of ill abandon'd, thou shalt curse The duty that deluded. Of the worldFatigued, and loathing at my fellow menI shall be seen no more. There is a path—310The eagle hath not mark'd it, the young wolf Knows not its hidden windings: I have trodThat path, and mark'd a melancholy den,Where one whose jaundiced soul abhors itself,May pamper him in compleat wretchedness. 315There sepulchred, the ghost of what he was,Conrade shall dwell, and in the languid hour,When the jarr'd senses sink to a sick calm,Shall mourn the waste of frenzy!"So he spake, And clasping to his heart the Virgin's hand, 320Sped rapid o'er the plain. She with dim eyes, For gushing tears obscur'd them, follow'd him Till lost in distance. With a weight of thoughtOpprest, along the poplar-planted VienneThen wander'd, till o'erwearied on the banks 235She laid her down, and watch'd its slowest streamDim purpling to the clouds, that still were pierc'dBy the sunk day-star's ray. The murmuring tideLull'd her, and many a pensive pleasing dreamRose in sad shadowy trains at Memory's call. 330She thought of Arc, and of the dingled brook,Whose waves oft leaping on their craggy courseMade dance the low-hung willow's dripping twigs;And where it spread into a glassy lake,Of that old oak, which on the smooth expanse 335Imaged its hoary mossy-mantled boughs.Wak'd by the thought, a tear ran down her cheekUnconscious, when a voice behind address'd her,"Forgive the intrusion, Lady! I would askWhere I might meet that Heaven-commission'd Maid, 340Call'd to deliver France.'The well-known tones Thrill'd her: her heart throbb'd fast—she started up, And fell upon the neck of Theodore.

