Joan of Arc — Book 3

THE early sun beams on the latticed cot;Up spring the travellers, and along their wayHolding high converse speed. So as they pass,Fast by a spring that welling at his feetWith many a winding crept along the mead,5A Knight they saw. He at his plain repastFelt the West wind play round his ungirt brow.Him, drawing near the Bastard recogniz'd,The gallant friend of Orleans, the brave chiefDu Chastel; and the mutual greeting pass'd,10They on the streamlet's mossy brink reclin'd,Paus'd on their way, the frugal fare partookAnd drank the running waters.

"Art thou boundFor the Court Dunois?" exclaim'd the aged Knight,"I deem'd thee far away, coop'd in the walls15Of Orleans; a hard siege her valiant sonsRight loyally endure.""I left the town,"Dunois reply'd, "thinking that my prompt speedMight seize the hostile stores, and with fresh forceRe-enter. Fastolffe's better fate prevail'd,20And from the field of shame my maddening horseBore me, for the barb'd arrow gor'd his flank.Fatigued and faint with that day's dangerous toil,My deep wounds bleeding, vainly with weak handCheck'd I the powerless rein. Now thus reviv'd25By Heaven's high aid, I seek the Court, and thenceTo that beleager'd town shall lead such forceThat the proud English in their fields of bloodShall perish.""I too," Tannegui reply'd,"May haply in the battle once again30

Serve him my Royal Master; in his causeMy youth adventur'd much, nor can my ageFind better close than in the clang of armsTo die for him whom I have liv'd to serve.Thou art for the Court; Son of the Chief I lov'd!35Be wise by my experience. Look not thouFor happiness in that polluted scene.Thou see'st me here Dunois, a banish'd man,A not unwilling exile to appeaseThe proud and powerful Richemont, who long time40Most sternly jealous of the royal ear

With midnight murder leagues, and down the Loire,Rolls the black carcase of his strangled foe.Now confident of strength, at the King's feetHe stabs the King's best friends, and then demands,45As with a conqueror's imperious tone,The post of honor. Son of that lov'd ChiefWhose death my arm aveng'd, may thy daysBe happy; serve thy country in the field,

And in the hour of peace amid thy friends50Dwell thou without ambition."So he spake.But when the Bastard told the wond'rous tale,How interposing Heaven had its high aidVouchsaf'd to France, the old man's eyes flash'd fire,And rising from the bank, the stately steed55That graz'd beside he mounts. "Farewell Dunois,Thou too the Delegate of Heaven, farewell!I go to raise the standard——we shall meetAt Orleans." O'er the plain he spurr'd his steed.

They journey on their way till Chinon's towers.60

Rose to the distant view; imperial seatOf Charles, for Paris with her servile sonsA headstrong mutable ferocious race,Bow'd to the invader's yoke, since that sad hourWhen Faction o'er her streets with giant stride65Strode terrible, and Murder and Revenge,As by the midnight torches' lurid lightThey mark'd their mangled victims writhe convuls'd,Listen'd the deep death groan. Ill-fated scene!Thro' many a dark age drench'd with innocent blood,70And one day doom'd to know the damning guiltOf Brissot murder'd, and the blameless wifeOf Roland! Martyr'd patriots—spirits pure,Wept by the good ye fell! Yet still survives

Sow'd by your toil and by your blood manur'd 75Th' imperishable seed, soon to becomeThat Tree, beneath whose vast and mighty shadeThe sons of men shall pitch their tents in peace,And in the unity of truth preserveThe bond of love. For by the eye of God 80Hath Virtue sworn, that never one good actWas work'd in vain!In Paris triumph'd nowTh' Invader. On a cradled infant's headHad Bedford plac'd the crown of Charlemagne,And factious nobles bow'd the subject knee 85In homage to their King, their Sovereign Lord,Their baby mighty one."Belov'd of Heaven,"So spake the Son of Orleans as they pass'd,"Lo these the walls of Chinon, this the abodeOf Charles our monarch. Here in revelry 90He of his armies vanquish'd, his fair townsSubdu'd, hears careless and prolongs the dance.

