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 THE 
UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA 


' JOAN OF ARC 


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Kl COLLECTION 


Martyrdom of the Maid of Orleans 


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a 

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS 

OF 

JOAN OF ARC 

BY THE 

SIEUR LOUIS DE CONTE 

(HER PAGE AND SECRETARY) 

FREELY TRANSLATED 

OUT OF THE ANCIENT FRENCH INTO MODERN ENGLISH 

FROM THE ORIGINAL UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT 

IN THE NATIONAL ARCHIVES OF FRANCE 

BY JEAN FRANÇOIS ALDEN 


EDITED BY MARK TWAIN 


WITH 12 ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. V. DU MOND 


LONDON 
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 

1896 


 ?5|3/3 


Copyright 1896, by HARPER AND BROTHERS, New York, U.S.A. 
All rights reserved 


Consider this unique and imposing distinction. Since 
the writing of human history began, Joan of Arc is the only 
person, of either sex, who has ever held supreme command 
of the military forces of a nation at the age of seventeen. 

Louis KOSSUTH. 


 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE 


Authorities examined in verification of the truthfulness of this narra 
tive : 

J. E. J. QUICHERAT, Condamnation et Réhabilitation 

T. FABRE, Procès de Condamnation de Jeanne d'Arc. 

H. A. WALLON , Jeanne d1 Arc. 

M. SEPET, Jeanne d'Arc. 

J. MICHELET, Jeantie d'Arc. 

BERRIAT DE SAINT-PRIX, La Famille de Jeanne d'Arc. 

La Comtesse A. DE CHABANNES, La Vierge Lorraine. 

Monseigneur RICARD, Jeanne d'Arc la Vénérable. 

Lord RONALD GOWER, T.S.A^,Joan of Arc. 

JOHN O'HAGAN,/<xz« 0/Ar. 

JANET TUCKEY, Joan of Arc the Maid. 


To arrive at a just estimate of a renowned man's 
character one must judge it by the standards of his time, 
not ours. Judged by the standards of one century, the 
noblest characters of an earlier one lose much of their 
lustre ; judged by the standards of to-day, there is pro 
bably no illustrious man of four or five centuries ago 
whose character could meet the test at all points. But 
the character of Joan of Arc is unique. It can be 
•measured by t fie standards of all times without misgiving 
or apprettension as to tlte result. Judged by any of them, 
judged by all of them, it is still flawless, it is still ideally 
perfect ; it still occupies the lof tiest place possible to human 
attainment, a loftier one than has been reached by any 
other mere mortal. 

When we reflect that her century was the brutallest, the 
wickedest, the rottenest in history since the darkest ages, 

, 

we are lost in wonder at the miracle of such a product 
rom such a soil. The contrast between her and her cen 
tury is the contrast between day and night. She was 
^ truthful when lying was the common speech of men ; she 
was honest when honesty was become a lost virtue ; she 
was a keeper of promises when the kee-bing of a promise 


 •i 


viii RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC 

was expected of no one ; she gave her great mind to great 
thoughts and great purposes when other great minds 
wasted themselves upon pretty fancies or upon poor ambi 
tions ; she was modest and fine and delicate when to be 
loud and coarse might be said to be universal ; she was 
full of pity when a merciless cruelty was the rule ; she 
was steadfast when stability was unknown, and honour 
able in an age which had forgotten what honour was ; 
she was a rock of convictions in a time when men believed 
in nothing and scoffed at all things ; she was unfailingly 
true in an age that was false to the core ; she maintained 
her personal dignity unimpaired in an age of fawnings 
and servilities ; she was of a dauntless courage when 
hope and courage /mdperished in the hearts of her nation ; 
she was spotlessly pure in mind and body when society in 
the highest places was foul in both—she was all these 
things in an age when crime was the common business of 
lords and princes, and when the highest personages in 
Christendom were able to astonish even that infamous 
era and make it stand aghast at the spectacle of their 
atrocious lives black -with unimaginable treacheries, 
butcheries, and bestialities. 

She was perhaps the only entirely unselfish person 
whose name has a place in profane history. No vestige 
or suggestion of self-seeking can be found in any word or 
deed of hers. When she had rescued her King from his 
vagabondage, and set his crown upon his head, she was 
offered rewards and honours, but she refused them all, and 
would take nothing. All she would take for herself— 
if the King would grant it—was leave to go back to her 


TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE ix 

village home, and tend her sheep again, and feel her 
mother's arms about her, and be her housemaid and 
helper. The selfishness of this unspoiled general of 
victorious armies, companion of princes, and idol of an 
applauding and grateful nation, reached but that far and 
no farther. 

The work wrought by Joan of Arc may fairly be re 
garded as ranking with any recorded in history, when one 
considers the conditions under which it was undertaken, the 
obstacles in the way, and the means at her disposal. 
Ccesar carried conquest far, but he did it with the trained 
and confident veterans of Rome, and was a trained soldier 
himself ; and Napoleon swept away the disciplined armies 
of Europe, but he also was a trained soldier, and he began 
his work with patriot battalions inflamed and inspired by 
the miracle-working new breath of Liberty breathed upon 
them by the Revolution—eager young apprentices to the 
splendid trade of war, not old and broken men-at-arms, 
despairing survivors of an age-long accumulation of mono 
tonous defeats ; but Joan of Arc, a mere child in years, 
ignorant, unlettered, a poor village girl unknown and 
without influence, found a great nation lying in chains, 
helpless and hopeless under an alien domination, its trea 
sury bankrupt, its soldiers disheartened and dispersed, all 
spirit torpid, all courage dead in the hearts of the people 
through long years of foreign and domestic outrage and 
oppression, their King cowed, resigned to its fate, and 
preparing to fly the country ; and she laid her hand upon 
this nation, this corpse, and it rose and followed her. She 
led it from victory to victory, she turned back the tide of 


\ 


 Ji 


ft : 

3 


x RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC 

the Hundred Years' War, she fatally crippled the English 
power, and died with the earned title of DELIVERER OF 
FRANCE, which she bears to this day. 

And for all reward, tJte French King whom she had 
crowned stood supine and indifferent while French priests 
took the noble child, the most innocent, the most lovely, the 
most adorable thea.ges have produced, and burned her alive 
at the stake. 


A PECULIARITY OF JOAN OF ARC'S 
HISTORY 


The details of the life of Joan of Arc form a 
biography which is unique among the world's bio 
graphies in one respect : It is the only story of a human 
life which comes to us under oath, the only one which 
comes to us from the witness-stand. The official 
records of the Great Trial of 1431, and of the Process 
of Rehabilitation of a quarter of a century later, are 
still preserved in the National Archives of France, 
and they furnish with remarkable fulness the facts of 
her life. The history of no other life of that remote 
time is known with either the certainty or the compre 
hensiveness that attaches to hers. 

The Sieur Louis de Conte is faithful to her official 
history in his Personal Recollections, and thus far his 
trustworthiness is unimpeachable ; but his mass of added 
particulars must depend for credit upon his own word 
alone. 

THE TRANSLATOR. 


 ILLUSTRATIONS 


MARTYRDOM OF THE MAID OF ORLEANS 
JOAN'S VISION . . ... 

THE GOVERNOR KEEPS HIS PROMISE TO JOAN 

JOAN DISCOVERS THE DISGUISED KING 

THE EXAMINATION OF JOAN . 

JOAN AND LA HIRE ...... 

JOAN AND THE ' DWARF '..... 

THE SIEGE OF ORLEANS ..... 

THE DUCHESS KISSED JOAN, AND SO THEY PARTED 
CORONATION OF THE FRENCH KING AT RHEIMS 
CAPTURE OF JOAN OF ARC AT COMPIÊGNE 
TRIAL OF JOAN OF ARC . ... 


. Frontispiece 

. To face p. 20 

,, 64 


112 

164 
244 
2S8 
292 
336 

374 


 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS 


OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


BOOK I 

THE SIEUR LOUIS DE CONTE TO HIS GREAT-GREAT-GRAND 
NEPHEWS AND NIECES 

CHAPTER I 

THIS is the year 1492. I am eighty-two years of age. 
The things I am going to tell you about are things which 
I saw myself as a child and as a youth. 

In all the tales and songs and histories of Joan of Arc 
which you and the rest of the world read and sing and study 
in the books wrought in the late invented art of printing, 
mention is made of me, the Sieur Louis de Conte. I was 
her page and secretary. I was with her from the begin 
ning until the end. 

I was reared in the same village with her. I played with 
her every day, when we were little children together, just 
as you play with your mates. Now that we perceive how 
great she was, now that her name fills the whole world, 
it seems strange that what I am saying is true ; for it is as 
if a perishable paltry candle should speak of the eternal 
sun riding in the heavens and say, ' He was gossip and 
housemate to me when we were candles together.' 

L 


 2 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

And yet it is true, just as I say. I was her playmate, 
and I fought at her side in the wars ; to this day I carry 
in my mind, fine and clear, the picture of that dear little 
figure, with breast bent to the flying horse's neck, charging 
at the head of the armies of France, her hair streaming 
back, her silver mail ploughing steadily deeper and deeper 
into the thick of the battle, sometimes nearly drowned 
from sight by tossing heads of horses, uplifted sword-arms, 
wind-blown plumes, and intercepting shields ! I was with 
her to the end ; and when that black day came whose ac 
cusing shadow will lie always upon the memory of the 
mitred French slaves of England who were her assassins, 
and upon France who stood idle and essayed no rescue, 
my hand was the last she touched in life. 

As the years and the decades drifted by, and the spec 
tacle of the marvellous child's meteor-flight across the war- 
firmament of France and its extinction in the smoke-clouds 
of the stake receded deeper and deeper into the past and 
grew ever more strange and wonderful and divine and 
pathetic, I came to comprehend and recognise her at last 
for what she was—the most noble life that was ever born 
into this world save only One. 


CHAPTER II 

I, THE SZEUR Lows DE CONTE, was born in Neufchâteau the 
6th of January, 1410 ; that is to say, exactly two years before 
Joan of Arc was born in Domremy. My family had fled to 
those distant regions from the neighbourhood of Paris 
m the first years of the century. In politics they were 
Armagnacs-patnots : they were for our own French KinT 
crazy and impotent as he was. The Burgundian part?' 
who were for the English, had stripped them, and done H 
well. They took everything but my father's small nobility 
and when he reached Neufchâteau he reached it in poverty 
and with a broken spirit. But the political atmosphere 


JOAN OF ARC 3 

there was the sort he liked, and that was something. He 
came to a region of comparative quiet ; he left behind him 
a region peopled with furies, madmen, devils, where 
slaughter was a daily pastime, and no man's life safe for 
a moment. In Paris, mobs roared through the streets 
nightly, sacking, burning, killing, unmolested, uninter 
rupted. The sun rose upon wrecked and smoking build 
ings, and upon mutilated corpses lying here, there, and 
yonder about the streets, just as they fell, and stripped 
naked by thieves, the unholy gleaners after the mob. 
None had the courage to gather these dead for burial ; they 
were left there to rot and create plagues. 

And plagues they did create. Epidemics swept away 
the people like flies, and the burials were conducted secretly 
and by night ; for public funerals were not allowed, lest the 
revelation of the magnitude of the plague's work unman 
the people and plunge them into despair. Then came, 
finally, the bitterest winter which had visited France in five 
hundred years. Famine, pestilence, slaughter, ice, snow— 
Paris had all these at once. The dead lay in heaps about 
the streets, and wolves entered the city in daylight and devoured 
them. 

Ah, France had fallen low—so low ! For more than 
three-quarters of a century the English fangs had been 
bedded in her flesh, and so cowed had her armies become 
by ceaseless rout and defeat that it was said and accepted 
that the mere sight of an English army was sufficient to 
put a French one to flight. 

When I was five years old the prodigious disaster of 
Agincourt fell upon France ; and although the English 
King went home to enjoy his glory, he left the country 
prostrate and a prey to roving bands of Free Companions 
in the service of the Burgundian party, and one of these 
bands came raiding through Neufchâteau one night, and by 
the light of our burning roof-thatch I saw all that were dear 
to me in this world (save an elder brother, your ancestor, 
left behind with the Court) butchered while they begged 


 4 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

for mercy, and heard the butchers laugh at their prayers 
and mimic their pleadings. I was overlooked, and escaped 
without hurt. When the savages were gone I crept out 
and cried the night away watching the burning houses ; 
and I was all alone, except for the company of the dead 
and the wounded, for the rest had taken flight and hidden 
themselves. 

I was sent to Domremy, to the priest, whose house 
keeper became a loving mother to me. The priest in the 
course of time taught me to read and write, and he and I 
were the only persons in the village who possessed this 
learning. 

At the time that the house of this good priest, Guillaume 
Fronte, became my home, I was six years old. We lived 
close by the village church, and the small garden of Joan's 
parents was behind the church. As to that family, there 
were Jacques d'Arc the father, his wife Isabel Romée ; 
three sons—Jacques, ten years old, Pierre, eight, and Jean, 
seven ; Joan, four, and her baby sister Catherine, about a 
year old. I had these children for playmates from the 
beginning. I had some other playmates besides—parti 
cularly four boys : Pierre Morel, Etienne Roze, Noël Rain- 
guesson, and Edmond Aubrey, whose father was maire at 
that time ; also two girls, about Joan's age, who by-and- 
by became her favourites ; one was named Haumette, the 
other was called Little Mengette. These girls were 
common peasant children, like Joan herself. When they 
grew up, both married common labourers. Their estate 
was lowly enough, you see ; yet a time came, many years 
after, when no passing stranger, howsoever great he might 
be, failed to go and pay his reverence to those two humble 
old women who had been honoured in their youth by the 
friendship of Joan of Arc. 

These were all good children, just of the ordinary 
peasant type ; not bright, of course—you would not expect 
that—but good-hearted and companionable, obedient to 
their parents and the priest ; and as they grew up they 


JOAN OF ARC 5 

became properly stocked with narrownesses and prejudices 
got at second-hand from their elders, and adopted without 
reserve ; and without examination also—which goes without 
saying. Their religion was inherited, their politics the 
same. John Huss and his sort might find fault with the 
Church, in Domremy it disturbed nobody's faith ; and when 
the split came, when I was fourteen, and we had three 
Popes at once, nobody in Domremy was worried about how 
to choose among them—the Pope of Rome was the right 
one, a Pope outside of Rome was no Pope at all. Every 
human creature in the village was an Armagnac—a patriot 
—and if we children hotly hated nothing else in the world, 
we did certainly hate the English and Burgundian name 
and polity in that way. 


CHAPTER III 

OUR Domremy was like any other humble little hamlet of 
that remote time and region. It was a maze of crooked, 
narrow lanes and alleys shaded and sheltered by the over 
hanging thatch roofs of the barn-like houses. The houses 
were dimly lighted by wooden-shuttered windows—that is, 
holes in the walls which served for windows. The floors 
were of dirt, and there was very little furniture. Sheep and 
cattle grazing was the main industry ; all the young folks 
tended flocks. 

The situation was beautiful. From one edge of the 
village a flowery plain extended in a wide sweep to the 
river—the Meuse ; from the rear edge of the village a 
grassy slope rose gradually, and at the top was the great 
oak forest—a forest that was deep and gloomy and dense, 
and full of interest for us children, for many murders had 
been done in it by outlaws in old times, and in still earlier 
times prodigious dragons that spouted fire and poisonous 
vapours from their nostrils had their homes in there. In 
fact, one was still living in there in our own time. It was 
as long as a tree, and had a body as big around as a tierce, 


 t! 


6 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

and scales like overlapping great tiles, and deep ruby eyes 
as large as a cavalier's hat, and an anchor-fluke on its tail 
as big as I don't know what, but very big, even unusually 
so for a dragon, as everybody said who knew about 
dragons. It was thought that this dragon was of a bril 
liant blue colour, with gold mottlings, but no one had ever 
seen it, therefore this was not known to be so, it was only 
an opinion. It was not my opinion ; I think there is no 
sense in forming' an opinion when there is no evidence to 
form it on. If you build a person without any bones in 
him, he may look fair enough to the eye, but he will be 
limber and cannot stand up ; and I consider that evidence is 
the bones of an opinion. But I will take up this matter 
more at larg'e at another time, and try to make the justness 
of my position appear. As to that dragon, I always held 
the belief that its colour was gold and without blue, for 
that has always been the colour of dragons. That this 
dragon lay but a little way within the wood at one time is 
shown by the fact that Pierre Morel was in there one day 
and smelt it, and recognised it by the smell. It gives one 
a horrid idea of how near to us the deadliest danger can 
be and we not suspect it. 

In the earliest times a hundred knig'hts from many 
remote places in the earth would have gone in there one 
after another, to kill the drag-on and get the reward, but in 
our time that method had gone out, and the priest had 
become the one that abolished dragons. Père Guillaume 
Fronte did it in this case. He had a procession, with 
candles and incense and banners, and marched around the 
edge of the wood and exorcised the dragon, and it was 
never heard of again, although it was the opinion of many 
that the smell never wholly passed away. Not that any 
had ever smelt the smell again, for none had ; it was only 
an opinion, like that other—and lacked bones, you see. I 
know that the creature was there before the exorcism, but 
whether it was there afterwards or not is a thing which I 
cannot be so positive about. 


JOAN OF ARC 7 

In a noble open space carpeted with grass on the high 
ground towards Vaucouleurs stood a most majestic beech- 
tree with wide-reaching arms and a grand spread of shade, 
and by it a limpid spring of cold water ; and on summer 
days the children went there—oh, every summer for more 
than five hundred years—went there and sang and danced 
around the tree for hours together, refreshing themselves 
at the spring from time to time, and it was most lovely and 
enjoyable. Also they made wreaths of flowers and hung 
them upon the tree and about the spring to please the 
fairies that lived there ; for they liked that, being" idle, 
innocent little creatures, as all fairies are, and fond of any 
thing delicate and pretty like wild flowers put together in 
that way. And in return for this attention the fairies did 
any friendly thing they could for the children, such as 
keeping1 the spring" always full and clear and cold, and 
driving away serpents and insects that sting ; and so there 
was never any unkindness between the fairies and the 
children during more than five hundred years—tradition 
said a thousand—but only the warmest affection and the 
most perfect trust and confidence ; and whenever a child 
died the fairies mourned just as that child's playmates did, 
and the sign of it was there to see : for before the dawn on 
the day of the funeral they hung a little immortelle over 
the place where that child was used to sit under the tree. 
I know this to be true by my own eyes ; it is not hearsay. 
And the reason it was known that the fairies did it was 
this—that it was made all of black flowers of a sort not 
known in France anywhere. 

Now, from time immemorial all children reared in 
Domremy were called the Children of the Tree ; and they 
loved that name, for it carried with it a mystic privilege 
not granted to any others of the children of this world. 
Which was this : whenever one of these came to die, then 
beyond the vague and formless images drifting through his 
darkening mind rose soft and rich and fair a vision of the 
Tree—if all was well with his soul. That was what some 


 8 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

said. Others said the vision came in two ways : once as 
a warning, one or two years in advance of death, when the 
soul was the captive of sin, and then the Tree appeared in 
its desolate winter aspect—then that soul was smitten with 
an awful fear. If repentance came, and purity of life, the 
vision came again, this time summer-clad and beautiful ; 
but if it were otherwise with that soul the vision was with 
held, and it passed from life knowing its doom. Still 
others said that the vision came but once, and then only to 
the sinless dying forlorn in distant lands and pitifully long 
ing for some last dear reminder of their home. And what 
reminder of it could go to their hearts like the picture of 
the Tree that was the darling of their love and the comrade 
of their joys and comforter of their small griefs all through 
the divine days of their vanished youth ? 

Now the several traditions were as I have said, some 
believing one and some another. One of them I knew to 
be the truth, and that was the last one. I do not say any 
thing against the others ; I think they were true, but I 
only know that the last one was ; and it is my thought 
that if one keep to the things he knows, and not trouble 
about the things which he cannot be sure about, he will 
have the steadier mind for it—and there is profit in that. 
I know that when the Children of the Tree die in a far land, 
then—if they be at peace with God—they turn their long 
ing eyes toward home, and there, far-shining, as through 
a rift in a cloud that curtains heaven, they see the soft 
picture of the Fairy Tree, clothed in a dream of golden 
light ; and they see the bloomy mead sloping away to the 
river, and to their perishing nostrils is blown faint and 
sweet the fragrance of the flowers of home. And then the 
vision fades and passes—but they know, they know ! and 
by their transfigured faces you know also, you who stand 
looking on ; yes, you know the message that has come, 
and that it has come from heaven. 

Joan and I believed alike about this matter. But Pierre 
Morel, and Jacques d'Arc, and many others believed that 


JOAN OF ARC 9 

the vision appeared twice—to a sinner. In fact, they and 
many others said they knew it. Probably because their 
fathers had known it and had told them ; for one gets most 
things at second hand in this world. 

Now one thing that does make it quite likely that there 
were really two apparitions of the Tree is this fact : From 
the most ancient times if one saw a villager of ours with 
his face ash-white and rigid with a ghastly fright, it was 
common for every one to whisper to his neighbour, ' Ah, 
he is in sin, and has got his warning.' And the neighbour 
would shudder at the thought and whisper back, 'Yes, 
poor soul, he has seen the Tree.' 

Such evidences as these have their weight ; they are 
not to be put aside with a wave of the hand. A thing that 
is backed by the cumulative experience of centuries natu 
rally gets nearer and nearer to being proof all the time ; 
and if this continue and continue, it will some day become 
authority—and authority is a bedded rock, and will abide. 

In my long life I have seen several cases where the 
Tree appeared announcing a death which was still far away; 
but in none of these was the person in a state of sin. No ; 
the apparition was in these cases only a special grace ; in 
place of deferring the tidings of that soul's redemption till 
the day of death, the apparition brought them long before, 
and with them peace—peace that might no more be dis 
turbed—the eternal peace of God. I myself, old and 
broken, wait with serenity ; for I have seen the vision of 
the Tree. I have seen it, and am content. 

Always, from the remotest times, when the children 
joined hands and danced around the Fairy Tree, they sang 
a song which was the Tree's Song, the Song of L'Arbre 
Fée de Bourlenwnt. They sang it to a quaint sweet air—a 
solacing sweet air which has gone murmuring through my 
dreaming spirit all my life when I was weary and troubled, 
resting me and carrying me through night and distance 
home again. No stranger can know or feel what that song 
has been, through the drifting centuries, to exiled Children 


 ID PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

of the Tree, homeless and heavy of heart in countries 
foreign to their speech and ways. You will think it a 
simple thing, that song, and poor perchance ; but if you 
will remember what it was to us, and what it brought be 
fore our eyes when it floated through our memories, then 
you will respect it. And you will understand how the water 
wells up in our eyes and makes all things dim, and our 
voices break and we cannot sing the last lines : 
' And when in exile wand'ring we 
Shall fainting yearn for glimpse of thee, 
O rise upon our sight ! ' 

And you will remember that Joan of Arc sang this song 
with us around the Tree when she was a little child, and 
always loved it. And that hallows it—yes, you will grant 
that : 

L'ARBRE FÉE DE BOURLEMONT 

SONG OF THE CHILDREN 

Now, what has kept your leaves so green, 

Arbre Fée de Bourlemont ? 
The children's tears ! They brought each grief, 

And you did comfort them and cheer 

Their bruised hearts, and steal a tear 
That healed rose a leaf. 

And what has built you up so strong, 

Arbre Fée de Bourlemont ? 
The children's love ! They've loved you long : 

Ten hundred years, in sooth, 
They've nourished you with praise and song, 
And warmed your heart and kept it young— 

A thousand years of youth ! 

Bide alway green in our young hearts, 

Arbre Fée de Bourlemont ! 
And we shall alway youthful be, 

Not heeding Time his flight ; 
And when in exile wand'ring we 
Shall fainting yearn for glimpse of thee, 

O rise upon our sight. 


JOAN OF ARC ii 

The fairies were still there when we were children, but 
we never saw them ; because, a hundred years before that, 
the priest of Domremy had held a religious function under 
the Tree and denounced them as being blood kin of the 
Fiend and barred out from redemption ; and then he warned 
them never to show themselves again, nor hang any more 
immortelles, on pain of perpetual banishment from that 
parish. 

All the children pleaded for the fairies, and said they 
were their good friends and dear to them and never did 
them any harm, but the priest would not listen, and said it 
was sin and shame to have such friends. The children 
mourned and could not be comforted ; and they made an 
agreement among themselves that they would always con 
tinue to hang flower-wreaths on the Tree as a perpetual 
sign to the fairies that they were still loved and remem 
bered, though lost to sight. 

But late one night a great misfortune befell. Edmond 
Aubrey's mother passed by the Tree, and the fairies were 
stealing a dance, not thinking anybody was by ; and they 
were so busy, and so intoxicated with the wild happiness 
of it, and with the bumpers of dew sharpened up with 
honey which they had been drinking, that they noticed no 
thing ; so Dame Aubrey stood there astonished and admir 
ing, and saw the little fantastic atoms holding hands, as 
many as three hundred of them, tearing around in a great 
ring half as big as an ordinary bedroom, and leaning away 
back and spreading their mouths with laughter and song, 
which she could hear quite distinctly, and kicking their 
legs up as much as three inches from the ground in perfect 
abandon and hilarity—oh, the very maddest and witchingest 
dance the woman ever saw. 

But in about a minute or two minutes the poor little 
ruined creatures discovered her. They burst out in one 
heart-breaking squeak of grief and terror and fled every 
which way, with their wee hazel-nut fists in their eyes and 
crying ; and so disappeared. 


 12 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

The heartless woman—no, the foolish woman ; she was 
not heartless, but only thoughtless—went straight home 
and told the neighbours all about it, whilst we, the small 
friends of the fairies, were asleep and not witting the 
calamity that was come upon us, and all unconscious that 
we ought to be up and trying to stop these fatal tongues. 
In the morning everybody knew, and the disaster was 
complete, for where everybody knows a thing the priest 
knows it, of course. We all flocked to Père Fronte, crying 
and begging—and he had to cry, too, seeing our sorrow, 
for he had a most kind and gentle nature ; and he did not 
want to banish the fairies, and said so ; but said he had no 
choice, for it had been decreed that if they ever revealed 
themselves to man again, they must go. This all hap 
pened at the worst time possible, for Joan of Arc was ill of 
a fever and out of her head, and what could we do who 
had not her gifts of reasoning and persuasion ? We flew 
in a swarm to her bed, and cried out, 'Joan, wake ! Wake, 
there is no moment to lose ! Come and plead for the 
fairies—come and save them ; only you can do it.' 

But her mind was wandering, she did not know what 
we said nor what we meant ; so we went away knowing 
all was lost. Yes, all was lost, for ever lost ; the faithful 
friends of the children for five hundred years must go, and 
never come back any more. 

It was a bitter day for us, that day that Père Fronte 
held the function under the tree and banished the fairies. 
We could not wear mourning that any could have noticed, 
it would not have been allowed ; so we had to be content 
with some poor small rag of black tied upon our garments 
where it made no show ; but in our hearts we wore mourn 
ing big and noble and occupying all the room, for our 
hearts were ours ; they could not get at them to prevent 
that. 

The great Tree—F Arbre Fee de Bourkmont was its beauti 
ful name—was never afterward quite as much to us as it 
had been before, but it was always dear ; is dear to me yet 


JOAN OF ARC 13 

when I go there, now, once a year in my old age, to sit 
under it and bring back the lost playmates of my youth 
and group them about me and look upon their faces through 
my tears and break my heart, oh, my God ! No, the place 
was not quite the same afterward. In one or two ways 
it could not be ; for, the fairies' protection being gone, the 
spring lost much of its freshness and coldness, and more 
than two-thirds of its volume, and the banished serpents 
and stinging insects returned, and multiplied, and became 
a torment and have remained so to this day. 

When that wise little child, Joan, got well, we realised 
how much her illness had cost us ; for we found that we 
had been right in believing she could save the fairies. She 
burst into a great storm of anger, for so little a creature, 
and went straight to Père Fronte, and stood up before him 
where he sat, and made reverence and said : 

' The fairies were to go if they showed themselves to 
people again, is it not so ? ' 

1 Yes, that was it, dear.' 

' If a man comes prying into a person's room at mid 
night when that person is half naked, will you be so unjust 
as to say that that person is showing himself to that man ? ' 

' Well—no.' The good priest looked a little troubled 
and uneasy when he said it. 

' Is a sin a sin anyway, even if one did not intend to 
commit it ? ' 

Père Fronte threw up his hands and cried out— 

' Oh, my poor little child, I see all my fault,' and he 
drew her to his side and put his arm around her and tried 
to make his peace with her, but her temper was up so high 
that she could not get it down right away, but buried her 
head against his breast and broke out crying and said : 

' Then the fairies committed no sin, for there was no 
intention to commit one, they not knowing that any one 
was by ; and because they were little creatures and could 
not speak for themselves and say the law was against the 
intention, not against the innocent act, and because they 


 i4 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

had no friend to think that simple thing for them and say 
it, they have been sent away from their home for ever, and 
it was wrong, wrong to do it ! ' 

The good father hugged her yet closer to his side and 
said : 

' Oh, out of the mouths of babes and sucklings the heed 
less and unthinking are condemned : would God I could 
bring the little creatures back, for your sake ! And mine, 
yes, and mine ; for I have been unjust. There, there, don't 
cry—nobody could be sorrier than your poor old friend— 
don't cry, dear.' 

' But I can't stop right away, I've got to. And it is no 
little matter, this thing that you have done. Is being sorry 
penance enough for such an act? ' 

Père Fronte turned away his face, for it would have 
hurt her to see him laugh, and said : 

' Oh, thou remorseless but most just accuser, no, it is 
not. I will put on sackcloth and ashes ; there—are you 
satisfied ? ' 

Joan's sobs began to diminish, and she presently looked 
up at the old man through her tears, and said, in her sim 
ple way : 

' Yes, that will do—if it will clear you.' 

Père Fronte would have been moved to laugh again, 
perhaps, if he had not remembered in time that he had 
made a contract, and not a very agreeable one. It must 
be fulfilled. So he got up and went to the fireplace, Joan 
watching him with deep interest, and took a shovelful of 
cold ashes, and was going to empty' them on his old grey 
head when a better idea came to him, and he said : 

' Would you mind helping me, dear ? ' 

'How, father?' 

He got down on his knees and bent his head low, and 
said : 

' Take the ashes and put them on my head for me.' 

The matter ended there, of course. The victory was 
with the priest. One can imagine how the idea of such a 


JOAN OF ARC 15 

profanation would strike Joan or any other child in the 
village. She ran and dropped upon her knees by his side 
and said : 

' Oh, it is dreadful. I didn't know that that was what 
one meant by sackcloth and ashes—do please get up, 
father.' 

' But I can't until I am forgiven. Do you forgive 
me?' 

' I ? Oh, you have done nothing to me, father ; it is 
yourself that must forgive yourself for wronging those 
poor things. Please get up, father, won't you ? ' 

' But I am worse off now than I was before. I thought 
I was earning your forgiveness, but if it is my own, I can't 
be lenient ; it would not become me. Now what can I do ? 
Find me some way out of this with your wise little head.' 

The Père would not stir, for all Joan's pleadings. She 
was about to cry again ; then she had an idea, and seized 
the shovel and deluged her own head with the ashes, stam 
mering out through her chokings and suffocations— 

' There—now it is done. Oh, please get up, father ! ' 

The old man, both touched and amused, gathered her to 
his breast and said— 

' Oh, you incomparable child ! It's a humble martyr 
dom, and not of a sort presentable in a picture, but the 
right and true spirit is in it ; that I testify.' 

Then he brushed the ashes out of her hair, and helped 
her scour her face and neck and properly tidy herself up. 
He was in fine spirits now, and ready for further argument, 
so he took his seat and drew Joan to his side again, and 
said : 

'Joan, you were used to make wreaths there at the 
Fairy Tree with the other children ; is it not so ? ' 

That was the way he always started out when he was 
going to corner me up and catch me in something—just 
that gentle, indifferent way that fools a person so, and leads 
him into the trap, he never noticing which way he is travel 
ling until he is in and the door shut on him. He enjoyed 


 16 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


that. I knew he was going to drop corn along in front of 
Joan now. Joan answered : 

'Yes, father.' 

' Did you hang them on the Tree ? ' 

' No, father.' 

' Didn't hang them there ? ' 

'No.' 

' Why didn't you ? ' 

' I—well, I didn't wish to.' 

' Didn't wish to ? ' 

' No, father.' 

' What did you do with them ? ' 

' I hung them in the church.' 

' Why didn't you want to hang them on the Tree ? ' 

' Because it was said that the fairies were of kin to the 
Fiend, and that it was sinful to show them honour.' 

' Did you believe it was wrong to honour them so ? ' 

' Yes. I thought it must be wrong.' 

' Then if it was wrong to honour them in that way, and 
if they were of kin to the Fiend, they could be dangerous 
company for you and the other children, couldn't they ? ' 

' I suppose so—yes, I think so.' 

He studied a minute, and I judged he was going to 
spring his trap, and he did. He said : 

' Then the matter stands like this. They were banned 
creatures, of fearful origin ; they could be dangerous 
company for the children. Now give me a rational reason, 
dear, if you can think of any, why you call it a wrong to 
drive them into banishment, and why you would have 
saved them from it. In a word, what loss have you 
suffered by it ? ' 

How stupid of him to go and throw his case away like 
that ! I could have boxed his ears for vexation if he had 
been a boy. He was going along all right until he ruined 
everything by winding up in that foolish and fatal way. 
What had she lost by it ! Was he never going to find ou 
what kind of a child Joan of Arc was ? Was he never 


JOAN OF ARC 17 

going to learn that things which merely concerned her own 
gain or loss she cared nothing about ? Could he never get 
the simple fact into his head that the sure way and the only 
way to rouse her up and set her on fire was to show her 
where some other person was going to suffer wrong or 
hurt or loss ? Why, he had gone and set a trap for him 
self—that was all he had accomplished. 

The minute those words were out of his mouth her 
temper was up, the indignant tears rose in her eyes, and 
she burst out on him with an energy and passion which 
astonished him, but didn't astonish me, for I knew he had 
fired a mine when he touched off his ill-chosen climax. 

' Oh, father, how can you talk like that ? Who owns 
France ?' 

' God and the King.' 

' Not Satan ? ' 

1 Satan, my child ? This is the footstool of the Most 
High—Satan owns no handful of its soil." 

' Then who gave those poor creatures their home ? 
God. Who protected them in it all those centuries ? 
God. Who allowed them to dance and play there all those 
centuries and found no fault with it? God. Who dis 
approved of God's approval and put a threat upon them ? 
A man. Who caught them again in harmless sports that 
God allowed and a man forbade, and carried out that 
threat, and drove the poor things away from the home the 
good God gave them in His mercy and His pity, and sent 
down His rain and dew and sunshine upon it five hundred 
years in token of His peace ? It was their home—theirs, 
by the grace of God and His good heart, and no man had 
a right to rob them of it. And they were the gentlest, 
truest friends that children ever had, and did them sweet 
and loving service all these five long centuries, and never 
any hurt or harm ; and the children loved them, and now 
they mourn for them, and there is no healing for their 
grief. And what had the children done that they should 
suffer this cruel stroke ? The poor fairies could have been 


 Bf] 


t8 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


dangerous company for the children ? Yes, but never had 
been ; and could is no argument. Kinsman of the Fiend ? 
What of it ? Kinsmen of the Fiend have rights, and these 
had ; the children have rights, and these had ; and if I had 
been here I would have spoken—I would have begged for 
the children and the fiends, and stayed your hand and 
saved them all. But now—oh, now, all is lost ; everything 
is lost, and there is no help more ! ' 

Then she finished with a blast at that idea that fairy 
kinsmen of the Fiend ought to be shunned and denied 
human sympathy and friendship because salvation was 
barred against them. She said that for that very reason 
people ought to pity them, and do every humane and 
loving thing they could to make them forget the hard fate 
that had been put upon them by accident of birth and no 
fault of their own. ' Poor little creatures ! ' she said. 
' What can a person's heart be made of that can pity a 
Christian's child and yet can't pity a devil's child, that a 
thousand times more needs it ! ' 

She had torn loose from Père Fronte, and was crying, 
with her knuckles in her eyes, and stamping her small feet 
in a fury ; and now she burst out of the place and was 
gone before we could gather our senses together out of 
this storm of words and this whirlwind of passion. 

The Père had got upon his feet, toward the last, and 
now he stood there passing his hand back and forth across 
his forehead like a person who is dazed and troubled ; then 
he turned and wandered toward the door of his little work 
room, and as he passed through it I heard him murmur 
sorrowfully : 

' Ah me, poor children, poor fiends, they have rights, 
and she said true—I never thought of that. God forgive 
me, I am to blame.' 

When I heard that, I knew I was right in the thought 
that he had set a trap for himself. It was so, and he had 
walked into it, you see. I seemed to feel encouraged, and 
wondered if mayhap I might get him into one ; but upon 
reflection my heart went down, for this was not my gift. 


JOAN OF ARC 


CHAPTER IV 

SPEAKING of this matter reminds me of many incidents, 
many things that I could tell, but I think I will not try to 
do it now. It will be more to my present humour to call 
back a little glimpse of the simple and colourless good 
times we used to have in our village homes in those peace 
ful days—especially in the winter. In the summer we 
children were out on the breezy uplands with the flocks 
from dawn till night, and then there was noisy frolicking 
and all that ; but winter was the cosy time, winter was 
the snug time. Often we gathered in old Jacques d'Arc's 
big dirt-floored apartment, with a great fire going, and 
played games, and sang songs, and told fortunes, and 
listened to the old villagers tell tales and histories and lies 
and one thing and another till twelve o'clock at night. 

One winter's night we were gathered there—it was the 
winter that for years afterwards they called the hard 
winter—and that particular night was a sharp one. It 
blew a gale outside, and the screaming of the wind was a 
stirring sound, and I think I may say it was beautiful, for 
I think it is great and fine and beautiful to hear the wind 
rage and storm and blow its clarions like that, when you 
are inside and comfortable. And we were. We had a 
roaring fire, and the pleasant spit-spit of the snow and sleet 
falling in it down the chimney, and the yarning and laugh 
ing and singing went on at a noble rate till about ten 
o'clock, and then we had a supper of hot porridge and 
beans, and meal cakes with butter, and appetites to 
match. 

Little Joan sat on a box apart, and had her bowl and 
bread on another one, and her pets around her, helping. 
She had more than was usual of them or economical, 
because all the outcast cats came and took up with her, and 
homeless or unlovable animals of other kinds heard about 
it and came, and these spread the matter to the other 


 20 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


creatures, and they came also ; and as the birds and the 
other timid wild things of the woods were not afraid of 
her, but always had an idea she was a friend when they 
came across her, and generally struck up an acquaintance 
with her to get invited to the house, she always had 
samples of those breeds in stock. She was hospitable to 
them all, for an animal was an animal to her, and dear by 
mere reason of being an animal, no matter about its sort 
or social station ; and as she would allow of no cages, no 
collars, no fetters, but left the creatures free to come and 
go as they liked, that contented them, and they came ; but 
they didn't go, to any extent, and so they were a marvellous 
nuisance, and made Jacques d'Arc swear a good deal ; but 
his wife said God gave the child the instinct, and knew 
what He was doing when He did it, therefore it must have 
its course ; it would be no sound prudence to meddle with 
His affairs when no invitation had been extended. So the 
pets were left in peace, and here they were, as I have said, 
rabbits, birds, squirrels, cats, and other reptiles, all around 
the child, and full of interest in her supper, and helping 
what they could. There was a very small squirrel on her 
shoulder, sitting up, as those creatures do, and turning a 
rocky fragment of prehistoric chestnut-cake over and over 
in its knotty hands, and hunting for the less indurated 
places, and giving its elevated bushy tail a flirt and its 
pointed ears a toss when it found one—signifying thankful 
ness and surprise—and then it filed that place off with 
those two slender front teeth which a squirrel carries for 
that purpose and not for ornament, for ornamental they 
never could be, as any will admit that have noticed them. 
Everything was going fine and breezy and hilarious, 
but then there came an interruption, for somebody 
hammered on the door. It was one of those ragged road- 
stragglers—the eternal wars kept the country full of them. 
He came in, all over snow, and stamped his feet and shook 
and brushed himself, and shut the door, and took off his 
limp ruin of a hat and slapped it once or twice against his 


-"4 


Joan's Vision 


 JOAN OF ARC 


21 


leg to knock off its fleece of snow, and then glanced around 
on the company with a pleased look upon his thin face, 
and a most yearning and famished one in his eye when it 
fell upon the victuals, and then he gave us a humble and 
conciliatory salutation, and said it was a blessed thing to 
have a fire like that on such a night, and a roof overhead 
like this, and that rich food to eat, and loving friends 
to talk with—ah, yes, this was true, and God help the 
homeless, and such as must trudge the roads in this 
weather. 

Nobody said anything. The poor embarrassed creature 
stood there and appealed to one face after the other with 
his eyes, and found no welcome in any, the smile on his 
own face flickering and fading and perishing, meanwhile ; 
then he dropped his gaze, the muscles of his face began to 
twitch, and he put up his hand to cover this womanish sign 
of weakness. 

' Sit down ! ' 

This thunder-blast was from old Jacques d'Arc, and 
Joan was the object of it. The stranger was startled, and 
took his hand away, and there was Joan standing before 
him offering him her bowl of porridge. The man said : 

' God Almighty bless you, my darling ! ' and then the 
tears came, and ran down his cheeks, but he was afraid to 
take the bowl. 

' Do you hear me ? Sit down, I say ! ' 

There could not be a child more easy to persuade than 
Joan, but this was not the way. Her father had not the 
art ; neither could he learn it. Joan said : 

' Father, he is hungry ; I can see it.' 

' Let him go work for food, then. We are being eaten 
out of house and home by his like, and I have said I would 
endure it no more, and will keep my word. He has the 
face of a rascal anyhow, and a villain. Sit down, I tell 
you !' 

' I know not if he is a rascal or no, but he is hungry, 
father, and shall have my porridge—I do not need it.' 


 HT ):/ 


22 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' If you don't obey me I'll——Rascals are not entitled 
to help from honest people, and no bite nor sup shall they 
have in this house. Joan ! ' 

She set her bowl down on the box and came over and 
stood before her scowling father, and said : 

' Father, if you will not let me, then it must be as you 
say ; but I would that you would think—then you would 
see that it is not right to punish one part of him for what 
the other part has done ; for it is that poor stranger's head 
that does the evil things, but it is not his head that is 
hungry, it is his stomach, and it has done no harm to any 
body, but is without blame, and innocent, not having any 
way to do a wrong, even if it was minded to it. Please 
let—' 

' What an idea ! It is the most idiotic speech I ever 
heard.' 

But Aubrey, the maire, broke in, he being fond of an 
argument, and having a pretty gift in that regard, as all 
acknowledged. Rising in his place and leaning his 
knuckles upon the table and looking about him with easy 
dignity, after the manner of such as be orators, he began, 
smooth and persuasive : 

' I will differ with you there, gossip, and will undertake 

to show the company '—here he looked around upon us 

and nodded his head in a confident way—' that there is a 

grain of sense in what the child has said ; for look you, it 

is of a certainty most true and demonstrable that it is a 

man's head that is master and supreme ruler over his whole 

body. Is that granted ? Will any deny it ? ' He glanced 

around again ; everybody indicated assent. ' Very well, 

then ; that being the case, no part of the body is responsible 

for the result when it carries out an order delivered to it by 

the head ; ergo, the head is alone responsible for crimes 

done by a man's hands or feet or stomach—do you get the 

idea ? am I right thus far ? ' Everybody said yes, and said 

it with enthusiasm, and some said, one to another, that the 

maire was in great form to-night and at his very best— 


JOAN OF ARC 23 

which pleased the maire exceedingly and made his eyes 
sparkle with pleasure, for he overheard these things ; so 
he went on in the same fertile and brilliant way. ' Now, 
then, we will consider what the term responsibility means, 
and how it affects the case in point. Responsibility makes 
a man responsible for only those things for which he is 
properly responsible '—and he waved his spoon around in 
a wide sweep to indicate the comprehensive nature of that 
class of responsibilities which render people responsible, 
and several exclaimed, admiringly, ' He is right !—he has 
put that whole tangled thing into a nutshell—it is 
wonderful ! ' After a little pause to give the interest 
opportunity to gather and grow, he went on : ' Very good. 
Let us suppose the case of a pair of tongs that falls upon 
a man's foot, causing a cruel hurt. Will you claim that 
the tongs are punishable for that ? The question is 
answered : I see by your faces that you would call such a 
claim absurd. Now, why is it absurd? It is absurd 
because, there being no reasoning faculty—that is to say, 
no faculty of personal command—in a pair of tongs, 
personal responsibility for the acts of the tongs is wholly 
absent from the tongs ; and therefore, responsibility being 
absent, punishment cannot ensue. Am I right ? ' A 
hearty burst of applause was his answer. ' Now, then, we 
arrive at a man's stomach. Consider how exactly, how 
marvellously, indeed, its situation corresponds to that of a 
pair of tongs. Listen—and take careful note, I beg you. 
Can a man's stomach plan a murder ? No. Can it plan a 
theft ? No. Can it plan an incendiary fire ? No. Now 
answer me—Can a pair of tongs ? (There were admiring 
shouts of ' No ! ' and ' The cases are just exact ! ' and 
'Don't he do it splendid!') 'Now, then, friends and 
neighbours, a stomach which cannot plan a crime cannot 
be a principal in the commission of it—that is plain, as you 
see. The matter is narrowed down by that much ; we will 
narrow it further. Can a stomach, of its own motion, 
assist at a crime ? The answer is no, because command is 


 24 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


absent, the reasoning faculty is absent, volition is absent— 
as in the case of the tongs. We perceive, now, do we 
not, that the stomach is totally irresponsible for crimes 
committed, either in whole or in part, by it ? ' He got a 
rousing cheer for response. ' Then what do we arrive at 
as our verdict ? Clearly this : that there is no such thing 
in this world as a guilty stomach ; that in the body of the 
veriest rascal resides a pure and innocent stomach ; that, 
whatever its owner may do, it at least should be sacred in 
our eyes ; and that while God gives us minds to think just 
and charitable and honourable thoughts, it should be and 
is our privilege, as well as our duly, not only to feed the 
hungry stomach that resides in a rascal, having pity for its 
sorrow and its need, but to do it gladly, gratefully, in 
recognition of its sturdy and loyal maintenance of its 
purity and innocence in the midst of temptation and in 
company so repugnant to its better feelings. I am done.' 
Well, you never saw such an effect ! They rose—the 
whole house rose—and clapped, and cheered, and praised 
him to the skies ; and one after another, still clapping and 
shouting, they crowded forward, some with moisture in 
their eyes, and wrung his hands, and said such glorious 
things to him that he was clear overcome with pride and 
happiness, and couldn't say a word, for his voice would 
have broken, sure. It was splendid to see ; and everybody 
said he had never come up to that speech in his life before, 
and never could do it again. Eloquence is a power, there 
is no question of that. Even old Jacques d'Arc was carried 
away, for once in his life, and shouted out— 
' It's all right, Joan—give him the porridge ! ' 
She was embarrassed, and did not seem to know what 
to say, and so didn't say anything. It was because she 
had given the man the porridge long ago, and he had 
already eaten it all up. When she was asked why she 
had not waited until a decision was arrived at, she said 
the man's stomach was very hungry, and it would not 
have been wise to wait, since she could not tell what the 


JOAN OF ARC 25 

decision would be. Now that was a good and thoughtful 
idea for a child. 

The man was not a rascal at all. He was a very good 
fellow, only he was out of luck, and surely that was no 
crime at that time in France. Now that his stomach was 
proved to be innocent, it was allowed to make itself at 
home ; and as soon as it was well filled and needed nothing 
more, the man unwound his tongue and turned it loose, 
and it was really a noble one to go. He had been in the 
wars for years, and the things he told, and the way he 
told them, fired everybody's patriotism away up high, and 
set all hearts to thumping and all pulses to leaping ; then, 
before anybody rightly knew how the change was made, 
he was leading us a sublime march through the ancient 
glories of France, and in fancy we saw the titanic forms of 
the twelve paladins rise out of the mists of the past and 
face their fate ; we heard the tread of the innumerable 
hosts sweeping down to shut them in ; we saw this human 
tide flow and ebb, ebb and flow, and waste away before 
that little band of heroes ; we saw each detail pass before 
us of that most stupendous, most disastrous, yet most 
adored and glorious day in French legendary history ; 
here and there and yonder, across that vast field of the 
dead and dying, we saw this and that and the other paladin 
dealing his prodigious blows with weary arm and failing 
strength, and one by one we saw them fall, till only one 
remained—he that was without peer, he whose name gives 
name to the Song of Songs, the song which no Frenchman 
can hear and keep his feelings down and his pride of country 
cool ; then, grandest and pitifulest scene of all, we saw 
his own pathetic death ; and our stillness, as we sat with 
parted lips and breathless, hanging upon this man's words, 
gave us a sense of the awful stillness that reigned in that 
field of slaughter when that last surviving soul had passed. 
And now, in this solemn hush, the stranger gave Joan 
a pat or two on the head and said : 

' Little maid—whom God keep !—you have brought 


111 


 • i 


26 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


27 


me from death to life this night ; now listen : here is your 
reward,' and at that supreme time for such a heart-melting, 
so.ul-rousing surprise, without another word he lifted up 
the most noble and pathetic voice that was ever heard, 
and began to pour out the great Song of Roland ! 

Think of that, with a French audience all stirred up 
and ready. Oh, where was your spoken eloquence now ? 
what was it to this ? How fine he looked, how stately, 
how inspired, as he stood there with that mighty chant 
welling from his lips and his heart, his whole body trans 
figured, and his rags along with it ! 

Everybody rose and stood while he sang, and their 
faces glowed and their eyes burned ; and the tears came 
and flowed down their cheeks, and their forms began to 
sway unconsciously to the swing of the song, and their 
bosoms to heave and pant ; and meanings broke out, and 
deep ejaculations ; and when the last verse was reached, 
and Roland lay dying, all alone, with his face to the field 
and to his slain, lying there in heaps and windrows, and 
took off and held up his gauntlet to God with his failing 
hand, and breathed his beautiful prayer with his paling 
lips, all burst out in sobs and waitings. But when the 
final great note died out and the song was done, they all 
flung themselves in a body at the singer, stark mad with 
love of him and love of France and pride in her great deeds 
and old renown, and smothered him with their embracings ; 
but Joan was there first, hugged close to his breast, and 
covering his face with idolatrous kisses. 

The storm raged on outside, but that was no matter ; 
this was the stranger's home now, for as long as he might 
please. 

CHAPTER V 

ALL children have nicknames, and we had ours. We got 
one apiece early, and they stuck to us ; but Joan was 
richer in this matter, for as time went on she earned a 


second, and then a third, and so on, and we gave them to 
her. First and last she had as many as half a dozen. 
Several of these she never lost. Peasant girls are bashful 
naturally ; but she surpassed the rule so far, and coloured 
so easily, and was so easily embarrassed in the presence 
of strangers, that we nicknamed her the Bashful. We 
were all patriots, but she was called the Patriot, because 
our warmest feeling for our country was cold beside hers. 
Also she was called the Beautiful ; and this was not merely 
because of the extraordinary beauty of her face and form, 
but because of the loveliness of her character. These 
names she kept, and one other—the Brave. 

We grew along up, in that plodding and peaceful 
region, and got to be good-sized boys and girls—big 
enough, in fact, to begin to know as much about the wars 
raging perpetually to the west and north of us as our elders, 
and also to feel as stirred up over the occasional news 
from those red fields as they did. I remember certain of 
these days very clearly. One Tuesday a crowd of us were 
romping and singing around the Fairy Tree, and hanging 
garlands on it in memory of our lost little fairy friends, 
when little Mengette cried out : 

' Look ! What is that ? ' 

When one exclaims like that, in a way that shows 
astonishment and apprehension, he gets attention. All 
the panting breasts and flushed faces flocked together, and 
all the eager eyes were turned in one direction—down the 
slope, toward the village. 

' It's a black flag.' 

' A black flag ! No—is it ? ' 

'You can see for yourself that it is nothing else.' 

' It is a black flag, sure ! Now, has any ever seen the 
like of that before ? ' 

' What can it mean ? ' 

' Mean ? It means something dreadful—what else ? ' 

' That is nothing to the point ; anybody knows that 
without the telling. But what?—that is the question.' 


 28 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


29 


' It is a chance that he that bears it can answer as well 
as any that are here, if you can contain yourself till he 
come.' 

' He runs well. Who is it ?' 

Some named one, some another ; but presently all saw 
that it was Etienne Roze, called the Sunflower, because he 
had yellow hair and a round, pock-marked face. His 
ancestors had been Germans some centuries ago. He 
came straining up the slope, now and then projecting his 
flag-stick aloft and giving his black symbol of woe a wave 
in the air, whilst all eyes watched him, all tongues dis 
cussed him, and every heart beat faster and faster with 
impatience to know his news. At last he sprang among 
us, and struck his flag-stick into the ground, saying : 

' There ! Stand there and represent France while I 
get my breath. She needs no other flag, now.' 

All the giddy chatter stopped. It was as if one had an 
nounced a death. In that chilly hush there was no sound 
audible but the panting of the breath-blown boy. When 
he was presently able to speak, he said : 

' Black news is come. A treaty has been made at 
Troyes between France and the English and Burgundians. 
By it France is betrayed and delivered over, tied hand and 
foot, to the enemy. It is the work of the Duke of Bur 
gundy and that she-devil the Queen of France. It marries 
Henry of England to Catharine of France——' 

' Is not this a lie ? Marries the daughter of France to 
the Butcher of Agincourt ? It is not to be believed. You 
have not heard aright.' 

' If you cannot believe that, Jacques d'Arc, then you 
have a difficult task indeed before you, for worse is to 
come. Any child that is born of that marriage—if even a 
girl—is to inherit the thrones of both England and France, 
and this double ownership is to remain with its posterity 
for ever ! ' 

' Now that is certainly a lie, for it runs counter to our 
Salic law, and so is not legal and cannot have effect,' said 


Edmond Aubrey, called the Paladin, because of the armies 
he was always going to eat up some day. He would have 
said more, but he was drowned out by the clamours of the 
others, who all burst into a fury over this feature of the 
treaty, all talking at once and nobody hearing anybody, 
until presently Haumette persuaded them to be still, say 
ing : 

' It is not fair to break him up so in his tale ; pray let 
him go on. You find fault with his history because it 
seems to be lies. That were reason for satisfaction—that 
kind of lies—not discontent. Tell the rest, Etienne.' 

'There is but this to tell : Our King, Charles VI., is to 
reign until he dies, then Henry V. of England is to be 
Regent of France until a child of his shall be old enough 

, _____y 

' That man is to reign over us—the Butcher ? It is 
lies ! all lies ! ' cried the Paladin. ' Besides, look you— 
what becomes of our Dauphin? What says the treaty 
about him ? ' 

' Nothing. It takes away his throne and makes him 
an outcast.' 

Then everybody shouted at once and said the news was 
a lie ; and all began to get cheerful again, saying, ' Our 
King would have to sign the treaty to make it good ; and 
that he would not do, seeing how it serves his own son.' 