"Oh! I have found thee!" cried th' enraptur'd youth, "And I shall dare the battle by thy side, 345And shield thee from the war! but tell me, JOAN,Why didst thou brood in such strange mystery,O'er this thy Heaven-doom'd purpose? trust me, MaidenI have shed many tears for that wild gloomThat so estranged thee from thy Theodore! 350If thou couldst know the anguish I endur'dWhen thou wert gone! how thro' the live-long nightI vainly travers'd o'er thy wonted paths,Making the forest echo to thy name!Our mother too! in sooth it was unkind 355To leave us thus!"Mindless of her high call, Again the lowly shepherdess of Arc, In half-articulated words the Maid Express'd her joy. Of Elinor she ask'd, How from a doting mother he had come 360In arms array'd."Thou wakest in my mindA thought that makes me sad," the youth replied, "For Elinor wept much at my resolve,And eloquent with all a mother's fears,Urg'd me to leave her not. My wayward heart 365Smote me as I look'd back and saw her waveAdieu! but high in hope I soon beguil'd These melancholy feelings by the thoughtThat we should both return to cheer her age,Thy mission well fulfill'd, and quit no more 370The copse-embosom'd cottage."But the Maid Soon started from her dream of happiness, For on her memory flash'd the flaming pile. A death-like paleness at the dreadful thoughts Wither'd her cheek; the dews on her cold brow. 375Started, and on the arm of Theodore Feeble and faint she hung. His eager eye Concentring all the anguish of the soul,And strain'd in anxious love, on her wan cheekFearfully silent gazed. But by the thought 380Of her high mission rous'd, the Maiden's soulCollected, and she spake."My Theodore,Thou hast done wrong to quit thy mother's home!Alone and aged she will weep for thee,Wasting the little that is left of life 385In anguish. Go thee back again to Arc,And cheering so her wintry hour of age,Cherish my memory there."Swift he exclaim'd,"Nay Maid! the pang of parting is o'erpast,And Elinor looks on to the glad hour 390When we shall both return. Amid the warHow many an arm will seek thy single life,How many a sword pierce thro' thy brittle mail,Wound thy fair face, or, driven with impious rage,Gore thy white bosom! JOAN, I will go with thee, 395 And spread the guardian shield!"Again the Maid Grew pale; for of her last and terrible hour The vision'd scene she saw. "Nay," she replied, "I shall not need thy succour in the war.Me Heaven, if so seem good to it's high will, 400Will save. I shall be happier, Theodore,Thinking that thou dost sojourn safe at home,And make thy mother happy."The youth's cheek A rapid blush disorder'd. "O! the CourtIs pleasant, and thy soul would fain forget 405An obscure Villager, who only boastsThe treasure of the heart!"She look'd at him With the reproaching eye of tenderness:"Devoted for the realm of France, I goA willing victim. The unpierced Veil 410Was raised, and my gifted eye beheldThe fearful features of futurity. Yes, Theodore, I shall redeem my country, Abandoning for this the joys of life, Yea, life itself!" then on his neck she fell, 415And with a faultering voice, "return to Arc; I do not tell thee there are other maids As fair: for thou wilt love my memory, Hallowing to it the temple of thy heart. Worthy a happier, not a better love, 420My Theodore!"—Then, pressing his pale lips, A last and holy kiss the Virgin fix'd, And rush'd across the plain. She reach'd the court Breathless. The mingled movements of her mind Shook ev'ry fibre. Sad and sick at heart, 425 Fain to her lonely chamber's solitude The Maiden had retir'd; but her the King Met on the threshold. He of the late scene Forgetful and his crime, as chearful seem'd As tho' there had not been a God in Heav'n! 430"Enter the hall," he cried, "the masquers there Join in the dance. Why Maiden art thou sad?Has that rude madman shook thy gentle frameWith his strange frenzies?"The disgusted Maid,As sternly sorrowful she frown'd upon him, 435Replied. "Yes, Charles! that Madman has indeedMade me most sad. Much had I heard of courts,Much of the vice and folly that enthrall'dThe masters of mankind. IncredulousI heard, incredulous that man should bow 440In homage to the slaves of appetite.Thron'd in Infinity, the Eternal JusticeGives or witholds success; by his high willWithering the uplifted Warrior's sinewy arm.Victory is his; on whom he delegates 445His minister of wrath, the Genius waitsStern-brow'd attendant. In the human heartDwells Virtue; milder form! and templed there Loves her meet altar; and, tho' oft dislodg'd, Reluctantly she quits her lov'd abode, 450 And oft returns, and oft importunateReclaims her empire. Wilt thou Charles, rejectThe suppliant angel? wilt thou thrust her from thee,Turning thine ear from her unheeded cries,To Riot's deaf'ning clamors? King of France! 455To thee elated, thus above mankindSubjected thousands gaze: they wait thy will,They wait thy will to quit their peaceful homes,To quit the comforts of domestic life,For the camp's dissonance, the clang of arms, 460The banquet of destruction. King of France,Glows not thy crimson cheek—sinks not thine heartAt the dread thought of thousands in thy cause,Mow'd by the giant scythe of Victory?Of widows weeping for their slaughter'd husbands? 465Of orphans groaning for their daily food?Oh that my voice in thunder might awakeThe monitor within thee! that thy soulMight, like Manoah's iron-sinewed son,Burst its base fetters!" The astonish'd King, 470Trembled like Felix, when the Apostle spake Of righteousness to come.And now Dunois, Poising a javelin, came with hasty step: His eye beam'd exultation."Thou hast rous'dThe sleeping virtue of the sons of France; 475They croud around the standard," cried the chief."My lance is ponderous; I have sharp'd my sword To meet the mortal combat. Mission'd Maid, Our brethren sieged in Orleans, every moment Gaze from the watch-tower with the sick'ning eye 480Of expectation."Rous'd from his amaze,And trusting by religion's forms observ'd, With scrupulous care, to atone for the foul breach Of her first duties, thus the King exclaim'd:"O chosen by Heav'n, defer awhile thy march, 485"That o'er the land my Heralds may proclaim A general fast."Severe the Maid replied: "Monarch of France! and canst thou think that GodBeholds well-pleas'd the mock'ry of a fast?^[3]Luxuriant lordly riot is content 490And willingly obedient to command,Feasts on some sainted dainty. The poor man,From the hard labor of the day debarr'd,Loses his hard meal too. It were to wasteThe hour in impious folly, so to bribe 496 The all-creating Parent to destroyThe works he made. Proud tyranny to Man,To God foul insult! Mortify your pride;Be clad in sackcloth when the conqueror's carRolls o'er the field of blood.—Believe me, King, 500If thou didst know the untold miseryWhen from the bosom of domestic LoveBut one—one victim goes! if that thine heart Be human, it would bleed!"Her heart was full, And, pausing for a moment, she repress'd 505The unbidden anguish. "Lo! they croud around The standard! Thou Dunois the chosen troops Marshal in speed, for early with the dawnWe march to rescue Orleans from the foe."

1. Line 293 Thomas Muir.
2. Line 294 Though roused by that dark Vizier, Riot rude, &c. Coleridge's Poems.
3. Line 489 "If they who mingled the Cup of Bitterness, drank its contents, we might look with compassion on the wickedness of great men: But alas! the storm which they raise, "beats heaviest on the exposed innocent," and the cottage of the poor man is stripped of every comfort, before the Oppressors, who send forth the mandate of death, are amerced of one Luxury, or one Vice. If calamities succeed each other in a long series, they deprecate the anger of Heaven by a Fast; which word (being interpreted) seems to signify—Prayers of Hate to the God of Love, and then a turbot feast to the rich, and their usual scanty meal to the poor, if indeed, debarred from their usual labor, they can procure even this! But if the cause be crowned by victory,
   ———"They o'er the ravaged earth,As at an altar wet with human blood, And flaming with the fire of cities burnt, Sing their mad Hymns of Triumph—Hymns to God, O'er the destruction of his gracious works, Hymns to the father o'er his slaughter'd son."
   

   See Conciones ad Populum, or, Addresses to the People, by S. T. Coleridge