Full text of "Personal recollections of Joan of Arc"

See other formats

IN DOMREMY

1 03

JOAN S VISION

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

To arrive at a just estimate of a renowned mans char
acter 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 mucJi of their lustre ;
judged by the standards of to-day, there is probably no
illustrious man of four or five centuries ago whose char
acter could meet the test at all points. But the character
of Joan of Arc is unique. It can be measured by the
standards of all times without misgiving or apprehension
as to the result. Judged by any of them, judged by all of
them, it is still flawless, it is still ideally perfect ; it still
occupies the loftiest 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 brutalest, the
wickedest, the rottenest in history since the darkest ages,
we are lost in wonder at the miracle of suck a product
from 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 keeping of a promise
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 ambitions ;
she was modest and fine and delicate when to be loud and
coarse might be said to be universal ; she was full of pity

Vlll

when a merciless cruelty was the rule ; she was steadfast
when stability was unknown, and honorable in an age
which had forgotten what honor 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 f awnings and servilities;
she was of a dauntless courage when hope and courage had
perislied in the hearts of her nation ; she was spotlessly
pure in mind and body wlien 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 zvere able to
astonish even that infamous era and make it stand aghast
at the spectacle of their atrocious lives black with unim
aginable treacheries, butcheries, and bestialities.

She was perhaps the only entirely tinsel fish person whose
name has a place in profane history. No vestige or sug
gestion of self-seeking can be found in any word or deed
of hers. When she had rescued her King from his vaga
bondage, and set his crown upon Ids head, she was offered
rewards and honors, but she refused them all, and would
take nothing. A II she would take for herself — if the King
would grant it — was leave to go back to her 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 any recorded in history, when one con
siders 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 Eiirope, but he also was a trained soldier, and he began
his zvork 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 mo
notonous 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 treas
ury bankrupt, its soldiers disheartened and dispersed, all
spirit torpid, all courage dead in the hearts of the people
tJ trough long years of foreign and domestic outrage and
oppression, their King cowed, resigned to its fate, and
preparing to fly the country } and site laid Jier 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
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.

A nd for all reward, the 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 the ages 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 biographies in one
respect : // is the only story of a human life ivliich 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 Na
tional Archives of France, and they furnish with re
markable fulness the facts of her life. The history of
no other life of that remote time is known with either
the certainty or the comprehensiveness 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.

Book I
In Domremy

Page 3

Book II
In Court and Camp

Page 67

Book III
Trial and Martyrdom

Page 3J7

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC

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

THIS is the year 1492. I am eighty-two years of age. The
things I am going to tell you 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 beginning
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 perish
able 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." 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, some
times 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 accusing 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 spectacle
of the marvellous child's meteor-flight across the war-firma
ment 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 recognize her at last for what she was —
the most noble life that was ever born into this world save
only One.

CHAPTER I

I, the Sieur Louis de Conte, was born in Neufchateau, 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 neighborhood of Paris in the
first years of the century. In politics they were Armagnacs —
patriots : they were for our own French King, crazy and im
potent as he was. The Burgundian party, who were for
the English, had stripped them, and done it well. They
took everything but my father's small nobility, and when he
reached Neufchateau he reached it in poverty and with a
broken spirit. But the political atmosphere 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 pas
time and no man's life safe for a moment. In Paris, mobs
roared through the streets nightly, sacking, burning, killing,
unmolested, uninterrupted. The sun rose upon wrecked and
smoking buildings, 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 reve
lation 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

% fill, the.se ajt Qnce^ The dead lay in heaps about the streets,
^ pfa&riptiffiQib&vftfa 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 Neufchateau 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 for
mercy, and heard the butchers laugh at their prayers and
mimic their pleadings. I was overlooked, and escaped with
out 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 Romee ; 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 — particularly four boys :
Pierre Morel, Etienne Roze, Noel Rainguesson, and Edmond

Aubrey, whose father was maire at that time ; also two girls,
about Joan's age, who by-and-by became her -favorites ; 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 laborers. Their
estate was lowly enough, you see 5 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 honored 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 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 four
teen, 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 II

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 out
laws in old times, and in still earlier times prodigious dragons
that spouted fire and poisonous vapors 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, 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 brilliant blue color, 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 large at another time, and try to make the justness
of my position appear. As to that dragon, I always held the
belief that its color was gold and without blue, for that has
always been the color 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
recognized it by the smell. It gives one a horrid idea of
how near to us the deadliest danger can be and we not sus
pect it.

In the earliest times a hundred knights from many remote
places in the earth would have gone in there one after another,
to kill the dragon and get the reward, but in our time that
method had gone out, and the priest had become the one that
abolished dragons. Pere 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.

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 anything delicate and pretty like wild
flowers put together in that way. And in return for this at
tention the fairies did any friendly thing they could for the
children, such as keeping 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 rea
son 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 any
where.

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 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 withheld, 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 longing for some last dear reminder of their home.
And what reminder of it could go to their hearts like the pict
ure of the Tree that was the darling of their love and the

THE FAIRY TREE

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 be
lieving one and some another. One of them I knew to be the
truth, and that was the last one. I do not say anything
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 longing 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 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 sec
ond 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 com
mon for every one to whisper to his neighbor, " Ah, he is in
sin, and has got his warning." And the neighbor would shud
der 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 naturally gets near
er and nearer to being proof all the time ; and if this continue
and continue, it will some day become authority — and author
ity 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 disturbed — the eter
nal peace of God. I myself, old and broken, wait with seren
ity ; 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 E Arbre Fee de Bour-
lemont. 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 carry
ing me through night and distance home again. No stranger
can know or feel what that song has been, through the drift
ing centuries, to exiled Children 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 per
chance ; but if you will remember what it was to us, and what
it brought before our eyes when it floated through our memo
ries, 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 al
ways loved it. And that hallows it, yes, you will grant that :

13
L'ARBRE FEE DE BOURLEMONT

SONG OF THE CHILDREN

Now what has kept your leaves so green,
Arbre Fee 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 Fee de Bourlemont ?
The children's love ! They've loved you long :

Ten hundred years, in sooth,
They've nourished you with praise and s6ng,
And warmed your heart and kept it young —

A thousand years of youth !

Bide alway green in our young hearts,

Arbre Fee 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 !

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 par
ish.

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 continue to hang flower-

wreaths on the tree as a perpetual sign to the fairies that they
were still loved and remembered, though lost to sight.

But late one night a great misfortune befell. Edmond Au
brey'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 nothing • so Dame Aubrey stood
there astonished and admiring, and saw the little fantastic
atoms holding hands, as many as three hundred of them, tear
ing around in a great ring half as big as an ordinary bedroom,
and leaning away back and spreading their mouths with laugh
ter and song, which she could hear quite distinctly, and kick
ing 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-break
ing squeak of grief and terror and fled every which way, with
their wee hazel-nut fists in their eyes and crying ; and so dis
appeared.

The heartless woman — no, the foolish woman ; she was not
heartless, but only thoughtless — went straight home and told
the neighbors 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 try
ing 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 Pere 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 happened 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, forever 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 Pere 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 mourning 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 — VArbre Fee de Bourlemont was its beautiful
name — was never afterward quite as much to us as it had been
before, but it was always dear ; is dear to me yet 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
afterwards. 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 realized 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 Pere Fronte, and stood up before him where he
sat, and made reverence and said:

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

"Yes, that was it, dear."

" If a man comes prying into a person's room at midnight
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 com
mit it ?"

Pere 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 in
tention 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 inten
tion, not against the innocent act, and because they had no
friend to think that simple thing for them and say it, they
have been sent away from their home forever, 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 — no
body 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 pen
ance enough for such an act ?"

Pere 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 simple
way :

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

Pere Fronte would have been moved to laugh again, per
haps, 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 gray 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 pries^. One can imagine how the idea of such a profana
tion 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 your
self ft&.\. 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 Pere 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, stammering
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 martyrdom,

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 travelling until he is
in and the door shut on him. He enjoyed that. I knew he
was going to drop corn along in front of Joan now. Joan an
swered :

" 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 in the tree ?"

