epub:type="z3998:persona">Joan, radiant, falls on her knees in thanksgiving to God. They all kneel, except the Archbishop, who gives his benediction with a sign, and La Trémouille, who collapses, cursing.
Scene III
Orleans, May 29th, 1429. Dunois, aged 26, is pacing up and down a patch of ground on the south bank of the silver Loire, commanding a long view of the river in both directions. He has had his lance stuck up with a pennon, which streams in a strong east wind. His shield with its bend sinister lies beside it. He has his commander’s baton in his hand. He is well built, carrying his armor easily. His broad brow and pointed chin give him an equilaterally triangular face, already marked by active service and responsibility, with the expression of a goodnatured and capable man who has no affectations and no foolish illusions. His page is sitting on the ground, elbows on knees, cheeks on fists, idly watching the water. It is evening; and both man and boy are affected by the loveliness of the Loire.
| Dunois | Halting for a moment to glance up at the streaming pennon and shake his head wearily before he resumes his pacing. West wind, west wind, west wind. Strumpet: steadfast when you should be wanton, wanton when you should be steadfast. West wind on the silver Loire: what rhymes to Loire? He looks again at the pennon, and shakes his fist at it. Change, curse you, change, English harlot of a wind, change. West, west, I tell you. With a growl he resumes his march in silence, but soon begins again. West wind, wanton wind, wilful wind, womanish wind, false wind from over the water, will you never blow again? |
| The Page | Bounding to his feet. See! There! There she goes! |
| Dunois | Startled from his reverie: eagerly. Where? Who? The Maid? |
| The Page | No: the kingfisher. Like blue lightning. She went into that bush. |
| Dunois | Furiously disappointed. Is that all? You infernal young idiot: I have a mind to pitch you into the river. |
| The Page | Not afraid, knowing his man. It looked frightfully jolly, that flash of blue. Look! There goes the other! |
| Dunois | Running eagerly to the river brim. Where? Where? |
| The Page | Pointing. Passing the reeds. |
| Dunois | Delighted. I see. |
| They follow the flight until the bird takes cover. | |
| The Page | You blew me up because you were not in time to see them yesterday. |
| Dunois | You knew I was expecting The Maid when you set up your yelping. I will give you something to yelp for next time. |
| The Page | Aren’t they lovely? I wish I could catch them. |
| Dunois | Let me catch you trying to trap them, and I will put you in the iron cage for a month to teach you what a cage feels like. You are an abominable boy. |
| The Page | Laughs, and squats down as before. ! |
| Dunois | Pacing. Blue bird, blue bird, since I am friend to thee, change thou the wind for me. No: it does not rhyme. He who has sinned for thee: that’s better. No sense in it, though. He finds himself close to the page. You abominable boy! He turns away from him. Mary in the blue snood, kingfisher color: will you grudge me a west wind? |
| A Sentry’s Voice Westward | Halt! Who goes there? |
| Joan’s Voice | The Maid. |
| Dunois | Let her pass. Hither, Maid! To me! |
| Joan, in splendid armor, rushes in in a blazing rage. The wind drops; and the pennon flaps idly down the lance; but Dunois is too much occupied with Joan to notice it. | |
| Joan | Bluntly. Be you Bastard of Orleans? |
| Dunois | Cool and stern, pointing to his shield. You see the bend sinister. Are you Joan the Maid? |
| Joan | Sure. |
| Dunois | Where are your troops? |
| Joan | Miles behind. They have cheated me. They have brought me to the wrong side of the river. |
| Dunois | I told them to. |
| Joan | Why did you? The English are on the other side! |
| Dunois | The English are on both sides. |
| Joan | But Orleans is on the other side. We must fight the English there. How can we cross the river? |
| Dunois | Grimly. There is a bridge. |
| Joan | In God’s name, then, let us cross the bridge, and fall on them. |
| Dunois | It seems simple; but it cannot be done. |
| Joan | Who says so? |
| Dunois | I say so; and older and wiser heads than mine are of the same opinion. |
| Joan | Roundly. Then your older and wiser heads are fatheads: they have made a fool of you; and now they want to make a fool of me too, bringing me to the wrong side of the river. Do you not know that I bring you better help than ever came to any general or any town? |
| Dunois | Smiling patiently. Your own? |
| Joan | No: the help and counsel of the King of Heaven. Which is the way to the bridge? |
| Dunois | You are impatient, Maid. |
| Joan | Is this a time for patience? Our enemy is at our gates; and here we stand doing nothing. Oh, why are you not fighting? Listen to me: I will deliver you from fear. I— |
| Dunois | Laughing heartily, and waving her off. No, no, my girl: if you delivered me from fear I should be a good knight for a story book, but a very bad commander for the army. Come! let me begin to make a soldier of you. He takes her to the water’s edge. Do you see those two forts at this end of the bridge? the big ones? |
| Joan | Yes. Are they ours or the goddams’? |
| Dunois | Be quiet, and listen to me. If I were in either of those forts with only ten men I could hold it against an army. The English have more than ten times ten goddams in those forts to hold them against us. |
| Joan | They cannot hold them against God. God did not give them the land under those forts: they stole it from Him. He gave it to us. I will |
Вы читаете Saint Joan
