George Moore - "Esther Waters"

W.C.C. Weetman - "The Sherwood Foresters in the Great War 1914 1919"

George Eliot - "O May I Join the Choir Invisible!"

Sara Ware Bassett - "The Story of Glass"

Editorial
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Canadian Elocutionist

A >> Anna Kelsey Howard >> The Canadian Elocutionist




ELIZ. (_stepping back_).
You are where it becomes you, Lady Stuart;
And thankfully I prize my God's protection,
Who hath not suffer'd me to kneel a suppliant
Thus at your feet, as you now kneel at mine.

MARY. (_with increasing energy of feeling_).
Think on all earthly things, vicissitudes.
Oh! there are gods who punish haughty pride;
Respect them, honour them, the dreadful ones
Who thus before thy feet have humbled me!
Dishonour not
Yourself in me; profane not, nor disgrace
The royal blood of Tudor.

ELIZ. (_cold and severe_).
What would you say to me, my Lady Stuart?
You wish'd to speak with me; and I, forgetting
The Queen, and all the wrongs I have sustained,
Fulfil the pious duty of the sister,
And grant the boon you wished for of my presence.
Yet I, in yielding to the gen'rous feelings
Of magnanimity, expose myself
To rightful censure, that I stoop so low,
For well you know, you would have had me murder'd.

MARY. O! how shall I begin? O, how shall I
So artfully arrange my cautious words,
That they may touch, yet not offend your heart?--
I am a Queen, like you, yet you have held me
Confin'd in prison. As a suppliant
I came to you, yet you in me insulted
The pious use of hospitality;
Slighting in me the holy law of nations,
Immur'd me in a dungeon--tore from me
My friends and servants; to unseemly want
I was exposed, and hurried to the bar
Of a disgraceful, insolent tribunal.
No more of this;--in everlasting silence
Be buried all the cruelties I suffer'd!
See--I will throw the blame of all on fate,
'Twas not your fault, no more than it was mine,
An evil spirit rose from the abyss,
To kindle in our hearts the flames of hate,
By which our tender youth had been divided.

[_Approaching her confidently, and with a
flattering tone._

Now stand we face to face; now sister, speak;
Name but my crime, I'll fully satisfy you,--
Alas! had you vouchsaf'd to hear me then,
When I so earnest sought to meet your eye,
It never would have come to this, nor would,
Here in this mournful place, have happen'd now
This so distressful, this so mournful meeting.

ELIZ. My better stars preserved me. I was warn'd,
And laid not to my breast the pois'nous adder!
Accuse not fate! your own deceitful heart
It was, the wild ambition of your house.
But God is with me. The blow was aim'd
Full at my head, but your's it is which falls!

MARY. I'm in the hand of Heav'n. You never will
Exert so cruelly the pow'r it gives you.

ELIZ. Who shall prevent me? Say, did not your uncle
Set all the Kings of Europe the example
How to conclude a peace with those they hate.
Force is my only surety; no alliance
Can be concluded with a race of vipers.

MARY. You have constantly regarded me
But as a stranger, and an enemy,
Had you declared me heir to your dominions,
As is my right, then gratitude and love
In me had fixed, for you a faithful friend
And kinswoman.

ELIZ. Your friendship is abroad.
Name _you_ my successor! The treach'rous snare!
That in my life you might seduce my people;
And, like a sly Armida, in your net
Entangle all our noble English youth;
That all might turn to the new rising sun,
And I--

MARY. O sister, rule your realm in peace.
I give up ev'ry claim to these domains--
Alas! the pinions of my soul are lam'd;
Greatness entices me no more; your point
Is gained; I am but Mary's shadow now--
My noble spirit is at last broke down
By long captivity:--You're done your worst
On me; you have destroy'd me in my bloom!
Now, end your work, my sister;--speak at length
The word, which to pronounce has brought you hither;
For I will ne'er believe, that you are come,
To mock unfeelingly your hapless victim.
Pronounce this word;--say, "Mary, you are free;
You have already felt my pow'r,--Learn now
To honour too my generosity."
Say this, and I will take my life, will take
My freedom, as a present from your hands.
One word makes all undone;--I wait for it;--
O let it not be needlessly delay'd.
Woe to you, if you end not with this word!
For should you not, like some divinity,
Dispensing noble blessings, quit me now,
Then, sister, not for all this island's wealth,
For all the realms encircled by the deep,
Would I exchange my present lot for yours.

