Joan of Arc (Southey)/Book 1
JOAN of ARC.
BOOK THE FIRST.
ARGUMENT.
Dunois (the Bastard of Orleans) carried away by his wounded Steed, faints with loss of blood. JOAN discovers and heals him. They proceed to the King. Narrative of the Maid. She relates the capture of Harfleur, and the expulsion of the inhabitants by Henry the 5th. Her education with Bizardo. The annunciation of her mission and subsequent life.
JOAN of ARC.
BOOK THE FIRST.
WAR's varied horrors, and the train of ills
That follow on Ambition's blood-stain'd path
And fill the world with woe; of France preserv'd
By maiden hand, what time her chiefs subdued,
Or slept in death, or lingered life in chains,5
I sing: nor wilt thou Freedom scorn the song.
Sunk was the sun: o'er all the expanse of air
The mists of evening deepening as they rose
Chill'd the still scene; when thro' the forest gloom,
Rapt on with lightning speed, in vain Dunois[1]10
Now check'd with weaker force the unheeded rein,
Now rais'd the unheeded voice. Swift as the storm
Tremendous urges o'er the dangerous cape
His sweeping pinions, rush'd the steed; for deep
The heavy-hanging arrow's barbed point15
Gor'd his red flank. Impatient of defeat
Shame and Revenge boil'd in the Bastard's breast.
Adown his batter'd arms the tide of life
Roll'd purpling; soon its grasp the nerveless hand
Relax'd, and faint and fainter wax his limbs.20
Dim rolls the shadowy eye—he droops—he falls.
Chill drop the dews of night.
The new-born sun
Refulgent smiles around. From trance reviv'd
In dubious life Dunois unseals his eyes,
And views a Form with mildly-melting gaze25
Hang o'er his wounds: loose to the morning breeze
Waved her brown hair, and on her rubied cheek
Hung Pity's crystal gem. Fearful awhile
Lest wandering Fancy's unsubstantial shapes
Had mock'd the vagrant sense, silent he gaz'd,30
And gazing wonder'd; o'er his aching soul
Soon Memory rush'd and woke with ruthless hand
Each sleeping care. O France, he cried, my country!"
When soft as breeze that curls the summer clouds
At close of day, stole on his ear a voice35
Seraphic.
"Son of Orleans! grieve no more.
His eye not slept, tho' long the All-Just endur'd
The woes of France; at length his bar'd right arm
Volleys red thunder. From his veiling clouds
Rushes the storm, Ruin, and Fear, and Death.40
Take Son of Orleans the relief of Heaven:
Nor thou the wintry hour of adverse fate
Deem useless: tho' unhous'd thou roam awhile,
The keen and icy wind that shivers thee
Shall brace thine arm, and with stern discipline45
Firm thy young heart for fearless enterprise.
As who, through many a summer night serene
Had hover'd round the fold with coward wish;
Horrid with brumal ice, the fiercer wolf
From his bleak mountain and his den of snows50
Leaps terrible, and mocks the shepherd's spear."
So spake the delegated Maid. Meantime
From many a potent herb the juice she press'd[2]
Medicinal, and touch'd with lenient hand
Each gaping wound, where life as loath to fly55
Sat trembling: not the plants Medea cull'd
On Colchis' plain, nor those ingredients dire
Erichtho mingled on Pharsalia's field,
Making the soul retenant its cold corse,
More potent; thro' his frame with force divine60
The subtle spirit ran, and every limb
Fill'd with unwonted vigor; from the ground
On nimble feet he sprang, and knelt, and spake.
"O more than mortal! thou whose powerful hand
Avails to check the rapid step of Death,65
Snatching his prey even from the open'd grave.
O Powerful! O Benignant! for myself
Thus saved, I thank thee; for my country, more;
Angel of Heaven! for surely thou wilt aid
My country, and mine arm nerv'd with new life70
Shall on these proud invaders pour the war
With tenfold fury."
