Joan of Arc (Southey)/Book 6
JOAN of ARC.
BOOK THE SIXTH.
ARGUMENT.
Conrade on his way to Orleans releases a French soldier. He enters that city. Council of the leaders. Their determination. Summons of the Maid to the English Generals. They receive it with scorn. The Maid attacks, defeats them, and enters Orleans in triumph at midnight, amid thunder and lightning.
JOAN of ARC
BOOK THE SIXTH.
THE night was calm, and many a moving cloudShadowed the moon. Along the forest gladeWith swift foot Conrade past, and now had reach'dThe plain, where whilome by the pleasant Loire,Cheer'd with the song, the rustics had beheld 5The day go down upon their merriment:No song of Peace now echoed on its banks.There tents were pitched—and there the centinel,Slow pacing on his sullen rounds, beheldThe frequent corse roll down the tainted stream. 10Conrade with wider sweep pursued his way,Shunning the camp, now hush'd in sleep and still.And now no sound was heard save of the Loire, Murmuring along. The noise of coming feetAlarm'd him. Nearer drew the fearful sound 15As of pursuit—anon—the clash of arms!That instant rising o'er a broken cloudThe moon beams shone, where two with combined forcePrest on a single foe: he, warding stillTheir swords, retreated in the unequal fight, 20As he would make the city. Conrade shookHis long lance for the war, and strode along.Full in the breast of one with forceful armPlunged he the spear of death; and as, dismayedBy his fellow's fall, the other turn'd to fly, 25Hurl'd the red weapon reeking from the wound,And fix'd him to the plain. "Now haste we on,Frenchman!" he cried. On to the stream they speed,And plunging stemm'd with sinewy stroke the tide.Soon on the opposite shore arrived and safe. 30
"Whence comest thou?" cried the Chief; "on what high chargeCommission'd?"
"Is it not the voice of Conrade?"Francis exclaim'd; "and dost thou bring to usTidings of speedy aid? oh! had it comeA few hours earlier! Isabel is gone!" 35
"Nay she is safe," cried Conrade, "her I foundWhen wilder'd in the forest, and consign'd To the protection of that holy Maid,The delegate of Heaven. One evening moreAnd thou shalt have thine Isabel. Now say, 40Wherefore alone? A fugitive from Orleans,Or sent on dangerous service from the town?"
"There is no food in Orleans," he replied, "Scarce a meal more! the assembled chiefs resolvedIf thou shouldst bring no tidings of near aid 45To cut their way to safety, or by deathPrevent the pang of famine. One they soughtWho venturous in the English camp should spyWhere safest they might rush upon the foe. The perilous task I chose, then desperate 50Of happiness."So saying, they approach'dThe gate. The centinel, soon as he heardThitherward footsteps, with uplifted lanceChallenged the darkling travellers. At their voiceHe draws the strong bolts back, and painful turns 55The massy entrance. To the careful chiefsThey pass. At midnight of their extreme stateCounselling they sat, serious and stern. To themConrade."Assembled Warriors! sent from GodThere is a holy Maid by miracles 60Made manifest. Twelve hundred chosen menFollow her hallowed standard. These Dunois,The strength of France, arrays. With the next noonYe shall behold their march."AstonishmentSeized the convened Chiefs, and joy by doubt 65Little repress'd. "Open the granaries!" Xaintrailles exclaim'd. "Give we to all the hostWith hand unsparing now the plenteous meal;To-morrow we are safe. For Heaven all justHas seen our sufferings and decreed their end. 70Let the glad tidings echo thro' the town!God is with us!""Rest not in too full faith,"D'Orval replied, "on this miraculous aid.Some frenzied female whose wild phantasy,Shaping vain dreams, infects the credulous 75With her own madness! That Dunois is there,Leading in arms twelve hundred chosen men,Cheers me: yet let not we our little foodBe lavish'd, lest the warrior in the fightShould haply fail, and Orleans be the prey 80Of England!""Chief! I tell thee," Conrade cried,"I did myself behold the marble tombBurst, to the holy Maid disclosing armsHeld in the grave inviolate for her. She is the Delegate of the Most High, 85And shall deliver Orleans!"Gaucour then,"Be it as thou hast said. High hope I feel,For to no vulgar tale would Conrade yieldBelief, or he the Bastard. Our small storesMust yield us, ere another week elapse, 90To death or England. Tell thro' all our troopsThere is a holy Virgin sent from God;They in that faith invincible shall warWith more than mortal fury."Thus the Chief,And what he said seem'd good. The men of Orleans, 95Long by their foemen bayed, a victim band,To war, and woe, and want, such transport feltAs when the Mexicans, with eager eye[1] Gazing to Huixachtla’s distant top,On that last night, doubtful if ever morn 100Again shall cheer them, mark the mystic fire,That kindled by the fierce Copolcan priest,Flames on the breast of some brave prisoner,A dreadful altar. As they see the blazeBeaming on Iztapalapan’s near towers, 105Or on Tezcuco’s calmy lake flash’d far,Songs of thanksgiving and the shout of joyWake the loud echo; the glad husband tearsThe mantling aloe from the female’s face,And children, now deliver’d from the dread 110Of everlasting darkness, look abroad,Hail the good omen, and expect the sunUninjur‘d still to run his flaming race.
