Female patriotism; or The death of Joan d'Arc: an historic play, in V. acts,
Burk, John, d. 1808.
ACT III.—
SCENE I—A Forest.[Night march.]
Joan of Arc. Chastel, Dauphin. Dunois, Reignier, with the French army, march across the stage without beat of drum, Pucella holds the consecrated banner in her hand.
Pucella.
Halt.
They halt.
Now men of France be prudent and be bold,
Be silent as the night which covers you,
Furious as fire▪ impetuous as the torrent
Which thunders from the mountain to the plain.
After a long nights march we've reach'd the wood,
Where Britain lies encamp'd;
Now in your left the s•aling ladders hold,
And in your right hands fr•wning grasp the sword;
Dauphin take thou the charge of the left wing
Whilst Chastel and myself fight on the right.
Dauphin.
Let every Frenchman to her words attend,
There's safety in her counsel.
All.
We will obey her.
Pucella.
Chastel to thee I do enjoin the charge
Of storming Britain's camp; while I to Orleans
By famine wasted and by tedious seige
Do lead our convoy of provisions.
Chastel.
Great maid dispose of Chastel as thou wilt.
Violent thunder and lightening, the consecrated banner is struck from the hand of Pucella to the ground—The soldiers are seiz'd with panic—Thunder continues, Pu|cella preserves all her fortitude surveying their fear with contempt and indignation.
Chastel holds his shield over her head.
Reignier.
It has declar'd its anger and we must
Be more than madmen to dispute its will;
Let us go back.
Dunois.
Was not the banner from Pucella's hand
Struck to the Ground.
Pucella again resumes the standard.
Chast.
See she again resumes it,
And on her brow serene 〈◊〉 heavenly confidence:
The light'ning of her eye defies the tempest,
But beams reproachful on your dastard fears.
Pucella.
Shame on you courtiers,
Did you ne'er hear the thunder roll before
Or see the forked lightening sp•rt itself;
That thus all motionless and in amaze,
With haggard eyes and frighted hair erect,
You stand like dotards prophecying ill•.
This thunder is heaven's signal to attack
The British camp, already half subdued
By its own fears and shrinking from the storm.
Let's fire this thirsty forest and their camp,
And fall upon them choak'd with smoak and flame.
Chast.
The thought is great by heaven—
Let's quick about it.
What say you all?
All.
Aye, let's about it quick.
Pucella.
Then on to Orleans.
Seizes a torch.—Exit.
SCENE II.—A camp and forest on fire.
English soldiers run frighted in, pursued by the French.
1st. Soldier.
Which way shall we run.
2d. Soldier.
No matter where provided we get out of her way.
3d Soldier.
Tis madness and wickedness in our Generals to fight against the French who are assisted by heaven.
1st. Soldier.
As for me as long as I live I never shall fight against that holy maid again.
2d. Soldier.
Did you not see how she flew on our regiment?
[A shout—Pucella d'Orleans— Long live Pucella of Orleans.]
3d. Soldier.
There she is, run, run.
Exeunt.
Enter French soldiers pursuing them.
Exeunt.
(Exeunt—fighting.)
Enter Dauphin and Reignier, driving before 〈◊〉 B•rgundy and S•ffolk.
Exeunt▪ fighting.
(Firing of cannon, ringing of •ells shouts.)
SCENE III.—Inside 〈◊〉 Orleans—Pucella planting the 〈◊〉 sta•dard on the walls.
Joan D'Arc, Da•phin. Reignier. Chastel▪ and Dunois.
Pucella.
Ring all the bells, and our artiliery
P•al to the heavens our grat•tude.
Cold prayers will not do: clash on your shields
Yo•r reeking swords, and chaunt the hymn of war;
Thus we'll thank heaven.
Chastel.
And after t••e▪ heaven's lovely instrument.
Dunois.
When we thank heaven, then doth this warlike maid
Receive our thanks: for is she not of heaven!
Pu••lla.
Forbear my Lords:
Let not your praises tas•e of blasphemy:
I am no more of heaven than yourselves;
Nor inspiration do I feel, beyond
The stretch and compass of t•e human mind,
Devel•p'd by its own innate exertions,
No visions had I more than one of you:
I saw no sights but all of you did see:
France torn by feuds and foul dissentions;
France desolate beneath a stranger sword.
I saw the fairest kingdom on the earth,
The gallantest and proudest people,
And these my country and my countrymen,
Groan in the bondage of a meaner state.
This only was my inspira•ion:
And was it not enough—Forbid it heaven,
The tim• sho•ld ev•r be▪ when France doth look
For a more powerful▪ sacred call than this,
To ro•ze her to r•sistance.
Chastel.
I could almost incline me to believe
In transmigra•ion; some mighty hero,
Or rather all the heroes do survive
Within the bosom of this Amazon:
No single soul hath merit half enough
Page 20To match her high perfections.
Dauph.
And had you then indeed no special call,
No order, no communion from the skies?
Joan.
No, no•e▪ my story was a pious fraud,
To raise the fainting co••age of the land:
If there be fault in it, O God forgive me:
I thought it not a crime▪ and hope it none.
Dunois.
If this be crime, what will be virtue call'd?
Chastel.
