Part 428 (1/2)

SOREL.

Forbid me not! 'tis the excess of joy Which throws me at thy feet--I must pour forth My o'ercharged heart in grat.i.tude to G.o.d; I wors.h.i.+p the Invisible in thee.

Thou art the angel who has led my lord To Rheims, to crown him with the royal crown.

What I ne'er dreamed to see is realized!

The coronation march will soon set forth; Arrayed in festal pomp the monarch stands; a.s.sembled are the n.o.bles of the realm, The mighty peers to bear the insignia; To the cathedral rolls the billowy crowd; Glad songs resound, the bells unite their peal: Oh, this excess of joy I cannot bear!

[JOHANNA gently raises her. AGNES SOREL pauses a moment, and surveys the MAIDEN more narrowly.

Yet thou remainest ever grave and stern; Thou canst create delight, yet share it not.

Thy heart is cold, thou feelest not our joy, Thou hast beheld the glories of the skies; No earthly interest moveth thy pure breast.

[JOHANNA seizes her hand pa.s.sionately, but soon lets it fall again.

Oh, couldst thou own a woman's feeling heart!

Put off this armor, war is over now, Confess thy union with the softer s.e.x!

My loving heart shrinks timidly from thee, While thus thou wearest Pallas' brow severe.

JOHANNA.

What wouldst thou have me do?

SOREL.

Unarm thyself!

Put off this coat of mail! The G.o.d of Love Fears to approach a bosom clad in steel.

Oh, be a woman, thou wilt feel his power!

JOHANNA.

What, now unarm myself? Midst battle's roar I'll bare my bosom to the stroke of death!

Not now! Would that a sevenfold wall of bra.s.s Could hide me from your revels, from myself!

SOREL.

Thou'rt loved by Count Dunois. His n.o.ble heart, Which virtue and renown alone inspire, With pure and holy pa.s.sion glows for thee.

Oh, it is sweet to know oneself beloved By such a hero--sweeter still to love him!

[JOHANNA turns away with aversion.

Thou hatest him?--No, no, thou only canst Not love him:--how could hatred stir thy breast!

Those who would tear us from the one we love, We hate alone; but none can claim thy love.

Thy heart is tranquil--if it could but feel----

JOHANNA.

Oh, pity me! Lament my hapless fate!

SOREL.

What can be wanting to complete thy joy?

Thou hast fulfilled thy promise, France is free, To Rheims, in triumph, thou hast led the king, Thy mighty deeds have gained thee high renown, A happy people praise and wors.h.i.+p thee; Thy name, the honored theme of every tongue; Thou art the G.o.ddess of this festival; The monarch, with his crown and regal state, s.h.i.+nes not with greater majesty than thou!

JOHANNA.

Oh, could I hide me in the depths of earth!

SOREL.