Part 67

PUCELLE. I am prepared. Here is my keen-edg’d sword, Deck’d with five flower-de-luces on each side, The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine’s churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.

CHARLES. Then come, o’ God’s name; I fear no woman.

PUCELLE. And while I live, I’ll ne’er fly from a man.

[_Here they fight, and Joan la Pucelle overcomes._]

CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, And fightest with the sword of Deborah.

PUCELLE. Christ’s Mother helps me, else I were too weak.

CHARLES. Whoe’er helps thee, ’tis thou that must help me. Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant and not sovereign be. ’Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.

PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession’s sacred from above. When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense.

CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.

REIGNIER. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.

ALENÇON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne’er could he so long protract his speech.

REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?

ALENÇON. He may mean more than we poor men do know. These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.

REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no?

PUCELLE. Why, no, I say. Distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.

CHARLES. What she says I’ll confirm. We’ll fight it out.

PUCELLE. Assign’d am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I’ll raise. Expect Saint Martin’s summer, halcyon’s days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. With Henry’s death the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.

CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thou with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet Saint Philip’s daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall’n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough?

ALENÇON. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.

REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.

CHARLES. Presently we’ll try. Come, let’s away about it. No prophet will I trust if she prove false.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. London. Before the Tower.

Enter the Duke of Gloucester with his Servingmen in blue coats.

GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day. Since Henry’s death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders that they wait not here? Open the gates; ’tis Gloucester that calls.

FIRST WARDER. [_Within_.] Who’s there that knocks so imperiously?

FIRST SERVINGMAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.

SECOND WARDER. [_Within_.] Whoe’er he be, you may not be let in.

FIRST SERVINGMAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord Protector?

FIRST WARDER. [_Within_.] The Lord protect him, so we answer him. We do no otherwise than we are will’d.

GLOUCESTER. Who willed you? Or whose will stands but mine? There’s none Protector of the realm but I. Break up the gates, I’ll be your warrantize. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?

[_Gloucester’s men rush at the Tower gates, and Woodville, the Lieutenant, speaks within._]

WOODVILLE. What noise is this? What traitors have we here?

GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? Open the gates; here’s Gloucester that would enter.

WOODVILLE. Have patience, noble Duke; I may not open; The Cardinal of Winchester forbids. From him I have express commandment That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.

GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him ’fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne’er could brook? Thou art no friend to God or to the King. Open the gates, or I’ll shut thee out shortly.

SERVINGMEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector, Or we’ll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

Enter to the Protector at the Tower gates Winchester and his men in tawny coats.

WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphrey! What means this?

GLOUCESTER. Peel’d priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?

WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not Protector, of the King or realm.

GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contrived’st to murder our dead lord; Thou that giv’st whores indulgences to sin: I’ll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal’s hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence.

WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot. This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.

GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I’ll drive thee back. Thy scarlet robes, as a child’s bearing-cloth, I’ll use to carry thee out of this place.

WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar’st, I beard thee to thy face.

GLOUCESTER. What, am I dared and bearded to my face? Draw, men, for all this privileged place. Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard; I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly. Under my feet I’ll stamp thy cardinal’s hat; In spite of Pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I’ll drag thee up and down.

WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the Pope.

GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose, I cry, “a rope, a rope!” Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? Thee I’ll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep’s array. Out, tawny coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite!

Here Gloucester’s men beat out the Cardinal’s men, and enter in the hurly-burly the Mayor of London and his Officers.

MAYOR. Fie, lords, that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace!

GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! Thou know’st little of my wrongs. Here’s Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain’d the Tower to his use.

WINCHESTER. Here’s Gloucester, a foe to citizens, One that still motions war and never peace, O’ercharging your free purses with large fines; That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is Protector of the realm, And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king and suppress the Prince.

GLOUCESTER. I will not answer thee with words, but blows.

[_Here they skirmish again._]

MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife But to make open proclamation. Come, officer, as loud as e’er thou canst, cry.

OFFICER. All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God’s peace and the King’s, we charge and command you, in his Highness’ name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death.

GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I’ll be no breaker of the law; But we shall meet and break our minds at large.

WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we will meet, to thy cost, be sure; Thy heart-blood I will have for this day’s work.

MAYOR. I’ll call for clubs, if you will not away. This Cardinal’s more haughty than the devil.

GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell. Thou dost but what thou mayst.

WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head, For I intend to have it ere long.

[_Exeunt, severally, Gloucester and Winchester with their Servingmen._]

MAYOR. See the coast clear’d, and then we will depart. Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! I myself fight not once in forty year.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE IV. Orleans.

Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy.

MASTER GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know’st how Orleans is besieged, And how the English have the suburbs won.

BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe’er unfortunate I miss’d my aim.

MASTER GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me. Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do to procure me grace. The Prince’s espials have informed me How the English, in the suburbs close intrench’d, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance ’gainst it I have placed And even these three days have I watch’d, If I could see them. Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. If thou spy’st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the Governor’s.

[_Exit._]

BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I’ll never trouble you if I may spy them.

[_Exit._]

Enter, on the turrets, Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Glansdale, Sir Thomas Gargrave and others.

SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return’d! How wert thou handled, being prisoner? Or by what means got’st thou to be releas’d? Discourse, I prithee, on this turret’s top.

TALBOT. The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner Call’d the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him was I exchanged and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far Once in contempt they would have barter’d me, Which I disdaining scorn’d, and craved death Rather than I would be so vile-esteem’d. In fine, redeem’d I was as I desired. But O, the treacherous Fastolf wounds my heart, Whom with my bare fists I would execute If I now had him brought into my power.

SALISBURY. Yet tell’st thou not how thou wert entertain’d.

TALBOT. With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. In open market-place produced they me To be a public spectacle to all. Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scarecrow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg’d stones out of the ground To hurl at the beholders of my shame. My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem’d me not secure; So great fear of my name ’mongst them were spread That they supposed I could rend bars of steel And spurn in pieces posts of adamant. Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walk’d about me every minute while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

Enter the Boy with a linstock.

SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endured, But we will be revenged sufficiently. Now it is supper-time in Orleans. Here, through this grate, I count each one And view the Frenchmen how they fortify. Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions Where is best place to make our battery next.

GARGRAVE. I think, at the north gate, for there stand lords.

GLANSDALE. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.

TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish’d, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.

Here they shoot, and Salisbury and Gargrave fall down.

SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!

GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!

TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross’d us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak! How far’st thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek’s side struck off! Accursed tower, accursed fatal hand That hath contrived this woeful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o’ercame; Henry the Fifth he first train’d to the wars; Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne’er leave striking in the field. Yet liv’st thou, Salisbury? Though thy speech doth fail, One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace. The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.

[_Exeunt some with the body of Gargrave._]

Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort, Thou shalt not die whiles— He beckons with his hand and smiles on me, As who should say “When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.” Plantagenet, I will; and, like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn. Wretched shall France be only in thy name.

[_Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens._]

What stir is this? What tumult’s in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

Enter a Messenger.

MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather’d head. The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join’d, A holy prophetess new risen up, Is come with a great power to raise the siege.

[_Here Salisbury lifteth himself up and groans._]

TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan; It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. Frenchmen, I’ll be a Salisbury to you. Pucelle or puzel, dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I’ll stamp out with my horse’s heels And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. Convey we Salisbury into his tent, And then we’ll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.

[_Alarum. Exeunt._]

SCENE V. Before Orleans.

Here an alarum again, and Talbot pursueth the Dauphin and driveth him; then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them. Then re-enter Talbot.

TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them. A woman clad in armour chaseth them.

Enter La Pucelle.

Here, here she comes. I’ll have a bout with thee; Devil or devil’s dam, I’ll conjure thee. Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv’st.

PUCELLE. Come, come, ’tis only I that must disgrace thee.

[_Here they fight._]

TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I’ll burst with straining of my courage, And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.

[_They fight again._]

PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come. I must go victual Orleans forthwith.

[_A short alarum. Then enter the town with soldiers._]

O’ertake me, if thou canst. I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament. This day is ours, as many more shall be.

[_Exit._]

TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter’s wheel; I know not where I am, nor what I do. A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists. So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call’d us for our fierceness, English dogs; Now like to whelps we crying run away.

[_A short alarum._]

Hark, countrymen, either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England’s coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions’ stead. Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.

[_Alarum. Here another skirmish._]

It will not be! Retire into your trenches. You all consented unto Salisbury’s death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. Pucelle is enter’d into Orleans, In spite of us or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head.