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

" Did you believe it was wrong to honor them so ?"

"Yes. I thought it must be wrong."

" Then if it was wrong to honor them in that way, and if
they were of kin to the Fiend, they could be dangerous com
pany 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 com
pany 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 out what kind of a child
Joan of Arc was ? Was he never going to learn that things
which merely concerned her own gain or loss she cared noth
ing 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 go
ing to suffer wrong or hurt or loss ? Why, he had gone and
set a trap for himself — 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?"

" 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 disapproved 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 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 ; and 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 kins
men 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 Pere 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 Pere 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.

CHAPTER III

SPEAKING of this matter reminds me of many incidents,
many things that I could tell, but 1 think I will not try to do it
now. It will be more to my present humor to call back a little
glimpse of the simple and colorless good times we used to
have in our village homes in those peaceful 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
cosey 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 fort
unes, 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 afterward 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 clari
ons 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 laughing and singing went on at a noble rate
till about ten o'clock, and then we had a supper of hot por
ridge 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 un
lovable animals of other kinds heard about it and came, and
these spread the matter to the other 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 al
ways had samples of those breeds in stock. She was hospi
table 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 thankfulness 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 him-

self, and shut the door, and took off his limp ruin of a hat and
slapped it once or twice against his 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 embarrassed poor 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 clown, 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 Ijome by his like, and I have said I would en
dure 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."

" 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 anybody, 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 argu
ment, and having a pretty gift in that regard, as all acknowl
edged. 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 per
suasive :

" 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 ?1' 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 — 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 oppor
tunity 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 rea
soning faculty — that is to say, no faculty of personal com
mand — 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 neighbors, 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 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 stom
ach ; that, whatever its owner may do, // at least should be
sacred in our eyes; and that while God gives us minds to
think just and charitable and honorable thoughts, it should
be and is our privilege, as well as our duty, 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 recog
nition 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. Elo
quence 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 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 fel
low, 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 in
numerable hosts sweeping down to shut them in ; we saw this
human tide flow and ebb, ebb and flow, and waste away be
fore 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 prodig
ious 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 me
from death to life this night ; now listen : here is your re
ward," and at that supreme time for such a heart-mslting,
soul-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 transfigured, 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 uncon
sciously 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 winrows, 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 wailings. 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 em-
bracings ; 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 IV

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 sur
passed the rule so far, and colored 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 char
acter. 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 astonish
ment 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 with
out the telling. But what? — that is the question."

" 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 discussed 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 Burgundy 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 Agincpurt ? 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 in
herit the thrones of both England and France, and this double
ownership is to remain with its posterity forever !"

" Now that is certainly a lie, for it runs counter to our Salic
law, and so is not legal and cannot have effect," said Echnond
Aubrey, called the Paladin, because of the armies he was al
ways going to eat up some day. He would have said more,
but he was drowned out by the clamors 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, saying :

"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
to—"

"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. No
body 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 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 ; therefore
there is hope that this tale is but another idle rumor. Where
did you get it?"

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

" The cure' 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. Noel 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-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 prom
ise you that. There are some who, in storming a castle, pre
fer 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 ap
plause.

" So would I," said Cecile 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 run
ning 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 armor on, and the
bars of a steel helmet to blush behind and hide her embarrass
ment 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 common-soldier business for her ! And,
dear me, when she starts for that other army, you'll think
there's a hurricane blowing it away!"

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 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 village 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 shirked 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 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.

Cecile 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 commented 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 think
ing of the same thing — namely, what a poor figure we had cut
in that adventure as contrasted with Joan's performance. 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. Noel Raingues-
son 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 The'ophile 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 threatening 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 ! 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 put in a
word from time to time, describing over again the gory mar
vels 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 sur
prise them twice because he had surprised them once, he
would find himself very seriously mjstaken, 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 V

THEY were peaceful and pleasant, those young and smooth
ly 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 out 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 ring
ing 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 Burgundian
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 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 remained under that rare and almost for
gotten 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 coolness 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 !

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 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-increasing ap
prehension, and yet were somehow mercifully spared from act
ual 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 Neufchateau,

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 be
yond the truth. There was in her face a sweetness and se
renity 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 person'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 realized 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 wantonness — 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 commune's
crippled condition, and all faces grew long with the thought
of it. Joan said —

" Paying taxes with naught 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 mad
man — 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 re
minder 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 sometimes. 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 recognized the bigness of some of the previous occur
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 grand
est 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 disinherited
King, the hunted refugee, Charles VII.

/ I

IN THE FOREST

" 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 tak
ing 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
neighbor who is in trouble, but when that person gets into
trouble himself, it is time that the King rise up and do some
thing.

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 arro
gantly 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 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 splendor they rose upon our imagi
nations 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 color 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 honored past all deserving if I might be al-

lowed 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 —

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

" Look you," said the Paladin, " it is easy to say that. Now
I will tell you why I remain charing here in a bloodless tran
quillity which my reputation teaches you is repulsive to my
nature. I do not go because I am not a gentleman. That is
the whole reason. What can one private soldier do in a con
test 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 ; 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 gen
tleman 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 Dragon-fly 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 Dragon-fly, 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 know
ing 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 un
cannily, I being superstitious and easily troubled by any little
thing of a strange and unusual sort.

Noel Rainguesson said—

" There is one way to let France have a chance for her sal
vation. We've got one gentleman in the commune, at any rate.
Why can't the Scholar change name and condition with the
Paladin ? Then he can be an officer. 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 Noel 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," Noel continued, " it's all arranged ; there's
nothing to do but organize 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 sol
diering 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 be
sides, 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 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 colored 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 re
ward 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 extravagance 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 com
mand 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, ask
ing just that boon of the King and refusing to take even any
least thing for herself.

CHAPTER VI

ALL through her childhood and up to the middle of her
fourteenth year, Joan had been the most light-hearted creat
ure 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 everybody'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 ap
parently 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 report
ing we were together in the pastures and fell to talking about
France, as usual. For her sake I had always talked hope
fully before, but that was mere lying, for really there was not

anything to hang a rag of hope for France 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 treach
ery, 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 win
dow by any man, but coaxed down-stairs 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, with
out one charitable soft place in it — it seemed a shameful
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 expect
ing. 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 honor, 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 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 favorites
and fools in inglorious 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 resist
ance ; 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 to
gether in order to realize 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 freedom
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."

"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 desertion and
flight to a foreign land. England has armies here; opposi
tion is dead; she can assume full possession whenever she
may choose. In very truth, all France is gone, France is al
ready 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 dis
tinct :

"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 Englishmen nearly annihilated
sixty thousand Frenchmen a dozen years ago at Agincourt,
French courage has been paralyzed. 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 ?"

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

" 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 domi
nation 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 phantoms —
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 di
rect 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, sacrific
ing 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
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 the i5th
of May, '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 con
ceit was neighbor, with but a scarcely measurable interval of
time between, to an event destined to endure forever in his
tories 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 con
scious 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 whiteness that we know of, except
it be the whiteness of the lightnings, but even the light
nings 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 uncov
ered my head, perceiving that I was in the presence of some
thing 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 — smit
ten 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 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
splendor. In that immortal light her face, only humanly
beautiful before, became divine ; flooded with that transform
ing 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 imag
inings.

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 undertake 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, know
ing nothing of arms, nor how to mount a horse, nor ride
it. ... Yet — if it is commanded —

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

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 exaltation showed itself in her face and bear
ing. 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."

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 se
cret."

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 ?"

"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 ob
ject 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 humilia
tions. 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. Her breast heaved, and the color
rose in her face. "But to-day I know. God has chosen the
meanest of His creatures for this work ; and by His command,
and in His protection, 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 igno
rant — ignorant of everything that pertains to war, and not fit
ted for the rough life of camps and the companionship of sol
diers. 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 fol
low swiftly."

" Where will it be struck ?"

" My Voices have not said ; nor what will happen this pres
ent 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 labor,. 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 impossibili
ties 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 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 mis
sion was accomplished.

