Your Majesty!

It is with the greatest respect that I have attempted to fulfill
your commandment, that the life of Joan la Pucelle be immortalized
in great works of art.  For who better than I, Francois-Marie Arouet,
better known as Voltaire, to pen the true history of this noble maid.
But how can this be?  I hear you cry.  The brilliant wit and satire
of the great Voltaire, turned to such weighty matters as the life of
Joan of Arc?

Be not amazed, for I have endeavored to tell the true story of Joan,
a tale not heavy indeed, but filled with such lightness and mirth
that it took my pen but 440 pages-- in rhyming couplets-- to
set it down.

With your permission, I shall now read some small selection from 
my work, and I beg the Court's indulgence, that they might assist me, 
from time to time, as I lay forth the story.

Ahem.

----

To celebrate the Saints I'll ne'er aspire!
Profaner subjects suit my feeble lays:
To sing great Joan of Arc I'll tune the Lyre,
Who did, they tell us, Wonders in her days!
She stop'd the progress of invading Bands,
And long the rage of Britain disappointed;
The Lily flourish'd in her Virgin hands,
'Twas she that saw her King at Rheims anointed.
In her, Orlando's courage we may note,
Conceal'd beneath a cap and petticoat.
For my part, I in truth should more delight,
In one as gentle as a Lamb at night,
Whose tenderness and love I could rely on:
Joan was an Amazon, bold as a Lion!
And if my Reader's tempted to peruse
The curious narrative that hence ensues,
He'll tremble when I hold her Deeds to view,
For what's most wonderful as well as true,
Great Joan was one whole Year to Dian's precepts true!

Now I shall tell of those within our tale,
Of monarchs young, warriors true and maidens frail!

Good Charles, our jovial King, in youthful pride,
His revels kept at Tours on Easter-tide:
Where as he sought th'aggrandizement of France
At certain Ball (the gay Prince lov'd to dance)
He met a beauty yet unknown to Fame;
Agnes Sorel, the blushing Maiden's name.
Imagine Flora's bloom, Diana's air!
Love never animated form more fair.

And ye who best have lov'd, can tell the best,
The anxious throbbings of our Monarch's... breast.
The sanctuary gain'd which shrines her charms,
In Bed he clasps her naked in his arms.
Moments of Ecstasy!  propitious Night!
Their Hearts responsive beat with fond delight.

CHARLES:
"Dear Idol of my doting Soul!" he'd cry,
"How fully, how supremely bless'd am I,
"Whilst in thy snowy arms thus fondly press'd,
"I reign sole Monarch of thy tender Breast.
"Let my proud Parliament still disobey,
"Let Bedford o'er each conquer'd Province sway
"But let him envy what alone I prize,
"The Empire of thy Heart, the sun-shine of thine eyes!"

This speech, I grant, was not the most heroic,
But am'rous Charles was seldom such a stoic.

Now Bedford, France's scourge and Britain's pride,
To tented Fields th'enervate Prince defy'd.
With girded Sword, and ever ready Lance,
He strides triumphant thro' half conquer'd France.

This hapless land by British Troops o'er-run
Paris in chains he saw, and France undone!

While our most Christian King enjoy'd his fair,
Kiss'd Agnes, and despis'd all other care.
Grieved to the soul Saint Denis turn'd askance
For Denis long had Patron been of France.

DENIS:
"By my bald head!" [he cries] "it is not just,
"To thus annihilate that realm august
"Where martyrdom I bore, and glorious death,
"To plant the Standard of all-saving Faith.
"O Throne of Lillies!  Where is now thy boast?
"Blood of Valois!  Are thus thy glories lost?
"Your Grandfathers I lov'd and catechis'd
"And now my pious soul is scandaliz'd,
"To find my Charly quit the way,
"By two seducing Bubbies led astray.
"He, deaf to Duty's call, and Wars alarms,
"Prefers soft bondage in a Wanton's arms.
"Since Charly for this Wanton yields his land,
"Let us seek succour from a Virgin's hand!

To Domremi our Saint did lead his search
Where neither gold was hid, nor fruit did perch,
Nor luscious wine by which we're oft undone;
Yet 'tis from thee, France owes her doughty Joan!

About sixteen, our Heroine, blithe and able,
Hir'd at a Carrier's Inn, to serve the Stable:
Bold and assur'd, yet courteous was her air,
Her large black rolling Eyes, with brilliant glare,
Diffus'd around a supercilious light;
While two-and-thirty Teeth, all snowy white,
Adorn'd a Mouth that spread from ear to ear,
With pouting lips, than Cherries riper far.
Her bubbies round as bowl, and firm as rock,
In russet beauty swell'd above her smock!
And when to business she alertly went,
Her hand distributed quick chastisement,
To Louts and Loons, whose impudence would try,
To feel her diddies, or to pinch her thigh.

And now before this Fair-- imagine her surprise!
Denis appears in view!  Joan lowers her Eyes!
In terms of comfort Denis then address'd
The trembling Fair, astonish'd and distress'd:

DENIS:
"O chosen Maid! selected to fufill
 Of him who rules the World, th'almighty will;
 The God of Nations, by thy virgin hand,
 Shall soon revenge this desolated Land;
 Before thy steps shall his dread Thunder roar
 And terror round thee, like the Vulture, soar!
 Quit then these humble toils, and let thy name
 Stand, henceforth, foremost in the Lists of Fame."

Our Joan, amaz'd, gap'd wide with vacant look,
And thought 'twas Greek holy St. Denis spoke.
With sacred thirst of Fame, her bosom fir'd,
And martial ardour to her soul inspir'd;
Bade her bold thoughts to feats of Glory soar
A Heroine now-- a Chambermaid no more!
(p.54)

[The ass, p. 56]

And of her adventures, well, more I've set down in rhyme--
But shall speak no further word, until another time.