But the Sunflower said : ' I will ask you this : Would 
the Queen sign a treaty disinheriting her son ? ' 

'That viper? Certainly. Nobody is talking of her. 
Nobody expects better of her. There is no villany she will 
stick at, if it feed her spite ; and she hates her son. Her 
signing it is of no consequence. The King must sign.' 

' I will ask you another thing. What is the King's con 
dition ? Mad, isn't he ? ' 

' Yes, and his people love him all the more for it. It 
brings him near to them by his sufferings ; and pitying 
him makes them love him.' 

' You say right, Jacques d'Arc. Well, what would you 


-'.U 


 30 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

of one that is mad ? Does he know what he does ? No. 
Does he do what others make him do ? Yes. Now, then, 
I tell you he has signed the treaty.' 

' Who made him do it ? ' 

' You know, without my telling. The Queen.' 

Then there was another uproar—everybody talking at 
once, and all heaping execrations upon the Queen's head. 
Finally Jacques d'Arc said : 

' But many reports come that are not true. Nothing 
so shameful as this has ever come before, nothing that cuts 
so deep, nothing that has dragged France so low ; there 
fore there is hope that this tale is but another idle rumour. 
Where did you get it ? ' 

The colour went out of his sister Joan's face. She 
dreaded the answer ; and her instinct was right. 

' The curé of Maxey brought it.' 

There was a general gasp. We knew him, you see, for 
a trusty man. 

' Did he believe it ? ' 

The hearts almost stopped beating. Then came the 
answer : 

' He did. And that is not all. He said he knew it to 
be true.' 

Some of the girls began to sob ; the boys were struck 
silent. The distress in Joan's face was like that which one 
sees in the face of a dumb animal that has received a mortal 
hurt. The animal bears it making no complaint; she 
bore it also, saying no word. Her brother Jacques put 
his hand on her head and caressed her hair to indicate his 
sympathy, and she gathered the hand to her lips and kissed 
it for thanks, not saying anything. Presently the reaction 
came, and the boys began to talk. Noël Rainguesson 
said : 

' Oh, are we never going to be men ! We do grow 
along so slowly, and France never needed soldiers as she 
needs them now, to wipe out this black insult.' 

' I hate youth ! ' said Pierre Morel, called the Dragon- 


JOAN OF ARC 31 

fly because his eyes stuck out so. ' You've always got to 
wait, and wait, and wait—and here are the great wars 
wasting away for a hundred years, and you never get a 
chance. If I could only be a soldier now ! ' 

' As for me, I'm not going to wait much longer,' said 
the Paladin ; ' and when I do start you'll hear from me, I 
promise you that. There are some who, in storming a 
castle, prefer to be in the rear ; but as for me, give me 
the front or none ; I will have none in front of me but the 
officers.' 

Even the girls got the war spirit, and Marie Dupont 
said— 

' I would I were a man ; I would start this minute ! ' 
and looked very proud of herself, and glanced about for 
applause. 

' So would I,' said Cécile Letellier, sniffing the air like 
a war-horse that smells the battle ; ' I warrant you I would 
not turn back from the field though all England were in 
front of me.' 

' Pooh ! ' said the Paladin ; ' girls can brag, but that's 
all they are good for. Let a thousand of them come face 
to face with a handful of soldiers once, if you want to see 
what running is like. Here's little Joan—next she'll be 
threatening to go for a soldier ! ' 

The idea was so funny, and got such a good laugh, 
that the Paladin gave it another trial, and said : ' Why, 
you can just see her !—see her plunge into battle like any 
old veteran. Yes, indeed ; and not a poor shabby common 
soldier like us, but an officer—an officer, mind you, with 
armour on, and the bars of a steel helmet to blush behind 
and hide her embarrassment when she finds an army in 
front of her that she hasn't been introduced to. An officer? 
Why, she'll be a captain ! A captain, I tell you, with a 
hundred men at her back—or maybe girls. Oh, no com 
mon-soldier business for her ! And, dear me, when she 
starts for that other army, you'll think there's a hurricane 
blowing it away ! ' 


 l 


32 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

Well, he kept it up like that till he made their sides ache 
with laughing ; which was quite natural, for certainly it 
was a very funny idea—at that time—I mean, the idea of 
that gentle little creature, that wouldn't hurt a fly, and 
couldn't bear the sight of blood, and was so girlish and 
shrinking in all ways, rushing into battle with a gang of 
soldiers at her back. Poor thing, she sat there confused 
and ashamed to be so laughed at ; and yet at that very 
minute there was something about to happen which would 
change the aspect of things, and make those young people 
see that when it comes to laughing, the person that laughs 
last has the best chance. For just then a face which we 
all knew and all feared projected itself from behind the 
Fairy Tree, and the thought that shot through us all was, 
crazy Benoist has gotten loose from his cage, and we are 
as good as dead ! This ragged and hairy and horrible 
creature glided out from behind the Tree, and raised an axe 
as he came. We all broke and fled, this way and that, the 
girls screaming and crying. No, not all ; all but Joan. 
She stood up and faced the man, and remained so. As we 
reached the wood that borders the grassy clearing and 
jumped into its shelter, two or three of us glanced back to 
see if Benoist was gaining on us, and that is what we saw 
—Joan standing, and the maniac gliding stealthily toward 
her with his axe lifted. The sight was sickening. We 
stood where we were, trembling and not able to move. I 
did not want to see the murder done, and yet I could not 
take my eyes away. Now I saw Joan step forward to meet 
the man, though I believed my eyes must be deceiving me. 
Then I saw him stop. He threatened her with his axe, as 
if to warn her not to come further, but she paid no heed, 
but went steadily on, until she was right in front of him— 
right under his axe. Then she stopped, and seemed to 
begin to talk with him. It made me sick, yes, giddy, and 
everything swam around me, and I could not see anything 
for a time—whether long or brief I do not know. When 
this passed and I looked again, Joan was walking by the 


JOAN OF ARC 


33 


man's side toward the village, holding him by his hand. 
The axe was in her other hand. 

One by one the boys and girls crept out, and we stood 
there gazing, open-mouthed, till those two entered the vill 
age and were hid from sight. It was then that we named 
her the Brave. 

We left the black flag there to continue its mournful 
office, for we had other matter to think of now. We started 
for the village on a run, to give warning, and get Joan out 
of her peril ; though for one, after seeing what I had seen, 
it seemed to me that while Joan had the axe the man's 
chance was not the best of the two. When we arrived the 
danger was past, the madman was in custody. All the 
people were flocking to the little square in front of the 
church to talk and exclaim and wonder over the event, and 
it even made the town forget the black news of the treaty 
for two or three hours. 

All the women kept hugging and kissing Joan, and 
praising her, and crying, and the men patted her on the 
head and said they wished she was a man, they would send 
her to the wars and never doubt but that she would strike 
some blows that would be heard of. She had to tear herself 
away and go and hide, this glory was so trying to her 
diffidence. 

Of course the people began to ask us for the particulars. 
I was so ashamed that I made an excuse to the first comer, 
and got privately away and went back to the Fairy Tree, 
to get relief from the embarrassment of those questionings. 
There I found Joan, but she was there to get relief from 
the embarrassment of glory. One by one the others skirked 
the inquirers and joined us in our refuge. Then we gathered 
around Joan, and asked her how she had dared to do that 
thing. She was very modest about it, and said : 

' You make a great thing of it, but you mistake ; it was 
not a great matter. It was not as if I had been a stranger 
to the man. I know him, and have known him long ; and 
he knows me, and likes me. I have fed him through the 

P 


 34 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


bars of his cage many times ; and last December when they 
chopped off two of his fingers to remind him to stop seizing 
and wounding people passing by, I dressed his hand every 
day till it was well again.' 

'That is all well enough,' said Little Mengette, ' but he 
is a madman, dear, and so his likings and his gratitude and 
friendliness go for nothing when his rage is up. You did a 
perilous thing.' 

'Of course you did,' said the Sunflower. 'Didn't he 
threaten to kill you with the axe ? ' 
'Yes.' 

' Didn't he threaten you more than once ? ' 
' Yes.' 

' Didn't you feel afraid ? ' 
' No—at least not much—very little." 
' Why didn't you ? ' 

She thought a moment, then said, quite simply— 
' I don't know.' 

It made everybody laugh. Then the Sunflower said it 
was like a lamb trying to think out how it had come to eat 
a wolf, but had to give it up. 

Cécile Letellier asked : ' Why didn't you run when we 
did?' 

' Because it was necessary to get him to his cage ; else 
he would kill some one. Then he would come to the like 
harm himself.' 

It is noticeable that this remark, which implies that Joan 
was entirely forgetful of herself and her own danger, and 
had thought and wrought for the preservation of other 
people alone, was not challenged, or criticised, or com 
mented upon by anybody there, but was taken by all as 
matter of course and true. It shows how clearly her 
character was defined, and how well it was known and 
established. 

There was silence for a time, and perhaps we were all 
thinking of the same thing—namely, what a poor figure we 
had cut in that adventure as contrasted with Joan's per 


JOAN OF ARC 


35 


formance. I tried to think up some good way of explaining 
why I had run away and left a little girl at the mercy of a 
maniac armed with an axe, but all of the explanations that 
offered themselves to me seemed so cheap and shabby that 
I gave the matter up and remained still. But others were 
less wise. Noël Rainguesson fidgeted a while, then broke 
out with a remark which showed what his mind had been 
running on : 

' The fact is, I was taken by surprise. That is the 
reason. If I had had a moment to think, I would no more 
have thought of running than I would think of running from 
a baby. For, after all, what is Théophile Benoist, that I 
should seem to be afraid of him ? Pooh ! the idea of being 
afraid of that poor thing ! I only wish he would come 
.along now—I'd show you ! ' 

' So do I ! ' cried Pierre Morel. ' If I wouldn't make 
him climb this tree quicker than—well, you'd see what I 
would do ! Taking a person by surprise, that way—why, 
I never meant to run ; not in earnest, I mean. I never 
thought of running in earnest ; I only wanted to have some 
fun, and when I saw Joan standing there, and him threaten 
ing her, it was all I could do to restrain myself from going 
there and just tearing the livers and lights out of him. I 
•wanted to do it bad enough, and if it was to do over again, 
I would I If ever he comes fooling around me again, 
I'll——' 

' Oh, hush ! ' said the Paladin, breaking in with an air 
of disdain ; ' the way you people talk, a person would think 
there's something heroic about standing up and facing down 
that poor remnant of a man. Why, it's nothing ! There's 
small glory to be got in facing him down, I should say. 
Why I wouldn't want any better fun than to face down a 
hundred like him. If he was to come along here now, I 
would walk up to him just as I am now—I wouldn't care if 
he had a thousand axes—and say——' 

And so he went on and on, telling the brave things he 
would say and the wonders he would do ; and the others 

D 2 


 36 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

put in a word from time to time, describing over again 
the gory marvels they would do if ever that madman 
ventured to cross their path again ; for next time they would 
be ready for him, and would soon teach him that if he 
thought he could surprise them twice because he had sur 
prised them once, he would find himself very seriously 
mistaken, that's all. 

And so, in the end, they all got back their self-respect ; 
yes, and even added somewhat to it ; indeed, when the 
sitting broke up they had a finer opinion of themselves than 
they had ever had before. 


CHAPTER VI 

THEY were peaceful and pleasant, those young and smoothly 
flowing days of ours ; that is, that was the case as a rule, 
we being remote from the seat of war, but at intervals 
roving bands approached near enough for us to see the 
flush in the sky at night which marked where they were 
burning some farmstead or village, and we all knew, or at 
least felt, that some day they would come yet nearer, and 
we should have our turn. This dull dread lay upon our 
spirits like a physical weight. It was greatly augmented 
a couple of years after the Treaty of Troyes. 

It was truly a dismal year for France. One day we 
had been over to have one of our occasional pitched battles 
with those hated Burgundian boys of the village of Maxey, 
and had been whipped, and were arriving on our side of 
the river after dark, bruised and weary, when we heard the 
bell ringing the tocsin. We ran all the way, and when we 
got to the square we found it crowded with the excited 
villagers, and weirdly lighted by smoking and flaring 
torches. 

On the steps of the church stood a stranger, a Burgun 
dian priest, who was telling the people news which made 
them weep, and rave, and rage, and curse, by turns. He 
said our old mad King was dead, and that now we and 


JOAN OF ARC 


37 


France and the crown were the property of an English 
baby lying in his cradle in London. And he urged us to 
give that child our allegiance, and be its faithful servants 
and well-wishers ; and said we should now have a strong 
and stable government at last, and that in a little time the 
English armies would start on their last march, and it 
would be a brief one, for all that it would need to do would 
be to conquer what odds and ends of our country yet re 
mained under that rare and almost forgotten rag, the 
banner of France. 

The people stormed and raged at him, and you could 
see dozens of them stretch their fists above the sea of torch- 
lighted faces and shake them at him ; and it was all a wild 
picture, and stirring to look at ; and the priest was a first- 
rate part of it, too, for he stood there in the strong glare 
and looked down on those angry people in the blandest and 
most indifferent way, so that while you wanted to burn 
him at the stake, you still admired the aggravating cool 
ness of him. And his winding up was the coolest thing of 
all. For he told them how, at the funeral of our old King, 
the French King-at-Arms had broken his staff of office over 
the coffin of ' Charles VI. and his dynasty,' at the same 
time saying, in a loud voice, ' God grant long life to Henry, 
King of France and England, our sovereign lord ! ' and 
then he asked them to join him in a hearty Amen to 
that t 

The people were white with wrath, and it tied their 
tongues for the moment, and they could not speak. But 
Joan was standing close by, and she looked up in his face, 
and said in her sober, earnest way— 

' I would I might see thy head struck from thy body ! ' 
—then, after a pause, and crossing herself—' if it were the 
will of God.' 

This is worth remembering, and I will tell you why : it 
is the only harsh speech Joan ever uttered in her life. 
When I shall have revealed to you the storms she went 
through, and the wrongs and persecutions, then you will 


 rï 


38 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

see that it was wonderful that she said but one bitter thing 
while she lived. 

From the day that that dreary news came we had one 
scare after another, the marauders coming almost to our 
doors every now and then ; so that we lived in ever-increas 
ing apprehension, and yet were somehow mercifully spared 
from actual attack. But at last our turn did really come. 
This was in the spring of '28. The Burgundians swarmed 
in with a great noise, in the middle of a dark night, and we 
had to jump up and fly for our lives. We took the road to 
Neufchâteau, and rushed along in the wildest disorder, 
everybody trying to get ahead, and thus the movements of 
all were impeded ; but Joan had a cool head—the only cool 
head there—and she took command and brought order out 
of that chaos. She did her work quickly and with decision 
and despatch, and soon turned the panic flight into a quite 
steady-going march. You will grant that for so young a 
person, and a girl at that, this was a good piece of work. 

She was sixteen now, shapely and graceful, and of a 
beauty so extraordinary that I might allow myself any 
extravagance of language in describing it and yet have no 
fear of going beyond the truth. There was in her face a 
sweetness and serenity and purity that justly reflected her 
spiritual nature. She was deeply religious, and this is a 
thing which sometimes gives a melancholy cast to a per 
son's countenance, but it was not so in her case. Her 
religion made her inwardly content and joyous ; and if she 
was troubled at times, and showed the pain of it in her 
face and bearing, it came of distress for her country ; no 
part of it was chargeable to her religion. 

A considerable part of our village was destroyed, and 
when it became safe for us to venture back there we realised 
what other people had been suffering in all the various 
quarters of France for many years—yes, decades of years. 
For the first time we saw wrecked and smoke-blackened 
homes, and in the lanes and alleys carcasses of dumb 
creatures that had been slaughtered in pure waiitonness— 


JOAN OF ARC 


39 


among them calves and lambs that had been pets of the 
children ; and it was pity to see the children lament over 

them. 

And then, the taxes, the taxes ! Everybody thought of 
that. That burden would fall heavy, now, in the com 
mune's crippled condition, and all faces grew long with the 
thought of it. Joan said : 

' Paying taxes with nought to pay them with is what 
the rest of France has been doing these many years, but 
we never knew the bitterness of that before. We shall 
know it now.' 

And so she went on talking about it and growing more 
and more troubled about it, until one could see that it was 
filling all her mind. 

At last we came upon a dreadful object. It was the 
madman—hacked and stabbed to death in his iron cage in 
the corner of the square. It was a bloody and dreadful 
sight. Hardly any of us young people had ever seen a 
man before who had lost his life by violence ; so this 
cadaver had an awful fascination for us ; we could not take 
our eyes from it. I mean, it had that sort of fascination 
for all of us but one. That one was Joan. She turned 
away in horror, and could not be persuaded to go near it 
again. There—it is a striking reminder that we are but 
creatures of use and custom ; yes, and it is a reminder, 
too, of how harshly and unfairly fate deals with us some 
times. For it was so ordered that the very ones among us 
who were most fascinated with mutilated and bloody death 
were to live their lives in peace, while that other, who had 
a native and deep horror of it, must presently go forth and 
have it as a familiar spectacle every day on the field of 
battle. 

You may well believe that we had plenty of matter for 
talk, now, since the raiding of our village seemed by long 
odds the greatest event that had really ever occurred in the 
world ; for although these dull peasants may have thought 
they recognised the bigness of some of the previous occur- 


 40 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

rences that had filtered from the world's history dimly into 
their minds, the truth is that they hadn't. One biting 
little fact, visible to their eyes of flesh and felt in their own 
personal vitals, became at once more prodigious to them 
than the grandest remote episode in the world's history 
which they had got at second-hand and by hearsay. It 
amuses me now when I recall how our elders talked then. 
They fumed and fretted in a fine fashion. 

' Ah yes,' said old Jacques d'Arc, ' things are come to a 
pretty pass indeed ! The King must be informed of this. 
It is time that he cease from idleness and dreaming, and 
get at his proper business.' He meant our young dis 
inherited King, the hunted refugee, Charles VII. 

' You say well,' said the maire. ' He should be informed, 
and that at once. It is an outrage that such things should 
be permitted. Why, we are not safe in our beds, and he 
taking his ease yonder. It shall be made known, indeed 
it shall—all France shall hear of it ! ' 

To hear them talk, one would have imagined that all 
the previous ten thousand sackings and burnings in France 
had been but fables, and this one the only fact. It is 
always the way : words will answer as long as it is only a 
person's neighbour who is in trouble, but when that person 
gets into trouble himself, it is time that the King rise up 
and do something. 

The big event filled us young people with talk, too. 
We let it flow in a steady stream while we tended the 
flocks. We were beginning to feel pretty important, now, 
for I was eighteen and the other youths were from one to 
four years older—young men, in fact. One day the Paladin 
was arrogantly criticising the patriot generals of France 
and said— 

' Look at Dunois, Bastard of Orleans—call him a 
general ! Just put me in his place once—never mind what 
I would do, it is not for me to say, I have no stomach for 
talk, my way is to act and let others do the talking—but 
just put me in his place once, that's all ! And look at 


JOAN OF ARC 


41 


Saintrailles—pooh ! and that blustering La Hire, now what 
a general that is ! ' 

It shocked everybody to hear these great names so flip 
pantly handled, for to us these renowned soldiers were 
almost gods. In their far-off splendour they rose upon our 
imaginations dim and huge, shadowy and awful, and it was 
a fearful thing to hear them spoken of as if they were mere 
men, and their acts open to comment and criticism. The 
colour rose in Joan's face, and she said— 

' I know not how any can be so hardy as to use such 
words regarding these sublime men, who are the very pillars 
of the French State, supporting it with their strength and 
preserving it at daily cost of their blood. As for me, I 
could count myself honoured past all deserving if I might 
be allowed but the privilege of looking upon them once— 
at a distance, I mean, for it would not become one of my 
degree to approach them too near.' 

The Paladin was disconcerted for a moment, seeing- by 
the faces around him that Joan had put into words what 
the others felt, then he pulled his complacency together 
and fell to fault-finding again. Joan's brother Jean said— 

1 If you don't like what our generals do, why don't you 
g-o to the great wars yourself and better their work ? You 
are always talking about going to the wars, but you don't 
go.' 

1 Look you,' said the Paladin, ' it is easy to say that. 
Now I will tell you why I remain chafing here in a blood 
less tranquillity which my reputation teaches you is repul 
sive to my nature. I do not g-o because I am not a gentle 
man. That is the whole reason. What can one private 
soldier do in a contest like this ? Nothing. He is not 
permitted to rise from the ranks. If I were a gentleman 
would I remain here ? Not one moment. I can save 
France—ah, you may laugh, but I know what is in me, I 
know what is hid under this peasant cap. I can save 
France, and I stand ready to do it, but not under these 
present conditions. If they want me, let them send for me ; 


 42 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

otherwise, let them take the consequences ; I shall not 
budge but as an officer.' 

' Alas, poor France—France is lost ! ' said Pierre d'Arc. 

' Since you sniff so at others, why don't you go to the 
wars yourself, Pierre d'Arc ? ' 

' Oh, I haven't been sent for, either. I am no more a 
gentleman than you. Yet I will go ; I promise to go. I 
promise to go as a private under your orders—when you 
are sent for.' 

They all laughed, and the Dragonfly said— 

' So soon ? Then you need to begin to get ready ; you 
might be called for in five years—who knows ? Yes, in 
my opinion you'll march for the wars in five years.' 

' He will go sooner,' said Joan. She said it in a low 
voice and musingly, but several heard it. 

' How do you know that, Joan ? ' said the Dragonfly, 
with a surprised look. But Jean d'Arc broke in and 
said— 

' I want to go myself, but as I am rather young yet, I 
also will wait, and march when the Paladin is sent for.' 

' No,' said Joan, ' he will go with Pierre.' 

She said it as one who talks to himself aloud without 
knowing it, and none heard it but me. I glanced at her 
and saw that her knitting-needles were idle in her hands, 
and that her face had a dreamy and absent look in it. 
There were fleeting movements of her lips as if she might 
be occasionally saying parts of sentences to herself. But 
there was no sound, for I was the nearest person to her 
and I heard nothing. But I set my ears open, for those 
two speeches had affected me uncannily, I being super 
stitious and easily troubled by any little thing of a strange 
and unusual sort. 

Noël Rainguesson said— 

' There is one way to let France have a chance for her 
salvation. We've got one gentleman in the commune, at 
any rate. Why can't the Scholar change name and con 
dition with the Paladin ? Then he can be an officer. 


JOAN OF ARC 


43 


France will send for him then, and he will sweep these 
English and Burgundian armies into the sea like flies.' 

I was the Scholar. That was my nickname, because I 
could read and write. There was a chorus of approval, 
and the Sunflower said— 

' That is the very thing—it settles every difficulty. The 
Sieur de Conte will easily agree to that. Yes, he will 
march at the back of Captain Paladin and die early, covered 
with common-soldier glory.' 

' He will march with Jean and Pierre, and live till these 
wars are forgotten,' Joan muttered ; ' and at the eleventh 
hour Noël and the Paladin will join these, but not of their 
own desire.' The voice was so low that I was not perfectly 
sure that these were the words, but they seemed to be. It 
makes one feel creepy to hear such things. 

' Come, now,' Noël continued, ' it's all arranged ; there's 
nothing to do but organise under the Paladin's banner and 
go forth and rescue France. You'll all join ? ' 

All said yes, except Jacques d'Arc, who said— - 
' I'll ask you to excuse me. It is pleasant to talk war, 
and I am with you there, and I've always thought I should 
go soldiering about this time, but the look of our wrecked 
village and that carved-up and bloody madman have taught 
me that I am not made for such work and such sights. I 
could never be at home in that trade. Face swords and 
the big guns and death ? It isn't in me. No, no ; count 
me out. And besides, I'm the eldest son, and deputy prop 
and protector of the family. Since you are going to carry 
Jean and Pierre to the wars, somebody must be left behind 
to take care of our Joan and her sister. I shall stay at 
home, and grow old in peace and tranquillity.' 

' He will stay at home, but not grow old,' murmured 
Joan. 

The talk rattled on in the gay and careless fashion 
privileged to youth, and we got the Paladin to map out his 
campaigns and fight his battles and win his victories and 
extinguish the English and put our King upon his throne 


I'- 


 44 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


45 


and set his crown upon his head. Then we asked him 
what he was going to answer when the King should require 
him to name his reward. The Paladin had it all arranged 
in his head, and brought it out promptly : 

' He shall give me a dukedom, name me premier peer, 
and make me Hereditary Lord High Constable of France.' 
' And marry you to a princess—you're not going to leave 
that out, are you ? ' 

The Paladin coloured a trifle, and said, brusquely— 
' He may keep his princesses—I can marry more to my 
taste.' 

Meaning Joan, though nobody suspected it at that time. 
If any had, the Paladin would have been finely ridiculed 
for his vanity. There was no fit mate in that village for 
Joan of Arc. Every one would have said that. 

In turn, each person present was required to say what 
reward he would demand of the King if he could change 
places with the Paladin and do the wonders the Paladin 
was going to do. The answers were given in fun, and 
each of us tried to outdo his predecessors in the extrava 
gance of the reward he would claim ; but when it came to 
Joan's turn and they rallied her out of her dreams and 
asked her to testify, they had to explain to her what the 
question was, for her thought had been absent, and she 
had heard none of this latter part of our talk. She supposed 
they wanted a serious answer, and she gave it. She sat 
considering some moments, then she said— 

' If the Dauphin out of his grace and nobleness should 
say to me, " Now that I am rich and am come to my own 
again, choose and have," I should kneel and ask him to 
give command that our village should nevermore be 
taxed.' 

It was so simple and out of her heart that it touched us 
and we did not laugh, but fell to thinking. We did not 
laugh ; but there came a day when we remembered that 
speech with a mournful pride, and were glad that we had 
not laughed, perceiving then how honest her words had 


been, and seeing how faithfully she made them good when 
the time came, asking just that boon of the King and 
refusing to take even any least thing for herself. 

CHAPTER VII 

ALL through her childhood and up to the middle of her 
fourteenth year, Joan had been the most light-hearted 
creature and the merriest in the village, with a hop-skip- 
and-jump gait and a happy and catching laugh ; and this 
disposition, supplemented by her warm and sympathetic 
nature and frank and winning ways, had made her every 
body's pet. She had been a hot patriot all this time, and 
sometimes the war news had sobered her spirits and wrung 
her heart and made her acquainted with tears, but always 
when these interruptions had run their course her spirits 
rose and she was her old self again. 

But now for a whole year and a half she had been mainly 
grave ; not melancholy, but given to thought, abstraction, 
dreams. She was carrying France upon her heart, and 
she found the burden not light. I knew that this was her 
trouble, but others attributed her abstraction to religious 
ecstasy, for she did not share her thinkings with the village 
at large, yet gave me glimpses of them, and so I knew, 
better than the rest, what was absorbing her interest. 
Many a time the idea crossed my mind that she had a. 
secret—a secret which she was keeping wholly to herself, 
as well from me as from the others. This idea had come 
to me because several times she had cut a sentence in two 
and changed the subject when apparently she was on the 
verge of a revelation of some sort. I was to find this 
secret out, but not just yet. 

The day after the conversation which I have been 
reporting we were together in the pastures and fell to talk 
ing about France, as usual. For her sake I had always 
talked hopefully before, but that was mere lying, for really 
there was not anything to hang a rag of hope for France 


 46 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

upon. Now it was such a pain to lie to her, and cost me 
such shame to offer this treachery to one so snow-pure 
from lying and treachery, and even from suspicion of 
such basenesses in others, as she was, that I was resolved 
to face about, now, and begin over again, and never insult 
her more with deception. I started on the new policy by 
saying—still opening up with a small lie, of course, for 
habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by 
any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time— 

'Joan, I have been thinking the thing all over, last 
night, and have concluded that we have been in the wrong 
all this time ; that the case of France is desperate ; that it 
has been desperate ever since Agincourt ; and that to-day 
it is more than desperate, it is hopeless.' 

I did not look her in the face while I was saying it ; it 
could not be expected of a person. To break her heart, to 
crush her hope with a so frankly brutal speech as that, 
without one charitable soft place in it—it seemed a shame 
ful thing, and it was. But when it was out, the weight 
gone, and my conscience rising to the surface, I glanced 
at her face to see the result. 

There was none to see. At least none that I was 
expecting. There was a barely perceptible suggestion of 
wonder in her serious eyes, but that was all ; and she said, 
in her simple and placid way— 

' The case of France hopeless ? Why should you think 
that? Tell me.' 

It is a most pleasant thing to find that what you thought 
would inflict a hurt upon one whom you honour has not 
done it. I was relieved now, and could say all my say 
without any furtivenesses and without embarrassment. 
So I began : 

' Let us put sentiment and patriotic illusions aside, and 
look the facts in the face. What do they say ? They 
speak as plainly as the figures in a merchant's account- 
book. One has only to add the two columns up to see 
that the French house is bankrupt, that one-half of its 


JOAN OF ARC 


47 


property is already in the English sheriff's hands and the 
other half in nobody's—except those of irresponsible 
raiders and robbers confessing allegiance to nobody. 
Our King is shut up with his favourites and fools in in 
glorious idleness and poverty in a narrow little patch of the 
kingdom—a sort of back lot, as one may say—and has no 
authority there or anywhere else, hasn't a farthing to his 
name, nor a regiment of soldiers ; he is not fighting, he is 
not intending to fight, he means to make no further resis 
tance ; in truth there is but one thing that he is intending to 
do—give the whole thing up, pitch his crown into the 
sewer, and run away to Scotland. There are the facts. 
Are they correct ? ' 

'Yes, they are correct.' 

- Then it is as I have said : one needs but to add them 
together in order to realise what they mean.' 

She asked, in an ordinary, level tone— 

' What—that the case of France is hopeless ? ' 

' Necessarily. In face of these facts, doubt of it is im 
possible.' 

' How can you say that ? How can you feel like 
that?' 

' How can I ? How could I think or feel in any other 
way, in the circumstances ? Joan, with these fatal figures 
before you, have you really any hope for France—really 
and actually ? ' 

' Hope—oh, more than that ! France will win her free 
dom and keep it. Do not doubt it.' 

It seemed to me that her clear intellect must surely be 
clouded to-day. It must be so, or she would see that those 
figures could mean only the one thing. Perhaps if I mar 
shalled them again she would see. So I said : 

' Joan, your heart, which worships France, is beguiling 
your head. You are not perceiving the importance of these 
figures. Here—I want to make a picture of them, here on 
the ground with a stick. Now, this rough outline is France. 
Through its middle, east and west, I draw a river.' 


 48 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' Yes ; the Loire.' 

' Now, then, this whole northern half of the country is 
in the tight grip of the English.' 

' Yes.' 

'And this whole southern half is really in nobody's 
hands at all—as our King confesses by meditating deser 
tion and flight to a foreign land. England has armies here ; 
opposition is dead ; she can assume full possession when 
ever she may choose. In very truth, all France is gone, 
France is already lost, France has ceased to exist. What 
was France is now but a British province. Is this true ? ' 

Her voice was low, and just touched with emotion, but 
distinct : 

' Yes, it is true.' 

' Very well. Now add this clinching fact, and surely 
the sum is complete : When have French soldiers won a 
victory ? Scotch soldiers, under the French flag, have 
won a barren fight or two a few years back, but I am 
speaking of French ones. Since eight thousand English 
men nearly annihilated sixty thousand Frenchmen a dozen 
years ago at Agincourt, French courage has been para 
lysed. And so it is a common saying", to-day, that if you 
confront fifty French soldiers with five English ones, the 
French will run.' 

' It is a pity, but even these things are true.' 

' Then certainly the day for hoping is past.'' 

I believed the case would be clear to her now. I 
thought it could not fail to be clear to her, and that she 
would say, herself, that there was no longer any ground 
for hope. But I was mistaken ; and disappointed also. 
She said, without any doubt in her tone : 

' France will rise again. You shall see.' 

' Rise ?—with this burden of English armies on her 
back ! ' 

' She will cast it off ; she will trample it under foot ! ' 
This with spirit. 

' Without soldiers to fight with ? ' 


JOAN OF ARC 49 

' The drums will summon them. They will answer, and 
they will march.' 

1 March to the rear, as usual ? ' 

' No ; to the front—ever to the front—always to the 
front ! You shall see.' 

' And the pauper King ? ' 

' He will mount his throne—he will wear his crown.' 

' Well, of a truth this makes one's head dizzy. Why, 
if I could believe that in thirty years from now the English 
domination would be broken and the French monarch's 
head find itself hooped with a real crown of sovereignty—' 

' Both will have happened before two years are sped.' 

' Indeed ? and who is going to perform all these sublime 
impossibilities ? ' 

'God.' 

It was a reverent low note, but it rang clear. 

What could have put those strange ideas in her head ? 
This question kept running in my mind during two or three 
days. It was inevitable that I should think of madness. 
What other way was there to account for such things ? 
Grieving and brooding over the woes of France had weak 
ened that strong mind, and filled it with fantastic phan 
toms—yes, that must be it. 

But I watched her, and tested her, and it was not so. 
Her eye was clear and sane, her ways were natural, her 
speech direct and to the point. No, there was nothing 
the matter with her mind ; it was still the soundest in the 
village, and the best. She went on thinking for others, 
planning for others, sacrificing herself for others, just as 
always before. She went on ministering to her sick and 
to her poor, and still stood ready to give the wayfarer her 
bed and content herself with the floor. There was a secret 
somewhere, but madness was not the key to it. This was 
plain. 

Now the key did presently come into my hands, and 
the way that it happened was this. You have heard all 

E 


 5° 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


the world talk of this matter which I am about to speak 
of, but you have not heard an eye-witness talk of it be 
fore. 

I was coming from over the ridge, one day—it was 
May 15, '28—and when I got to the edge of the oak forest 
and was about to step out of it upon the turfy open space 
in which the haunted beech-tree stood, I happened to cast 
a glance from cover, first—then I took a step backward, 
and stood in the shelter and concealment of the foliage. 
For I had caught sight of Joan, and thought I would 
devise some sort of playful surprise for her. Think of it— 
that trivial conceit was neighbour, with but a scarcely 
measurable interval of time between, to an event destined 
to endure for ever in histories and songs. 

The day was overcast, and all that grassy space wherein 
the Tree stood lay in a soft rich shadow. Joan sat on a 
natural seat formed by gnarled great roots of the Tree. 
Her hands lay loosely, one reposing in the other, in her 
lap. Her head was bent a little toward the ground, and 
her air was that of one who is lost in thought, steeped in 
dreams, and not conscious of herself or of the world. And 
now I saw a most strange thing, for I saw a white shadow 
come slowly gliding along the grass toward the Tree. It 
was of grand proportions—a robed form, with wings—and 
the whiteness of this shadow was not like any other white 
ness that we know of, except it be the whiteness of the 
lightnings ; but even the lightnings are not so intense as it 
was, for one can look at them without hurt, whereas this 
brilliancy was so blinding that it pained my eyes and 
brought the water into them. I uncovered my head, per 
ceiving that I was in the presence of something not of this 
world. My breath grew faint and difficult, because of the 
terror and the awe that possessed me. 

Another strange thing. The wood had been silent— 
smitten with that deep stillness which comes when a 
storm-cloud darkens a forest, and the wild creatures lose 
heart and are afraid ; but now all the birds burst forth in 


JOAN OF ARC 51 

song, and the joy, the rapture, the ecstasy of it was beyond 
belief; and was so eloquent and so moving, withal, that it 
was plain it was an act of worship. With the first note of 
those birds Joan cast herself upon her knees, and bent her 
head low and crossed her hands upon her breast. 

She had not seen the shadow yet. Had the song of the 
birds told her it was coming ? It had that look to me. 
Then the like of this must have happened before. Yes, 
there might be no doubt of that. 

The shadow approached Joan slowly ; the extremity of 
it reached her, flowed over her, clothed her in its awful 
splendour. In that immortal light her face, only humanly 
beautiful before, became divine ; flooded with that trans 
forming glory, her mean peasant habit was become like to 
the raiment of the sun-clothed children of God as we see 
them thronging the terraces of the Throne in our dreams 
and imaginings. 

Presently she rose and stood, with her head still bowed 
a little, and with her arms down and the ends of her fingers 
lightly laced together in front of her ; and standing so, all 
drenched with that wonderful light, and yet apparently not 
knowing it, she seemed to listen—but I heard nothing. 
After a little she raised her head, and looked up as one 
might look up toward the face of a giant, and then clasped 
her hands, and lifted them high, imploringly, and began to 
plead. I heard some of the words. I heard her say— 

' But I am so young ! oh, so young to leave my mother 
and my home, and go out into the strange world to under 
take a thing so great ! Ah, how can I talk with men, be 
comrade with men ?—soldiers ! It would give me over to 
insult, and rude usage, and contempt. How can I go to 
the great wars, and lead armies?—I, a girl, and ignorant 
of such things, knowing nothing of arms, nor how to 
mount a horse, nor ride it. ... Yet—if it is com 
manded—' 

Her voice sank a little, and was broken by sobs, and I 
made out no more of her words. Then I came to myself. 

E 3 


 52 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

I reflected that I had been intruding upon a mystery of 
God—and what might my punishment be ? I was afraid, 
and went deeper into the wood. Then I carved a mark in 
the bark of a tree, saying to myself, it may be that I am 
dreaming, and have not seen this vision at all. I will come 
again, when I know that I am awake and not dreaming, 
and see if this mark is still here ; then I shall know. 


CHAPTER VIII 

I HEARD my name called. It was Joan's voice. It startled 
me, for how could she know I was there ? I said to myself, 
it is part of the dream ; it is all dream—voice, vision and 
all ; the fairies have done this. So I crossed myself and 
pronounced the name of God, to break the enchantment. 
I knew I was awake now and free from the spell, for no 
spell can withstand this exorcism. Then I heard my name 
called again, and I stepped at once from under cover, and 
there indeed was Joan, but not looking as she had looked 
in the dream. For she was not crying, now, but was 
looking as she had used to look a year and a half before, 
when her heart was light and her spirits high. Her old- 
time energy and fire were back, and a something like ex 
altation showed itself in her face and bearing. It was 
almost as if she had been in a trance all that time and had 
come awake again. Really, it was just as if she had been 
away and lost, and was come back to us at last ; and I 
was so glad that I felt like running to call everybody and 
have them flock around her and give her welcome. I ran 
to her excited, and said— 

' Ah, Joan, I've got such a wonderful thing to tell you 
about ! You would never imagine it. I've had a dream, 
and in the dream I saw you right here where you are 
standing now, and—' 

But she put up her hand and said— 

' It was not a dream.' 


JOAN OF ARC 


53 


It gave me a shock, and I began to feel afraid again. 

' Not a dream ? ' I said, ' how can you know about it, 
Joan?' 

' Are you dreaming now ? ' 

' I—I suppose not. I think I am not." 

' Indeed you are not. I know you are not. And you 
were not dreaming when you cut the mark in the tree.' 

I felt myself turning cold with fright, for now I knew of 
a certainty that I had not been dreaming, but had really 
been in the presence of a dread something not of this world. 
Then I remembered that my sinful feet were upon holy 
ground—the ground where that celestial shadow had rested. 
I moved quickly away, smitten to the bones with fear. 
Joan followed, and said— 

* Do not be afraid ; indeed there is no need. Come with 
me. We will sit by the spring and I will tell you all my 
secret.' 

When she was ready to begin, I checked her and 
said— 

' First tell me this. You could not see me in the wood ; 
how did you know I cut a mark in the tree ? ' 

' Wait a little ; I will soon come to that ; then you will 
see.' 

'But tell me one thing now; what was that awful 
shadow that I saw ? ' 

' I will tell you, but do not be disturbed ; you are not in 
danger. It was the shadow of an archangel—Michael, the 
chief and lord of the armies of heaven.' 

I could but cross myself and tremble for having polluted 
that ground with my feet. 

' You were not afraid, Joan ? Did you see his face— 
did you see his form ? ' 

' Yes ; I was not afraid, because this was not the first 
time. I was afraid the first time." 
' When was that, Joan ? ' 
' It is nearly three years ago, now." 
' So long ? Have you seen him many times ? ' 


 54 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' Yes, many times.' 

' It is this, then, that has changed you ; it was this that 
made you thoughtful and not as you were before. I see it 
now. Why did you not tell us about it ? ' 

' It was not permitted. It is permitted now, and soon 
I shall tell all. But only you, now. It must remain a 
secret a few days still.' 

' Has none seen that white shadow before but me ? ' 
' No one. It has fallen upon me before when you and 
others were present, but none could see it. To-day it has 
been otherwise, and I was told why ; but it will not be 
visible again to any.' 

' It was a sign to me, then—and a sign with a meaning 
of some kind ? ' 

' Yes, but I may not speak of that.' 
' Strange—that that dazzling light could rest upon an 
object before one's eyes and not be visible.' 

'With it comes speech, also. Several saints come, 
attended by myriads of angels, and they speak to me ; I 
hear their voices, but others do not. They are very dear 
to me—my Voices ; that is what I call them to myself.' 
' Joan, what do they tell you ? ' 
'All manner of things—about France I mean.' 
' What things have they been used to tell you ? ' 
She sighed, and said— 

' Disasters—only disasters, and misfortunes, and humi 
liations. There was naught else to foretell.' 
' They spoke of them to you beforehand? ' 
' Yes. So that I knew what was going to happen 
before it happened. It made me grave—as you saw. It 
could not be otherwise. But always there was a word of 
hope, too. More than that ; France was to be rescued, 
and made great and free again. But how and by whom— 
that was not told. Not until to-day.' As she said those 
last words a sudden deep glow shone in her eyes, which I 
was to see there many times in after-days when the bugles 
sounded the charge and learn to call it the battle-light. 


JOAN OF ARC 


55 


Her breast heaved, and the colour rose in her face. ' But 
to-day I know. God has chosen the meanest of His crea 
tures for this work ; and by His command, and in His pro 
tection, and by His strength, not mine, I am to lead His 
armies, and win back France, and set the crown upon the 
head of His servant that is Dauphin and shall be King.' 

I was amazed, and said— 

' You, Joan ? You, a child, lead armies ? ' 

'Yes. For one little moment or two the thought 
crushed me ; for it is as you say—I am only a child ; a 
child and ignorant—ignorant of everything that pertains to 
war, and not fitted for the rough life of camps and the 
companionship of soldiers. But those weak moments 
passed ; they will not come again. I am enlisted, I will 
not turn back, God helping me, till the English grip is 
loosed from the throat of France. My Voices have never 
told me lies, they have not lied to-day. They say I am to 
go to Robert de Baudricourt, governor of Vaucouleurs, 
and he will give me men-at-arms for escort and send me 
to the King. A year from now a blow will be struck which 
will be the beginning of the end, and the end will follow 
swiftly.' 

' Where will it be struck ? ' 

' My Voices have not said ; nor what will happen this 
present year, before it is struck. It is appointed me to 
strike it, that is all I know ; and follow it with others, 
sharp and swift, undoing in ten weeks England's long years 
of costly labour, and setting the crown upon the Dauphin's 
head—for such is God's will ; my Voices have said it, and 
shall I doubt it ? No ; it will be as they have said, for they 
say only that which is true.' 

These were tremendous sayings. They were impossi 
bilities to my reason, but to my heart they rang true ; and 
so, while my reason doubted, my heart believed—believed, 
and held fast to its belief from that day. Presently I 
said— 

' Joan, I believe the things which you have said, and 


 S6 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

now I am glad that I am to march with you to the 
great wars—that is, if it is with you I am to march when 
I go.' 

She looked surprised and said— 

' It is true that you will be with me when I go to the 
wars, but how did you know ? ' 

' I shall march with you, and so also will Jean and 
Pierre, but not Jacques.' 

' All true—it is so ordered, as was revealed to me lately, 
but I did not know until to-day that the marching would 
be with me, or that I should march at all. How did you 
know these things ? ' 

I told her when it was that she had said them. But 
she did not remember about it. So then I knew that she 
had been asleep, or in a trance or an ecstasy of some kind, 
at that time. She bade me keep these and the other 
revelations to myself for the present, and I said I would, 
and kept the faith I promised. 

None who met Joan that day failed to notice the change 
that had come over her. She moved and spoke with energy 
and decision ; there was a strange new fire in her eye, and 
also a something wholly new and remarkable in her carriage 
and in the set of her head. This new light in the eye and 
this new bearing were born of the authority and leadership 
which had this day been vested in her by the decree of God, 
and they asserted that authority as plainly as speech could 
have done it, yet without ostentation or bravado. This 
calm consciousness of command, and calm unconscious 
outward expression of it, remained with her thenceforth 
until her mission was accomplished. 

Like the other villagers, she had always accorded me 
the deference due to my rank ; but now, without word said 
on either side, she and I changed places : she gave orders, 
not suggestions, I received them with the deference due to 
a superior, and obeyed them without comment. In the 
evening she said to me— 


JOAN OF ARC 


57 


' I leave before dawn. No one will know it but you. I 
go to speak with the governor of Vaucouleurs as com 
manded, who will despise me and treat me rudely, and 
perhaps refuse my prayer at this time. I go first to Burey, 
to persuade my uncle Laxart to go with me, it not being 
meet that I go alone. I may need you in Vaucouleurs ; 
for if the governor will not receive me I will dictate a 
letter to him, and so must have some one by me who knows 
the art of how to write and spell the words. You will go 
from here to-morrow in the afternoon, and remain in 
Vaucouleurs until I need you.' 

I said I would obey, and she went her way. You see 
how clear a head she had, and what a just and level judg 
ment. She did not order me to go with her ; no, she 
would not subject her good name to gossiping remark. 
She knew that the governor, being a noble, would grant 
me, another noble, audience ; but no, you see, she would 
not have that, either. A poor peasant girl presenting a 
petition through a young nobleman—how would that look ? 
She always protected her modesty from hurt ; and so, for 
reward, she carried her good name unsmirched to the end. 
I knew what I must do, now, if I would have her approval : 
go to Vaucouleurs, keep out of her sight, and be ready 
when wanted. 

I went the next afternoon, and took an obscure lodging ; 
the next day I called at the castle and paid my respects to 
the governor, who invited me to dine with him at noon of 
the following day. He was an ideal soldier of the time ; 
tall, brawny, gray-headed, rough, full of strange oaths 
acquired here and there and yonder in the wars and 
treasured as if they were decorations. He had been used 
to the camp all his life, and to his notion war was God's 
best gift to man. He had his steel cuirass on, and wore 
boots that came above his knees, and was equipped with a 
huge sword ; and when I looked at this martial figure, and 
heard the' marvellous oaths and guessed how little of 
poetry and sentiment might be looked for in this quarter, I 


 e8 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

hoped the little peasant girl would not get the privilege of 
confronting this battery, but would have to content herself 
with the dictated letter. 

I came again to the castle the next day at noon, and 
was conducted to the great dining-hall and seated by the 
side of the governor at a small table which was raised a 
couple of steps higher than the general table. At the 
small table sat several other guests besides myself, and at 
the general table sat the chief officers of the garrison. At 
the entrance door stood a guard of halberdiers, in morion 
and breastplate. 

As for talk, there was but one topic, of course—the 
desperate situation of France. There was a rumour, some 
one said, that Salisbury was making preparations to march 
against Orleans. It raised a turmoil of excited conversa 
tion, and opinions fell thick and fast. Some believed he 
would march at once, others that he could not accomplish 
the investment before fall, others that the siege would be 
long, and bravely contested ; but upon one thing all voices 
agreed : that Orleans must eventually fall, and with it 
France. With that, the prolonged discussion ended, and 
there was silence. Every man seemed to sink himself in 
his own thoughts, and to forget where he was. This 
sudden and profound stillness, where before ]had been so 
much animation, was impressive and solemn. Now came 
a servant and whispered something to the governor, who 
said— 

' Would talk with me ? ' 

' Yes, your Excellency.' 

' H'm ! A strange idea, certainly. Bring them in.' 

It was Joan and her uncle Laxart. At the spectacle of 
the great people the courage oozed out of the poor old pea 
sant, and he stopped midway and would come no further, 
but remained there with his red nightcap crushed in his hands 
and bowing humbly here, there and everywhere, stupefied 
with embarrassment and fear. But Joan came steadily 
forward, erect and self-possessed, and stood before the 


JOAN OF ARC 


59 


governor. She recognized me, but in no way indicated it. 
There was a buzz of admiration, even the governor contri 
buting to it, for I heard him mutter, ' By God's grace, it 
is a beautiful creature ! ' He inspected her critically a 
moment or two, then said— 

' Well, what is your errand, my child ? ' 

' My message is to you, Robert de Baudricourt, governor 
of Vaucouleurs, and it is this : that you will send and tell 
the Dauphin to wait and not give battle to his enemies, for 
God will presently send him help.' 

This strange speech amazed the company, and many 
murmured, 'The poor young thing is demented." The 
governor scowled, and said— 

' What nonsense is this ? The King—or the Dauphin, 
as you call him—needs no message of that sort. He will 
wait—give yourself no uneasiness as to that. What further 
do you desire to say to me ? ' 

' This. To beg that you will give me an escort of men- 
at-arms and send me to the Dauphin.' 

'What for?' 

' That he may make me his general, for it is appointed 
that I shall drive the English out of France, and set the 
crown upon his head.' 

1 What—you ? Why, you are but a child ! ' 

' Yet am I appointed to do it, nevertheless.' 

' Indeed ? And when will all this happen ? ' 

' Next year he will be crowned, and after will remain 
master of France.' 

There was a great and general burst of laughter, and 
when it had subsided the governor said— 

' Who has sent you with these extravagant messages ? ' 

' My Lord.' 

'What Lord?' 

' The King of Heaven.' 

Many murmured. ' Ah, poor thing, poor thing ! ' and 
others, ' Ah, her mind is but a wreck ! ' The governor 
hailed Laxart, and said— 


 6o 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


i Harkye !—take this mad child home and whip her 
soundly. That is the best cure for her ailment.' 

As Joan was moving away she turned and said with 
simplicity— 

' You refuse me the soldiers, I know not why, for it is 
my Lord that has commanded you. Yes, it is He that has 
made the command ; therefore must I come again, and 
yet again : then I shall have the men-at-arms.' 

There was a great deal of wondering talk, after she 
was gone ; and the guards and servants passed the talk to 
the town, the town passed it to the country ; Domremy 
was already buzzing with it when we got back. 


CHAPTER IX 

HUMAN nature is the same everywhere : it deifies success, 
it has nothing but scorn for defeat. The village considered 
that Joan had disgraced it with her grotesque performance 
and its ridiculous failure ; so all the tongues were busy 
with the matter, and as bilious and bitter as they were busy; 
insomuch that if the tongues had been teeth she would not 
have survived her persecutions. Those persons who did 
not scold, did what was worse and harder to bear ; for 
they ridiculed her, and mocked at her, and ceased neither 
day nor night from their witticisms and jeeriiigs and 
laughter. Haumette and Little Mengette and I stood by 
her, but the storm was too strong for her other friends, 
and they avoided her, being ashamed to be seen with her 
because she was so unpopular, and because of the sting or 
the taunts that assailed them on her account. She shed 
tears in secret, but none in public. In public she carried 
herself with serenity, and showed no distress, nor any re 
sentment—conduct which should have softened the feeling 
against her, but it did not. Her father was so incensed 
that he could not talk in measured terms about her wild 
project of going to the wars like a man. He had dreamed 


JOAN OF ARC 


6t 


of her doing such a thing, some time before, and now he 
remembered that dream with apprehension and anger, and 
said that rather than see her unsex herself and go away 
with the armies, he would require her brothers to drown 
her ; and that if they should refuse, he would do it with 
his own hands. 

But none of these things shook her purpose in the least. 
Her parents kept a strict watch upon her to keep her from 
leaving the village, but she said her time was not yet ; that 
when the time to go was come she should know it, and 
then the keepers would watch in vain. 

The summer wasted along ; and when it was seen that 
her purpose continued steadfast, the parents were glad of a 
chance which finally offered itself for bringing her projects 
to an end through marriage. The Paladin had the effron 
tery to pretend that she had engaged herself to him several 
years before, and now he claimed a ratification of the en 
gagement. 

She said his statement was not true, and refused to 
marry him. She was cited to appear before the ecclesias 
tical court at Toul to answer for her perversity ; when she 
declined to have counsel, and elected to conduct her case 
herself, her parents and all her ill-wishers rejoiced, and 
looked upon her as already defeated. And that was 
natural enough ; for who would expect that an ignorant 
peasant girl of sixteen would be otherwise than frightened 
and tongue-tied when standing for the first time in presence 
of the practised doctors of the law, and surrounded by the 
cold solemnities of a court? Yet all these people were 
mistaken. They flocked to Toul to see and enjoy this 
fright and embarrassment and defeat, and they had their 
trouble for their pains. She was modest, tranquil, and 
quite at her ease. She called no witnesses, saying she 
would content herself with examining the witnesses for 
the prosecution. When they had testified, she rose and 
reviewed their testimony in a few words, pronounced it 
vague, confused, and of no force, then she placed the 


 62 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


Paladin again on the stand and began to search him. His 
previous testimony went rag by rag to ruin under her in 
genious hands, until at last he stood bare, so to speak, he 
that had come so richly clothed in fraud and falsehood. 
His counsel began an argument, but the court declined to 
hear it, and threw out the case, adding a few words of 
grave compliment for Joan, and referring to her as ' this 
marvellous child.' 

After this victory, with this high praise from so impos 
ing a source added, the fickle village turned again, and 
gave Joan countenance, compliment, and peace. Her 
mother took her back to her heart, and even her father 
relented and said he was proud of her. But the time hung 
heavy on her hands, nevertheless, for the siege of Orleans 
was begun, the clouds lowered darker and darker over 
France, and still her Voices said wait, and gave her no 
direct commands. The winter set in, and wore tediously 
along ; but at last there was a change. 


JOAN OF ARC 


BOOK II 

IN COURT AND CAMP 

CHAPTER I 

THE 5th of January, 1429, Joan came to me with her uncle 
Laxart, and said— 

''The time is come. My Voices are not vague now, 
but clear, and they have told me what to do. In two 
months I shall be with the Dauphin.' 

Her spirits were high, and her bearing martial. I 
caught the infection, and felt a great impulse stirring in 
me that was like what one feels when he hears the roll of 
the drums and the tramp of marching men. 

' I believe it,' I said. 

' I also believe it,' said Laxart. ' If she had told me 
before that she was commanded of God to rescue France, 
I should not have believed ; I should have let her seek the 
governor by her own ways and held myself clear of meddling 
in the matter, not doubting she was mad. But I have seen 
her stand before those nobles and mighty men unafraid, 
and say her say ; and she had not been able to do that 
but by the help of God. That I know. Therefore with all 
humbleness I am at her command, to do with me as she 
will.' 

' My uncle is very good to me,' Joan said. ' I sent and 
asked him to come and persuade my mother to let him 
take me home with him to tend his wife, who is not well. 
It is arranged, and we go at dawn to-morrow. From his 
house I shall go soon to Vaucouleurs, and wait and strive 


 64 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OP 


until my prayer is granted. Who were the two cavaliers 
who sat to your left at the governor's table that day ? ' 

' One was the Sieur Jean de Novelonpont de Metz, the 
other the Sieur Bertrand de.Poulengy." 