Thus whilst in that besieged town the nightWain’d sleepless, silent slept the hallowed host. 115And now the morning came. From his hard couch,Lightly upstarting and bedight in arms, The Bastard moved along, with provident eyeMarshalling the troops. All high in hope they march.And now the sun shot from the southern sky 120His noon-tide radiance, when afar they hearThe hum of men, and mark the distant towersOf Orleans, and the bulwarks of the foe,And many a streamer wantoning in air.These as they saw and thought of all the ills 125Their brethren had endured beleager'd thereFor many a month; such ardor for the fightBurnt in each bosom, as young Ali feltWhen to the assembled tribe Mohammed spake,Asking for one his Vizier. Fierce in faith, 130Forth from the race of Hashem stept the youth,"Prophet of God! lo—I will be the man!"Nor did not Ali merit that high post,Victorious upon Beder's fertile vale,And on mount Ohud, and before the walls 135Of Chaibar, then when cleaving to the chestHis giant foe, he grasp'd the massy gate, Shook with strong arm and tore it from the fort,And lifted it in air—portentous shield!
"Behold the towers of Orleans," cried Dunois. 140"Lo! this the vale where on the banks of Loire, Of yore, at close of day the rustic band Danced to the roundelay. In younger years As oft I glided down the silver stream, Frequent upon the lifted oar I paus'd 145List'ning the sound of far-off merriment.There wave the English banners! martial Maid, Give thou the signal—let me rush uponThese ministers of murder, who have sack'dThe fruitful fields, and made the hamlet haunts 150Silent—or hearing but the widow's groan, Give thou the signal Maiden!"Her dark eye Fix'd sadly on the foe, the holy Maid Answer'd him. "Ere the bloody sword be drawn, Ere slaughter be let loose—befits us send 155 Some peaceful messenger, who shall make known The will of Heaven. So timely warn'd, our foes Haply may yet repent, and quit in peace Besieged Orleans. Victory is sadWhen even one man is murder'd."So she said, 160And as she spake a soldier from the ranks Advanced. "I will be thy Messenger,Maiden of God! I to the English campWill bear thy bidding.""Go," the Virgin cried, "Say to the Chief of Salisbury, and the host 165Attending—Suffolk, Fastolffe, Talbot, Scales,Invaders of the country—say, thus saysThe Maid of Orleans. "With your troops retireIn peace. Of every captur'd town the keysRestore to Charles; so bloodless you may seek 170Your native England; for the God of HostsThus has decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,By long descent and voluntary choice, Of duteous subjects hath the Lord assignedHis conquest. In his name the Virgin comes 175Arm'd with his sword—yet not of mercy void.Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,Victorious upon Orleans' wall shall waveThe holy banner." To the English campFearless the warrior strode.At mid-day meal, 180With all the dissonance of boisterous mirth, The British Chiefs carous'd and quaff'd the bowl To future conquest. By the centinel Conducted came the Frank."Chiefs," he exclaim'd, "Salisbury, and ye the representatives 185Of the English King, usurper of this realm, To ye the leaders of the invading hostI come, no welcome messenger. Thus says The Maid of Orleans. "With your troops retireIn peace. Of every captur'd town the keys 190Restore to Charles; so bloodless may you seek Your native England; for the God of HostsThus has decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,By long descent and voluntary choiceOf duteous subjects, hath the Lord assign'd 195His conquest. In his name the Virgin comes,Arm'd with his sword, yet not of mercy void.Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,Victorious upon Orleans' wall shall waveThe holy banner."Wonder made a pause; 200To this the laugh succeeds. "What!" Fastolffe cried, "A woman warrior has your monarch sentTo save devoted Orleans?" By the rood "I thank his Grace. If she be young and fairNo worthless prize my Lords. Go tell your Maid 205Joyful we wait her coming.""Get thee gone,"Sternly cried Talbot, "thou who think'st to scareWith girlish phantasies the English hostThat scorns your bravest warriors. Hie thee hence, Insolent Herald! tell this frantic girl, 210This courtly minion, to avoid my wrath,For if she dares the war, I will not stainMy good-blood-rusted sword—but she shall meetThe mockery of the camp.""Nay, scare her not,"Replied their Chief, "go tell this Maid of Orleans, 215That Salisbury longs to meet her in the fight.Nor let her fear that rude and iron chainsShall gall her tender limbs; for I myselfWill be her prison, and—""Contemptuous Man!"No more," the Frank exclaimed, as to his cheek 220Rush'd the red anger. "Bearing words of peace And timely warning, came I to your camp,Here with rude mock'ry and stern insolence Received. Bear witness Chieftains! that the French,Free from blood-guiltiness, shall meet the war." 225
