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BER. Who does not speak of him! the brave! the n.o.ble!
VAL. She loves him, then?
BER. I said not so!
VAL. What trifling!
Has then Du Nois declared?
BER. I may not break The confidence reposed in me.
VAL. Most cruel!
Wilt thou do nought for me? Hast thou forgot A brother, once my friend?
BER. Alas! that name, I may not dare withstand!--begone! Oh! spare me!
VAL. Thou wilt comply then? Go--I'll wait thee yonder.
[_Exit BERTHA._
_Enter RICHEMONT and Attendant._
RICHE. Thou knowst the wretch who followed us When late we pa.s.sed to Baugenci?
ATT. But now I saw her.
RICHE. Lead her hither.
[_Exit Attendant._
VAL. Earl Richemont here!
RICHE. He is!
But would be known by none. Thou hast my secret: Silence I demand!
VAL. It is thine, but much I marvel to behold--
RICHE. The sovereign's scorn Infects thee, then?
VAL. None owns respect More deep than I; my wonder only rose To see thee here, whom I believed in Normandy;-- So the maid besought!
RICHE. The maid besought!
Is insult then annexed to gross injustice?
The charge was mean enough, without such aid.
Where will the folly end? But well it suits With that which now so speedily will follow.
Thou hast companion been in arms, and fought With Orleans' b.a.s.t.a.r.d son, and knowst, no doubt, That he, forsooth, must shortly play the fool, And wed, to please the royal will, the maid.
The prospect charms thee, sure!
VAL. (The royal will, It is his own request! _aside._) The proud Du Nois?
It cannot be. Not so. (Has h.e.l.l worse torture? _aside._)
RICHE. Du Nois! the proud, unbending, stern Du Nois!
He with Alencon now is with the king, On weighty news from Compeigne, which he brings: The governor beseeches instant aid, And who but the redoubted maid must lead it?
VAL. She has resigned her arms, and has declared Her mission closed.
RICHE. What then? she may be gained, And will be gained. Who trusts a woman's word, Which varies with her varying mood? The hand Of Count Du Nois will be the recompense Of her consent; and is not this a prize To tempt the breaking of a word she ne'er Intended to observe? If this concern thee, Meet me at midnight by yon temple. (Fool!
He yet shall prove a useful instrument. _Aside._) [_Exit._
VAL. Some fiend, but just escaped his doom, hath cast His brand into my heart. Whom do I see?
Herself and Bertha! In this shade I'll hide me, And there from her own lips the truth discover.
_Enter JOAN and BERTHA._
JOAN. Forbear!
BER. Hear me. Where native worth exists, Esteem will surely kindle into love, And gently ripen into purest bliss!
JOAN. Beware that fallacy. The solemn vow, Before the altar pledged, but sanctifies The love which first was gendered in the heart, But ne'er creates; a golden link to bind The fonder heart--a chain that galls the cold!
BER. But thou wert born to bless! ay, to be blessed!
A heart like thine must find--
JOAN. I do believe That nought on earth may hold fond thought from me.
The love which in another would have nourished What most it prized, has but in me proved fatal, And wrought its ruin.
BER. Thou dost chase a shade, To wither ev'ry flower within thy path.
No bliss can rise through him, while Valancour--
JOAN. I cannot love, and therefore will not wed him.
What noise was that?
VAL. Cursed be the ear that heard, The tongue that uttered such determination.
I'll hear no more! Now, hate, revenge befriend me.
[_Exit._
BER. 'Twas but the rustling of the scattered leaves, Or bird disturbed. Ah! tears are in those eyes, And I perhaps the cause. Come, chase past thought By sweet enjoyment of this lovely scene.
Sound, fragrance, air, celestial seems, and wakes A gentle bliss.
JOAN. I'm sick at heart: the bird Hath lost its melody, the flower its scent, Creation's self to me is now a blank.
BER. That tone! those words! say, what has caused this change?
JOAN. The agony the firmest e'en must feel, Who having crushed, with desperate hand, his bliss, Stands o'er the wreck, and in destruction reads What he has lost. I leave for Domremie To-morrow.
BER. Leave the court! refined society?
JOAN. Society has charms alone for one Whose heart's at ease. All converse to the sad Is as the pressure of the felon's fetter, p.r.i.c.king the deadened sense to active pain.
The glare of lights, gay sounds, and voice of men, Mock misery's sense, and shock as knell of death.
BER. Can lonely woods and dells restore then peace?