' Good metal—good metal, both. I marked them for 
men of mine. . . . What is it I see in your face ? Doubt ? ' 

I was teaching myself to speak the truth to her, not 
trimming it or polishing it ; so I said— 

' They considered you out of your head, and said so. 
It is true they pitied you for being in such misfortune, but 
still they held you to be mad.' 

This did not seem to trouble her in any way or wound 
her. She only said— 

' The wise change their minds when they perceive that 
they have been in error. These will. They will march 
with me. I shall see them presently. . . . You seem to 
doubt again ? Do you doubt ? ' 

' N—no. Not now. I was remembering that it was" a 
year ago, and that they did not belong there, but only 
chanced to stop a day on their journey.' 

'They will come again. But as to matters now in 
hand ; I came to leave with you some instructions. You 
will follow me in a few days. Order your affairs, for you 
will be absent long.' 

' Will Jean and Pierre go with me ? ' 

' No ; they would refuse now, but presently they will 
come, and with them they will bring my parents' blessing, 
and likewise their consent that I take up my mission. I 
shall be stronger then—stronger for that ; for lack of it I 
am weak now.' She paused a little while, and the tears 
gathered in her eyes ; then she went on : ' I would say 
good-bye to Little Mengette. Bring her outside the village 
at dawn ; she must go with me a little of the way—' 

' And Haumette ? ' 

She broke down and began to cry, saying— 

' No, oh, no—she is too dear to me ; I could not bear 
it, knowing I should never look upon her face again.' 


j _ 


The Governor keeps his promise to Joan 


 l 


JOAN OF ARC 


6:5 


Next morning I brought Mengette, and we four walked 
along the road in the cold dawn till the village was far 
behind ; then the two girls said their good-byes, clinging 
about each other's neck, and pouring out their grief in 
loving words and tears, a pitiful sight to see. And Joan 
took one long look back upon the distant village, and the 
Fairy Tree, and the oak forest, and the flowery plain, and 
the river, as if she was trying to print these scenes on her 
memory so that they would abide there always and not 
fade, for she knew she would not see them any more in 
this life ; then she turned, and went from us, sobbing 
bitterly. It was her birthday and mine. She was seven 
teen years old. 

CHAPTER II 

AFTER a few days, Laxart took Joan to Vaucouleurs, and 
found lodging and guardianship for her with Catherine 
Royer, a wheelwright's wife, an honest and good woman. 
Joan went to mass regularly, she helped do the housework, 
earning her keep in that way, and if any wished to talk 
with her about her mission—and many did—she talked 
freely, making no concealments regarding the matter now. 
I was soon housed near by, and witnessed the effects 
which followed. At once the tidings spread that a young 
girl was come who was appointed of God to save France. 
The common people flocked in crowds to look at her and 
speak with her, and her fair young loveliness won the half 
of their belief, and her deep earnestness and transparent 
sincerity won the other half. The well-to-do remained 
away and scoffed, but that is their way. 

Next, a prophecy of Merlin's, more than eight hundred 
years old, was called to mind, which said that in a far 
future time France would be lost by a woman and restored 
by a woman. France was now, for the first time, lost— 
and by a woman, Isabel of Bavaria, her base Queen ; 
doubtless this fair and pure young girl was commissioned 
of Heaven to complete the prophecy. 

F 


fr 


 66 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


67 


This gave the growing interest a new and powerful 
impulse ; the excitement rose higher and higher, and hope 
and faith along with it ; and so from Vaucouleurs wave 
after wave of this inspiring enthusiasm flowed out over 
the land, far and wide, invading all the villages and 
refreshing and revivifying the perishing children of France ; 
and from these villages came people who wanted to see 
for themselves, hear for themselves ; and they did see and 
hear, and believe. They filled the town ; they more than 
filled it ; inns and lodgings were packed, and yet half of 
the inflow had to go without shelter. And still they came, 
winter as it was, for when a man's soul is starving, what 
does he care for meat and roof so he can but get that 
nobler hunger fed ? Day after day, and still day after day, 
the great tide rose. Domremy was dazed, amazed, stupe 
fied, and said to itself, ' Was this world-wonder in our 
familiar midst all these years and we too dull to see it ? ' 
Jean and Pierre went out from the village stared at and 
envied like the great and fortunate of the earth, and their 
progress to Vaucouleurs was like a triumph, all the 
country side flocking to see and salute the brothers of one 
with whom angels had spoken face to face, and into whose 
hands by command of God they had delivered the destinies 
of France. 

The brothers brought the parents' blessing and God 
speed to Joan, and their promise to bring it to her in 
person later ; and so, with this culminating happiness in 
her heart and the high hope it inspired, she went and 
confronted the governor again. But he was no more 
tractable than he had been before. He refused to send 
her to the King. She was disappointed, but in no degree 
discouraged. She said— 

' I must still come to you until I get the men-at-arms ; 
for so it is commanded, and I may not disobey. I must go 
to the Dauphin, though I go on my knees.' 

I and the two brothers were with Joan daily, to see the 
people that came and hear what they said ; and one day, 


sure enough, the Sieur Jean de Metz came. He talked 
with her in a petting and playful way, as one talks with 
children, and said— 

' What are you doing here, my little maid ? Will they 
drive the King out of France, and shall we all turn 
English ? ' 

She answered him in her tranquil, serious way— 

' I am come to bid Robert de Baudricourt take or send 
me to the King, but he does not heed my words.' 

' Ah, you have an admirable persistence, truly ; a whole 
year has not turned you from your wish. I saw you when 
you came before.' 

Joan said, as tranquilly as before— 

' It is not a wish, it is a purpose. He will grant it. I 
can wait.' 

' Ah, perhaps it will not be wise to make too sure of 
that, my child. These governors are stubborn people to 
deal with. In case he shall not grant your prayer—' 

' He will grant it. He must. It is not matter of 
choice.' 

The gentleman's playful mood began to disappear—one 
could see that by his face. Joan's earnestness was affect 
ing him. It always happened that people who began in 
jest with her, ended by being in earnest. They soon began 
to perceive depths in her that they had not suspected ; and 
then her manifest sincerity and the rocklike steadfastness 
of her convictions were forces which cowed levity, and it 
could not maintain its self-respect in their presence. The 
Sieur de Metz was thoughtful for a moment or two, then 
he began, quite soberly— 

' Is it necessary that you go to the King soon ?—that 
is, I mean—' 

' Before Mid-Lent, even though I wear away my legs to 
the knees ! ' 

She said it with that sort of repressed fieriness that 
means so much when a person's heart is in a thing. You 
•could see the response in that nobleman's face ; you could 

F 2 


^ 


 63 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


see his eye light up ; there was sympathy there. He said, 
most earnestly— 

' God knows I think you should have the men-at-arms, 
and that somewhat would come of it. What is it that you 
would do ? What is your hope and purpose ? ' 

' To rescue France. And it is appointed that I shall 
do it. For no one else in the world, neither kings, nor 
dukes, nor any other, can recover the kingdom of France, 
and there is no help but in me.' 

The words had a pleading and pathetic sound, and 
they touched that good nobleman. I saw it plainly. Joan 
dropped her voice a little, and said : ' But indeed I would 
rather spin with my poor mother, for this is not my calling ; 
but I must go and do it, for it is my Lord's will.' 

' Who is your Lord ? ' 

' He is God.' 

Then the Sieur de Metz, following the impressive old 
feudal fashion, knelt and laid his hands within Joan's, in 
sign of fealty, and made oath that by God's help he him 
self would take her to the King. 

The next day came the Sieur Bertrand de Poulengy, 
and he also pledged his oath and knightly honour to abide 
with her and follow whithersoever she might lead. 

This day, too, toward evening, a great rumour went 
flying abroad through the town—namely, that the very 
governor himself was going to visit the young girl in her 
humble lodgings. So in the morning the streets and lanes 
were packed with people waiting to see if this strange thing 
would indeed happen. And happen it did. The governor 
rode in state, attended by his guards, and the news of it 
went everywhere, and made a great sensation, and modi 
fied the scoffings of the people of quality and raised Joan's 
credit higher than ever. 

The governor had made up his mind to one thing : 
Joan was either a witch or a saint, and he meant to find 
out which it was. So he brought a priest with him to 
exorcise the devil that was in her, in case there was one 


JOAN OF ARC 


69 


there. The priest performed his office, but found no devil. 
He merely hurt Joan's feelings and offended her piety with 
out need, for he had already confessed her before this, and 
should have known, if he knew anything, that devils can 
not abide the confessional, but utter cries of anguish and 
the most profane and furious cursings whenever they are 
confronted with that holy office. 

The governor went away troubled and full of thought, 
and not knowing what to do. And while he pondered and 
studied, several days went by and the I4th of February 
was come. Then Joan went to the castle and said— 

' In God's name, Robert de Baudricourt, you are too 
slow about sending me, and have caused damage thereby, 
for this day the Dauphin's cause has lost a battle near 
Orleans, and will suffer yet greater injury if you do not 
send me to him soon.' 

The governor was perplexed by this speech, and 
said— 

' To-day, child, to-day ? How can you know what has 
happened in that region to-day ? It would take eight or 
ten days for the word to come.' 

' My Voices have brought the word to me, and it is 
true. A battle was lost to-day, and you are in fault to 
delay me so.' 

The governor walked the floor a while, talking within 
himself, but letting a great oath fall outside now and then ; 
and finally he said— 

' Harkye ! go in peace and wait. If it shall turn out 
as you say, I will give you the letter and send you to the 
King, and not otherwise.' 

Joan said with fervour— 

' Now God be thanked, these waiting days are almost 
done. In nine days you will fetch me the letter.' 

Already the people of Vaucouleurs had given her a horse 
and had armed and equipped her as a soldier. She got no 
chance to try the horse and see if she could ride it, for her 
great first duty was to abide^at her post and lift up the 


 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


hopes and spirits of all who would come to talk with her, 
and prepare them to help in the rescue and regeneration of 
the kingdom. This occupied every waking moment she 
had. But it was no matter. There was nothing she could 
not learn—and in the briefest time, too. Her horse would 
find this out in the first hour. Meantime the brothers and 
I took the horse in turn and began to learn to ride. And 
we had teaching in the use of the sword and other arms, 
also. 

On the 2oth Joan called her small army together—the 
two knights and her two brothers and me—for a private 
council of war. No, it was not a council—that is not the 
right name, for she did not consult with us, she merely 
gave us orders. She mapped out the course she would 
travel toward the King, and did it like a person perfectly 
versed in geography ; and this itinerary of daily marches 
was so arranged as to avoid here and there peculiarly 
dangerous regions by flank movements—which showed 
that she knew her political geography as intimately as 
she knew her physical geography ; yet she had never had 
a day's schooling, of course, and was without education. 
I was astonished, but thought her Voices must have taught 
her. But upon reflection I saw that this was not so. By 
her references to what this and that and the other person 
had told her, I perceived that she had been diligently 
questioning those crowds of visiting strangers, and that 
out of them she had patiently dug all this mass of invalu 
able knowledge. The two knights were filled with wonder 
at her good sense and sagacity. 

She commanded us to make preparations to travel 
by night and sleep by day in concealment, as almost the 
whole of our long journey would be through the enemy's 
country. 

Also, she commanded that we should keep the date of 
our departure a secret, since she meant to get away unob 
served. Otherwise we should be sent off with a grand 
demonstration which would advertise us to the enemy, and 


JOAN OF ARC 71 

we should be ambushed and captured somewhere. Finally 
she said— 

' Nothing remains, now, but that I confide to you the 
date of our departure, so that you may make all needful 
preparation in time, leaving nothing to be done in haste 
and badly at the last moment. We march the 23rd, at 
eleven of the clock at night.' 

Then we were dismissed. The two knights were 
startled—yes, and troubled ; and the Sieur Bertrand said— 

' Even if the governor shall really furnish the letter and 
the escort, he still may not do it in time to meet the date 
she has chosen. Then how can she venture to name that 
date ? It is a great risk—a great risk to select and decide 
upon the date, in this state of uncertainty.' 

I said— 

' Since she has named the 23rd, we may trust her. 
The Voices have told her, I think. We shall do best to 
obey.' 

We did obey. Joan's parents were notified to come 
before the 23rd, but prudence forbade that they be told 
why this limit was named. 

All day, the 23rd, she glanced up wistfully whenever new 
bodies of strangers entered the house, but her parents did 
not appear. Still she was not discouraged, but hoped on. 
But when night fell, at last, her hopes perished, and the 
tears came ; however, she dashed them away, and said— 

' It was to be so, no doubt ; no doubt it was so ordered ; 
I must bear it, and will.' 

De Metz tried to comfort her by saying— 

' The governor sends no word ; it may be that they will 
come to-morrow, and—' 

He got no further, for she interrupted him, saying— 

' To what good end ? We start at eleven to-night,' 

And it was so. At ten the governor came, with his 
guard and torch-bearers, and delivered to her a mounted 
escort of men-at-arms, with horses and equipments for me 
and for the brothers, and gave Joan a letter to the King, 


 72 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

Then he took off his sword, and belted it about her waist 
with his own hands, and said— 

' You said true, child. The battle was lost, on the day 
you said. So I have kept my word. Now go—come of 
it what may.' 

Joan gave him thanks, and he went his way. 

The lost battle was the famous disaster that is called 
in history the Battle of the Herrings. 

All the lights in the house were at once put out, and a 
little while after, when the streets had become dark and 
still, we crept stealthily through them and out at the west 
ern gate and rode away under whip and spur. 


CHAPTER III 

WE were twenty-five strong, and well equipped. We rode 
in double file, Joan and her brothers in the centre of the 
column, with Jean de Metz at the head of it and the Sieur 
Bertrand at its extreme rear. The knights were so placed 
to prevent desertions—for the present. In two or three 
hours we should be in the enemy's country, and then none 
would venture to desert. By-and-bye we began to hear 
groans and sobs and execrations from different points along 
the line, and upon inquiry found that six of our men were 
peasants who had never ridden a horse before, and were 
finding it very difficult to stay in their saddles, and more 
over were now beginning to suffer considerable bodily 
torture. They had been seized by the governor at the last 
moment and pressed into the service to make up the tale, 
and he had placed a veteran alongside of each with orders 
to help him stick to the saddle, and kill him if he tried to 
desert. 

These poor devils had kept quiet as long as they could, 
but their physical miseries were become so sharp by this 
time that they were obliged to give them vent. But we 
were within the enemy's country now, so there was no help 
for them ; they must continue the march, though Joan said 


JOAN OF ARC 


73 


that if they chose to take the risk they might depart. They 
preferred to stay with us. We modified our pace now, and 
moved cautiously, and the new men were warned to keep 
their sorrows to themselves and not get the command into 
danger with their curses and lamentations. 

Toward dawn we rode deep into a forest, and soon all 
but the sentries were sound asleep in spite of the cold 
ground and the frosty air. 

I woke at noon out of such a solid and stupefying sleep 
that at first my wits were all astray, and I did not know 
where I was nor what had been happening. Then my 
senses cleared, and I remembered. As I lay there thinking 
over the strange events of the past month or two the 
thought came into my mind, greatly surprising me, that 
one of Joan's prophecies had failed ; for where were Noël 
and the Paladin, who were to join us at the eleventh hour ? 
By this time, you see, I had gotten used to expecting 
everything Joan said to come true. So, being disturbed 
and troubled by these thoughts, I opened my eyes. Well, 
there stood the Paladin leaning against a tree and looking 
down on me I How often that happens : you think of a 
person, or speak of a person, and there he stands before 
you, and you not dreaming he is near. It looks as if his 
being near is really the thing that makes you think of him, 
and not just an accident, as people imagine. Well, be that 
as it may, there was the Paladin, anyway, looking down 
in my face and waiting for me to wake. I was ever so 
glad to see him, and jumped up and shook him by the 
hand, and led him a little way from the camp—he limping 
like a cripple—and told him to sit down, and said— 

' Now, where have you dropped down from ? And how 
did you happen to light in this place ? And what do the 
soldier-clothes mean ? Tell me all about it.' 

He answered— 

' I marched with you last night.' 

' No \ ' (To myself I said, ' The prophecy has not all 
failed—half of it has come true.') 


 74 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' Yes, I did. I hurried up from Domremy to join, and 
was within a half a minute of being too late. In fact, I 
was too late, but I begged so hard that the governor was 
touched by my brave devotion to my country's cause— 
those are the words he used—and so he yielded, and allowed 
me to come.' 

I thought to myself, this is a lie ; he is one of those six 
the governor recruited by force at the last moment ; I 
know it, for Joan's prophecy said he would join at the 
eleventh hour, but not by his own desire. Then I said 
aloud— 

' I am glad you came ; it is a noble cause, and one 
should not sit at home in times like these.' 

' Sit at home ! I could no more do it than the thunder- 
stone could stay hid in the clouds when the storm calls it.' 

' That is the right talk. It sounds like you.' 

That pleased him. 

' I'm glad you know me. Some don't. But they will, 
presently. They will know me well enough before I get 
done with this war.' 

' That is what I think. I believe that wherever danger 
confronts you you will make yourself conspicuous." 

He was charmed with this speech, and it swelled him 
up like a bladder. He said— 

' If I know myself—and I think I do—my performances 
in this campaign will give you occasion more than once to 
remember those words.' 

' I were a fool to doubt it. That, I know.' 

' I shall not be at my best, being but a common soldier ; 
still, the country will hear of me. If I were where I 
belong ; if I were in the place of La Hire, or Saiiitrailles, 
or the Bastard of Orleans—well, I say nothing, I am not 
of the talking kind, like Noël Raiiiguesson and his sort, I 
thank God. But it will be something, I take it—a novelty 
in this world, I should say—to raise the fame of a private 
soldier above theirs, and extinguish the glory of their names 
with its shadow.' 


JOAN OF ARC 


75 


, ' Why, look here, my friend,' I said, ' do you know that 
you have hit out a most remarkable idea there ? Do you 
realise the gigantic proportions of it ? For look you : to be 
a general of vast renown, what is that ? Nothing—history 
is clogged and confused with them ; one cannot keep their 
names in his memory, there are so many. But a common 
soldier of supreme renown—why, he would stand alone ! 
He would be the one moon in a firmament of mustard-seed 
stars ; his name would outlast the human race ! My friend, 
who gave you that idea ? ' 

He was ready to burst with happiness, but he sup 
pressed betrayal of it as well as he could. He simply 
waved the compliment aside with his hand and said, with 
complacency— 

' It is nothing. I have them often—ideas like that— 
and even greater ones. I do not consider this one much.' 
' You astonish me ; you do indeed. So it is really your 
own?' 

' Quite. And there is plenty more where it came from ' 
—tapping his head with his finger, and taking occasion at 
the same time to cant his morion over his right ear, which 
gave him a very self-satisfied air—' I do not need to borrow 
my ideas, like Noël Rainguesson.' 

' Speaking of Noël, when did you see him last ? ' 
' Half an hour ago. He is sleeping yonder like a corpse. 
Rode with us last night.' 

I felt a great upleap in my heart, and said to myself, 
now I am at rest and glad ; I will never doubt her prophecies 
again. Then I said aloud— 

' It gives me joy. It makes me proud of our village. 
There is no keeping our lion-hearts at home in these great 
times, I see that.' 

' Lion-heart ! Who—that baby ? Why, he begged 
like a dog to be let off. Cried, and said he wanted to go 
to his mother. Him a lion-heart !—that tumble-bug ! ' 

' Dear me, why I supposed he volunteered, of course. 
Didn't he ? ' 


 76 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' Oh yes, volunteered the way people do to the heads 
man. Why, when he found I was coming up from 
Domremy to volunteer, he asked me to let him come along 
in my protection, and see the crowds and the excitement. 
Well, we arrived and saw the torches filing out at the 
Castle, and ran there, and the governor had him seized, 
along with four more, and he begged to be let off, and I 
begged for his place, and at last the governor allowed me 
to join, but wouldn't let Noël off, because he was disgusted 
with him, he was such a cry-baby. Yes, and much good 
he'll do the King's service : he'll eat for six and run for 
sixteen. I hate a pigmy with half a heart and nine 
stomachs ! ' 

' Why, this is very surprising news to me, and I am 
sorry and disappointed to hear it. I thought he was a very 
manly fellow.' 

The Paladin gave me an outraged look, and said : 
' I don't see how you can talk like that, I'm sure I don't. 
I don't see how you could have got such a notion. I don't 
dislike him, and I'm not saying these things out of pre 
judice, for I don't allow myself to have prejudices against 
people. I like him, and have always comraded with him 
from the cradle, but he must allow me to speak my mind 
about his faults, and I am willing he shall speak his about 
mine, if I have any. And true enough, maybe I have ; 
but I reckon they'll bear inspection—I have that idea, any 
way. A manly fellow ! You should have heard him 
whine and wail and swear, last night, because the saddle 
hurt him. Why didn't the saddle hurt me ? Pooh—I was 
as much at home in it as if I had been bom there. And 
yet it was the first time I was ever on a horse. All those 
old soldiers admired my riding ; they said they had never 
seen anything like it. But him—why, they had to hold 
him on, all the time.' 

An odour as of breakfast came stealing through the 
wood ; the Paladin unconsciously inflated his nostrils in 


JOAN OF ARC 


77 


lustful response, and got up and limped painfully away, 
saying he must go and look to his horse. 

At bottom he was all right and a good-hearted giant, 
without any harm in him, for it is no harm to bark, if one 
stops there and does not bite, and it is no harm to be an 
ass, if one is content to bray and not kick. If this vast 
structure of brawn and muscle and vanity and foolishness 
seemed to have a libellous tongue, what of it ? There was 
no malice behind it ; and besides, the defect was not of his 
own creation ; it was the work of Noël Rainguesson, who 
had nurtured it, fostered it, built it up and perfected it, for 
the entertainment he got out of it. His careless light heart 
had to have somebody to nag and chaff and make fun of ; 
the Paladin had only needed development in order to meet 
his requirements, consequently the development was taken 
in hand and diligently attended to and looked after, gnat- 
aiid-bull fashion, for years, to the neglect and damage of 
far more important concerns. The result was an unqualified 
success. Noël prized the society of the Paladin above 
everybody else's ; the Paladin preferred anybody's to Noel's. 
The big fellow was often seen with the little fellow, but it 
was for the same reason that the bull is often seen with the 
gnat. 

With the first opportunity, 1 had a talk with Noël. I 
welcomed him to our expedition, and said— 

' It was fine and brave of you to volunteer, Noël.' 
His eye twinkled, and he answered— 
' Yes, it was rather fine I think. Still, the credit doesn't 
all belong to me ; I had help.' 
' Who helped you ? ' 
'The governor.' 
'How?' 

' Well, I'll tell you the whole thing. I came up from 
Domremy to see the crowds and the general show, for I 
hadn't ever had any experience of such things, of course, 
and this was a great opportunity ; but I hadn't any mind 
to volunteer. I overtook the Paladin on the road and let 


 78 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

him have my company the rest of the way,'although he did 
not want it and said so ; and while we were gawking and 
blinking in the glare of the governor's torches they seized 
us and four more and added us to the escort, and that is 
really how I came to volunteer. But after all, I wasn't 
sorry, remembering how dull life would have been in the 
village without the Paladin.' 

' How did he feel about it ? Was he satisfied ? ' 
' I think he was glad.' 
' Why ? ' 

' Because he said he wasn't. He was taken by surprise, 
you see, and it is not likely that he could tell the truth 
without preparation. Not that he would have prepared, if 
he had had the chance, for I do not think he would. I am 
not charging him with that. In the same space of time 
that he could prepare to speak the truth, he could also 
prepare to lie ; besides, his judgment would be cool then, 
and would warn him against fooling with new methods in 
an emergency. No, I am sure he was glad, because he 
said he wasn't.' 

' Do you think he was very glad ? ' 
' Yes, I know he was. He begged like a slave, and 
bawled for his mother. He said his health was delicate, 
and he didn't know how to ride a horse, and knew he 
couldn't outlive the first march. But really he wasn't look 
ing as delicate as he was feeling. There was a cask of 
wine there, a proper lift for four men. The governor's 
temper got afire, and he delivered an oath at him that 
knocked up the dust where it struck the ground, and told 
him to shoulder that cask or he would carve him to cutlets 
and send him home in a basket. The Paladin did it, and 
that secured his promotion to a privacy in the escort with 
out any further debate.' 

' Yes, you seem to make it quite plain that he was glad 
to join—that is, if your premises are right that you start 
from. How did he stand the march last night ? ' 

' About as I did. If he made the more noise, it was 


JOAN OF ARC 


79 


the privilege of his bulk. We stayed in our saddles 
because we had help. We are equally lame to-day, and if 
he likes to sit down, let him ; I prefer to stand.' 


CHAPTER IV 

WE were called to quarters and subjected to a searching 
inspection by Joan. Then she made a short little talk in 
which she said that even the rude business of war could be 
conducted better without profanity and other brutalities of 
speech than with them, and that she should strictly require 
us to remember and apply this admonition. She ordered 
half an hour's horsemanship-drill for the novices then, 
and appointed one of the veterans to conduct it. It was a 
ridiculous exhibition, but we learned something, and Joan 
was satisfied and complimented us. She did not take any 
instruction herself or go through the evolutions and 
manœuvres, but merely sat her horse like a martial little 
statue and looked on. That was sufficient for her, you 
see. She would not miss or forget a detail of the lesson, 
she would take it all in with her eye and her mind, and 
apply it afterward with as much certainty and confidence 
as if she had already practised it. 

We now made three night-marches of twelve or thirteen 
leagues each, riding in peace and undisturbed, being taken 
for a roving band of Free Companions. Countryfolk were 
glad to have that sort of people go by without stopping. 
Still, they were very wearing marches, and not comfortable, 
for the bridges were few and the streams many, and as we 
had to ford them we found the water dismally cold, and 
afterward had to bed ourselves, still wet, on the frosty or 
snowy ground, and get warm as we might and sleep if we 
could, for it would not have been prudent to build fires. 
Our energies languished under these hardships and deadly 
fatigues, but Joan's did not. Her step kept its spring and 
firmness and her eye its fire We could only wonder at 
this, we could not explain it. 


 "fi 

li i. 


8o PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

But if we had had hard times before, I know not what 
to call the five nights that now followed, for the marches 
were as fatiguing, the baths as cold, and we were ambus 
caded seven times in addition, and lost two novices and three 
veterans in the resulting fights. The news had leaked out 
and gone abroad that the inspired Virgin of Vaucouleurs 
was making for the King with an escort, and all the roads 
were being watched now. 

These five nights disheartened the command a good 
deal. This was aggravated by a discovery which Noël 
made, and which he promptly made known at headquarters. 
Some of the men had been trying to understand why Joan 
continued to be alert, vigorous, and confident while the 
strongest men in the company were fagged with the heavy 
marches and exposure and were become morose and irri 
table. There, it shows you how men can have eyes and 
yet not see. All their lives those men had seen their own 
womenfolks hitched up with a cow and dragging the plough 
in the fields while the men did the driving. They had also 
seen other evidences that women have far more endurance 
and patience and fortitude than men—but what good had 
their seeing these things been to them ? None. It had 
taught them nothing. They were still surprised to see a 
girl of seventeen bear the fatigues of war better than trained 
veterans of the army. Moreover, they did not reflect that 
a great soul, with a great purpose, can make a weak body 
strong and keep it so ; and here was the greatest soul in 
the universe ; but how could they know that, those dumb 
creatures ? No, they knew nothing, and their reasonings 
were of a piece with their ignorance. They argued and 
discussed among themselves, with Noël listening, and 
arrived at the decision that Joan was a witch, and had 
her strange pluck and strength from Satan ; so they 
made a plan to watch for a safe opportunity and take her 
life. 

To have secret plottings of this sort going on in our 
midst was a very serious business, of course, and the 


JOAN OF ARC 


81 


knights asked Joan's permission to hang the plotters, but 
she refused without hesitancy. She said : 

' Neither these men nor any others can take my life 
before my mission is accomplished, therefore why should I 
have their blood upon my hands ? I will inform them of 
this, and also admonish them. Call them before me.' 

When they came she made that statement to them in a 
plain matter-of-fact way, and just as if the thought never 
entered her mind that any one could doubt it after she had 
given her word that it was true. The men were evidently 
amazed and impressed to hear her say such a thing in such 
a sure and confident way, for prophecies boldly uttered 
never fall barren on superstitious ears. Yes, this speech 
certainly impressed them, but her closing remark impressed 
them still more. It was for the ringleader, and Joan said 
it sorrowfully— 

' It is a pity that you should plot another's death when 
your own is so close at hand.' 

That man's horse stumbled and fell on him in the 
first ford which we crossed that night, and he was 
drowned before we could help him. We had no more 
conspiracies. 

This night was harassed with ambuscades, but we got 
through without having any men killed. One more night 
would carry us over the hostile frontier if we had good 
luck, and we saw the night close down with a good deal of 
solicitude. Always before, we had been more or less re 
luctant to start out into the gloom and the silence to be 
frozen in the fords and persecuted by the enemy, but this 
time we were impatient to get under way and have it over, 
although there was promise of more and harder fighting 
than any of the previous nights had furnished. Moreover, 
in front of us about three leagues there was a deep stream 
with a frail wooden bridge over it, and as a cold rain 
mixed with snow had been falling steadily all day we 
were anxious to find out whether we were in a trap or 

G 


 82 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

not. If the swollen stream had washed away the bridge, 
we might properly consider ourselves trapped and cut off 
from escape. 

As soon as it was dark we filed out from the depths of 
the forest where we had been hidden and began the march. 
From the time that we had begun to encounter ambushes 
Joan had ridden at the head of the column, and she took 
this post now. By the time we had gone a league the 
rain and snow had turned to sleet, and under the impulse 
of the stormwind it lashed my face like whips, and I envied 
Joan and the knights who could close their visors and 
shut up their heads in their helmets as in a box. Now, out 
of the pitchy darkness and close at hand, came the sharp 
command— 

' Halt ! ' 

We obeyed. I made out a dim mass in front of us 
which might be a body of horsemen, but one could not 
be sure. A man rode up and said to Joan in a tone of 

reproof— 

' Well, you have taken your time, truly. And what have 
you found out ? Is she still behind us, or in front ? ' 

Joan answered in a level voice— 

' She is still behind.' 

This news softened the stranger's tone. He said— 

' If you know that to be true, you have not lost your 
time, Captain. But are you sure ? How do you know ? ' 

' Because I have seen her.' 

' Seen her ! Seen the Virgin herself? ' 

' Yes, I have been in her camp.' 

' Is it possible ! Captain Raymond, I ask you to pardon 
me for speaking in that tone just now. You have per 
formed a daring and admirable service. Where was she 

camped ? ' 

' In the forest, not more than a league from here.' 

' Good ! I was afraid we might be still behind her, but 

now that we know she is behind us, everything is safe. 

She is our~game. We will hang her. You shall hang her 


JOAN OF ARC 83 

yourself. No one has so well earned the privilege of 
abolishing this pestilent limb of Satan.' 

' I do not know how to thank you sufficiently. If we 
catch her, I—' 

'If ! I will take care of that ; give yourself no uneasi 
ness. All I want is just a look at her, to see what the imp 
is like that has been able to make all this noise, then 
you and the halter may have her. How many men has 
she?' 

' I counted but eighteen, but she may have had two or 
three pickets out.' 

' Is that all ? It won't be a mouthful for my force. Is 
it true that she is only a girl ? ' 

' Yes ; she is not more than seventeen.' 

'It passes belief ! Is she robust, or slender ? ' 

' Slender.' 

The officer pondered a moment or two, then he said : 

' Was she preparing to break camp ? ' 

' Not when I had my last glimpse of her.' 

' What was she doing ? ' 

' She was talking quietly with an officer.' 

' Quietly ? Not giving orders ? ' 

' No, talking as quietly as we are now.' 

' That is good. She is feeling a false security. She 
would have been restless and fussy else—it is the way of 
her sex when danger is about. As she was making no 
preparation to break camp,—' 

' She certainly was not when I saw her last.' 

'—and was chatting quietly and at her ease, it means 
that this weather is not to her taste. Night-marching in 
sleet and wind is not for chits of seventeen. No ; she 
will stay where she is. She has my thanks. We will 
camp, ourselves ; here is as good a place as any. Let us 
get about it.' 

' If you command it—certainly. But she has two knights 
with her. They might force her to march, particularly if 
the weather should improve.' 


 84 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


I was scared, and impatient to be getting out of this 
peril, and it distressed and worried me to have Joan ap 
parently set herself to work to make delay and increase the 
danger—still, I thought she probably knew better than I 
what to do. The officer said— 

' Well, in that case we are here to block the way.' 

' Yes, if they come this way. But if they should send 
out spies, and find out5enough to make them want to try 
for the bridge through the woods ? Is it best to allow the 
bridge to stand ? ' 

It made me shiver to hear her. 

The officer considered a while, then said : 

' It might be well enough to send a force to destroy the 
bridge. I was intending to occupy it with the whole com 
mand, but that is not necessary now.' 

Joan said, tranquilly— 

' With your permission, I will go and destroy it 

myself.' 

Ah, now I saw her idea, and was glad she had had 
the cleverness to invent it and the ability to keep her 
head cool and think of it in that tight place. The officer 
replied— 

' You have it, Captain, and my thanks. With you to 
do it, it will be well done ; I could send another in your 
place, but not a better.' 

They saluted, and we moved forward. I breathed freer. 
A dozen times I had imagined I heard the hoof-beats of the 
real Captain Raymond's troop arriving behind us, and had 
been sitting on pins and needles all the while that that con 
versation was dragging along. I breathed freer, but was 
still not comfortable, for Joan had given only the simple 
command, ' Forward ! ' Consequently we moved in a walk. 
Moved in a dead walk past a dim and lengthening column 
of enemies at our side. The suspense was exhausting, yet 
it lasted but a short while, for when the enemy's bugles 
sang the ' Dismount ! ' Joan gave the word to trot, and 
that was a great relief to me. She was always at herself, 


JOAN OF ARC 85 

you see. Before the command to dismount had been given 
somebody might have wanted the countersign somewhere 
along that line if we came flying by at speed, but now we 
seemed to be on our way to our allotted camping position, 
so we were allowed to pass unchallenged. The further we 
went the more formidable was the strength revealed by 
the hostile force. Perhaps it was only a hundred or two, 
but to me it seemed a thousand. When we passed the 
last of these people I was thankful, and the deeper we 
ploughed into the darkness beyond them the better I felt. 
I came nearer and nearer to feeling good, for an hour ; 
then we found the bridge still standing, and I felt entirely 
good. We crossed it and destroyed it, and then I felt— 
but .1 cannot describe what I felt. One has to feel it 
himself in order to know what it is like. 

We had expected to hear the rush of a pursuing force 
behind us, for we thought that the real Captain Raymond 
would arrive and suggest that perhaps the troop that had 
been mistaken for his belonged .to the Virgin of Vaucou- 
leurs ; but he must have been delayed seriously, for when 
we resumed our march beyond the river there were no 
sounds behind us except those which the storm was 
furnishing. 

I said that Joan 'had harvested a good many compli 
ments intended for Captain Raymond, and that he would 
find nothing of a crop left but a dry stubble of reprimands 
when he got back, and a commander just in the humour to 
superintend the gathering of it in. 

Joan said : 

' It will be as you say, no doubt ; for the commander 
took a troop for granted, in the night and unchallenged, 
and would have camped without sending a force to destroy 
the bridge if he had been left unadvised, and none are so 
ready to find fault with others as those who do things 
worthy of blame themselves. 

The Sieur Bertrand was amused at Joan's naïve way of 
referring to her advice as if it had been a valuable present 


 [(l 


86 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


to a hostile leader who was saved by it from making a cen 
surable blunder of omission, and then he went on to admire 
how ingeniously she had deceived that man and yet had 
not told him anything that was not the truth. This trou 
bled Joan, and she said— 

' I thought he was deceiving himself. I forbore to tell 
him lies, for that would have been wrong ; but if my truths 
deceived him, perhaps that made them lies, and I am to 
blame. I would God I knew if I have done wrong.' 

She was assured that she had done right, and that in the 
perils and necessities of war deceptions that help one's own 
cause and hurt the enemy's were always permissible ; but 
she was not quite satisfied with that, and thought that even 
when a great cause was in danger, one ought to have the 
privilege of trying honourable ways first. Jean said— 

'Joan, you told us yourself that you were going to 
Uncle Laxart's to nurse his wife, but you didn't say you 
were going further, yet you did go on to Vaucouleurs. 
There ! ' 

' I see, now,' said Joan sorrowfully, ' I told no lie, y et I 
deceived. I had tried all other ways first, but I could not 
get away, and I had to get away. My mission required it. 
I did wrong, I think, and am to blame.' 

She was silent a moment, turning the matter over in her 
mind, then she added with quiet decision, ' But the thing 
itself was right, and I would do it again.' 

It seemed an over-nice distinction, but nobody said any 
thing. If we had known her as well as she knew herself, 
and as her later history revealed her to us, we should have 
perceived that she had a clear meaning there, and that her 
position was not identical with ours, as we were supposing, 
but occupied a higher plane. She would sacrifice herself— 
and her test self; that is, her truthfulness—to save her 
cause ; but only that : she would not buy her life at that 
cost ; whereas our war-ethics permitted the purchase of our 
lives, or any mere military advantage, small or great, by 
deception. Her saying seemed a commonplace at that time, 


JOAN OF ARC 87 

the essence of its meaning escaping us ; but one sees, now, 
that it contained a principle which lifted it above that and 
made it great and fine. 

Presently the wind died down, the sleet stopped falling, 
and the cold was less severe. The road was become a bog, 
and the horses laboured through it at a walk—they could 
do no better. As the heavy time wore on, exhaustion over 
came us, and we slept in our saddles. Not even the 
dangers that threatened us could keep us awake. 

This tenth night seemed longer than any of the others, 
and of course it was the hardest, because we had been ac 
cumulating fatigue from the beginning, and had more of it 
on hand now than at any previous time. But we were not 
molested again. When the dull dawn came at last we saw 
a river before us and knew we it was the Loire ; we entered 
the town of Gien, and knew we were in a friendly land, 
with the hostiles all behind us. That was a glad morning 
for us. 

We were a worn and bedraggled and shabby-looking 
troop ; and still, as always, Joan was the freshest of us all, 
in both body and spirits. We had averaged above thirteen 
leagues a night, by tortuous and wretched roads. It was 
a remarkable march, and shows what men can do when 
they have a leader with a determined purpose and a resolu 
tion that never flags. 


CHAPTER V 

WE rested and otherwise refreshed ourselves two or three 
hours at Gien, but by that time the news was abroad that 
the young girl commissioned of God to deliver France was 
come ; wherefore, such a press of people flocked to our 
quarters to get sight ]of her that it seemed best to seek 
a quieter place ; so we pushed on and halted at a small 
village called Fierbois. 

We were now within six leagues of the King, who was 


 88 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


at the Castle of Chinon. Joan dictated a letter to him at 
once, and I wrote it. In it she said she had come a hundred 
and fifty leagues to bring him good news, and begged the 
privilege of delivering it in person. She added that although 
she had never seen him, she would know him in any disguise 
and would point him out. 

The two knights rode away at once with the letter. The 
troop slept all the afternoon, and after supper we felt pretty 
fresh and fine, especially our little group of young Dom- 
remians. We had the comfortable taproom of the village 
inn to ourselves, and for the first time in ten unspeakably 
long days were exempt from bodings and terrors and hard 
ships and fatiguing labours. The Paladin was suddenly 
become his ancient self again, and was swaggering up and 
down, a very monument of self-complacency. Noël Rain- 
guesson said— 

' I think it is wonderful, the way he has brought us 
through.' 

' Who ? ' asked Jean. 

' Why, the Paladin.' 

The Paladin seemed not to hear. 

' What had he to do with it ? ' asked Pierre d'Arc. 

' Everything. It was nothing but Joan's confidence in 
his discretion that enabled her to keep up her heart. She 
could depend on us and on herself for valour, but discretion 
is the winning thing in war, after all ; discretion is the rarest 
and loftiest of qualities, and he has got more of it than any 
other man in France—more of it, perhaps, than any other 
sixty men in France.' 

' Now you are getting ready to make a fool of yourself, 
Noël Rainguesson,' said the Paladin, ' and you want to 
coil some of that long tongue of yours around your neck 
and stick the end of it in your ear, then you'll be the less 
likely to get into trouble.' 

' I didn't know he had more discretion than other people,' 
said Pierre, ' for discretion argues brains, and he hasn't any 
more brains than the rest of us, in my opinion.' 


JOAN OF ARC 


89 


' No, you are wrong there. Discretion hasn't anything 
to do with brains ; brains are an obstruction to it, for 
it does not reason, it feels. Perfect discretion means 
absence of brains. Discretion is a quality of the heart— 
solely a quality of the heart ; it acts upon us through feeling. 
We know this because if it were an intellectual quality, it 
would only perceive a danger, for instance, where a danger 
exists ; whereas—' 

' Hear him twaddle—the damned idiot ! ' muttered the 
Paladin. 

'—whereas, it being purely a quality of the heart, and 
proceeding by feeling, not reason, its reach is correspond 
ingly wider and sublimer, enabling it to perceive and avoid 
dangers that haven't any existence at all ; as for instance 
that night in the fog, when the Paladin took his horse's 
ears for hostile lances and got off and climbed a tree—' 

' It's a lie ! a lie without shadow of foundation, and I 
call upon you all to beware how you give credence to the 
malicious inventions of this ramshackle slander-mill that 
has been doing its best to destroy my character for years, 
and will grind up your own reputations for you, next. I 
got off to tighten my saddle-girth—I wish I may die in my 
tracks if it isn't so—and whoever wants to believe it can, 
and whoever don't, can let it alone.' 

' There, that is the way with him, you see ; he never can 
discuss a theme temperately, but always flies off the handle 
and becomes disagreeable. And you notice his defect of 
memory. He remembers getting off his horse, but forgets 
all the rest, even the tree. But that is natural ; he would 
remember getting off the horse because he was so used to 
doing it. He always did it when there was an alarm and 
the clash of arms at the front.' 

' Why did he choose that time for it? ' asked Jean. 

' I don't know. To tighten up his girth, he thinks ; to 
climb a tree, / think ; I saw him climb nine trees in a single 
night.' 

' You saw nothing of the kind ! A person that can lie 


 go PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

like that deserves no one's respect. I ask you all to answer 
me. Do you believe what this reptile has said ? ' 

All seemed embarrassed, and only Pierre replied. He 
said, hesitatingly— 

' I—well, I hardly know what to say. It is a delicate 
situation. It seems offensive to refuse to believe a person 
when he makes so direct a statement, and yet I am obliged 
to say, rude as it may appear, that I am not able to believe 
the whole of it—no, I am not able to believe that you climbed 
nine trees.' 

' There ! ' cried the Paladin ; ' now what do you think 
of yourself, Noël Rainguesson ? How many do you believe 
I climbed, Pierre ? ' 

' Only eight.' 

The laughter that followed inflamed the Paladin's anger 
to white heat, and he said— 

' I bide my time—I bide my time. I will reckon with 
you all, I promise you that ! ' 

' Don't get him started,' Noël pleaded ; ' he is a perfect 
lion when he gets started. I saw enough to teach me that, 
after the third skirmish. After it was over I saw him come 
out of the bushes and attack a dead man single-handed.' 

' It is another lie ; and I give you fair warning that you 
are going too far. You will see me attack a live one if 
you are not careful.' 

' Meaning me, of course. This wounds me more than 
any number of injurious and unkind speeches could do. 
Ingratitude to one's benefactor—' 

' Benefactor ? What do I owe you, I should like to 
know ? ' 

' You owe me your life. I stood between the trees and 
the foe, and kept hundreds and thousands of the enemy 
at bay when they were thirsting for your blood. And I did 
not do it to display my daring, I did it because I loved you 
and could not live without you.' 

' There—you have said enough ! I will not stay here 
to listen to these infamies. I can endure your lies, but not 


JOAN OF ARC 91 

your love. Keep that corruption for somebody with a 
stronger stomach than mine. And I want to say this, 
before I go. That you people's small performances might 
appear the better and win you the more glory, I hid my own 
deeds through all the march. I went always to the front, 
where the fighting was thickest, to be remote from you, in 
order that you might not see and be discouraged by the 
things I did to the enemy. It was my purpose to keep this 
a secret in my own breast, but you force me to reveal it. 
If you ask for my witnesses, yonder they lie, on the road 
we have come. I found that road mud, I paved it with 
corpses. I found that country sterile, I fertilised it with 
blood. Time and again I was urged to go to the rear 
because the command could not proceed on account of my 
dead. And yet you, you miscreant, accuse me of climbing 
trees ! Pah ! ' 

And he strode out, with a lofty air, for the recital of his 
imaginary deeds had already set him up again and made 
him feel good. 

Next day we mounted and faced toward Chinon. 
Orleans was at our back, now, and close by, lying in the 
strangling grip of the English ; soon, please God, we 
would face about and go to their relief. From Gien the news 
had spread to Orleans that the peasant Maid of Vaucouleurs 
was on her way, divinely commissioned to raise the siege. 
The news made a great excitement and raised a great hope 
—the first breath of hope those poor souls had breathed in 
five months. They sent commissioners at once to the 
King to beg him to consider this matter, and not throw this 
help lightly away. These commissioners were already at 
Chinon by this time. 

When we were half-way to Chinon we happened upon 
yet one more squad of enemies. They burst suddenly out 
of the woods, and in considerable force, too ; but we were 
not the apprentices we were ten or twelve days before ; no, 
we were seasoned to this kind of adventure now ; our 
hearts did not jump into our throats and our weapons 


••v 'II 


 92 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

tremble in our hands. We had learned to be always in 
battle array, always alert, and always ready to deal with 
any emergency that might turn up. We were no more 
dismayed by the sight of those people than our commander 
was. Before they could form, Joan had delivered the order, 
' Forward ! ' and we were down upon them with a rush. 
They stood no chance ; they turned tail and scattered, we 
ploughing through them as if they had been men of straw. 
That was our last ambuscade, and it was probably laid for 
us by that treacherous rascal the King's own minister and 
favourite, De la Tremouille. 

We housed ourselves in an inn, and soon the town 
came flocking to get a glimpse of the Maid. 

Ah, the tedious King and his tedious people ! Our 
two good knights came presently, their patience well 
wearied, and reported. They and we reverently stood— 
as becomes persons who are in the presence of Kings and 
the superiors of Kings—until Joan, troubled by this mark 
of homage and respect, and not content with it nor yet 
used to it, although we had not permitted ourselves to do 
otherwise since the day she prophesied that wretched 
traitor's death and he was straightway drowned, thus 
confirming many previous signs that she was indeed an 
ambassador commissioned of God, commanded us to sit ; 
then the Sieur de Metz said to Joan : 

' The King has got the letter, but they will not let us 
have speech with him.' 

' Who is it that forbids ? ' 

' None forbids, but there be three or four that are 
nearest his person—schemers and traitors every one—that 
put obstructions in the way, and seek all ways, by lies and 
pretexts, to make delay. Chiefest of these are Georges 
de la Tremouille and that plotting fox the Archbishop of 
Rheims. While they keep the King idle and in bondage 
to his sports and follies, they are great and their importance 
grows ; whereas if ever he assert himself and rise and 
strike for crown and country like a man, their reign is 


JOAN OF ARC 


93 


done. So they but thrive, they care not if the crown go to 
destruction and the King with it.' 

' You have spoken with others besides these ? ' 
' Not of the Court, no—the Court are the meek slaves 
of those reptiles, and watch their mouths and their actions, 
acting as they act, thinking as they think, saying as they 
say : wherefore they are cold to us, and turn aside and go 
another way when we appear. But we have spoken with 
the commissioners from Orleans. They said with heat : 
" It is a marvel that any man in such desperate case as is 
the King can moon around in his torpid way, and see his 
all go to ruin without lifting a finger to stay the disaster. 
What a most strange spectacle it is ! Here he is, shut up 
in this wee corner of the realm like a rat in a trap ; his 
royal ' shelter this huge gloomy tomb of a castle, with 
wormy rags for upholstery and crippled furniture for use, 
a very house of desolation ; in his treasury forty francs, 
and not a farthing more, God be witness ! no army, nor 
any shadow of one ; and by contrast with this hungry 
poverty you behold this crownless pauper and his shoals of 
fools and favourites tricked out in the gaudiest silks and 
velvets you shall find in any Court in Christendom. And 
look you, he knows that when our city falls—as fall it 
surely will except succour come swiftly—France falls ; he 
knows that when that day comes he will be an outlaw and 
a fugitive, and that behind him the English flag will float 
unchallenged over every acre of his great heritage ; he 
knows these things, he knows that our faithful city is 
fighting all solitary and alone against disease, starvation, 
and the sword to stay this awful calamity, yet he will not 
strike one blow to save her, he will not hear our prayers, 
he will not even look upon our faces." That is what the 
commissioners said, and they are in despair.' 
Joan said, gently— 

' It is a pity, but they must not despair. The Dauphin 
will hear them presently. Tell them so.' 


 94 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


She almost always called the King the Dauphin. To 
her mind he was not King yet, not being crowned. 

' We will tell them so, and it will content them, for 
they believe you come from God. The Archbishop and his 
confederate have for backer that veteran soldier Raoul de 
Gaucourt, Grand Master of the Palace, a worthy man but 
simply a soldier, with no head for any greater matter. He 
cannot make out to see how a country girl, ignorant of war, 
can take a sword in her small hand and win victories where 
the trained generals of France have looked for defeats 
only, for fifty years—and always found them. And so he 
lifts his frosty moustache and scoffs.' 

' When God fights it is but small matter whether the 
hand that bears His sword is big or little. He will per 
ceive this in time. Is there none in that Castle of Chinon 
who favours us ? ' 

'Yes, the King's mother-in-law, Yolande, Queen of 
Sicily, who is wise and good. She spoke with the Sieur 
Bertrand.' 

' She favours us, and she hates those others, the King's 
beguilers,' said Bertrand. ' She was full of interest, and 
asked a thousand questions, all of which I answered 
according to my ability. Then she sat thinking over these 
replies until I thought she was lost in a dream and would 
wake no more. But it was not so. At last she said, slowly, 
and as if she were talking to herself: "A child of seven 
teen—a girl—country bred—untaught—ignorant of war, 
the use of arms, and the conduct of battles—modest, gentle, 
shrinking—yet throws away her shepherd's crook and 
clothes herself in steel, and fights her way through a 
hundred and fifty leagues of hostile territory, never losing 
heart or hope and never showing fear, and comes—she to 
whom a king must be a dread and awful presence—and 
will stand up before such a one and say, Be not afraid, 
God has sent me to save you ! Ah, whence could come 
a courage and conviction so sublime as this but from 
very God Himself ! ' She was silent again awhile, thinking, 


JOAN OF ARC 


95 


and making up her mind ; then she said, "And whether 
she comes of God or no, there is that in her heart that 
raises her above men—high above all men that breathe in 
France to-day—for in her is that mysterious something 
that puts heart into soldiers, and turns mobs of cowards 
into armies of fighters that forget what fear is when they 
are in that presence—fighters who go into battle with joy 
in their eyes and songs on their lips, and sweep over the 
field like a storm—that is the spirit that can save France, 
and that alone, come it whence it may ! It is in her, I do 
truly believe, for what else could have borne up that child 
on that great march, and made her despise its dangers and 
fatigues ? The King must see her face to face—and shall ! " 
She dismissed me with those good words, and I know her 
promise will be kept. They will delay her all they can— 
those animals—but she will not fail, in the end.' 

' Would she were King ! ' said the other knight, fer 
vently. ' For there is little hope that the King himself can 
be stirred out of his lethargy. He is wholly without hope, 
and is only thinking of throwing away everything and fly 
ing to some foreign land. The commissioners say there 
is a spell upon him that makes him hopeless—yes, and that 
it is shut up in a mystery which they cannot fathom.' 

' I know the mystery,' said Joan, with quiet confidence ; 
' I know it, and he knows it, but no other but God. When 
I see him I will tell him a secret that will drive away his 
trouble, then he will hold up his head again.' 

I was miserable with curiosity to know what it was 
that she would tell him, but she did not say, and I did not 
expect she would. She was but a child, it is true ; but she 
was not a chatterer to tell great matters and make herself 
important to little people ; no, she was reserved, and kept 
things to herself, as the truly great always do. 

The next day Queen Yolande got one victory over the 
King's keepers, for in spite of their protestations and ob 
structions she procured an audience for our two knights, 
and they made the most they could out of their opportunity. 


 96 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


97 


They told the King what a spotless and beautiful character 
Joan was, and how great and noble a spirit animated her, 
and they implored him to trust in her, believe in her, and 
have faith that she was sent to save France. They begged 
him to consent to see her. He was strongly moved to do 
this, and promised that he would not drop the matter out 
of his mind, but would consult with his council about it. 
This began to look encouraging. Two hours later there 
was a great stir below, and the innkeeper came flying up 
to say a commission of illustrious ecclesiastics was come 
from the King—from the King his very self, understand ! 
—think of this vast honour to his humble little hostelry !— 
and he was so overcome with the glory of it that he could 
hardly find breath enough in his excited body to put the 
facts into words. They were come from the King to speak 
with the Maid of Vaucouleurs. Then he flew downstairs, 
and presently appeared again, backing into the room and 
bowing to the ground with every step, in front of four 
imposing and austere bishops and their train of servants. 

Joan rose, and we all stood. The bishops took seats, 
and for a while no word was said, for it was their preroga 
tive to speak first, and they were so astonished to see 
what a child it was that was making such a noise in the 
world and degrading personages of their dignity to the 
base function of ambassadors to her in her plebeian tavern, 
that they could not find any words to say, at first. Then 
presently their spokesman told Joan they were aware that 
she had a message for the King, wherefore she was now 
commanded to put it into words, briefly and without waste 
of time or embroideries of speech. 

As for me, I could hardly contain my joy—our message 
was to reach the King at last ! And there was the same 
joy and pride and exultation in the faces of our knights, 
too, and in those of Joan's brothers. And I knew that they 
were all praying—as I was—that the awe which we felt in 
the presence of these great dignitaries, and which would 
have tied our tongues and locked our jaws, would not 


affect her in the like degree, but that she would be enabled 
to word her message well, and with little stumbling, and 
so make a favourable impression here, where it would be 
so valuable and so important. 

Ah dear, how little we were expecting what happened 
then ! We were aghast to hear her say what she said. 
She was standing in a reverent attitude, with her head 
down and her hands clasped in front of her ; for she was 
always reverent toward the consecrated servants of God. 
When the spokesman had finished, she raised her head and 
set her calm eye on those faces, not any more disturbed 
by their state and grandeur than a princess would have 
been, and said, with all her ordinary simplicity and modesty 
of voice and manner : 

' Ye will forgive me, reverend sirs, but I have no mes 
sage save for the King's ear alone.' 

Those surprised men were dumb for a moment, and 
their faces flushed darkly ; then the spokesman said : 

' Harkye, do you fling the King's command in his face 
and refuse to deliver this message of yours to his servants 
appointed to receive it ? ' 

' God has appointed one to receive it, and another's 
commandment may not take precedence of that. I pray 
you let me have speech of his grace the Dauphin.' 

' Forbear this folly, and come at your message ! De 
liver it, and waste no more time about it." 

' You err indeed, most reverend fathers in God, and it 
is not well. I am not come hither to talk, but to deliver 
Orleans, and lead the Dauphin to his good city of Rheims, 
and set the crown upon his head.' 