ELIZ. And you confess at last that you are conquer'd
Are all you schemes run out? No more assassins
Now on the road? Will no adventurer
Attempt again for you the sad achievement?
Yes, madam, it is over:--You'll seduce
No mortal more--The world has other cares;--
None is ambitious of the dang'rous honour
Of being your fourth husband.

MARY (_starting angrily_) Sister, sister--
Grant me forbearance, all ye pow'rs of heaven!

ELIZ. (_regards her long with a look of proud contempt_).
These then, are the charms
Which no man with impunity can view,
Near which no woman dare attempt to stand?
In sooth, this honour has been cheaply gain'd,

MARY. This is too much!

ELIZ. (_laughing insultingly_).
You show us, now indeed,
Your real face; till now 'twas but the mask.

MARY, (_burning with rage, yet dignified and noble_).
My sins were human, and the faults of youth;
Superior force misled me. I have never
Denied or sought to hide it; I despis'd,
All false appearance as became a Queen.
The worst of me is known, and I can say,
That I am better than the fame I bear.
Woe to you! when, in time to come, the world
Shall draw the robe of honour from your deeds,
With which thy arch-hypocrisy has veil'd
The raging flames of lawless secret lust.
Virtue was not your portion from your mother;
Well know we what it was which brought the head
Of Anne Boleyn to the fatal block.
I've supported
What human nature can support; farewell,
Lamb-hearted resignation, passive patience,
Fly to thy native heaven; burst at length
Thy bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave,
In all thy fury, long-suppressed rancour!
And thou, who to the anger'd basilisk
Impart'st the murd'rous glance, O, arm my tongue
With poison'd darts!
(_raising her voice_). A pretender
Profanes the English throne! The gen'rous Britons
Are cheated by a juggler, [whose whole figure
Is false and painted, heart at well as face!]
If right prevail'd, you now would in the dust
Before me lie, for I'm your rightful monarch!

[Elizabeth _hastily retires_.

MARY. At last, at last,
After whole years of sorrow and abasement,
One moment of victorious revenge!


* * * * *


SCENE FROM LEAH, THE FORSAKEN.

ACT IV. SCENE III.

SCENE.--_Night. The Village Churchyard. Enter Leah slowly, her hair
streaming over her shoulders._

LEAH--[_solus_]-What seek I here? I know not; yet I feel I have a
mission to fulfil. I feel that the cords of my I being are stretched to
their utmost effort. Already seven days! So long! As the dead lights were
placed about the body of Abraham, as the friends sat nightly at his feet
and watched, so have I sat, for seven days, and wept over the corpse of my
love. What have I done? Am I not the child of man? Is not love the right of
all,--like the air, the light? And if I stretched my hands towards it, was
it a crime? When I first saw him, first heard the sound of his voice,
something wound itself around my heart. Then first I knew why I was
created, and for the first time, was thankful for my life. Collect thyself,
mind, and think! What has happened? I saw him yesterday--no! eight days
ago! He was full of love. "You'll come," said he. I came. I left my people.
I tore the cords that bound me to my nation, and came to him. He cast me
forth into the night. And yet, my heart, you throb still. The earth still
stands, the sun still shines, as if it had not gone down forever, for me.
By his side stood a handsome maid, and drew him away with caressing hands.
It is _she_ he loves, and to the Jewess he dares offer gold. I will
seek him! I will gaze on his face--that deceitful beautiful face.
[_Church illuminated. Organ plays softly_.] I will ask him what I have
done that--[_Hides face in her hands and weeps. Organ swells louder and
then subsides again_.] Perhaps he has been misled by some one--some
false tongue! His looks, his words, seem to reproach me. Why was I silent?
Thou proud mouth, ye proud lips, why did you not speak? Perhaps he loves me
still. Perhaps his soul, like mine, pines in nameless agony, and yearns for
reconciliation. [_Music soft_.] Why does my hate melt away at this
soft voice with which heaven calls to me? That grand music! I hear voices.
It sounds like a nuptial benediction; perhaps it is a loving bridal pair.
Amen--amen! to that prayer, whoever you may be. [_Music stops_.] I,
poor desolate one, would like to see their happy faces--I must--this
window. Yes, here I can see into the church. [_Looks into the window.
Screams_.] Do I dream? Kind Heaven, that prayer, that amen, you heard it
not. I call it back. You did not hear my blessing. You were deaf. Did no
blood-stained dagger drop upon them? 'Tis he! Revenge!----No! Thou shalt
judge! Thine, Jehovah, is the vengeance. Thou, alone, canst send it.
[_Rests her arm upon a broken column.]