So saying he departed. Thro' the tents As him the centinel conduced, roundHe gaz'd and cried; "Oh! I am sad to thinkSo many men shall never see the sunGo down! Ye English mothers mourn ye now, 230Daughters of England weep! for hard of heart Still your mad leaders urge the impious war,And for their folly and their wickedness,Your sons, your husbands, by the sword must fall.Widow'd and friendless, ye shall sit and weep, 233And, wanting bread, groan for the murdered onesIn whom your joys were murdered!"So he cried, And they who heard him trembled. Thro' the host Ran the strange tidings. For the fight they arm, Eager for war no longer, nor of blood 245Greedy, but palsied by religious dread. Some by bold words seeking to hide their fear Even from themselves; some of the coming fray Murmuring in hints half heard, tho' understood; Some deadly pale and ominous of death, 245 Silently stood and breath'd the inward prayer.
Meantime the Herald had with hasty steps Rejoin'd the hallowed troops. "Maiden of God!Vainly I proffer'd peace to the proud chiefs:Their hearts are hardened."Thro' the marshall'd band 250Ran the loud cry, "Lead, lead us to the foe!" The mission'd Maid exclaim'd, "Not upon us, Not upon us, cry out the innocent blood!"Given was the signal now; and now were heard The clarion's clangor, and the trumpet's blast, 255Soul-rousing sounds. Like two conflicting clouds, Pregnant with thunder, rush'd the hostile hosts. Then man met man—then on the batter'd shield Rung the loud lance, and thro' the darken'd sky Fast fell the arrowy storm. Amidst his foes 260The Bastard's arm sway'd irresistible The strokes of death; and by his side the Maid Led the fierce fight; the Maid, tho' all unus'd To the rude conflict, now inspir'd by Heaven,Flashing her flamy falchion thro' the troops, 265That like the thunderbolt, where'er it fell,Scattered the trembling ranks. Nor plated shield,Nor the strong hauberk, nor the crested casque,Stay that descending sword. Dreadful she moved,Like as the Angel of the Lord went forth 270And smote his army, when the Assyrian King,Haughty of Hamath and Sepharvaim fallen,Blasphem'd the God of Israel.Yet the fightHung doubtful, where exampling hardiest deeds,Salisbury mow'd down the foe, and Fastolffe strove, 275And in the hottest doings of the warTowered Talbot. He, remembering the past dayWhen from his name the affrighted sons of FranceFled trembling, all astonish'd at their forceAnd wontless valour, rages round the field 280Dreadful in fury; yet in every manMeeting a foe fearless, and in the faith Of Heaven's assistance firm.The clang of arms Reaches the walls of Orleans. For the war Prepar'd, and confident of victory, 285Speed forth the troops. Not when afar exhal'd The hungry raven snuffs the steam of blood That from some carcass-cover'd field of fame Taints the pure air, wings he more eagerly To riot on the gore, than rush'd the ranks; 290Impatient now for many an ill endur'd In the long siege, to wreak upon their foes Due vengeance. Then more fearful grew the fray; The swords that late flash'd to the evening sun, Now lost in blood their radiance.O'er the host 295Howl'd the deep wind that ominous of storms Roll'd on the lurid clouds. The blacken'd night Frown'd, and the thunder from the troubled sky Roar'd hollow. Javelins clash'd and bucklers rang; Shield prest on shield; loud on the helmet jarr'd 500 The ponderous battle axe; the groan of deathCommingling frequent with the storm was heard, And the shrill shriek of Fear.Amid the fight Slaughter exultant rides. His giant limbs Bestride the whirlwind, and his red right arm 305Arrowed the lightning. Frantic Fury howls Amid the thickest ranks, and from her torch Tartarean flashes shook, and loud was heard Horror's dread shriek amid the wild uproar.