' Is that the message you send to the King ? ' 

But Joan only said, in the simple fashion which was 
her wont : 

' Ye will pardon me for reminding you again—but I 
have no message to send to any one.' 

The King's messengers rose in deep anger and swept 

H 


 • • If ''• 


98 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


out of the place without further words, we and Joan 
kneeling as they passed. 

Our countenances were vacant, our hearts full of a 
sense of disaster. Our precious opportunity was thrown 
away ; we could not understand Joan's conduct, she who 
had been so wise until this fatal hour. At last the Sieur 
Bertrand found courage to ask her why she had let this 
great chance to get her message to the King go by. 

' Who sent them here ? ' she asked. 

' The King.' 

' Who moved the King to send them ? ' She waited 
for an answer ; none came, for we began to see what was 
in her mind—so she answered herself : ' The Dauphin's 
council moved him to it. Are they enemies to me and to 
the Dauphin's weal, or are they friends ? ' 

' Enemies,' answered the Sieur Bertrand. 

' If one would have a message go sound and ungarbled, 
does one choose traitors and tricksters to send it by ? ' 

I saw that we had been fools, and she wise. They 
saw it too, so none found anything to say. Then she 
went on : 

' They had but small wit that contrived this trap. 
They thought to get my message and seem to deliver it 
straight, yet deftly twist it from its purpose. You know 
that one part of my message is but this—to move the 
Dauphin by argument and reasonings to give me men-at- 
arms and send me to the siege. If an enemy carried these 
in the right words, the exact words, and no word missing, 
yet left out the persuasions of gesture and supplicating 
tone and beseeching looks that inform the words and 
make them live, where were the value of that argument— 
whom could it convince ? Be patient, the Dauphin will 
hear me presently ; have no fear.' 

The Sieur de Metz nodded his head several times, and 
muttered as to himself : 

' She was right and wise, and we are but dull fools, 
when all is said.' 


:"'."• ' . l 

-, - ^ - i«fc 
"V;C>-J.V. 

:'- iL.-i*- l 


•S 

Sr, 


-.•an" 


 JOAN OF ARC 


99 


It was just my thought : I could have said it myself; 
and indeed it was the thought of all there present. A sort 
of awe crept over us, to think how that untaught girl, 
taken suddenly and unprepared, was yet able to penetrate 
the cunning devices of a King's trained advisers and defeat 
them. Marvelling over this, and astonished at it, we fell 
silent and spoke no more. We had come to know that 
she was great in courage, fortitude, endurance, patience, 
conviction, fidelity to all duties—in all things, indeed, that 
make a good and trusty soldier and perfect him for his 
post ; now we were beginning to feel that maybe there 
were greatnesses in her brain that were even greater than 
these great qualities of the heart. It set us thinking. 

What Joan did that day bore fruit the very day after. 
The King was obliged to respect the spirit of a young girl 
who could hold her own and stand her ground like that, 
and he asserted himself sufficiently to put his respect into 
an act instead of into polite and empty words. He moved 
Joan out of that poor inn, and housed her, with us her 
servants, in the Castle of Coudray, personally confiding 
her to the care of Madame de Beliier, wife of old Raoul 
de Gaucourt, Master of the Palace. Of course this royal 
attention had an immediate result : all the great lords and 
ladies of the Court began to flock there to see and listen 
to the wonderful girl-soldier that all the world was talking 
about, and who had answered the King's mandate with a 
bland refusal to obey. Joan charmed them every one with 
her sweetness and simplicity and unconscious eloquence, 
and all the best and capablest among them recognised that 
there was an indefinable something about her that testified 
that she was not made of common clay, that she was built 
on a grander plan than the mass of mankind, and moved 
on a loftier plane. These spread her fame. She always 
made friends and advocates that way ; neither the high 
nor the low could come within the sound of her voice 
and the sight of her face and go out from her presence 
indifferent. 

B2 


1: ' 
\ " 


 loo PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


CHAPTER VI 

WELL, anything to make delay. The King's council 
advised him against arriving at a decision in our matter 
too precipitately. He arrive at a decision too precipitately ! 
So they sent a committee of priests—always priests—into 
Lorraine to inquire into Joan's character and history—a 
matter which would consume several weeks, of course. 
You see how fastidious they were. It was as if people 
should come to put out the fire when a man's house was 
burning down, and they waited till they could send into 
another country to find out if he had always kept the 
Sabbath or not, before letting him try. 

So the days poked along, dreary for us young people 
in some ways, but not in all, for we had one great antici 
pation in front of us—we had never seen a king, and now 
some day we should have that prodigious spectacle to see 
and to treasure in our memories all our lives ; so we were 
on the look-out, and always eager and watching for the 
chance. The others were doomed to wait longer than I, 
as it turned out. One day great news came—the Orleans 
commissioners, with Yolande and our knights, had at last 
turned the council's position and persuaded the King to 
see Joan. 

Joan received the immense news gratefully but without 
losing her head, but with us others it was otherwise ; we 
could not eat or sleep or do any rational thing for the 
excitement and the glory of it. During two days our pair 
of noble knights were in distress and trepidation on Joan's 
account, for the audience was to be at night, and they were 
afraid that Joan would be so paralysed by the glare of 
light from the long files of torches, the solemn pomps and 
ceremonies, the great concourse of renowned personages, 
the brilliant costumes, and the other splendours of the 
Court that she, a simple country maid, and all unused to 


JOAN OF ARC 


101 


such things, would be overcome by these terrors and make 
a piteous failure. 

No doubt I could have comforted them, but I was not 
free to speak. Would Joan be disturbed by this cheap 
spectacle, this tinsel show, with its small King and his 
butterfly dukelets ?—she who had spoken face to face with 
the princes of heaven, the familiars of God, and seen their 
retinue of angels stretching back into the remoteness of 
the sky, myriads upon myriads, like a measureless fan of 
light, a glory like the glory of the sun streaming from 
each of those innumerable heads, the massed radiance 
filling the deeps of space with a blinding splendour ? I 
thought not. 

Queen Yolande wanted Joan to make the best possible 
impression upon the King and the Court, so she was 
strenuous to have her clothed in the richest stuffs, wrought 
upon the princeliest pattern, and set off with jewels ; but 
in that she had to be disappointed, of course, Joan not 
being persuadable to it, but begging to be simply and 
sincerely dressed, as became a servant of God, and one 
sent upon a mission of a serious sort and grave political 
import. So then the gracious Queen imagined and con 
trived that simple and witching costume which I have 
described to you so many times, and which I cannot think 
of even now in my dull age without being moved just as 
rhythmical and exquisite music moves one ; for that was 
music, that dress—that is what it was—music that one 
saw with the eyes and felt in the heart. Yes, she was a 
poem, she was a dream, she was a spirit when she was 
clothed in that. 

She kept that raiment always, and wore it several 
times upon occasions of state, and it is preserved to this 
day in the Treasury of Orleans, with two of her swords, 
and her banner, and other things now sacred because they 
had belonged to her. 

At the appointed time the Count of Vende 
lord of the Court, came richly clothed, with /îîsg^Yrain of 


 102 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


servants and assistants, to conduct Joan to the King, 
and the two knights and I went with her, being entitled 
to this privilege by reason of our official positions near her 
person. 

When we entered the great audience hall, there it all 
was, just as I have already painted it. Here were ranks of 
guards in shining armour and with polished halberds ; 
two sides of the hall were like flower-gardens for variety of 
colour and the magnificence of the costumes ; light streamed 
upon these masses of colour from two hundred and fifty 
flambeaux. There was a wide free space down the middle 
of the hall, and at the end of it was a throne royally cano 
pied, and upon it sat a crowned and sceptred figure nobly 
clothed and blazing with jewels. 

It is true that Joan had been hindered and put off a good 
while, but now that she was admitted to an audience at 
last, she was received with honours granted to only the 
greatest personages. At the entrance door stood four 
heralds in a row, in splendid tabards, with long slender 
silver trumpets at their mouths, with square silken banners 
depending from them embroidered with the arms of France. 
As Joan and the Count passed by, these trumpets gave 
forth in unison one long rich note, and as we moved down 
the hall under the pictured and gilded vaulting, this was 
repeated at every fifty feet of our progress—six times 
in all. It made our good knights proud and happy, and 
they held themselves erect, and stiffened their stride, and 
looked fine and soldierly. They were not expecting this 
beautiful and honourable tribute to our little country maid. 

Joan walked two yards behind the Count, we three 
walked two yards behind Joan. Our solemn march ended 
when we were as yet some eight or ten steps from the throne. 
The Count made a deep obeisance, pronounced Joan's name, 
then bowed again and moved to his place among a group 
of officials near the throne. I was devouring the crowned 
personage with all my eyes, and my heart almost stood 
still with awe. 


JOAN OF ARC 


103 


The eyes of all others were fixed upon Joan in a gaze of 
wonder which was half worship, and which seemed to say, 
' How sweet—how lovely—how divine ! ' All lips were 
parted and motionless, which was a sure sign that those 
people, who seldom forget themselves, had forgotten them 
selves now, and were not conscious of anything but the one 
object they were gazing upon. They had the look of people 
who are under the enchantment of a vision. 

Then they presently began to come to life again, rousing 
themselves out of the spell and shaking it off as one drives 
away little by little a clinging drowsiness or intoxication. 
Now they fixed their attention 'upon Joan with a strong 
new interest of another sort ; they were full of curiosity to 
see what she would do—they having a secret and particular 
reason for this curiosity. So they watched. This is what 
they saw : 

She made no obeisance, nor even any slight inclination 
of her head, but stood looking toward the throne in silence. 
That was all there was to see, at present. 

I glanced up at De Metz, and was shocked at the pale 
ness of his face. I whispered and said : 
' What is it, man ; what is it ? ' 

His answering whisper was so weak I could hardly catch 
it: 

' They have taken advantage of the hint in her letter to 
play a trick upon her ! She will err, and they will laugh at 
her. That is not the King that sits there.' 

Then I glanced at Joan. She was still gazing stead 
fastly toward the throne, and I had the curious fancy that 
even her shoulders and the back of her head expressed 
bewilderment. Now she turned her head slowly, and her 
eye wandered along the lines of standing courtiers till it 
fell upon a young man who was very quietly dressed ; then 
her face lighted joyously, and she ran and threw herself at 
his feet, and clasped his knees, exclaiming in that soft 
melodious voice which was her birthright and was now 
charged with deep and tender feeling : 


 104 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


105 


' God of His grace give you long life, O dear and gentle 
Dauphin ! ' 

In his astonishment and exultation De Metz cried 
out : 

' By the shadow of God, it is an amazing thing ! ' Then 
he mashed all the bones of my hand in his grateful grip, 
and added, with a proud shake of his mane, ' Now, what 
have these painted infidels to say ! ' 

Meantime the young person in the plain clothes was 
saying to Joan : 

' Ah, you mistake, my child, I am not the King. There 
he is,' and he pointed to the throne. 

The knight's face clouded, and he muttered in grief and 
indignation : 

. ' Ah, it is a shame to use her so. But for this lie she 
had gone through safe. I will go and proclaim to all the 
house what—' 

' Stay where you are ! ' whispered I and the Sieur Ber 
trand in a breath, and made him stop in his place. 

Joan did not stir from her knees, but still lifted her happy 
face toward the King, and said : 

' No, gracious liege, you are he, and none other.' 

De Metz's troubles vanished away, and he said : 

' Verily, she was not guessing, she knew. Now, how 
could she know ? It is a miracle. I am content, and will 
meddle no more, for I perceive that she is equal to her 
occasions, having that in her head that cannot profitably be 
helped by the vacancy that is in mine.' 

This interruption of his lost me a remark or two of the 
other talk ; however, I caught the King's next question : 

' But tell me who you are, and what would you ? ' 

' I am called Joan the Maid, and am sent to say that the 
King of Heaven wills that you be crowned and consecrated 
in your good city of Rheims, and be thereafter Lieutenant 
of the Lord of Heaven, who is King of France. And He 
willeth also that you set me at my appointed work and give 
me men-at-arms.' After a slight pause she added, her eye 


JJ 
5 


lighting at the sound of her words, ' For then will I raise 
the siege of Orleans and break the English power ! ' 

The young monarch's amused face sobered a little when 
this martial speech fell upon that sick air like a breath blown 
from embattled camps and fields of war, and his trifling 
smile presently faded wholly away and disappeared. He 
was grave now, and thoughtful. After a little he waved 
his hand lightly, and all the people fell away and left those 
two by themselves in a vacant space. The knights and 
I moved to the opposite side of the hall and stood there. 
We saw Joan rise at a sign, then she and the King talked 
privately together. 

All that host had been consumed with curiosity to see 
what Joan would do. Well, they had seen, and now they 
were full of astonishment to see that she had really per 
formed that strange miracle according to the promise in 
her letter ; and they were fully as much astonished to find 
that she was not overcome by the pomps and splendours 
about her, but was even more tranquil and at her ease in 
holding speech with a monarch than ever they themselves 
had been, with all their practice and experience. 

As for our two knights, they were inflated beyond 
measure with pride in Joan, but nearly dumb, as to speech, 
they not being able to think out any way to account for her 
managing to carry herself through this imposing ordeal 
without ever a mistake or an awkwardness of any kind to 
mar the grace and credit of her great performance. 

The talk between Joan and the King was long and 
earnest, and held in low voices. We could not hear, but 
we had our eyes and could note effects ; and presently we 
and all the house noted one effect which was memorable 
and striking, and has been set down in memoirs and his 
tories and in testimony at the Process of Rehabilitation by 
some who witnessed it ; for all knew it was big with mean 
ing, though none knew what that meaning was at that 
time, of course. For suddenly we saw the King shake off 
his indolent attitude and straighten up like a man, and at 


 io6 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

the same time look immeasurably astonished. It was as 
if Joan had told him something almost too wonderful for 
belief, and yet of a most uplifting and welcome nature. 

It was long before we found out the secret of this con 
versation, but we know it now, and all the world knows it. 
That part of the talk was like this—as one may read in all 
histories. The perplexed King asked Joan for a sign. He 
wanted to believe in her and her mission, and that her 
Voices were supernatural and endowed with knowledge 
hidden from mortals ; but how could he do this unless these 
Voices could prove their claim in some absolutely unassail 
able way ? It was then that Joan said : 

' I will give you a sign, and you shall no more doubt. 
There is a secret trouble in your heart which you speak of 
to none—a doubt which wastes away your courage, and 
makes you dream of throwing all away and fleeing from 
your realm. Within this little while you have been pray 
ing, in your own breast, that God of His grace would re 
solve that doubt, even if the doing of it must show you 
that no kingly right is lodged in you.' 

It was that that amazed the King, for it was as she had 
said : his prayer was the secret of his own breast, and none 
but God could know about it. So he said : 

' The sign is sufficient. I know, now, that these Voices 
are of God. They have said true in this matter ; if they 
have said more, tell it me—I will believe.' 

' They have resolved that doubt, and I bring their very 
words, which are these : Thou art lawful heir to the King 
thy father, and true heir of France. God has spoken it. 
Now lift up thy head, and doubt no more, but give me 
men-at-arms and let me get about my work.' 

Telling him he was of lawful birth was what straight 
ened him up and made a man of him for a moment, remov 
ing his doubts upon that head, and convincing him of his 
royal right ; and if any could have hanged his hin 
dering and pestiferous council and set him free, he would 
have answered Joan's prayer and set her in the field. But 


JOAN OF ARC 


107 


no, those creatures were only checked, not checkmated ; 
they could invent some more delays. 

We had been made proud by the honours which had so 
distinguished Joan's entrance into that place—honours re 
stricted to personages of very high rank and worth—but 
that pride was as nothing compared with the pride we had 
in the honour done her upon leaving it. For whereas those 
first honours were shown only to the great, these last, up 
to this time, had been shown only to the royal. The King 
himself led Joan by the hand down the great hall to the 
door, the glittering multitude standing and making rever 
ence as they passed, and the silver trumpets sounding those 
rich notes of theirs. Then he dismissed her with gracious 
words, bending low over her hand and kissing it. Always 

—from all companies, high or low—she went forth richer 
in honour and esteem than when she came. 

And the King did another handsome thing by Joan, for 
he sent us back to Coudray Castle torch-lighted and in 
state, under escort of his own troop—his guard of honour 

—the only soldiers he had ; and finely equipped and be 
dizened they were, too, though they hadn't seen the colour 
of their wages since they were children, as a body might 
say. The wonders which Joan had been performing before 
the King had been carried all around by this time, so the 
road was so packed with people who wanted to get a sight 
of her that we could hardly dig through ; and as for talking 
together, we couldn't, all attempts at talk being drowned 
in the storm of shoutings and huzzas that broke out all 
along as we passed, and kept abreast of us like a wave the 
whole way. 

CHAPTER VII 

WE were doomed to suffer tedious waits and delays, and 
we settled ourselves down to our fate and bore it with a 
dreary patience, counting the slow hours and the dull days, 
and hoping for a turn when God should please to send it. 


 io8 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


The Paladin was the only exception—that is to say, he was 
the only one who was happy and had no heavy times. This 
was partly owing to the satisfaction he got out of his 
clothes. He bought them when he first arrived. He bought 
them at second hand—a Spanish cavalier's complete suit, 
wide-brimmed hat with flowing plumes, lace collar and 
cuffs, faded velvet doublet and trunks, short cloak hung 
from the shoulder, funnel-topped buskins, long rapier, and 
all that—a graceful and picturesque costume, and the 
Paladin's great frame was the right place to hang it 
for effect. He wore it when off duty ; and when he swag 
gered by with one hand resting on the hilt of his rapier, 
and twirling his new moustache with the other, everybody 
stopped to look and admire ; and well they might, for he 
was a fine and stately contrast to the small French gentle 
man of the day squeezed into the trivial French costume 
of the time. 

He was king bee of the little village that snuggled under 
the shelter of the frowning towers and bastions of Cou- 
dray Castle, and acknowledged lord of the taproom of the 
inn. When he opened his mouth there, he got a hearing. 
Those simple artisans and peasants listened with deep and 
wondering interest ; for he was a traveller and had seen 
the world—all of it that lay between Chinon and Domremy, 
at any rate—and that was a wide stretch more of it than 
they might ever hope to see ; and he had been in battle, 
and knew how to paint its shock and struggle, its perils 
and surprises, with an art that was all his own. He was 
cock of that walk, hero of that hostelry ; he drew custom 
as honey draws flies ; so he was the pet of the innkeeper, 
and of his wife and daughter, and they were his obliged 
and willing servants. 

Most people who have the narrative gift—that great 
and rare endowment—have with it the defect of telling 
their choice things over the same way every time, and this 
injures them and causes them to sound stale and weari 
some after several repetitions ; but it was not so with the 


JOAN OF ARC 109 

Paladin, whose art was of a finer sort ; it was more stirring 
and interesting to hear him tell about a battle the tenth 
time than it was the first time, because he did not tell it 
twice the same way, but always made a new battle of it, 
and a better one, with more casualties on the enemy's side 
each time, and more general wreck and disaster all around, 
and more widows and orphans and suffering in the neigh 
bourhood where it happened. He could not tell his battles 
apart himself, except by their names ; and by the time he 
had told one of them ten times he had to lay it aside and 
start a new one in its place, because it had grown so that 
there wasn't room enough in France for it any more, but 
was lapping over the edges. But up to that point the 
audience would not allow him to substitute a new battle, 
knowing that the old ones were the best, and sure to im 
prove as long as France could hold them ; and so, instead 
of saying to him as they would have said to another, ' Give 
us something fresh, we are fatigued with that old thing,' 
they would say, with one voice and with a strong interest, 
' Tell about the surprise at Beaulieu again—tell it three or 
four times ! ' That is a compliment which few narrative 
experts have heard in their lifetime. 

At first when the Paladin heard us tell about the glories 
of the Royal Audience he was broken-hearted because he 
was not taken with us to it ; next, his talk was full of what 
he would have done if he had been there ; and within two 
days he was telling what he did do when he was there. 
His mill was fairly started, now, and could be trusted to 
take care of its affair. Within three nights afterwards all 
his battles were taking a rest, for already his worshippers 
in the taproom were so infatuated with the great tale of 
the Royal Audience that they would have nothing else, and 
so besotted with it were they that they would have cried if 
they could not have gotten it. 

Noël Rainguesson hid himself and heard it, and came 
and told me, and after that we went together to listen, 
bribing- the inn hostess to let us have her little private 


 no 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


in 


parlour, where we could stand at the wickets in the door 
and see and hear. 

The taproom was large, yet had a snug and cosy look, 
with its inviting little tables and chairs scattered irregularly 
over its red-brick floor, and its great fire flaming and crackl 
ing in the wide chimney. It was a comfortable place to 
be in on such chilly and blustering March nights as these, 
and a goodly company had taken shelter there, and were 
sipping their wine in contentment and gossiping one with 
another in a neighbourly way while they waited for the 
historian. The host, the hostess, and their pretty daughter 
were flying here and there and yonder among the tables 
and doing their best to keep up with the orders. The room 
was about forty feet square, and a space or aisle down the 
centre of it had been kept vacant and reserved for the 
Paladin's needs. At the end of it was a platform ten or 
twelve feet wide, with a big chair and a small table on it, 
and three steps leading up to it. 

Among the wine-sippers were many familiar faces : the 
cobbler, the farrier, the blacksmith, the wheelwright, the 
armourer, the maltster, the weaver, the baker, the miller's 
man with his dusty coat, and so on ; and conspicuous and 
important, as a matter of course, was the barber-surgeon, 
for he is that in all villages. As he has to pull everybody's 
teeth, and purge and bleed all the grown people once a 
month to keep their health sound, he knows everybody, 
and by constant contact with all sorts of folk becomes a 
master of etiquette and manners and a conversationalist of 
large facility. There were plenty of carriers, drovers, and 
their sort, and journeyman artisans. 

When the Paladin presently came sauntering indolently 
in, he was received with a cheer, and the barber bustled 
forward and greeted him with several low and most grace 
ful and courtly bows, also taking his hand and touching 
his lips to it. Then he called in a loud voice for a stoup of 
wine for the Paladin, and when the host's daughter brought 
it up on to the platform and dropped her courtesy and 


departed, the barber called after her, and told her to add 
the wine to his score. This won him ejaculations of 
approval, which pleased him very much and made his 
little rat-eyes shine ; and such applause is right and proper, 
for when we do a liberal and gallant thing it is but natural 
that we should wish to see notice taken of it. 

The barber called upon the people to rise and drink the 
Paladin's health, and they did it with alacrity and affection 
ate heartiness, clashing their metal flagons together with 
a simultaneous crash, and heightening the effect with a 
resounding cheer. It was a fine thing to see how that 
young swashbuckler had made himself so popular in a 
strange land in so little a while, and without other helps to 
his advancement than just his tongue and the talent to use 
it given him by God—a talent which was but one talent in 
the beginning, but was now become ten through husban 
dry and the increment and usufruct that do naturally 
follow that and reward it as by a law. 

The people sat down and began to hammer on the 
tables with their flagons and call for ' the King's Audience ! 
—the King's Audience !—the King's Audience ! ' The 
Paladin stood there in one of his best attitudes, with his 
plumed great hat tipped over to the left, the folds of his 
short cloak drooping from his shoulder, and the one hand 
resting upon the hilt of his rapier and the other lifting his 
beaker. As the noise died down he made a stately sort of a 
bow, which he had picked up somewhere, then fetched his 
beaker with a sweep to his lips and tilted his head back 
and drained it to the bottom. The barber jumped for it 
and set it upon the Paladin's table. Then the Paladin 
began to walk up and down his platform with a great deal 
of dignity and quite at his ease ; and as he walked he 
talked, and every little while stopped and stood facing his 
house and so standing continued his talk. 

We went three nights in succession. It was plain that 
there was a charm about the performance that was apart 
from the mere interest which attaches to lying. It was 


 112 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


presently discoverable that this charm lay in the Paladin's 
sincerity. He was not lying consciously ; he believed what 
he was saying. To him, his initial statements were facts, 
and whenever he enlarged a statement, the enlargement 
became a fact too. He put his heart into his extravagant 
narrative, just as a poet puts his heart into a heroic fiction, 
and his earnestness disarmed criticism—disarmed it as far 
as he himself was concerned. Nobody believed his narra 
tive, but all believed that he believed it. 

He made his enlargements without flourish, without 
emphasis, and so casually that often one failed to notice 
that a change had been made. He spoke of the governor 
of Vaucouleurs, the first night, simply as the governor of 
Vaucouleurs ; he spoke of him the second night as his 
uncle the governor of Vaucouleurs ; the third night he was 
his father. He did not seem to know that he was making 
these extraordinary changes ; they dropped from his lips 
in a quite natural and effortless way. By his first night's 
account the governor merely attached him to the Maid's 
military escort in a general and unofficial way ; the second 
night his uncle the governor sent him with the Maid as 
lieutenant of her rear guard ; the third night his father the 
governor put the whole command, Maid and all, in his 
especial charge. The first night the governor spoke of 
him as a youth without name or ancestry, but ' destined to 
achieve both ' ; the second night his uncle the governor 
spoke of him as the latest and worthiest lineal descendant 
of the chiefest and noblest of the Twelve Paladins of 
Charlemagne ; the third night he spoke of him as the lineal 
descendant of the whole dozen. In three nights he pro 
moted the Count of Vendôme from a fresh acquaintance to 
schoolmate, and then brother-in-law. 

At the King's Audience everything grew in the same 
way. First the four silver trumpets were twelve, then 
thirty-five, finally ninety-six ; and by that time he had 
thrown in so many drums and cymbals that he had to 
lengthen the hall from five hundred feet to nine hundred to 


I ., 

t« 


••vr'J 


-f; " ï " »V 


The Examination of Joan 


 JOAN OF ARC iï3 

accommodate them. Under his hand the people present 
multiplied in the same large way. 

The first two nights he contented himself with merely 
describing and exaggerating the chief dramatic incident 
of the Audience, but the third night he added illustration to 
description. He throned the barber in his own high chair 
to represent the sham King ; then he told how the Court 
watched the Maid with intense interest and suppressed 
merriment, expecting to see her fooled by the deception 
and get herself swept permanently out of credit by the 
storm of scornful laughter which would follow. He 
worked this scene up till he got his house in a burning- 
fever of excitement and anticipation, then came his climax. 
Turning to the barber, he said : 

' But mark you what she did. She gazed steadfastly 
upon that sham's villain face as I now gaze upon yours— 
this being her noble and simple attitude, just as I stand now 
—then turned she—thus—to me, and stretching her arm 
out—so—and pointing with her finger, she said, in that 
firm, calm tone which she was used to use in directing- the 
conduct of a battle, " Pluck me this false knave from the 
throne !" I, striding forward as I do now, took him by 
the collar and lifted him out and held him aloft—thus—as 
if he had been but a child.' (The house rose, shouting, 
stamping, and banging- with their flagons, and went fairly 
mad over this magnificent exhibition of strength—and there 
was not the shadow of a laugh anywhere, though the 
spectacle of the limp but proud barber hanging there in the 
air like a puppy held by the scruff of its neck was a thing 
that had nothing of solemnity about it.) ' Then I set him 
down upon his feet—thus—being minded to get him 
by a better hold and heave him out of the window, but 
she bid me forbear, so by that error he escaped with his 
life. 

' Then she turned her about and viewed the throng 
with those eyes of hers, which are the clear-shining windows 
whence her immortal wisdom looketh out upon the world, 

I 


 .' ; 
I 


114 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

resolving its falsities and coming at the kernel of truth 
that is hid within them, and presently they fell upon a 
young man modestly clothed, and him she proclaimed for 
what he truly was, saying, " I am thy servant—thouartthe 
King ! " Then all were astonished, and a great shout went 
up, the whole six thousand joining in it, so that the walls 
rocked with the volume and the tumult of it.' 

He made a fine and picturesque thing of the march-out 
from the Audience, augmenting the glories of it to the last 
limit of the impossibilities ; then he took from his finger 
and held up a brass nut from a bolt-head which the head 
ostler at the castle had given him that morning, and made 
his conclusion—thus : 

' Then the King dismissed the Maid most graciously—as 
indeed was her desert—and turning to me, said, " Take 
this signet-ring, son of the Paladins, and command me 
with it in your day of need ; and look you," said he, touch 
ing my temple, " preserve this brain, France has use for it ; 
and look well to its casket also, for I foresee that it will be 
hooped with a ducal coronet one day." I took the ring, 
and knelt and kissed his hand, saying, " Sire, where glory 
calls, there will I be found ; where danger and death are 
thickest, that is my native air ; when France and the 
throne need help—well, I say nothing, for I am not of the 
talking sort—let my deeds speak for me, it is all I ask." 

' So ended that most fortunate and memorable episode, 
so big with future weal for the crown and the nation, and 
unto God be the thanks ! Rise ! Fill your flagons ! Now 
—to France and the King—drink ! ' 

They emptied them to the bottom, then burst into 
cheers and huzzas, and kept it up as much as two minutes, 
the Paladin standing at stately ease the while and smiling 
benignantly from his platform. 


JOAN OF ARC 115 


CHAPTER VIII 

WHEN Joan told the King what that deep secret was that 
was torturing his heart, his doubts were cleared away ; he 
believed she was sent of God, and if he had been let alone 
he would have set her upon her great mission at once. 
But he was not let alone. Tremouille and the holy fox of 
Rheims knew their man. All they needed to say was this 
—and they said it : 

' Your Highness says her Voices have revealed to you, 
by her mouth, a secret known only to yourself and God. 
How can you know that her Voices are not of Satan, and 
she his mouthpiece ?—for does not Satan know the secrets 
of men and use his knowledge for the destruction of their 
souls ? It is a dangerous business, and your Highness 
will do well not to proceed in it without probing the matter 
to the bottom.' 

That was enough. It shrivelled up the King's little 
soul like a raisin, with terrors and apprehensions, and 
straightway he privately appointed a commission of bishops 
to visit and question Joan daily until they should find out 
whether her supernatural helps hailed from heaven or from 
hell. 

The King's relative, the Duke of Alençon, three years 
prisoner of war to the English, was in these days released 
from captivity through promise of a great ransom ; and the 
name and fame of the Maid having reached him—for the 
same filled all mouths now, and penetrated to all parts— 
he came to Chinon to see with his own eyes what manner 
of creature she might be. The King sent for Joan and 
introduced her to the Duke. She said, in her simple 
fashion : 

' You are welcome ; the more of the blood of France 
that is joined to this cause, the better for the cause and 
it.' 

Then the two talked together, and there was just the 

I 2 


 116 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


117 


usual result : when they parted, the Duke was her friend 
and advocate. 

Joan attended the King's mass the next day, and after 
ward dined with the King and the Duke. The King was 
learning to prize her company and value her conversation ; 
and that might well be, for, like other kings, he was used 
to getting nothing out of people's talk but guarded phrases, 
colourless and non-committal, or carefully tinted to tally 
with the colour of what he said himself ; and so this kind 
of conversation only vexes and bores, and is wearisome ; 
but Joan's talk was fresh and free, sincere and honest, and 
unmarred by timorous self-watching and constraint. She 
said the very thing that was in her mind, and said it in a 
plain, straightforward way. One can believe that to the 
King this must have been like fresh cold water from the 
mountains to parched lips used to the water of the sun 
baked puddles of the plain." 

After dinner Joan so charmed the Duke with her 
horsemanship and lance practice in the meadows by the 
Castle of Chinon, whither the King also had come to look 
on, that he made her a present of a great black war-steed. 

Every day the commission of bishops came and ques 
tioned Joan about her Voices and her mission, and then went 
to the King with their report. These pryings accomplished 
but little. She told as much as she considered advisable, 
and kept the rest to herself. Both threats and trickeries 
were wasted upon her. She did not care for the threats, 
and the traps caught nothing. She was perfectly frank 
and childlike about these things. She knew the bishops 
were sent by the King, that their questions were the King's 
questions, and that by all law and custom a King's ques 
tions must be answered ; yet she told the King in her naïve 
way at his own table one day that she answered only such 
of those questions as suited her. 

The bishops finally concluded that they couldn't tell 
whether Joan was sent by God or not. They were cautious, 
you see. There were two powerful parties at Court ; there 


fore to make a decision either way would infallibly embroil 
them with one of those parties ; so it seemed to them 
wisest to roost on the fence and shift the burden to other 
shoulders. And that is what they did. They made final 
report that Joan's case was beyond their powers, and re 
commended that it be put into the hands of the learned and 
illustrious doctors of the University of Poitiers. Then they 
retired from the field, leaving behind them this little item 
of testimony, wrung from them by Joan's wise reticence : 
they said she was a ' gentle and simple little shepherdess, 
very candid, but not given to talking.' 

It was quite true—in their case. But if they could have 
looked back and seen her with us in the happy pastures 
of Domremy, they would have perceived that she had a 
tongue that could go fast enough when no harm could 
come of her words. 

So we travelled to Poitiers, to endure there three weeks 
of tedious delay while this poor child was being daily ques 
tioned and badgered before a great bench of—what? 
Military experts ?—since what she had come to apply for 
was an army and the privilege of leading it to battle against 
the enemies of France. Oh no ; it was a great bench of 
priests and monks—profoundly learned and astute casuists 
—renowned professors of theology ! Instead of setting a 
military commission to find out if this valorous little soldier 
could win victories, they set a company of holy hair-splitters 
and phrasemongers to work to find out if the soldier was 
sound in her piety and had no doctrinal leaks. The rats 
were devouring the house, but instead of examining the 
cat's teeth and claws, they only concerned themselves to 
find out if it was a holy cat. If it was a pious cat, a moral 
cat, all right, never mind about the other capacities, they 
were of no consequence. 

Joan was as sweetly self-possessed and tranquil before 
this grim tribunal, with its robed celebrities, its solemn 
state and imposing- ceremonials, as if she were but a spec 
tator and not herself on trial. She sat there, solitary on 


il ' 


 lu. 


n8 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


119 


her bench, untroubled, and disconcerted the science of the 
sages with her sublime ignorance—an ignorance which was 
a fortress ; arts, wiles, the learning drawn from books, and 
all like missiles rebounded from its unconscious masonry 
and fell to the ground harmless ; they could not dislodge 
the garrison which was within—Joan's serene great heart 
and spirit, the guards and keepers of her mission. 

She answered all questions frankly, and she told all the 
story of her visions and of her experiences with the angels 
and what they said to her ; and the manner of the telling 
was so unaffected, and so earnest and sincere, and made it 
all seem so life-like and real, that even that hard practical 
Court forgot itself and sat motionless and mute, listening 
with a charmed and wondering interest to the end. And 
if you would have other testimony than mine, look in the 
histories and you will find where an eye-witness, giving 
sworn testimony in the Rehabilitation process, says that 
she told that tale ' with a noble dignity and simplicity,' 
and as to its effect, says in substance what I have said. 
Seventeen, she was—seventeen, and all alone on her bench 
by herself; yet was not afraid, but faced that great 
company of erudite doctors of law and theology, and by 
the help of no art learned in the schools, but using only 
the enchantments which were hers by nature, of youth, 
sincerity, a voice soft and musical, and an eloquence whose 
source was the heart, not the head, she laid that spell 
upon them. Now was not that a beautiful thing to see ? 
If I could, I would put it before you just as I saw it ; 
then I know what you would say. 

As I have told you, she could not read. One agf they 
harried and pestered her with arguments, reasonings, 
objections and other windy and wordy trivialities, gathered 
out of the works of this and that and the other great 
theological authority, until at last her patience vanished, 
and she turned upon them sharply and said : 

' I don't know A from B ; but I know this : that I am 
come by command of the Lord of Heaven to deliver Orleans 


from the English power and crown the King at Rheims, and 
the matters ye are puttering over are of no consequence ! ' 

Necessarily those were trying days for her, and wear 
ing for everybody that took part ; but her share was the 
hardest, for she had no holidays, but must be always on 
hand and stay the long hours through, whereas this, that, 
and the other inquisitor could absent himself and rest up 
from his fatigues when he got worn out. And yet she 
showed no wear, no weariness, and but seldom let fly her 
temper. As a rule she put her day through calm, alert, 
patient, fencing with those veteran masters of scholarly 
sword-play and coming out always without a scratch. 

One day a Dominican sprung upon her a question 
which made everybody cock up his ears with interest ; as 
for me, I trembled, and said to myself she is caught this 
time, poor Joan, for there is no way of answering this. 
The sly Dominican began in this way—in a sort of indolent 
fashion, as if the thing he was about was a matter of no 
moment : 

' You assert that God has willed to deliver France from 
this English bondage ? ' 

'Yes, He has willed it.' 

' You wish for men-at-arms, so that you may go to the 
relief of Orleans, I believe ? ' 

' Yes—and the sooner the better.' 

' God is all-powerful, and able to do whatsoever thing 
He wills to do, is it not so ? ' 

' Most surely. None doubts it.' 

The Dominican lifted his head suddenly, and sprung 
that question I have spoken of, with exultation : 

' Then answer me this. If He has willed to deliver 
France, and is able to do whatsoever He wills, where is 
the need for men-at-arms ? ' 

There was a fine stir and commotion when he said that, 
and a sudden thrusting forward of heads and putting up 
of hands to ears to catch the answer ; and the Dominican 
wagged his head with satisfaction, and looked about him 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


collecting his applause, for it shone in every face. But 
Joan was not disturbed. There was no note of disquiet 
in her voice when she answered : 

' He helps who help themselves. The sons of France 
will fight the battles, but He will give the victory ! ' 

You could see a light of admiration sweep the house 
from face to face like a ray from the sun. Even the 
Dominican himself looked pleased, to see his master-stroke 
so neatly parried, and I heard a venerable bishop mutter, 
in the phrasing common to priest and people in that robust 
time, ' By God, the child has said true. He willed that 
Goliath should be slain, and He sent a child like this to 
do it ! ' 

Another day, when the inquisition had dragged along 
until everybody looked drowsy and tired but Joan, brother 
Séguin, professor of theology in the University of Poitiers, 
who was a sour and sarcastic man, fell to plying Joan 
with all sorts of nagging questions in his bastard Limousin 
French—for he was from Limoges. Finally he said : 

' How is it that you could understand those angels ? 
What language did they speak ? ' 

' French.' 

' In-deed ! How pleasant to know that our language 
is so honoured ! Good French ? ' 

' Yes—perfect.' 

' Perfect, eh? Well, certainly you ought to know. It 
was even better than your own, eh ? ' 

' As to that, I—I believe I cannot say,' said she, and 
was going on, but stopped. Then she added, almost as 
if she were saying it to herself, ' Still, it was an improve 
ment on yours ! ' 

I knew there was a chuckle back of her eyes, for all 
their innocence. Everybody shouted. Brother Séguin was 
nettled, and asked brusquely : 

' Do you believe in God ? ' 

Joan answered with an irritating nonchalance : 

' Oh, well, yes—better than you, it is likely.' 


JOAN OF ARC 


121 


Brother Séguin lost his patience, and heaped sarcasm 
after sarcasm upon her, and finally burst out in angry 
earnest, exclaiming : 

' Very well, I can tell you this, you whose belief in God 
is so great : God has not willed that any shall believe in 
you without a sign. Where is your sign ?—show it ! ' 

This roused Joan, and she was on her feet in a moment, 
and flung out her retort with spirit : 

' I have not come to Poitiers to show signs and do 
miracles. Send me to Orleans and you shall have signs 
enough. Give me men-at-arms—few or many—and let me 
go!' 

The fire was leaping from her eyes—ah, the heroic 
little figure ! can't you see her ? There was a great burst 
of acclamations, and she sat down blushing, for it was not 
in her delicate nature to like being conspicuous. 

This speech and that episode about the French language 
scored two points against Brother Séguin, while he scored 
nothing against Joan ; yet, sour man as he was, he was a 
manly man, and honest, as you can see by the histories ; 
for at the Rehabilitation he could have hidden those un 
lucky incidents if he had chosen, but he didn't do it, but 
spoke them right out in his evidence. 

On one of the later days of that three weeks' session 
the gowned scholars and professors made one grand 
assault all along the line, fairly overwhelming Joan with 
objections and arguments culled from the writings of 
every ancient and illustrious authority of the Roman 
Church. She was well nigh smothered ; but at last she 
shook herself free and struck back, crying out : 

' Listen ! The Book of God is worth more than all 
these ye cite, and I stand upon it. And I tell ye there are 
things in that Book that not one among ye can read, with 
all your learning ! ' 

From the first she was the guest, by invitation, of the 
dame De Rabateau, wife of a councillor of the Parliament 
of Poitiers ; and to that house the great ladies of the city 


 l , 
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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


123 


came nightly to see Joan and talk with her ; and not these 
only, but the old lawyers, councillors, and scholars of the 
Parliament and the University. And these grave men, ac 
customed to weigh every strange and questionable thing, 
and cautiously consider it, and turn it about this way and 
that and still doubt it, came night after night, and night 
after night, falling ever deeper and deeper under the in 
fluence ofthat mysterious something, that spell, that elusive 
and unwordable fascination, which was the supremest en 
dowment of Joan of Arc, that winning' and persuasive and 
convincing something which high and low alike recognised 
and felt, but which neither high nor low could explain or 
describe ; and one by one they all surrendered, saying 
' This child is sent of God.' 

All day long Joan, in the great court and subject to its 
rigid rules of procedure, was at a disadvantage ; her judges 
had things their own way ; but at night she held court 
herself, and matters were reversed, she presiding, with her 
tongue free and her same judges there before her. There 
could be but one result ; all the objections and hindrances 
they could build around her with their hard labours of the 
day she would charm away at night. In the end, she 
carried her judges with her in a mass, and got her great 
verdict without a dissenting voice. 

The court was a sight to see when the president of it 
read it from his throne, for all the great people of the 
town were there who could get admission and find room. 
First there were some solemn ceremonies, proper and usual 
at such times ; then, when there was silence again, the 
reading followed, penetrating the deep hush so that every 
word was heard in even the remotest parts of the house : 

' It is found, and is hereby declared, that Joan of Arc, 
called the Maid, is a good Christian and good Catholic ; 
that there is nothing in her person or her words contrary 
to the faith ; and that the King may and ought to accept the 
succour she offers ; for to repel it would be to offend the 
Holy Spirit, and render him unworthy of the aid of God.' 


The court rose, and then the storm of plaudits burst 
forth unrebuked, dying down and bursting forth again and 
again, and I lost sight of Joan, for she was swallowed up 
in a great tide of people who rushed to congratulate her 
and pour out benedictions upon her and upon the cause of 
France, now solemnly and irrevocably delivered into her 
little hands. 

CHAPTER IX 

IT was indeed a great day, and a stirring thing to see. 

She had won ! It was a mistake of Tremouille and her 
other ill-wishers to let her hold court those nights. 

The commission of priests sent to Lorraine ostensibly 
to inquire into Joan's character—in fact to weary her with 
delays and wear out her purpose and make her give it up— 
arrived back and reported her character perfect. Our 
affairs were in full career now, you see. 

The verdict made a prodigious stir. Dead France 
woke suddenly to life, wherever the great news travelled. 
Whereas before, the spiritless and cowed people hung their 
heads and slunk away if one mentioned war to them, now 
they came clamouring to be enlisted under the banner of 
the Maid of Vaucouleurs, and the roaring of war songs and 
the thundering of the drums filled all the air. I remem 
bered now what she had said, that time there in our village 
when I proved by facts and statistics that France's case 
was hopeless, and nothing could ever rouse the people 
from their lethargy : 

1 They will hear the drums—and they will answer, they 
will march ! ' 

It has been said that misfortunes never come one at a 
time, but in a body. In our case it was the same with 
good luck. Having got a start it came flooding in, tide 
after tide. Our next wave of it was of this sort. There 
had been grave doubts among the priests as to whether the 
Church ought to permit a female soldier to dress like a 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


125 


man. But now came a verdict on that head. Two of the 
greatest scholars and theologians of the time—one of 
whom had been Chancellor of the University of Paris— 
rendered it. They decided that since Joan ' must do the 
work of a man and a soldier, it is just and legitimate 
that her apparel should conform to the situation.' 

It was a great point gained, the Church's authority to 
dress as a man. Oh yes, wave on wave the good luck 
came sweeping in. Never mind about the smaller waves, 
let us come to the largest one of all, the wave that swept 
us small fry quite off our feet and almost drowned us with 
joy. The day of the great verdict, couriers had been de 
spatched to the King with it, and the next morning bright 
and early the clear notes of a bugle came floating to us on 
the crisp air, and we pricked up our ears and began to count 
them. One—two—three ; pause ; one—two ; pause ; one— 
two—three, again—and out we skipped and went flying ; 
for that formula was used only when the King's herald-at 
arms would deliver a proclamation to the people. As we 
hurried along, people came racing out of every street and 
house and alley, men, women, and children, all flushed, 
excited, and throwing lacking articles of clothing on as 
they ran ; still those clear notes pealed out, and still the 
rush of people increased till the whole town was abroad 
and streaming along the principal street. At last we 
reached the square, which was now packed with citizens, 
and there, high on the pedestal of the great cross, we saw 
the herald in his brilliant costume, with his servitors about 
him. The next moment he began his delivery in the 
powerful voice proper to his office : 

' Know all men, and take heed therefore, that the most 
high, the most illustrious Charles, by the grace of God 
King of France, hath been pleased to confer upon his well- 
beloved servant Joan of Arc, called the Maid, the title, 
emoluments, authorities, and dignity of General-in-Chief 
of the Armies of France—' 

Here a thousand caps flew into the air, and the multitude. 


J 


burst into a hurricane of cheers that raged and raged till it 
seemed as if it would never come to an end ; but at last it 
did ; then the herald went on and finished : 

—' and hath appointed to be her lieutenant and chief of 
staff a prince of his royal house, his grace the Duke of 
Alençon ! ' 

That was the end, and the hurricane began again, and 
was split up into innumerable strips by the blowers of it 
and wafted through all the lanes and streets of the town. 

General of the Armies of France, with a prince of the 
blood for subordinate ! Yesterday she was nothing—to 
day she was this. Yesterday she was not even a sergeant, 
not even a corporal, not even a private—to-day, with one 
step, she was at the top. Yesterday she was less than 
nobody to the newest recruit—to-day her command was 
law to La Hire, Saintrailles, the Bastard of Orleans, and 
all those others, veterans of old renown, illustrious masters 
of the trade of war. These were the thoughts I was think 
ing ; I was trying to realise this strange and wonderful 
thing that had happened, you see. 

My mind went travelling back, and presently lighted 
upon a picture—a picture which was still so new and fresh 
in my memory that it seemed a matter of only yesterday— 
and indeed its date was no further back than the first days 
of January. This is what it was. A peasant girl in a far- 
off village, her seventeenth year not yet quite completed, 
and herself and her village as unknown as if they had been 
on the other side of the globe. She had picked up a 
friendless wanderer somewhere and brought it home—a 
small grey kitten in a forlorn and starving condition—and 
had fed it and comforted it and got its confidence and made 
it believe in her, and now it was curled up in her lap 
asleep, and she was knitting a coarse stocking and think 
ing—dreaming—about what, one may never know. And 
now—the kitten had hardly had time to become a cat, and 
yet already the girl is General of the Armies of France, 
with a prince of the blood to give orders to, and out of her 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


127 


village obscurity her name has climbed up like the sun and 
is visible from all corners of the land ! It made me dizzy 
to think of these things, they were so out of the common 
order, and seemed so impossible. 


CHAPTER X 

JOAN'S first official act waste dictate a letter to the English 
commanders at Orleans, summoning them to deliver up all 
strongholds in their possession and depart out of France. 
She must have been thinking it all out before and arrang 
ing it in her mind, it flowed from her lips so smoothly, and 
framed itself into such vivacious and forcible language. 
Still, it might not have been so ; she always had a quick 
mind and a capable tongue, and her faculties were con 
stantly developing in these latter weeks. This letter was 
to be forwarded presently from Blois. Men, provisions, 
and money were offering in plenty now, and Joan ap 
pointed Blois as a recruiting station and depot of supplies, 
and ordered up La Hire from the front to take charge. 

The Great Bastard—him of the ducal house, and 
governor of Orleans—had been clamouring for weeks for 
Joan to be sent to him, and now came another messenger, 
old D'Aulon, a veteran officer, a trusty man and fine and 
honest. The King kept him, and gave him to Joan to be 
chief of her household, and commanded her to appoint the 
rest of her people herself, making their number and dignity 
accord with the greatness of her office ; and at the same 
time he gave order that they should be properly equipped 
with arms, clothing, and horses. 

Meantime the King was having a complete suit of 
armour made for her at Tours. It was of the finest steel, 
heavily plated with silver, richly ornamented with engraved 
designs, and polished like a mirror. 

Joan's Voices had told her that there was an ancient 
sword hidden somewhere behind the altar of St. Catherine's 


at Fierbois, and she sent De Metz to get it. The priests 
knew of no such sword, but a search was made, and sure 
enough it was found in that place, buried a little way under 
the ground. It had no sheath and was very rusty, but the 
priests polished it up and sent it to Tours, whither we were 
now to come. They also had a sheath of crimson velvet 
made for it, and the people of Tours equipped it with 
another one, made of cloth of gold. But Joan meant to 
carry this sword always in battle ; so she laid the showy 
sheaths away and got one made of leather. It was 
generally believed that this sword had belonged to Charle 
magne, but that was only a matter of opinion. I wanted 
to sharpen that old blade, but she said it was not necessary, 
as she should never kill anybody, and should carry it only 
as a symbol of authority. 

At Tours she designed her Standard, and a Scotch 

painter named James Power made it. It was of the most 

delicate white boucassin, with fringes of silk. For device 

it bore the image of God the Father throned in the clouds 

and holding the world in His hand ; two angels knelt at 

His feet, presenting lilies ; inscription, JESUS, MARIA ; on 

the reverse the crown of France supported by two angels. 

She also caused a smaller standard or pennon to be 

made, whereon was represented an angel offering a lily to 

the Holy Virgin. 

Everything was humming, there at Tours. Every now 
and then one heard the bray and crash of military music, 
every little while one heard the measured tramp of march 
ing men—squads of recruits leaving for Blois ; songs and 
shoutings and huzzas filled the air night and day, the town 
was full of strangers, the streets and inns were thronged, 
the bustle of preparation was everywhere, and everybody 
carried a glad and cheerful face. Around Joan's head 
quarters a crowd of people was always massed, hoping 
for a glimpse of the new General, and when they got it, 
they went wild , but they seldom got it, for she was busy 


\ 

\\ 


 128 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


129 


planning her campaign, receiving reports, giving orders, 
despatching couriers, and giving what odd moments she 
could spare to the companies of great folk waiting in the 
drawing-rooms. As for us boys, we hardly saw her at all, 
she was so occupied. 

We were in a mixed state of mind—sometimes hopeful, 
sometimes not ; mostly not. She had not appointed her 
household yet—that was our trouble. We knew she was 
being overrun with applications for places in it, and that 
these applications were backed by great names and weighty 
influence, whereas we had nothing of the sort to recom 
mend us. She could fill her humblest places with titled 
folk—folk whose relationships would be a bulwark for her 
and a valuable support at all times. In these circumstances 
would policy allow her to consider us ? We were not as 
cheerful as the rest of the town, but were inclined to be 
depressed and worried. Sometimes we discussed our slim 
chances, and gave them as good an appearance as we could. 
But the very mention of the subject was anguish to the 
Paladin ; for whereas we had some little hope, he had none 
at all. As a rule, Noël Rainguesson was quite willing to 
let the dismal matter alone ; but not when the Paladin was 
present. Once we were talking the thing over, when Noël 
said : 

' Cheer up, Paladin ; I had a dream last night, and you 
were the only one among us that got an appointment. It 
wasn't a high one, but it was an appointment, anyway— 
some kind of a lackey or body-servant, or something of 
that kind.' 

The Paladin roused up and looked almost cheerful ; for 
he was a believer in dreams, and in anything and every 
thing of a superstitious sort, in fact. He said, with a rising 
hopefulness : 

' I wish it might come true. Do you think it will come 
true ? ' 

' Certainly ; I might almost say I know it will, for my 
dreams hardly ever fail.' 


' Noël, I could hug you if that dream could come true, 
I could indeed ! To be servant to the first General of 
France and have all the world hear of it, and the news go 
back to the village and make those gawks stare that always 
said I wouldn't ever amount to anything—wouldn't it be 
great ! Do you think it will come true, Noël ? Don't you 
believe it will ? ' 

' I do. There's my hand on it.' 

' Noël, if it comes true I'll never forget you—shake 
again ! I should be dressed in a noble livery, and the news 
would go to the village, and those animals would say, 
' ' Him, lackey to the General-in-Chief, with the eyes of the 
whole world on him, admiring—well, he has shot up into 
the sky, now, hasn't he ? ' " 

He began to walk the floor and pile castles in the air so 
fast and so high that we could hardly keep up with him. 
Then all of a sudden all the joy went out of his face and 
misery took its place, and he said : 

' Oh dear, it is all a mistake, it will never come true. I 
forgot about that foolish business at Toul. I have kept 
out of her sight as much as I could, all these weeks, hoping 
she would forget that and forgive it—but I know she never 
will. She can't, of course. And, after all, I wasn't to 
blame. I did say she promised to marry me, but they put 
me up to it and persuaded me, I swear they did ! ' The 
vast creature was almost crying. Then he pulled himself 
together and said, remorsefully, ' It was the only lie I've 
ever told, and—' 

He was drowned out with a chorus of groans and out 
raged exclamations ; and before he could begin again, 
one of D'Aulon's liveried servants appeared and said we 
were required at headquarters. We rose, and Noël said : 
' There—what did I tell you ? I have a presentiment— 
the spirit of prophecy is upon me. She is going to appoint 
him, and we are to go there and do him homage. Come 
along ! ' 

But the Paladin was afraid to go, so we left him. 

K 


 i3o 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


When we presently stood in the presence, in front of a 
crowd of glittering officers of the army, Joan greeted us 
with a winning smile, and said she appointed all of us to 
places in her household, for she wanted her old friends by 
her. It was a beautiful surprise to have ourselves honoured 
like this when she could have had people of birth and con 
sequence instead, but we couldn't find our tongues to say 
so, she was become so great and so high above us now. 
One at a time we stepped forward and each received his 
warrant from the hand of our chief, D'Aulon. All of us 
had honourable places : the two knights stood highest ; 
then Joan's two brothers ; I was first page and secretary, 
a young gentleman named Raimond was second page ; 
Noël was her messenger ; she had two heralds, and also a 
chaplain and almoner, whose name was Jean Pasquerel. 
She had previously appointed a maître d'hôtel and a number 
of domestics. Now she looked around and said : 

' But where is the Paladin ? ' 

The Sieur Bertrand said : 

' He thought he was not sent for, your Excellency.' 

' Now that is not well. Let him be called.' 

The Paladin entered humbly enough. He ventured 
no farther than just within the door. He stopped there, 
looking embarrassed and afraid. Then Joan spoke plea 
santly, and said : 

' I watched you on the road. You began badly, but 
improved. Of old you were a fantastic talker, but there is 
a. man in you, and I will bring it out.' It was fine to see 
the Paladin's face light up when she said that. ' Will you 
follow where I lead ? ' 

' Into the fire ! ' he said ; and I said to myself, ' By the 
ring of that, I think she has turned this braggart into a 
hero. It is another of her miracles, I make no doubt of 
it.' 