"Son of Orleans, cease;"
With loveliest smile she said, "nor thus misgive
What Heaven alone can claim. To Heaven return
The grateful prayer; to Heaven, whose bounteous will75
Me, most unworthy, delegates to wield
His thunder. Hear Dunois the tale of Her,
Offspring of frail Mortality, yet doom'd
To save her country. Lead me to the king,
And as we journey on, these lips shall tell 80
The wonderous work of Fate."
She paus'd: meantime,
As down the steep descent with many a step
They urge their way, her eye with wistful gaze85
Views the departing scene; so his last glance
High from the deck the wretched exile sends
To all that life holds dear; the glist'ning tear,
Soften'd her eye and all the Woman reign'd.
Soon the delufion dies; in distance lost90
Fades every spot belov'd; the hillock's top,
The oak wide-branching, and the rising smoke
Slow o'er the copse that floated on the breeze
Melt in the morning clouds. She dried the tear,
Then thus:
"Near Harfleur's wall, where rolls the Seine95
Full to the sea his congregated waves,
Dwelt Albert once.—Seat of my earliest years!
Still busy Fancy loves with fairy touch
To paint its faded scenes: even now mine eye
Darts thro' the past its retrospective glance,100
And calls to view each haunt of sportive youth,
Each long-lost haunt I lov'd: the woodbin'd wall,
The jasmine that around the straw-roof'd cot
Its fragrant branches wreath'd, beneath whose shade
I wont to sit and mark the setting sun105
And hear the redbreast's lay. Nor far remote
As o'er the subject landskip round I gaz'd,
The tow'rs of Harfleur rose upon the view.
A foreign master holds my father's home!
I, faraway, remember the past years, 110
And weep.
"The invader came. High o'er the waves
Rides the proud armament in dreadful pomp
That wafted slaughter; to the pebbled shore
The anxious natives throng, and gaze upon
The approaching ruin. On the fav'ring gale,115
The banner'd lion floats. Then might be heard,
(That dreadful emblem of destruction seen,)
The mother's anguish'd shriek, the old man's groan
Of deep despondence. Desolate the cot;
Silent the hamlet haunts of Innocence;120
For the poor villagers remembering all
Their grandsires told of war, fled wing'd with fear
To Harfleur's shelter; thither me, yet young,
(For scarce four summers o'er my head had beam'd
Their radiance) bore my sire; the well barr'd gate,125
The massy wall, the turrets guarded strength,
Too fondly wish'd, too fondly deem'd secure.
"Firm on the battlements the natives stand,[3]
Heedless of Death that rode the iron storm.
Fire-brands and darts and stones and javelins130
(Vainly destructive) thinn'd the hostile host.
The intrepid foe rush onward.
"Fourteen years
Young as I was, have not effaced the scene
From bleeding memory. The widow's cry
The shrieks of anguish and the yell of war 135
And Death's deep groan, yet vibrate on my heart,
Yet wake the strings of grief!
"Twere long to tell
The vast variety of woe that fill'd
Unhappy Harfleur. Long Estouteville strove,[4]
Long Gaucour's forceful arm repell'd the foe.140
In vain they strove, for weak were the wide walls
And few the gallant garrison, worn out
With days of ceaseless toil, and fearful nights
Of unseen peril. O'er the wasted town
The dreadful engines of destruction hurl'd145
Their ponderous ruin: then my father died!
Spirit of Albert! bend from yon high Heaven
Thy head; look down—behold thine orphan child!
She goes to fill her destiny; like thee,
Leaving domestic joys, in rugged arms.150
To clasp her limbs;—like thee to dare the war,
To die—yet not inglorious!
"Wild with woe
O'er my poor father's shatter'd corse I lay,
And kist his rigid cheek, and tore my vest
To bind his mangled limbs; nor, now bereft 155
Of him the only parent of my youth,
Fear'd I the horrors that prevail'd around.
