Maid of Orleans | Page 9

whom a mother's crime unbarred the
way. For thirty years my sire in madness raved; Already have three
elder brothers been Mowed down by death; 'tis the decree of heaven,
The house of the Sixth Charles is doomed to fall.
SOREL. In thee 'twill rise with renovated life! Oh, in thyself have
faith!--believe me, king, Not vainly hath a gracious destiny Redeemed
thee from the ruin of thy house, And by thy brethren's death exalted
thee, The youngest born, to an unlooked-for throne Heaven in thy
gentle spirit hath prepared The leech to remedy the thousand ills By
party rage inflicted on the land. The flames of civil discord thou wilt
quench, And my heart tells me thou'lt establish peace, And found anew
the monarchy of France.
CHARLES. Not I! The rude and storm-vexed times require A pilot
formed by nature to command. A peaceful nation I could render happy
A wild, rebellious people not subdue. I never with the sword could
open hearts Against me closed in hatred's cold reserve.
SOREL. The people's eye is dimmed, an error blinds them, But this
delusion will not long endure; The day is not far distant when the love
Deep rooted in the bosom of the French, Towards their native monarch,
will revive, Together with the ancient jealousy, Which forms a barrier
'twixt the hostile nations. The haughty foe precipitates his doom. Hence,
with rash haste abandon not the field, With dauntless front contest each
foot of ground, As thine own heart defend the town of Orleans! Let
every boat be sunk beneath the wave, Each bridge be burned, sooner
than carry thee Across the Loire, the boundary of thy realm, The
Stygian flood, o'er which there's no return.
CHARLES. What could be done I have done. I have offered, In single
fight, to combat for the crown. I was refused. In vain my people bleed,
In vain my towns are levelled with the dust. Shall I, like that unnatural
mother, see My child in pieces severed with the sword? No; I forego
my claim, that it may live.
DUNOIS. How, sire! Is this fit language for a king? Is a crown thus

renounced? Thy meanest subject, For his opinion's sake, his hate and
love, Sets property and life upon a cast; When civil war hangs out her
bloody flag, Each private end is drowned in party zeal. The
husbandman forsakes his plough, the wife Neglects her distaff; children,
and old men, Don the rude garb of war; the citizen Consigns his town
to the devouring flames, The peasant burns the produce of his fields;
And all to injure or advantage thee, And to achieve the purpose of his
heart. Men show no mercy, and they wish for none, When they at
honor's call maintain the fight, Or for their idols or their gods contend.
A truce to such effeminate pity, then, Which is not suited to a
monarch's breast. Thou didst not heedlessly provoke the war; As it
commenced, so let it spend its fury. It is the law of destiny that nations
Should for their monarchs immolate themselves. We Frenchmen
recognize this sacred law, Nor would annul it. Base, indeed, the nation
That for its honor ventures not its all.
CHARLES (to the SENATORS). You've heard my last resolve; expect
no other. May God protect you! I can do no more.
DUNOIS. As thou dost turn thy back upon thy realm, So may the God
of battle aye avert His visage from thee. Thou forsak'st thyself, So I
forsake thee. Not the power combined Of England and rebellious
Burgundy, Thy own mean spirit hurls thee from the throne. Born
heroes ever were the kings of France; Thou wert a craven, even from
thy birth. [To the SENATORS. The king abandons you. But I will
throw Myself into your town--my father's town-- And 'neath its ruins
find a soldier's grave.
[He is about to depart. AGNES SOREL detains him.
SOREL (to the KING). Oh, let him not depart in anger from thee!
Harsh words his lips have uttered, but his heart Is true as gold. 'Tis he,
himself, my king, Who loves thee, and hath often bled for thee. Dunois,
confess, the heat of noble wrath Made thee forget thyself; and oh, do
thou Forgive a faithful friend's o'erhasty speech! Come, let me quickly
reconcile your hearts, Ere anger bursteth forth in quenchless flame.
[DUNOIS looks fixedly at the KING, and appears to await an answer.

CHARLES. Our way lies over the Loire. Duchatel, See all our
equipage embarked.
DUNOIS (quickly to SOREL). Farewell.
[He turns quickly round, and goes out. The SENATORS follow.
SOREL (wringing her hands in despair). Oh, if he goes, we are
forsaken quite! Follow, La Hire! Oh, seek to soften him!
[LA HIRE goes out.

SCENE VI.