Enter Rudolf from the sacristy door, with wreath in hand._

RUD.--I am at last alone. I cannot endure the joy and merriment around me.
How like mockery sounded the pious words of the priest! As I gazed towards
the church windows I saw a face, heard a muffled cry. I thought it was her
face,--her voice.

LEAH.--(_coldly_.) Did you think so?

RUD.--Leah! Is it you?

LEAH.--Yes.

RUD.--(_tenderly_.) Leah--

LEAH.--Silence, perjured one! Can the tongue that lied, still speak? The
breath that called me wife, now swear faith to another! Does it dare to mix
with the pure air of heaven? Is this the man I worshipped? whose features I
so fondly gazed upon! Ah! [_shuddering_] No--no! The hand of heaven
has crushed, beaten and defaced them! The stamp of divinity no longer rests
there! [_Walks away_.]

RUD.--Leah! hear me!

LEAH.--[turning fiercely.] Ha! You call me back? I am pitiless now.

RUD.--You broke faith first. You took the money.

LEAH.--Money! What money?

RUD.--The money my father sent you.

LEAH.--Sent me money? For what?

RUD.--[_hesitating_.] To induce you to release me--to----

LEAH.--That I might release you? And you knew it? You permitted it?

RUD.--I staked my life that you would not take it.

LEAH.--And you believed I had taken it?

RUD.--How could I believe otherwise? I----

LEAH.--[_with rage_] And you believed I had taken it, Miserable
Christian, and you cast me off! Not a question was the Jewess worth. This,
then, was thy work; this the eternity of love you promised me. Forgive me,
Heaven, that I forgot my nation to love this Christian. Let that love be
lost in hate. Love is false, unjust--hate endless, eternal.

RUD.--Cease these gloomy words of vengeance--I have wronged you. I feel it
without your reproaches. I have sinned; but to sin is human, and it would
be but human to forgive.

LEAH.--You would tempt me again? I do not know that voice.

RUD.--I will make good the evil I have done; aye, an hundredfold.

LEAH.--Aye, crush the flower, grind it under foot, then make good the evil
you have done. No! no! an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a heart for
a heart!

RUD.--Hold, fierce woman, I will beseech no more! Do not tempt heaven; let
it be the judge between us! If I have sinned through love, see that you do
not sin through hate.

LEAH.--Blasphemer! and you dare call on heaven! What commandant hast thou
not broken? Thou shalt not swear falsely--you broke faith with me! Thou
shalt not steal--you stole my heart. Thou shalt not kill--what of life have
you left me?

RUD.--Hold, hold! No more! [_Advancing_.]

LEAH.--[_repelling him_.] The old man who died because I loved you,
the woman who hungered because I followed you, may they follow you in
dreams, and be a drag upon your feet forever. May you wander as I wander,
suffer shame as I now suffer it. Cursed be the land you till: may it keep
faith with you as you have kept faith with me. Cursed, thrice cursed, may
you be evermore, and as my people on Mount Ebal spoke, so speak I thrice!
Amen! Amen! Amen!

[_Rudolf drops on his knees as the curtain descends on the tableau_.]

* * * * *

SCENE FROM LEAH.

ACT V. SCENE I.