Suddenly all was still: anon burst forth
The shout of conquest: from their long lov'd homes[5]
Thrust forth, the unhappy natives wander o'er 160
The wasted plain, in want and wretchedness.
Feebly I followed; one who knew and lov'd
My fallen father, fav'd his helpless child.
Long time he journeyed on in hopes to gain
Beyond old Arden, in his sister's home165
A safe asylum; and we now had reach'd
The wood, with many a painful day's hard toil,
When by the rankling wound that prey'd upon him
Worn out, he fell.
"My agonizing shrieks
Pierced thro' the forest, and a holy man170
Drew near: he bore him to his rock-roof'd cell,
And many a precious balm, and virtuous herb
The aged leech applied; his earthly cares
Were fruitless, for worn nature sunk to rest.
Yet of a Judge, all just, all merciful,175
A God of Love, inspir'd the hermit told,
And solaced his departing soul with strains
Of sweetest piety, and bade it rise
On Faith's strong wings to Heaven. Thus, once again
Bereav'd of friends, the sport of adverse fate,180
On his turf'd grave I pour'd the orphan tear.
"Rude was Bizardo's cell; the beetling rock
Frown'd o'er its ivied entrance; the hewn stone
Form'd his rough seat, and on a bed of leaves
The aged hermit took his nightly rest.185
A pure stream welling from the mossy rock
Crept murmuring thro' the wood, and many a flow'r
Drank on its side the genial sap of life.
The rich soil wasted not in worthless weeds
Its nurture; for Bizardo's patient hand190
Cultur'd each healing and salubrious herb;
And every fruit that courts the summer sun
Bloom'd for the holy hermit's blameless food.
Oft would the sage exclaim "ah why should Man
Stern tyrant of the field, with blood pollute 195
His festive board! Nature has spread around
The unguilty food of life abundantly.
How frolic in the sun yon little fawn
Strains his young limbs; now browzes the sweet grass,
Now o'er the plain leaps lightly; that man's heart 200
Were hard and alien from humanity
Who could endure to gore his innocent side!
Sport on poor forester! sport on secure,
Fearless of one by hard misfortune school'd
To feel for others."
"Here my infant years 205
Roll'd on at length in peace; he taught my knees
To bend in prayer to that all-gracious God
Whose parent power had call'd me into life;
And who, from every perilous chance preserv'd,
Had to the friendless orphan given a friend. 210
Of every herb that blooms amid the grove,
Or on the high cliff drinks a purer air
He bade me know the virtue; with the morn
Up from the homely couch we rose to pour
The soul expanding prayer: his eyes would beam 215
Seraphic rapture, as with eloquent tongue
He told the works of Heaven to thankless man.
How from the womb of darkness nature rose
Refulgent: at the Godhead's high command
How matter teem'd with life: the Earth put forth 220
Her various stores: the groves of Paradise
Gave their mild echoes to the choral song
Of new-born beings: and the last best work
Form'd in God's image, reared the lordly face
To Heaven. But when Bizardo told how man 225
Fell from perfection, from angelic state,
Plung'd deep in sin, and pluck'd the fruit of woe,
And bow'd the knee to fiends, and mock'd at God,
'Till Christ expiring on the sacred cross
Pour'd forth the atoning life; the tears ran down 230
His aged cheeks with woe-mixt gratitude.
"Forgive the prolix tale! Oh I could dwell
For ever thus; for weeks, and months, and years,
Roll'd undistinguish'd down the stream of Time,
'Till fourteen summers smiling o'er my head 235
Saw my young mind rich with the precious lore
Of virtue, and the leeches healing art
By him—the good man—taught.