Lo! where the holy banner waved aloft 310The lambent lightnings play'd. Irradiate round As with a blaze of glory, o'er the field It shot miraculous splendor. Then their hearts Sunk, and the English trembled. With such fear Possessed, as when the combined host beheld 315The sun stand still on Gibeon, at the voice Of that king-conquering warrior, he who smote The country of the hills, and of the south, From Baal-gad to Halak, and their Kings,Even as the Lord commanded. Swift they fled 320From that portentous banner, and the swordOf France; tho' Talbot with vain valiancyYet urged the war, and stemm'd alone the tideOf conquest. Even their leaders felt dismay;Fastolffe fled fast, and Salisbury in the rout 325Mingles, and all impatient of defeat,Borne backward Talbot turns. Then echoed loudThe cry of conquest. Deeper grew the storm,And Darkness, hovering o'er on raven wing,Brooded the field of death.Nor in the camp 330Deem themselves safe the trembling fugitives.On to the forts they haste. Bewilder'd thereAmid the moats by fear, and the dead gloomOf more than midnight darkness, plunge the troops,Crush'd by fast following numbers who partake 335The death they give. As rushing from the snowsOf winter liquified, the torrent tide Resistless down the mountain rolls along,Till at the brink of giddy precipiceArrived, with deaf'ning clamor down it falls: 340Thus borne along, the affrighted English troopsDriven by the force behind them, plunge amidThe liquid death. Then rose the dreadful criesMore dreadful, and the dash of breaking wavesThat to the passing lightning as they broke 345Gleam'd horrible.Nor of the host so late Triumphing in the pride of victory, And swoln with confidence, had now escap'd One wretched remnant, had not Talbot's mind, Slow as he mov'd unwilling from the war, 350What most might profit the defeated ranks, Pondered. He reaching safe the massy fort By St. John's name made holy, kindled up The guiding fire. Not unobserved it blaz'd; The watchful guards on Tournelles, and the pile 355Of that proud city, in remembrance fond Call'd London, light the beacon. Nor aloftDid they not flame from every smaller fort,That firm entrenched with walls and deep-delved moatsIncluded Orleans. O'er the shadowy plain 360They cast a lurid splendor; to the troopsGrateful, as to the way-worn traveller,Wand'ring with parched feet o'er the Arabian sands,The far-seen cistern; he for many a leagueTravelling the trackless desolate, where heaved 365With tempest swell the desart billows round,Pauses, and shudders at his perils past,Then wild with joy speeds on to taste the waveSo long bewail'd.Swift as the affrighted herd Scud o'er the plain, when frequent thro' the sky 370Flash the fierce lightnings, speed the routed host Of England. To the sheltering forts they haste, Tho' safe, of safety doubtful, still appall'd And trembling, as the pilgrim who by night On his way wilder'd, to the wolf's deep howl 375 Hears the wood echo, when from the fell beastEscap'd, of some tall tree the topmost branch He grasps close-clinging, still of that keen fang Fearful, his teeth jar, and the big drops stand On his cold quiv'ring limbs.Nor now the Maid 380Greedy of vengeance urges the pursuit. She bids the trumpet of retreat resound; A pleasant music to the routed ranks Blows the loud blast. Obedient to its voice The French, tho' eager on the invaders' heads 385To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.
Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn To Orleans. There what few to guard the town Unwilling had remained, haste forth to meet The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held 390That rais'd aloft amid the midnight storm, Flash'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced— Deep thro' the sky the hollow thunders roll'd— Innocuous lightnings round the hallowed bannerWreath'd their red radiance.Thro' the open'd gate 395Slow past, the laden convoy. Then was heard The shout of exultation, and such joy The men of Orleans at that welcome sight Possess'd; as when from Bactria late subdued, The Macedonian Madman led his troops 400Amid the Sogdian desart, where no stream Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves. Fearful alike to pause, or to proceed; Scorch'd by the sun that o'er their morning march Steam'd his hot vapors, heart subdued and faint; 405Such joy as then they felt, when from the heights Burst the soul-gladdening sound! for thence was seen The evening sun silvering the tide below, Where Oxus roll'd along.Clamors of joy Echo along the street of Orleans, wont 410Long time to hear the infant's feeble cry, The mother's frantic shriek, or the dread sound, When from the cannon burst its stores of death. Far flames the fire of joy on ruin'd piles, And high heap'd carcasses, whence scar'd away 415From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing Rose the night-raven slow. In the English forts, Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night Steals in the stragling fugitive; as when, Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky 420Serenely shines the sun; with every breeze The waving branches drop their gather'd rain, Renewing the remembrance of the storm.
- ↑ Line 98. "It was the belief of the Mexicans, that at the conclusion of one of their centuries the sun and earth would be destroyed. On the last night of every century they extinguished all their fires, covered the faces of the women and children, and expected the end of the world. The kindling of the sacred fire on the mountain of Huixachtla was believed an omen of their safety.
See the History of Mexico, by the Abbe Clavigero.