Joan of Arc (Southey)/Book 5
JOAN of ARC.
BOOK THE FIFTH.
ARGUMENT.
The Maid receives a consecrated Banner from the Archbishop. The troops under the command of JOAN and Dunois march towards Orleans. They meet with one of the female outcasts from that City. Her history previous to taking refuge there. Preparations for the ensuing siege. Encampment of the besiegers. Their progress, and the subsequent distresses of Orleans.
JOAN of ARC
BOOK THE FIFTH.
SCARCE had the earliest ray from Chinon's towers
Made visible the mists that curl'd along
The winding waves of Vienne, when from her couch
Started the martial Maid. She mail'd her limbs;
The white plumes nodded o'er her helmed head; 5
She girt the temper'd falchion by her side,
And, like some youth that from his mother's arms,
For his first field impatient, breaks away,
Poising the lance went forth.
Twelve hundred men,
Rearing in order'd ranks their well-sharp'd spears, 10
Await her coming. Terrible in arms
Before them towered Dunois. His manly face
Dark-shadow'd by the helmet's iron cheeks.
The assembled court gaz'd on the marshall'd train,
And at the gate the aged Primate stood
To pour his blessing on the chosen host. 15
And now a soft and solemn symphony
Was heard; and chaunting high the hallow'd hymn
From the near convent came the vestal maids.
A holy banner, woven by virgin hands, 20
Snow-white they bore. A mingled sentiment
Of awe, and eager ardor for the fight,
Thrill'd thro' the troops, as he the reverend man
Took the white standard, and with heav'n-ward eye
Call'd on the God of Justice, blessing it. 25
The Maid, her brows in reverence unhelm'd,
Her dark hair floating on the morning gale,
Knelt to his prayer, and stretching forth her hand
Receiv'd the mystic ensign. From the host
A loud and universal shout burst forth, 30
As rising from the ground, on her white brow,
She placed the plumed casque, and waved on high
The banner'd lillies. On their way they march,
And dim in distance, soon the towers of Chinon
Fade from the eye reverted.
The third sun, 35
Purpling the sky with his dilated light,
Sunk westering; when embosom'd in the depth
Of that vast forest, whose prodigious track[1]
Shadows the hills and vales of Orleannois,
They pitch their tents. The hum of occupation 40
Sounds ceaseless. Waving to the evening gale,
The streamers wanton; and, ascending slow
Beneath the foliage of the forest trees,
With many a light hue tinged, the curling smoke
Melts in the impurpled air: leaving her tent, 45
The martial Maiden wander'd thro' the wood.
There, by a streamlet, on its mossy bank
Reclined, she saw a damsel: her long locks
Engarlanded, and as she nearer came,
The Virgin knew it for the willow weed. 50
Resting his head upon her lap, there lay
A dark-hair'd man, listening as she did sing
Sad ditties, and enwreathe to bind his brow
The melancholy rue. Scar'd at the sound
Of one in arms approaching, she had fled; 55
But Conrade, looking upward, recogniz'd
The Maid of Arc. "Fear not, poor Isabel,"
He said, "for this is one of gentle kind,
Whom even the wretched need not fear to love."
Made visible the mists that curl'd along
The winding waves of Vienne, when from her couch
Started the martial Maid. She mail'd her limbs;
The white plumes nodded o'er her helmed head; 5
She girt the temper'd falchion by her side,
And, like some youth that from his mother's arms,
For his first field impatient, breaks away,
Poising the lance went forth.
Twelve hundred men,
Rearing in order'd ranks their well-sharp'd spears, 10
Await her coming. Terrible in arms
Before them towered Dunois. His manly face
Dark-shadow'd by the helmet's iron cheeks.
The assembled court gaz'd on the marshall'd train,
And at the gate the aged Primate stood
To pour his blessing on the chosen host. 15
And now a soft and solemn symphony
Was heard; and chaunting high the hallow'd hymn
From the near convent came the vestal maids.
A holy banner, woven by virgin hands, 20
Snow-white they bore. A mingled sentiment
Of awe, and eager ardor for the fight,
Thrill'd thro' the troops, as he the reverend man
Took the white standard, and with heav'n-ward eye
Call'd on the God of Justice, blessing it. 25
The Maid, her brows in reverence unhelm'd,
Her dark hair floating on the morning gale,
Knelt to his prayer, and stretching forth her hand
Receiv'd the mystic ensign. From the host
A loud and universal shout burst forth, 30
As rising from the ground, on her white brow,
She placed the plumed casque, and waved on high
The banner'd lillies. On their way they march,
And dim in distance, soon the towers of Chinon
Fade from the eye reverted.
The third sun, 35
Purpling the sky with his dilated light,
Sunk westering; when embosom'd in the depth
Of that vast forest, whose prodigious track[1]
Shadows the hills and vales of Orleannois,
They pitch their tents. The hum of occupation 40
Sounds ceaseless. Waving to the evening gale,
The streamers wanton; and, ascending slow
Beneath the foliage of the forest trees,
With many a light hue tinged, the curling smoke
Melts in the impurpled air: leaving her tent, 45
The martial Maiden wander'd thro' the wood.
There, by a streamlet, on its mossy bank
Reclined, she saw a damsel: her long locks
Engarlanded, and as she nearer came,
The Virgin knew it for the willow weed. 50
Resting his head upon her lap, there lay
A dark-hair'd man, listening as she did sing
Sad ditties, and enwreathe to bind his brow
The melancholy rue. Scar'd at the sound
Of one in arms approaching, she had fled; 55
But Conrade, looking upward, recogniz'd
The Maid of Arc. "Fear not, poor Isabel,"
He said, "for this is one of gentle kind,
Whom even the wretched need not fear to love."
So saying, he arose and took her hand, 60
And held it to his bosom. "My fond heart,
Tho' school'd by wrongs to loath at human kind,
Beats high, a rebel to its own resolves.