' I believe you,' said Joan. ' Here—take my banner. 
You will ride with me in every field, and when France is 
saved you will give it me back.' 


JOAN OF ARC 131 

He took the banner, which is now the most precious of 
the memorials that remain of Joan of Arc, and his voice 
was unsteady with emotion when he said : 

' If I ever disgrace this trust, my comrades here will 
know how to do a friend's office upon my body, and this 
charge I lay upon them, as knowing they will not fail me.' 


CHAPTER XI 

NOËL and I went back together—silent at first, and im 
pressed. Finally Noël came up out of his thinkings and 
said : 

' The first shall be last and the last first—there's authority 
for this surprise. But at the same time wasn't it a lofty 
hoist for our big bull ! ' 

' It truly was ; I am not over being stunned yet. It 
was the greatest place in her gift.' 

' Yes, it was. There are many generals, and she can 
create more ; but there is only one Standard-Bearer. ' 

' True. It is the most conspicuous place in the army, 
after her own.' 

' And the most coveted and honourable. Sons of two 
dukes tried to get it, as we know. And of all people in 
the world, this majestic windmill carries it off. Well, 
isn't it a gigantic promotion, when you come to look 
at it ! ' 

' There's no doubt about it. It's a kind of copy of 
Joan's own in miniature.' 

' I don't know how to account for it—do you ? ' 

' Yes, without any trouble at all—that is, I think I do.' 
Noël was surprised at that, and glanced up quickly, as 
if to see if I was in earnest. He said : 

' I thought you couldn't be in earnest, but I see you 
are. If you can make me understand this puzzle, do it. 
Tell me what the explanation is.' 

' I believe I can. You have noticed that our chief 

K2 


v, 


 132 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


knight says a good many wise things and has a thoughtful 
head on his shoulders. One day, riding along, we were 
talking about Joan's great talents, and he said, " But, 
greatest of all her gifts, she has the seeing eye." I said, 
like an unthinking fool, " The seeing eye ?—I shouldn't 
count that for much ; I suppose we all have it." " No," 
he said; "very few have it." Then he explained, and 
made his meaning clear. He said the common eye sees 
only the outside of things, and judges by that ; but the 
seeing eye pierces through and reads the heart and the 
soul, finding there capacities which the outside didn't indi 
cate or promise, and which the other kind of eye couldn't 
detect. He said the mightiest military genius must fail 
and come to nothing if it have not the seeing eye—that is 
to say, if it cannot read men and select its subordinates 
with an infallible judgment. It sees as by intuition that 
this man is good for strategy, that one for dash and dare 
devil assault, the other for patient bull-dog persistence, 
and it appoints each to his right place and wins ; while 
the commander without the seeing eye would give to each 
the other's place and lose. He was right about Joan, and 
I saw it. When she was a child and the tramp came one 
night, her father and all of us took him for a rascal, but 
she saw the honest man through the rags. When I dined 
with the governor of Vaucouleurs so long ago, I saw 
nothing in our two knights, though I sat with them 
and talked with them two hours ; Joan was there five 
minutes, and neither spoke with them nor heard them 
speak, yet she marked them for men of worth and fidelity, 
and they have confirmed her judgment. Whom has she 
sent for to take charge of this thundering rabble of new 
recruits at Blois, made up of old disbanded Armagnac 
raiders, unspeakable hellions, every one? Why, she has 
sent for Satan himself—that is to say, La Hire—that mili 
tary hurricane, that godless swashbuckler, that lurid con 
flagration of blasphemy, that Vesuvius of profanity, for 
ever in eruption. Does he know how to deal with that 


JOAN OF ARC 


133 


mob of roaring devils ? Better than any man that lives ; 
for he is the head devil of this world his own self, he is the 
match of the whole of them combined, and probably the 
father of most of them. She places him in temporary 
command until she can get to Blois herself—and then ! 
Why, then she will certainly take them in hand personally, 
or I don't know her as well as I ought to, after all these 
years of intimacy. That will be a sight to see—that fair 
spirit in her white armour, delivering her will to that 
muck-heap, that rag-pile, that abandoned refuse of per 
dition.' 

' La Hire ! ' cried Noël, ' our hero of all these years—I 
do want to see that man ! ' 

' 1 too. His name stirs me just as it did when I was a 
little boy.' 

' I want to hear him swear.' 

' Of course. I would rather hear him swear than 
another man pray. He is the frankest man there is, and 
the nauvest. Once when he was rebuked for pillaging on 
his raids, he said it was nothing. I judge he is the right 
man to take temporary charge there at Blois. Joan has 
cast the seeing eye upon him, you see.' 

' Which brings us back to where we started. I have 
an honest affection for the Paladin, and not merely because 
he is a good fellow, but because he is my child—I made 
him what he is, the windiest blusterer and most catholic 
liar in the kingdom. I'm glad of his luck, but I hadn't the 
seeing eye. I shouldn't have chosen him for the most 
dangerous post in the army ; I should have placed him in 
the rear to kill the wounded and violate the dead.' 

' Well, we shall see. Joan probably knows what is in 
him better than we do. And I'll give you another idea. 
When a person in Joan of Arc's position tells a man he is 
brave, he believes it, and believing it is enough ; in fact, to 
believe yourself brave is to be brave ; it is the one only 
essential thing.' 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


'Now you've hit it!' cried Noël. 'She's got the 
creating mouth as well as the seeing eye ! Ah yes, that 
is the thing. France was cowed and a coward ; Joan of 
Arc has spoken, and France is marching, with her head 
up!' 

I was summoned now, to write a letter from Joan's 
dictation. During the next day and night our several 
uniforms were made by the tailors, and our new armour 
provided. We were beautiful to look upon now, whether 
clothed for peace or war. Clothed for peace, in costly 
stuffs and rich colours, the Paladin was a tower dyed with 
the glories of the sunset ; plumed and sashed and iron-clad 
for war, he was a still statelier thing to look at. 

Orders had been issued for the march towards Blois. 
It was a clear, sharp, beautiful morning. As our showy 
great company trotted out in column, riding two and two, 
Joan and the Duke of Alençon in the lead, D'Aulon and the 
big standard-bearer next, and so on, we made a handsome 
spectacle as you may well imagine ; and as we ploughed 
through the cheering crowds, with Joan bowing her plumed 
head to left and right and the sun glinting from her silver 
mail, the spectators realised that the curtain was rolling up 
before their eyes upon the first act of a prodigious drama, 
and their rising hopes were expressed in an enthusiasm 
that increased with each moment, until at last one seemed 
to even physically feel the concussion of the huzzas as well 
as hear them. Far down the street we heard the softened 
strains of wind-blown music, and saw a cloud of lancers 
moving, the sun glowing with a subdued light upon the 
massed armour but striking bright upon the soaring lance- 
heads—a vaguely luminous nebula, so to speak, with a 
constellation twinkling above it—and that was our guard 
of honour. It joined us, the procession was complete, the 
first war-march of Joan of Arc was begun, the curtain was 
up. 


JOAN OF ARC T35 


CHAPTER XII 

WE were at Blois three days. Oh, that camp, it is one of 
the treasures of my memory ! Order ? There was no more 
order among those brigands than there is among the wolves 
and the hyenas. They went roaring and drinking about, 
whooping, shouting, swearing, and entertaining themselves 
with all manner of rude and riotous horse-play ; and the 
place was full of loud and lewd women, and they were no 
whit behind the men for romps and noise and fantastics. 

It was in the midst of this wild mob that Noël and I 
had our first glimpse of La Hire. He answered to our 
dearest dreams. He was of great size and of martial bear 
ing, he was cased in mail from head to heel, with a bushel 
of swishing plumes on his helmet, and at his side the vast 
sword of the time. 

He was on his way to pay his respects in state to Joan, 
and as he passed through the camp he was restoring order, 
and proclaiming that the Maid was come, and he would 
have no such spectacle as this exposed to the head of 
the army. His way of creating order" was his own, not 
borrowed. He did it with his great fists. As he moved 
along swearing and admonishing, he let drive this way, 
that way, and the other, and wherever his blow landed, a 
man went down. 

' Damn you ! ' he said, ' staggering and cursing around 
like this, and the Commander-in-Chief in the camp ! 
Straighten up ! ' and he laid the man flat. What his idea 
of straightening up was, was his own secret. 

We followed the veteran to headquarters, listening, 
observing, admiring—yes, devouring, you may say, the pet 
hero of the boys of France from our cradles up to that 
happy day, and their idol and ours. I called to mind how 
Joan had once rebuked the Paladin, there in the pastures of 
Domremy, for uttering lightly those mighty names, La Hire 
and the Bastard of Orleans, and how she said that if shç 


 136 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


137 


could but be permitted to stand afar off and let her eyes 
rest once upon those great men, she would hold it a 
privilege. They were to her and the other girls just what 
they were to the boys. Well, here was one of them at last 
—and what was his errand ? It was hard to realise it, and 
yet it was true ; he was coming to uncover his head before 
her and take her orders. 

While he was quieting a considerable group of his 
brigands in his soothing way, near headquarters, we stepped 
on ahead and got a glimpse of Joan's military family, the 
great chiefs of the army, [for they had all arrived now. 
There they were, six officers of wide renown, handsome 
men in beautiful armour, but the Lord High Admiral of 
France was the handsomest of them all and had the most 
gallant bearing. 

When La Hire entered, one could see the surprise in his 
face at Joan's beauty and extreme youth, and one could 
see, too, by Joan's glad smile, that it made her happy to 
get sight of this hero of her childhood at last. La Hire 
bowed low, with his helmet in his gauntleted hand, and 
made a bluff but handsome little speech with hardly an oath 
in it, and one could see that those two took to each other 
on the spot. 

The visit of ceremony was soon over, and the others 
went away ; but La Hire stayed, and he and Joan sat there, 
and he sipped her wine, and they talked and laughed 
together like old friends. And presently she gave him 
some instructions, in his quality as master of the camp, 
which made his breath stand still. For, to begin with, she 
said that all those loose women must pack out of the place 
at once, she wouldn't allow one of them to remain. Next, 
the rough carousing must stop, drinking must be brought 
within proper and strictly denned limits, and discipline must 
take the place of disorder. And finally she climaxed the 
list of surprises with this—which nearly lifted him out of 
his armour : 

' Every man who joins my standard must confess before 


the priest and absolve himself from sin ; and all accepted 
recruits must be present at divine service twice a day.' 

La Hire could not say a word for a good part of a 
minute, then he said, in deep dejection : 

' Oh, sweet child, they were littered in hell, these poor 
darlings of mine ! Attend mass ? Why, dear heart, they'll 
see us both damned first ! ' 

And he went on, pouring out a most pathetic stream of 
arguments and blasphemy, which broke Joan all up, and 
made her laugh as she had not laughed since she played in 
the Domremy pastures. It was good to hear. 

But she stuck to her point ; so the soldier yielded, and 
said all right, if such were the orders he must obey, and 
would do the best that was in him ; then he refreshed him 
self with a lurid explosion of oaths, and said that if any man 
in the camp refused to renounce sin and lead a pious life, 
he would knock his head off. That started Joan off again : 
she was really having a good time, you see. But she would 
not consent to that form of conversions. She said they 
must be voluntary. 

La Hire said that that was all right, he wasn't going to 
kill the voluntary ones, but only the others. 

No matter, none of them must be killed—Joan couldn't 
have it. She said that to give a man a chance to volunteer, 
on pain of death if he didn't, left him more or less tram 
melled, and she wanted him to be entirely free. 

So the soldier sighed and said he would advertise the 
mass, but said he doubted if there was a man in camp 
that was any more likely to go to it than he was himself. 
Then there was another surprise for him, for Joan said : 
' But dear man, you are going ! ' 
' I ? Impossible ! Oh, this is lunacy ! ' 
' Oh no, it isn't. You are going to the service twice a 
day.' 

' Oh, am I dreaming ? Am I drunk—or is my hearing 
playing me false ? Why, I would rather go to—' 

' Never mind where. In the morning you are going to 


|l 


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 138 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


begin, and after that it will come easy. Now don't look 
down-hearted like that. Soon you won't mind it.' 

La Hire tried to cheer up, but he was not able to do it. 
He sighed like a zephyr, and presently said : 

' Well, I'll do it for you, but before I would do it for 
another, I swear I—' 

' But don't swear. Break it off.' 

'Break it off? It is impossible. I beg you to—to— 
Why—oh, my General, it is my native speech ! ' 

He begged so hard for grace for his impediment, that 
Joan left him one fragment of it ; she said he might swear 
by his bâton, the symbol of his generalship. 

He promised that he would swear only by his bâton 
when in her presence, and would try to modify himself 
elsewhere, but doubted if he could manage it, now that it 
was so old and stubborn a habit, and such a solace and 
support to his declining years. 

That tough old lion went away from there a good deal 
tamed and civilised—not to say softened and sweetened, 
for perhaps those expressions would hardly fit him. Noël 
and I believed that when he was away from Joan's influ 
ence his old aversions would come up so strong in him 
that he could not master them, and so wouldn't go to mass. 
But we got up early in the morning to see. 

Well, he really went. It was hardly believable, but 
there he was, striding along, holding himself grimly to his 
duty, and looking as pious as he could, but growling and 
cursing like a fiend. It was another instance of the same 
old thing ; whoever listened to the voice and looked into 
the eyes of Joan of Arc fell under a spell, and was not his 
own man any more. 

Satan was converted, you see. Well, the rest followed. 
Joan rode up and down that camp, and wherever that fair 
young form appeared in its shining armour, with that sweet 
face to grace the vision and perfect it, the rude host seemed 
to think they saw the god of war in person, descended out 
of the clouds ; and first they wondered, then they wor 


JOAN OF ARC 


139 


shipped. After that, she could do with them what she 
would. 

In three days it was a clean camp and orderly, and those 
barbarians were herding to divine service twice a day like 
good children. The women were gone. La Hire was 
stunned by these marvels ; he could not understand them. 
He went outside the camp when he wanted to swear. He 
was that sort of a man—sinful by nature and habit, but 
full of superstitious respect for holy places. 

The enthusiasm of the reformed army for Joan, its 
devotion to her, and the hot desire she had aroused in it 
to be led against the enemy, exceeded any manifestations 
of this sort which La Hire had ever seen before in his long 
career. His admiration of it all, and his wonder over the 
mystery and miracle of it, were beyond his power to 
put into words. He had held this army cheap before, 
but his pride and confidence in it knew no limits now. 
He said : 

' Two or three days ago it was afraid of a hen-roost ; 
one could storm the gates of hell with it now." 

Joan and he were inseparable, and a quaint and pleasant 
contrast they made. He was so big, she so little ; he was 
so grey and so far along in his pilgrimage of life, she so 
youthful ; his face was so bronzed and scarred, hers so fair 
and pink, so fresh and smooth ; she was so gracious, and he 
so stern ; she was so pure, so innocent, he such a cyclopaedia 
of sin. In her eye was stored all charity and compassion, 
in his lightnings ; when her glance fell upon you it seemed 
to bring benediction and the peace of God, but with his it 
was different generally. 

They rode through the camp a dozen times a day, visit 
ing every corner of it, observing, inspecting, perfecting ; 
and wherever they appeared, the enthusiasm broke forth. 
They rode side by side, he a great figure of brawn and 
muscle, she a little master-work of roundness and grace ; 
he a fortress of rusty iron, she a shining statuette of silver ; 
and when the reformed raiders and bandits caught sight of 


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 140 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


them they spoke out, with affection and welcome in their 
voices, and said : 

' There they come—Satan and the Page of Christ ! ' 

All the three days that we were in Blois, Joan worked 
earnestly and tirelessly to bring La Hire to God—to rescue 
him from the bondage of sin—to breathe into his stormy 
heart the serenity and peace of religion. She urged, she 
begged, she implored him to pray. He stood out, the 
three days of our stay, begging almost piteously to be let 
off—to be let off from just that one thing, that impossible 
thing ; he would do anything else—anything—command, 
and he would obey—he would go through the fire for her, 
if she said the word—but spare him this, only this, for he 
couldn't pray, had never prayed, he was ignorant of how 
to frame a prayer, he had no words to put it in. 

And yet—can any believe it?—she carried even that 
point, she won that incredible victory. She made La Hire 
pray. It shows, I think, that nothing was impossible to 
Joan of Arc. Yes, he stood there before her and put up 
his mailed hands and made a prayer. And it was not 
borrowed, but was his very own ; he had none to help him 
frame it, he made it out of his own head—saying : 

' Fair Sir God, I pray you to do by La Hire as he would 
do by you if you were La Hire and he were God.'l 

Then he put on his helmet and marched out of Joan's 
tent as satisfied with himself as any one might be who has 
arranged a perplexed and difficult business to the content 
and admiration of all the parties concerned in the matter. 

If I had known that he had been praying, I could have 
understood why he was feeling so superior, but of course I 
could not know that. 

I was coming to the tent at that moment, and saw him 
come out, and saw him march away in that large fashion, 

1 This prayer has been stolen many times and by many nations in the 
past four hundred and sixty years, but it originated with La Hire, and the 
fact is of official record in the National Archives of France. We have 
the authority of Michelet for this.—TRANSLATOR. 


JOAN OF ARC 141 

and indeed it was fine and beautiful to see. But when I 
got to the tent door I stopped and stepped back, grieved 
and shocked, for I heard Joan crying, as I mistakenly 
thought—crying as if she could not contain nor endure the 
anguish of her soul, crying as if she would die. But it was 
not so, she was laughing—laughing at La Hire's prayer. 

It was not until six-and-thirty years afterwards that I 
found that out, and then—oh, then I only cried when that 
picture of young care-free mirth rose before me out of the 
blur and mists of that long-vanished time ; for there had 
come a day between, when God's good gift of laughter had 
gone out from me to come again no more in this life. 


CHAPTER XIII 

WE marched out in great strength and splendour, and took 
the road toward Orleans. The initial part of Joan's great 
dream was realising itself at last. It was the first time 
that any of us youngsters had ever seen an army, and it 
was a most stately and imposing spectacle to us. It was 
indeed an inspiring sight, that interminable column, stretch 
ing away into the fading distances, and curving itself in 
and out of the crookedness of the road like a mighty 
serpent. Joan rode at the head of it with her personal 
staff ; then came a body of priests singing the Veni Creator, 
the banner of the Cross rising out of their midst ; after 
these the glinting forest of spears. The several divisions 
were commanded by the great Armagnac generals, La Hire, 
the Marshal de Boussac, the Sire de Retz, Florent d'Illiers, 
and Poton de Saintrailles. 

Each in his degree was tough, and there were three 
degrees—tough, tougher, toughest—and La Hire was the 
last by a shade, but only a shade. They were just illustri 
ous official brigands, the whole party ; and by long habits 
of lawlessness they had lost all acquaintanceship with 
obedience, if they had ever had any. 


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JOAN OF ARC 


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The King's strict orders to them had been, ' Obey the 
General-in-Chief in everything ; attempt nothing without 
her knowledge, do nothing without her command.' 

But what was the good of saying that ? These inde 
pendent birds knew no law. They seldom obeyed the 
King ; they never obeyed him when it didn't suit them to 
do it. Would they obey the Maid ? In the first place they 
wouldn't know how to obey her or anybody else, and in the 
second place it was of course not possible for them to take 
her military character seriously—that country girl of seven 
teen who had been trained for the complex and terrible 
business of war—how ? By tending sheep. 

They had no idea of obeying her except in cases where 
their veteran military knowledge and experience showed 
them that the thing she required was sound and right when 
gauged by the regular military standards. Were they to 
blame for this attitude? I should think not. Old war 
worn captains are hard-headed, practical men. They do 
not easily believe in the ability of ignorant children to plan 
campaigns and command armies. No general that ever 
lived could have taken Joan seriously (militarily) before she 
raised the siege of Orleans and followed it with the great 
campaign of the Loire. 

Did they consider Joan valueless ? Far from it. They 
valued her as the fruitful earth values the sun—they fully 
believed she could produce the crop, but that it was in their 
line of business, not hers, to take it off. They had a deep 
and superstitious reverence for her as being endowed with 
a mysterious supernatural something that was able to do 
a mighty thing which they were powerless to do—blow the 
breath of life and valour into the dead corpses of cowed 
armies and turn them into heroes. 

To their minds they were everything with her, but no 
thing without her. She could inspire the soldiers and fit 
them for battle—but fight the battle herself ? Oh, nonsense 
—that was their function. They, the generals, would fight 
the battles, Joan would give the victory. That was their 


idea—an unconscious paraphrase of Joan's reply to the 
Dominican. 

So they began by playing a deception upon her. She 
had a clear idea of how she meant to proceed. It was her 
purpose to march boldly upon Orleans by the north bank 
of the Loire. She gave that order to her generals. They 
said to themselves, 'The idea is insane—it is blunder 
No. i ; it is what might have been expected of this child 
who is ignorant of war.' They privately sent the word to 
the Bastard of Orleans. He also recognised the insanity 
of it—at least he thought he did—and privately advised the 
generals to get around the order in some way. 

They did it by deceiving Joan. She trusted those people, 
she was not expecting this sort of treatment, and was not 
on the look-out for it. It was a lesson to her ; she saw to 
it that the game was not played a second time. 

Why was Joan's idea insane, from the generals' point of 
view, but not from hers ? Because her plan was to raise 
the siege immediately, by fighting, while theirs was to be 
siege the besiegers and starve them out by closing their 
communications—a plan which would require months in the 
consummation. 

The English had built a fence of strong fortresses called 
bastilles around Orleans—fortresses which closed all the 
gates of the city but one. To the French generals the idea 
of trying to fight their way past those fortresses and lead 
the army into Orleans was preposterous ; they believed 
that the result would be the army's destruction. One may 
not doubt that their opinion was militarily sound—no, 
would have been, but for one circumstance which they over 
looked. That was this : the English soldiers were in a 
demoralised condition of superstitious terror ; they had 
become satisfied that the Maid was in league with Satan. 
By reason of this a good deal of their courage had oozed 
out and vanished. On the other hand the Maid's soldiers 
were full of courage, enthusiasm, and zeal. 

Joan could have marched by the English forts. How- 


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JOAN OF ARC 


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ever, it was not to be. She had been cheated out of her 
first chance to strike a heavy blow for her country. 

In camp that night she slept in her armour on the 
ground. It was a cold night, and she was nearly as stiff 
as her armour itself when we resumed the march in the 
morning, for iron is not good material for a blanket. How 
ever, her joy in being now so far on her way to the theatre 
of her mission was fire enough to warm her, and it soon 
did it. 

Her enthusiasm and impatience rose higher and higher 
with every mile of progress ; but at last we reached Olivet, 
and down it went, and indignation took its place. For she 
saw the trick that had been played upon her—the river lay 
between us and Orleans. 

She was for attacking one of the three bastilles that 
were on our side of the river and forcing access to the 
bridge which it guarded (a project which, if successful, 
would raise the siege instantly), but the long-ingrained 
fear of the English came upon her generals, and they im 
plored her not to make the attempt. The soldiers wanted 
to attack, but had to suffer disappointment. So we moved 
on and came to a halt at a point opposite Chécy, six miles 
above Orleans. 

Dunois, Bastard of Orleans, with a body of knights 
and citizens, came up from the city to welcome Joan. Joan 
was still burning with resentment over the trick that had 
been put upon her, and was not in the mood for soft 
speeches, even to revered military idols of her childhood. 
She said : 

' Are you the Bastard of Orleans ? ' 

' Yes, I am he, and am right glad of your coming.' 

' And did you advise that I be brought by this side of 
the river instead of straight to Talbot and the English ? ' 

Her high manner abashed him, and he was not able 
to answer with anything like a confident promptness, but 
with many hesitations and partial excuses he managed to 
get out the confession that for what he and the council 


had regarded as imperative military reasons they had so 
advised. 

' In God's name,' said Joan, ' my Lord's counsel is safer 
and wiser than yours. You thought to deceive me, but 
you have deceived yourselves, for I bring you the best help 
that ever knight or city had ; for it is God's help, not 
sent for love of me, but by God's pleasure. At the prayer 
of St. Louis and St. Charlemagne He has had pity on 
Orleans, and will not suffer the enemy to have both the 
Duke of Orleans and his city. The provisions to save the 
starving people are here, the boats are below the city, the 
wind is contrary, they cannot come up hither. Now then 
tell me, in God's name, you who are so wise, what that 
council of yours was thinking about, to invent this foolish 
difficulty.' 

Dunois and the rest fumbled around the matter a 
moment, then gave in and conceded that a blunder had 
been made. 

' Yes, a blunder has been made,' said Joan, ' and except 
God take your proper work upon Himself and change the 
wind and correct your blunder for you, there is none else 
that can devise a remedy.' 

Some of those people began to perceive that with all her 
technical ignorance she had practical good sense, and that 
with all her native sweetness and charm she was not the 
right kind of a person to play with. 

Presently God did take the blunder in hand, and by His 
grace the wind did change. So the fleet of boats came up 
and went away loaded with provisions and cattle, and con 
veyed that welcome succour to the hungry city, managing 
the matter successfully under protection of a sortie from the 
walls against the bastille of St.-Loup. Then Joan began 
on the Bastard again : 

' You see here the army ? ' 

1 Yes.' 

' It is here on this side by advice of your council ? ' 

' Yes.' 


 146 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' Now, in God's name, can that wise council explain why 
it is better to have it here than it would be to have it in the 
bottom of the sea ? ' 

Dunois made some wandering attempts to explain the 
inexplicable and excuse the inexcusable, but Joan cut him 
short and said— 

' Answer me this, good sir—has the army any value on 
this side of the river ? ' 

The Bastard confessed that it hadn't—that is, in view of 
the plan of campaign which she had devised and decreed. 

' And yet, knowing this, you had the hardihood to dis 
obey my orders. Since the army's place is on the other 
side, will you explain to me how it is to get there ? ' 

The whole size of the needless muddle was apparent. 
Evasions were of no use ; therefore Dunois admitted that 
there was no way to correct the blunder but to send the 
army all the way back to Blois, and let it begin over again 
and come up on the other side this time, according to Joan's 
original plan. 

Any other girl, after winning such a triumph as this over 
a veteran soldier of old renown, might have exulted a little 
and been excusable for it, but Joan showed no disposition 
of this sort. She dropped a word or two of grief over the 
precious time that must be lost, then began at once to issue 
commands for the march back. She sorrowed to see her 
army go ; for she said its heart was great and its enthusiasm 
high, and that with it at her back she did not fear to face 
all the might of England. 

All arrangements having been completed for the return 
of the main body of the army, she took the Bastard and La 
Hire and a thousand men and went down to Orleans, where 
all the town was in a fever of impatience to have sight 
of her face. It was eight in the evening when she and the 
troops rode in at the Burgundy gate, with the Paladin pre 
ceding her with her standard. She was riding a white horse 
and she carried in her hand the sacred sword of Fierbois. 
You should have seen Orleans then. What a picture it 


JOAN OF ARC 


147 


everything she 
You could hear 


was ! Such black seas of people, such a starry firmament 
of torches, such roaring whirlwinds of welcome, such boom 
ing of bells and thundering of cannon ! It was as if the 
world was come to an end. Everywhere in the glare of the 
torches one saw rank upon rank of upturned white faces, 
the mouths wide open, shouting, and the unchecked tears 
running down ; Joan forged her slow way through the solid 
masses, her mailed form projecting above the pavement of 
heads like a silver statue. The people about her struggled 
along, gazing up at her through their tears with the rapt 
look of men and women who believe they are seeing one 
who is divine ; and always her feet were being kissed by 
grateful folk, and such as failed of that privilege touched 
her horse and then kissed their fingers. 

Nothing that Joan did escaped notice 
did was commented upon and applauded, 
the remarks going all the time. 

' There—she's smiling—see ! ' 

' Now she's taking her little plumed cap off to somebody 

—ah, it's fine and graceful ! ' 

' She's patting that woman on the head with her 
gauntlet.' 

' Oh, she was born on a horse—see her turn in her 
saddle, and kiss the hilt of her sword to the ladies in the 
window that threw the flowers down.' 

' Now there's a poor woman lifting up a child_she's 
kissed it—oh, she's divine ! ' 

' What a dainty little figure it is, and what a lovely face 

—and such colour and animation ! ' 

Joan's slender long banner streaming backward had an 
accident—the fringe caught fire from a torch. She leaned 
forward and crushed the flame in her hand. 

' She's not afraid of fire nor anything ! ' they shouted, 
and delivered a storm of admiring applause that made every 
thing quake. 

She rode to the cathedral and gave thanks to God, and 
the people crammed the place and added their devotions to 


L 3 


 148 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

hers ; then she took up her march again and picked her 
slow way through the crowds and the wilderness of torches 
to the house of Jacques Boucher, treasurer of the Duke of 
Orleans, where she was to be the guest of his wife as long 
as she stayed in the city, and have his young daughter for 
comrade and room-mate. The delirium of the people went 
on the rest of the night, and with it the clamour of the joy- 
bells and the welcoming cannon. 

Joan of Arc had stepped upon her stage at last, and was 
ready to begin. 

CHAPTER XIV 

SHE was ready, but must sit down and wait until there was 
an army to work with. 

Next morning, Saturday, April 30, 1429, she set about 
inquiring after the messenger who carried her proclamation 
to the English from Blois—the one which she had dictated 
at Poitiers. Here is a copy of it. It is a remarkable docu 
ment, for several reasons : for its matter-of-fact directness, 
for its high spirit and forcible diction, and for its naïve con 
fidence in her ability to achieve the prodigious task which 
she had laid upon herself, or which had been laid upon her 
—which you please. All through it you seem to see the 
pomps of war and hear the rumbling of the drums. In it 
Joan's warrior soul is revealed, and for the moment the soft 
little shepherdess has disappeared from your view. This 
untaught country damsel, unused to dictating anything at 
all to anybody, much less documents of state to kings and 
generals, poured out this procession of vigorous sentences 
as fluently as if this sort of work had been her trade from 
childhood : 

'JESUS MARIA 

' King of England, and you Duke of Bedford who call yourself Regent 
of France ; William de la Tôle, Earl of Suffolk ; and you Thomas Lord 
Scales, who style yourselves lieutenants of the said Bedford—do right to 
the King of Heaven. Render to the Maid who is sent by God the keys 


JOAN OF ARC 


149 


of all the good towns you have taken and violated in France. She is sent 
hither by God to restore the blood royal. She is very ready to make 
peace if you will do her right by giving up France and paying for what 
you have held. And you archers, companions of war, noble and other 
wise, who are before the good city of Orleans, begone into your own 
land in God's name, or expect news fron the Maid who will shortly go to 
see you to your very great hurt. King of England, if you do not so, I am 
chief of war, and wherever I shall find your people in France I will drive 
them out, willing or not willing ; and if they do not obey I will slay them 
all, but if they obey, I will have them to mercy. I am come hither by God, 
the King of Heaven, body for body, to put you out of France, in spite of 
those who would work treason and mischief against the kingdom. Think 
not you shall ever hold the kingdom from the King of Heaven, the Son of 
the Blessed Mary ; King Charles shall hold it, for God wills it so, and has 
revealed it to him by the Maid. If you believe not the news sent by God 
through the Maid, wherever we shall meet you we will strike boldly and 
make such a noise as has not been in France these thousand years. Be 
sure that God can send more strength to the Maid than you can bring to 
any assault against her and her good men-at-arms ; and then we shall see 
who has the better right, the King of Heaven, or you. Duke of Bedford, 
the Maid prays you not to bring about your own destruction. If you do 
her right, you may yet go in her company where the French shall do the 
finest deed that has ever been done in Christendom, and if you do not, you 
shall be reminded shortly of your great wrongs.' 

In that closing sentence she invites them to go on 
crusade with her to rescue the Holy Sepulchre. 

No answer had been returned to this proclamation, and 
the messenger himself had not come back. So now she 
sent her two heralds with a new letter warning the English 
to raise the siege and requiring them to restore that missing 
messenger. The heralds came back without him. All they 
brought was notice from the English to Joan that they 
would presently catch her and burn her if she did not clear 
out now while she had a chance, and ' go back to her 
proper trade of minding cows.' 

She held her peace, only saying it was a pity that the 
English would persist in inviting present disaster and 
eventual destruction when she was ' doing all she could to 
get them out of the country with their lives still in their 
bodies.' 


\ 


 I5o PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

Presently she thought of an arrangement that might be 
acceptable, and said to the heralds, ' Go back and say to 
Lord Talbot this, from me : " Come out of your bastilles 
with your host, and I will come with mine ; if I beat you, 
go in peace out of France ; if you beat me, burn me, 
according to your desire." ' 

I did not hear this, but Dunois did, and spoke of it. 
The challenge was refused. 

Sunday morning her Voices or some instinct gave her a 
warning, and she sent Dunois to Blois to take command of 
the army and hurry it to Orleans. It was a wise move, for 
he found Regnault de Chartres and some more of the 
King's pet rascals there trying their best to disperse the 
army, and crippling all the efforts of Joan's generals to head 
it for Orleans. They were a fine lot, those miscreants. 
They turned their attention to Dunois, now, but he had 
baulked Joan once, with unpleasant results to himself, and 
was not minded to meddle in that way again. He soon had 
the army moving. 


'I 1 

J 


CHAPTER XV 

WE of the personal staff were in fairy-land, now, during 
the few days that we waited for the return of the army. 
We went into society. To our two knights this was not a 
novelty, but to us young villagers it was a new and won 
derful life. Any position of any sort near the person of the 
Maid of Vaucouleurs conferred high distinction upon the 
holder and caused his society to be courted ; and so the 
D'Arc brothers, and Noël, and the Paladin, humble peasants 
at home, were gentlemen here, personages of weight 
and influence. It was fine to see how soon their country 
diffidences and awkwardnesses melted away under this 
pleasant sun of deference and disappeared, and how lightly 
and easily they took to their new atmosphere. The Paladin 
was as happy as it was possible for any one in this earth to 
be. His tongue went all the time, and daily he got new 


Joan and La Hire 


 /1 


JOAN OF ARC 151 

delight out of hearing himself talk. He began to enlarge 
his ancestry and spread it out all around, and ennoble it 
right and left, and it was not long until it consisted almost 
entirely of Dukes. He worked up his old battles and 
tricked them out with fresh splendours ; also with new 
terrors, for he added artillery now. We had seen cannon 
for the first time at Blois—a few pieces—here, there was 
plenty of it, and now and then we had the impressive 
spectacle of a huge English bastille hidden from sight in a 
mountain of smoke from its own guns, with lances of red 
flame darting through it ; and this grand picture, along 
with the quaking thunders pounding away in the heart of 
it, inflamed the Paladin's imagination and enabled him to 
dress out those ambuscade-skirmishes of ours with a sub 
limity which made it impossible for any to recognise them 
at all except people who had not been there. 

You may suspect that there was a special inspiration for 
these great efforts of the Paladin's, and there was. It was 
the daughter of the house, Catherine Boucher, who was 
eighteen, and gentle and lovely in her ways, and very 
beautiful. I think she might have been as beautiful as 
Joan herself, if she had had Joan's eyes. But that could 
never be. There was never but that one pair, there will 
never be another. Joan's eyes were deep and rich and 
wonderful beyond anything merely earthly. They spoke 
all the languages—they had no need of words. They pro 
duced all effects—and just by a glance, just a single glance : 
a glance that could convict a liar of his lie and make him 
confess it ; that could bring down a proud man's pride and 
make him humble ; that could put courage into a coward 
and strike dead the courage of the bravest ; that could 
appease resentments and real hatreds ; that could speak 
peace to storms of passion and be obeyed ; that could make 
the doubter believe and the hopeless hope again ; that could 
purify the impure mind ; that could persuade—ah, there it 
is—persuasion ! that is the word ; what or who is it that it 
couldn't persuade ? The maniac of Domremy—the fairy- 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


153 


banishing priest—the reverend tribunal of Toul—the doubt 
ing and superstitious Laxart—the obstinate veteran of 
Vaucouleurs—the characterless heir of France—the sages 
and scholars of the Parliament and University of Poitiers 
—the darling of Satan, La Hire—the masterless Bastard of 
Orleans, accustomed to acknowledge no way as right and 
rational but his own—these were the trophies of that great 
gift that made her the wonder and mystery that she was. 

We mingled compaiiionably with the great folk who 
flocked to the big house to make Joan's acquaintance, and 
they made much of us and we lived in the clouds, so to 
speak. But what we preferred even to this happiness was 
the quieter occasions, when the formal guests were gone 
and the family and a few dozen of its familiar friends were 
gathered together for a social good time. It was then that 
we did our best, we five youngsters, with such fascinations 
as we had, and the chief object of them was Catherine. 
None of us had ever been in love before, and now we had 
the misfortune to all fall in love with the same person at the 
same time—which was the first moment we saw her. She 
was a merry heart, and full of life, and I still remember 
tenderly those few evenings that I was permitted to have 
my share of her dear society and of comradeship with that 
little company of charming people. 

The Paladin made us all jealous the first night, for when 
he got fairly started on those battles of his he had every 
thing to himself, and there was no use in anybody else's 
trying to get any attention. Those people had been living 
in the midst of real war for seven months ; and to hear 
this windy giant lay out his imaginary campaigns and fairly 
swim in blood and spatter it all around, entertained them 
to the verge of the grave. Catherine was like to die from 
pure enjoyment. She didn't laugh loud—we, of course, 
wished she would—but kept in the shelter of a fan, and 
shook until there was danger that she would unhitch her 
ribs from her spine. Then when the Paladin had got done 
with a battle and we began to feel thankful and hope for a 


change, she would speak up in a way that was so sweet 
and persuasive that it rankled in me, and ask him about 
some detail or other in the early part of his battle which 
she said had greatly interested her, and would he be so 
good as to describe that part again and with a little more 
particularity?—which of course precipitated the whole battle 
on us again, with a hundred lies added that had been over 
looked before. 

I do not know how to make you realise the pain I 
suffered. I had never been jealous before, and it seemed 
intolerable that this creature should have this good fortune 
which he was so ill entitled to, and I have to sit and see 
myself neglected when I was so longing for the least little 
attention out of the thousand that this beloved girl was 
lavishing upon him. I was near her, and tried two or three 
times to get started on some of the things that /had done in 
those battles—and I felt ashamed of myself, too, for stoop 
ing to such a business—but she cared for nothing but his 
battles, and could not be got to listen ; and presently when 
one of my attempts caused her to lose some precious rag 
or other of his mendacities and she asked him to repeat, 
thus bringing on a new engagement of course and increas 
ing the havoc and carnage tenfold, I felt so humiliated by 
this pitiful miscarriage of mine that I gave up and tried no 
more. 

The others were .as outraged by the Paladin's selfish 
conduct as I was—and by his grand luck, too, of course— 
perhaps, indeed, that was the main hurt. We talked our 
trouble over together, which was but natural, for rivals 
become brothers when a common affliction assails them 
and a common enemy bears off the victory. 

Each of us would do things that would please and get 
notice if it were not for this person, who occupied all the 
time and gave others no chance. I had made a poem, 
taking a whole night to it—a poem in which I most happily 
and delicately celebrated that sweet girl's charms, without 
mentioning her name, but any one could see who was 


 154 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


ISS 


meant ; for the bare title—' The Rose of Orleans '—would 
reveal that, as it seemed to me. It pictured this pure and 
dainty white rose as growing up out of the rude soil of war 
and looking abroad out of its tender eyes upon the horrid 
machinery of death, and then—note this conceit—it blushes 
for the sinful nature of man, and turns red in a single night. 
Becomes a red rose, you see—a rose that was white before. 
The idea was my own, and quite new. Then it sent its 
sweet perfume out over the embattled city, and when the 
beleaguering forces smelt it they laid down their arms and 
wept. This was also my own idea, and new. That closed 
that part of the poem ; then I put her into the similitude 
of the firmament—not the whole of it, but only part. That 
is to say, she was the moon, and all the constellations were 
following her about, their hearts in flames for love of her, 
but she would not halt, she would not listen, for 'twas 
thought she loved another. 'Twas thought she loved a 
poor unworthy suppliant who was upon the earth, facing 
danger, death, and possible mutilation in the bloody field, 
waging relentless war against a heartless foe to save her 
from an all too early grave, and her city from destruction. 
And when the sad pursuing constellations came to know 
and realise the bitter sorrow that was come upon them— 
note this idea—their hearts broke and their tears gushed 
forth, filling the vault of heaven with a fiery splendour, 
for those tears were falling stars. It was a rash idea, but 
beautiful ; beautiful and pathetic ; wonderfully pathetic, 
the way I had it, with the rhyme and all to help. At the 
end of each verse there was a two-line refrain pitying the 
poor earthly lover separated so far, and perhaps for ever, 
from her he loved so well, and growing always paler and 
weaker and thinner in his agony as he neared the cruel 
grave—the most touching thing—even the boys themselves 
could hardly keep back their tears, the way Noël said those 
lines. There were eight four-line stanzas in the first end 
of the poem—the end about the rose, the horticultural end, 
as you may say, if that is not too large a name for such 


a little poem—and eight in the astronomical end—sixteen 
stanzas altogether, and I could have made it a hundred 
and fifty if I had wanted to, I was so inspired and so all 
swelled up with beautiful thoughts and fancies ; but that 
would have been too many to sing or recite before a com 
pany, that way, whereas sixteen was just right, and could 
be done over again, if desired. 

The boys were amazed that I could make such a poem 
as that out of my own head, and so was I, of course, it 
being as much a surprise to me as it could be to anybody, 
for I did not know that it was in me. If any had asked 
me a single day before if it was in me, I should have told 
them frankly no, it was not. 

That is the way with us ; we may go on half of our life 
not knowing such a thing is in us, when in reality it was 
there all the time, and all we needed was something to 
turn up that would call for it. Indeed, it was always so 
with our family. My grandfather had a cancer, and they 
never knew what was the matter with him till he died, and 
he didn't himself. It is wonderful how gifts and diseases 
can be concealed that way. All that was necessary in my 
case was for this lovely and inspiring girl to cross my path, 
and out came the poem, and no more trouble to me to 
word it and rhyme it and perfect it than it is to stone a 
dog. No, I should have said it was not in me ; but it was. 

The boys couldn't say enough about it, they were so 
charmed and astonished. The thing that pleased them 
the most was the way it would do the Paladin's business 
for him. They forgot everything in their anxiety to get 
him shelved and silenced. Noël Rainguessoii was clear 
beside himself with admiration of the poem, and wished he 
could do such a thing, but it was out of his line, and he 
couldn't, of course. He had it by heart in half an hour, 
and there was never anything so pathetic and beautiful as 
the way he recited it. For that was just his gift—that and 
mimicry. He could recite anything better than anybody 
in the world, and he could take off La Hire to the very life 


 156 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


anybody else for that matter. Now I never could 
recite worth a farthing ; and when I tried with this poem 
the boys wouldn't let me finish ; they would have no 
body but Noël. So then, as I wanted the poem to make 
the best possible impression on Catherine and the company, 
I told Noël he might do the reciting Never was anybody 
so delighted. He could hardly believe that I was in earnest, 
but I was. I said that to have them know that I was the 
author of it would be enough for me. The boys were full of 
exultation, and Noël said if he could just get one chance at 
those people it would be all he would ask ; he would make 
them realise that there was something higher and finer 
than war-lies to be had here. 

But how to get the opportunity—that was the difficulty. 
We invented several schemes that promised fairly, and at 
last we hit upon one that was sure. That was, to let the 
Paladin get a good start in a manufactured battle, and 
then send in a false call for him, and as soon as he was 
out of the room, have Noël take his place and finish the 
battle himself in the Paladin's own style, imitated to a 
shade. That would get great applause, and win the 
house's favour and put it in the right mood to hear the 
poem. The two triumphs together would finish the 
Staiidard-Bearer—modify him, anyway, to a certainty, and 
give the rest of us a chance for the future. 

So the next night I kept out of the way until the Paladin 
had got his start and was sweeping down upon the enemy 
like a whirlwind at the head of his corps, then I stepped 
within the door in my official uniform and announced that 
a messenger from General La Hire's quarters desired 
speech with the Standard-Bearer. He left the room, and 
Noël took his place and said that the interruption was to 
be deplored, but that fortunately he was personally ac 
quainted with the details of the battle himself, and if per 
mitted would be glad to state them to the company. Then 
without waiting for the permission he turned himself into 
the Paladin—a dwarfed Paladin, of course—with manner, 


JOAN OF ARC 


157 


tones, gestures, attitudes, everything exact, and went right 
on with the battle, and it would be impossible to imagine 
a more perfectly and minutely ridiculous imitation than 
he furnished to those shrieking people. They went into 
spasms, convulsions, frenzies of laughter, and the tears 
flowed down their cheeks in rivulets. The more they 
laughed, the more inspired Noël grew with his theme and 
the greater the marvels he worked, till really the laughter 
was not properly laughing any more, but screaming. 
Blessedest feature of all, Catherine Boucher was dying 
with ecstasies, and presently there was little left of her 
but gasps and suffocations. Victory ? It was a perfect 
Agincourt. 

The Paladin was gone only a couple of minutes ; he 
found out at once that a trick had been played on him, so 
he came back. When he approached the door he heard 
Noël ranting in there and recognised the state of the case ; 
so he remained near the door but out of sight, and heard 
the performance through to the end. The applause Noël 
got when he finished was wonderful ; and they kept it up 
and kept it up, clapping their hands like mad, and shout 
ing to him to do it over again. 

But Noël was clever. He knew the very best back 
ground for a poem of deep and refined sentiment and 
pathetic melancholy was one where great and satisfying 
merriment has prepared the spirit for the powerful con 
trast. 

So he paused until all was quiet, then his face grew 
grave and assumed an impressive aspect, and at once all 
faces sobered in sympathy and took on a look of wonder 
ing and expectant interest. Now he began in a low but 
distinct voice the opening verses of ' The Rose.' As he 
breathed the rhythmic measures forth, and one gracious 
line after another fell upon those enchanted ears in that 
deep hush, one could catch, on every hand, half-audible 
ejaculations of ' How lovely !—how beautiful !—how ex 
quisite ! ' 


 ,,' I 


158 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

By this time the Paladin, who had gone away for a 
moment with the opening of the poem, was back again, 
and had stepped within the door. He stood there, now, 
resting his great frame against the wall and gazing toward 
the reciter like one entranced. When Noël got to the 
second part, and that heart-breaking refrain began to melt 
and move all listeners, the Paladin began to wipe away 
tears with the back of first one hand and then the other. 
The next time the refrain was repeated he got to snuffling, 
and sort of half sobbing, and went to wiping his eyes with 
the sleeves of his doublet. He was so conspicuous that he 
embarrassed Noël a little, and also had an ill effect upon 
the audience. With the next repetition he broke quite 
down and began to cry like a calf, which ruined all the 
effect and started many in the audience to laughing. Then 
he went on from bad to worse, until I never saw such a 
spectacle ; for he fetched out a towel from under his 
doublet and began to swab his eyes with it and let go the 
most infernal bellowings mixed up with sobbings and 
groanings and retchings and barkings and coughings and 
snortings and screamings and howlings—and he twisted 
himself about on his heels and squirmed this way and that, 
slill pouring out that brutal clamour and flourishing his 
towel in the air and swabbing again and wringing it out. 
Hear? You couldn't hear yourself think. Noël was 
wholly drowned out and silenced, and those people were 
laughing the very lungs out of themselves. It was the 
most degrading sight that ever was. Now I heard the 
clankety-clank that plate-armour makes when the man that 
is in it is running, and then alongside my head there burst 
out the most inhuman explosion of laughter that ever rent 
the drum of a person's ear, and I looked, and it was La 
Hire ; and he stood there with his gauntlets on his hips 
and his head tilted back and his jaws spread to that degree 
to let out his hurricanes and his thunders that it amounted 
to indecent exposure, for you could see everything that was 
in him. Only one thing more and worse could happen, 


JOAN OF ARC 


159 


and it happened : at the other door I saw the flurry and 
bustle and bowings and scrapings of officials and flunkeys 
which means that some great personage is coming—then 
Joan of Arc stepped in, and the house rose ! Yes, and 
tried to shut its indecorous mouth and make itself grave 
and proper ; but when it saw the Maid herself go to laugh 
ing, it thanked God for this mercy and the earthquake 
followed. 

Such things make life a bitterness, and I do not wish 
to dwell upon them. The effect of the poem was spoiled. 


CHAPTER XVI 

THIS episode disagreed with me and I was not able to 
leave my bed the next day. The others were in the same 
condition. But for this, one or another of us might have 
had the good luck that fell to the Paladin's share that day ; 
but it is observable that God in His compassion sends the 
good luck to such as are ill equipped with gifts, as com 
pensation for their defect, but requires such as are more 
fortunately endowed to get by labour and talent what those 
others get by chance. It was Noël who said this, and it* 
seemed to me to be well and justly thought. 

The Paladin, going about the town all the day in order 
to be followed and admired and overhear the people say in 
an awed voice, ' Ssh !—look, it is the Standard-Bearer of 
Joan of Arc ! ' had speech with all sorts and conditions of 
folk, and he learned from some boatmen that there was a 
stir of some kind going on in the bastilles on the other 
side of the river ; and in the evening, seeking further, he 
found a deserter from the fortress called the ' Augustins,' 
who said that the English were going to send men over to 
strengthen the garrisons on our side during the darkness 
of the night, and were exulting greatly, for they meant to 
spring upon Dunois and the army when it was passing the 
bastilles and destroy it ; a thing quite easy to do, since the 


 l l 

I 


i • Ï 


160 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' Witch ' would not be there, and without her presence the 
army would do like the French armies of these many years 
past—drop their weapons and run when they saw an 
English face. 

It was ten at night when the Paladin brought this news 
and asked leave to speak to Joan, and I was up and on 
duty then. It was a bitter stroke to me to see what a chance 
I had lost. Joan made searching inquiries, and satisfied 
herself that the word was true, then she made this annoy 
ing remark : 

' You have done well, and you have my thanks. It 
may be that you have prevented a disaster. Your name 
and service shall receive official mention.' 

Then he bowed low, and when he rose he was eleven 
feet high. As he swelled out past me he covertly pulled 
down the corner of his eye with his finger and muttered 
part of that defiled refrain, ' Oh tears, ah tears, oh sad 
sweet tears !—name in General Orders—personal mention 
to the King, you see ! ' 

I wished Joan could have seen his conduct, but she 
was busy thinking what she would do. Then she had me 
fetch the knight Jean de Metz, and in a minute he was off 
for La Hire's quarters with orders for him and the Lord 
de Villars and Florent d'Illiers to report to her at five 
o'clock next morning with five hundred picked men well 
mounted. The histories say half-past four, but it is not 
true, I heard the order given. 

We were on our way at five to the minute, and en 
countered the head of the arriving column between six and 
seven, a couple of leagues from the city. Duncis was 
pleased, for the army had begun to get restive and show 
uneasiness now that it was getting so near to the dreaded 
bastilles. But that all disappeared now, as the word ran 
down the line, with a huzzah that swept along the 
length of it like a wave, that the Maid was come. Dunois 
asked her to halt and let the column pass in review, so 
that the men could be sure that the report of her presence 


JOAN OF ARC 


161 


was not a ruse to revive their courage. So she took 
position at the side of the road with her staff, and the 
battalions swung by with a martial stride, huzzahing. 
Joan was armed, except her head. She was wearing the 
cunning little velvet cap with the mass of curved white 
ostrich plumes tumbling over its edges which the city of 
Orleans had given her the night she arrived—the one that 
is in the picture that hangs in the Hôtel de Ville at Rouen. 
She was looking about fifteen. The sight of soldiers 
always set her blood to leaping, and lit the fires in her eyes 
and brought the warm rich colour to her cheeks ; it was 
then that you saw that she was too beautiful to be of the 
earth, or at any rate that there was a subtle something 
somewhere about her beauty that differed it from the 
human types of your experience and exalted it above them. 
In the train of wains laden with supplies a man lay 
on top of the goods. He was stretched out on his back, 
and his hands were tied together with ropes, and also 
his ankles. Joan signed to the officer in charge of that 
division of the train to come to her, and he rode up and 
saluted. 

' Wrhat is he that is bound, there ? ' she asked. 
' A prisoner, General." 
' What is his offence ? ' 
' He is a deserter.' 
' Wrhat is to be done with him ? ' 

' He will be hanged, but it was not convenient on the 
march, and there was no hurry.' 
' Tell me about him." 

'He is a good soldier, but he asked leave to go and 
see his wife who was dying, he said, but it could not be 
granted ; so he went without leave. Meanwhile the 
march began, and he only overtook us yesterday evening.' 
' Overtook you ? Did he come of his own will ? ' 
' Yes, it was of his own will.' 

'-He a deserter ! Name of God ! Bring him to me.' 
The officer rode forward and loosed the man's feet and 

M 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


163 


brought him back with his hands still tied. What a figure 
he was—a good seven feet high, and built for business ! 
He had a strong face ; he had an unkempt shock of black 
hair which showed up in a striking way when the officer 
removed his morion for him ; for weapon he had a big axe 
in his broad leathern belt. Standing by Joan's horse, he 
made Joan look littler than ever, for his head was about 
on a level with her own. His face was profoundly 
melancholy ; all interest in life seemed to be dead in the 
man. Joan said— 

' Hold up your hands.' 

The man's head was down. He lifted it when he 
heard that soft friendly voice, and there was a wistful 
something in his face which made one think that there had 
been music in it for him and that he would like to hear it 
again. When he raised his hands Joan laid her sword to 
his bonds, but the officer said with apprehension— 

' Ah, madam—my General ! ' 

'What is it?' she said. 

' He is under sentence ! ' 

' Yes, I know. I am responsible for him,' and she cut 
the bonds. They had lacerated his wrists, and they were 
bleeding. ' Ah, pitiful ! ' she said ; ' blood—I do not like 
it ' ; and she shrank from the sight. But only for a moment. 
' Give me something-, somebody, to bandage his wrists 
with.' 

The officer said— 

' Ah, my General ! it is not fitting. Let me bring an 
other to do it.' 

' Another ? De par le Dieu ! You would seek far to 
find one that can do it better than I, for I learned it long 
ago among both men and beasts. And I can tie better 
than those that did this ; if I had tied him the ropes had 
not cut his flesh.' 

The man looked on, silent, while he was being 
bandaged, stealing a furtive glance at Joan's face occa 
sionally, such as an animal might that is receiving a kind 


ness from an unexpected quarter and is gropingly trying 
to reconcile the act with its source. All the staff had 
forgotten the huzzahing army drifting by in its rolling 
clouds of dust, to crane their necks and watch the 
bandaging as if it was the most interesting and absorbing 
novelty that ever was. I have often seen people do like 
that—get entirely lost in the simplest trifle, when it is 
something that is out of their line. Now there in Poitiers, 
once, I saw two bishops and a dozen of those grave and 
famous scholars grouped together watching a man paint a 
sign on a shop ; they didn't breathe, they were as good as 
dead ; and when it began to sprinkle they didn't know it 
at first ; then they noticed it, and each man hove a deep 
sigh, and glanced up with a surprised look as wondering 
to see the others there, and how he came to be there him 
self—but that is the way with people, as I have said. 
There is no way of accounting for people. You have to 
take them as they are. 