RUD.--(_Leah comes down stage gently and sad, listening_). Think,
Madalena, of her lot and mine. While I clasp a tender wife, and a lovely
child; she wanders in foreign lands, suffering and desolate. It is not
alone her curse that haunts me, it is her pale and gentle face, which I
seem to see in my dreams, and which so sadly says to me,

"I have forgiven!" Oh, Madalena, could I but hear her say this, and tell
her how deeply I feel that I have wronged her--could I but wet her hands
with my repentent tears, then would I find peace.

MAD.--Rudolf, a thought! In yonder valley camps a company of Jews who are
emigrating to America; perhaps one of them may be able to give you news of
Leah, and if you find her, she shall share the blessings of our home. She
shall be to me a dear sister! _(Leah hastily conceals herself.)_ Ha,
that beggar woman, where is she? _(Looks around.)_ Perhaps she belongs
to the tribe; perhaps she may tell you of her.

RUD.--How say you? A beggar woman?

MAD.--Yes, a poor Jewess, whom I rescued to-day. She must now be in the
house. Oh, come, Rudolf, let us find her. All may yet be well! _[Exeunt
in house._

_Enter Leah from behind a hayrick._

LEAH.--Have I heard aright? The iron bands seem melting, the cold dead
heart moves, and beats once more! The old life returns. Rudolf!
_(tears.)_ My Rudolf. No, no, he is no longer mine! The flame is
extinguished, and only the empty lamp remains above the sepulchre of my
heart. No, Madalena, no, I shall not remain to be a reproach to you both. I
will wander on with my people, but the hate I have nourished has departed.
I may not love, but I forgive--yes, I forgive him. But his child. Oh, I
should so like to see his child!

_Child comes to doorway from house._

Fear not, little one, come hither.

CHILD.--_(coming towards her)._ Is it you? Father seeks you.

LEAH.--His very image. _(kisses her,)_ What is your name, my darling?

CHILD.--Leah.

LEAH.--What say you? Leah?

CHILD.--Did you know the other Leah?--she whom mother and father speak of
so often, and for whom every night I must pray?

LEAH.--_(With emotion, kissing her, and giving her a withered rose-
wreath, which she takes from inside her dress)_ Take this, my pretty
one.

CHILD.--A rose-wreath?

LEAH--Take it, and give it your father. Say to him your little prayer has
been heard, and that Leah--_(emotion)_--Leah forgives. _(going,
returns again, kisses child, and with extended arms and choking voice.)_
Bless, you, darling! _(extending arms to house.)_ And you, and you--
and all--and all'. _(goes to fence, totters, and sinks down, endeavoring
to exit.)_

_Enter Rudolf and Madalena from house._

RUD.--Not here!

CHILD--_(running to Madalena.)_ See, mother, see what the strange
woman gave me. _(showing wreath.)_

MAD.--_(not noticing child)_ Where is she?

CHILD.--She has gone away _(running to Rudolf with wreath.)_ See,
father.

RUD.--_(taking wreath.)_ A rose-wreath. Great heaven, Madalena, it
must have been Leah; it is my wreath. Leah!

MAD.--It was she!

RUD.--Yes, it was Leah. By this token we are reconciled. _(Leah
moans.)_ Ha, what sound is that?

MAD.--_(going to the prostrate figure.)_ Quick, Rudolf! It is she.
_(they run to her, raise her up, and bear her to front.)_

LEAH.--_(feebly.)_ I tried to go, but my strength forsook me. I shall,
at least, then, die here!

RUD.--Die! No, no; speak not of dying, you shall live!

LEAH.--No; I am too happy to live. See, Madalena, I take his hand, but it
is to place it in yours. All is over. _(sinks into their arms.)_

SCENE FROM PIZARRO.

SCENE I.--A Dungeon.

_Alonzo in chains--A sentinel walking near._

ALONZO. (c.)--For the last time, I have beheld the quivering lustre of the
stars. For the last time, O, sun! (and soon the hour), I shall behold thy
rising, and thy level beams melting the pale mists of morn to glittering
dew drops. Then comes my death, and in the morning of my day, I fall,
which--no, Alonzo, date not the life which thou hast run, by the mean
reckoning of the hours and days, which thou has breathed:--a life spent
worthily should be measured by a nobler line; by deeds, not years. They
only have lived long, who have lived virtuously. Surely, even now, thin
streaks of glimmering light steal on the darkness of the East. If so, my
life is but one hour more. I will not watch the coming dawn; but in the
darkness of my cell, my last prayer to thee, Power Supreme! shall be for my
wife and child! Grant them to dwell in innocence and peace; grant health
and purity of mind--all else is worthless.