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

" I leave before dawn. No one will know it but you. I go
to speak with the governor of Vaucouleurs as commanded,
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 after
noon, 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 judgment.
She did not order me to go with her ; no, she would not sub
ject her good name to gossiping remark. She knew that the
governor, being a noble, would grant me, another noble, au
dience; but no, you see, she would not have that, either. A
poor peasant girl presenting a petition through a young no
bleman — 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 fol
lowing 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 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 wa1^ but one topic, of course — the des
perate situation of France. There was a rumor, some one
said, that Salisbury was making preparations to march

against Orleans. It raised a turmoil of excited conversation,
and opinions fell thick and fast. Some believed he would
inarch at once, others that he could not accomplish the in
vestment 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. Ev
ery 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 peas
ant 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 for
ward, erect and self-possessed, and stood before the governor.
She recognized me, but in no way indicated it. There was
a buzz of admiration, even the governor contributing 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 mur
mured, " 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."

" 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 mas
ter 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 —

" 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 sim
plicity—

" 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 al
ready buzzing with it when we got back.

CHAPTER VIII

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 ; in
somuch 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 jeerings 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 of 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 resentment — 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 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 j 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 effrontery to pretend
that she had engaged herself to him several years before, and
now he claimed a ratification of the engagement.

She said his statement was not true, and refused to marry
him. She was cited to appear before the ecclesiastical court
at Toul to answer for her perversity ; when she declined to
have counsel, and elected to conduct her case herself, her par
ents 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 Paladin again on the
stand and began to search him. His previous testimony went
rag by rag to ruin under her ingenious 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 imposing 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.

Boofe HIT

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 ar
ranged, and we go at dawn to-morrow. From his house I
shall go soon to Vaucouleurs, and wait and strive 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 trim
ming 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 like
wise 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-by 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."

Next morning I brought Mengette, and we four walked
along the road in the cold dawn till the village was far be
hind ; then the two girls said their good-byes, clinging about
each other's neck, and pouring out their grief in loving words

THE GOVERNOR KEEPS HIS PROMISE TO JOAN

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 seventeen 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 house-work, 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 con
cealments 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 ap
pointed 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 ear
nestness 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.

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 them
selves ; 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 Vau-
couleurs 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 Godspeed
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 Bauclricourt 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 affecting
him. It always happened that people who began in jest with
her, ended by being in earnest. They soon began to per
ceive 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 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 himself would
take her to the King.

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

This day, too, toward evening, a great rumor went flying
abroad through the town — namely, that the very governor him
self was going to visit the young girl in her humble lodgings.
So in the morning the streets and lanes were packed with peo
ple 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 modified 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 there. The priest per
formed his office, but found no devil. He merely hurt Joan's
feelings and offended her piety without need, for he had al
ready confessed her before this, and should have known, if he
knew anything, that devils cannot abide the confessional, but
utter cries of anguish and the most profane and furious curs
ings 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 stud
ied, several days went by and the 1/j.th 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 hap
pened 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 him
self, 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 fervor —

" 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 hopes
and spirits of all who would come to talk with her, and pre
pare them to help in the rescue and regeneration of the king
dom. 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 teach
ing 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 geog-

raphy as intimately as she knew her physical geography ; yet
she had never had a day's schooling, of course, and was with
out 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 invaluable
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 unobserved.
Otherwise we should be sent off with a grand demonstration
which would advertise us to the enemy, and 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 23d, 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 23d, 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 23d, but prudence forbade that they be told why this limit
was named.

All day, the 23d, 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. Then he took
off his sword, and belted it about her waist with his own
hands, and safd —

" 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 western 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 col
umn, with Jean de Metz at the head of it and the Sieur Ber-
trand 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-by 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 diffi
cult to stay in their saddles, and moreover were now begin
ning 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 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 them
selves 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 Noel 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 ! 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.")

"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 Saintrailles, or the
Bastard of Orleans — well, I say nothing, I am not of the
talking kind, like Noel Rainguesson 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."

" Why, look here, my friend," I said, " do you know that
you have hit out a most remarkable idea there ? Do you
realize 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 suppressed

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 t

" 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 Noel Rainguesson."

" Speaking of Noel, 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 ?"

" Oh yes, volunteered the way people do to the headsman.
Why,- when he found I was coming up from Domremy to vol
unteer, 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 Noel 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 !"

THE PALADIN S APPEARANCE IN CAMP

" 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 prejudice, 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 inspec
tion — I have that idea, anyway. 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 born 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 odor as of breakfast came stealing through the wood ;
the Paladin unconsciously inflated his nostrils in lustful re
sponse, 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 con
tent to bray and not kick. If this vast structure of brawn
and muscle and vanity and foolishness seemed to have a li
bellous 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 Noel 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 its requirements, conse
quently the development was taken in hand and diligently

attended to and looked after, gnat-and-bull fashion, for years,
to the neglect and damage of far more important concerns.
The result was an unqualified success. Noel prized the so
ciety of the Paladin above everybody else's ; the Paladin pre
ferred anybody's to Noel's. The big fellow was often seen
with the little fellow, but it was for the same reason that t<he
bull is often seen with the gnat.

With the first opportunity, I had a talk with Noel. I wel
comed him to our expedition, and said —

"It was fine and brave of you to volunteer, Noel."

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 him
have my company the rest of the way, although he did not
want it and said so; and while we were gawking and blink
ing 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 Pala
din."

" 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 with
out preparation. Not that he would have prepared, if he had
had the chance, for I do not think he would. I am not charg
ing him with that. In the same space of time that he could
prepare to speak the truth, he could also prepare to lie ; be-

sides, 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 looking 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 without 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 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 manoeu
vres, 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 after
ward 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. Country folk 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 af
terward 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 fa
tigues, 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.

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 ambuscaded 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 Noel 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 ex
posure and were become morose and irritable. 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 forti
tude 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 Noel 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 knights asked

Joan's permission to hang the plotters, but she refused with
out 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 en
tered 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 solici
tude. Always before, we had been more or less reluctant 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 not. If the swollen stream
had washed away the bridge, we might properly consider our
selves 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 storm-
wind 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 your
self. 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 uneasiness.
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."

I was scared, and impatient to be getting out of this peril,
and it distressed and worried me to have Joan apparently 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 out enough 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 com
mand, " 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, 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 I 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 be
hind us, for we thought that the real Captain Raymond would
arrive and suggest that perhaps the troop that had been mis
taken for his belonged to the Virgin of Vaucouleurs ; but he
must have been delayed seriously, for when we resumed our
inarch beyond the river there were no sounds behind us ex
cept those which the storm was furnishing.

I said that Joan had harvested a good many compliments
intended for Captain Raymond, and that he would find noth
ing of a crop left but a dry stubble of reprimands when he
got back, and a commander just in the humor 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 naive way of re
ferring to her advice as if it had been a valuable present to a
hostile leader who was saved by it from making a censurable
blunder of omission, and then he went on to admire how in
geniously she had deceived that man and yet had not told
him anything that was not the truth. This troubled 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 de
ceived 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

JOAN REPRIMANDS THE CONSPIRATORS

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 honorable 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, yet 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 best 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, the essence
of its meaning escaping us ; but one sees, now, that it con
tained 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 labored through it at a walk — they could do
no better. As the heavy time wore on, exhaustion overcame
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 accumulating
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 we knew it was the Loire ; we entered the town of Gien,
and knew we were in a friendly land, with the hostiles all be
hind 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 resolution 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 Fier-
bois.

We were now within six leagues of the King, who was 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 Domre-
mians. We had the comfortable tap-room of the village inn
to ourselves, and for the first time in ten unspeakably long
days were exempt from bodings and terrors and hardships
and fatiguing labors. The Paladin was suddenly become his
ancient self again, and was swaggering up and down, a very
monument of self-complacency. Noel Rainguesson said —

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

" Who ?" asked Joan.

"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 valor, 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,
Noel 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."