Come hither outcast One! and call her friend,
And she shall be thy friend more readily 65
Because thou art unhappy."
Isabel
Saw a tear starting in the Virgin's eye,
And glancing upon Conrade, she too wept,
Wailing his wilder'd senses.
"Missioned Maid!"
The warrior cried, "be happy! for thy power 70
Can make this wanderer so. From Orleans driven,
Orphan'd by war, and torn away from one
Her only friend, I found her in the wilds,
Worn out with want and wretchedness. Thou, JOAN,
Wilt his beloved to the youth restore. 75
And, trust me Maid! the miserable feel
When they on others bestow happiness
High joys and soul-ennobling."
She replied,
Pressing the damsel's hand, in the mild tone
Of equal friendship, solacing her cares. 80
"Soon shall we enter Orleans," said the Maid;
A few hours in her dream of victory
England shall triumph; then to be awak'd
By the loud thunder of Almighty wrath!
Irksome meantime the busy camp to me 85
A solitary woman. Isabel,
Wert thou the while companion of my tent,
Lightly the time would pass. Return with me,
I may not long be absent."
So she spake.
The Wanderer in half-uttered words express'd 90
Grateful assent. Art thou, astonish'd Maid,
"That one tho' pow'rful is benevolent?
In truth thou well mayest wonder!" Conrade cried.
"But little cause to love the mighty ones
Has the low cottager! for with its shade
Does Power, a barren death-dew-dropping tree,
Blast ev'ry herb beneath its baleful boughs!
Tell thou thy sufferings Isabel! Relate
How warr'd the chieftains, and the people died.
The mission'd Virgin hath not heard thy woes, 100
And pleasant to my ear the twice-told tale
Of sorrow."
Gazing on the martial Maid
She read her wish and spake. "Of lowly line
Not distant far from Jenville, dwelt my sire.
Two brethren form'd our family of love. 105
e Humble we were, but happy. Honest toil
Procur'd our homely sustenance. Our herds
Duly at morn and evening to my hand
Gave their full stores. The vineyard he had rear'd
Purpled its clusters in the southern sun; 110
And plenteous produce of my father's toil
The yellow harvest billowed o'er the plain.
We were content and envied not the great;
We fear'd them not, for we were innocent.
How chearful seated round the blazing hearth 115
When all the labour of the day was done,
We past the ev'ning hours! for they would sing
Or chearful roundelay, or ditty sad
Of maid forsaken and the willow weed,
Or of the doughty Douzeperes of France, 120
Some warlike fit, the while my spinning wheel
Humm'd not unpleasing round!"
"Thus long we lived,
And happy. To a neighbouring youth my hand
In holy wedlock soon to be combin'd
Was plighted. My poor Francis!" Here she paus'd, 125
"And here she wept awhile.
"We did not dream
The desolating sword of War would stoop
To us. But soon as with the whirlwind's speed
Ruin rush'd round us. Mehun, Clery, fell,[2]
The banner'd Lion waved on Gergeau's wall, 130
Baugenci yielded: soon the foe approach'd
The towers of Jenville."
"Fatal was the hour
To luckless Isabel. For from the wall
The rusty sword was taken, and the shield
That long had mouldered on the mouldering nail, 135
To meet the war repair'd. No more was heard
The ballad, or the merry roundelay.
The clattering hammers clank, the grating file
Harsh sounded thro' the day a dismal din.
I never shall forget their mournful sound! 140
And held it to his bosom. "My fond heart,
Tho' school'd by wrongs to loath at human kind,
Beats high, a rebel to its own resolves.
Come hither outcast One! and call her friend,
And she shall be thy friend more readily 65
Because thou art unhappy."
Isabel
Saw a tear starting in the Virgin's eye,
And glancing upon Conrade, she too wept,
Wailing his wilder'd senses.
"Missioned Maid!"
The warrior cried, "be happy! for thy power 70
Can make this wanderer so. From Orleans driven,
Orphan'd by war, and torn away from one
Her only friend, I found her in the wilds,
Worn out with want and wretchedness. Thou, JOAN,
Wilt his beloved to the youth restore. 75
And, trust me Maid! the miserable feel
When they on others bestow happiness
High joys and soul-ennobling."
She replied,
Pressing the damsel's hand, in the mild tone
Of equal friendship, solacing her cares. 80
"Soon shall we enter Orleans," said the Maid;
A few hours in her dream of victory
England shall triumph; then to be awak'd
By the loud thunder of Almighty wrath!
Irksome meantime the busy camp to me 85
A solitary woman. Isabel,
Wert thou the while companion of my tent,
Lightly the time would pass. Return with me,
I may not long be absent."
So she spake.
The Wanderer in half-uttered words express'd 90
Grateful assent. Art thou, astonish'd Maid,
"That one tho' pow'rful is benevolent?
In truth thou well mayest wonder!" Conrade cried.
"But little cause to love the mighty ones
Has the low cottager! for with its shade
Does Power, a barren death-dew-dropping tree,
Blast ev'ry herb beneath its baleful boughs!
Tell thou thy sufferings Isabel! Relate
How warr'd the chieftains, and the people died.
The mission'd Virgin hath not heard thy woes, 100
And pleasant to my ear the twice-told tale
Of sorrow."
Gazing on the martial Maid
She read her wish and spake. "Of lowly line
Not distant far from Jenville, dwelt my sire.
Two brethren form'd our family of love. 105
e Humble we were, but happy. Honest toil
Procur'd our homely sustenance. Our herds
Duly at morn and evening to my hand
Gave their full stores. The vineyard he had rear'd
Purpled its clusters in the southern sun; 110
And plenteous produce of my father's toil
The yellow harvest billowed o'er the plain.
We were content and envied not the great;
We fear'd them not, for we were innocent.