[_Exit Talbot. Alarum; retreat._]

SCENE VI. Orleans.

Flourish. Enter on the walls La Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alençon and Soldiers.

PUCELLE. Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescued is Orleans from the English. Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform’d her word.

CHARLES. Divinest creature, Astraea’s daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis’ gardens That one day bloom’d and fruitful were the next. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess! Recover’d is the town of Orleans. More blessed hap did ne’er befall our state.

REIGNIER. Why ring not bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.

ALENÇON. All France will be replete with mirth and joy When they shall hear how we have play’d the men.

CHARLES. ’Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; For which I will divide my crown with her, And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I’ll rear Than Rhodope’s of Memphis ever was; In memory of her when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel’d coffer of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France’s saint. Come in, and let us banquet royally After this golden day of victory.

[_Flourish. Exeunt._]

ACT II

SCENE I. Before Orleans.

Enter a Sergeant of a band, with two Sentinels.

SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant. If any noise or soldier you perceive Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.

FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall.

[_Exit Sergeant._]

Thus are poor servitors, When others sleep upon their quiet beds, Constrain’d to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and forces, with scaling-ladders.

TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, By whose approach the regions of Artois, Walloon and Picardy are friends to us, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day caroused and banqueted. Embrace we then this opportunity, As fitting best to quittance their deceit Contriv’d by art and baleful sorcery.

BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame, Despairing of his own arm’s fortitude, To join with witches and the help of hell!

BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company. But what’s that Pucelle whom they term so pure?

TALBOT. A maid, they say.

BEDFORD. A maid! And be so martial!

BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, If underneath the standard of the French She carry armour as she hath begun.

TALBOT. Well, let them practice and converse with spirits. God is our fortress, in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.

BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.

TALBOT. Not all together. Better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways, That if it chance the one of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force.

BEDFORD. Agreed. I’ll to yond corner.

BURGUNDY. And I to this.

TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave. Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both.

SENTINEL. Arm! Arm! The enemy doth make assault!

[_Cry: “St George,” “A Talbot!”_]

The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter several ways the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon and Reignier, half ready and half unready.

ALENÇON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so?

BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we ’scap’d so well.

REIGNIER. ’Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.

ALENÇON. Of all exploits since first I follow’d arms Ne’er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous or desperate than this.

BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.

REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.

ALENÇON. Here cometh Charles. I marvel how he sped.

Enter Charles and La Pucelle.

BASTARD. Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.

CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much?

PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? At all times will you have my power alike? Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? Improvident soldiers, had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall’n.

CHARLES. Duke of Alençon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch tonight, Did look no better to that weighty charge.

ALENÇON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surprised.

BASTARD. Mine was secure.

REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord.

CHARLES. And for myself, most part of all this night, Within her quarter and mine own precinct I was employ’d in passing to and fro About relieving of the sentinels. Then how or which way should they first break in?

PUCELLE. Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way; ’tis sure they found some place But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this: To gather our soldiers, scattered and dispersed, And lay new platforms to endamage them.

Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying “A Talbot! A Talbot!” They fly, leaving their clothes behind.

SOLDIER. I’ll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of “Talbot” serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name.

[_Exit._]

SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town.

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain and others.

BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil’d the earth. Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.

[_Retreat sounded._]

TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town.

Dead March. Enter with the body of Salisbury.

Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight. And that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen’d in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I’ll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr’d; Upon the which, that everyone may read, Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death And what a terror he had been to France.

[_Exit Funeral._]

But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin’s grace, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, Nor any of his false confederates.

BEDFORD. ’Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, Rous’d on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did amongst the troops of armed men Leap o’er the walls for refuge in the field.

BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern For smoke and dusky vapors of the night, Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We’ll follow them with all the power we have.

Enter a Messenger.

MESSENGER. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France?

TALBOT. Here is the Talbot. Who would speak with him?

MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies, That she may boast she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report.

BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter’d with. You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.

TALBOT. Ne’er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman’s kindness over-ruled. And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her. Will not your honours bear me company?

BEDFORD. No, truly, it is more than manners will; And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.

TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there’s no remedy, I mean to prove this lady’s courtesy. Come hither, Captain. [_Whispers_.] You perceive my mind?

CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Auvergne. The Countess’s castle.

Enter the Countess and her Porter.

COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.

PORTER. Madam, I will.

[_Exit._]