" 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 per
ceive a danger, for instance, where a danger exists ; where
as-"

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

" — whereas, it being purely a quality of the heart, and pro
ceeding by feeling, not reason, its reach is correspondingly
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 mali
cious 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 re
member 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 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 situ
ation. 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 wrhole
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, Noel 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," Noel 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. Ingrati
tude 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
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, 1 fertilized 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 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 favorite, 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 :

100

" 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 ob
structions in the way, and seek all ways, by lies and pretexts,
to make delay. Chiefest of these are Georges de la Tre-
mouille 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 ; where
as if ever he assert himself and rise and strike for crown and
country like a man, their reign is 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, Chinking 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 this 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 favorites tricked out in the gaudi
est silks and velvets you shall find in any Court in Chris
tendom. And look you, he knows that when our city falls —
as fall it surely will except succor 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

101

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 pity, but they must not despair. The Dauphin will
hear them presently. Tell them so."

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 con
federate have for backer that veteran soldier Raoul de Gau-
court, 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
mustache and scoffs."

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

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

" She favors us, and she hates those others, the King's be-
guilers," 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 seventeen— a girl — coun
try bred- — untaught — ignorant of war, the use of arms, and
the conduct of battles — modest, gentle, shrinking — yet throws

102

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 an 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,
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 fight
ers 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 de
spise 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, fervently.
" 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 flying to some for
eign land. The commissioners say there is a spell upon him
that makes him hopeless — yes, and that it is shut up in a mys
tery 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

IQ3

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 obstruc
tions she procured an audience for our two knights, and they
made the most they could out of their opportunity. They
told the King what a spotless and beautiful character Joan
was, and how great and noble a spirt 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 con
sent to see her. He was strongly moved to do this, and prom
ised 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 inn-keeper 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 honor 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 down-stairs, and presently appeared again, back
ing 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 prerogative 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 degrad
ing personages of their dignity to the base function of ambas
sadors 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.

IO4

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 pres
ence 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 mes
sage well, and with little stumbling, and so make a favorable
impression here, where it would be so valuable and so impor
tant.

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 spokes
man 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 message
save for the King's ear alone."

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

" Hark ye, do you fling the King's command in his face and
refuse to deliver this message of yours to his servants ap
pointed to receive it ?"

" God has appointed one to receive it, and another's com
mandment 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 ! Deliver 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 ?"

105

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 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 Bertran.d 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 Dau
phin'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 argu
ment 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 persua
sions 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 pa
tient, the Dauphin will hear me presently ; have no fear."

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

io6

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

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 de
vices of a King's trained advisers and defeat them. Marvel
ling over this, and astonished at it, we fell silent and spoke
no more. We had come to know that she was great in cour
age, 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 Courdray, personally confiding her to the care of
Madame de Bellier, 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 uncon
scious eloquence, and all the best and capablest among them
recognized 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.

CHAPTER VI

WELL, anything to make delay. The King's council ad
vised 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 Lor
raine 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 anticipation
in front of us ; we had never seen a king, and now some day
we should have that prodigious spectacle to see and to treas
ure in our memories all our lives ; so we were on the lookout,
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 Yo-
lande and our knights, had at last turned the council's posi
tion 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 paralyzed by the glare of light from the long
files of torches, the solemn pomps and ceremonies, the great

io8

concourse of renowned personages, the brilliant costumes,
and the other splendors of the Court, that she, a simple coun
try maid, and all unused to 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 duke-
lets ? — she who had spoken face to face with the princes of
heaven, the familiars of "God, and seen their retinue of an
gels 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 splendor ? I thought not.

Queen Yolande wanted Joan to make the best possible im-
pressiorf 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 be
came a servant of God, and one sent upon a mission of a se
rious sort and grave political import. So then the gracious
Queen imagined and contrived that simple and witching cos
tume 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 Vendome, a great lord
of the court, came richly clothed, with his train of servants

io9

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 aheady painted it. Here were ranks of guards
in shining armor and with polished halberds ; two sides of the
hall were like flower-gardens for variety of color and the mag
nificence of the costumes ; light streamed upon these masses
of color 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 canopied, 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 honors 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 expect
ing this beautiful and honorable 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 offi
cials near the throne. I was devouring the crowned person
age with all my eyes, and my heart almost stood still with
awe.

The eyes of all others were fixed upon Joan in a gaze of

110

wonder which was half worship, and which seemed to say,
" How sweet — how lovely — how divine !" All lips were part
ed and motionless, which was a sure sign that those people,
who seldom forget themselves, had forgotten themselves now,
and were not conscious of anything but the one object they
were gazing upon. They had the look of people who are un
der 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 rea
son 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 paleness
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 steadfastly
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 feel
ing —

"God of his grace give you long life, O dear and gentle
Dauphin !"

JOAN PUZZLES THE SCHOLARS

Ill

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, " JVow, 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 Bertrand
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 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

112

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 performed 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 splendors 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 memoires and histories and in
testimony at the Process of Rehabilitation by some who wit
nessed it ; for all knew it was big with meaning, 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 the same time look im
measurably astonished. It was as if Joan had told him some
thing almost too wonderful for belief, and yet of a most up
lifting 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 unassailable 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 praying, in your own
breast, that God of his grace would resolve 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 straightened
him up and made a man of him for a moment, removing
his doubts upon that head and convincing him of his royal
right; and if any could have hanged his hindering and pestif
erous council and set him free, he would have answered
Joan's prayer and set her in the field. But no, those creat
ures were only checked, not checkmated ; they could invent
some more delays.

We had been made proud by the honors which had so
distinguished Joan's entrance into that place — honors restrict-

ed to personages of very high rank and worth — but that pride
was as nothing compared with the pride we had in the honor
done her upon leaving it. For whereas those first honors
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 reverence 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 honor and esteem than when
she came.

And the King did another handsome thing by Joan, for he
sent us back to Courdray Castle torch-lighted and in state,
under escort of his own troop — his guard of honor — the only
soldiers he had ; and finely equipped and bedizened they
were, too, though they hadn't seen the color 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.
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 shoul
der, funnel-topped buskins, long rapier, and all that — a grace
ful 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 swaggered by with one hand resting on
the hilt of his rapier, and twirling his new mustache 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 gentleman 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 Courdray
Castle, and acknowledged lord of the tap-room of the inn.
When he opened his mouth there, he got a hearing. Those
simple artisans and peasants listened with deep and wonder
ing 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 inn-keeper, 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 wearisome after
several repetitions ; but it was not so with the 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 neighborhood 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, be
cause 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 sub
stitute a new battle, knowing that the old ones were the best,
and sure to improve as long as France could hold them ; and
so, instead of saying to him as they would have said to an
other, " 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 narra
tive 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 tap-room 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 got
ten it.

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

The tap-room was large, yet had a snug and cosey look, with
its inviting little tables and chairs scattered irregularly over
its red brick floor, and its great fire flaming and crackling 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 neighbor
ly way while they waited for the historian. The host, the host
ess, 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 cob
bler, the farrier, the blacksmith, the wheelwright, the armorer,
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 journeymen 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 graceful 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 ap
plause is right and proper, for when we do a liberal and gal
lant 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 affectionate
heartiness, clashing their metal flagons together with a simul
taneous crash, and heightening the effect with a resounding
cheer. It was a fine thing to see how that young swashbuck
ler 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 husbandry 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 presently
discoverable that this charm lay in the Paladin's sincerity.
He was not lying consciously ; he believed what he was say
ing. 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 dis
armed criticism — disarmed it as far as he himself was con
cerned. Nobody believed his narrative, but all believed that
he believed it.

He made his enlargements without flourish, without em
phasis, and so casually that often one failed to notice that a
change had been made. He spoke of the governor of Vau-
couleurs, the first night, simply as the governor of Vaucou-
leurs ; 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 extraor
dinary 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 gov
ernor 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 de
scendant 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
promoted the Count of Vendome from a fresh acquaintance
to schoolmate, and then brother-in-law.

At the King's Audience everything grew, in the same way.