How chearful seated round the blazing hearth 115
When all the labour of the day was done,
We past the ev'ning hours! for they would sing
Or chearful roundelay, or ditty sad
Of maid forsaken and the willow weed,
Or of the doughty Douzeperes of France, 120
Some warlike fit, the while my spinning wheel
Humm'd not unpleasing round!"
"Thus long we lived,
And happy. To a neighbouring youth my hand
In holy wedlock soon to be combin'd
Was plighted. My poor Francis!" Here she paus'd, 125
"And here she wept awhile.
"We did not dream
The desolating sword of War would stoop
To us. But soon as with the whirlwind's speed
Ruin rush'd round us. Mehun, Clery, fell,[2]
The banner'd Lion waved on Gergeau's wall, 130
Baugenci yielded: soon the foe approach'd
The towers of Jenville."
"Fatal was the hour
To luckless Isabel. For from the wall
The rusty sword was taken, and the shield
That long had mouldered on the mouldering nail, 135
To meet the war repair'd. No more was heard
The ballad, or the merry roundelay.
The clattering hammers clank, the grating file
Harsh sounded thro' the day a dismal din.
I never shall forget their mournful sound! 140
"My father stood encircling his old limbs
In long forgotten arms. "Come boys," he cried,
I did not think that this grey head again
Should bear the helmet's weight! but in the field
Better to boldly die a soldier's death, 145
Than here be tamely butcher'd. My dear girl,
Go to the Abbey. Here is gold to buy
The kind protection of the holy church.
Fare thee well Isabel! if we survive
And conquer, we shall meet again: if not, 150
There is a better world!"
"In broken words
Lifting his looks to Heav'n! my father breath'd
His blessing on me. As they strode away,
My brethren gazed on me and prest my hand
In silence, for they lov'd their Isabel. 155
From the near cottage Francis join'd the troop.
Then did I look on our forsaken home,
And almost sob my very soul away!
For all my hopes of happiness were fled,
Like a vain dream!"
In long forgotten arms. "Come boys," he cried,
I did not think that this grey head again
Should bear the helmet's weight! but in the field
Better to boldly die a soldier's death, 145
Than here be tamely butcher'd. My dear girl,
Go to the Abbey. Here is gold to buy
The kind protection of the holy church.
Fare thee well Isabel! if we survive
And conquer, we shall meet again: if not, 150
There is a better world!"
"In broken words
Lifting his looks to Heav'n! my father breath'd
His blessing on me. As they strode away,
My brethren gazed on me and prest my hand
In silence, for they lov'd their Isabel. 155
From the near cottage Francis join'd the troop.
Then did I look on our forsaken home,
And almost sob my very soul away!
For all my hopes of happiness were fled,
Like a vain dream!"
"Perish these mighty ones," 160
Cried Conrade, "these prime ministers of death,
Who stalk elated o'er their fields of fame,
And count the thousands they have massacred,
And with the bodies of the innocent, rear
Their pyramid of glory! Perish these, 165
The epitome of all the pestilent plagues
That Egypt knew! who pour their locust swarms
O'er ravaged realms, and bid the brooks run blood.
Fear and Destruction go before their path,
And Famine dogs their footsteps. God of Justice, 170
Let not the innocent blood cry out in vain!"
Cried Conrade, "these prime ministers of death,
Who stalk elated o'er their fields of fame,
And count the thousands they have massacred,
And with the bodies of the innocent, rear
Their pyramid of glory! Perish these, 165
The epitome of all the pestilent plagues
That Egypt knew! who pour their locust swarms
O'er ravaged realms, and bid the brooks run blood.
Fear and Destruction go before their path,
And Famine dogs their footsteps. God of Justice, 170
Let not the innocent blood cry out in vain!"
Thus whilst he spake the murmur of the camp
Rose on their ear. First like the distant sound
When the full-foliaged forest to the storm
Shakes its hoarse head. Anon with louder din; 175
And thro' the opening glade gleamed many a fire.
The Virgin's tent they enter'd. There the board
Was spread. The Wanderer, of the fare partook,
Then thus her tale renew'd.
"Slow o'er the hill
Whose rising head conceal'd our cot I past, 180
Yet on my journey paus'd awhile, and gaz'd,
And wept—for often had I crost the hill
With chearful step, and seen the rising smoke
Of hospitable fire. Alas! no smoke
Curl'd o'er the melancholy chimneys now. 185
Orleans I reach'd. There in the suburbs stood
The Abbey—and ere long I learnt the fall
Of Jenville.
"On a day, a soldier ask'd
For Isabel. Scarce could my faltering feet
Support me. It was Francis, and alone— 190
The sole survivor of the fatal fight!
"And soon the foes approach'd. Impending War
Soon sadden'd Orleans. There the bravest chiefs[3]
Assemble. Gallant D'Orval shines in arms,
And Xaintrailles ransom'd from the captive chain. 195
Graville, La Hire, and Thouars, and preserv'd
When fall'n and faint, Alencon on the field;
Verneuil to France so fatal, and releas'd,
La Fayette from his hard captivity,
Boussac, Chabannes, and over all renown'd 200
The Bastard Orleans.
"These within the town
Expect the foe. Twelve hundred chosen men
Well tried in war, uprear the guardian shield
Beneath their banners. Dreadful was the sight
Of preparation. The wide suburbs stretch'd 205
Along the pleasant borders of the Loire,
Late throng'd with multitudes, now feel the hand
Of Ruin. These preventive Care destroys,[4]
Lest England, shelter'd by the friendly walls,
Securely should approach. The monasteries 210
Fell in the general waste. The holy Monks
Unwillingly their long-accustom'd haunts
Abandon, haunts where every gloomy nook
Call'd to awakened Memory some trace
Of vision seen, or sound miraculous. 215
Trembling and terrified, their noiseless cells
For the rude uproar of a world unknown,
The Nuns desert. Their Abbess, more composed,
Collects her maids around, and tells her beads,
And pours the timid prayer of piety. 220
The citizens with strong and ceaseless stroke
Dug up the violated earth, to impede
The foe. The hollow chambers of the dead
Echoed beneath. The brazen-trophied tomb
Thrown in the furnace, now prepares to give 225
The death it late recorded. It was sad
To see so wide a waste; the aged ones
Hanging their heads, and weeping as they went
O'er the fall'n dwellings of their happier years;
The stern and sullen silence of the men 230
Musing on vengeance: and but ill represt
The mother's fears as to her breast she clasp'd
Her ill-doom'd infant. Soon the suburbs lay
One ample ruin; the huge stones remov'd,
Wait in the town to rain the storm of death." 235
Rose on their ear. First like the distant sound
When the full-foliaged forest to the storm
Shakes its hoarse head. Anon with louder din; 175
And thro' the opening glade gleamed many a fire.
