Joan of Arc: A Play in Five Acts

								

To yield the sacred weapon.

                                                        [Knocking.


AUS.                    Hark! that tumult!


ABB. May righteous Heaven forfend no danger nigh.
Let us withdraw behind this massy pillar,
Lest we create suspicion.



    Enter VALANCOUR, and Monks.


VAL.                       To the abbot!--
We have an embassy to him, on which
The fate of France may rest.


ABB.                        Dost hear? Release me.    [Advances.
Who thus disturbs the peaceful hours of night,
And what thy purpose?


VAL.                 This: in the king's name,
We here demand a sword which in the keeping
Of this house has long been held.


ABB.                            Wherefore claimed?


VAL. In faith of one, a wondrous maid, who says
She is decreed to save the country.


ABB.                                What proof
Produced of such a mission?


VAL.                        This with others--
She has in private told the prince a fact,
Known to himself alone, and challenges
Production of this sword, as pledge and proof
Of her authority.


ABB.            Of noble birth
The maid?


VAL.      Most humble.


AUS.                   Crushed the rising hope
Of near deliverance.


ABB.                 And why? Faint heart,
Why doubt that noble blood doth show itself,
Though severed from its fount by laspe of years?
Hast thou ne'er marked the far and devious course
Of proudest rivers, borne from highest mountain,
Now lost midst rocks; now over beds impure,
Slow, sluggish seen; now hidden from all sight,
And only heard in murmurs low beneath
The shade of dark, impervious boughs; and now
So shallow found, that urchin foot dare tempt
Its depth, and laughing overleap its banks;
Then sudden bursting forth, and scorning bounds,
It pours its sparkling waters in a flood,
Spreads its wide bosom to the smiling sun,
The pride and wonder of the land it feeds?


VAL. We wait impatient thy reply, good father.
Is there such weapon in these walls?


ABB.                               There is:--
And knowledge of the fact attests the mission
Heaven's work. See where the holy weapon lies,
Beneath yon massy stone.



    Chorus of Monks.


Spring from thy resting-place, sword of the brave!
Arm the deliv'rer's hand, destined to save--

                                           France calls on thee.



    Chorus of Soldiers.


Give it rejoicing light--see! it is ours.--
Now we defy the foe--England's great pow'rs!--

                                           France shall be free.

SCENE IV.--Chinon.
JOAN. BERTHA.


JOAN. Alas! not yet returned?


BER.                           The way is far.


JOAN. What, if too careful of his charge, the abbot
Coldly deny his suit, some fraud suspecting?
Wouldst know the heaviest ill mortality