120

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

The first two nights he contented himself with merely de
scribing and exaggerating the chief dramatic incident of the
Audience, but the third night he added illustration to descrip
tion. He throned the barber in his own high chair to repre
sent the sham King ; then he told how the Court watched the
Maid with intense interest and suppressed merriment, expect
ing 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 bat
tle, '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 any
where, 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, re-

THE EXAMINATION OF JOAN

121

solving 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 — thou art the 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 vol
ume 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 conclu
sion—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, touching 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 Pal
adin standing at stately ease the while and smiling benig-
nantly from his platform.

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN Joan told the King what that deep secret was that
was torturing his heart, his doubts were cleared away ; he be
lieved 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 su
pernatural helps hailed from heaven or from hell.

The King's relative, the Duke of Alen^on, three years pris
oner 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 Chi-
non 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."

123

Then the two talked together, and there was just the usual
result : when they parted, the Duke was her friend and advo
cate.

Joan attended the King's mass the next day, and afterward
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, colorless
and non-committal, or carefully tinted to tally with the color
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 horseman
ship and lance-practice in the meadows by the Castle of Chi-
non, 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 questioned
Joan about her Voices and her mission, and then went to the
King with their report. These pryings accomplished but lit
tle. 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 questions must be answered ; yet she
told the King in her naive 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 wheth
er Joan was sent by God or not. They were cautious, you see.
There were two powerful, parties at Court; therefore to make
a decision either way would infallibly embroil them with one of

124

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 recommended that it be put into the hands
of the learned and illustrious doctc 3 of the University of
Poitiers. Then they retired from the field, leaving behind
them this little item of testimony, wn'ng 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 questioned
and badgered before a great bench of — what ? Military ex
perts ? — 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 com
mission to find out if this valorous little soldier could win
victories, they set a company of holy hair-splitters and phrase
mongers 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 conse
quence.

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 spectator and not
herself on trial. She sat there, solitary on her bench, un
troubled, and disconcerted the science of the sages with her
sublime ignorance — an ignorance which was a fortress ; arts,

12$

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 tes
timony 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 day they
harried and pestered her with arguments, reasonings, objec
tions 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 Rheiins, and the
matters ye are puttering over are of no consequence !"

126

Necessarily those were trying days for her, and wearing 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 in
quisitor 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 Do
minican 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 re
lief 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
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 :

127

" 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 phras
ing 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 Se'guin,
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
honored ! 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 improvement on
yours !"

I knew there was a chuckle back of her eyes, for all their
innocence. Everybody shouted. Brother Seguin 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."

Brother Seguin lost his patience, and heaped sarcasm after
sarcasm upon her, and finally burst out in angry earnest, ex
claiming —

" Very well, I can tell you this, you whose belief in God is

128

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 mir
acles. 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 accla
mations, 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 Se'guin, 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 unlucky 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 //. 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 Parlia
ment of Poitiers ; and to that house the great ladies of the
city 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

129

and still doubt it, came night after night, and night after
night, falling ever deeper and deeper under the influence of
that mysterious something, that spell, that elusive and un-
wordable fascination, which was the supremest endowment of
Joan of Arc, that winning and persuasive and convincing some
thing which high and low alike recognized 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 labors 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 with
out 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 fol
lowed, 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 succor
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
clamoring to be enlisted under the banner of the Maid of
Vaucouleurs, and the roaring of war-songs and the thunder
ing of the drums filled all the air. I remembered 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 noth
ing could ever rouse the people from their lethargy :

"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 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 sweep
ing 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 despatched 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 peo
ple. 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 stream
ing 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
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

132

staff a prince of his royal house, his grace the Duke of
Alengon !"

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 thinking ; I was trying to real
ize 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 friend
less wanderer somewhere and brought it home — a small gray
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 knit
ting a coarse stocking and thinking — 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 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 was to 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 arranging
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 constantly developing
in these latter weeks. This letter was to be forwarded pres
ently from Blois. Men, provisions, and money were offering
in plenty now, and Joan appointed Blois as a recruiting sta
tion 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 clamoring 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 armor
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 Fier-
bois, and she sent De Metz to get it. The priests knew of

134

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 peo
ple 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 be
longed to Charlemagne, 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, present
ing 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 marching men —
squads of recruits leaving for Blois ; songs and shoutings and
huzzas filled the air night and day, the town was full of stran
gers, the streets and inns were thronged, the bustle of prepa
ration was everywhere, and everybody carried a glad and cheer
ful face. Around Joan's headquarters 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 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

135

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 house
hold yet — that was our trouble. We knew she was being over
run with applications for places in it, and that these appli
cations were backed by great names and weighty influence,
whereas we had nothing of the sort to recommend us. She
could fill her humblest places with titled folk— folk whose re
lationships would be a bulwark for her and a valuable sup
port 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, Noel Rain-
guesson was quite willing to let the dismal matter alone ; but
not when the Paladin was present. Once we were talking the
thing over, when Noel 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 everything of
a superstitious sort, in fact. He said, with a rising hopeful
ness—

" 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."

" Noel, 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!

136

Do you think it will come true, Noel ? Don't you believe it
will ?"

" I do. There's my hand on it."

" Noel, 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 for
got 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 per
suaded me, I swear they did !" The vast creature was almost
crying. Then he pulled himself together and said, remorse
fully, " It was the only lie Tve ever told, and—

He was drowned out with a chorus of groans and outraged
exclamations ; and before he could begin again, one of D'Au-
lon's liveried servants appeared and said we were required at
headquarters. We rose, and Noel 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.

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 honored like this when
she could have had people of birth and consequence instead,

137

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 honorable 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 ; Noel was her messenger ; she had two heralds,
and also a chaplain and almoner, whose name was Jean Pas-
querel. She had previously appointed a maitre d'hotel 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 pleasantly, and
said —

" I watched you on the road. You began badly, but im
proved. 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 Pala
din'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."

He took the banner, which is now the most precious of the
memorials that remain of Joan of Arc, and his voice was un
steady 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

NOEL and I went back together — silent at first, and im
pressed. Finally Noel 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 honorable. 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."

Noel was surprised at that, and glanced up quickly, as if
to see if I v»as 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 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

139

gifts, she has the seeing eye.' I said, like an unthinking fool,
' The seeing eye ? — I shouldn't count that for much — I sup
pose we all have it.' ' No,' he said ; ' very few have it.' Then
he explained, and made his meaning clear. He said the com
mon 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 in
dicate 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 in
fallible 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 with
out 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 Vau-
couleurs 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 military hur
ricane, that godless swashbuckler, that lurid conflagration of
blasphemy, that Vesuvius of profanity, forever in eruption.
Does he know how to deal with that 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.

140

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 armor, delivering her will to
that muck-heap, that rag-pile, that abandoned refuse of per
dition."

" La Hire !" cried Noel, "our hero of all these years — I do
want to see that man !"

" I 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 naivest.
Once when he was rebuked for pillaging on his raids, he said
it was nothing. Said he, ' If God the Father were a soldier,
He would rob.' I judge he is the right man to take tempo
rary 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."

" Now you've hit it !" cried Noel. " 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 dicta
tion. During the next day and night our several uniforms

were made by the tailors, and our new armor provided. We
were beautiful to look upon now, whether clothed for peace
or war. Clothed for peace, in costly stuffs and rich colors,
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 Alenc,on in the lead, D'Aulon and the big stand
ard-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 spec
tators realized 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 armor 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 honor. It joined us, the procession was
complete, the first war-march of Joan of Arc was begun, the
curtain was up.

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 Noel and I had
our first glimpse of La Hire. He answered to our dearest
dreams. He was of great size and of martial bearing, 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 straighten
ing up was, was his own secret.

We followed the veteran to headquarters, listening, observ
ing, admiring — yes, devouring, you may say, the pet hero of
the boys of France from our cradles up to that happy day, and

143

their idol and ours. I called to mind how Joan had once re
buked the Paladin, there in the pastures of Domremy, for ut
tering lightly those mighty names, La Hire and the Bastard
of Orleans, and how she said that if she could but be permit
ted 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 realize 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 armor, 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
coulcl 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 defined
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 armor:

" Every man who joins my standard must confess before

144

the priest and absolve himself from sin • and all accepted re
cruits 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 dar
lings 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 ar
guments 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 himself 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 trammelled,
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,_>w are going !"

