The Maid of Orleans by Voltaire--Delphi Classics (Illustrated) by Voltaire

Author:Voltaire [VOLTAIRE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Parts Edition 30 of 43 by Delphi Classics
Publisher: Delphi Classics (Parts Edition)
Published: 2017-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

CANTO XII.

ARGUMENT.

MONROSE KILLS THE ALMONER. — CHARLES DISCOVERS AGNES, WHO CONSOLED HERSELF WITH MONROSE IN THE CASTLE OF CUTENDRE.

I SWORE to bid the moral theme good night,

Brief to narrate, nor long harangues indite.

What is there love’s young god cannot subdue?

A babbler he, my pen unequal, too,

With slender point still scribbles on amain

Those fantasies that strike my feverish brain.

Young beauties, maidens, widows, wives enrolled

Upon his charming banner’s ample fold;

Ye who alike his flames receive or darts,

Now tell me, when two glowing youthful hearts,

Equal in talents, merit and in grace,

When both would court you to the fond embrace,

Pressing alike and fanning rapture’s fire,

Awakening in the breast each keen desire,

You then a strange embarrassment must own.

To ye was e’er that trifling tale made known,

Of certain ass — such as our schools display;1

Near which some person in the stable lay;

Two equal measures, eyes of beast to strike,

In form the same and distant both alike,

The jackass tempted thus on either side,

Pricks up his ears amid the distance wide,

Just in the centre of these loads of hay,

The laws of equilibrium to obey,

And dies of hunger, fearful to make choice:

Of such philosophy ne’er heed the voice,

Deign rather at the self-same time employ

The sexes twain and let them bask in joy,

But take good heed, let nought your life destroy.

Not far removed from this monastic pile,

Polluted, sad, and stained with bloodshed vile,

Where nuns a score that morn from sorrow’s spell,

By Amazon had been avenged too well,

Close to the Loire was seen a castle’s height,

With drawbridge, loop-holes, watch-towers, fair to sight;

A current level with its margin flowed,

Meandering round this turreted abode,

Encircling, too, four hundred bow shots wide,

The park’s defence — its walls in ponderous pride:

A veteran chief, by name, Cutendre known,

As baron claimed this edifice his own;

Each stranger there became a welcome guest.

The ancient lord, whose heart was of the best,

Had made his fort asylum of the land;

All were his friends, or French or English band;

Strangers in coach, in boots, in gaiters ‘rayed,

Prince, nun, or monk, or Turk, or priest by trade,

Were welcomed there with amity most true;

But those that came must enter two and two;

For every lord his fantasy will feed,

And this same baron firmly had decreed

That in his castle he would feast each pair,

But never one — such proved his whimsy rare.

When two and two assailed his mansion’s gate,

All then went right, but woe betide the fate

Of him, who single sounded at his port;

He badly supped, was fickle fortune’s sport;

Till some companion should console his view,

Making that number just — when two make two.

The martial Joan who had reta’en her arms,

Which loudly rattled o’er her robust charms,

Led on toward night, as freshly breathed the air,

(Planning the while) sweet Agnes, tender, fair.

The chaplain, who her steps still close pursued,

Vile Almoner with lustful wish endued,

Gained charitable walls of this retreat.

So when of greedy wolf the grinders meet,

Of bleating lamb the tender velvet skin,

With ardor fraught his banquet to begin,

To escalade the fold he straight aspires:

Thus glowed libidinous the foul desires,

In chaplain ravisher; with eyes in flame,

Pursuing still the remnant of his game,

Torn from possession while he grasped the prey.

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