"One morn it chanc'd,
As wandering thro' the wilds my steps stray'd on,
And from the high grass brushed the morning dew,240
The track of blood alarm'd me; void of fear,
For the innocent fear little; eagerly
I traced the stain, thinking some mangled fawn
Or lamb had from the savage wolf escap'd,
And I might haply heal its bleeding wounds. 245
It led me where outstretch'd on the red earth
There lay a youth wounded, and faint; his hair
Clotted with gore; fast from his side stream'd out
The blood; on his pale cheek the cold dews stood,
And from his hand the blood-stain'd sword had fall'n.250
Fearful to leave, yet impotent alone
To bear him to our cell—my echoing voice
Calls on Bizardo's aid; he heard; our hands
Enwove the osier car; the cave receives
The senseless stranger.
"O'er his couch I bent 255
With pious vigilance and fearful hope,
Watching the wounded man till fugitive life
Dubious return'd. His eyes gazed wistful round
And e're again the heavy lids closed on them
Beam'd languid gratitude. Long time elapsed 260
E're thro' his frame the temperate current roll'd
Of former strength: for deeply had he felt
The ruffian's sword, and distant many a league
Domremi lay the strangers native home.
"Scarce eighteen years had nerv'd the stripling's arm;265
Yet Theodore had view'd each deathful scene:
And oft the tear from his averted eye
He dried; mindful of fertile fields laid waste,
Dispeopled hamlets, the lorn widow's groan,
And the pale orphan's feeble cry for bread.270
But when he told of those fierce sons of guilt
That o'er this earth which God had fram'd so fair
Spread desolation, and its wood-crown'd hills
Make echo to the merciless war dog's howl;
And how himself from such foul savagery 275
Had scarce escap'd with life, then his stretch'd arm
Seem'd, as it wielded the resistless sword
Of Vengeance: in his eager eye the soul
Was eloquent; warm glow'd his manly cheek;
And beat against his side the indignant heart.280
"Meantime autumnal gales had swept the grove,
And to the cold blast now the sullen oak
Spread his unfoliag'd arms; the cloud-clad sky
Frown'd o'er the drear and melancholy scene.
At length the snows fell fast, and drifting deep285
Choak'd up the road; yet felt not Theodore
One tedious hour of all the live-long day.
Oh! he would sit and mark the driving storm,
Whilst o'er the high-heap'd hearth, of a bad world
And of the woes that Man creates for Man2910
He told. Then gazing round our peaceful cell,
Here (he would cry) let Theodore remain,
Till at the last his wasted lamp of life
Gently go out."
"Yet were not then the hours
Devoid of sorrow; for our anxious eyes295
Beheld Bizardo waining to the tomb.
In the full of years he sunk: his eyes grew dim,
And on the bed of leaves his feeble frame
Lay helpless. Patiently did he endure,
In faith anticipating blessedness,300
Already more than Man in that dread hour
When Man is meanest. His were the best joys
The pious know, and his last prayer was praise.
I saw him die: I saw the dews of Death
Starting on his cold brow: I heard him then305
Pour out a blessing on me.—Son of Orleans!
I would not wish to live to know that hour,
When I could think upon a dear friend dead,
And weep not.
"Aching at the heart we delv'd
The narrow house, and o'er the inearthed corse 310
Heapt we the grass-green sod.
"The spring came on;
I felt a pang that may not be express'd,
Leaving that little cell where many a year
Had past in peace. We journeyed on our way,
Seeking the distant home of Theodore;315
And at the last saw o'er the budding copse
The curling smoke rise slow: onward he speeds
Elate of heart. The watch dog with hoarse bark
Announc'd the coming guest; then, wild with joy
Soon as Remembrance spake his long-lov'd Lord,320
Fawn'd on his feet and howl'd with ecstasy.
'Twas happiness indeed, one face of bliss
Shines thro' the house: the eager plough-man quits
The labouring team, for Theodore is come.
Fast down his mother's cheek roll'd the warm tear325
Of transport, to her breast she claspt her child,
Long wept as one no more; nor me forgot,
But welcomed me even with a mother's smile.
Here past my unruffled days. Sometimes at morn
With pleasing toil to drive the woolly flock330
To verdant mead or stream, sometimes to ease
The lowing cattle of their milky load,
My grateful task; as with a parent's love
Would Eleanor partake each peaceful hour.