By heaven 'tis virtue of the noblest kind,
Worth of the finest carat, least alloy'd:
Her glory shines in her with tenfold lustre,
In that 'tis all her own, her soul's conception,
The genuine off•pring of her enterprize;
Her soul did by itself become inspir'd,
And lighting, by the exercise of thought
Within itself, divine enthusiasm
Did straight communicate to all the land.
Joan.
My lords, our time is precious,
Now England flies and France is in pursuit.
When Peace invites to pleasures on the lute,
And Mars reclines on his inverted spear,
We can discuss what's virtue and what vice.
The trumpet calls to battle. Let's away.
Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—English camp.
Duke of Bedford and Bishop of Beuvais.
Bedford.
What saith your grace to this intrepid maid
Whose valour so outshines the bravest deeds
Of our best warriors.
Beuvais.
When I do speak of her I speak in curses;
But for her hateful presence France long since,
With all its haughty chieftains and its prince,
Had low at England's feet for mercy s••d.
Bedford.
She certainly hath wrought us much distress.
Beuvais.
And will continue• so to do
Unless some mea•s be found to take her off.
Bedford.
Think you she fights with only human powers,
Or hath the aid of some familiar spirit•?
Beuvais.
'Tis 〈◊〉 we repo•• among the troops
She hath 〈…〉 of some mal•ci•us fiend.
Lost they suppo•e h••〈◊〉 is of heaven:
But she no spirit hath but her high soul
Page 21To aid her projects.
Bedford.
How then hath she atchiev'd such mighty deeds,
Being, as she is, a shepherd's daughter.
Beuvais.
Within my diocese this maid was born,
And tho' her father was a peasant swain,
She had a kinsman who was deeply read
In all the learning of the wisest times:
This sage did much affect the young Pucella,
And finding her of quick and ready genius,
From time to time, he did enrich her mind
With precepts good, and high conceptions
Drawn from the Roman and the Grecian bards;
And such effect hath this upon the maid,
That she applied the tyranny of Ta•quin
To our invasion: and the stories told
Of Curtius, who ing•lp•'t himself in Rome;
Of Scaevol•, who astonish'd 'Truria's monarch
Into a peace with Rome; of Brutus, Cato,
To what she might herself acquire in war.
Bedford.
Thou speakest wonders to me.
Beuvais.
'Tis even so
Oft have I seen her e'er she join'd the foe,
Collect the wond'ring peasan•s in a group,
With reasoning most profound and sensible,
Explain their rights and duties in society;
Describe the crimes of tyranny and kings,
And glories which await the pa••iot's name,
In lang•age •o sublime and forcible,
That th• rule •h•ong seem'd borne above their level,
And I my •f 〈◊〉 ha•f incline to join
The D•〈…〉 st•nda•d.
Bedford.
T• was most strange indeed.
Beuvais
W• c••not hope to conquer while she lives;
And 〈◊〉 we will try to take her off.
Bedford.
H•w'••hat to be effected?
Beuvais.
〈◊〉 and he•e.
W•〈…〉 B• troops to flight,
And p••n•• vi•tory d•••〈◊〉•or France,
To 〈…〉•he of 〈…〉 unclasp
Her shining ma•l, and sh•••es her awful sword.
Page 22From her proud head she takes the sparkling helm
To wipe her glowing forehead: all the while
Heedless of danger▪ as if the enemy
Had not been ro•ted but exterminate;
Then is the time, if any time there be,
To seize upon her, while her dreadful armour
Lies here and there detach'd upon the grass.
Bedford.
The counsel is most wise.
But does not that hot Frenchman. Chastel,
Attend upon her closely in the fight?
Beuvais.
Else where we will draw his attention:
And for this purpose Talbot must step forth
From out the ranks, and challenge him to combat.
Bedford.
'Tis good, it shall be done; we must not loose a moment. Let your grace pray For the success of our enterprize. The hour that sees Joan de Pucella in our hands, shall see his grace of Beuvais arch-bishop of Paris.
Exit.
Beuvais.
I thank your highness.
Th•s have the blossoms of my fortune •scap'd
The withering blast, the cold and ruinous blight,
And the bow'd loaded branches of my honors,
Do promise store of fruit. Had I remained
True to the Dauphin, and my country France,
The fame of my excesses and my crimes,
Had ba•r'd a•• hopes to my pre••rment,
And my ambition, like a wol•••• rage,
Had prey'd upon itself. But join'd with England,
The weakness of whose cause does not permit
Nicely 〈◊〉 investigate the lives of men,
I bend ben•ath the weight of gold and honors;
While, in the licence of invasion's camp,
My fav'rite vices have the widest field
And latitude for ind•lgence. To me therefore
The English, not my country's cause▪ is dear.
Come▪ then, thou bloody visage fie•d of treason,
Th•t like a night-•ag, brood•d on the breast
O ••eeping 〈◊〉▪ and to his gang
O• dark palefac'd conspirators did give
The bowl of human blood, and bad them drink,
Page 23Put in my hand thy parricidal dagger:
I must do service for my English friends:
If I take off this fierce heroic maid,
Whose prowess so destroys and withers us,
I on a rock do build the British power,
And I, the architect, may claim reward,
Yea, even to surfeit.
Exit.