And little marvel I that to the caresOf empire still he turns the unwilling ear,For loss on loss, defeat upon defeat, 95His strong holds taken, and his bravest ChiefsOr dead or captur'd, and the hopes of youthAll blasted, have subdu'd the royal mindUndisciplin'd in Fortitude's stern school.So may thy voice arouse his sleeping virtues!" 100

The mission'd maid reply'd, "Go thou Dunois,Announce my mission to the royal ear.I on the river's winding banks the whileWould roam, collecting for high enterprizeMy thoughts, troubled tho' firm. He who essays 105Atchievements of vast import will perforceFeel his heart heave; and in my breast I feelSuch perturbation."On the banks of VienneDevious the Damsel turn'd. Thro' Chinon's gatesThe Son of Orleans press'd with rapid step 110

Seeking the King. Him from the public viewHe found secluded with his blameless Queen,And her partaker of the unlawful bed,The lofty-minded Agnes."Son of Orleans!"So as he enter'd cried the haughty fair,115"Thou art well come to witness the disgrace,The weak, unmanly, mean despondencyOf this thy Sovereign Liege. He will retreatTo distant Dauphine and fly the war!Go then, unworthy of thy rank! retreat 120To distant Dauphine, and fly the war,

Recreant from Battle! I will not partakeA fugitive's fate, but to my home returningIn bitterness of memory curse the hourWhen to a coward basely I resign'd 125My virgin worth.""Nay Agnes," Charles replied,"Add not the anguish of thy keen reproach!I have enough of sorrow. Look around,See this fair country ravag'd by the foe,My strong holds taken, and my bravest Chiefs 130FalFn in the field, or captives far away.Dead is the Douglas—cold thy warrior frame,Illustrious Buchan; ye from Scotland's hills,Not mindless of your old ally distress'd,Rush'd to his succour: in his cause ye fought, 135Ye perish'd. Gallant rash ill-destin'd Nabonne!Thy mangled corse waves to the winds of Heaven.Cold, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death.Fall'n is Ventadaur. Silent in the graveRamboilillet sleeps. Bretagne's unfaithful chief 140

Leagues with my foes, and Richemont or in armsDefies my weak controul, or from my side,(A friend more dreaded than the enemy)Drives my best servants with the assassin sword.Soon must the towers of Orleans fall. But now 145These sad thoughts boot not. Welcome to our court,Dunois! We yet can give the friendly feast,And from the heavy cares of empire winOne hospitable day of merriment.

The Chief reply'd, "So may thy future years150Pass from misfortune free, as all these illsShall vanish like a vision of the night!To thee, to France I come the messengerOf aid from Heaven. The delegated MaidWith me, whom Providence all-wise decrees155The saviour of the realm. Me, gash'd with wounds,And in mine own blood senseless on the plain,This more than mortal with celestial touch,Woke to new life."

Astonish'd by his speechStood Charles. "At one of meaner estimation 160I should have smil'd, Dunois. Thy well-known worth,The loyalty of all thy noble house,Compel me even to this a most strange taleTo lend a serious ear. A woman sentFrom Heaven, the Saviour of this wasted realm,165Whose magic touch awoke thee to new lifeWhen gash'd with wounds and senseless! Son of Orleans,Ill now beseems ought hazardous. My stateTotters upon destruction. Is my personKnown to this woman?""She has liv'd retir'd," 170The Bastard answer'd, "ignorant of courts,And little heeding, till the spirit of GodRous'd her to this great work."To him the King,"She knows not then my person. Thou, Dunois,Lead here the Maiden. On the throne meantime,175I the while mingling with the menial throng,

Some courtier shall be seated. If this MaidBe by the holy spirit of God inspir'd,That holy spirit will gift her with the powerTo pierce deception. But if strange of mind 180Enthusiast fancy fire her wilder'd brain,Thus prov'd, she to obscurity againMay guiltlessly retire. Our English foesMight well exult to see the sons of FranceLed by a frenzied female." So he said; 185And confident in faith the son of OrleansSought on the banks of Vienne the missioned Maid.