Hours of delight, ye are for ever gone!335
I shall no more with chearful toil prepare
The rural cates for high solemnity
At holy hour; no more amid the dance
Move in brisk measures with the blameless train.
The cot's calm quiet and the village sports340
These leave I willingly, these do I change
For the camp's din, the clangor of the war,
The pomp of slaughter: such the high command
Of Duty; that command I shall obey.
"Dunois! I dwelt in happiness, my soul 345
Slumber'd; and never feeling wretchedness
I never dreamt of what the wretched feel.
The night was comfortless; the loud blasts howl'd,
And as we sat around the social hearth
We heard the rain beat hard: driven by the storm
A warrior mark'd our distant taper's light.350
We heapt the fire: the friendly board was spread:
The bowl of hospitality went round.
The storm beats hard," the stranger cried "safe hous'd
Pleasant it is to hear the pelting rain.
I too were well content to dwell in peace,355
Resting my head upon the lap of Love,
But that my country calls. When the winds roar,
Remember sometimes what a soldier suffers,
And think of Conrade."
"Theodore replied,
Success go with thee. Something I have seen360
Of war, and of its dreadful ravages.
My soul was sick at such ferocity;
And I am well content to dwell in peace
Albeit inglorious, thanking that good God
Who made me to be happy."
"Did that God"365
Cried Conrade, "form thy heart for happiness
When Desolation royally careers
Over thy wretched country? did that God
Form thee for peace when Slaughter is abroad,
When her brooks run with blood, and Rape, and Murder,370
Stalk thro' her flaming towns? live thou in peace
Young man! my heart is fleshly: I do feel
For what my brethren suffer."
"As he spake,
Such mingled passions charactered his face
Of fierce and terrible benevolence,375
That I did tremble as I listened to him.
Then in mine heart tumultuous thoughts arose
Of high atchievements, indistinct, and wild,
And vast, yet such they were that I did pant
As tho' by some divinity possess'd.380
"But is there not some duty due to those
We love?" said Theodore; and as he spake
His warm cheek crimson'd. "Is it not most right
To cheer the evening of declining age,
With filial tenderness repaying thus,385
Parental love?"
"Hard is it," Conrade cried
"Aye, very hard, to part from those we love;
And I have suffer'd that severest pang.
My Agnes! I have left an aged mother;
I have left one, on whom my fond heart doats 390
With love unutterable. Should I live
'Till France shall see the blessed hour of Peace,
I shall return. My heart will be content,
My highest duties will be well discharg'd
And I may dare be happy. There are those395
Who deem these thoughts wild fancies of a mind
Strict beyond measure, and were well content
If I should soften down my rigid nature
Even to inglorious ease, to honor me.
But pure of heart and high of self-esteem400
I must be honored by myself. All else,
The breath of Fame, is as the unsteady wind
Worthless."
"So saying from his belt he took
The encumb'ring sword. I held it, list'ning to him,
And wistless what I did, half from the sheath405
Drew the well-temper'd blade. I gaz'd upon it
And shuddering, as I felt its edge, exclaim'd,
It is most horrible with the keen sword
To gore the finely-fibred human frame!
I could not strike a lamb.
"He answer'd me 410
Maiden thou hast said well. I could not strike
A lamb. But when the invader's savage fury
Spares not grey age, and mocks the infant's shriek
As he does writhe upon his cursed lance,
And forces to his foul embrace, the wife415
Even on her murder'd husband's gasping corse!
Almighty God! I should not be a man
If I did let one weak and pitiful feeling
Make mine arm impotent to cleave him down.
Think well of this young Man" he cried and seiz'd420
The hand of Theodore; "think well of this[6]
As you are human, as you hope to live
In peace, amid the dearest joys of home;
Think well of this: you have a tender mother,
As you do wish that she may die in peace,425
As you would even to madness agonize
To hear this maiden call on you in vain
For aid, and see her dragg'd, and hear her scream
In the blood-reeking soldier's lustful arms.