[_Enters the cavern_, R. U. E.

SEN.--Who's there? answer quickly! Who's there?

ROL.--(_within._) A friar come to visit your prisoner. (_enters_,
L. U. E. _disguised as a monk._) Inform me, friend, is not Alonzo, the
Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon?

SEN.--(c.) He is.

ROL.--I must speak with him.

SEN.--You must not. (_stopping him with his spear._)

ROL.--He is my friend.

SEN.--Not if he were your brother.

ROL.--What is to be his fate?

SEN.--He dies at sunrise.

ROL.--Ha! Then I am come in time.

SEN.--Just--to witness his death.

ROL.--Soldier, I must speak to him.

SEN.--Back, back--It is impossible.

ROL.--I do entreat you, but for one moment.

SEN.--You entreat in vain--my orders are most strict.

ROL.--Look on this wedge of massive gold--look on these precious gems. In
thy own land they will be wealth for thee and thine--beyond thy hope or
wish. Take them--they are thine. Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo.

SEN.--Away!--wouldst thou corrupt me? Me! an old Castilian! I know my duty
better.

ROL.--Soldier!--hast thou a wife?

SEN.--I have.

ROL.--Hast thou children?

SEN.--Four--honest, lovely boys.

ROL.--Where didst thou leave them?

SEN.--In my native village; even in the cot where myself was born.

ROL.--Dost thou love thy children and thy wife?

SEN.--Do I love them! God knows my heart--I do.

ROL.--Soldier! imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in this
strange land. What would be thy last request?

SEN.--That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife
and children.

ROL.--Oh! but if that comrade was at thy prison gate, and should there be
told--thy fellow-soldier dies at sunset, yet thou shalt not for a moment
see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children or his
wretched wife, what would'st thou think of him, who thus could drive thy
comrade from the door?

SEN.--How?

ROL.--Alonzo has a wife and child. I am come but to receive for her, and
for her babe, the last blessing of my friend.

SEN.--Go in. [_Shoulders his spear and walks to_ L. U. E.

ROL. (c.)--Oh, holy Nature! thou dost never plead in vain. There is not of
our earth a creature bearing form, and life--human or savage--native of the
forest wild, or giddy air--around whose parent bosom thou hast not a cord
entwined of power to tie them to their offspring's claims, and at thy will
to draw them back to thee. On iron pinions borne, the blood-stained vulture
cleaves the storm, yet is the plumage closest to her heart soft as the
cygnet's down, and o'er her unshelled brood the murmuring ring-dove sits
not more gently.--Yes, now he is beyond the porch, barring the outer gate!
Alonzo! Alonzo, my friend! Ha! in gentle sleep! Alonzo--rise!

ALON.--How, is my hour elapsed? Well, (_Returning from the recess_ R.
U. E.) I am ready.

ROL.--Alonzo, know me.

ALON.--What voice is that?

ROL.--'Tis Rolla's. [_Takes off his disguise._

ALON.--Rolla, my friend (_Embraces him._) Heavens!--how could'st thou
pass the guard?--Did this habit--

ROL.--There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from
the dead body of a friar as I passed our field of battle; it has gained me
entrance to thy dungeon: now, take it thou and fly.

ALON.--And Rolla--

ROL.--Will remain here in thy place.

ALON.--And die for me? No! Rather eternal tortures rack me.

ROL.--I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's;
and from thy prison soon will thy arm deliver me. Or, should it be
otherwise, I am as a blighted plantain standing alone amid the sandy
desert--nothing seeks or lives beneath my shelter. Thou art--a husband and
a father; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant hangs upon thy
life. Go! go, Alonzo! Go, to save, not thyself, but Cora and thy child!

ALON.--Urge me not thus, my friend! I had prepared to die in peace.