The Virgin's tent they enter'd. There the board
Was spread. The Wanderer, of the fare partook,
Then thus her tale renew'd.
"Slow o'er the hill
Whose rising head conceal'd our cot I past, 180
Yet on my journey paus'd awhile, and gaz'd,
And wept—for often had I crost the hill
With chearful step, and seen the rising smoke
Of hospitable fire. Alas! no smoke
Curl'd o'er the melancholy chimneys now. 185
Orleans I reach'd. There in the suburbs stood
The Abbey—and ere long I learnt the fall
Of Jenville.
"On a day, a soldier ask'd
For Isabel. Scarce could my faltering feet
Support me. It was Francis, and alone— 190
The sole survivor of the fatal fight!
"And soon the foes approach'd. Impending War
Soon sadden'd Orleans. There the bravest chiefs[3]
Assemble. Gallant D'Orval shines in arms,
And Xaintrailles ransom'd from the captive chain. 195
Graville, La Hire, and Thouars, and preserv'd
When fall'n and faint, Alencon on the field;
Verneuil to France so fatal, and releas'd,
La Fayette from his hard captivity,
Boussac, Chabannes, and over all renown'd 200
The Bastard Orleans.
"These within the town
Expect the foe. Twelve hundred chosen men
Well tried in war, uprear the guardian shield
Beneath their banners. Dreadful was the sight
Of preparation. The wide suburbs stretch'd 205
Along the pleasant borders of the Loire,
Late throng'd with multitudes, now feel the hand
Of Ruin. These preventive Care destroys,[4]
Lest England, shelter'd by the friendly walls,
Securely should approach. The monasteries 210
Fell in the general waste. The holy Monks
Unwillingly their long-accustom'd haunts
Abandon, haunts where every gloomy nook
Call'd to awakened Memory some trace
Of vision seen, or sound miraculous. 215
Trembling and terrified, their noiseless cells
For the rude uproar of a world unknown,
The Nuns desert. Their Abbess, more composed,
Collects her maids around, and tells her beads,
And pours the timid prayer of piety. 220
The citizens with strong and ceaseless stroke
Dug up the violated earth, to impede
The foe. The hollow chambers of the dead
Echoed beneath. The brazen-trophied tomb
Thrown in the furnace, now prepares to give 225
The death it late recorded. It was sad
To see so wide a waste; the aged ones
Hanging their heads, and weeping as they went
O'er the fall'n dwellings of their happier years;
The stern and sullen silence of the men 230
Musing on vengeance: and but ill represt
The mother's fears as to her breast she clasp'd
Her ill-doom'd infant. Soon the suburbs lay
One ample ruin; the huge stones remov'd,
Wait in the town to rain the storm of death." 235
"And now without the walls the desolate plain
Stretch'd wide, a rough and melancholy waste.
With uptorn pavements and foundations deep
Of many a ruined dwelling—horrid scene!
Nor was within less drear. At evening hour 240
No more the merry tabor's note was heard,
No more the aged matron at her door
Humm'd cheery to her spinning wheel, and mark'd
Her children dancing to the roundelay.
It was a hurried, melancholy scene! 245
The chieftains strengthening still the massy walls,
Survey them with the prying eye of fear.
The eager youth in dreadful preparation
Strive in the mimic war. Silent and stern
They urge with fearful haste their gloomy work. 250
All day the armourer's busy beat was heard,
All night it sounded. In the city dwelt
Such a dead silence of all pleasant sounds,
As in the forest when the lowering clouds
Meet, and the deep and hollow wind is heard 255
That omens tempest: trembles to its voice
The grove, and casts a darker gloom around."
Stretch'd wide, a rough and melancholy waste.
With uptorn pavements and foundations deep
Of many a ruined dwelling—horrid scene!
Nor was within less drear. At evening hour 240
No more the merry tabor's note was heard,
No more the aged matron at her door
Humm'd cheery to her spinning wheel, and mark'd
Her children dancing to the roundelay.
It was a hurried, melancholy scene! 245
The chieftains strengthening still the massy walls,
Survey them with the prying eye of fear.
The eager youth in dreadful preparation
Strive in the mimic war. Silent and stern
They urge with fearful haste their gloomy work. 250
All day the armourer's busy beat was heard,
All night it sounded. In the city dwelt
Such a dead silence of all pleasant sounds,
As in the forest when the lowering clouds
Meet, and the deep and hollow wind is heard 255
That omens tempest: trembles to its voice
The grove, and casts a darker gloom around."
"At length the foe approach. The watchman sounds
His dreadful warning. From the lofty tower
Of old cathedral I beheld the scene. 260
Trembling as when upon some little rock
Islanded from the not-far-distant shore,
The shipwreck'd seamen difficultly escap'd
Stands, and beholds the tide fast rising round."
His dreadful warning. From the lofty tower
Of old cathedral I beheld the scene. 260
Trembling as when upon some little rock
Islanded from the not-far-distant shore,
The shipwreck'd seamen difficultly escap'd
Stands, and beholds the tide fast rising round."