' There,' said Joan at last, pleased with her success ; 
' another could have done it no better—not as well, I think. 
Tell me—what is it you did ? Tell me all.' 
The giant said : 

' It was this way, my angel. My mother died, then 
my three little children, one after the other, all in two 
years. It was the famine ; others fared so—it was God's 
will. I saw them die ; I had that grace ; and I buried 
them. Then when my poor wife's fate was come, I begged 
for leave to go to her—she who was so dear to me—she 
who was all I had ; I begged on my knees. But they 
would not let me. Could I let her die, friendless and alone ? 
Could I let her die believing I would not come ? Would 
she let me die and she not come—with her feet free to do it 
if she would, and no cost upon it but only her life? Ah, 
she would come—she would come through the fire ! So I 
went. I saw her. She died in my arms. I buried her. 
Then the army was gone. I had trouble to overtake it, 


J, 


 164 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


but my legs are long and there are many hours in a day ; 
I overtook it last night.' 

Joan said, musingly, and as if she were thinking 
aloud— 

' It sounds true. If true, it were no great harm to sus 
pend the law this one time—any would say that. It may 
not be true, but if it is true—' She turned suddenly to the 
man and said, ' I would see your eyes—look up ! ' The 
eyes of the two met, and Joan said to the officer, ' The 
man is pardoned. Give you good-day ; you may go.' 
Then she said to the man, ' Did you know it was death to 
come back to the army ? ' 

< Yes,' he said, ' I knew it.' 

' Then why did you do it ? ' 

The man said, quite simply— 

' Because it was death. She was all I had. There was 
nothing left to love.' 

' Ah, yes, there was—France ! The children of France 
have always their mother—they cannot be left with nothing 
to love. You shall live—and you shall serve France—' 

' I will serve you ! ' 

' —you shall fight for France—' 

' I will fight for you I ' 

' You shall be France's soldier—' 

' I will be your soldier ! ' 

' —you shall give all your heart to France—' 

' I will give all my heart to you—and all my soul, if I 
have one—and all my strength, which is great—for I was 
dead and am alive again ; I had nothing to live for, but 
now I have ! " You are France for me ! You are my 
France, and I will have no other." 

Joan smiled, and was touched and pleased at the man's 
grave enthusiasm—solemn enthusiasm, one may call it, 
for the manner of it was deeper than mere gravity—and 
she said— 

' Well, it shall be as you will. What are you called ? ' 

The man answered with unsmiling simplicity— 


[ —=. "•-»" * " 

l^ ~ ^as^a,'-- "i- 


Joan and 'the D waif 


 JOAN OF ARC 


165 


I 


' They call me the Dwarf, but I think it is more in jest 
than otherwise.' 

It made Joan laugh, and she said— 

' It has something of that look, truly ! What is the 
office of that vast axe ? ' 

The soldier replied with the same gravity—which must 
have been born to him, it sat upon him so naturally— 

' It is to persuade persons to respect France.' 

Joan laughed again, and said— 

' Have you given many lessons ? ' 

' Ah, indeed yes—many.' 

' The pupils behaved to suit you, afterwards ? ' 

' Yes ; it made them quiet—quite pleasant and quiet.' 

' I should think it would happen so. Would you like 
to be my man-at-arms ?—orderly, sentinel, or something 
like that ? ' 

' If I may ! ' 

' Then you shall. You shall have proper armour, and 
shall go on teaching your art. Take one of those led 
horses there, and follow the staff when we move.' 

That is how we came by the Dwarf ; and a good fellow 
he was. Joan picked him out on sight, but it wasn't a 
mistake ; no one could be faithfuller than he was, and he 
was a devil and the son of a devil when he turned himself 
loose with his axe. He was so big that he made the 
Paladin look like an ordinary man. He liked to like people, 
therefore people liked him. He liked us boys from the 
start, and he liked the knights, and liked pretty much 
everybody he came across ; but he thought more of a paring 
of Joan's finger-nail than he did of all the rest of the world 
put together. 

Yes, that is where we got him—stretched on the wain, 
going to his death, poor chap, and nobody to say a good 
word for him. He was a good find. Why, the knights 
treated him almost like an equal—it is the honest truth ; 
that is the sort of man he was. They called him the 
Bastille, sometimes, and sometimes they called him Hellfire, 


! ï 


 i66 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS 


which was on account of his warm and sumptuous style 
in battle, and you know they wouldn't have given him 
pet names if they hadn't had a good deal of affection for 
him. 

To the Dwarf, Joan was France, the spirit of France 
made flesh—he never got away from that idea that he had 
started with ; and God knows it was the true one. That 
was a humble eye to see so great a truth where some 
others failed. To me that seems quite remarkable. And 
yet, after all, it was, in a way, just what nations do. 
When they love a great and noble thing, they embody it— 
they want it so that they can see it with their eyes ; like 
Liberty, for instance. They are not content with the 
cloudy abstract idea ; they make a beautiful statue of it, 
and then their beloved idea is substantial and they can 
look at it and worship it. And so it is as I say ; to the 
Dwarf, Joan was our country embodied, our country made 
visible flesh cast in a gracious form. When she stood 
before others, they saw Joan of Arc, but he saw France. 

Sometimes he would speak of her by that name. It 
shows you how the idea was imbedded in his mind, and 
how real it was to him. The world has called our kings 
by it, but I know of none of them who has had so good a 
right as she to that sublime title. 

When the march past was finished, Joan returned to 
the front and rode at the head of the column. When we 
began to file past those grim bastilles and could glimpse 
the men within, standing to their guns and ready to empty 
death into our ranks, such a faintness came over me and 
such a sickness that all things seemed to turn dim and 
swim before my eyes ; and the other boys looked droopy 
too, I thought—including the Paladin, although I do not 
know this for certain, because he was ahead of me, and I 
had to keep my eyes out toward the bastille side, because 
I could wince better when I saw what to wince at. 

But Joan was at home—in Paradise, I might say. She 
sat up straight, and I could see that she was feeling 


JOAN OF ARC 


167 


different from me. The awfullest thing was the silence ; 
there wasn't a sound but the screaking of the saddles, the 
measured tramplings, and the sneezing of the horses, 
afflicted by the smothering dust-clouds which they kicked 
up. I wanted to sneeze myself, but it seemed to me that 
I would rather go unsneezed, or suffer even a bitterer tor 
ture, if there is one, than attract attention to myself. 

I was not of a rank to make suggestions, or I would 
have suggested that if we went faster we should get by 
sooner. It seemed to me that it was an ill-judged time to 
be taking a walk. Just as we were drifting in that 
suffocating stillness past a great cannon that stood just 
within a raised portcullis, with nothing between me and it 
but the,moat, a most uncommon jackass in there split the 
world with his bray, and I fell out of the saddle. Sir 
Bertrand grabbed me as I went, which was well, for if I 
had gone to the ground in my armour I could not have 
gotten up again by myself. The English warders on the 
battlements laughed a coarse laugh, forgetting that every 
one must begin, and that there had been a time when they 
themselves would have fared no better when shot by a 

jackass. 

The English never uttered a challenge nor fired a shot. 
It was said afterwards that when their men saw the Maid 
riding at the front and saw how lovely she was, their eager 
courage cooled down in many cases and vanished in the 
rest, they feeling certain that that creature was not mortal, 
but the very child of Satan ; and so the officers were 
prudent and did not try to make them fight. It was said 
also that some of the officers were affected by the same 
superstitious fears. Well, in any case, they never offered 
to molest us, and we poked by all the grisly fortresses in 
peace. During the march I caught up on my devotions, 
which were in arrears ; so it was not all loss and no profit 
for me, after all. 

It was on this march that the histories say Dunois told 
Joan that the English were expecting reinforcements under 


 I 


168 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

the command of Sir John Falstaff, and that she turned 
upon him and said— 

' Bastard, Bastard, in God's name I warn you to let me 
know of his coming as soon as you hear of it ; for if he 
passes without my knowledge you shall lose your head ! ' 

It may be so ; I don't deny it, but I didn't hear it. If 
she really said it, I think she only meant she would take 
off his official head—degrade him from his command. It 
was not like her to threaten a comrade's life. She did 
have her doubts of her generals, and was entitled to them, 
for she was all for storm and assault, and they were for 
holding still and tiring the English out. Since they did 
not believe in her way and were experienced old soldiers, it 
would be natural for them to prefer their own and try to 
get around carrying hers out. 

But I did hear something that the histories didn't men 
tion and don't know about. I heard Joan say that now 
that the garrisons on the other side had been weakened to 
strengthen those on our side, the most effective point of 
operations had shifted to the south shore ; so she meant 
to go over there and storm the forts which held the bridge 
end, and that would open up communication with our own 
dominions and raise the siege. The generals began to 
balk, privately, right away, but they only baffled and 
delayed her, and that for only four days. 

All Orleans met the army at the gate and huzzahed it 
through the bannered streets to its various quarters, but 
nobody had to rock it to sleep ; it slumped down dog- 
tired, for Dunois had rushed it without mercy, and for the 
next twenty-four hours it would be quiet, all but the snoring. 


CHAPTER XVII 

WHEN we got home, breakfast for us minor fry was waiting 
in our mess-room and the family honoured us by coming 
in to eat it with us. The nice old treasurer, and in fact all 


JOAN OF ARC 


169 


three, were flatteringly eager to hear about our]adventures. 
Nobody asked the Paladin to begin, but he did begin, 
because now that his specially ordained and peculiar 
military rank set him above everybody on the personal 
staff but old D'Aulon, who didn't eat with us, he didn't 
care a farthing for the knights' nobility nor mine, but took 
precedence in the talk whenever it suited him, which was 
all the time, because he was born that way. He said : 

' God be thanked, we found the army in admirable con 
dition. I think I have never seen a finer body of animals.' 

' Animals ? ' said Miss Catherine. 

' I will explain to you what he means,' said Noël. 
' He—' 

' I will trouble you not to trouble yourself to explain 
anything for me,' said the Paladin, loftily. ' I have reason 
to think—' 

' That is his way,' said Noël ; ' always when he thinks 
he has reason to think, he thinks he does think, but this 
is an error. He didn't see the army. I noticed him, and 
he didn't see it. He was troubled by his old complaint.' 

' What is his old complaint ? ' Catherine asked. 

' Prudence,' I said, seeing my chance to help. 

But it was not a fortunate remark, for the Paladin said : 

' It probably isn't your turn to criticise people's pru 
dence—you who fall out of the saddle when a donkey 
brays.' 

They all laughed, and I was ashamed of myself for my 
hasty smartness. I said : 

' It isn't quite fair for you to say I fell out on account 
of the donkey's braying. It was emotion, just ordinary 
emotion.' 

' Very well, if you want to call it that, I am not object 
ing. What would you call it, Sir Bertrand ? ' 

' Well, it—well, whatever it was, it was excusable, I 
think. All of you have learned how to behave in hot hand- 
to-hand engagements, and you don't need to be ashamed 
of your record in that matter ; but to walk along in front 


il 


 170 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


171 


of death, with one's hands idle, and no noise, no music, 
and nothing going on, is a very trying situation. If I were 
you, De Conte, I would name the emotion ; it's nothing to 
be ashamed of.' 

It was as straight and sensible a speech as ever I heard, 
and I was grateful for the opening it gave me ; so I came 
out and said : 

' It was fear—and thank you for the honest idea, too.' 

' It was the cleanest and best way out,' said the old 
treasurer ; ' you've done well, my lad.' 

That made me comfortable, and when Miss Catherine 
said, ' It's what I think, too,' I was grateful to myself for 
getting into that scrape. 

Sir Jean de Metz said— 

'We were all in a body together when the donkey 
brayed, and it was dismally still at the time. I don't see 
how any young campaigner could escape some little touch 
of that emotion.' 

He looked about him with a pleasant expression of 
inquiry on his good face, and as each pair of eyes in turn 
met his the head they were in nodded a confession. Even 
the Paladin delivered his nod. That surprised everybody, 
and saved the Standard-Bearer's credit. It was clever of 
him ; nobody believed he could tell the truth that way 
without practice, or would tell that particular sort of a truth 
either with or without practice. I suppose he judged it 
would favourably impress the family. Then the old 
treasurer said— 

'^Passing the forts in that trying way required the same 
sort of nerve that a person must have when ghosts are 
about him in the dark, I should think. What does the 
Standard-Bearer think ? ' 

' Well, I don't quite know about that, sir. I've often 
thought I would like to see a ghost if I—' 

' Would you ? ' exclaimed the young lady. ' We've got 
one ! Would you try that one ? Will you ? ' 

She was so eager and pretty that the Paladin said 


straight out that he would ; .and then as none of the rest 
had bravery enough to expose the fear that was in him, 
one volunteered after the other with a prompt mouth and 
a sick heart till all were shipped for the voyage ; then the 
girl clapped her hands in glee, and the parents were 
gratified too, saying that the -ghosts of their house had 
been a dread and a misery to them and their forebears for 
generations, and nobody had ever been found yet who was 
willing to confront them and find out what their trouble 
was, so that the family could heal it and content the poor 
spectres and beguile them to tranquillity and peace. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

ABOUT noon I was chatting with Madame Boucher ; nothing 
was going on, all was quiet, when Catherine Boucher sud 
denly entered in great excitement, and said— 

' Fly, sir, fly ! The Maid was dozing in her chair in my 
room, when she sprang up and cried out, "French blood 
is flowing !—my arms, give me my arms ! " Her giant was 
on guard at the door, and he brought D'Aulon, who began 
to arm her, and I and the giant have been warning the 
staff. Fly '.—and stay by her ; and if there really is a 
battle, keep her out of it—don't let her risk herself—there 
is no need—if the men know she is near and looking on, it 
is all that is necessary. Keep her out of the fight—don't 

fail of this ! ' 

I started on a run, saying, sarcastically—for I was 
always fond of sarcasm, and it was said that I had a most 
neat gift that way— 

' Oh yes, nothing easier than that—I'll attend to it ! ' 

At the furthest end of the house I met Joan, fully armed, 
hurrying toward the door, and she said— 

' Ah, French blood is being spilt, and you did not tell 

me.' 

' Indeed I did not know it,' I said ; ' there are no sounds 
of war ; everything is quiet, your Excellency.' 


 fi 


172 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


'You will hear war-sounds enough in a moment,' she 
said, and was gone. 

It was true. Before one could count five there broke 
upon the stillness the swelling rush and tramp of an 
approaching multitude of men and horses, with hoarse cries 
of command ; and then out of the distance came the muffled 
deep boom !—boom-boom t—boom t of cannon, and straight 
way that rushing multitude was roaring by the house like 
a hurricane. 

Our knights and all our staff came flying, armed, but 
with no horses ready, and we burst out after Joan in a 
body, the Paladin in the lead with the banner. The surg 
ing crowd was made up half of citizens and half of soldiers, 
and had no recognised leader. When Joan was seen a 
huzzah went up, and she shouted— 
' A horse—a horse ! ' 

A dozen saddles were at her disposal in a moment. 
She mounted, a hundred people shouting— 

' Way, there—way for the MAID OF ORLEANS ! ' The 
first time that that immortal name was ever uttered—and 
I, praise God, was there to hear it ! The mass divided 
itself like the waters of the Red Sea, and down this lane 
Joan went skimming like a bird, crying ' Forward, French 
hearts—follow me ! ' and we came winging in her wake 
on the rest of the borrowed horses, the holy standard 
streaming above us, and the lane closing together in our 
rear. 

This was a different thing from the ghastly march past 
the dismal bastilles. No, we felt fine, now, and all a-whirl 
with enthusiasm. The explanation of this sudden uprising 
was this. The city and the little garrison, so long hope 
less and afraid, had gone wild over Joan's coming, and 
could no longer restrain their desire to get at the enemy ; 
so, without orders from anybody, a few hundred soldiers 
and citizens had plunged out at the Burgundy gate on a 
sudden impulse and made a charge on one of Lord Talbot's 
most formidable fortresses—St. Loup—and were getting 


JOAN OF ARC 


173 


the worst of it. The news of this had swept through the 
city and startled this new crowd that we were with. 

As we poured out at the gate we met a force bringing 
in the wounded from the front. The sight moved Joan, 
and she said— 

' Ah, French blood ; it makes my hair rise to see it ! ' 
We were soon on the field, soon in the midst of the 
turmoil. Joan was seeing her first real battle, and so 
were we. 

It was a battle in the open field ; for the garrison of St. 
Loup had sallied confidently out to meet the attack, being 
used to victories when ' witches ' were not around. The 
sally had been re-enforced by troops from the ' Paris ' 
bastille, and when we approached the French were getting 
whipped and were falling back. But when Joan came 
charging through the disorder with her banner displayed, 
crying ' Forward, men—follow me ! ' there was a change ; 
the French turned about and surged forward like a solid 
wave of the sea, and swept the English before them, hack 
ing and slashing, and being hacked and slashed, in a way 
that was terrible to see. 

In the field the Dwarf had no assignment ; that is to 
say, he was not under orders to occupy any particular 
place, therefore he chose his place for himself, and went 
ahead of Joan and made a road for her. It was horrible to 
see the iron helmets fly into fragments under his dreadful 
axe. He called it cracking nuts, and it looked like that. 
He made a good road, and paved it well with flesh and 
iron. Joan and the rest of us followed it so briskly that 
we outspeeded our forces and had the English behind us 
as well as before. The knights commanded us to face out 
wards around Joan, which we did, and then there was 
work done that was fine to see. One was obliged to 
respect the Paladin, now. Being right under Joan's exalt 
ing and transforming eye, he forgot his native prudence, 
he forgot his diffidence in the presence of danger, he forgot 
what fear was, and he never laid about him in his imagi- 


 174 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

nary battles in a more tremendous way than he did in this 

real one j and wherever he struck there was an enemy the 

less. 

We were in that close place only a few minutes ; then 

our forces to the rear broke through with a great shout and 
joined us, and then the English fought a retreating fight, 

but in a fine and gallant way, and we drove them to their 
fortress foot by foot, they facing us all the time, and their 
reserves on the walls raining showers of arrows, cross-bow 
bolts, and stone cannon-balls upon us. 

The bulk of the enemy got safely within the works and 
left us outside with piles of French and English dead and 
wounded for company—a sickening sight, an awful sight 
to us youngsters, for our little ambush fights in February 
had been in the night, and the blood and the mutilations 
and the dead faces were mercifully dim, whereas we saw 
these things now for the first time in all their naked ghastli- 
ness. 

Now arrived Dunois from the city, and plunged through 
the battle on his foam-flecked horse and galloped up to 
Joan, saluting, and uttering handsome compliments as 
he came. He waved his hand toward the distant walls 
of the city, where a multitude of flags were flaunting 
gaily in the wind, and said' the populace were up there 
observing her fortunate performance and rejoicing over it, 
and added that she and the forces would have a great 
reception now. 

' Now ? Hardly now, Bastard. Not yet ! ' 
' Why not yet ? Is there more to be done ? ' 
' More, Bastard ? We have but begun ! We will take 
this fortress.' 

' Ah, you can't be serious ! We can't take this place ; 
let me urge you not to make the attempt ; it is too des 
perate. Let me order the forces back.' 

Joan's heart was overflowing with the joys and enthu 
siasms of war, and it made her impatient to hear such talk. 
She cried out— 


JOAN OF ARC i75 

' Bastard, Bastard, will ye play always with these 
English ? Now verily I tell you we will not budge until 
this place is ours. We will carry it by storm. Sound the 
charge ! ' 

' Ah, my General—' 

' Waste no more time, man—let the bugles sound the 
assault ! ' and we saw that strange deep light in her eye 
which we named the battle-light, and learned to know so 
well in later fields. 

The martial notes pealed out, the troops answered with 
a yell, and down they came against that formidable work, 
whose outlines were lost in its own cannon smoke, and 
whose sides were spouting flame and thunder. 

We suffered repulse after repulse, but Joan was here 
and there and everywhere encouraging the men, and she 
kept them to their work. During three hours the tide 
ebbed and flowed, flowed and ebbed ; but at last La Hire, 
who was now come, made a final and resistless charge, and 
the bastille St. Loup was ours. We gutted it, taking all 
its stores and artillery, and then destroyed it. 

When all our host was shouting itself hoarse with re 
joicings, and there went up a cry for the General, for they 
wanted to praise her and glorify her and do her homage for 
her victory, we had trouble to find her ; and when we did 
find her, she was off by herself, sitting among a ruck of 
corpses, with her face in her hands, crying—for she was a 
young girl, you know, and her hero-heart was a young 
girl's heart too, with the pity and the tenderness that are 
natural to it. She was thinking of the mothers of those 
dead friends and enemies. 

Among the prisoners were a number of priests, and 
Joan took these under her protection and saved their lives. 
It was urged that they were most probably combatants in 
disguise, but she said— 

' As to that, how can any tell ? They wear the livery 
of God, and if even one of these wears it rightfully, surely 
it were better that all the guilty should escape than that we 


 176 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


177 


have upon our hands the blood of that innocent man. I 
will lodge them where I lodge, and feed them, and send 
them away in safety." 

We marched back to the city with our crop of cannon 
and prisoners on view and our banners displayed. Here 
was the first substantial bit of war-work the imprisoned 
people had seen in the seven months that the siege had 
endured, the first chance they had had to rejoice over a 
French exploit. You may guess that they made good use 
of it. They and the bells went mad. Joan was their dar 
ling now, and the press of people struggling and shoulder 
ing each other to get a glimpse of her was so great that we 
could hardly push our way through the streets at all. Her 
new name had gone all about, and was on everybody's lips. 
The Holy Maid of Vaucouleurs was a forgotten title ; the 
city had claimed her for its own, and she was the MAID OF 
ORLEANS now. It is a happiness to me to remember that 
I heard that name the first time it was ever uttered. 
Between that first utterance and the last time it will be 
uttered on this earth—ah, think how many mouldering ages 
will lie in that gap ! 

The Boucher family welcomed her back as if she had 
been a child of the house, and saved from death against all 
hope or probability. They chided her for going into the 
battle and exposing herself to danger during all those 
hours. They could not realise that she had meant to carry 
her warriorship so far, and asked her if it had really been 
her purpose to go right into the turmoil of the fight, or 
hadn't she got swept into it by accident and the rush of the 
troops ? They begged her to be more careful another 
time. It was good advice, maybe, but it fell upon pretty 
unfruitful soil. 

CHAPTER XIX 

BEING worn out with the long fight, we all slept the rest of 
the afternoon away and two or three hours into the night. 
Then we got up refreshed and had supper. As for me, I 


could have been willing to let the matter of the ghost 
drop ; and the others were of a like mind no doubt, for 
they talked diligently of the battle and said nothing of that 
other thing. And indeed it was fine and stirring to hear 
the Paladin rehearse his deeds and see him pile his dead, 
fifteen here, eighteen there, and thirty-five yonder ; but this 
only postponed the trouble ; it could not do more. He 
could not go on for ever ; when he had carried the Bastille 
by assault and eaten up the garrison there was nothing for 
it but to stop, unless Catherine Boucher would give him a 
new start and have it all done over again—as we hoped 
she would, this time—but she was otherwise minded. As 
soon as there was a good opening and a fair chance, she 
brought up her unwelcome subject, and we faced it the 
best we could. 

We followed her and her parents to the haunted room 
at eleven o'clock, with candles, and also with torches to 
place in the sockets on the walls. It was a big house, with 
very thick walls, and this room was in a remote part of 
it which had been left unoccupied for nobody knew how 
many years, because of its evil repute. 

This was a large room, like a salon, and had a big 
table in it of enduring oak and well preserved ; but the 
chairs were worm-eaten and the tapestry on the walls was 
rotten and discoloured by age. The dusty cobwebs under 
the ceiling had the look of not having had any business for 
a century. 

Catherine said— 

' Tradition says that these ghosts have never been seen 
—they have merely been heard. It is plain that this room 
was once larger than it is now, and that the wall at this 
end was built in some bygone time to make and fence off 
a narrow room there. There is no communication any 
where with that narrow room, and if it exists—and of that 
there is no reasonable doubt—it has no light and no air, 
but is an absolute dungeon. Wait where you are, and 
take note of what happens.' 

N 


I v 

I 


 •f, 


178 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


179 


That was all. Then she and her parents left us. 
When their footfalls had died out in the distance down the 
empty stone corridors an uncanny silence and solemnity 
ensued, which was dismaller to me than the mute march 
past the bastilles. We sat looking vacantly at each other, 
and it was easy to see that no one there was comfortable. 
The longer we sat so, the more deadly still that stillness 
got to be ; and when the wind began to moan around the 
house presently, it made me sick and miserable, and I 
wished I had been brave enough to be a coward this time, 
for indeed it is no proper shame to be afraid of ghosts, 
seeing how helpless the living are in their hands. And 
then these ghosts were invisible, which made the matter 
the worse, as it seemed to me. They might be in the 
room with us at that moment—we could not know. I felt 
airy touches on my shoulders and my hair, and I shrank 
from them and cringed, and was not ashamed to show this 
fear, for I saw the others doing the like, and knew that 
they were feeling those faint contacts too. As this went 
on—oh, eternities it seemed, the time dragged so drearily 
—all those faces became as wax, and I seemed sitting with 
a congress of the dead. 

At last, -faint and far and weird and slow, came a 
' boom !—boom !—boom ! '—a distant bell tolling midnight. 
When the last stroke died, that depressing stillness fol 
lowed again, and as before I was staring at those waxen 
faces and feeling those airy touches on my hair and my 
shoulders once more. 

One minute—two minutes—three minutes of this, then 
we heard a long deep groan, and everybody sprang up and 
stood, with his legs quaking. It came from that little 
dungeon. There was a pause, then we heard muffled sob 
bings, mixed with pitiful ejaculations. Then there was a 
second voice, low and not distinct, and the one seemed 
trying to comfort the other ; and so the two voices went 
on, with meanings, and soft sobbings, and, ah, the tones 


were so full of compassion and sorrow and despair ! In 
deed, it made one's heart sore to hear it. 

But those sounds were so real and so human and so 
moving that the idea of ghosts passed straight out of our 
minds, and Sir Jean de Metz spoke out and said— 

' Come ! we will smash that wall and set those poor 
captives free. Here, with your axe ! ' 

The Dwarf jumped forward, swinging his great axe 
with both hands, and others sprang for the torches and 
brought them ! Bang !—whang !—slam !—smash went 
the ancient bricks, and there was a hole an ox could pass 
through. We plunged within and held up the torches. 

Nothing there but vacancy ! On the floor lay a rusty 
sword and a rotten fan. 

Now you know all that I know. Take the pathetic 
relics, and weave about them the romance of the dungeon's 
long-vanished inmates as best you can. 

CHAPTER XX 

THE next day Joan wanted to go against the enemy again, 
but it was the feast of the Ascension, and the holy council 
of bandit generals were too pious to be willing to profane 
it with bloodshed. But privately they profaned it with 
plottings, a sort of industry just in their line. They 
decided to do the only thing proper to do now in the new 
circumstances of the case—feign an attack on the most 
important bastille on the Orleans side, and then, if the 
English weakened the far more important fortresses on the 
other side of the river to come to its help, cross in force 
and capture those works. This would give them the 
bridge and free communication with the Sologne, which 
was French territory. They decided to keep this latter 
part of the programme secret from Joan. 

Joan intruded and took them by surprise. She asked 
them what they were about and what they had resolved 
upon. They said they had resolved to attack the most 

K 2 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


• I. 


important of the English bastilles on the Orleans side next 
morning—and there the spokesman stopped. Joan said— 
' Well, go on.' 
' There is nothing more. That is all.' 

' Am I to believe this ? That is to say, am I to believe 
that you have lost your wits ? ' She turned to Dunois, 
and said, ' Bastard, you have sense, answer me this : if 
this attack is made and the bastille taken, how much 
better off would we be than we are now ? ' 

The Bastard hesitated, and then began some rambling 
talk not quite germane to the question. Joan interrupted 
him and said— 

' That will do, good Bastard, you have answered. 
Since the Bastard is not able to mention any advantage to 
be gained by taking that bastille and stopping there, it is 
not likely that any of you could better the matter. You 
waste much time here in inventing plans that lead to 
nothing, and making delays that are a damage. Are you 
concealing something from me ? Bastard, this council has 
a general plan, I take it ; without going into details, what 
is it ? ' 

' It is the same it was in the beginning, seven months 
ago—to get provisions in for a long siege, and then sit 
down and tire the English out.' 

' In the name of God ! As if seven months was not 
enough, you want to provide for a year of it. Now ye shall 
drop these pusillanimous dreams—the English shall go in 
three days ! ' 

Several exclaimed— 

' Ah, General, General, be prudent ! ' 

' Be prudent and starve ? Do ye call that war ? I tell 
you this, if you do not already know it : The new circum 
stances have changed the face of matters. The true point 
of attack has shifted ; it is on the other side of the river 
now. One must take the fortifications that command the 
bridge. The English know that if we are not fools and 
cowards we will try to do that. They are grateful for your 


1. 


JOAN OF ARC 


181 


piety in wasting this day. They will re-enforce the bridge 
forts from this side to-night, knowing what ought to happen 
to-morrow. You have but lost a day and made our task 
harder, for we will cross and take the bridge forts. 
Bastard, tell me the truth—does not this council know 
that there is no other course for us than the one I am 
speaking of? ' 

Dunois conceded that the council did know it to be the 
most desirable, but considered it impracticable ; and he ex 
cused the council as well as he could by saying that inas 
much as nothing was really and rationally to be hoped for 
but a long continuance of the siege and wearying out of 
the English, they were naturally a little afraid of Joan's 
impetuous notions. He said— 

' You see, we are sure that the waiting game is the best, 
whereas you would carry everything by storm.' 

' That I would !—and moreover that I will ! You have 
my orders—here and now. We will move upon the forts 
of the south bank to-morrow at dawn.' 

' And carry them by storm ? ' 

' Yes, carry them by storm ! ' 

La Hire came clanking in, and heard the last remark. 
He cried out— 

' By my bâton, that is the music I love to hear ! Yes, that 
is the right tune and the beautiful words, my General—we 
will carry them by storm ! ' 

He saluted in his large way and came up and shook 
Joan by the hand. 

Some member of the council was heard to say— 

' It follows, then, that we'must begin with the bastille 
St. John, and that will give the English time to—' 

Joan turned and said— 

' Give yourselves no uneasiness about the bastille St. 
John. The English will know enough to retire from it and 
fall back on the bridge bastilles when they see us coming.' 
She added, with a touch of sarcasm, ' Even a war-council 
would knpy/ enough to dp that, itsdf,' 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


Then she took her leave. La Hire made this general 
remark to the council : 

' She is a child, and that is all ye seem to see. Keep to 
that superstition if you must, but you perceive that this 
child understands this complex game of war as well as any 
of you ; and if you want my opinion without the trouble of 
asking- for it, here you have it without ruffles or embroidery 
—by God, I think she can teach the best of you how to 
flay it ! ' 

Joan had spoken truly ; the sagacious English saw that 
the policy of the French had undergone a revolution ; that 
the policy of paltering and dawdling was ended ; that in 
place of taking blows, blows were to be struck, now ; 
therefore they made ready for the new state of things by 
transferring heavy re-enforcements to the bastilles of the 
south bank from those of the north. 

The city learned the great news that once more in 
French history, after all these humiliating years, France 
was going to take the offensive ; that France, so used to 
retreating, was going to advance ; that France, so long ac 
customed to skulking, was going to face about and strike. 
The joy of the people passed all bounds. The city walls 
were black with them to see the army march out in the 
morning in that strange new position—its front, not its tail, 
toward an English camp. You shall imagine for yourselves 
what the excitement was like and how it expressed itself 
when Joan rode out at the head of the host with her banner 
floating above her. 

We crossed the river in strong force, and a tedious long 
job it was, for the boats were small and not numerous. 
Our landing on the island of St. Aignan was not disputed. 
We threw a bridge of a few boats across the narrow channel 
thence to the south shore and took up our march in good 
order and unmolested ; for although there was a fortress 
there—St. John—the English vacated and destroyed it and 
fell back on the bridge forts below as soon as our first 
boats were seen to leave the Orleans shore ; which was 


JOAN OF ARC 183 

what Joan had said would happen, when she was disputing 
with the council. 

We moved down the shore and Joan planted her 
standard before the bastille of the Augustins, the first ot 
the formidable works that protected the end of the bridge. 
The trumpets sounded the assault, and two charges followed 
in handsome style ; but we were too weak, as yet, for our 
main body was still lagging behind. Before we could 
gather for a third assault the garrison of St. Privé were seen 
coming up to re-enforce the big bastille. They came on a 
run, and the Augustins sallied out, and both forces came 
against us with a rush, and sent our small army flying in a 
panic, and followed us, slashing and slaying, and shouting 
jeers and insults at us. 

Joan was doing her best to rally the men, but their 
wits were gone, their hearts were dominated for the 
moment by the old-time dread of the English. Joan's 
temper flamed up, and she halted and commanded the 
trumpets to sound the advance. Then she wheeled about 
and cried out— 

' If there is but a dozen of you that are not cowards, it 
is enough—follow me ! ' 

Away she went, and after her a few dozen who had 
heard her words and been inspired by them. The pursuing 
force was astonished to see her sweeping down upon them 
with this handful of men, and it was their turn now to 
experience a grisly fright—surely this is a witch, this is 
a child of Satan ! That was their thought—and without 
stopping to analyse the matter they turned and fled in a 

panic. 

Our flying squadrons heard the bugle and turned to 
look ; and when they saw the Maid's banner speeding in 
the other direction and the enemy scrambling ahead of it 
in disorder, their courage returned and they came scouring 

after us. 

La Hire heard it and hurried his force forward and 
caught up with us just as we were planting our banner 


 184 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


185 


again before the ramparts of the Augustins. We were 
strong enough now. We had a long and tough piece of 
work before us, but we carried it through before night, 
Joan keeping us hard at it, and she and La Hire saying we 
were able to take that big bastille, and must. The English 
fought like—well, they fought like the English ; when 
that is said, there is no more to say. We made assault 
after assault, through the smoke and flame and the 
deafening cannon-blasts, and at last as the sun was sinking 
we carried the place with a rush, and planted our standard 
on its walls. 

The Augustins was ours. The Tourelles must be ours, 
too, if we would free the bridge and raise the siege. We 
had achieved one great undertaking, Joan was determined 
to accomplish the other. We must lie on our arms where 
we were, hold fast to what we had got, and be ready for 
business in the morning. So Joan was not minded to let 
the men be demoralised by pillage and riot and carousings ; 
she had the Augustins burned, with all its stores in it, 
excepting the artillery and ammunition. 

Everybody was tired out with this long day's hard 
work, and of course this was the case with Joan ; still, she 
wanted to stay with the army before the Tourelles, to be 
ready for the assault in the morning. The chiefs argued 
with her, and at last persuaded her to go home and 
prepare for the great work by taking proper rest, and 
also by having a leech look to a wound which she had 
received in her foot. So we crossed with them and went 
home. 

Just as usual, we found the town in a fury of joy, all 
the bells clanging, everybody shouting, and several people 
drunk. We never went out or came in without furnishing 
good and sufficient reasons for one of these pleasant tem 
pests, and so the tempest was always on hand. There had 
been a blank absence of reasons for this sort of upheavals 
for the past seven months, therefore the people took to the 
upheavals with all the more relish on that account. 


CHAPTER XXI 

To get away from the usual crowd of visitors and have 
a rest, Joan went with Catherine straight to the apartment 
which the two occupied together, and there they took their 
supper and there the wound was dressed. But then, instead 
of going to bed, Joan, weary as she was, sent the Dwarf 
for me, in spite of Catherine's protests and persuasions. 
She said she had something on her mind, and must send a 
courier to Domremy with a letter for our old Père Fronte 
to read to her mother. I came, and she began to dictate. 
After some loving words and greetings to her mother and 
the family, came this : 

' But the thing which moves me to write now, is to say 
that when you presently hear that I am wounded, you shall 
give yourself no concern about it, and refuse faith to any 
that shall try to make you believe it is serious.' 

She was going on, when Catherine spoke up and said : 

' Ah, but it will fright her so to read these words. 
Strike them out, Joan, strike them out, and wait only one 
day—two days at most—then write and say your foot was 
wounded but is well again—for it will surely be well then, 
or very near it. Don't distress her, Joan ; do as I say." 

A laugh like the laugh of the old days, the impulsive 
free laugh of an untroubled spirit, a laugh like a chime of 
bells, was Joan's answer ; then she said— 

' My foot ? Why should I write about such a scratch 
as that ? I was not thinking of it, dear heart.' 

' Child, have you another wound and a worse, and have 
not spoken of it ? What have you been dreaming about, 
that you—' 

She had jumped up, full of vague fears, to have the 
leech called back at once, but Joan laid her hand upon her 
arm and made her sit down again, saying— 

' There, now, be tranquil, there is no other wound, as 


1 


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186 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


yet ; I am writing about one which I shall get when we 
storm that bastille to-morrow.' 

Catherine had the look of one who is trying to under 
stand a puzzling proposition but cannot quite do it. She 
said, in a distraught fashion— 

' A wound which you are going to get ? But—but why 
grieve your mother when it—when it may not happen ? ' 
'May not ? Why, it will' 

The puzzle was a puzzle still. Catherine said in that 
same abstracted way as before— 

' Will. It is a strong word. I cannot seem to—my 
mind is not able to take hold of this. Oh, Joan, such a 
presentiment is a dreadful thing—it takes one's peace and 
courage all away. Cast it from you !—drive it out ! It 
will make your whole night miserable, and to no good ; for 
we will hope—' 

' But it isn't a presentiment—it is a fact. And it will 
not make me miserable. It is uncertainties that do that, 
but this is not an uncertainty.' 

' Joan, do you know it is going to happen ? ' 
' Yes, I know it. My Voices told me.' 
' Ah,' said Catherine, resignedly, ' if they told you— But 
are you sure it was they ?—quite sure ? ' 

' Yes, quite. It will happen—there is no doubt.' 
' It is dreadful ! Since when have you known it ? ' 
' Since—I think it is several weeks.' Joan turned to 
me. ' Louis, you will remember. How long is it ? ' 

'Your Excellency spoke of it first to the King, in 
Chinon,' I answered ; ' that was as much as seven weeks 
ago. You spoke of it again on the aoth of April, and also 
the sand, two weeks ago, as I see by my record here.' 

These marvels disturbed Catherine profoundly, but I 
had long ceased to be surprised at them. One can get 
used to anything in this world. Catherine said— 

' And it is to happen to-morrow ?—always to-morrow ? 
Is it the same date always ? There has been no mistake, 
and no confusion ? ' 


JOAN OF ARC 


187 


' No,' Joan said, ' the 7th of May is the date—there is 
no other.' 

' Then you shall not go a step out of this house till that 
awful day is gone by ! You will not dream of it, Joan, will 
you ?—promise that you will stay with us.' 

But Joan was not persuaded. She said— 

' It would not help the matter, dear good friend. The 
wound is to come, and come to-morrow. It I do not seek 
it, it will seek me. My duty calls me to that place to 
morrow ; I should have to go if my death were waiting for 
me there ; shall I stay away for only a wound ? Oh no, we 
must try to do better than that.' 

' Then you are determined to go ? ' 

' Of a certainty, yes. There is only one thing that I 
can do for France—hearten her soldiers for battle and 
victory.' She thought a moment, then added, ' However, 
one should not be unreasonable, and I would do much to 
please you, who are so good to me. Do you love France ? ' 

I wondered what she might be contriving now, but I 
saw no clew. Catherine said, reproachfully— 

' Ah, what have I done to deserve this question ? ' 

' Then you do love France. I had not doubted it, dear. 
Do not be hurt, but answer me—have you ever told a lie ? ' 

' In my life I have not wilfully told a lie—fibs, but no lies.' 

' That is sufficient. You love France and do not tell 
lies ; therefore I will trust you. I will go or I will stay, as 
you shall decide.' 

' Oh, I thank you from my heart, Joan ! How good 
and dear it is of you to do this for me ! Oh, you shall stay, 
and not go ! ' 

In her delight she flung her arms about Joan's neck and 
squandered endearments upon her the least of which would 
have made me rich, but as it was, they only made me 
realise how poor I was—how miserably poor in what I 
would most have prized in this world. Joan said— 

' Then you will send word to my headquarters that I am 
not going ? ' 


if. 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


' Oh, gladly. Leave that to me.' 

' It is good of you. And how will you word it ?—for it 
must have proper official form. Shall I word it for you ? ' 

' Oh, do—for you know about the solemn procedures 
and stately proprieties, and I have had no experience.' 

'Then word it like this : "The chief of staff is com 
manded to make known to the King's forces in garrison 
and in the field, that the General-in-Chief of the Armies of 
France will not face the English on the morrow, she being 
afraid she may get hurt. Signed, JOAN OF ARC, by the 
hand of CATHERINE BOUCHER, who loves France." ' 

There was a pause—a silence of the sort that tortures 
one into stealing a glance to see how the situation looks, 
and I did that. There was a loving smile on Joan's face, 
but the colour was mounting in crimson waves into 
Catherine's, and her lips were quivering and the tears 
gathering ; then she said— 

' Oh, I am so ashamed of myself !—and you are so 
noble and brave and wise, and I am so paltry—so paltry 
and such a fool ! ' and she broke down and began to cry, 
and I did so want to take her in my arms and comfort her, 
but Joan did it, and of course I said nothing. Joan did it 
well, and most sweetly and tenderly, but I could have done 
it as well, though I knew it would be foolish and out of 
place to suggest such a thing, and might make an awk 
wardness too, and be embarrassing to us all, so I did not 
offer, and I hope I did right and for the best, though I could 
not know, and was many times tortured with doubts after 
wards as having perhaps let a chance pass which might 
have changed all my life and made it happier and more 
beautiful than, alas, it turned out to be. For this reason I 
grieve yet, when I think of that scene, and do not like to 
call it up out of the deeps of my memory because of the 
pangs it brings. 

Well, well, a good and wholesome thing is a little harm 
less fun in this world ; it tones a body up and keeps him 
human and prevents him from souring. To set that little 


JOAN OF ARC 


189 


trap for Catherine was as good and effective a way as any 
to show her what a grotesque thing she was asking of Joan. 
It was a funny idea, now, wasn't it, when you look at it all 
around ? Even Catherine dried up her tears and laughed 
when she thought of the English getting hold of the French 
Commander-in-Chief's reason for staying out of a battle. 
She granted that they could have a good time over a thing 
like that. 

We got to work on the letter again, and of course did 
not have to strike out the passage about the wound. Joan 
was in fine spirits ; but when she got to sending messages 
to this, that, and the other old playmate and friend, it 
brought our village and the Fairy Tree and the flowery 
plain and the browsing sheep and all the peaceful beauty of 
our old humble home-place back, and the familiar names 
began to tremble on her lips ; and when she got to Haumette 
and Little Mengette it was no use, her voice broke and she 
couldn't go on. She waited a moment, then said— 

' Give them my love—my warm love—my deep love— 
oh, out of my heart of hearts ! I shall never see our home 
any more." 

' Now came Pasquerel, Joan's confessor, and introduced 
a gallant knight, the Sire de Rais, who had been sent with 
a message. He said he was instructed to say that the 
council had decided that enough had been done for the pre 
sent ; that it would be safest and best to be content with 
what God had already done ; that the city was now well 
victualled and able to stand a long siege ; that the wise 
course must necessarily be to withdraw the troops from the 
other side of the river and resume the defensive—therefore 
they had decided accordingly. 

' The incurable cowards ! ' exclaimed Joan. ' So it was 
to get me away from my men that they pretended so much 
solicitude about my fatigue. Take this message back, not 
to the council—I have no speeches for those disguised 
ladies' maids—but to the Bastard and La Hire, who are 
men. Tell them the army is to remain where it is, and I 


 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


191 


hold them responsible if this command miscarries. And 
say the offensive will be resumed in the morning'. You may 
go, good sir." 

Then she said to her priest— 

' Rise early, and be by me all the day. There will be 
much work on my hands, and I shall be hurt between my 
neck and my shoulder.' 


CHAPTER XXII 

WE were up at dawn, and after mass we started. In the 
hall we met the master of the house, who was grieved, 
good man, to see Joan going breakfastless to such a day's 
work, and begged her to wait and eat, but she couldn't 
afford the time—that is to say, she couldn't afford the 
patience, she being in such a blaze of anxiety to get at that 
last remaining bastille which stood between her and the 
completion of the first great step in the rescue and redemp 
tion of France. Boucher put in another plea : 

' But think—we poor beleaguered citizens who have 
hardly known the flavour of fish for these many months, 
have spoil of that sort again, and we owe it to you. There's 
a noble shad for breakfast ; wait—be persuaded.' 

Joan said— 

' Oh, there's going to be fish in plenty ; when this day's 
work is done the whole river-front will be yours to do as 
you please with.' 

' Ah, your Excellency will do well, that I know ; but we 
don't require quite that much, even of you ; you shall have 
a month for it in place of a day. Now be beguiled—wait 
and eat. There's a saying that he that would cross a river 
twice in the same day in a boat, will do well to eat fish for 
luck, lest he have an accident.' 

' That doesn't fit my case, for to-day I cross but once in 
a boat.' 

' Oh, don't say that. Aren't you coming back to us ? ' 


' Yes, but not in a boat.' 
' How, then ? ' 
' By the bridge.' 

' Listen to that—by the bridge ! Now stop this jesting, 
dear General, and do as I would have you. It's a noble 

fish.' 

' Be good, then, and save me some 'for supper ; and I 
will bring one of those Englishmen with me and he shall 
have his share.' 

' Ah, well, have your way if you must. But he that 
fasts must attempt but little and stop early. When shall 
you be back ? ' 

' When I've raised the siege of Orleans. FORWARD ! ' 
We were off. The streets were full of citizens and of 
groups and squads of soldiers, but the spectacle was 
melancholy. There was not a smile anywhere, but only 
universal gloom. It was as if some vast calamity had 
smitten all hope and cheer dead. We were not used to 
this, and were astonished. But when they saw the Maid, 
there was an immediate stir, and the eager question flew 
from mouth to mouth— 

' Where is she going ? Whither is she bound ? ' 
Joan heard it, and called out— 

' Whither would ye suppose ? I am going to take the 
Tourelles.' 

It would not be possible for any to describe how those 
few words turned that mourning into joy—into exaltation 
—into frenzy ; and how a storm of huzzahs burst out and 
swept down the streets in every direction and woke those 
corpse-like multitudes to vivid life and action and turmoil 
in a moment. The "soldiers broke from the crowd and 
came flocking to our standard, and many of the citizens 
ran and got pikes and halberds and joined us. As we 
moved on, our numbers increased steadily, and the hurrah 
ing continued—yes, we moved through a solid cloud of 
noise, as you may say, and all the windows on both sides 
contributed to it, for they were filled with excited people. 


J'. 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


You see, the council had closed the Burgundy gate and 
placed a strong force there, under that stout soldier Raoul 
de Gaucourt, Bailly of Orleans, with orders to prevent 
Joan from getting out and resuming the attack on the 
Tourelles, and this shameful thing had plunged the city 
into sorrow and despair. But that feeling was gone now. 
They believed the Maid was a match for the council, and 
they were right. 

When we reached the gate, Joan told Gaucourt to open 
it and let her pass. 

He said it would be impossible to do this, for his orders 
were from the council and were strict. Joan said— 

' There is no authority above mine but the King's. If 
you have an order from the King, produce it.' 

' I cannot claim to have an order from him, General.' 

' Then make way, or take the consequences ! ' 

He began to argue the case, for he was like the rest of 
the tribe, always ready to fight with words, not acts ; but 
in the midst of his gabble Joan interrupted with the terse 
order— 

' Charge ! ' 

We came with a rush, and brief work we made of that 
small job. It was good to see the Bailly's surprise. He 
was not used to this unsentimental promptness. He said 
afterwards that he was cut off in the midst of what he was 
saying—in the midst of an argument by which he could 
have proved that he could not let Joan pass—an argument 
which Joan could not have answered. 

' Still, it appears she did answer it,' said the person he 
was talking to. 

We swung through the gate in great style, with a vast 
accession of noise, the most of which was laughter, and 
soon our van was over the river and moving down against 
the Tourelles. 

First we must take a supporting work called a boule 
vard, and which was otherwise nameless, before we could 
assault the great bastille. Its rear communicated with the 


JOAN OF ARC 


193 


bastille by a drawbridge, under which ran a swift and deep 
strip of the Loire. The boulevard was strong, and Dunois 
doubted our ability to take it, but Joan had no such doubt. 
She pounded it with artillery all the forenoon, then about 
noon she ordered an assault and led it herself. We poured 
into the fosse through the smoke and a tempest of missiles, 
and Joan, shouting encouragements to her men, started 
to climb a scaling-ladder, when that misfortune happened 
which we knew was to happen—the iron bolt from an 
arbalest struck between her neck and her shoulder, and 
tore its way down through her armour. When she felt 
the sharp pain and saw her blood gushing over her breast, 
she was frightened, poor girl, and as she sank to the 
ground she began to cry, bitterly. 

The English sent up a glad shout and came surging 
down in strong force to take her, and then for a few 
minutes the might of both adversaries was concentrated 
upon that spot. Over her and about her, English and 
French fought with desperation—for she stood for France, 
indeed she was France to both sides—whichever won her 
won France, and could keep it for ever. Right there in that 
small spot, and in ten minutes by the clock, the fate 
of France, for all time, was to be decided, and was 
decided. 

If the English had captured Joan then, Charles VII. 
would have flown the country, the Treaty of Troyes would 
have held good, and France, already English property, 
would have become, without further dispute, an English 
province, to so remain until the Judgment Day. A nation 
ality and a kingdom were at stake there, and no more time 
to decide it in than it takes to hard-boil an egg. It was 
the most momentous ten minutes that the clock has ever 
ticked in France, or ever will. Whenever you read in 
histories about hours or days or weeks in which the fate of 
one or another nation hung in the balance, do not you fail 
to remember, nor your French hearts to beat the quicker 
for the remembrance, the ten minutes that France, called 

o 


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194 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS' OF 

otherwise Joan of Arc, lay bleeding in the fosse that day, 
with two nations struggling over her for her possession. 

And you will not forget the Dwarf. For he stood over 
her, and did the work of any six of the others. He swung 
his axe with both hands ; whenever it came down, he said 
those two words, ' For France ! ' and a splintered helmet 
flew like egg-shells, and the skull that carried it had 
learned its manners and would offend the French no more. 
He piled a bulwark of iron-clad dead in front of him and 
fought from behind it ; and at last when the victory was 
ours we closed about him, shielding him, and he ran up a 
ladder with Joan as easily as another man would carry a 
child, and bore her out of the battle, a great crowd follow 
ing and anxious, for she was drenched with blood to her 
feet, half of it her own and the other half English, for 
bodies had fallen across her as she lay and had poured 
their red life streams over her. One couldn't see the white 
armour now, with that awful dressing over it. 

The iron bolt was still in the wound—some say it pro 
jected out behind the shoulder. It may be—I did not wish 
to see, and did not try to. It was pulled out, and the pain 
made Joan cry again, poor thing. Some say she pulled it 
out herself because others refused, saying they could not 
bear to hurt her. As to this I do not know ; I only know 
it was pulled out, and that the wound was treated with 
oil and properly dressed. 

Joan lay on the grass, weak and suffering, hour after 
hour, but still insisting that the fight go on. Which it 
did, but not to much purpose, for it was only under her 
eye that men were heroes and not afraid. They were like 
the Paladin ; I think he was afraid of his shadow—I mean 
in the afternoon, when it was very big and long ; but when 
he was under Joan's eye and the inspiration of her great 
spirit, what was he afraid of? Nothing in this world— 
and that is just the truth. 

Toward night Dunois gave it up. Joan heard the 
bugles. 


JOAN OF ARC 


195 


' What ! ' she cried. ' Sounding the retreat ! ' 

Her wound was forgotten in a moment. She counter 
manded the order, and sent another, to the officer in com 
mand of a battery, to stand ready to fire five shots in quick 
succession. This was a signal to a force on the Orleans 
side of the river under La Hire, who was not, as some of 
the histories say, with us. It was to be given whenever 
Joan should feel sure the boulevard was about to fall into 
her hands—then that force must make a counter-attack on 
the Tourelles by way of the bridge. 

Joan mounted her horse, now, with her staff about her, 
and when our people saw us coming they raised a great 
shout, and were at once eager for another assault on the 
boulevard. Joan rode straight to the fosse where she had 
received her wound, and standing there in the rain of bolts 
and arrows, she ordered the Paladin to let her long standard 
blow free, and to note when its fringes should touch the 
fortress. Presently he said— 

' It touches.' 

' Now, then,' said Joan to the waiting battalions, 'the 
place is yours—enter in ! Bugles, sound the assault ! 
Now, then—all together—go ! ' 

And go it was. You never saw anything like it. We 
swarmed up the ladders and over the battlements like a 
wave—and the place was our property. Why, one might 
live a thousand years and never see so gorgeous a thing 
as that again. There, hand to hand, we fought like wild 
beasts, for there was no give-up to those English—there 
was no way to convince one of those people but to kill 
him, and even then he doubted. At least so it was thought 
in those days, and maintained by many. 

We'were busy and never heard the five cannon-shots 
fired, but they were fired a moment after Joan had ordered 
the assault ; and so, while we were hammering and being 
hammered in the smaller fortress, the reserve on the 
Orleans side poured across the bridge and attacked the 
Tourelles from that side. A fire-boat was brought down 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


and moored under the drawbridge which connected the 
Tourelles with our boulevard ; wherefore, when at last we 
drove our English ahead of us and they tried to cross that 
drawbridge and join their'ïfriends in the Tourelles, the 
burning timbers gave way under them and emptied them 
in a mass into the river in their heavy armour—and a 
pitiful sight it was to see brave men die such a death as 
that. 

' Ah, God pity them ! ' said Joan, and wept to see 
that sorrowful spectacle. She said those gentle words and 
wept those compassionate tears, although one of those 
perishing men had grossly insulted her with a coarse name 
three days before, when she had sent him a message asking 
him to surrender. That was their leader, Sir William 
Glasdale, a most valorous knight. He was clothed all in 
steel ; so he plunged under the water like a lance, and of 
course came up no more. 

We soon patched a sort of bridge together and threw 
Ourselves against the last stronghold of the English power 
that barred Orleans from friends and supplies. Before the 
sun was quite down, Joan's for ever memorable day's work 
was finished, her banner floated from the fortress of the 
Tourelles, her promise was fulfilled, she had raised the 
siege of Orleans ! 

The seven months' beleaguerment was ended, the thing 
which the first generals of France had called impossible 
was accomplished ; in spite of all that the King's ministers 
and war-councils could do to prevent it, this little country 
maid of seventeen had carried her immortal task through, 
and had done it in four days ! 

Good news travels fast, sometimes, as well as bad. By 
the time we were ready to start homewards by the bridge 
the whole city of Orleans was one red flame of bonfires, 
and the heavens blushed with satisfaction to see it ; and 
the booming and bellowing of cannon and the banging of 
bells surpassed by great odds anything that even Orleans 
had attempted before in the way of noise. 


