[1] In the few extracts we shall have occasion to make, we would have willingly had recourse at once to an English translation, if such had been within our reach. That not being the case, the reader must accept our own attempts at translation.
The drama opens with a scenic prologue. The scene is the village of Dom Remi; on the left is the Druid oak—on the right, the image of the Virgin in a small chapel. Thibaut d'Arc enters with his three daughters, Margaret, Louison, and Johanna, together with their three suitors, Etienne, Claude Marie, and Raimond. Thibaut deplores the state of his fatherland. Young Henry VI. of England has just been crowned at Paris, and Charles, the hereditary prince, is wandering a fugitive through his own kingdom. They themselves are in danger every day of seeing the enemy pour down into their own quiet valleys. Nevertheless, partly from this very cause, he determines upon giving his daughters in marriage without further delay. He bestows Margaret upon Etienne. Then, turning to the second daughter, Louison, and to her suitor, who, it seems, can lay little claim to worldly possessions, he says—
"Shall I, because ye proffer me no wealth,
Sunder two hearts that seem so well attuned?
Who has wealth now? Home and homestead now
Are booty for the robber and the flames:
The strong heart of a brave and constant man
Is the sole roof-tree which these stormy times
Must pass unshaken."
Hitherto father Thibaut seems an amiable personage, but he turns out to be one of the most disagreeable atrabilious parents that ever made his appearance on the stage. He next addresses and reproaches his daughter Johanna, who is beloved by Raimond, but who rejects the ties of earthly affection. He has taken an exceedingly morose view of the character of his daughter; a circumstance which becomes of great importance in the progress of the piece; for Johanna's reverse of fortune is brought about by the strange intervention of this dark and sinister parent. He believes his child more prone to ally herself with evil spirits, through a vain and sinful ambition, than, inspired by piety, to emulate the lives of saints. Raimond combats this gloomy notion. He thinks that the love of Johanna, like the most costly fruits, is only late in ripening.
"Raimond.—As yet she loves to dwell upon the hills,
And trembles to descend from the free heath
To man's low roof, beset with narrow cares.
Thibaut.—Ay, that it is displeases me. She flies
Her sisters' frolicsome companionship
For the bare hills—deserts her sleepless couch
Before the cock-crow—in that fearful hour
When man so willingly his shelter seeks,
Housed with his kind, within familiar walls,
She, like a solitary bird, hies forth
Into the gloomy, spirit-haunted, night,
Stands on the cross-way, holding with the air
Mysterious intercourse. Why will she choose
Perpetually this place? Why will she drive
Her flocks for ever here? I've seen her sit
Musing whole hours together underneath
This Druid oak, which all good Christians shun;
There's nothing blest beneath it; a foul spirit
Has made his refuge in it ever since
The old and sinful times of Paganism.
The old men of the village can relate
Horrible tales of this same tree: one hears
Oft, in its thick dark branches, whisperings
Of strange unearthly voices. I, myself,
As once my way led past the tree at night,
Saw sitting at its trunk a spectral woman,
Who slowly, from her wide enfolding robe,
Stretch'd a thin hand and beckon'd me."
Raimond points to the sacred image of the Virgin, which stands opposite the oak, and replies that it is the attraction which brings Johanna to this spot. But the old man persists in his own interpretation. Because his daughter is more beautiful than any other maiden in the valley, she is proud, and disdains her humble condition. He has had, moreover, ominous dreams. The entrance of Bertrand, a countryman just arrived from the neighbouring town of Vaucouleurs, interrupts the conversation. He carries a helmet in his hand, which has been forced upon him, in the marketplace, by a strange woman. Johanna, who has all this while remained quite silent, not answering a word to the rebuke of her parent, comes suddenly forward, and claims the helmet as having been sent for her. Through the interposition of her lover, it is granted to her. Bertrand, being asked what news of the war he has heard at Vaucouleurs, gives a desponding account of the king's cause, and brings the report that Orleans, pressed by the besiegers, is on the point of surrendering. Johanna now breaks forth:—
"Of treaty, of surrender not a word!
A saviour comes and arms her for the fight.
At Orleans wrecks the fortune of the foe!
His measure full, he is for harvest ripe,
And with her sickle shall the virgin come,
And reap the rank luxuriance of his pride.
Down from the heavens she tears that blazon'd fame
These English knights have hung about the stars.
Fly not! droop not!
Before the corn is yellow in the fields,
Before this moon has fill'd her globe of light,
There shall not drink an English horse
Of the sweet-flowing waters of the Loire.
Bertrand.—Alas! the age of miracles is past.
Johanna.—Not past! ye shall behold a miracle.
Lo! a white dove with eagle courage flies
Down on the vulture that still rends his prey,
Our mangled country. The traitor Burgundy,
The haughty Talbot that would storm the skies,
This Salisbury, scandal of the Temple's order,
And all these insolent proud islanders
Shall fly before her like a herd of lambs."
Of this prologue it has been justly said, that it might as well have been the first scene of the first act: for it is as essential to the progress of the piece as any one scene in the play; and the speakers re-appear, and for very important purposes, in the body of the drama. For our part, we look upon prologues of this description as little else than a device of the poet to gain more space than his five acts afforded him. When it has no connexion with the action of the piece, we wish to know what claim it has to be there at all; and when it is so connected, we are at a loss to perceive what end it answers, which could not be as legitimately prosecuted under the old title of Act I. Scene 1.
The nominal first act opens with the little court of Charles at Chinon. Here all is verging towards a state of desperation. Finances exhausted, troops threatening to disband, and a deputation from Orleans to inform the king that the town had agreed to surrender, if, within fourteen days, effectual succour was not sent to relieve it. Charles answers in despair:—
"Can I by stamping with my feet
Raise armies from the ground? Can I
Pour granaries from this bare and naked palm?
Rend me in pieces! Tear me out this heart,
And coin it for gold! Blood have I for you,
But silver have I none, nor corn, nor soldiers."