Think that there are such horrors; that even now!430
Some city flames, and haply as in Rouen
Some famish'd babe on his dead mother's breast
Yet hangs for food. Oh God! I would not lose
iThese horrible feelings tho' they tear mine heart."
"When we had all betaken us to rest,435
Sleepless I lay, and in my mind revolv'd
The high-soul'd Warriors speech. Then rose the thought
Of all the miseries[7] that my early youth
Had seen in that beleager'd city, where
Death never rested, and the morning sun440
Made steam the fearful havoc of the night;
'Till at the break of day I slept; nor then
Repos'd my heated brain; for to my view
Arose strange forms, sent as I do believe
From the Most High. I saw a town hemm'd in[8]445
Like Harfleur, round with enemies begirt,
Where Famine on a heap of carcasses
Half envious of the unutterable feast
Mark'd the gorg'd raven clog his beak with gore.
I turn'd me then to the besieger's camp,450
And there was revelry: the loud lewd laugh
Burst on mine ears, and I beheld the chiefs
Even at their feast plan the device of Death.
My soul grew sick within me: then methought
From a dark lowering cloud, the womb of tempests,455
A giant arm burst forth, and dropt a sword
That pierc'd like lightning thro' the midnight air.
Then was there heard a voice, which in mine ear
Shall echo, at that hour of dreadful joy
When the pale foe shall wither in my rage.460
"From that night I could feel my burthen'd soul
Heaving beneath incumbent Deity.
I sat in silence, musing on the days
To come. Anon my raptur'd eye would glance
A wild prophetic meaning. I have heard465
Strange voices in the evening wind. Strange forms
Dimly discovered throng'd the twilight air.
They wondered at me who had known me once
A chearful careless damsel. I have seen
Theodore gaze upon me wistfully470
'Till he did weep. I would have told him all
The mighty future labouring in my breast,
But that methought the hour was not yet come.
"At length I heard of Orleans, by the foe
Wall'd in from human succour; to the event475
All look'd with fear, for there the fate of France
Hung in the balance. Now my troubl'd soul
Grew more disturb'd, and shunning every eye,
I lov'd to wander where the forest shade
Frown'd deepest; there on mightiest deeds to brood480
Of shadowy vastness, such as made my heart
Throb fast. Anon I paus'd, and in a state
Of half expectance listen'd to the wind.
"Last evening lone in thought I wandered forth.
Down in the dingles depth there is a brook485
That makes its way between the craggy stones
Murmuring hoarse murmurs. On an aged oak
Whose root uptorn by tempests overhangs
The stream, I sat, and mark'd the deep red clouds
Gather before the wind, whilst the rude dash490
Of waters rock'd my senses, and the mists
Rose round: there as I gazed, a form dim-seen
Descended, like the dark and moving clouds
That in the moon-beam change their shadowy shapes.
His voice was on the breeze; he bade me hail495
The missioned Maid! for lo! the hour was come.
Then was the future present to my view,
And strange events yet in the womb of Time
To me made manifest. I sat entranc'd
In the beatitude of heavenly vision.500
At length a wounded courser dropping blood
Rush'd by me. I arose and sought the spot
Where thou hadst fallen; there the Most High vouchsaf'd
That aid miraculous which thou hast known.
- ↑ Line 10.—Dunois was wounded in the battle of Herrings, which was the last victory of the English before the appearance of the Maid of Orleans.
- ↑ Line 53—Hue quicquid fetu genuit Natura sinistro
Miscetur. Non spuma canum, quibus unda timori est,
Viscera non lyncis, non diræ nodus hyænæ
Deluit: infando saturatas carmine frondes,
Et quibus os dirum nascentibus inspuit, herbas
Addidit, et quicquid mundo dedit ipsa veneni.
