The Maid of Orleans: A Tragedy Part 20

With your leave!

At Arras, niece, it is our privilege, And no fair damsel may exemption claim.

CHARLES.

Rumor doth speak your court the seat of love, The mart where all that's beautiful must tarry.

BURGUNDY.

We are a traffic-loving people, sire; Whate'er of costly earth's wide realms produce, For show and for enjoyment, is displayed Upon our mart at Bruges; but above all There woman's beauty is pre-eminent.

SOREL.

More precious far is woman's truth; but it Appeareth not upon the public mart.

CHARLES.

Kinsman, 'tis rumored to your prejudice That woman's fairest virtue you despise.

BURGUNDY.

The heresy inflicteth on itself The heaviest penalty. 'Tis well for you, From your own heart, my king, you learned betimes What a wild life hath late revealed to me.

[He perceives the ARCHBISHOP, and extends his hand.

Most reverend minister of G.o.d! your blessing!

You still are to be found on duty's path, Where those must walk who would encounter you.

ARCHBISHOP.

Now let my Master call me when he will; My heart is full, I can with joy depart, Since that mine eyes have seen this day!

BURGUNDY (to SOREL).

'Tis said That of your precious stones you robbed yourself, Therefrom to forge 'gainst me the tools of war!

Bear you a soul so martial? Were you then So resolute to work my overthrow?

Well, now our strife is over; what was lost Will in due season all be found again.

Even your jewels have returned to you.

Against me to make war they were designed; Receive them from me as a pledge of peace.

[He receives a casket from one of the attendants, and presents it to her to open. SOREL, embarra.s.sed, looks at the KING.

CHARLES.

Receive this present; 'tis a twofold pledge Of reconcilement and of fairest love.

BURGUNDY (placing a diamond rose in her hair).

Why, is it not the diadem of France?

With full as glad a spirit I would place The golden circle on this lovely brow.

[Taking her hand significantly.

And count on me if, at some future time You should require a friend.

[AGNES SOREL bursts into tears, and steps aside.

THE KING struggles with his feelings. The bystanders contemplate the two princes with emotion.

BURGUNDY (after gazing round the circle, throws himself into the KING'S arms).

Oh, my king!

[At the same moment the three Burgundian knights hasten to DUNOIS, LA HIRE, and the ARCHBISHOP. They embrace each other. The two PRINCES remain for a time speechless in each other's arms.

I could renounce you! I could bear your hate!

CHARLES.

Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ No further!

BURGUNDY.

I this English king Could crown! Swear fealty to this foreigner!

And you, my sovereign, into ruin plunge!

CHARLES.

Forget it! Everything's forgiven now!

This single moment doth obliterate all.

'Twas a malignant star! A destiny!

BURGUNDY (grasps his hand).

Believe me, sire, I'll make amends for all.

Your bitter sorrow I will compensate; You shall receive your kingdom back entire, A solitary village shall not fail!

CHARLES.

We are united. Now I fear no foe.

BURGUNDY.

Trust me, it was not with a joyous spirit That I bore arms against you. Did you know?

Oh, wherefore sent you not this messenger?

[Pointing to SOREL.

I must have yielded to her gentle tears.

Henceforth, since breast to breast we have embraced, No power of h.e.l.l again shall sever us!

My erring course ends here. His sovereign's heart Is the true resting-place for Burgundy.

ARCHBISHOP (steps between them).

Ye are united, princes! France doth rise A renovated phoenix from its ashes.

The auspicious future greets us with a smile.

The country's bleeding wounds will heal again, The villages, the desolated towns, Rise in new splendor from their ruined heaps, The fields array themselves in beauteous green; But those who, victims of your quarrel, fell, The dead, rise not again; the bitter tears, Caused by your strife, remain forever wept!

One generation hath been doomed to woe; On their descendants dawns a brighter day; The gladness of the son wakes not the sire.

This the dire fruitage of your brother-strife!

Oh, princes, learn from hence to pause with dread, Ere from its scabbard ye unsheath the sword.

The man of power lets loose the G.o.d of war, But not, obedient, as from fields of air Returns the falcon to the sportsman's hand, Doth the wild deity obey the call Of mortal voice; nor will the Saviour's hand A second time forth issue from the clouds.

BURGUNDY.

Oh, sire! an angel walketh by your side.

Where is she? Why do I behold her not?

CHARLES.

Where is Johanna? Wherefore faileth she To grace the festival we owe to her?