"With standards proudly waving to the breeze, 265
Onward they move. The clarions breathe aloud
Their martial clangor, and the chearful fife,
According to the thundering drum's deep sound,
Directs their measur'd march. Before the ranks
Stalks the stern form of Salisbury, the scourge 270
Of France; and Talbot towered by his side,
Talbot, at whose dread name the froward child
Clings mute and trembling to his nurse's breast.
Suffolk was there, and Hungerford, and Scales,
And Fastolffe, victor in the frequent fight. 275
Dark as the autumnal storm they roll'd along,
That big with ruin chills tire blacken'd vale;
A countless host! From the high tower I mark'd
The dreadful scene.—I saw the iron blaze
Of javelins sparkling to the noontide sun, 280
Their banners tossing to the troubled gale,
And—fearful music—heard upon the wind
The modulated step of multitudes."
Onward they move. The clarions breathe aloud
Their martial clangor, and the chearful fife,
According to the thundering drum's deep sound,
Directs their measur'd march. Before the ranks
Stalks the stern form of Salisbury, the scourge 270
Of France; and Talbot towered by his side,
Talbot, at whose dread name the froward child
Clings mute and trembling to his nurse's breast.
Suffolk was there, and Hungerford, and Scales,
And Fastolffe, victor in the frequent fight. 275
Dark as the autumnal storm they roll'd along,
That big with ruin chills tire blacken'd vale;
A countless host! From the high tower I mark'd
The dreadful scene.—I saw the iron blaze
Of javelins sparkling to the noontide sun, 280
Their banners tossing to the troubled gale,
And—fearful music—heard upon the wind
The modulated step of multitudes."
"There in the midst, shuddering with fear, I saw
The dreadful stores of death. Tremendous roll'd 285
Over rough roads the harsh wheels. The brazen tubes
Flash'd in the sun their fearful splendor far,
And last the loaded waggons creak'd along.
An awful scene! that chill'd me as I gaz'd.
Thus from the black womb of the mutinous sky, 290
When the red lightning rushes, and illumes
With lurid light the cloud-clad hemisphere,
The traveller speeds across the plain, yet marks
All fearful as he is, with strange delight,
The forked flash."
"Meantime, a pensive train, 295
The fearful Nuns in sad solemnity
Pass to the temple. In this hour of ill,
Earnest of soul they pray to Heav'n for aid."
The dreadful stores of death. Tremendous roll'd 285
Over rough roads the harsh wheels. The brazen tubes
Flash'd in the sun their fearful splendor far,
And last the loaded waggons creak'd along.
An awful scene! that chill'd me as I gaz'd.
Thus from the black womb of the mutinous sky, 290
When the red lightning rushes, and illumes
With lurid light the cloud-clad hemisphere,
The traveller speeds across the plain, yet marks
All fearful as he is, with strange delight,
The forked flash."
"Meantime, a pensive train, 295
The fearful Nuns in sad solemnity
Pass to the temple. In this hour of ill,
Earnest of soul they pray to Heav'n for aid."
And now Dunois. for he had seen the camp
Well-order'd, enter'd. "One night more in peace 300
"England shall rest," he cried, "ere yet the storm
"Bursts on her guilty head! then their proud vaunts
"Forgotten or remember'd to their shame,
"Vainly her chiefs shall curse the hour, when first
"They pitch'd their tents round Orleans."
"Of that siege," 310
The Maid of Arc replied, "gladly I hear
"The detail. Isabel proceed; for soon
"Destin'd to rescue that devoted town,
"All that has chanced, the ills she has endur'd,
"I listen, sorrowing for the past, and feel 315
"High satisfaction at the saviour power
"To me commission'd."
Thus the Virgin spake,
Nor Isabel delayed. "And now more near
"The hostile host advancing pitch their tents.
"Unnumber'd streamers wave, and clamorous shouts, 320
"Anticipating conquest, rend the air
With universal uproar. From their camp
A Herald comes. His garb emblazon'd o'er
With British lions, and foul blot to France!
The lilies from the field of Azincour 325
In slaughter pluck'd. The summons of the foe
He brought."
The Bastard interrupting cried,
"I was with Gaucour and the assembled chiefs,
When by his office privileged and proud
That Herald spake, as certain of success 330
As he had made a league with Victory."
"Nobles of France rebellious! from the chief
Of yon victorious host, the mighty Earl
Of Salisbury, now there in place of him
Your Regent John of Bedford: in his name 335
I come, and in our sovereign Lord the King's,
Henry. Ye know full well our master's claim,
Incontrovertible to this good realm,
By right descent, and solemnly confirm'd
By your late Monarch and our mighty King 340
Fifth Henry, in the treaty ratified
At Troyes, wherein your Monarch did disclaim[5]
All future right and title to this crown,
His own exempted, for his son and heirs
Down to the end of time. This sign'd and seal'd 345
At the holy altar, and by nuptial knot
Of Henry and your Princess, yields the realm,
Charles dead and Henry, to his infant son
Henry of Windsor. Who then dares oppose
My master's title, in the face of God 350
Of wilful perjury, most atrocious crime
Stands guilty, and of flat rebellion 'gainst
The Lord's anointed. He at Paris crown'd,
With loud acclaim from duteous multitude
Thus speaks by me. Deliver up your town 355
To Salisbury, and yield yourselves and arms,
So shall your lives be safe. And—mark his grace!
If of your free accord, to him you pay
Due homage as your sovereign Lord and King,
Your rich estates, your houses shall be safe, 360
And you in favour stand, as is the Duke,
Philip of Burgundy. But—mark me well—
If obstinately wilful, you persist
To scorn his proffer'd mercy; not one stone
Upon another of this wretched town 365
Shall then be left. And when the English host
Triumphant in the dust have trod the towers
Of Orleans, who survive the dreadful war
Shall die like traitors by the hangman's hand.