Aspicit astantem projecti corporis umbram,
Exanimes artus, invisaque claustra timentem
Carceris antiqui.Lucan. Lib. vi - ↑ Line 128—Harfleur was taken in 1415. The Maid of Orleans first appeared in 1429. This agrees with the account of her age given by Holinshed, who calls her a yong wench of an eighteene yeeres old," of favour was she counted likesome, of person stronglie made and manlie, of courage great hardie, and stout withall; an understander of counsels though she were not at them, greet semblance of chastitie both of bodie and behaviour, the name of Jesus in hir mouth about all hir businesses, humble, obedient, and fasting diverse daies in the weeke.Holinshed, 600.
- ↑ The Englishmen, notwithstanding all the damage that the French could worke against them, forraied the countrie, spoiled the villages, bringing manie a rich preie to the camp before Harflue. And dailie was the towne assaulted: for the duke of Glocester, to whome the order of the siege was committed, made three mines under the ground, and approching to the wals with his engins and ordinence, would not suffer them within to take anie rast. Holinshed, 549.Estouteville was Governor of Harfleur: the place was gallantly defended under him by Guitri Gaucour and others of the French nobility, but the garrison was weak, and the fortifications were in bad repair.
- ↑ Line 159—Some writing of this yeelding up of Harflue, doo in like sort make mention of the distresse whereto the people, then expelled out of their habitations were driven: insomuch as parents with their children, yong maids and old folke went out of the towne gates with heavie harts, (God wot) as put to their present shifts to seek them a new abode."
Holinshed, 550.This act of despotic barbarity was perpetrated by Henry that he might people the town with English inhabitants. "This doth Anglorum prælia report, saieng (not without good ground I believe) as followeth:
Tum flentes tenera cum prole parentes
Virgineusque chorus veteres liquere penates:
Tum populus cunctus de portis Gallicus exit
Mœstus, inarmatus, vacuus, miser æger, inopsque;
Utque novas sedes quærat migrare coactus:
Oppidulo belli potiuntur jure Britanni!" - ↑ Line 421 Dreadful indeed must have been the miseries of the French from vulgar plunderers, when the manners of the highest classes were marked by hideous grossness and vices that may not be uttered. The following portrait of some of these outrages we give from the notes of Andrew's admirable history of Great Britain. "Agricola quilibet, sponsam juvenem acquisitus, ac in vicinia alicujus viri nobilis & praepotentis habitans, crudelissime vexabatur. Nempe nonnunquam in ejus domum irruens iste optimas, magnâ comitante caterva, pretium ingens redemptionis exigeret, ac si non protinus solveret colonus, istum miserum in magna arca protrudens, venustæ ac teneræ uxori suæ (super ipsam arcam prostratæ) vim vir nobilis adferret; voce exclamans horrenda." Audine Rustice! jamjam, super hanc arcam constupratur dilecta tua sponsa, atque peracto hoc scelere nefando relinqueretur (horresco referens) suffocatione expirans maritus, nisi magno pretio sponsa nuper vitiata liberationem ejus redimeret."
J. de Paris.Let us add to this the detestable history of a great commander under Charles VII of France, the bastard of Bourbon, who (after having committed the most execrable crimes during a series of years with impunity) was drowned in 1441 by the constable Richemont (a treacherous assassin, but a mirror of justice when compared to his noble contemporaries) on its being proved against him "Quod super ipsum maritum vi prostratum uxori, frustra repugnanti vim adtuleret."
"Ensuite il avoit fait battre et decouper le mari, tant que c'etoit pitie a voir.Mem. de Richemont. - ↑ Line 438 Holinshed says speaking of the siege of Rouen "If I should rehearse how deerelie dogs rats mise and cats were sold within the towne, and how greedilie they were by the poore people eaten and devoured, and how the people dailie died for fault of food, and yoong infants laie sucking in the streets on their mothers' breasts, being dead starved for hunger—the reader might lament their extreme miseries. p. 566.
- ↑ Line 445 Harfleur