Soon is the court conven'd; the jewell'd crownShines on a menial's head. Amid the throngThe Monarch stands, and anxious for the event, 190His heart beats high. She comes—the inspired maid!And as the Bastard led her to the throne,Quick glancing o'er the mimic Majesty,Fix'd full her eye on Charles."Thou art the King.I come the avenging Delegate of Heaven,195

Wielding the wrathful weapon, from whose death,Their stern hearts palsied by the arm of God,Far from Orleans shall the English wolvesSpeed their disastrous flight. Monarch of France!Spread the good tidings through thy ravag'd realm. 200The Maid is come—the mission'd Maid—whose handShall in the consecrated walls of RheimsPlace on thy head the crown."In wonder muteThe courtiers heard. The astonish'd King exclaim'd"This is indeed the agency of Heaven! 205Hard, Maiden, were I of belief," he cried,"Did I not now with full and confirm'd faithThee the redeemer of this ravag'd realmBelieve. Not doubting therefore the strange willOf the all-wise, nor those high miracles 210Vouch'd by the Son of Orleans, do I nowDelay to marshal the brave sons of FranceBeneath thy banners; but to satisfyThose who at distance from this most clear proof

May hear and disbelieve, or yield at best 215A cold assent. These fully to confirmAnd more to manifest thy holy power,Forthwith with all due speed I shall conveneThe Doctors of Theology, wise menAnd skilful in the mysteries of Heaven. 220By these thy mission studied and approved,As needs it must be; of these holy menThe sanction to the dubious minds of allShall bring conviction, and the firm beliefLead on thy favour'd troops to mightiest deeds, 225Surpassing human credibility."

Well pleas'd the maiden heard. Her the King leadsFrom the disbanding throng, meantime to dwellWith Mary. Watchfull for her Lord's returnShe sat with Agnes. Agnes proud of heart, 230Majestically fair, whose large full eyeOr flashing anger, or with scornful scowlDeform'd her beauteous features. Yet with her

The lawless idol of the Monarch's heart,Mary, obedient to her husband's will, 235Dwelt peaceful, from the proudly generous mindOf Agnes winning friendship. Soon the MaidLov'd the mild Queen, and sojourning with her,Expects the solemn summons.Thro' the realmMeantime the King's convoking voice was heard, 240And from their palaces and monasteriesSwarm'd forth the Doctors, men acute and deep,Grown grey in study; Priests and Bishops hasteTo Chinon.—Teachers wise and with high names,Seraphic, Subtile, or Irrefragable, 245By their admiring pupils dignified.

Nor Superstition to embrace the hourNeglects. She hastens from the English court,Where mad Ferocity led the holy war,Arm'd with the mitred helmet. By her side 250Inanely learn'd, came reverend Ignorance,

His grey eye large and rayless; o'er his beadsAye wont to mutter forth the drowsy prayer.And meet companion came with these the formOf Cruelty, like monk Dominican 255His garb. One hand Tertullian's volume grasp'd,Volume beloved! and high the other rear'dThe thirsty sword, whose impious hilt display'dThe cross. These join'd the theologic train.

The Doctors met—from cloister gloom recluse 260Or from the haunts luxurious of the abode,Episcopal they met, and sought the placeOf judgment. Very ancient was the dome,The floor with many a monumental stoneO'erspread, and brass-ensculptur'd effigy 265Of holy abbots honor'd in their day,Now to the grave gone down. The branching armsOf many a ponderous pillar met aloft,Wreath'd on the roof emboss'd. The windows gleam'dAwful and dim their many-colour'd light270

Thro' the rich robes of Eremites and Saints,Trees, mountains, castles, ships, sun, moon, and stars,Splendid confusion! the pure wave beneathReflects and trembles in the purpling beam.On the altar burns that mystic lamp whose flame 275May not be quench'd.Circling round the vaseThey bow the knee, uttering the half-heard prayer;Mysterious power communicating thusTo the hallowed water, deem'd a mightier spellO'er the fierce fiends of Satan's fallen crew, 280Than e'er the hell-hags taught in Thessaly,Or they who sitting on the rifled grave,Seen by th' exhalations lurid light,Partake the Vampire's banquet.This perform'd,The maid is summon'd. Round the holy vase 285Mark'd with the mystic tonsure and enrob'dIn sacred vests, a venerable trainThey stand. The delegated Maid obeys

Their summons. As she came a loveliest blushO'er her fair cheek suffus'd, such as became 290One mindful still of maiden modesty,Tho' of her own worth conscious. Thro' the aisleThe cold wind moaning as it pass'd alongWav'd her dark flowing locks. Before the trainIn reverend silence waiting their sage will, 295With half averted eye she stood compos'd.So have I seen the simple snow-drop riseAmid the russet leaves that hide the earthIn early spring, so seen its gentle bendOf modest loveliness amid the waste 300Of desolation.By the maiden's sideProud in conviction stood the warrior SonOf Orleans to avow his deep wounds heal'dBy power miraculous vouchsaf'd from HeavenTo her the inspir'd damsel. As he stood,305Viewing with steady eye the magic ritesOf preparation, thus the arch Priest spakeSevere.