ROL.--To die in peace! devoting her thou'st sworn to live for to madness,
misery, and death! For, be assured, the state I left her in forbids all
hope, but from thy quick return.

ALON.--Oh, God!

ROL.--If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo, now heed me well. I think thou
hast not known that Rolla ever pledged his word, and shrunk from its
fulfilment. And by the heart of truth, I swear, if thou art proudly
obstinate to deny thy friend the transport of preserving Cora's life, in
thee; no power that sways the will of man shalt stir me hence; and thoul't
but have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side, with the
assured conviction that Cora and thy child--are lost forever.

ALON.--Oh, Rolla! you distract me!

ROL.--Begone! A moment's further pause, and all is lost. The dawn
approaches. Fear not for me; I will treat with Pizarro, as for surrender
and submission. I shall gain time, doubt not, whilst thou, with a chosen
band, passing the secret way, may'st at night return, release thy friend,
and bear him back in triumph. Yes, hasten, dear Alonzo! Even now I hear the
frantic Cora call thee! Haste, Alonzo! Haste! Haste!

ALON.--Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from honour and from right.

ROL.--Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend?

ALON.--Oh! my preserver! [_Embracing him._

ROL.--I feel thy warm tears dropping on my cheek.--Go! I am rewarded.
(_Throwing the Friar's garment over him._) There, conceal thy face;
and that they may not clank, hold fast thy chains. Now, God be with thee!

ALON.--At night we meet again. Then, so aid me Heaven! I return to save or
perish with thee. [_Exit_ L.U.E.

ROL. (_Looking after him._)--He has passed the outer porch--he is
safe! He will soon embrace his wife and child! Now, Cora, did'st thou not
wrong me? This is the first time throughout my life, I ever deceived man.
Forgive me, God of Truth! if I am wrong. Alonzo flatters himself that we
shall meet again! Yes, there! (_Lifting his hands to heaven._)--
assuredly we shall meet again; there, possess in peace, the joys of
everlasting love, and friendship--on earth imperfect and embittered. I will
retire, lest the guard return before Alonzo may have passed their lines.
[_Retires into the cavern._

ACT V

SCENE I.--_A thick forest. A dreadful storm._ CORA _has covered her
child in a bed of leaves and moss,_ R. U. E.

CORA. (_Sitting on bank by child,_ R.)--Oh, Nature! thou hast not the
strength of love. My anxious spirit is untired in its march; my wearied
shivering frame sinks under it. And for thee, my boy, when faint beneath
thy lovely burden, could I refuse to give thy slumbers that poor bed of
rest! Oh, my child! were I assured thy poor father breathes no more, how
quickly would I lay me down by thy dear side!--but down--down forever!
(_Thunder and lightning._) I ask thee not, unpitying storm to abate
thy rage, in mercy to poor Cora's misery; nor while thy thunders spare his
slumbers, will I disturb my sleeping cherub, though Heaven knows I wish to
hear the voice of life, and feel that life is near me. But I will endure
all while what I have of reason holds. (_Thunder and lightning._)
Still, still implacable!--unfeeling elements! yet still dost thou sleep,
my smiling innocent! Oh, Death! when wilt thou grant to this babe's mother
such repose? Sure I may shield thee better from the storm: my veil may--

ALON. (_Without_ L.)--Cora!

CORA (_Runs to_ C.) Ha!

ALON.--Cora!

CORA--Oh, my heart. Sweet Heaven, deceive me not. Is it not Alonzo's voice?

ALON. (_Louder_)--Cora!

CORA (L. C.)--It is--it is Alonzo!

ALON. (_Very loud_) Cora! my beloved!

CORA (L.) Alonzo! Here!--here!--Alonzo!

[_Runs out._

* * * * *


THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

The King is reported to have dismounted before the battle commenced, and to
have fought on foot.

Hollinshed states that the English army consisted of 15,000, and the French
of 60,000 horse and 40,000 infantry--in all, 100,000. Walsingham and
Harding represent the English as but 9,000, and other authors say that the
number of French amounted to 150,000. Fabian says the French were 40,000,
and the English only 7,000. The battle lasted only three hours.

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