JOAN OF ARC 


197 


When we arrived—well, there is no describing that. 
Why, those acres of people that we ploughed through shed 
tears enough to raise the river ; there was not a face in the 
glare of those fires that hadn't tears streaming down it ; 
and if Joan's feet had not been protected by iron they would 
have kissed them off of her. ' Welcome ! welcome to the 
Maid of Orleans !' That was the cry ; I heard it a hundred 
thousand times. ' Welcome to our Maid ! ' some of them 
worded it. 

No other girl in all history has ever reached such a 
summit of glory as Joan of Arc reached that day. And do 
you think it turned her head, and that she sat up to enjoy 
that delicious music of homage and applause? No ; 
another girl would have done that, but not this one. That 
was the greatest heart and the simplest that ever beat. 
She went straight to bed and to sleep, like any tired child ; 
and when the people found she was wounded and would 
rest, they shut off all passage and traffic in that region and 
stood guard themselves the whole night through, to see 
that her slumbers were not disturbed. They said, ' She 
has given us peace, she shall have peace herself.' 

All knew that that region would be empty of English 
next day, and all said that neither the present citizens nor 
their posterity would ever cease to hold that day sacred to 
the memory of Joan of Arc. That word has been true for 
more than sixty years ; it will continue so always. Orleans 
will never forget the 8th of May, nor ever fail to celebrate 
it. It is Joan of Arc's day—and holy.1 


CHAPTER XXIII 

IN the earliest dawn of the morning, Talbot and his English 
forces evacuated their bastilles and marched away, not 
stopping to burn, destroy, or carry off anything, but leav- 

1 It is still celebrated every year with civic and military pomps and 
solemnities-—TRANSLATOR^ 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


199 


ing their fortresses just as they were, provisioned, armed, 
and equipped for a long siege. It was difficult for the 
people to believe that this great thing had really happened ; 
that they were actually free once more, and might go and 
come through any gate they pleased, with none to molest 
or forbid ; that the terrible Talbot, that scourge of the 
French, that man whose mere name had been able to annul 
the effectiveness of French armies, was gone, vanquished, 
retreating—driven away by a girl. 

The city emptied itself. Out of every gate the crowds 
poured. They swarmed about the English bastilles like an 
invasion of ants, but noisier than those creatures, and 
carried off the artillery and stores, then turned all those 
dozen fortresses into monster bonfires, fimitation volcanoes 
whose lofty columns of thick smoke seemed supporting the 
arch of the sky. 

The delight of the children took another form. To some 
of the younger ones seven months was a sort of lifetime. 
They had forgotten what grass was like, and the velvety 
green meadows seemed paradise to their surprised and 
happy eyes after the long habit of seeing nothing but dirty 
lanes and streets. It was a wonder to them—those spacious 
reaches of open country to run and dance and tumble and 
frolic in, after their dull and joyless captivity ; so they 
scampered far and wide over the fair regions on both sides 
of the river, and came back at eventide weary, but laden 
with flowers and flushed with new health drawn from the 
fresh country air and the vigorous exercise. 

After the burnings, the grown folk followed Joan from 
church to church and put in the day in thanksgivings for 
the city's deliverance, and at night they feted her and 
her generals and illuminated the town, and high and low 
gave themselves up to festivities and rejoicings. By the 
time the populace were fairly in bed, toward dawn, we 
were in the saddle and away toward Tours to report to 
the King. 

That was a march which would have turned any one's 


head but Joan's. We moved between emotional ranks 
of grateful country people all the way. They crowded 
about Joan to touch her feet, her horse, her armour, 
and they even knelt in the road and kissed her horse's 
hoof-prints. 

The land was full of her praises. The most illustrious 
chiefs of the Church wrote to the King extolling the Maid, 
comparing her to the saints and heroes of the Bible, and 
warning him not to let ' unbelief, ingratitude, or other 
injustice ' hinder or impair the Divine help sent through her. 
One might think there was a touch of prophecy in that, and 
we will let it go at that ; but to my mind it had its inspira 
tion in those great men's accurate knowledge of the King's 
trivial and treacherous character. 

The King had come to Tours to meet Joan. At the 
present day this poor thing is called Charles the Victorious, 
on account of victories which other people won for him, 
but in our time we had a private name for him which 
described him better, and was sanctified to him by personal 
deserving—Charles the Base. When we entered the pre 
sence he sat throned, with his tinselled snobs and dandies 
around him. He looked like a forked carrot, so tightly did 
his clothing fit him from his waist down ; he wore shoes 
with a rope-like pliant toe a foot long that had to be 
hitched up to the knee to keep it out of the way ; he had 
on a crimson velvet cape that came no lower than his 
elbows ; on his head he had a tall felt thing like a thimble, 
with a feather in its jewelled band that stuck up like a pen 
from an inkhorn, and from under that thimble his bush of 
stiff hair stuck down to his shoulders, curving outwards at 
the bottom, so that the cap and the hair together made 
the head like a shuttlecock. All the materials of his dress 
were rich, and all the colours brilliant. In his lap he cud 
dled a miniature greyhound that snarled, lifting its lip and 
showing its white teeth whenever any "slight movement 
disturbed it. The King's dandies were dressed in about 
the same fashion as himself, and when I remembered that 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


Joan had called the war-council of Orleans 'disguised 
ladies' maids,' it reminded me of people who squander all 
their money on a trifle and then haven't anything to invest 
when they come across a better chance ; that name ought 
to have been saved for these creatures. 

Joan fell on her knees before the majesty of France, and 
the other frivolous animal in his lap—a sight which it pained 
me to see. What had that man done for his country or 
for anybody in it, that she or any other person should kneel 
to him ? But she—she had just done the only great deed 
that had been done for France in fifty years, and had con 
secrated it with the libation of her blood. The positions 
should have been reversed. 

However, to be fair, one must grant that Charles ac 
quitted himself very well for the most part, on that occa 
sion—very much better than he was in the habit of doing. 
He passed his pup to a courtier, and took off his cap to 
Joan as if she had been a queen. Then he stepped from 
his throne and raised her, and showed quite a spirited and 
manly joy and gratitude in welcoming her and thanking 
her for her extraordinary achievement in his service. My 
prejudices are of a later date than that. If he had con 
tinued as he was at that moment, I should not have 
acquired them. 

He acted handsomely. He said : 

' You shall not kneel to me, my matchless General ; 
you have wrought royally, and royal courtesies are your 
due.' Noticing that she was pale, he said, ' But you must 
not stand ; you have lost blood for France, and your wound 
is yet green—come.' He led her to a seat and sat down 
by her. ' Now, then, speak out frankly, as to one who 
owes you much and freely confesses it before all this 
courtly assemblage. What shall be your reward ? Name 
it.' 

I was ashamed of him. And yet that was not fair, for 
how could he be expected to know this marvellous child in 
these few weeks, when we who thought we had known her 


JOAN OF ARC 


201 


all her life were daily seeing the clouds uncover some new 
altitudes of her character whose existence was not sus 
pected by us before ? But we are all that way : when we 
know a thing we have only scorn for other people who 
don't happen to know it. And I was ashamed of these 
courtiers, too, for the way they licked their chops, so to 
speak, as envying Joan her great chance, they not knowing 
her any better than the King did. A blush began to rise 
in Joan's cheeks at the thought that she was working for 
her country for pay, and she dropped her head and tried to 
hide her face, as girls always do when they find themselves 
blushing ; no one knows why they do, but they do, and 
the more they blush the more they fail to get reconciled to 
it, and the more they can't bear to have [people look at 
them when they are doing it. The King made it a great 
deal worse by calling attention to it, which is the unkindest 
thing a person can do when a girl is blushing ; sometimes, 
when there is a big crowd of strangers, it is even likely to 
make her cry if she is as young as Joan was. God knows 
the reason for this, it is hidden from men. As for me, I 
would as soon blush as sneeze ; in fact, I would rather. 
However, these meditations are not of consequence : I will 
go on with what I was saying. The King rallied her for 
blushing, and this brought up the rest of the blood and 
turned her face to fire. Then he was sorry, seeing what 
he had done, and tried to make her comfortable by saying 
the blush was exceedingly becoming to her and not to 
mind it—which caused even the dog to notice it now, so of 
course the red in Joan's face turned to purple, and the 
tears overflowed and ran down—I could have told anybody 
that that would happen. The King was distressed, and 
saw that the best thing to do would be to get away from 
this subject, so he began to say the finest kind of things 
about Joan's capture of the Tourelles, and presently when 
she was more composed he mentioned the reward again 
and pressed her to name it. Everybody listened with 
anxious interest to hear what her claim was going to be, but 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


203 


when her answer came their faces showed that the thing 
she asked for was not what they had been expecting. 

' Oh, dear and gracious Dauphin, I have but one desire 
—only one. If—— ' 

' Do not be afraid, my child—name it.' 

' That you will not delay a day. My army is strong 
and valiant, and eager to finish its work—march with me 
to Rheims and receive your crown.' 

You could see the indolent King shrink, in his butterfly 
clothes. 

' To Rheims—oh, impossible, my General ! We march 
through the heart of England's power ? ' 

Could those be French faces there ? Not one of them 
lighted in response to the girl's brave proposition, but all 
promptly showed satisfaction in the King's objection. 
Leave this silken idleness for the rude contact of war ? 
None of these butterflies desired that. They passed their 
jewelled comfit-boxes one to another and whispered their 
content in the head butterfly's practical prudence. Joan 
pleaded with the King, saying— 

' Ah, I pray you do not throw away this perfect oppor 
tunity. Everything is favourable—everything. It is as if 
the circumstances were specially made for it. The spirits 
of our army are exalted with victory, those of the English 
forces depressed by defeat. Delay will change this. See 
ing us hesitate to follow up our advantage, our men will 
wonder, doubt, lose confidence, and the English will 
wonder, gather courage, and be bold again. Now is the 
time—prithee let us march ! ' 

The King shook his head, and La Tremouille, being- 
asked for an opinion, eagerly furnished it : 

' Sire, all prudence is against it. Think of the English 
strongholds along the Loire ; think of those that lie 
between us and Rheims ! ' 

He was going on, but Joan cut him short, and said, 
turning to him— 


' If we wait, they will all be strengthened, re-enforced. 
Will that advantage us ? ' 

« Why—no.' 

' Then what is your suggestion ?—what is it that you 
would propose to do ? ' 

' My judgment is to wait.' 

' Wait for what ? ' 

The minister was obliged to hesitate, for he knew of 
no explanation that would sound well. Moreover, he 
was not used to being catechised in this fashion, with the 
eyes of a crowd of people on him ; so he was irritated, and 

said— 

' Matters of state are not proper matters for public 

discussion.' 

Joan said placidly— 

' I have to beg your pardon. My trespass came of 

ignorance. I did not know that matters connected with 

your department of the government were matters of state.' 

The minister lifted his brows in amused surprise, and 

said, with a touch of sarcasm— 

' I am the King's chief minister, and yet you had the 
impression that matters connected with my department 
are not matters of state ? Pray how is that ? ' 
Joan replied, indifferently— 
' Because there is no state.' 
' No state ! ' 

' No, sir, there is no state, and no use for a minister. 
France is shrunk to a couple of acres of ground ; a sheriff's 
constable could take care of it ; its affairs are not matters 
of state. The term is too large." 

The King did not blush, but burst into a hearty, care 
less laugh, and the court laughed too, but prudently turned 
its head and did it silently. La Tremouille was angry, 
and opened his mouth to speak, but the King put up his 
hand, and said— 

'There—I take her under the royal protection. She 
has spoken the truth, the ungilded truth—how seldom I 


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204 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

hear it ! With all this tinsel on me and all this tinsel 
about me, I am but a sheriff after all—a poor shabby two- 
acre sheriff—and you are but a constable,' and he laughed 
his cordial laugh again. ' Joan, my frank, honest General, 
will you name your reward ? I would ennoble you. You 
shall quarter the crown and the lilies of France for blazon, 
and with them your victorious sword to defend them— 
speak the word.' 

It made an eager buzz of surprise and envy in the 
assemblage, but Joan shook her head and said— 

' Ah, I cannot, dear and noble Dauphin. To be allowed 
to work for France, to spend one's self for France, is itself 
so supreme a reward that nothing can add to it—nothing. 
Give me the one reward I ask, the dearest of all rewards, 
the highest in your gift—march with me to Rheims and 
receive your crown. I will beg it on my knees.' 

But the King put his hand on her arm, and there was 
a really brave awakening in his voice and a manly fire in 
his eye when he said— 

' No ; sit. You have conquered me ; it shall be as 
you—' 

But a warning sign from his minister halted him, and 
he added, to the relief of the Court— 

' Well, well, we will think of it, we will think it over 
and see. Does that content you, impulsive little soldier ? ' 

The first part of the speech sent a glow of delight to 
Joan's face, but the end of it quenched it and she looked 
sad, and the tears gathered in her eyes. After a moment 
she spoke out with what seemed a sort of terrified impulse, 
and said— 

' Oh, use me ; I beseech you, use me—there is but 
little time ! ' 

' But little time ? ' 

' Only a year—I shall last only a year.' 

' Why, child, there are fifty good years in that compact 
little body yet..' 


JOAN OF ARC 


205 


' Oh, you err, indeed you do. In one little year the 
end will come. Ah, the time is so short, so short ; the 
moments are flying, and so much to be done. Oh, use 
me, and quickly—it is life or death for France.' 

Even those insects were sobered by her impassioned 
words. The King looked very grave—grave, and strongly 
impressed. His eyes lit suddenly with an eloquent fire, 
and he rose and drew his sword and raised it aloft ; then 
he brought it slowly down upon Joan's shoulder and said : 

' Ah, thou art so simple, so true, so great, so noble— 
and by this accolade I join thee to the nobility of France, 
thy fitting place ! And for thy sake I do hereby ennoble all 
thy family and all thy kin, and all their descendants born 
in wedlock, not only in the male but also in the female line. 
And more !—more ! To distinguish thy house and honour 
it above all others, we add a privilege never accorded to 
any before in the history of these dominions ; the females 
of thy line shall have and hold the right to ennoble their 
husbands when these shall be of inferior degree.' [Aston 
ishment and envy flared up in every countenance when the 
words were uttered which conferred this extraordinary 
grace. The King paused and looked around upon these 
signs with quite evident satisfaction.] ' Rise, Joan of Arc, 
now and henceforth surnamed Du Lis, in grateful acknow 
ledgment of the good blow which you have struck for the 
lilies of France ; and they, and the royal crown, and your 
own victorious sword, fit and fair company for each other, 
shall be grouped in your escutcheon and be and remain 
the symbol of your high nobility for ever.' 

As my lady Du Lis rose, the gilded children of privilege 
pressed forward to welcome her to their sacred ranks and 
call her by her new name ; but she was troubled, and said 
these honours were not meet for one of her lowly birth 
and station, and by their kind grace she would remain 
simple Joan of Arc, nothing more—and so be called. 

Nothing more ! As if there could be anything more, 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


207 


anything higher, anything greater ! My lady Du Lis— 
why, it was tinsel, petty, perishable. But—JOAN OF ARC ! 
The mere sound of it sets one's pulses leaping. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

IT was vexatious to see what a to-do the whole town, and 
next the whole country, made over the news. Joan of Arc 
ennobled by the King ! People went dizzy with wonder 
and delight over it. You cannot imagine how she was 
gaped at, stared at, envied. Why, one would have sup 
posed that some great and fortunate thing had happened 
to her. But we did not think any great things of it. To 
our minds no mere human hand could add a glory to Joan 
of Arc. To us she was the sun soaring in the heavens, 
and her new nobility a candle atop of it ; to us it was 
swallowed up and lost in her own light. And she was as 
indifferent to it and as unconscious of it as the other sun 
would have been. 

But it was different with her brothers. They were 
proud and happy in their new dignity, which was quite 
natural. And Joan was glad it had been conferred, when 
she saw how pleased they were. It was a clever thought 
in the King to outflank her scruples by marching on them 
under shelter of her love for her family and her kin. 

Jean and Pierre sported their coat-of-arms right away, 
and their society was courted by everybody, the nobles 
and commons alike. The Standard-bearer said, with 
some touch of bitterness, that he could see that they just 
felt good to be alive, they were so soaked with the comfort 
of their glory, and didn't like to sleep at all, because when 
they were asleep they didn't know they were noble, and so 
sleep was a clean loss of time. And then he said— 

' They can't take precedence of me in military functions 
and state ceremonies, but when it comes to civil ones and 
society affairs I judge they'll cuddle coolly in behind you 


and the knights, and Noël and I will have to walk behind 
them—hey ? ' 

' Yes,' I said, ' I think you are right.' 

' I was just afraid of it—just afraid of it,' said the 
Standard-bearer, with a sigh. ' Afraid of it ? I'm talking 
like a fool : of course I knew it. Yes, I was talking like a 
fool.' 

Noël Rainguesson said, musingly— 

' Yes, I noticed something natural about the tone of it.' 

We others laughed. 

' Oh, you did, did you ? You think you are very clever, 
don't you ? I'll take and wring your neck for you one of 
these days, Noël Rainguesson.' 

The Sieur de Metz said— 

' Paladin, your fears haven't reached the* top notch. 
They are away below the grand possibilities. Didn't it 
occur to you that in civil and society functions they will 
take precedence of all the rest of the personal staff—every 
individual of us ? ' 

' Oh, come ! ' 

' You'll find it so. Look at their escutcheon. Its chief- 
est feature is the lilies of France. It's royal, man, royal— 
do you understand the size of that ? The lilies are there 
by authority of the King—do you understand the size of 
that? Though not in detail and in entirety, they do never 
theless substantially quarter the arms of France m their coat. 
Imagine it ! consider it ! measure the magnitude of it ! We 
walk in front of those boys ? Bless you, we've done that 
for the last time. In my opinion there isn't a lay lord in 
this whole region that can walk in front of them, except 
the Duke d'Alençon, prince of the blood.' 

You could have knocked the Paladin down with a 
feather. He seemed to actually turn pale. He worked 
his lips a moment without getting anything out ; then it 
came : 

' 7 didn't know that, nor the half of it ; how could I ? 
I ve been an idiot. I see it now—I've been an idiot. I 


 208 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


met them this morning1, and sung1 out hello to them just as 
I would to anybody. / didn't mean to be ill-mannered, but 
I didn't know the half of this that you've been telling. I've 
been an ass. Yes, that is all there is to it—I've been an 
ass.' 

Noël Rainguesson said, in a kind of weary way : 

' Yes, that is likely enough ; but I don't see why you 
should seem surprised at it.' 

' You don't, don't you ? Well, why don't you ? ' 

' Because I don't see any novelty about it. With some 
people it is a condition which is present all the time. Now 
you take a condition which is present all the time, and the 
results of that condition will be uniform : this uniformity of 
result will in time become monotonous ; monotonousness, 
by the law of its being, is fatiguing. If you had manifested 
fatigue upon noticing that you had been an ass, that would 
have been logical, that would have been rational ; whereas 
it seems to me that to manifest surprise was to be again 
an ass, because the condition of intellect that can enable a 
person to be surprised and stirred by inert monotonousness 
is a——' 

' Now that is enough, Noël Rainguesson ; stop where 
you are, before you get yourself into trouble. And don't 
bother me any more for some days or a week an it please 
you, for I cannot abide your clack.' 

' Come, I like that ! / didn't want to talk. I tried to 
get out of talking. If you didn't want to hear my clack, 
what did you keep intruding your conversation on me 
for?' 

'I ? I never dreamed of such a thing.' 

' Well, you did it, anyway. And I have a right to feel 
hurt, and I do feel hurt, to have you treat me so. It seems 
to me that when a person goads, and crowds, and in a man 
ner forces another person to talk, it is neither very fair nor 
very good-mannered to call what he says clack.' 

' Oh, snuffle—do ! and break your heart, you poor thing ! 
Somebody fetch this sick doll a sugar-rag. Look you, Sir 


JOAN OF ARC 


209 


Jean de Metz, do you feel absolutely certain about that 
thing ? ' 

' What thing ? ' 

' Why, that Jean and Pierre are going to take prece 
dence of all the lay noblesse hereabouts except the Duke 
d'Alençon ? ' 

' I think there is not a doubt of it.' 

The Standard-bearer was deep in thoughts and dreams 
a few moments, then the silk-and-velvet expanse of his vast 
breast rose and fell with a sigh, and he said : 

' Dear, dear, what a lift it is ! It just shows what luck 
can do. Well, I don't care. I shouldn't care to be a 
painted accident—I shouldn't value it. I am prouder to 
have climbed up to where I am just by sheer natural merit 
than I would be to ride the very sun in the zenith and have 
to reflect that I was nothing but a poor little accident, and 
got shot up there out of somebody else's catapult. To 
me, merit is everything—in fact, the only thing. All else is 
dross.' 

Just then the bugles blew the assembly, and that cut 
our talk short. 

CHAPTER XXV 

THE days began to waste away—and nothing decided, 
nothing done. The arm)' was full of zeal, but it was also 
hungry. It got no pay, the treasury was getting empty, it 
was becoming impossible to feed it; under pressure of 
privation it began to fall apart and disperse—which pleased 
the trifling Court exceedingly. Joan's distress was pitiful 
to see. She was obligeante stand helpless while her vic 
torious army dissolved away, until hardly the skeleton of it 
was left. 

At last one day she went to the Castle of Loches, where 
the King was idling. She found him consulting with three 
of his councillors, Robert le Maçon, a former Chancellor of 
France, Christophe d'Harcourt, and Gerard Machet. The 


 2IO 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


Bastard of Orleans was present also, and it is through him 
that we know what happened. Joan threw herself at the 
King's feet and embraced his knees, saying : 

1 Noble Dauphin, prithee hold no more of these long and 
numerous councils, but come, and come quickly, to Rheims 
and receive your crown.' 

Christophe d'Harcourt asked : 

' Is it your Voices that command you to say that to the 
King?' 

' Yes, and urgently.' 

' Then will you not tell us in the King's presence in what 
way the Voices communicate \vith you ? ' 

It was another sly attempt to trap Joan into indiscreet 
admissions and dangerous pretensions. But nothing came 
of it. Joan's answer was simple and straightforward, and 
the smooth Bishop was not able to find any fault with it. 
She said that when she met with people who doubted the 
truth of her mission she went aside and prayed, complaining 
of the distrust of these, and then the comforting Voices 
were heard at her ear saying, soft and low, ' Go forward, 
Daughter of God, and I will help thee.' Then she added, 
' When I hear that, the joy in my heart, oh, it is insup 
portable ! ' 

The Bastard said that \vhen she said these \vords her 
face lit up as with a flame, and she was like one in an 
ecstasy. 

Joan pleaded, persuaded, reasoned ; gaining ground 
little by little, but opposed step by step by the council. 
She begged, she implored, leave to march. When they 
could answer nothing further, they granted that perhaps it 
had been a mistake to let the army waste away, but how 
could we help it now ? how could we march without an 
army? 

' Raise one,' said Joan. 

' But it will take six weeks.' 

' No matter—begin ! let us begin ! ' 

' It is too late. Without doubt the Duke of Bedford 


JOAN OF ARC 


211 


has been gathering troops to push to the succour of his 
strongholds on the Loire.' 

' Yes, while we have been disbanding ours—and pity 
'tis. But we must throw away no more time ; we must 
bestir ourselves.' 

The King objected that he could not venture towards 
Rheims with those strong places on the Loire in his path. 
But Joan said : 

'We will break them up. Then you can march.' 

With that plan the King was willing to venture assent. 
He could sit around out of danger while the road was 
being cleared. 

Joan came back in great spirits. Straightway every 
thing was stirring. Proclamations \vere issued calling for 
men, a recruiting camp was established at Seiles, in Berry, 
and the commons and the nobles began to flock to it with 
enthusiasm. 

A deal of the month of May had been wasted ; and yet 
by June 6 Joan had swept together a new army and was 
ready to march. She had eight thousand men. Think of 
that. Think of gathering together such a body as that in 
that little region. And these were veteran soldiers, too. 
In fact, most of the men in France were soldiers, when 
you came to that ; for the wars had lasted generations 
now. Yes, most Frenchmen were soldiers ; and admirable 
runners, too, both by practice and inheritance ; they had 
done next to nothing but run for near a century. But that 
was not their fault. They had had no fair and proper 
leadership—at least leaders with a fair and proper chance. 
Away back, King and Court got the habit of being treacher 
ous to the leaders ; then the leaders easily got the habit of 
disobeying the King and going their own way, each for 
himself and nobody for the lot. Nobody could win victories 
that way. Hence, running became the habit of the French 
troops, and no wonder. Yet all that those troops needed 
in order to be good fighters was a leader who \vould attend 
strictly to business—a leader with all authority in his hands 

p 2 


 • /£., 


• 
ni11 


212 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

in place of a tenth of it along with nine other generals 
equipped with an equal tenth apiece. They had a leader 
rightly clothed with authority now, and with a head and 
heart bent on war of the most intensely businesslike and 
earnest sort—and there would be results. No doubt of that. 
They had Joan of Arc ; and under that leadership their legs 
would lose the art and mystery of running. 

Yes, Joan was in great spirits. She was here and there 
and everywhere, all over the camp, by day and by night, 
pushing things. And wherever she came charging down 
the lines, reviewing the troops, it was good to hear them 
break out and cheer. And nobody could help cheering, 
she was such a vision of young bloom and beauty and grace, 
and such an incarnation of pluck and life and go ! She 
was growing more and more ideally beautiful every day, 
as was plain to be seen—and these were days of develop 
ment ; for she was well past seventeen, now—in fact, she 
was getting close upon seventeen and a half—indeed, just 
a little woman, as you may say. 

The two young Counts de Lavai arrived one day—fine 
young fellows allied to the greatest and most illustrious 
houses of France ; and they could not rest till they had seen 
Joan of Arc. So the King sent for them and presented 
them to her, and you may believe she filled the bill of their 
expectations. When they heard that rich voice of hers 
they must have thought it was a flute ; and when they saw 
her deep eyes and her face, and the soul that looked out of 
that face, you could see that the sight of her stirred them 
like a poem, like lofty eloquence, like martial music. One 
of them wrote home to his people, and in his letter he said, 
' It seemed something divine to see her and hear her.' Ah, 
yes, and it was a true word. Truer word was never spoken. 

He saw her when she \vas ready to begin her march 
and open the campaign, and this is what he said about it : 

' She was clothed all in white armour save her head, 
and in her hand she carried a little battle-axe ; and when 
she was ready to mount her great black horse he reared 


JOAN OF ARC 


213 


and plunged and would not let her. Then she said, " Lead 
him to the cross." This cross was in front of the church 
close by. So they led him there. Then she mounted, and 
he never budged, any more than if he had been tied. Then 
she turned toward the door of the church and said, in her 
soft womanly voice, " You, priests and people of the 
Church, make processions and pray to God for us ! " 
Then she spurred away, under her standard, with her little 
axe in her hand, crying " Forward—march ! " One of 
her brothers, who came eight days ago, departed with her ; 
and he also was clad all in white armour.' 

I was there, and I saw it too ; saw it all, just as he 
pictures it. And I see it yet—the little battle-axe, the 
dainty plumed cap, the white armour—all in the soft June 
afternoon ; I see it just as if it were yesterday. And I 
rode with the staff—the personal staff—the staff of Joan of 
Arc. 

That young Count was dying to go too, but the King 
held him back for the present. But Joan had made him a 
promise. In his letter he said : 

' She told me that when the King starts for Rheims I 
shall go with him. But God grant I may not have to 
wait till then, but may have a part in the battles ! ' 

She made him that promise when she was taking leave 
of my lady the Duchess d'Alençon. The Duchess was 
exacting a promise, so it seemed a proper time for others 
to do the like. The Duchess was troubled for her husband, 
for she foresaw desperate fighting ; and she held Joan to 
her breast, and stroked her hair lovingly, and said : 

' You must watch over him, dear, and take care of him, 
and send him back to me safe. I require it of you ; I will 
not let you go till you promise.' 

Joan said : 

' I give you the promise with all my heart ; and it is 
not just words, it is a promise : you shall have him back 
without a hurt. Do you believe ? And are you satisfied 
with me now ? ' 


 214 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


21- 


The Duchess could not speak, but she kissed Joan on 
the forehead ; and so they parted. 

We left on the 6th and stopped over at Romorantin ; 
then on the gth Joan entered Orleans in state, under tri 
umphal arches, with the welcoming1 cannon thundering and 
seas of welcoming flags fluttering in the breeze. The 
Grand Staff rode with her, clothed in shining splendours of 
costume and decorations : the Duke d'Alençon ; the Bastard 
of Orleans ; the Sire de Boussac, Marshal of France ; the 
Lord de Graville, Master of the Crossbowmen ; the Sire 
de Culan, Admiral of France ; Ambroise de Lore ; Etienne 
de Vignoles, called La Hire ; Gautier de Brusac, and other 
illustrious captains. 

It was grand times : the usual shoutings, and packed 
multitudes, the usual crush to get sight of Joan ; but at 
last we crowded through to our old lodgings, and I saw 
old Boucher and the wife and that dear Catherine gather 
Joan to their hearts and smother her with kisses—and my 
heart ached so ! for I could have kissed Catherine better 
than anybody, and more and longer ; yet was not thought 
of for that office, and I so famished for it. Ah, she was 
so beautiful, and oh, so sweet ! I had loved her the first 
day I ever saw her, and from that day forth she was sacred 
to me. I have carried her image in my heart for sixty- 
three years—all lonely there, yes, solitary, for it never has 
had company—and I am grown so old, so old : but it, oh, 
it is as fresh and young and merry and mischievous and 
lovely and sweet and pure and witching and divine as it 
was when it crept in there, bringing benediction and peace 
to its habitation so long ago, so long ago—for it has not 
aged a day ! 

CHAPTER XXVI 

THIS time, as before, the King's last command to the 
generals was this : ' See to it that you do nothing without the 
sanction of the Maid.' And this time the command was 


obeyed ; and would continue to be obeyed all through the 
coming great days of the Loire campaign. 

That was a change ! That was new ! It broke the 
traditions. It shows you what sort of a reputation as a 
commander-in-chief the child had made for herself in ten 
days in the field. It was a conquering of men's doubts 
and suspicions and a capturing and solidifying of men's 
belief and confidence such as the grayest veteran on the 
Grand Staff had not been able to achieve in thirty years. 
Don't you remember that when at sixteen Joan conducted 
her own case in a grim court of law and won it, the old 
judge spoke of her as ' this marvellous child ' ? It was the 
right name, you see. 

These veterans were not going to branch out and do 
things without the sanction of the Maid—that is true ; and 
it was a great gain. But at the same time there were some 
among them who still trembled at her new and dashing 
war-tactics and earnestly desired to modify them. And so, 
during the loth, while Joan was slaving away at her plans 
and issuing order after order with tireless industry, the 
old-time consultations and arguings and speechifyings were 
going on among certain of the generals. 

In the afternoon of that day they came in a body to hold 
one of these councils of war ; and while they waited for 
Joan to join them they discussed the situation. Now this 
discussion is not set down in the histories ; but I was there, 
and I will speak of it, as knowing you will trust me, I not 
being given to beguiling you with lies. 

Gautier de Brusac was spokesman for the timid ones ; 
Joan's side was resolutely upheld by D'Alençon, the 
Bastard, La Hire, the Admiral of France, the Marshal de 
Boussac, and all the other really important chiefs. 

De Brusac argued that the situation was very grave ; 
that Jargeau, the first point of attack, was formidably 
strong ; its imposing walls bristling with artillery ; with 
7,000 picked English veterans behind them, and at their 
head the great Earl of Suffolk and his two redoubtable 


il: 


 2l6 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


217 


brothers, the De la Poles. It seemed to him that the pro 
posal of Joan of Arc to try to take such a place by storm 
was a most rash and over-daring' idea, and she ought to 
be persuaded to relinquish it in favour of the soberer and 
safer procedure of investment by regular siege. It seemed 
to him that this fiery and furious new fashion of hurling 
masses of men against impregnable walls of stone, in defi 
ance of the established laws and usages of war, was— 

But he got no further. La Hire gave his plumed helm 
an impatient toss and burst out with : 

' By God she knows her trade, and none can teach it 
her!' 

And before he could get out anything more, D'Alençon 
was on his feet, and the Bastard of Orleans, and half a 
dozen others, all thundering at once, and pouring out their 
indignant displeasure upon any and all that might hold, 
secretly or publicly, distrust of the wisdom of the Com- 
mander-in-Chief. And when they had said their say, La 
Hire took a chance again, and said : 

' There are some that never know how to change. Cir 
cumstances may change, but those people are never able 
to see that they have got to change too, to meet those cir 
cumstances. All that they know is the one beaten track 
that their fathers and grandfathers have followed and that 
they themselves have followed in their turn. If an earth 
quake come and rip the land to chaos, and that beaten 
track now lead over precipices and into morasses, those 
people can't learn that they must strike out a new road— 
no ; they will march stupidly along and follow the old one 
to death and perdition. Men, there's a new state of 
things ; and a surpassing military genius has perceived it 
with her clear eye. And a new road is required, and that 
same clear eye has noted where it must go, and has marked 
it out for us. The man does not live, never has lived, 
never will live, that can improve upon it ! The old state 
of things was defeat, defeat, defeat—and by consequence 
we had troops with no dash, no heart, no hope. Would 


you assault stone walls with such ? No—there was but 
one way with that kind : sit down before a place and wait, 
wait—starve it out, if you could. The new case is the 
very opposite ; it is this : men all on fire with pluck and 
dash and vim and fury and energy—a restrained conflagra 
tion ! What would you do with it ? Hold it down and 
let it smoulder and perish and go out ? What would Joan 
of Arc do with it ? Turn it loose, by the Lord God of heaven 
and earth, and let it swallow up the foe in the whirlwind of 
its fires ! Nothing shows the splendour and wisdom of her 
military genius like her instant comprehension of the size 
of the change which has come about, and her instant per 
ception of the right and only right way to take advantage 
of it. With her is no sitting down and starving out ; no 
dilly-dallying and fooling around ; no lazying, loafing, and 
going to sleep ; no, it is storm ! storm ! storm ! and still 
storm ! storm ! storm ! and forever storm ! storm ! storm ! 
hunt the enemy to his hole, then turn her French hurricanes 
loose and carry him by storm ! And that is my sort ! 
Jargeau? What of Jargeau, with its battlements and 
towers, its devastating artillery, its seven thousand picked 
veterans ? Joan of Arc is to the fore, and by the splendour 
of God its fate is sealed ! ' 

Oh, he carried them. There was not another word 
said about persuading Joan to change her tactics. They 
sat talking comfortably enough after that. 

By-and-by Joan entered, and they rose and saluted with 
their swords, and she asked what their pleasure might be. 
La Hire said : 

' It is settled, my General. The matter concerned 
Jargeau. There were some who thought we could not 
take the place.' 

Joan laughed her pleasant laugh ; her merry, care-free 
laugh ; the laugh that rippled so buoyantly from her lips 
and made old people feel young again to hear it ; and she 
said to the company : 

' Have no fears—indeed there is no need nor any occa- 


 'il 


218 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


219 


sion for them. We will strike the English boldly by assault, 
and you will see.' Then a far-away look came into her 
eyes, and I think that a picture of her home drifted across 
the vision of her mind ; for she said very gently, and as 
one who muses, ' But that I know God guides us and will 
give us success, I had liefer keep sheep than endure these 
perils." 

We had a homelike farewell supper that evening—just 
the personal staff and the family. Joan had to miss it ; for 
the city had given a banquet in her honour, and she had 
gone there in state with the Grand Staff, through a riot of 
joy-bells and a sparkling Milky Way of illuminations. 

After supper some lively young folk whom we knew 
came in, and we presently forgot that we were soldiers, 
and only remembered that we were boys and girls and full 
of animal spirits and long-pent fun ; and so there was 
dancing, and games, and romps, and screams of laughter 

—just as extravagant and innocent and noisy a good time 
as ever I had in my life. Dear, dear, how long ago it was ! 

—and I was young then. And outside, all the while, was 
the measured tramp of marching battalions, belated odds 
and ends of the French power gathering for the morrow's 
tragedy on the grim stage of war. Yes, in those days we 
had those contrasts side by side. And as I passed along 
to bed there was another one : the big Dwarf, in brave new 
armour, sat sentry at Joan's door—the stern Spirit of War 
made flesh, as it were—and on his ample shoulder was 
curled a kitten asleep. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

WE made a gallant show next day when we filed out 
through the frowning gates of Orleans, with banners flying 
and Joan and the Grand Staff in the van of the long 
column. Those two young De Lavais were come, now, 
and were joined to the Grand Staff. Which was well ; 


war being their proper trade, for they were grandsons of 
that illustrious fighter Bertrand du Guesclin, Constable of 
France in earlier days. Louis de Bourbon, the Marshal 
de Rais, and the Vidame de Chartres were added also. 
We had a right to feel a little uneasy, for we knew that a 
force of five thousand men was on its way under Sir John 
Fastolfe to reinforce Jargeau, but I think we were not un 
easy, nevertheless. In truth, that force was not yet in our 
neighbourhood. Sir John was loitering ; for some reason 
or other he was not hurrying. He was losing precious time 
—four days at Etampes, and four more at Janville. 

We reached Jargeau and began business at once. Joan 
sent forward a heavy force which hurled itself against the 
outworks in handsome style, and gained a footing and 
fought hard to keep it ; but it presently began to fall back 
before a sortie from the city. Seeing this, Joan raised her 
battle-cry and led a new assault herself under a furious 
artillery fire. The Paladin was struck down at her side, 
wounded, but she snatched her standard from his failing 
hand, and plunged on through the ruck of flying missiles, 
cheering her men with encouraging cries ; and then for 
a good time one had turmoil, and clash of steel, and colli 
sion and confusion of struggling- multitudes, and the hoarse 
bellowing of the guns ; and then the hiding of it all under 
a rolling firmament of smoke ; a firmament through which 
veiled vacancies appeared for a moment now and then, 
giving fitful dim glimpses of the wild tragedy enacting 
beyond ; and always at these times one caught sight of 
that slight figure in white mail which was the centre and 
soul of our hope and trust, and whenever we saw that, with 
its back to us and its face to the fight, we knew that all 
was well. At last a great shout went up—a joyous roar 
of shoutings, in fact—and that was sign sufficient that the 
faubourgs were ours. 

Yes, they were ours ; the enemy had been driven back 
within the walls. On the ground which Joan had won, we 
camped ; for night was corning on. 


 220 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


221 


Joan sent a summons to the English, promising- that if 
they surrendered she would allow them to go in peace and 
take their horses with them. Nobody knew that she could 
take that strong place, but she knew it—knew it well ; yet 
she offered that grace—offered it in a time when such a 
thing was unknown in war ; in a time when it was custom 
and usage to massacre the garrison and the inhabitants of 
captured cities without pity or compunction—yes, even to 
the harmless women and children sometimes. There are 
neighbours all about you who well remember the unspeak 
able atrocities which Charles the Bold inflicted upon the 
men and women and children of Dinant when he took that 
place some years ago. It was a unique and kindly grace 
which Joan offered that garrison ; but that was her way, 
that was her loving and merciful nature—she always did 
her best to save her enemy's life and his soldierly pride 
when she had the mastery of him. 

The English asked fifteen days' armistice to consider 
the proposal in. And Fastolfe coming with 5,000 men ! 
Joan said no. But she offered another grace : they might 
take both their horses and their side-arms—but they must 
go within the hour. 

Well, those bronzed English veterans were pretty hard- 
headed folk. They declined again. Then Joan gave com 
mand that her army be made ready to move to the assault 
at nine in the morning. Considering the deal of marching 
and fighting which the men had done that day, D'Alençon 
thought the hour rather early ; but Joan said it was best 
so, and so must be obeyed. Then she burst out with one 
of those enthusiasms which were always burning in her 
when battle was imminent, and said : 

' Work ! work ! and God will work with us ! ' 

Yes, one might say that her motto was ' Work ! stick 
to it ; keep on working ! ' for in war she never knew what 
indolence was. And whoever will take that motto and live 
by it will be likely to succeed. There's many a way to win 


in this world, but none of them is worth much without 
good hard work back of it. 

I think we should have lost our big Standard-Bearer 
that day, if our bigger Dwarf had not been at hand to bring 
him out of the mêlée when he was wounded. He was 
unconscious, and would have been trampled to death by 
our own horse, if the Dwarf had not promptly rescued him 
and haled him to the rear and safety. He recovered, and 
was himself again after two or three hours ; and then he 
was happy and proud, and made the most of his wound, 
and went swaggering around in his bandages showing off 
like an innocent big child—which was just what he was. 
He was prouder of being wounded than a really modest 
person would be of being killed. But there was no harm 
in his vanity, and nobody minded it. He said he was hit 
by a stone from a catapult—a stone the size of a man's 
head. But the stone grew, of course. Before he got 
through with it he was claiming that the enemy had flung 
a building at him. 

' Let him alone,' said Noël Rainguesson. ' Don't 
interrupt his processes. To-morrow it will be a cathedral.' 

He said that privately. And, sure enough to-morrow 
it was a cathedral. I never saw anybody with such an 
abandoned imagination. 

Joan was abroad at the crack of dawn, galloping here 
and there and yonder, examining the situation minutely, 
and choosing what she considered the most effective posi 
tions for her artillery ; and with such accurate judgment 
did she place her guns that her Lieutenant-General's 
admiration of it still survived in his memory when his 
testimony was taken at the Rehabilitation, a quarter of a 
century later. 

In this testimony the Duke d'Alençon said that at 
Jargeau that morning of the I2th of June she made her 
dispositions not like a novice, but ' with the sure and clear 


 222 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


judgment of a trained general of twenty or thirty years' 
experience." 

The veteran captains of the armies of France said she 
was great in war in all ways, but greatest of all in her 
genius for posting and handling artillery. 

Who taught the shepherd girl to do these marvels— 
she who could not read, and had had no opportunity to 
study the complex arts of war ? I do not know any way 
to solve such a baffling riddle as that, there being no 
precedent for it, nothing in history to compare it with and 
examine it by. For in history there is no great general, 
however gifted, who arrived at success otherwise than 
through able teaching and hard study and some experience. 
It is a riddle which will never be guessed. I think these 
vast powers and capacities were born in her, and that she 
applied them by an intuition which could not err. 

At eight o'clock all movements ceased, and with it all 
sounds, all noise. A mute expectancy reigned. The still 
ness was something awful—because it meant so much. 
There was no air stirring. The flags on the towers and 
ramparts hung straight down like tassels. Wherever one 
saw a person, that person had stopped what he was doing, 
and was in a waiting attitude, a listening attitude. We 
were on a commanding spot, clustered around Joan. Not 
far from us, on every hand, were the lanes and humble 
dwellings of these outlying suburbs. Many people were 
visible—all were listening, not one was moving. A man 
had placed a nail ; he was about to fasten something with 
it to the door-post of his shop—but he had stopped. There 
was his hand reaching up holding the nail ; and there was 
his other hand in the act of striking with the hammer ; but 
he had forgotten everything—his head was turned aside, 
listening. Even children unconsciously stopped in their 
play ; I saw a little boy with his hoop-stick pointed slant 
ing toward the ground in the act of steering the hoop 
around the corner ; and so he had stopped and was listen 
ing—the hoop was rolling away, doing its own steering. 


JOAN OF ARC 


223 


I saw a young girl prettily framed in an open window, a 
watering-pot in her hand and window-boxes of red flowers 
under its spout—but the water had ceased to flow ; the 
girl was listening. Everywhere were these impressive 
petrified forms ; and everywhere was suspended movement 
and that awful stillness. 

Joan of Arc raised her sword in the air. At the signal, 
the silence was torn to rags ; cannon after cannon vomited 
flames and smoke and delivered its quaking thunders ; and 
we saw answering tongues of fire dart from the towers and 
walls of the city, accompanied by answering deep thunders, 
and in a minute the walls and the towers disappeared, and 
in their place stood vast banks and pyramids of snowy 
smoke, motionless in the dead air. The startled girl 
dropped her watering-pot and clasped her hands together, 
and at that moment a stone cannon-ball crashed through 
her fair body. 

The great artillery duel went on, each side hammering 
away with all its might ; and it was splendid for smoke 
and noise, and most exalting to one's spirits. The poor 
little town around about us suffered cruelly. The cannon- 
balls tore through its slight buildings, wrecking them as if 
they had been built of cards ; and every moment or two 
one would see a huge rock come curving through the upper 
air above the smoke clouds and go plunging down through 
the roofs. Fire broke out, and columns of flame and smoke 
rose toward the sky. 

Presently the artillery concussions changed the weather. 
The sky became overcast, and a strong wind rose and blew 
away the smoke that hid the English fortresses. 

Then the spectacle was fine : turreted gray walls and 
towers, and streaming bright flags, and jets of red fire and 
gushes of white smoke in long rows, all standing out with 
sharp vividness against the deep leaden background of the 
sky ; and then the whizzing missiles began to knock up 
the dirt all around us, and I felt no more interest in the 
scenery. There was one English gun that was getting our 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


225 


position down finer and finer all the time. Presently Joan 
pointed to it and said : 

' Fair Duke, step out of your tracks, or that machine 
will kill you.' 

The Duke d'Alençon did as he was bid ; but Monsieur 
du Lude rashly took his place, and that cannon tore his 
head off in a moment. 

Joan was watching all along for the right time to order 
the assault. At last, about nine o'clock, she cried out : 

' Now—to the assault ! ' and the buglers blew the 
charge. 

Instantly we saw the body of men that had been 
appointed to this service move forward toward a point 
where the concentrated fire of our guns had crumbled the 
upper half of a broad stretch of wall to ruins ; we saw this 
force descend into the ditch and begin to plant the scaling- 
ladders. We were soon with them. The Lieutenant- 
General thought the assault premature. But Joan said : 

' Ah, gentle Duke, are you afraid ? Do you not know 
that I have promised to send you home safe ? ' 

It was warm work in the ditches. The walls were 
crowded with men, and they poured avalanches of stones 
down upon us. There was one gigantic Englishman who 
did us more hurt than any dozen of his brethren. He 
always dominated the places easiest of assault, and flung 
down exceedingly troublesome big stones which smashed 
men and ladders both—then he would near burst himself 
with laughing over what he had done. But the Duke 
settled accounts with him. He went and found the famous 
cannoneer Jean le Lorrain, and said : 

' Train your gun—kill me this demon.' 

He did it with the first shot. He hit the Englishman 
fair in the breast and knocked him backwards into the 
city. 

The enemy's resistance was so effective and so stubborn 
that our people began to show signs of doubt and dismay. 
Seeing this, Joan raised her inspiring battle-cry and 


descended into the fosse herself, the Dwarf helping her and 
the Paladin sticking bravely at her side with the standard. 
She started up a scaling-ladder, but a great stone flung 
from above came crashing down upon her helmet and 
stretched her, wounded and stunned, upon the ground. 
But only for a moment. The Dwarf stood her upon her 
feet, and straightway she started up the ladder again, 
crying : 

' To the assault, friends, to the assault—the English 
are ours ! It is the appointed hour ! ' 

There was a grand rush, and a fierce roar of war-cries, 
and we swarmed over the ramparts like ants. The garrison 
fled, we pursued ; Jargeau was ours ! 

The Earl of Suffolk was hemmed in and surrounded, 
and the Duke d'Alençon and the Bastard of Orleans 
demanded that he surrender himself. But he was a proud 
nobleman and came of a proud race. He refused to yield 
his sword to subordinates, saying : 

' I will die rather. I will surrender to the Maid of 
Orleans alone, and to no other.' 

And so he did ; and was courteously and honourably 
used by her. 

His two brothers retreated, fighting step by step, toward 
the bridge, we pressing their despairing forces and cutting 
them down by scores. Arrived on the bridge, the slaughter 
still continued. Alexander de la Pole was pushed over 
board or fell over, and was drowned. Eleven hundred 
men had fallen ; John de la Pole decided to give up the 
struggle. But he was nearly as proud and particular as 
his brother of Suffolk as to whom he would surrender to. 
The French officer nearest at hand was Guillaume Renault, 
who was pressing him closely. Sir John said to him : 

' Are you a gentleman ? ' 

' Yes.' 

' And a knight ? ' 

'No.' 

Then Sir John knighted him himself, there on the 

Q 


I , 


 226 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

bridge, giving him the accolade with English coolness and 
tranquillity in the midst of that storm of slaughter and 
mutilation ; and then bowing with high courtesy took the 
sword by the blade and laid the hilt of it in the man's hand 
in token of surrender. Ah, yes, a proud tribe, those De 
la Poles. 

It was a grand day, a memorable day, a most splendid 
victory. We had a crowd of prisoners, but Joan would 
not allow them to be hurt. We took them with us and 
marched into Orleans next day through the usual tempest 
of welcome and joy. 

And this time there was a new tribute to our leader. 
From everywhere in the packed streets the new recruits 
squeezed their way to her side to touch the sword of Joan 
of Arc and draw from it somewhat of that mysterious 
quality which made it invincible. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

THE troops must have a rest. Two days would be allowed 
for this. 

The morning of the I4th I was writing from Joan's 
dictation in a small room which she sometimes used as a 
private office when she wanted to get away from officials 
and their interruptions. Catherine Boucher came in and 
sat down and said : 

' Joan, dear, I want you to talk to me.' 

' Indeed I am not sorry for that, but glad. What is in 
your mind ? ' 

' This. I scarcely slept last night for thinking of the 
dangers you are running. The Paladin told me how you 
made the Duke stand out of the way when the cannon- 
balls were flying all about, and so saved his life.' 

' Well, that was right, wasn't it ? ' 

' Right ? Yes ; but you stayed there yourself. Why 
will you do like that ? It seems such a wanton risk.' 

' Oh, no, it was not so. I was not in any danger.' 


JOAN OF ARC 


227 


' How can you say that, Joan, with those deadly things 
flying all about you ? ' 

Joan laughed, and tried to turn the subject, but Catherine 
persisted. She said : 

' It was horribly dangerous, and it could not be neces 
sary to stay in such a place. And you led an assault 
again. Joan, it is tempting Providence. I want you to 
make me a promise. I want you to promise me that you 
will let others lead the assaults, if there must be assaults, 
and that you will take better care of yourself in those 
dreadful battles. Will you ? ' 

But Joan fought away from the promise, and did not 
give it. Catherine sat troubled and discontented awhile, 
then she said : 

' Joan, are you going to be a soldier always ? These 
wars are so long—so long. They last for ever and ever 
and ever.' 

There was a glad flash in Joan's eye as she cried : 

' This campaign will do all the really hard work that is 
in front of it in the next four days. The rest of it will be 
gentler—oh, far less bloody. Yes, in four days France 
will gather another trophy like the redemption of Orleans, 
and make her second long step toward freedom ! ' 

Catherine started (and so did I) ; then she gazed long 
at Joan like one in a trance, murmuring ' four days—four 
days,' as if to herself and unconsciously. Finally she 
asked, in a low voice that had something of awe in it : 

' Joan, tell me—how is it that you know that ? For 
you do know it, I think.' 

' Yes,' said Joan, dreamily, ' I know—I know. I shall 
strike—and strike again. And before the fourth day is 
finished I shall strike yet again.' She became silent. 
We sat wondering and still. This was for a whole 
minute, she looking at the floor and her lips moving but 
uttering nothing. Then came these words, but hardly 
audible : ' And in a thousand years the English power in 
France will not rise up from that blow.' 

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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


It made my flesh creep. It was uncanny. She was in 
a trance again—I could see it—just as she was that day 
in the pastures of Domremy when she prophesied about 
us boys in the war and afterward did not know that she 
had done it. She was not conscious now, but Catherine 
did not know that, and so she said, in a happy voice : 

' Oh, I believe it, I believe it, and I am so glad ! Then 
you will come back and bide with us all your life long, 
and we will love you so, and so honour you ! ' 

A scarcely perceptible spasm flitted across Joan's face, 
and the dreamy voice muttered : 

' Before two years are sped I shall die a cruel death ! ' 

I sprang forward with a warning hand up. That is 
why Catherine did not scream. She was going to do that 
—I saw it plainly. Then I whispered her to slip out of 
the place, and say nothing of what had happened. I said 
Joan was asleep—asleep and dreaming. Catherine whis 
pered back, and said : 

' Oh, I am so grateful that it is only a dream ! It 
sounded like prophecy.' And she was gone. 

Like prophecy ! I knew it was prophecy ; and I sat 
down crying, as knowing we should lose her. Soon she 
started, shivering slightly, and came to herself, and looked 
around and saw me crying there, and jumped out of her 
chair and ran to me all in a whirl of sympathy and com 
passion, and put her hand on my head and said : 

' My poor boy ! What is it? Look up, and tell me." 

I had to tell her a lie ; I grieved to do it, but there was 
no other way. I picked up an old letter from my table, 
written by Heaven knows who, about some matter Heaven 
knows what, and told her I had just gotten it from Père 
Fronte, and that in it it said the children's Fairy Tree had 
been chopped down by some miscreant or other, and— 

I got no further. She snatched the letter from my 
hand and searched it up and down and all over, turning it 
this way and that, and sobbing great sobs, and the tears 
flowing down her cheeks, and ejaculating all the time, 


JOAN OF ARC 


229 


' Oh, cruel, cruel ! how could any be so heartless? Ah, 
poor Arbre Fée de Bourlemont gone—and we children 
loved it so ! Show me the place where it says it ! ' 

And I, still lying, showed her the pretended fatal words 
on the pretended fatal page, and she gazed at them through 
her tears, and said she could see herself that they were 
hateful, ugly words—they ' had the very look of it.' 

Then we heard a strong voice down the corridor 
announcing— 

' His Majesty's messenger—with despatches for her 
Excellency the Commander-in-Chief of the armies of 
France ! ' 


CHAPTER XXIX 

/ knew she had seen the vision of the Tree. But when ? I 
could not know. Doubtless before she had lately told the 
King to use her, for that she had but one year left to work 
in. It had not occurred to me at the time, but the convic 
tion came upon me now that at that time she had already 
seen the Tree. It had brought her a welcome message ; 
that was plain, otherwise she could not have been so joy 
ous and light-hearted as she had been these latter days. 
The death-warning had nothing dismal about it for her ; 
no, it was remission of exile, it was leave to come home. 

Yes, she had seen the Tree. No one had taken the 
prophecy to heart which she made to the King ; and for a 
good reason, no doubt ; no one wanted to take it to heart ; 
all wanted to banish it away and forget it. And all had 
succeeded, and would go on to the end placid and comfort 
able. All but me alone. I must carry my awful secret 
without any to help me. A heavy load, a bitter burden ; 
and would cost me a daily heart-break. She was to die ; 
and so soon. I had never dreamed of that. How could 
I, and she so strong and fresh and young, and every day 
earning a new right to a peaceful and honoured old age ? 
For at that time I thought old age valuable. I do not 


 230 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

know why, but I thoug-ht so. All young- people think it, I 
believe, they being- ignorant and full of superstitions. She 
had seen the Tree. All that miserable night those ancient 
verses went floating back and forth through my brain : 
' And when in exile wand'ring we 
Shall fainting yearn for glimpse of thee, 
O rise upon our sight ! ' 

But at dawn the bugles and the drums burst through 
the dreamy hush of the morning, and it was turn out all ! 
mount and ride. For there was red work to be done. 

We marched to Meung without halting. There we 
carried the bridge by assault, and left a force to hold it, 
the rest of the army marching away next morning toward 
Beaugency, where the lion Talbot, the terror of the French, 
was in command. When we arrived at that place, the 
English retired into the castle and we sat down in the 
abandoned town. 