"Woman, if any fiend of hellLurk in thy bosom so to prompt the vaunt.Of inspiration, and to mock the power 310Of God and holy church, thus by the virtueOf water hallow'd by the name of GodThat damned spirit adjure I to departFrom his possessed prey. Detected thusThy impious wiles, to th' ecclesiastic arm 315Thou must deliver'd purge in flames the crimeAtrocious."Thus he spake, and dash'd the waveWith hand unsparing on the virgin's face:The water shone upon her glowing cheekLike morning dew-drops on the opening rose. 320Indignant at th' unworthy charge the MaidFelt her cheek flush, but soon, the transient glowFading, she answer'd meek."Most holy Sires,Ye reverend Fathers of the Christian churchMost catholic! before your view I stand 325

A poor weak woman. Of the grace vouchsaf'd,How far unworthy conscious: yet tho' mean,Guiltless of ill, and chosen by highest heavenThe minister of aid. Strange voices heard,The dark and shadowing visions of the night, 330And that miraculous power that thro' the frame,Then gored with wounds and senseless, of Dunois,Pour'd rapid the full tide of life and health,These portents make me conscious of the GodWithin me—he who gifted my purg'd eye 335To know the Monarch 'mid the menial throng,Unseen before. Thus much it boots to say.The life of simple virgin ill deservesTo call your minds from studies wise and deep,Not to be fathom'd by the weaker sense 340Of man profane."Blushing the Maiden spake.Thus then the Father:"Brethren ye have heardThe woman's tale. Beseems us now to ask

Whether of holy church a duteous childBefore our court appears, so not unlike 345Heaven might vouchsafe its gracious miracle:Or silly heretic whose erring thoughtsMonstrous and vain perchance might stray beyondAll reason, and conceit strange dreams and signsImpossible? Say, woman, from thy youth 350Hast thou (as rightly mother church demands)To holy Priest confess'd each secret sin,So purged by grace to him vouchsaf'd from Heaven,Of absolution?"Father," she replied,"In forest shade my infant years train'd up 355Knew not devotion's forms. The chaunted mass,The silver altar and religious robe,The mystic wafer and the hallowed cup,Gods priest-created, are to me unknown.Beneath no high-arch'd roof I bow'd in prayer, 360No solemn light by storied pane disguis'd,No trophied pillars, and no imag'd cross

Wak'd my young mind to artificial awe,To fear the God I only learnt to love.I saw th' eternal energy pervade 365The boundless range of nature, with the SunPour life and radiance from his flamy path,And on the lowliest flowret in the fieldThe kindly dew-drops shed. All nature's voiceProclaimed the all-good Parent; nor myself 370Deem'd I by him neglected. This good PowerMy more than Father taught my youth to know,Knowing to love, and loving to adore.At earliest morn to him my grateful heartPour'd forth th' unstudied prayer, that spake my thanks 375For mercies oft vouchsaf'd, and humbly ask'dProtection yet to come. Each flower, that bloom'dExpanding in the new-born spring, call'd forthThe soul of full devotion. Every mornMy soaring spirit glorified the God 380Of light, and every evening thank'd the PowerPreserving thro' the day. For sins confest

To holy Priest and absolution givenI knew them not; for ignorant of sinWhy should I seek forgiveness? Of the points 385Abstruse of nice religion, and the boundsSubtile and narrow which confine the pathOf orthodox belief, my artless creedKnew nought. 'Twas Nature taught my early youthReligion—Nature bade me see the God 390Confest in all that lives, and moves, and is."