" I ? Impossible 1 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 play
ing me false ? Why, I would rather go to — "

" Never mind where. In the morning you are going to be
gin, 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
baton, the symbol of his generalship.

He promised that he would swear only by his baton 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 de
clining years.

That tough old lion went away from there a good deal tamed
and civilized— not to say softened and sweetened, for perhaps
those expressions would hardly fit him. Noel and I believed
that when he was away from Joan's influence 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 : who
ever 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 armor, 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 worshipped.
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

146

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 super
stitious 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 mir
acle 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
gray and so far along in his pilgrimage of life, she so youth
ful ; 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, visiting
every corner of it, observing, inspecting, perfecting ; and wher
ever they appeared the enthusiasm broke forth. They rode
side by side, he a great figure of brawn and muscle, she a lit
tle 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 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 ear
nestly and tirelessly to bring La Hire to God — to rescue him
from the bondage of sin — to breathe into his stormy heart the

147

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 any
thing 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." *

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 tfrat large fashion, 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.

* 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.

148

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 splendor, and took
the road toward Orleans. The initial part of Joan's great
dream was realizing 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, stretching 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'llliers, 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 illustrious official
brigands, the whole party ; and by long habits of lawlessness
they had lost all acquaintanceship with obedience, if they had
ever had any.

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 indepen
dent 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 mili-

I5Q

tary character seriously— that country girl of seventeen 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 be
lieved 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 valor into the dead corpses of cowed
armies and turn them into heroes.

To their minds they were everything with her, but nothing
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 un
conscious 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 pur
pose 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 recognized 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 lookout 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 besiege
the besiegers and starve them out by closing their communi
cations — a plan which would require months in the consum
mation.

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 try
ing 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 overlooked. That was this :
the English soldiers were in a demoralized condition of super
stitious 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. However,
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 armor on the ground.
It was a cold night, and she was nearly as stiff as her armor
itself when we resumed the march in the morning, for iron is
not good material for a blanket. However, 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

152

trick that bad 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 implored 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 Checy, six miles above Orleans.

Dunois, Bastard of Orleans, with a body of knights and citi
zens, 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 re
vered 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 an
swer 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 can
not 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 mo-

153

ment, 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 succor 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 tlie army ?"

"Yes."

" It is here on this side by advice of your council ?"

"Yes."

" 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 in
explicable 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 disobey
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. Eva
sions were of no use ; therefore Dunois admitted that there
was no way to correct the blunder but to send the army all

154

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 preceding 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 was ! Such black seas
of people, such a starry firmament of torches, such roaring
whirlwinds of welcome, such booming 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, shout
ing, and the unchecked tears running down ; Joan forged her
slow way through the solid masses, her mailed form project
ing 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 privi
lege touched her horse and then kissed their fingers.

Nothing that Joan did escaped notice ; everything she did
was commented upon and applauded. You could hear the
remarks going all the time.

155

" 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 color and animation !"

Joan's slender long banner streaming backward had an ac
cident — the fringe caught fire from a torch. She leaned for
ward 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 everything
quake.

She rode to the cathedral and gave thanks to God, and the
people crammed the place and added their devotions to 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 clamor of the joy-bells and the wel
coming 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 in
quiring after the messenger who carried her proclamation
to the English from Blois — the one which she had dic
tated at Poitiers. Here is a copy of it. It is a remarkable
document, for several reasons : for its matter-of-fact direct
ness, for its high spirit and forcible diction, and for its naive
confidence 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 any
body, 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 Pole, 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
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 the good city of Orleans, begone into your own
land in God's name, or expect news from the Maid who will shortly go to

157

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 king
dom. 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 thou
sand 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 de
struction. 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 Eng
lish 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."

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.' "

158

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 crip
pling 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 balked Joan once, with
unpleasant results to himself, and was not minded to meddle
in that way again. He soon had the army moving.

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 wonderful life. Any
position of any sort near the person of the Maid of Vaucou-
leurs conferred high distinction upon the holder and caused his
society to be courted ; and so the D'Arc brothers, and Noel,
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 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 en
tirely of Dukes. He worked up his old battles and tricked
them out with fresh splendors ; 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 sublimity which made it impossible for any to
recognize them at all except people who had not been there.

i6o

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 eigh
teen, 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 produced 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 per
suade — ah, there it \s— persuasion ! that is the word ; what or
who is it that it couldn't persuade ? The maniac of Dom-
remy — the fairy-banishing priest — the reverend tribunal of
Toul — the doubting 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 Bas
tard 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 companionably 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 so
cial good time. It was then that we did our best, we five
youngsters, with such fascinations as we had, and the chief

JOAN ANU LA HIRE

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 com
radeship 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 everything
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, for 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 precip
itated the whole battle on us again, with a hundred lies added
that had been overlooked before.

I do not know how to make you realize 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 stooping to such a business —
but she cared for nothing but his battles, and could not be

1 62

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 increasing 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 con
duct as I was — and by his grand luck, too, of course — per
haps, indeed, that was the main hurt. We talked our trouble
over together, which was but natural, for rivals become broth
ers when a common affliction assails them and a common
enemy bears off the victory.

Each of us could do things that would please and get no
tice 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 deli
cately celebrated that sweet girl's charms, without mention
ing her name, but any one could see who was 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 beleaguring 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 multilation in the bloody
field, waging relentless war against a heartless foe to save

163

her from an all too early grave, and her city from destruction.
And when the sad pursuing constellations came to know and
realize 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 splendor, 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 forever, from her he loved so well, and grow
ing 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
Noel 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 swelted 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 in-

164

spiring girl to cross my path, and out came the poem, and no
more trouble to me lo 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. Noel Rainguesson 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 any
thing so pathetic and beautiful as the way he recited it. For
that was just his gift — that and mimicry. He could re-cite
anything better than anybody in the world, and he could take
off La Hire to the very life — or 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 nobody but Noel. So then, as I wanted the poem to
make the best possible impression on Catherine and the com
pany, I told Noel he might do the reciting. Never was any
body 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 if would be enough for me. The boys were full
of exultation, and Noel said if he could just get one chance
at those people it would be all he would ask ; he would make
them realize 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
Noel take his place and finish the battle himself in the Pala
din's own style, imitated to a shade. That would get great
applause, and win the house's favor and put it in the right
mood to hear the poem. The two triumphs together would

finish the Standard- Bearer — modify him, anyway, to a cer
tainty, 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 messen
ger from General La Hire's quarters desired speech with the
Standard-Bearer. He left the room, and Noel took his place
and said that the interruption was to be deplored, but that
fortunately he was personally acquainted with the details of
the battle himself, and if permitted would be glad to state
them to the company. Then without waiting for the permis
sion he turned himself into the Paladin — a dwarfed Paladin,
of course — with manner, tones, gestures, attitudes, everything
exact, and went right on with the battle, and it would be im
possible 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 Noel grew with his theme and the
greater the marvels he worked, till really the laughter was not
properly laughing any more, but screaming. Blessedest feat
ure of all, Catherine Boucher was dying with ecstasies, and
presently there was little left of her but gasps and suffoca
tions. 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 Noel ranting
in there and recognized 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 Noel got when he finished
was wonderful ; and they kept it up and kept it up, clapping
their hands like mad, and shouting to him to do it over again.

But Noel was clever. He knew the very best background
for a poem of deep and refined sentiment and pathetic mel
ancholy was one where great and satisfying merriment has
prepared the spirit for the powerful contrast.

1 66

So he paused until all was quiet, then his face grew grave
and assumed an impressive aspect, and at once all faces so
bered in sympathy and took on a look of wondering and ex
pectant 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 exquisite."

