Maid of Orleans | Page 6

throne, Their
harmless realm existeth not in space; Hence should the bard accompany
the king, Life's higher sphere the heritage of both!
DUCHATEL. My royal liege! I sought to spare thine ear So long as aid
and counsel could be found; Now dire necessity doth loose my tongue.
Naught hast thou now in presents to bestow, Thou hast not wherewithal
to live to-morrow! The spring-tide of thy fortune is run out, And lowest
ebb is in thy treasury! The soldiers, disappointed of their pay, With
sullen murmurs, threaten to retire. My counsel faileth, not with royal
splendor But meagerly, to furnish out thy household.
CHARLES. My royal customs pledge, and borrow gold From the
Lombardians.
DUCHATEL. Sire, thy revenues, Thy royal customs are for three years
pledged.
DUNOIS. And pledge meanwhile and kingdom both are lost.
CHARLES. Still many rich and beauteous lands are ours.
DUNOIS. So long as God and Talbot's sword permit! When Orleans
falleth into English hands Then with King Rene thou may'st tend thy
sheep!

CHARLES. Still at this king thou lov'st to point thy jest; Yet 'tis this
lackland monarch who to-day Hath with a princely crown invested me.
DUNOIS. Not, in the name of heaven, with that of Naples, Which is for
sale, I hear, since he kept sheep.
CHARLES. It is a sportive festival, a jest, Wherein he giveth to his
fancy play, To found a world all innocent and pure In this barbaric,
rude reality. Yet noble--ay, right royal is his aim! He will again restore
the golden age, When gentle manners reigned, when faithful love The
heroic hearts of valiant knights inspired, And noble women, whose
accomplished taste Diffuseth grace around, in judgment sat. The old
man dwelleth in those bygone times, And in our workday world would
realize The dreams of ancient bards, who picture life 'Mid bowers
celestial, throned on golden clouds. He hath established hence a court
of love Where valiant knights may dwell, and homage yield To noble
women, who are there enthroned, And where pure love and true may
find a home. Me he hath chosen as the prince of love.
DUNOIS. I am not such a base, degenerate churl As love's dominion
rudely to assail. I am her son, from her derive my name, And in her
kingdom lies my heritage. The Prince of Orleans was my sire, and
while No woman's heart was proof against his love, No hostile fortress
could withstand his shock! Wilt thou, indeed, with honor name thyself
The prince of love--be bravest of the brave! As I have read in those old
chronicles, Love aye went coupled with heroic deeds, And valiant
heroes, not inglorious shepherds, So legends tell us, graced King
Arthur's board. The man whose valor is not beauty's shield Is all
unworthy of her golden prize. Here the arena! combat for the crown,
Thy royal heritage! With knightly sword Thy lady's honor and thy
realm defend-- And hast thou with hot valor snatched the crown From
streams of hostile blood,--then is the time, And it would well become
thee as a prince, Love's myrtle chaplet round thy brows to wreathe.
CHARLES (to a PAGE, who enters). What is the matter?
PAGE. Senators from Orleans Entreat an audience, sire.

CHARLES. Conduct them hither! [PAGE retires. Doubtless they
succor need; what can I do, Myself all-succorless!

SCENE III.
The same. Three SENATORS.
CHARLES. Welcome, my trusty citizens of Orleans! What tidings
bring ye from my faithful town? Doth she continue with her wonted
zeal Still bravely to withstand the leaguering foe?
SENATOR. Ah, sire! the city's peril is extreme; And giant ruin, waxing
hour by hour, Still onward strides. The bulwarks are destroyed-- The
foe at each assault advantage gains; Bare of defenders are the city walls,
For with rash valor forth our soldiers rush, While few, alas! return to
view their homes, And famine's scourge impendeth o'er the town. In
this extremity the noble Count Of Rochepierre, commander of the town,
Hath made a compact with the enemy, According to old custom, to
yield up, On the twelfth day, the city to the foe, Unless, meanwhile,
before the town appear A host of magnitude to raise the siege.
[DUNOIS manifests the strongest indignation.
CHARLES. The interval is brief.
SENATOR. We hither come, Attended by a hostile retinue, To implore
thee, sire, to pity thy poor town, And to send succor ere the appointed
day, When, if still unrelieved, she must surrender.
DUNOIS. And could Saintrailles consent to give his voice To such a
shameful compact?
SENATOR. Never, sir! Long as the hero lived, none dared to breathe A
single word of treaty or surrender.
DUNOIS. He then is dead?

SENATOR. The noble hero fell, His monarch's cause defending on our
walls.
CHARLES. What! Saintrailles dead! Oh, in that single man