Talbot was not at the moment present in person, for 
he had gone away to watch for and welcome Fastolfe and 
his re-enforcement of five thousand men. 

Joan placed her batteries and bombarded the castle till 
night. Then some news came : Richement, Constable of 
France, this long time in disgrace with the King, largely 
because of the evil machinations of La Tremouille and his 
party, was approaching with a large body of men to offer 
his services to Joan—and very much she needed them, now 
that Fastolfe was so close by. Richement had wanted to 
join us before, when we first marched on Orleans ; but the 
foolish King, slave of those paltry advisers of his, warned 
him to keep his distance and refused all reconciliation with 
him. 

I go into these details because they are important. 
Important because they lead up to the exhibition of a new 
gift in Joan's extraordinary mental make-up—statesman 
ship. It is a sufficiently strange thing to find that great 
quality in an ignorant country girl of seventeen and a half, 
but she had it. 


til 


JOAN OF ARC 


231 


Joan was for receiving Richement cordially, and so was 
La Hire and the two young Lavais and other chiefs, but 
the Lieutenant-General, D'Alençon, strenuously and stub 
bornly opposed it. He said he had absolute orders from 
the King to deny and defy Richement, and that if they 
were overridden he would leave the army. This would 
have been a heavy disaster indeed. But Joan set herself 
the task of persuading him that the salvation of France 
took precedence of all minor things—even the commands 
of a sceptred ass ; and she accomplished it. She persua 
ded him to disobey the King in the interest of the nation, 
and to be reconciled to Count Richement and welcome 
him. That was statesmanship ; and of the highest and 
soundest sort. Whatever thing men call great, look for it 
in Joan of Arc, and there you will find it. 

In the early morning, June xyth, the scouts reported 
the approach of Talbot and Fastolfe with Fastolfe's suc 
couring force. Then the drums beat to arms ; and we set 
forth to meet the English, leaving Richement and his 
troops behind to watch the castle of Beaugency and keep 
its garrison at home. By-and-by we came in sight of the 
enemy. Fastolfe had tried to convince Talbot that it would 
be wisest to retreat and not risk a battle with Joan at this 
time, but distribute the new levies among the English 
strongholds of the Loire, thus securing them against cap 
ture ; then be patient and wait—wait for more levies from 
Paris ; let Joan exhaust her army with fruitless daily 
skirmishing ; then at the right time fall upon her in resist 
less mass and annihilate her. He was a wise old experi 
enced general, was Fastolfe. But that fierce Talbot would 
hear of no delay. He was in a rage over the punishment 
which the Maid had inflicted upon him at Orleans and 
since, and he swore by God and Saint George that he 
would have it out with her if he had to fight her all alone. 
So Fastolfe yielded, though he said they were now risking- 
the loss of everything which the English had gained by so 
many years' work and so many hard knocks. 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


233 


(I 


f 

i 


The enemy had taken up a strong position, and were 
waiting in order of battle, with their archers to the front 
and a stockade before them. 

Night was coming on. A messenger came from the 
English with a rude defiance and an offer of battle. But 
Joan's dignity was not ruffled, her bearing was not discom 
posed. She said to the herald : ' 

' Go back and say it is too late to meet to-night ; but 
to-morrow, please God and our Lady, we will come to close 
quarters.' 

The night fell dark and rainy. It was that sort of light 
steady rain which falls so softly and brings to one's spirit 
such serenity and peace. About ten o'clock D'Alençon, 
the Bastard of Orleans, La Hire, Pothon of Saintrailles, 
and two or three other generals came to our headquarters 
tent, and sat down to discuss matters with Joan. Some 
thought it was a pity that Joan had declined battle, some 
thought not. Then Pothon asked her why she had declined 
it. She said : 

' There was more than one reason. These English are 
ours—they cannot get away from us. Wherefore there is 
no need to take risks, as at other times. The day was far 
spent. It is good to have much time and the fair light of 
day when one's force is in a weakened state—nine hundred 
of us yonder keeping the bridge of Meung under the 
Marshal de Rais, fifteen hundred with the Constable of 
France keeping the bridge and watching the castle of 
Beaugency.' 

Dunois said : 

' I grieve for this depletion, Excellency, but it cannot 
be helped. And the case will be the same the morrow, as 
to that.' 

Joan was walking up and down, just then. She 
laughed her affectionate, comrady laugh, and stopping 
before that old war-tiger she put her small hand above his 
head and touched one of his plumes, saying : 


' Now tell me, wise man, which feather is it that I 
touch ? ' 

' In sooth, Excellency, that I cannot.' 

' Name of God, Bastard, Bastard ! you cannot tell me 
this small thing, yet are bold to name a large one—telling 
us what is in the stomach of the unborn morrow : that we 
shall not have those men. Now it is my thought that they 
will be with us." 

That made a stir. All wanted to know why she thought 
that. But La Hire took the word and said : 

' Let be. If she thinks it, that is enough. It will 
happen.' 

Then Pothon of Saintrailles said : 

' There were other reasons for declining battle, accord 
ing to the saying of your Excellency ? ' 

' Yes. One was that we being weak and the day far 
gone the battle might not be decisive. When it is fought 
it must be decisive. And shall be.' 

' God grant it, and amen. There were still other 
reasons ? ' 

' One other—yes.' She hesitated a moment, then said : 
' This was not the day. To-morrow is the day. It is so 
written.' 

They were going to assail her with eager questionings, 
but she put up her hand and prevented them. Then she 
said : 

' It will be the most noble and beneficent victory that 
God has vouchsafed to France at any time. I pray you 
question me not as to whence or how I know this thing, 
but be content that it is so.' 

There was pleasure in every face, and conviction and 
high confidence. A murmur of conversation broke out, 
but was interrupted by a messenger from the outposts who 
brought news—namely, that for an hour there had been 
stir and movement in the English camp of a sort unusual 
at such a time and with a resting army, he said. Spies 
had been sent under cover of the rain and darkness to 


"' 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


235 


inquire into it. They had just come back and reported 
that large bodies of men had been dimly made out who 
were slipping- stealthily away in the direction of Meung. 

The generals were very much surprised, as any might 
tell from their faces. 

' It is a retreat,' said Joan. 

' It has that look,' said D'Alençon. 

' It certainly has,' observed the Bastard and La Hire. 

'It was not to be expected,'said Louis de Bourbon, 
' but one can divine the purpose of it.' 

' Yes,' responded Joan. ' Talbot has reflected. His 
rash brain has cooled. He thinks to take the bridge of 
Meung and escape to the other side of the river. He 
knows that this leaves his garrison of Beaugency at the 
mercy of fortune, to escape our hands if it can ; but there 
is no other course if he would avoid this battle, and that 
he also knows. But he shall not get the bridge. We will 
see to that.' 

' Yes,' said D'Alençon, 'we must follow him, and take 
care of that matter. What of Beaugency ? ' 

' Leave Beaugency to me, gentle Duke ; I will have it 
in two hours, and at no cost of blood.' 

' It is true, Excellency. You will but need to deliver 
this news there and receive the surrender.' 

' Yes. And I will be with you at Meung with the dawn, 
fetching the Constable and his fifteen hundred ; and when 
Talbot knows that Beaugency has fallen it will have an 
effect upon him.' 

' By the mass, yes ! ' cried La Hire. ' He will join his 
Meung garrison to his army and break for Paris. Then we 
shall have our bridge force with us again, along with our 
Beaugency-watchers, and be stronger for our great day's 
work by four-and-twenty hundred able soldiers, as was 
here promised within the hour. Verily this Englishman is 
doing our errands for us and saving us much blood and 
trouble. Orders, Excellency—give us our orders ! ' 

' They are simple. Let the men rest three hours longer. 


At one o'clock the advance-guard will march, under your 
command, with Pothon of Saintrailles as second ; the 
second division will follow at two under the Lieutenant- 
General. Keep well in the rear of the enemy, and see to it 
that you avoid an engagement. I will ride under guard to 
Beaugency and make so quick work there that I and the 
Constable of France will join you before dawn with his 
men." 

She kept her word. Her guard mounted and we rode 
off through the puttering rain, taking with us a captured 
English officer to confirm Joan's news. We soon covered 
the journey and summoned the castle. Richard Guétin, 
Talbot's lieutenant, being convinced that he and his five 
hundred men were left helpless, conceded that it would be 
useless to try to hold out. He could not expect easy terms, 
yet Joan granted them nevertheless. His garrison could 
keep their horses and arms, and carry away property to 
the value of a silver mark per man. They could go whither 
they pleased, but must not take arms against France again 
under ten days. 

Before dawn we were with our army again, and with 
us the Constable and nearly all his men, for we left only a 
small garrison in Beaugency castle. We heard the dull 
booming of cannon to the front, and knew that Talbot 
was beginning his attack on the bridge. But some time 
before it was yet light the sound ceased and we heard it no 
more. 

Guétin had sent a messenger through our lines under a 
safe-conduct given by Joan, to tell Talbot of the surrender. 
Of course this poursuivant had arrived ahead of us. 
Talbot had held it wisdom to turn, now, and retreat upon 
Paris. When daylight came he had disappeared ; and with 
him Lord Scales and the garrison of Meung. 

What a harvest of English strongholds we had reaped 
in those three days !—strongholds which had defied France 
with quite cool confidence, and plenty of it, until we came. 


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236 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


CHAPTER XXX 

WHEN the morning broke at last on that for ever memor 
able i8th of June, there was no enemy discoverable any 
where, as I have said. But that did not trouble me. I 
knew we should find him, and that we should strike him ; 
strike him the promised blow—the one from which the 
English power in France would not rise up in a thousand 
years, as Joan had said in her trance. 

The enemy had plunged into the wide plains of La 
Beauce—a roadless waste covered with bushes, with here 
and there bodies of forest trees'—a region where an army 
would be hidden from view in a very little while. We 
found the trail in the soft wet earth and followed it. It 
indicated an orderly march ; no confusion, no panic. 

But we had to be cautious. In such a piece of country 
we could walk into an ambush without any trouble. 
Therefore Joan sent bodies of cavalry ahead under La Hire, 
Poton, and other captains, to feel the way. Some of the 
other officers began to show uneasiness ; this sort of hide- 
and-go-seek business troubled them and made their confi 
dence a little shaky. Joan divined their state of mind and 
cried out impetuously : 

' Name of God, what would you ? We must smite 
these English, and we will. They shall not escape us. 
Though they were hung to the clouds we would get them ! ' 
By-and-by we were nearing Patay ; it was about a 
league away. Now at this time our reconnoissance, feeling 
its way in the bush, frightened a deer, and it went bound 
ing away and was out of sight in a moment. Then hardly 
a minute later a dull great shout went up in the distance 
toward Patay. It was the English soldiery. They had 
been shut up in garrison so long on mouldy food that they 
could not keep their delight to themselves when this fine 
fresh meat came springing into their midst. Poor creature, 


JOAN OF ARC 


237 


it had wrought damage to a nation which loved it well. 
For the French knew where the English were, now, 
whereas the English had no suspicion of where the French 
were. 

La Hire halted where he was, and sent back the tidings. 
Joan was radiant with joy. The Duke d'Alençon said to 
her : 

' Very well, we have found them ; shall we fight them ? ' 

' Have you good spurs, Prince ? ' 

' Why ? Will they make us run away ? ' 

' Nenni, en nom de Dieu ! These English are ours—• 
they are lost. They will fly. Who overtakes them will 
need good spurs. Forward—close up ! ' 

By the time we had come up with La Hire the English 
had discovered our presence. Talbot's force was marching 
in three bodies. First his advance-guard ; then his artil 
lery ; then his battle corps a good way in the rear. He was 
now out of the bush and in a fair open country. He at 
once posted his artillery, his advance-guard, and five hun 
dred picked archers along some hedges where the French 
would be obliged to pass, and hoped to hold this position 
till his battle corps could come up. Sir John Fastolfe urged 
the battle corps into a gallop. Joan saw her opportunity 
and ordered La Hire to advance—which La Hire promptly 
did, launching his wild riders like a storm-wind, his cus 
tomary fashion. 

The Duke and the Bastard wanted to follow, but Joan 

said : 

' Not yet—wait.' 

So they waited—impatiently, and fidgeting in their 
saddles. But she was steady—gazing straight before her, 
measuring, weighing, calculating—by shades, minutes, 
fractions of minutes, seconds—with all her great soul pre 
sent, in eye, and set of head, and noble pose of body—but 
patient, steady, master of herself—master of herself and 
of the situation. 

And yonder, receding, receding, plumes lifting and fall- 


r 


 -Il 


238 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

ing-, lifting- and falling, streamed the thundering charge of 
La Hire's godless crew, La Hire's great figure dominating 
it and his sword stretched aloft like a flag-staff. 

' O Satan and his Hellions, see them go ! ' Somebody 
muttered it in deep admiration. 

And now he was closing up—closing up on Fastolfe's 
rushing corps. 

And now he struck it—struck it hard, and broke its 
order. It lifted the Duke and the Bastard in their saddles 
to see it ; and they turned, trembling with excitement, to 
Joan, saying : 

'Now!' 

But she put up her hand, still gazing, weighing, calcu 
lating, and said again : 

' Wait—not yet.' 

Fastolfe's hard-driven battle corps raged on like an 
avalanche toward the waiting advance-guard. Suddenly 
these conceived the idea that it was flying in panic before 
Joan ; and so in that instant it broke and swarmed away 
in a mad panic itself, with Talbot storming and cursing 
after it. 

Now was the golden time. Joan drove her spurs home 
and waved the advance with her sword. ' Follow me ! ' 
she cried, and bent her head to her horse's neck and sped 
away like the wind ! . 

We swept down into the confusion of that flying rout, 
and for three long hours we cut and hacked and stabbed. 
At last the bugles sang ' Halt ! ' 
The Battle of Patay was won. 

Joan of Arc dismounted, and stood surveying that awful 
field, lost in thought. Presently she said : 

' The praise is to God. He has smitten with a heavy 
hand this day.' After a little she lifted her face, and look 
ing afar off, said, with the manner of one who is thinking 
aloud, ' In a thousand years—a thousand years—the English 
power in France v/ill not rise up from this blow. ' She stood 
again a time, thinking, then she turned toward her grouped 


JOAN OF ARC 


239 


generals, and there was a glory in her face and a noble light 
in her eye ; and she said : 

' O friends, friends, do you know ?—do you compre 
hend ? France is on the way to be free ! ' 

' And had never been, but for Joan of Arc ! ' said La 
Hire, passing before her and bowing low, the others follow 
ing and doing likewise ; he muttering as he went, ' I will 
say it though I be damned for it.' Then battalion after 
battalion of our victorious army swung by, wildly cheering. 
And they shouted ' Live for ever, Maid of Orleans, live 
for ever ! ' while Joan, smiling, stood at the salute with her 
sword. 

This was not the last time I saw the Maid of Orleans on 
the red field of Patay. Toward the end of the day I came 
upon her where the dead and dying lay stretched all about 
in heaps and winrows ; our men had mortally wounded an 
English prisoner who was too poor to pay a ransom, and 
from a distance she had seen that cruel thing done ; and 
had galloped to the place and sent for a priest, and now she 
was holding the head of her dying enemy in her lap, and 
easing him to his death with comforting soft words, just as 
his sister might have done ; and the womanly tears running 
down her face all the time.1 


CHAPTER XXXI 

JOAN had said true : France was on the way to be free. 

The war called the Hundred Years' War was very sick 
to-day. Sick on its English side—for the very first time 
since its birth, ninety-one years gone by. 

1 Lord Ronald Gower (Joan of Arc, p. 82) says : ' Michelet discovered 
this story in the deposition of Joan of Arc's page, Louis de Conte, who 
was probably an eye-witness of the scene.' This is true. It was a part 
of the testimony of the author of these Personal Recollections of Joan of 
Arc, given by him in the Rehabilitation proceedings of 1456.—TRANS 
LATOR. 


 240 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


Shall we judge battles by the numbers "killed and the 
ruin wrought ? Or shall we not rather judge them by the 
results which flowed from them ? Any one will say that a 
battle is only truly great or small according to its results. 
Yes, any one will grant that, for it is the truth. 

Judged by'results, Patay's place is with the few supremely 
great and imposing battles that have been fought since 
the peoples of the world first resorted to arms for the settle 
ment of their quarrels. So judged, it is even possible that 
Patay has no peer among that few just mentioned, but 
stands alone, as the supremest of historic conflicts. For 
when it began France lay gasping out the remnant of an 
exhausted life, her case wholly hopeless in the view of all 
political physicians ; when it ended, three hours later, she 
was convalescent. Convalescent, and nothing requisite but 
time and ordinary nursing to bring her back to perfect 
health. The dullest physician of them all could see this, 
and there was none to deny it. 

Many death-sick nations have reached convalescence 
through a series of battles, a procession of battles, a weary 
tale of wasting conflicts stretching over years ; but only one 
has reached it in a single day and by a single battle. That 
nation is France, and that battle Patay. 

Remember it and be proud of it ; for you are French, 
and it is the stateliest fact in the long annals of your coun 
try. There it stands, with its head in the clouds ! And 
when you grow up you will go on pilgrimage to the field of 
Patay, and stand uncovered in the presence of—what ? A 
monument with its head in the clouds? Yes. For all 
nations in all times have built monuments on their battle 
fields to keep green the memory of the perishable deed that 
was wrought there and of the perishable name of him who 
wrought it ; and will France neglect Patay and Joan of Arc ? 
Not for long. And will she build a monument scaled to 
their rank as compared with the world's other fields and 
heroes ? Perhaps—if there be room for it under the arch 
of the sky. 


JOAN OF ARC 


241 


But let us look back a little, and consider certain strange 
and impressive facts. The Hundred Years' War began in 
1337. It raged on and on, year after year and year after 
year ; and at last England stretched France prone with 
that fearful blow at Crécy. But she rose and struggled on 
year after year, and at last again she went down under 
another devastating blow—Poitiers. She gathered her 
crippled strength once more, and the war raged on, and on, 
and still on, year after year, decade after decade. Children 
were born, grew up, married, died—the war raged on ; 
their children in turn grew up, married, died—the war 
raged on ; their children, growing, saw France struck down 
again ; this time under the incredible disaster of Agincourt 
—and still the war raged on, year after year, and in time 
these children married in their turn. 

France was a wreck, a ruin, a desolation. The half of 
it belonged to England, with none to dispute or deny the 
truth ; the other half belonged to nobody—in three months 
would be flying the English flag : the French King was 
making ready to throw away his crown and flee beyond 
the seas. 

Now came the ignorant country maid out of her remote 
village and confronted this hoary war, this all-consuming 
conflagration that had swept the land for three generations. 
Then began the briefest and most amazing campaign that 
is recorded in history. In seven weeks it was finished. 
In seven weeks she hopelessly crippled that gigantic war 
that was ninety-one years old. At Orleans she struck it a 
staggering blow ; on the field of Patay she broke its back. 

Think of.it. Yes, one can do that ; but understand it ? 
Ah, that is another matter ; none will ever be able to com 
prehend that stupefying marvel. 

Seven weeks—with here and there a little bloodshed. 
Perhaps the most of it, in any single fight, at Patay, where 
the English began six thousand strong and left two thou 
sand dead upon the field. It is said and believed that in 
three battles alone—Crécy, Poitiers, and Agincourt—near 

R 


 242 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


243 


!l 


ft 


a hundred thousand Frenchmen fell, without counting1 the 
thousand other fights of that long war. The dead of that 
war make a mournful long list—an interminable list. Of 
men slain in the field the count goes by tens of thousands ; 
of innocent women and children slain by bitter hardship 
and hunger, it goes by that appalling term, millions. 

It was an ogre, that war ; an ogre that went about for 
near a hundred years, crunching men and dripping blood 
from his jaws. And with her little hand that child of 
seventeen struck him down ; and yonder he lies stretched 
on the field of Patay, and will not get up any more while 
this old world lasts. 

CHAPTER XXXII 

THE great news of Patay was carried over the whole of 
France in twenty hours, people said. I do not know as to 
that ; but one thing is sure, anyway : the moment a man 
got it he flew shouting and glorifying God and told his 
neighbour ; and that neighbour flew with it to the next 
homestead ; and so on and so on, without resting, the word 
travelled ; and when a man got it in the night, at what 
hour soever, he jumped out of his bed and bore the blessed 
message along. And the joy that went with it was like 
the light that flows across the land when an eclipse is re 
ceding from the face of the sun ; and indeed you may say 
that France had lain in an eclipse this long time ; yes, 
buried in a black gloom which these beneficent tidings 
were sweeping away, now, before the onrush of 1;heir white 
splendour. 

The news beat the flying enemy to Yeuville, and the 
town rose against its English masters and shut the gates 
against their brethren. It flew to Mont Pipeau, to Saint- 
Simon, and to this, that, and the other English fortress ; 
and straightway the garrison applied the torch and took 
to the fields and the woods. A detachment of our army 
occupied Meung and pillaged it. 


When we reached Orleans that town was as much as 
fifty times insaner with joy than we had ever seen it 
before—which is saying much. Night had just fallen, and 
the illuminations were on so wonderful a scale that we 
seemed to plough through seas of fire ; and as to the noise 
—the hoarse cheering of the multitude, the thundering of 
cannon, the clash of bells—indeed there was never anything 
like it. And everywhere rose a new cry that burst upon 
us like a storm when the column entered the gates, and 
nevermore ceased : ' Welcome to Joan of Arc—way for 
the SAVIOUR OF FRANCE ! ' And there was another cry : 
' Crécy is avenged ! Poitiers is avenged ! Agincourt is 
avenged !—Patay shall live for ever ! ' 

Mad ? Why, you never could imagine it in the world. 
The prisoners were in the centre of the column. When 
that came along and the people caught sight of their 
masterful old enemy Talbot, that had made them dance so 
long to his grim war-music, you may imagine what the 
uproar was like if you can, for I cannot describe it. They 
were so glad to see him that presently they wanted to have 
him out and hang him ; so Joan had him brought up to 
the front to ride in her protection. They made a striking 
pair. 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

YES, Orleans was in a delirium of felicity. She invited the 
King, and made sumptuous preparations to receive him, 
but—he didn't come. He was simply a serf at that time, 
and La Tremouille was his master. Master and serf were 
visiting together at the master's castle of Sully-sur-Loire. 

At Beaugency Joan had engaged to bring about a re 
conciliation between the Constable Richemont and the 
King. She took Richemont to Sully-sur-Loire and made 
her promise good. 

The great deeds of Joan of Arc are five : 

1. The Raising of the Siege. 

2. The Victory of Patay. 

R2 


 244 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


3. The Reconciliation at Sully-sur-Loire. 

4. The Coronation of the King. 

5. The Bloodless March. 

We shall come to the Bloodless March presently (and 
the Coronation). It was the victorious long march which 
Joan made through the enemy's country from Gien to 
Rheims, and thence to the gates of Paris, capturing every 
English town and fortress that barred the road, from the 
beginning" of the journey to the end of it ; and this by the 
mere force of her name, and without shedding a drop of 
blood—perhaps the most extraordinary campaign in this 
regard in history—this is the most glorious of her military 
exploits. 

The Reconciliation was one of Joan's most important 
achievements. No one else could have accomplished it ; 
and in fact no one else of high consequence had any dis 
position to try. In brains, in scientific warfare, and in 
statesmanship the Constable Richement was the ablest 
man in France. His loyalty was sincere ; his probity was 
above suspicion—(and it made him sufficiently conspicuous 
in that trivial and conscienceless Court). 

In restoring Richement to France, Joan made 
thoroughly secure the successful completion of the great 
work which she had begun. She had never seen Riche- 
mont until he came to her with his little army. Was it 
not wonderful that at a glance she should know him for 
the one man who could finish and perfect her work and 
establish it in perpetuity ? How was it that that child was 
able to do this ? It was because she had the ' seeing eye, ' 
as one of our knights had once said. Yes, she had that 
great gift—almost the highest and rarest that has been 
granted to man. Nothing of an extraordinary sort was 
still to be done, yet the remaining work could not safely 
be left to the King's idiots ; for it would require wise 
statesmanship and long and patient though desultory 
hammering of the enemy. Now and then, for a quarter of 
a century yet, there would be a little fighting to do, and a 


-•"-„ 


ê;f 


"' 


The Siege of Orkans 
From the fainting ty J. E. LENEPVEU in the Pantheon, Paris 


 JOAN OF ARC 


245 


\ 


handy man could carry that on with small disturbance to 
the rest of the country ; and little by little, and with pro 
gressive certainty, the English would disappear from 
France. 

And that happened. Under the influence of Richemont 
the King became at a later time a man—a man, a king, a 
brave and capable and determined soldier. Within six 
years after Patay he was leading storming parties himself ; 
fighting in fortress ditches up to his waist in water, and 
climbing scaling-ladders under a furious fire with a pluck 
that would have satisfied even Joan of Arc. In time he 
and Richemont cleared away all the English ; even from 
regions where the people had been under their mastership 
for three hundred years. In such regions wise and care 
ful work was necessary, for the English rule had been fair 
and kindly ; and men who have been ruled in that way are 
not always anxious for a change. 

Which of Joan's five chief deeds shall we call chiefest ? 
It is my thought that each in its turn was that. This is 
saying- that, taken as a whole, they equalised each other, 
and neither was then greater than its mate. 

Do you perceive ? Each was a stage in an ascent. To 
leave out one of them would defeat the journey ; to achieve 
one of them at the wrong time and in the wrong place 
would have the same effect. 

Consider the Coronation. As a masterpiece of diplo 
macy, where can you find its superior in our history ? 
Did the King suspect its vast importance ? No. Did his 
ministers ? No. Did the astute Bedford, representative 
of the English crown ? No. An advantage of incalculable 
importance was here under the eyes of the King and of 
Bedford ; the King could get it by a bold stroke, Bedford 
could get it without an effort ; but being ignorant of its 
value, neither of them put forth his hand. Of all the wise 
people in high office in France, only one knew the priceless 
worth of this neglected prize—the untaught child of seven 
teen, Joan of Arc—and she had known it from the begin- 


\ 


 y 


246 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

ning, had spoken of it from the beginning as an essential 
detail of her mission. 

How did she know it ? It is simple : she was a peasant. 
That tells the whole story. She was of the people and 
knew the people ; those others moved in a loftier sphere 
and knew nothing much about them. We make little 
account of that vague, formless, inert mass, that mighty 
underlying force which we call ' the people '—an epithet 
which carries contempt with it. It is a strange attitude ; 
for at bottom we know that the throne which the people 
support, stands, and that when that support is removed, 
nothing in this world can save it. 

Now, then, consider this fact, and observe its import 
ance. Whatever the parish priest believes, his flock 
believe ; they love him, they revere him ; he is their un 
failing friend, their dauntless protector, their comforter 
in sorrow, their helper in their day of need ; he has their 
whole confidence ; what he tells them to do, that they will 
do, with a blind and affectionate obedience, let it cost what 
it may. Add these facts thoughtfully together, and what 
is the sum ? This : The parish priest governs the nation. 
What is the king, then, if the parish priest withdraw his 
support and deny his authority ? Merely a shadow and no 
king ; let him resign. 

Do you get that idea ? Then let us proceed. A priest 
is consecrated to his office by the awful hand of God, laid 
upon him by His appointed representative on earth. That 
consecration is final ; nothing can undo it, nothing can 
remove it. Neither the Pope nor any other power can 
strip the priest of his office ; God gave it, and it is for ever 
sacred and secure. The dull parish knows all this. To 
priest and parish, whosoever is anointed of God bears an 
office whose authority can no longer be disputed or as 
sailed. To the parish priest, and to his subjects the nation, 
an uncrowned king is a similitude of a person who has 
been named for holy orders but has not been consecrated ; 
he has no office, he has not been ordained, another may be 


JOAN OF ARC 


247 


appointed in his place. In a word, an uncrowned king is 
a doubtful king ; but if God appoint him and His servant 
the bishop anoint him, the doubt is annihilated ; the priest 
and the parish are his loyal subjects straightway, and 
while he lives they will recognise no king but him. 

To Joan of Arc the peasant girl, Charles VII. was no 
King until he was crowned ; to her he was only the 
Dauphin ; that is to say, the heir. If I have ever made 
her call him King, it was a mistake ; she called him the 
Dauphin, and nothing else until after the Coronation. It 
shows you as in a mirror—for Joan was a mirror in which 
the lowly hosts of France were clearly reflected—that to 
all that vast underlying force called ' the people ' he was 
no King but only Dauphin before his crowning, and was 
indisputably and irrevocably King after it. 

Now you understand what a colossal move on the 
political chessboard the Coronation was. Bedford realised 
this by-and-by, and tried to patch up his mistake by crown 
ing his King ; but what good could that do ? None in the 
world. 

Speaking of chess, Joan's great acts may be likened to 
that game. Each move was made in its proper order, and 
it was great and effective because it was made in its proper 
order and not out of it. Each, at the time made, seemed 
the greatest move ; but the final result made them all 
recognisable as equally essential and equally important. 
This is the game, as played : 

1. Joan moves Orleans and Patay—check. 

2. Then moves the Reconciliation—but does not pro 
claim check, it being a move for position, and to take effect 
later. 

3. Next she moves the Coronation—check. 

4. Next, the Bloodless March—check. 

5. Final move (after her death) the reconciled Constable 
Richement to the French King's elbow—checkmate. 


 248 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

THE Campaign of the Loire had as good as opened the 
road to Rheims. There was no sufficient reason now why 
the Coronation should not take place. The Coronation 
would complete the mission which Joan had received from 
heaven, and then she would be for ever done with war, and 
would fly home to her mother and her sheep, and never 
stir from the hearthstone and happiness any more. That 
was her dream ; and she could not rest, she was so im 
patient to see it fulfilled. She became so possessed with 
this matter that I began to lose faith in her two prophecies 
of her early death—and of course when I found that faith 
wavering I encouraged it to waver all the more. 

The King- was afraid to start to Rheims, because the 
road was mile-posted with English fortresses, so to speak. 
Joan held them in light esteem and not things to be afraid 
of in the existing modified condition of English confidence. 

And she was right. As it turned out, the march to 
Rheims was nothing but a holiday excursion. Joan did 
not even take any artillery along, she was so sure it would 
not be necessary. We marched from Gien twelve thousand 
strong. This was the agth of June. The Maid rode by 
the side of the King ; on his other side was the Duke 
d'Alençon. After the Duke followed three other princes 
of the blood. After these followed the Bastard of Orleans, 
the Marshal de Boussac, and the Admiral of France. 
After these came La Hire, Saintrailles, Tremouille, and a 
long procession of knights and nobles. 

We rested three days before Auxerre. The city 
provisioned the army, and a deputation waited upon the 
King, but we did not enter the place. 

Saint-Florentin opened its gates to the King. 

On the 4th of July we reached Saint-Fal, and yonder 
lay Troyes before us —a town which had a burning interest 
for us boys ; for we remembered how, seven years before, 


JOAN OF ARC 


249 


in the pastures of Domremy, the Sunflower came with his 
black flag and brought us the shameful news of the Treaty 
of Troyes—that treaty which gave France to England, and 
a daughter of our royal line in marriage to the Butcher of 
Agincourt. That poor town was not to blame, of course ; 
yet we flushed hot with that old memory, and hoped there 
would be a misunderstanding here, for we dearly wanted 
to storm the place and burn it. It was powerfully 
garrisoned by English and Burgundian soldiery, and was 
expecting re-enforcements from Paris. Before night we 
camped before its gates and made rough work with a sortie 
which marched out against us. 

Joan summoned Troyes to surrender. Its commandant, 
seeing that she had no artillery, scoffed at the idea, and 
sent her a grossly insulting reply. Five days we consulted 
and negotiated. No result. The King Was about to turn 
back now, and give up. He was afraid to go on, leaving 
this strong place in his rear. Then La Hire put in a word, 
with a slap in it for some of his Majesty's advisers : 

' The Maid of Orleans undertook this expedition of her 
own motion ; and it is my mind that it is her judgment 
that should be followed here, and not that of any other, 
let him be of whatsoever breed and standing he may." 

There was wisdom and righteousness in that. So the 
King sent for the Maid, and asked her how she thought 
the prospect looked. She said, without any tone of doubt 
or question in her voice : 

' In three days' time the place is ours.' 
The smug Chancellor put in a word now : 
' If we were sure of it we would wait here six days.' 
' Six days, forsooth ! Name of God, man, we will 
enter the gates to-morrow ! ' 

Then she mounted, and rode her lines, crying out— 
' Make preparation—to your work, friends, to your 
work ! We assault at dawn ! ' 

She worked hard that night ; slaving away with her 
own hands like a common soldier. She ordered fascines 


 '"• 


250 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


251 


and fagots to be prepared and thrown into the fosse, there 
by to bridge it ; and in this rough labour she took a man's 
share. 

At dawn she took her place at the head of the storming 
force and the bugles blew the assault. At that moment a 
flag of truce was flung to the breeze from the walls, and 
Troyes surrendered without firing a shot. 

The next day the King- with Joan at his side and the 
Paladin bearing her banner entered the town in state at the 
head of the army. And a goodly army it was, now, for it 
had been growing ever bigger and bigger from the first. 

And now a curious thing happened. By the terms of 
the treaty made with the town, the garrison of English and 
Burgundian soldiery were to be allowed to carry away 
their ' goods ' with them. This was well, for otherwise 
how would they buy the wherewithal to live ? Very well ; 
these people were all to go out by the one gate, and at 
the time set for them to depart we young fellows went to 
that gate, along with the Dwarf, to see the march-out. 
Presently here they came in an interminable file, the foot 
soldiers in the lead. As they approached one could see 
that each bore a burden of a bulk and weight to sorely tax 
his strength ; and we said among ourselves, truly these 
folk are well off for poor common soldiers. When they 
were come nearer, what do you think ? Every rascal of 
them had a French prisoner on his back ! They were 
carrying away their ' goods,' you see—their property— 
strictly according to the permission granted by the treaty. 

Now think how clever that was, how ingenious ! What 
could a body say ? what could a body do ? For certainly 
these people were within their right. These prisoners 
were property ; nobody could deny that. My dears, if 
those had been English captives, conceive of the richness 
of that booty ! For English prisoners had been scarce and 
precious for a hundred years ; whereas it was a different 
matter with French prisoners. They had been over 
abundant for a century. The possessor of a French 


prisoner did not hold him long for ransom, as a rule, but 
presently killed him to save the cost of his keep. This 
shows you how small was the value of such a possession 
in those times. When we took Troyes a calf was worth 
thirty francs, a sheep sixteen, a French prisoner eight. It 
was an enormous price for those other animals—a price 
which naturally seems incredible to you. It was the war, 
you see. It worked two ways : it made meat dear and 
prisoners cheap. 

Well, here were these poor Frenchmen being carried 
off. What could we do ? Very little of a permanent sort, 
but we did what we could. We sent a messenger flying to 
Joan, and we and the French guards halted the procession 
for a parley—to gain time, you see. A big Burgundian 
lost his temper and swore a great oath that none should 
stop him ; he would go, and would take his prisoner with 
him. But we blocked him off, and he saw that he was 
mistaken about going—he couldn't do it. He exploded 
into the maddest cursings and revilings then, and unlash- 
ing his prisoner from his back, stood him up, all bound 
and helpless ; then drew his knife, and said to us with a 
light of sarcastic triumph in his eye— 

' I may not carry him away, you say—yet he is mine, 
none will dispute it. Since I may not convey him hence, 
this property of mine, there is another way. Yes, I can 
kill him ; not even the dullest among you will question f/iat 
right. Ah, you had not thought of that—vermin ! ' 

That poor starved fellow begged us with his piteous 
eyes to save him ; then spoke, and said he had a wife and 
little children at home. Think how it wrung our heart 
strings. But what could we do ? The Burgundian was 
within his right. We could only beg and plead for the 
prisoner. Which we did. And the Burgundian enjoyed 
it. He stayed his hand to hear more of it, and laugh at it. 
That stung. Then the Dwarf said— 

' Prithee, young sirs, let me beguile him ; for when a 
matter requiring persuasion is to the fore, I have indeed a 


 252 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


JOAN OF ARC 


253 


I 


gift in that sort, as any will tell you that know me well. 
You smile ; and that is punishment for my vanity, and 
fairly earned, I grant it you. Still, if I may toy a little, 
just a little—' saying which he stepped to the Burgundian 
and began a fair soft speech, all of goodly and gentle 
tenor ; and in the midst he mentioned the Maid ; and was 
going on to say how she out of her good heart would 
prize and praise this compassionate deed which he was 
about to— 

It was as far as he got. The Burgundian burst into 
his smooth oration with an insult levelled at Joan of 
Arc. We sprang forward, but the Dwarf, his face all 
livid, brushed us aside and said, in a most grave and 
earnest way— 

' I crave your patience. Am not I her guard of honour ? 
This is my affair.' 

And saying this he suddenly shot his right hand out 
and gripped the great Burgundian by the throat, and so 
held him upright on his feet. 'You have insulted the 
Maid,' he said ; ' and the Maid is France. The tongue 
that does that earns a long furlough.' 

One heard the muffled cracking of bones. The Bur- 
gundian's eyes began to protrude from their sockets and 
stare with a leaden dulness at vacancy. The colour deep 
ened in his face and became an opaque purple. His hands 
hung down limp, his body collapsed with a shiver, every 
muscle relaxed its tension and ceased from its function. 
The Dwarf took away his hand and the column of inert 
mortality sank mushily to the ground. 

We struck the bonds from the prisoner and told him he 
was free. His crawling humbleness changed to frantic joy 
in a moment, and his ghastly fear to a childish rage. He 
flew at that dead corpse and kicked it, spat in its face ; 
danced upon it, crammed mud into its mouth, laughing, 
jeering, cursing and volleying forth indecencies and besti 
alities like a drunken fiend. It was a thing to be expected : 
soldiering makes few saints. Many of the onlookers 


laughed, others were indifferent, none was surprised. But 
presently in his mad caperings the freed man capered within 
reach of the waiting file, and another Burgundian promptly 
slipped a knife through his neck, and down he went with 
a death-shriek, his brilliant artery-blood spurting ten feet 
as straight and bright as a ray of light. There was a great 
burst of jolly laughter all around from friend and foe alike ; 
and thus closed one of the 'pleasantest incidents of my 
chequered military life. 

And now came Joan hurrying and deeply troubled. She 
considered the claim of the garrison, then said— 

' You have right upon your side. It is plain. It was a 
careless word to put in the treaty, and covers too much. 
But ye may not take these poor men away. They are 
French, and I will not have it. The King shall ransom 
them, every one. Wait till I send you word from him ; 
and hurt no hair of their heads ; for I tell you, I who speak, 
that that would cost you very dear.' 

That settled it. The prisoners were safe for one while, 
anyway. Then she rode back eagerly and required that 
thing of the King, and would listen to no paltering and no 
excuses. So the King told her to have her way, and she 
rode straight back and bought the captives free in his name 
and let them go. 

CHAPTER XXXV 

IT was here that we saw again the Grand Master of the 
King's Household, in whose castle Joan was guest when 
she tarried at Chinon in those first days of her coming out 
of her own country. She made him Bailiff of Troyes, now, 
by the King's permission. 

And now we marched again ; Chalons surrendered to 
us ; and there by Chalons in a talk, Joan being asked if 
she had no fears for the future, said yes, one—treachery. 
Who could believe it ? who could dream it ? And yet in a 
sense it was prophecy. Truly man is a pitiful animal. 


 254 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

We marched, marched, kept oil marching ; and at last 
on the i6th of July we came in sight of our goal, and saw 
the great cathedral towers of Rheims rise out of the dis 
tance ! Huzzah after huzzah swept the army from van to 
rear ; and as for Joan of Arc, there where she sat her 
horse gazing, clothed all in white armour, dreamy, beauti 
ful, and in her face a deep, deep joy, a joy not of earth, oh, 
she was not flesh, she was a spirit ! Her sublime mission 
was closing—closing in flawless triumph. To-morrow she 
could say, ' It is finished—let me go free.' 

We camped, and the hurry and rush and turmoil of the 
grand preparations began. The Archbishop and a great 
deputation arrived ; and after these came flock after flock, 
crowd after crowd, of citizens and country folk hurrahing 
in, with banners and music, and flowed over the camp, one 
rejoicing inundation after another, everybody drunk with 
happiness. And all night long Rheims was hard at work, 
hammering away, decorating the town, building triumphal 
arches, and clothing the ancient cathedral within and 
without in a glory of opulent splendours. 

We moved betimes in the morning : the coronation 
ceremonies would begin at nine and last five hours. We 
were aware that the garrison of English and Burgundian 
soldiers had given up all thought of resisting the Maid, 
and that we should find the gates standing hospitably 
open and the whole city ready to welcome us with enthu 
siasm. 

It was a delicious morning, brilliant with sunshine, but 
cool and fresh and inspiring. The army was in great 
form, and fine to see, as it uncoiled from its lair fold by 
fold, and stretched away on the final march of the peaceful 
Coronation Campaign. 

Joan, on her black horse, with the Lieutenant-General 
and the personal staff grouped about her, took post for a 
final review and a good-bye ; for she was not expecting to 
ever be a soldier again or ever serve with these or any 
other soldiers any more after this day. The army knew 


JOAN OF ARC 


255 


this, and believed it was looking for the last time upon 
the girlish face of its invincible little Chief, its pet, its 
pride, its darling, whom it had ennobled in its private 
heart with nobilities of its own creation, calling her 
'Daughter of God,1 'Saviour of France,' 'Victory's 
Sweetheart,' ' the Page of Christ,' together with still softer 
titles which were simply naïf and frank endearments such 
as men are used to confer upon children whom they love. 
And so one saw a new thing now ; a thing bred of the 
emotion that was present there on both sides. Always 
before, in the march-past, the battalions had gone swinging 
by in a storm of cheers, heads up and eyes flashing, the 
drums rolling, the bands braying pœans of victory ; but 
now there was nothing of that. But for one impressive 
sound, one could have closed his eyes and imagined himself 
in a world of the dead. That one sound was all that 
visited the ear in the summer stillness—just that one 
sound—the muffled tread of the marching host. As the 
serried masses drifted by, the men put their right hands 
up to their temples, palms to the front, in military salute, 
turning their eyes upon Joan's face in mute God-bless-you 
and farewell, and keeping them there while they could. 
They still kept their hands up in reverent salute many 
steps after they had passed by. Every time Joan put her 
handkerchief to her eyes you could see a little quiver of 
emotion crinkle along the faces of the files. 

The march-past after a victory is a thing to drive the 
heart mad with jubilation ; but this one was a thing to 
break it. 

We rode now to the King's lodging, which was the 
Archbishop's country palace ; and he was presently ready, 
and we galloped off and took position at the head of the 
army. By this time the country people were arriving in 
multitudes from every direction and massing themselves 
on both sides of the road to get sight of Joan —just as had 
been done every day since our first day's march began. 
Our march now lay through the grassy plain, and those 


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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


peasants made a dividing double border for that plain. 
They stretched right down through it, a broad belt of 
bright colours on each side of the road ; for every peasant 
girl and woman in it had a white jacket on her body and a 
crimson skirt on the rest of her. Endless borders made 
of poppies and lilies stretching away in front of us—that 
is what it looked like. And that is the kind of lane we 
had been marching through all these days. Not a lane 
between multitudinous flowers standing upright on their 
stems—no, these flowers were always kneeling ; kneeling, 
these human flowers, with their hands and faces lifted 
toward Joan of Arc, and the grateful tears streaming 
down. And all along, those closest to the road hugged 
her feet and kissed them and laid their wet cheeks fondly 
against them. I never, during all those days, saw any 
of either sex stand while -she passed, nor any man keep 
his head covered. Afterwards, in the Great Trial, these 
touching scenes were used as a weapon against her. She 
had been made an object of adoration by the people, and 
this was proof that she was a heretic—so claimed that 
unjust court. 

As we drew near the city the curving long sweep of 
ramparts and towers was gay with fluttering flags and 
black with masses of people ; and all the air was vibrant 
with the crash of artillery and gloomed with drifting 
clouds of smoke. We entered the gates in state and 
moved in procession through the city, with all the guilds 
and industries in holiday costume marching in our rear 
with their banners ; and all the route was hedged with a 
huzzahing crush of people, and all the windows were 
full and all the roofs ; and from the balconies hung costly 
stuffs of rich colours ; and the waving of handkerchiefs, 
seen in perspective through a long vista, was like a snow 
storm. 

Joan's name had been introduced into the prayers of 
the Church—an honour theretofore restricted to royalty. 
But she had a dearer honour and an honour more to be 


JOAN OF ARC 257 

proud of, from a humbler source : the common people had 
had leaden medals struck which bore her effigy and her 
escutcheon, and these they wore as charms. One saw 
them everywhere. 

From the Archbishop's Palace, where we halted, and 
where the King and Joan were to lodge, the King sent to 
the Abbey Church of St.-Remi, which was over toward 
the gate by which we had entered the city, for the Sainte 
Ampoule, or flask of holy oil. This oil was not earthly oil ; 
it was made in heaven—the flask also. The flask, with 
the oil in it, was brought down from heaven by a dove. 
It was sent down to St.-Remi just as he was going to 
baptize King Clovis, who had become a Christian. I 
know this to be true. I had known it long before, for 
Père Fronte told me in Domremy. I cannot tell you how 
strange and awful it made me feel when I saw that flask 
and knew I was looking with my own eyes upon a thing 
which had actually been in heaven ; a thing which had 
been seen by angels, perhaps—and by God Himself of a 
certainty, for He sent it. And I was looking upon it—I. 
At one time I could have touched it. But I was afraid ; 
for I could not know but that God had touched it. It is 
most probable that He had. 

From this flask Clovis had been anointed ; and from it 
all the Kings of France had been anointed since. Yes, 
ever since the time of Clovis ; and that was nine hundred 
years. And so, as I have said, that flask of holy oil was 
sent for, while we waited. A coronation without that 
would not have been a coronation at all in my belief. 

Now in order to get the flask, a most ancient ceremonial 
had to be gone through with ; otherwise the Abbé of St.- 
Remi, hereditary guardian in perpetuity of the oil, would 
not deliver it. So, in accordance with custom, the King 
deputed five great nobles to ride in solemn state and richly 
armed and accoutred, they and their steeds, to the Abbey 
Church as a guard of honour to the Archbishop of Rheims 
and his canons, who were to bear the King's demand for 


 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


the oil. When the five great lords were ready to start, 
they knelt in a row and put up their mailed hands before 
their faces, palm joined to palm, and swore upon their 
lives to conduct the sacred vessel safely, and safely restore 
it again to the Church of St.-Remi after the anointing of 
the King. The Archbishop and his subordinates, thus 
nobly escorted, took their way to St.-Remi. The Arch 
bishop was in grand costume, with his mitre on his head 
and his cross in his hand. At the door of St.-Remi they 
halted and formed, to receive the holy phial. Soon one 
heard the deep tones of the organ and of chanting men ; 
then one saw a long file of lights approaching through the 
dim church. And so came the Abbot, in his sacerdotal 
panoply, bearing the phial, with his people following after. 
He delivered it, with solemn ceremonies, to the Archbishop ; 
then the march back began, and it was most impressive ; 
for it moved the whole way between two multitudes of 
men and women who lay flat upon their faces, and prayed 
in dumb silence and in dread while that awful thing went 
by that had been in heaven. 

This august company arrived at the great west door 
of the Cathedral ; and as the Archbishop entered a noble 
anthem rose and filled the vast building. The Cathedral 
was packed with people—people in thousands. Only a 
wide space down the centre had been kept free. Down 
this space walked the Archbishop and his canons, and 
after them followed those five stately figures in splendid 
harness, each bearing his feudal banner—and riding ! 

Oh, that was a magnificent thing to see ! Riding down 
the cavernous vastness of the building through the rich 
lights streaming in long rays from the pictured windows— 
oh, there was never anything so grand ! 

They rode clear to the choir—as much as four hundred 
feet from the door, it was said. Then the Archbishop dis 
missed them, and they made deep obeisance till their plumes 
touched their horses' necks, then made those proud pranc 
ing and mincing and dancing creatures go backwards all 


S 


t 


 I 


JOAN OF ARC 


2S9 


the way to the door—which was pretty to see, and graceful ; 
then they stood them on their hind feet and spun them 
around and plunged away and disappeared. 

For some minutes there was a deep hush, a waiting 
pause ; a silence so profound that it was as if all those 
packed thousands there were steeped in dreamless slumber 
—why, you could even notice the faintest sounds, like the 
drowsy buzzing of insects ; then came a mighty flood of 
rich strains from four hundred silver trumpets, and then, 
framed in the pointed archway of the great west door, ap 
peared Joan and the King. They advanced slowly, side by 
side, through a tempest of welcome—explosion after explo 
sion of cheers and cries, mingled with the deep thunders of 
the organ and rolling tides of triumphant song from chanting 
choirs. Behind Joan and the King came the Paladin with 
the Banner displayed ; and a majestic figure he was, and 
most proud and lofty in his bearing, for he knew that the 
people were marking him and taking note of the gorgeous 
state dress which covered his armour. 

At his side was the Sire d'Albret, proxy for the Con 
stable of France, bearing the Sword of State. 

After these, in order of rank, came a body royally at 
tired representing the lay peers of France ; it consisted of 
three princes of the blood, and La Tremouille and the young 
De Lavai brothers. 

These were followed by the representatives of the ecclesi 
astical peers—the Archbishop of Rheims, and the Bishops 
of Laon, Chalons, Orleans, and one other. 

Behind these came the Grand Staff, all our great generals 
and famous names, and everybody was eager to get a sight 
of them. Through all the din one could hear shouts, all 
along, that told you where two of them were : ' Live the 
Bastard of Orleans ! ' ' Satan La Hire for ever ! ' 

The august procession reached its appointed place in 
time, and the solemnities of the Coronation began. They 
were long and imposing—with prayers, and anthems, and 
sermons, and everything that is right for such occasions ; 

s 2 


; i 


 260 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 

and Joan was at the King's side all these hours, with her 
Standard in her hand. But at last came the grand act : 
the King took the oath, he was anointed with the sacred 
oil ; a splendid personage, followed by train-bearers and 
other attendants, approached, bearing the Crown of France 
upon a cushion, and kneeling offered it. The King seemed 
to hesitate—in fact, did hesitate ; for he put out his hand 
and then stopped with it there in the air over the crown, 
the fingers in the attitude of taking hold of it. But that 
was for only a moment—though a moment is a notable 
something when it stops the heart-beat of twenty thousand 
people and makes them catch their breath. Yes, only a 
moment ; then he caught Joan's eye, and she gave him a 
look with all the joy of her thankful great soul in it, then 
he smiled, and took the Crown of France in his hand, and 
right finely and right royally lifted it up and set it upon 

his head. . 

Then what a crash there was ! All about us cries and 
cheers, and the chanting of the choirs and groaning of the 
organ ; and outside the clamouring of the bells and the 
booming of the cannon. 

The fantastic dream, the incredible dream, the impossible 
dream of the peasant child stood fulfilled : the English 
power was broken, the Heir of France was crowned. 

She was like one transfigured, so divine was the joy 
that shone in her face as she sank to her knees at the 
King's feet and looked up at him through her tears. Her 
lips were quivering, and her words came soft and low and 

broken : 

' Now, O gentle King, is the pleasure of God accom 
plished according to His command that you should come to 
Rheims and receive the crown that belongeth of right to 
you, and unto none other. My work which was given me 
to do is finished ; give me your peace, and let me go back 
to my mother, who is poor and old, and has need of me.' 

The King raised her up, and there before all that host 
he praised her great deeds in most noble terms ; and there 


JOAN OF ARC 


261 


he confirmed her nobility and titles, making her the equal 
of a count in rank, and also appointed a household and 
officers for her according to her dignity ; and then he 
said : 

' You have saved the crown. Speak—require—demand ; 
and whatsoever grace you ask it shall be granted, though 
it make the kingdom poor to meet it.' 

Now that was fine, that was royal. Joan was on her 
knees again straightway, and said : 

' Then, O gentle King, if out of your compassion you 
will speak the word, I pray you give commandment that 
my village, poor and hard pressed by reason of the war, 
may have its taxes remitted.' 

' It is so commanded. Say on.' 

' That is all.' 

' All ? Nothing but that ? ' 

' It is all. I have no other desire.' 

' But that is nothing—less than nothing. Ask—do not 
be afraid.' 

' Indeed I cannot, gentle King. Do not press me. I 
will not have aught else, but only this alone.' 

The King seemed nonplussed, and stood still a mo 
ment, as if trying to comprehend and realise the full stature 
of this strange unselfishness. Then he raised his head and 
said : 

' She has won a kingdom and crowned its King ; and 
all she asks and all she will take is this poor grace—and 
even this is for others, not for herself. And it is well ; 
her act being proportioned to the dignity of one who carries 
in her head and heart riches which outvalue any that any 
king could add, though he gave his all. She shall have 
her way. Now therefore it is decreed that from this day 
forth Domremy, natal village of Joan of Arc, Deliverer of 
France, called the Maid of Orleans, is freed from all taxa 
tion for ever: Whereat the silver horns blew a jubilant 
blast. 

There, you see, she had had a vision of this very scene 


 202 


PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF 


the time she was in a trance in the pastures of Domremy, 
and we asked her to name the boon she would demand of 
the King if he should ever chance to tell her she might 
claim one. But whether she had the vision or not, this act 
showed that after all the dizzy grandeurs that had come 
upon her, she was still the same simple unselfish creature 
that she was that day. 

Yes, Charles VII. remitted those taxes ' for ever.' 
Often the gratitude of kings and nations fades and their 
promises are forgotten or deliberately violated ; but you, 
who are children of France, should remember with pride 
that France has kept this one faithfully. Sixty-three years 
have gone by since that day. The taxes of the region 
wherein Domremy lies have been collected sixty-three times 
since then, and all the villages of that region have paid 
except that one—Domremy. The tax-gatherer never visits 
Domremy. Domremy has long ago forgotten what that 
dreaded sorrow-sowing apparition is like. Sixty-three tax- 
books have been filled meantime, and they lie yonder with 
the other public records, and any may see them that desire 
it. At the top of every page in the sixty-three books stands 
the name of a village, and below that name its weary bur 
den of taxation is figured out and displayed ; in the case 
of all save one. It is true, just as I tell you. In each of 
the sixty-three books there is a page headed ' Domremi,' 
but under that name not a figure appears. Where the 
figures should be, there are three words written ; and the 
same words have been written every year for all these 
years ; yes, it is a blank page, with always those grateful 
words lettered across the face of it—a touching memorial. 
Thus : 


DOMREMI 

RIEN—LA PUCELLE 


JOAN OF ARC 


263 


'NOTHING—THE MAID OF ORLEANS.' How brief it is ; 
yet how much it says ! It is the nation speaking. You 
have the spectacle of that unsentimental thing, a Govern 
ment, making reverence to that name and saying to its 
agent, ' Uncover and pass on; it is France that commands.'1 
Yes, the promise has been kept ; it will be kept always ; 
' for ever ' were the King's words.l 

At two o'clock in the afternoon the ceremonies ot the 
Coronation came at last to an end ; then the procession 
formed once more, with Joan and the