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 en
tranced. When Noel got to the second part, and that heart
breaking refrain began to melt and move all listeners, the Pal
adin 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 wip
ing his eyes with the sleeves of his doublet. He was so con
spicuous that he embarrassed Noel 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 infer
nal 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, still pouring out
that brutal clamor and flourishing his towel in the air and
swabbing again and wringing it out. Hear ? You couldn't
hear yourself think. Noel was wholly drowned out and si
lenced, 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-armor makes when
the man that is in it is running, and then alongside my head

i67

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 in
decent exposure, for you could see everything that was in him.
Only one thing more and worse could happen, and it hap
pened : 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 laughing, 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 compensation for
their defect, but requires such as are more fortunately en
dowed to get by labor and talent what those others get by
chance. It was Noel 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 "Witch" would not be there, and with
out 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

i69

had lost. Joan made searching inquiries, and satisfied herself
that the word was true, then she made this annoying remark:

" You have done well, and you have my thanks. It may
be that you have prevented a disaster. Your name and ser
vice 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 Flo-
rent d'Iliers 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 encountered
the head of the arriving column between six and seven, a
couple of leagues from the city. Dunois 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 huz-
zah 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 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 cun
ning 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 Hotel 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 color 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 dif
fered 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.

" What is he that is bound, there ?" she asked.

" A prisoner, General."

" What is his offence ?"

" He is a deserter."

" What 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
brought him back with his hands still tied. W^hat 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 bleed
ing. " 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 occasionally, such as
an animal might that is receiving a kindness from an unex
pected 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 himself — but that

172

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 ; " an
other 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 believ
ing 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, 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 par
doned. 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 — "

173

"I will serve you!"

«_yOU shall fight for France—"

"I will fight f or you!"

" 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 —

" 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 armor, and shall
go on teaching your art. Take one of those led horses
there, and follow the staff when we move."

174

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 faithfuler 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 a man he was. They called him the Bastille, sometimes,
and sometimes they called him Hellfire, 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 hum
ble 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 sub
stantial 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

JOAN AND THE "DWARF

175

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 different
from me. The awfulest thing was the silence , there wasn't
a sound but the screaking of the saddles, the measured tramp-
lings, and the sneezing of the horses, afflicted by the smother
ing 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 torture, 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 uncom
mon 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 armor
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 clown in many cases and vanished in the rest, they feel
ing 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 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 mention
and don't know about. I heard Joan say that now that the
garrisons on the other side had been weakened to strength
en 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.

177

All Orleans met the army at the gate and huzzahed it
through the bannered streets to its various quarters, but no
body 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 honored us by coming in to
eat it with us. The nice old treasurer, and in fact all three
were flatteringly eager to hear about our adventures. No
body 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 condi
tion. I think I have never seen a finer body of animals."

"Animals?" said Miss Catherine.

" I will explain to you what he means," said Noel. " He—

" I will trouble you not to trouble yourself to explain any
thing for me," said the Paladin, loftily. " I have reason to
think—"

"That is his way," said Noel; "always when he thinks he
has reason to think, he thinks he does think, but this is an er
ror. 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 prudence
— 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 :

179

" It isn't quite fair for you to say I fell out on account of
the donkey's braying. It was emotion, just ordinary emo
tion."

" Very well, if you want to call it that, I am not objecting.
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 rec
ord in that matter ; but to walk along in front 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 ojd treas
urer; "you've done well, my lad."

That made me comfortable, and when Miss Catharine 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 be
lieved he could tell the truth that way without practice, or
would tell that particular sort of a truth either with or with
out practice. I suppose he judged it would favorably im
press 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

i So

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?1' exclaimed the young lady. "We've got
one ! Would you try that one ? Will you ?"

She was so eager and pretty that the Paladan 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 ; noth
ing 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."

"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 ! — boom ! of cannon, and straightway that rush
ing multitude was roaring by the house like a hurricane.

182

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 surging crowd was
made up half of citizens and half of soldiers, and had no rec
ognized 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 skim
ming like a bird, crying "Forward, French hearts — follow
me !" and we came winging in her wake on tbe 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 inarch 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 hopeless 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 the worst of it. The
news of this had swept through the city and started 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 tur
moil. 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

183

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, hacking 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, there
fore he chose his place for himself, and went ahead of Joan
and made a road for her. It was horrible to see the iron hel
mets 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 outwards 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
exalting 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 imaginary
battles in a more tremendous way than he did in this real
one ; 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 wound
ed for company — a sickening sight, an awful sight to us young
sters, 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 ghastliness.

Now arrived Dunois from the city, and plunged through the
battle on his foam-flecked horse and galloped up to Joan, sa
luting, 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 gayly in the wind, and said
the populace were up there observing her fortunate perform
ance 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 ! \Ve 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 desperate.
Let me order the forces back."

Joan's heart was overflowing with the joys and enthusiasms
of war, and it made her impatient to hear such talk. She
cried out —

"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 as
sault !" 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.

\Ve 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 artil
lery, 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
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 darling now, and the press of
people struggling and shouldering 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

1 86

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 realize 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 dili
gently 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 forever ;
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 other
wise 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, be
cause 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 dis
colored by age. The dusty cobwebs under the ceiling had
the look of not having had any business for a century.

Catherine said —

1 88

" 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 anywhere 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 abso
lute dungeon. Wait where you are, and take note of what
happens."

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 bas
tilles. 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 invisi
ble, 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 drear
ily — 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 followed 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,

<.. ,4

JOAN'S ENTRY INTO ORLEANS
(From a painting by Scherrer)

189

with his legs quaking. It came from that little dungeon.
There was a pause, then we heard muffled sobbings, 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 moanings, and
soft sobbings, and, ah, the tones were so full of compassion
and sorrow and despair! Indeed, it made one's heart sore to
hear it.

But those sounds were so real and so human and so mov
ing 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 cap
tives 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 plot-
tings, 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 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 at
tack 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 de
lays 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 circumstances
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 piety in wasting this
clay. 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 inasmuch
as nothing was really and rationally to be hoped for but a
long continuance of the siege and wearying out of the Eng
lish, 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."

192

" 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 baton, 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 coining." She added,
with a touch of sarcasm, " Even a war-council would know
enough to do that, itself."

Then she took her leave. La Hire made this general re
mark 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 embroid
ery — by God, I think she can teach the best of you how to
play 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.

193

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 accustomed to skulk
ing, was going to face about and strike. The joy of the peo
ple 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 or
der 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 what Joan had
said would happen, when she was disputing with the council.

WTe moved down the shore and Joan planted her standard
before the bastille of the Augustins, the first of 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 as
sault the garrison of St. Prive were seen coming up to re-
enforce the big bastille. They came on a run, and the Augus
tins 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 —

194

" 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 analyze 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 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 car
ried 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 sink
ing 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 demoralized 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

195

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 suffi
cient reasons for one of these pleasant tempests, and so the
tempest was always on hand. There had been a blank ab
sence 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 Pere 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 Catharine 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—"

197

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 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 understand
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 presenti
ment 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 the 2oth of April, and also the 22d, 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 ?"

"No," Joan said, "the yth 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. If 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 realize

199

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 ?"

" 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 these solemn procedures
and stately proprieties, and I have had no experience."

" Then word it like this : ' The chief of staff is commanded
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
color 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 T' 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 awkwardness too, and be embar
rassing 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 afterwards 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 be
cause of the pangs it brings.

200

Well, well, a good and wholesome thing is a little harmless
fun in this world ; it tones a body up and keeps him human
and prevents him from souring. To set that little 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 Command-
er-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 hum
ble home-place back, and the familiar names began to tremble
on her lips ; and when she got to Haumette and Little Men-
gette 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 present ; 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 accord
ingly.

"The incurable cowards !" exclaimed Joan. " So it was to
get me away from my men that they pretended so much so
licitude about my fatigue. Take this message back, not to
the council — I have no speeches for those disguised ladies'

201

maids — but to the Bastard and La Hire, who are men. Tell
them the army is to remain where it is, and I hold them re
sponsible 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 redemption of France.
Boucher put in another plea :

" But think — we poor beleaguered citizens who have hardly
known the flavor 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."

R 3

203

" 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 melan
choly. 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 aston
ished. 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 mo
ment. 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 hurrahing 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.