Ye men of France, remember Caen and Rouen!" 370
Well-order'd, enter'd. "One night more in peace 300
"England shall rest," he cried, "ere yet the storm
"Bursts on her guilty head! then their proud vaunts
"Forgotten or remember'd to their shame,
"Vainly her chiefs shall curse the hour, when first
"They pitch'd their tents round Orleans."
"Of that siege," 310
The Maid of Arc replied, "gladly I hear
"The detail. Isabel proceed; for soon
"Destin'd to rescue that devoted town,
"All that has chanced, the ills she has endur'd,
"I listen, sorrowing for the past, and feel 315
"High satisfaction at the saviour power
"To me commission'd."
Thus the Virgin spake,
Nor Isabel delayed. "And now more near
"The hostile host advancing pitch their tents.
"Unnumber'd streamers wave, and clamorous shouts, 320
"Anticipating conquest, rend the air
With universal uproar. From their camp
A Herald comes. His garb emblazon'd o'er
With British lions, and foul blot to France!
The lilies from the field of Azincour 325
In slaughter pluck'd. The summons of the foe
He brought."
The Bastard interrupting cried,
"I was with Gaucour and the assembled chiefs,
When by his office privileged and proud
That Herald spake, as certain of success 330
As he had made a league with Victory."
"Nobles of France rebellious! from the chief
Of yon victorious host, the mighty Earl
Of Salisbury, now there in place of him
Your Regent John of Bedford: in his name 335
I come, and in our sovereign Lord the King's,
Henry. Ye know full well our master's claim,
Incontrovertible to this good realm,
By right descent, and solemnly confirm'd
By your late Monarch and our mighty King 340
Fifth Henry, in the treaty ratified
At Troyes, wherein your Monarch did disclaim[5]
All future right and title to this crown,
His own exempted, for his son and heirs
Down to the end of time. This sign'd and seal'd 345
At the holy altar, and by nuptial knot
Of Henry and your Princess, yields the realm,
Charles dead and Henry, to his infant son
Henry of Windsor. Who then dares oppose
My master's title, in the face of God 350
Of wilful perjury, most atrocious crime
Stands guilty, and of flat rebellion 'gainst
The Lord's anointed. He at Paris crown'd,
With loud acclaim from duteous multitude
Thus speaks by me. Deliver up your town 355
To Salisbury, and yield yourselves and arms,
So shall your lives be safe. And—mark his grace!
If of your free accord, to him you pay
Due homage as your sovereign Lord and King,
Your rich estates, your houses shall be safe, 360
And you in favour stand, as is the Duke,
Philip of Burgundy. But—mark me well—
If obstinately wilful, you persist
To scorn his proffer'd mercy; not one stone
Upon another of this wretched town 365
Shall then be left. And when the English host
Triumphant in the dust have trod the towers
Of Orleans, who survive the dreadful war
Shall die like traitors by the hangman's hand.
Ye men of France, remember Caen and Rouen!" 370
"He ceased. Nor Gaucour for a moment paus'd
To form reply.
"Herald! to all thy vaunts
Of English sovereignty let this suffice
For answer: France will only own as King
Him whom the people chuse. On Charles's brow 375
Transmitted thro' a long and good descent
The crown remains. We know no homage due
To English robbers, and disclaim the peace
Inglorious made at Troyes by factious men
Hostile to France. Thy master's proffer'd grace 380
Meets the contempt it merits. Herald, yes,
We shall remember Meaux, and Caen, and Rouen.
Go tell the mighty Earl of Salisbury,
That as like Blanchard, Gaucour dares his power;
Like Blanchard, he can mock his cruelty, 385
And triumph by enduring. Speak I well
Ye men of Orleans?"
"Never did I hear
A shout so universal as ensued
Of approbation. The assembled host
As with one voice pour'd forth their loyalty, 390
And struck their sounding shields. The towers of Orleans
Echoed the loud uproar. The Herald went.
The work of war began."
"A fearful scene,"
Cried Isabel. "The iron storm of death
Clash'd in the sky. From the strong engines hurl'd 395
Huge rocks with tempest force convuls'd the air.
Then was there heard at once the clang of arms,
The bellowing cannon's, and the soldier's shout,
The female's shriek—the affrighted infant's cry:
The groan of death.—Discord of dreadful sounds 400
That jarr'd the soul!
Nor while the encircling foe
Leager'd the walls of Orleans, idly slept
Our friends. For winning down the Loire its way
The frequent vessel with provision fraught,
And men, and all the artillery of death, 405
Cheer'd us with welcome succour. At the bridge
These safely stranded mock'd the foeman's force.
This to prevent, Salisbury their watchful chief,[6]
Prepares the amazing work. Around our walls,
Encircling walls he builds, surrounding thus 410
The city. Firm'd with massiest buttresses,
At equal distance, sixty forts protect
The pile. But chief where in the sieged town
The six great avenues meet in the midst,
Six castles there he rear'd impregnable, 415
With deep-dug moats and bridges drawn aloft,
Where over the strong gate suspended hung
The dread portcullis. Thence the gunner's eye
From his safe shelter could with ease survey
Intended sally, or approaching aid, 420
And point destruction.
It were long to tell
And tedious, how with many a bold assault
The men of Orleans rush'd upon their foes;
How fell the Tournelles (where in time of peace
Justice had held her seat), and that strong tower[7] 425
That shadowed from the bridge the subject Loire;
Tho' numbering now three thousand daring men,
Frequent and fierce the garrison repell'd
Their far out-numbring foes. From ev'ry aid
Included, they in Orleans groan'd beneath 430
All ills accumulate. The shatter'd roofs
Gave to the midnight dews free passage there.
And ever and anon with hideous crash
Some house fell; starting from his scanty rest
The wearied soldier. Thro' the streets were seen 435
The frequent fire, and heaps of dead, in haste
Piled up and steaming to infected Heaven.
