# 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 Dunois10 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 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, 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, 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 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 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 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 in445 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