She spake energic. The full force of truthBreath'd from her lips. Appall'd the Doctors stoodIn vacant wonder, listening to the soundsUnwonted; till at last a Priest replied: 395

"Woman, of holy church thou seemst to scornProphane the mighty power; nay more—thy lipsConfess that nature taught thee thy religion.This is heretical, and thou thyselfHast proved it impious; for thou hast declared 400

Masses and absolution and the useOf mystic wafer are to thee unknown.How then could nature teach thee true religion,Depriv'd of these? Nature can teach to sin,But 'tis the Priest alone can teach remorse, 405Can bid St. Peter ope the gates of Heaven,And from the penal fires of purgatoryAbsolve the soul. Could nature teach thee this?Or tell thee that St. Peter holds the keys,And that his successors' unbounded power 410Extends o'er either world? Altho' thy lifeOf sin were free, if of this holy truthIgnorant, thy soul in liquid flames must rueTransgression."Thus he spake, the applauding lookWent round. Nor dubious to reply the Maid 415Was silent."Fathers of the holy church,If on these points abstruse a simple maidLike me, should err, impute not you the crime

To self-will'd wisdom, vaunting its own strengthAbove omnipotence. 'Tis true my youth, 420Conceal'd in forest gloom, knew not the soundOf mass high-chaunted, nor with trembling lipsI touch'd the mystic wafer: yet the BirdThat to the matin ray prelusive pour'dHis joyous song, methought did warble forth 425Sweeter thanksgiving to Religion's earIn his wild melody of happiness,Than ever rung along the high-arch'd roofsOf man. Yet never from the bending vinePluck'd I its ripen'd clusters thanklessly, 430Of that good God unmindful, who bestow'dThe bloodless banquet. Ye have told me, Sires,That Nature only teaches man to sin!If it be sin to seek the wounded lamb,To bind its wounds, and bathe them with my tears, 435This is what Nature taught! No, Reverends! no,It is not Nature that can teach to sin:Nature is all Benevolence—all Love,

All Beauty! In the greenwood's simple shadeThere is no vice that to the indignant cheek 440Bids the red current rush.—No misery there—No wretched mother, that with pallid faceAnd famine-fall'n, hangs o'er her hungry babes,With such a look, so wan, so woe-begone,As shall one day, with damning eloquence, 445Against the mighty plead! Nature teach sin!O blasphemy against the Holy One,Who made us in the image of himself,Who made us all for Happiness and Love,Infinite happiness—infinite love, 450Partakers of his own eternity."

Solemn and slow the reverend Priest replied,"Much, woman, do I doubt that all-wise HeavenWould thus vouchsafe its gracious miraclesOn one fore-doom'd to misery; for so doom'd 455Is that deluded one, who, of the massUnheeding, and the Church's saving power,

Deems nature sinless. Therefore, mark me well,Brethren, I would propose this woman tryThe holy ordeal. Let her, bound and stript, 460(Lest haply in her clothes should be conceal'dSome holy relic so profan'd) be castIn the deep pond; there if she float, no doubtSome fiend upholds, but if she instant sinkO'erwhelm'd, sure sign that Providence displays 465Her free from witchcraft. This done, let her walkBlinded and bare o'er ploughshares heated red,And o'er these past, her naked arm plunge deepIn scalding water. If from these she passUnhurt, to holy father of the church 470Most blessed Pope, we then refer the causeFor judgment: and this Chief, the Son of Orleans,Heal'd, as he says, even at the point of death,By her miraculous touch, shall pass with herThe sacred trial.""Grace of God! exclaim'd 475The astonish'd Bastard; "Plunge me in the pool,

O'er red-hot ploughshares make me dance to pleaseYour dotard fancies! Fathers of the church,Where is your gravity? what elder-likeThis fairer than Susannah would you eye? 480Ye call for ordeals—and I too demandThe noblest ordeal, on the English hostTo prove in victory the mission sentFrom favoring Heaven. To the Pope referFor judgment! Know ye not that France even now 485Stands tottering on destruction!"Starting wild,With a strange look, the mission'd Maid exclaim'd,"The sword of God is here! the grave shall speakTo manifest me!"Even as she spake,A pale blue flame rose from the trophied tomb 490Besides her. A deep silence thro' the domeDwelt awful. Sudden from that house of deathThe clash of arms was heard, as tho' withinThe shrouded warrior shook his mailed limbs.

"Hear ye," the Damsel cried; "these are the arms 495That shall flash terror o'er the hostile host.These, in the presence of our Lord the King,And the assembled people, I shall takeFrom this the sepulchre, where many an ageIncorruptible they have lain conceal'd,500Destin'd for me, the Delegate of Heaven.

Recovering from amaze, the Priest replied:"Thou art indeed the delegate of Heaven!What thou hast said surely thou shalt perform!We ratify thy mission. Go in peace." 505