For ever the incessant storm of death
Showers down, and shrouded in unwholesome vaults
The wretched females hide, not idle there, 440
Wasting the hours in tears, but all employ'd,
Or to provide the hungry soldier's meal,
Or tear their garments to bind up his wounds:
A sad equality of wretchedness!"
To form reply.
"Herald! to all thy vaunts
Of English sovereignty let this suffice
For answer: France will only own as King
Him whom the people chuse. On Charles's brow 375
Transmitted thro' a long and good descent
The crown remains. We know no homage due
To English robbers, and disclaim the peace
Inglorious made at Troyes by factious men
Hostile to France. Thy master's proffer'd grace 380
Meets the contempt it merits. Herald, yes,
We shall remember Meaux, and Caen, and Rouen.
Go tell the mighty Earl of Salisbury,
That as like Blanchard, Gaucour dares his power;
Like Blanchard, he can mock his cruelty, 385
And triumph by enduring. Speak I well
Ye men of Orleans?"
"Never did I hear
A shout so universal as ensued
Of approbation. The assembled host
As with one voice pour'd forth their loyalty, 390
And struck their sounding shields. The towers of Orleans
Echoed the loud uproar. The Herald went.
The work of war began."
"A fearful scene,"
Cried Isabel. "The iron storm of death
Clash'd in the sky. From the strong engines hurl'd 395
Huge rocks with tempest force convuls'd the air.
Then was there heard at once the clang of arms,
The bellowing cannon's, and the soldier's shout,
The female's shriek—the affrighted infant's cry:
The groan of death.—Discord of dreadful sounds 400
That jarr'd the soul!
Nor while the encircling foe
Leager'd the walls of Orleans, idly slept
Our friends. For winning down the Loire its way
The frequent vessel with provision fraught,
And men, and all the artillery of death, 405
Cheer'd us with welcome succour. At the bridge
These safely stranded mock'd the foeman's force.
This to prevent, Salisbury their watchful chief,[6]
Prepares the amazing work. Around our walls,
Encircling walls he builds, surrounding thus 410
The city. Firm'd with massiest buttresses,
At equal distance, sixty forts protect
The pile. But chief where in the sieged town
The six great avenues meet in the midst,
Six castles there he rear'd impregnable, 415
With deep-dug moats and bridges drawn aloft,
Where over the strong gate suspended hung
The dread portcullis. Thence the gunner's eye
From his safe shelter could with ease survey
Intended sally, or approaching aid, 420
And point destruction.
It were long to tell
And tedious, how with many a bold assault
The men of Orleans rush'd upon their foes;
How fell the Tournelles (where in time of peace
Justice had held her seat), and that strong tower[7] 425
That shadowed from the bridge the subject Loire;
Tho' numbering now three thousand daring men,
Frequent and fierce the garrison repell'd
Their far out-numbring foes. From ev'ry aid
Included, they in Orleans groan'd beneath 430
All ills accumulate. The shatter'd roofs
Gave to the midnight dews free passage there.
And ever and anon with hideous crash
Some house fell; starting from his scanty rest
The wearied soldier. Thro' the streets were seen 435
The frequent fire, and heaps of dead, in haste
Piled up and steaming to infected Heaven.
For ever the incessant storm of death
Showers down, and shrouded in unwholesome vaults
The wretched females hide, not idle there, 440
Wasting the hours in tears, but all employ'd,
Or to provide the hungry soldier's meal,
Or tear their garments to bind up his wounds:
A sad equality of wretchedness!"
"Now came the worst of ills, for Famine came! 445
The provident hand deals out its scanty dole,
Yielding so little a supply to life
As but protracted death. The loathliest food
Hunted with eager eye, and dainty deem'd.
The dog is slain, that at his master's feet 450
Howling with hunger lay. With jealous fear,
Hating a rival's look, each man conceals
His miserable meal. The famish'd babe
Clings closely to his dying mother's breast;
And—horrible to tell!—where, thrown aside 455
There lay unburied in the open streets
Huge heaps of carcasses. The soldier stands
Eager to seize the carrion crow for food."
The provident hand deals out its scanty dole,
Yielding so little a supply to life
As but protracted death. The loathliest food
Hunted with eager eye, and dainty deem'd.
The dog is slain, that at his master's feet 450
Howling with hunger lay. With jealous fear,
Hating a rival's look, each man conceals
His miserable meal. The famish'd babe
Clings closely to his dying mother's breast;
And—horrible to tell!—where, thrown aside 455
There lay unburied in the open streets
Huge heaps of carcasses. The soldier stands
Eager to seize the carrion crow for food."
"Oh peaceful scenes of childhood! pleasant fields!
Haunts of my infancy, where I have stray'd 460
Tracing the brook along its winding way,
Or pluck'd the primrose, or with giddy speed
Chaced the gay butterfly from flower to flower!
Oh days in vain remember'd! how my soul
Sick with calamity, and the sore ills 465
Of hunger, dwelt upon you! quiet home!
Thinking of you amid the waste of war.
I could in bitterness have curs'd the Great
Who made me what I was! a helpless one,
Orphan'd, and wanting bread!"
"And be they curst," 470
Conrade exclaim'd, his dark eye flashing rage;
"And be they curst! Oh groves and woodland shades,
How blest indeed were you, if the iron rod
Should one day from Oppression's hand be wrench'd
By everlasting Justice! come that hour 475
When in the Sun the Angel of the Lord[8]
Shall stand and cry to all the fowls of Heaven,
Gather ye to the supper of your God,
That ye may eat the flesh of mighty men,
Of Captains, and of Kings! Then shall be peace 480
When—Author of all ills that flesh endures,
Oppression, in the bottomless abyss
Shall fall to rise no more!"
Haunts of my infancy, where I have stray'd 460
Tracing the brook along its winding way,
Or pluck'd the primrose, or with giddy speed
Chaced the gay butterfly from flower to flower!
Oh days in vain remember'd! how my soul
Sick with calamity, and the sore ills 465
Of hunger, dwelt upon you! quiet home!
Thinking of you amid the waste of war.
I could in bitterness have curs'd the Great
Who made me what I was! a helpless one,
Orphan'd, and wanting bread!"
"And be they curst," 470
Conrade exclaim'd, his dark eye flashing rage;
"And be they curst! Oh groves and woodland shades,
How blest indeed were you, if the iron rod
Should one day from Oppression's hand be wrench'd
By everlasting Justice! come that hour 475
When in the Sun the Angel of the Lord[8]
Shall stand and cry to all the fowls of Heaven,
Gather ye to the supper of your God,
That ye may eat the flesh of mighty men,
Of Captains, and of Kings! Then shall be peace 480
When—Author of all ills that flesh endures,
Oppression, in the bottomless abyss
Shall fall to rise no more!"
The Maid pursued,
"And now, lest all should perish, was decreed
That from the town the females and the infirm 485
Should, out-cast, seek their fate."
"I may not now
Recall the moment, when on my poor Francis,
With a long look I hung! At dead of night,
Made mute by fear, we mount the secret bark,
And glide adown the stream with silent oars: 490
Thus thrown upon the mercy of mankind.
I wandered reckless where, till wearied out
And cold at heart, I laid me down to die:
So by this warrior found. Him I had known
And loved, for all loved Conrade who had known him. 495
Nor did I feel so pressing the hard hand
Of want in Orleans, ere he parted thence
On perilous envoy. For of his small fare"—
"Of this enough," said Conrade, "Holy Maid!
One duty yet awaits me to perform. 500
Orleans her envoy sent me, claiming aid
From her inactive sovereign. Willingly
Did I atchieve the hazardous enterprize,
For Rumour had already made me fear
The ill that had fallen on me. It remains 505
Ere I do banish me from human kind,
That I re-enter Orleans, and announce
Thy march. 'Tis night—and hark! how dead a silence!
Fit hour to tread so perilous a path!"
"And now, lest all should perish, was decreed
That from the town the females and the infirm 485
Should, out-cast, seek their fate."
"I may not now
Recall the moment, when on my poor Francis,
With a long look I hung! At dead of night,
Made mute by fear, we mount the secret bark,
And glide adown the stream with silent oars: 490
Thus thrown upon the mercy of mankind.
I wandered reckless where, till wearied out
And cold at heart, I laid me down to die:
So by this warrior found. Him I had known
And loved, for all loved Conrade who had known him. 495
Nor did I feel so pressing the hard hand
Of want in Orleans, ere he parted thence
On perilous envoy. For of his small fare"—
"Of this enough," said Conrade, "Holy Maid!
One duty yet awaits me to perform. 500
Orleans her envoy sent me, claiming aid
From her inactive sovereign. Willingly
Did I atchieve the hazardous enterprize,
For Rumour had already made me fear
The ill that had fallen on me. It remains 505
Ere I do banish me from human kind,
That I re-enter Orleans, and announce
Thy march. 'Tis night—and hark! how dead a silence!
Fit hour to tread so perilous a path!"
So saying Conrade from the tent went forth. 510
- ↑ Line 38. The forest of Orleans contains even now fourteen thousand acres of various kinds of wood.
- ↑ Line 129. "To succeed in the siege of Orleans, the English first secured the neighbouring places, which might otherwise have annoyed the besiegers. The months of August and September were spent in this work. During that space they took Mehun, Bangenci, Gergeau, Clery, Sully, Jenville, and some other small towns, and at last appeared before Orleans on the 12th of October." Rapin.
- ↑ Line 193. "The French King used every expedient to supply the city with a garrison and provisions, and enable it to maintain a long and obstinate siege. The Lord of Gaucour, a brave and experienced captain, was appointed governor. Many officers of distinction threw themselves into the place. The troops which they conducted were inured to war, and were determined to make the most obstinate resistance: and even the inhabitants, disciplined by the long continuance of hostilities, were well qualified, in their own defence, to second the efforts of the most veteran forces. The eyes of all Europe were turned towards this scene; where, it was reasonably supposed, the French were to make their last stand for maintaining the independance of their monarchy, and the rights of their sovereign."Hume.
- ↑ Line 208. "They pulled down all the most considerable buildings in the suburbs, and among the rest twelve churches and several monasteries; that the English might not make use of them in carrying on the siege." Rapin. Monstrellet.
- ↑ Line 342. By the treaty of Troyes, Charles was to remain in quiet possession of the royal dignity and revenues. After his death the crown, with all its rights and dominions, devolved to Henry and his heirs. The imbecillity of Charles was so great that he could not appear in public, so that the Queen and Burgundy swore for him.Rapin.
- ↑ Line 408. The besiegers received succours in the very beginning of the siege; but the Earl of Salisbury, who considered this enterprize as a decisive action for the King his master, and his own reputation, omitted nothing to deprive the besieged of that advantage. He run up round the city sixty forts. How great soever this work might be, nothing could divert him from it, since the success of the siege entirely depended upon it. In vain would he have pursued his attack, if the enemies could continually introduce fresh supplies. Besides, the season, now far advanced, suggested to him, that he would be forced to pass the winter in the camp, and during that time be liable to many insults. Among the sixty forts, there were six much stronger than the rest, upon the six principal avenues of the city. The French could before with ease introduce convoys into the place, and had made frequent use of that advantage. But after these forts were built, it was with extreme difficulty that they could, now and then, give some assistance to the besieged. Upon these six redoubts the general erected batteries, which thundered against the walls. Rapin.
- ↑ Line 425. "The bulwark of the Tournelles being much shaken by the besiegers cannon, and the besieged thinking it proper to set it on fire, the English extinguished the flames, and lodged themselves in that post. At the same time they became masters of the tower on the bridge, from whence the whole city could be viewed."Rapin.
- ↑ Line 476. Revelations, chap, xix. 17. 18.