You see, the council had closed the Burgundy gate and
placed a strong force there, under that stout soldier Raoul cle
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 de-

204

spair. 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 ac
cession 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 boulevard,
and which was otherwise nameless, before we could assault
the great bastille. Its rear communicated with the 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,

205

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 armor. 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 des
peration — for she stood for France, indeed she was France to
both sides — whichever won her won France, and could keep
it forever. Right there in that small spot, and in ten minutes
by the clock, the fate of France, for all time, was to be de
cided, 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 nationality and a king
dom 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 otherwise Joan of Arc, lay bleeding in the fosse
that day, with two nations struggling over her for her pos
session.

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

206

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 following and anx
ious, 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 armor now, with that
awful dressing over it.

The iron bolt was still in the wound — some say it projected
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 her
self 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.

" 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 his
tories 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.

207

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 ham
mered 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 and moored under
the drawbridge which connected the Tourelles with our boule
vard ; wherefore, when at last we drove our English ahead of
us and they tried to cross that drawbridge and join their
friends in the Tourelles, the burning timbers gave way under
them and emptied them in a mass into the river in their
heavy armor — 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

208

men had grossly insulted her with a coarse name three days
before, when she had sent him a message asking him to sur
render. 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 our
selves against the last stronghold of the English power that
barred Orleans from friends and supplies. Before the sun
was quite down, Joan's forever memorable day's work was
finished, her banner floated from the fortress of the Tou-
relles, 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 heav
ens 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.

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 thou
sand times. Welcome to our Maid !" some of them word
ed it.

No other girl in all history has ever reached such a summit
of glory as Joan of Arc reache'd that day. And do you think
it turned her head, and that she sat up to enjoy that delicious

209

music of homage and applause? No; another girl would
have clone 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 pas
sage 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. *

* It is still celebrated every year with civic and military pomps and so
lemnities. — TRANSLATOR.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN the earliest dawn of the morning, Talbot and his Eng
lish forces evacuated their bastilles and marched away, not
stopping to burn, destroy, or carry off anything, but leaving
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 bas'tilles like an
invasion of ants, but noisier than those creatures, and carried
off the artillery and stores, then turned all those dozen for
tresses into monster bonfires, imitation 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

211

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 gener
als and illuminated the town, and high and low gave them
selves up to festivities and rejoicings. By the time the popu
lace 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 armor, 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 warn
ing 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 inspiration in those
great men's accurate knowledge of the King's trivial and I
treacherous character.

The King had come to Tours to meet Joan. At the present
day this poor thing is called Charles the Victorious, an ac
count of victories which other people won for him, but in our
time we had a private name for him which described him bet
ter, and was sanctified to him by personal deserving — Charles
the Base. When we entered the presence 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

212

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 colors brilliant. In his lap he
cuddled a miniature greyhound that snarled, lifting its lip and
showing its white teeth whenever any slight movement dis
turbed it. The King's dandies were dressed in about the
same fashion as himself, and when I remembered that 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 any
body 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 consecrated it with the
libation of her blood. The positions should have been reversed.

However, to be fair, one must grant that Charles acquitted
himself very well for the most part, on that occasion — 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 extraor
dinary achievement in his service. My prejudices are of a
later date than that. If he had continued 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 sbe 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

213

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 all her
life were daily seeing the clouds uncover some new altitudes
of her character whose existence was not suspected by us be
fore ? 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 un-
kindest thing a person can do when a girl is blushing ; some
times, 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. How
ever, 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 ex
ceedingly 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

214

presently when she was more composed he mentioned the re
ward again and pressed her to name it. Everybody listened
with anxious interest to hear what her claim was going to be,
but 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 clay. 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 opportu
nity Everything is favorable — everything. It is as if the cir
cumstances were specially made for it. The spirits of our
army are exalted with victory, those of the English forces de
pressed by defeat. Delay will change this. Seeing us hesi
tate 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 —

215

•'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."

i( Wait for what?"

The minister was obliged to hesitate, for he knew of no ex
planation 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 dis
cussion."

Joan said, placidly —

" I have to beg your pardon. My trespass came of igno
rance. I did not know that matters connected with your de
partment 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 im
pression that matters connected with my department are not
matters of state ? Pray how is that ?"

Joan replied, indifferently —

" Because there is no state."1

" 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, careless
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 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

216

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 vic
torious sword to defend them — speak the word."

It made an eager buzz of surprise and envy in the assem
blage, 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 high
est 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."

" 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.

EMBELLISHMENT SHOWING THE DOORWAY OF THE HOUSE IN
WHICH JOAN WAS BORN

217

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 honor 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." [Astonishment 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 satis
faction.] " Rise, Joan of Arc, now and henceforth surnamed
Du fJs, in grateful acknowledgment 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 com
pany for each other, shall be grouped in your escutcheon and
be and remain the symbol of your high nobility forever."

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
honors 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, any
thing 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 supposed 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 hu
man 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 com
mons 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 so
ciety affairs I judge they'll cuddle coolly in behind you and

219

the knights, and Noel 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 Stand
ard-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."

Noel 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, Noel 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 pre
cedence of all the rest of the personal staff — every individ
ual of us?"

" Oh, come !"

" You'll find it's 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 au
thority of the King — do you understand the size of that ?
Though not in detail and in entirety, they do nevertheless
substantially quarter the arms of France in their coat. Imag
ine 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'Alen-
gan, 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 mo
ment without getting anything out ; then it came :

"/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 met them
this morning, and sung out hello to them just as I would to
anybody, /didn't mean to be ill-mannered, but I didn't know

220

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."

Noel 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 re
sults of that condition will be uniform ; this uniformity of re
sult 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 sur
prised and stirred by inert monotonousness is a —

" Now that is enough, Noel 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 ! I 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
Jean de Metz, do you feel absolutely certain about that
thing ?"

" What thing ?"

" Why that Jean and Pierre are going to take precedence of
all the lay noblesse hereabouts except the Duke d'Alen^on ?"

" 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 ac
cident — 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, noth
ing done. The army was full of zeal, but it was also hungry.
It got no pay, the treasury was getting empty, it was becom
ing 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 obliged to stand helpless while her victorious army dis
solved 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 Magon, a former Chancellor of
France, Christophe d'Harcourt, and Gerard Machet. The
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 :

" 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 with you ?"

It was another sly attempt to trap Joan into indiscreet ad
missions 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

223

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 insupportable !"

The Bastard said that when she said these words 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 an
swer 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 has
been gathering troops to push to the succor of his strong
holds on the Loire."

"Yes, while we have been disbanding ours — and pity 'tis.
But we must throw away no more time ; we must bestir our
selves."

The King objected that he could not venture toward Rheims
with those strong places on the Loire in his path. But Joan
said :

" \Ve 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 everything
was stirring. Proclamations were issued calling for men, a
recruiting camp was established at Selles in Berry, and the
commons and the nobles began to flock to it with enthu
siasm.

A deal of the month of May had been wasted ; and yet by
the 6th of June Joan had swept together a new army and was
ready to march. She had eight thousand men. Think of

224

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 treacherous 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. No
body 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 would attend strictly to business — a leader with all au
thority in his hands 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 business
like 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, re
viewing the troops, it was good to hear them break out and
cheer. And nobody could help cheering, she was such a vis-
ion of young bloom and beauty and grace, and such an incar
nation 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 development ; 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 Laval arrived one day — fine
young fellows allied to the greatest and most illustrious
houses of France j and they could not rest till they had seen

225

Joan of Arc. So the King sent for them and presented them
to her, and you may believe she filled the bill of their expec
tations. 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 some
thing 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 was ready to begin her march and
open the campaign, and this is what he said about it :

" She was clothed all in white armor 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 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 stand
ard, 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 armor."

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 armor — 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 prom
ise. 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

226

my lady the Duchess d'Alengon. 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 ?"

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 welcoming cannon thundering and
seas of welcoming flags fluttering in the breeze. The Grand
Staff rode with her, clothed in shining splendors of costume
and decorations : the Duke d'Alenc.on ; the Bastard of Or
leans ; the Sire de Boussac, Marshal of France ; the Lord de
Graville, Master of the Crossbowmen ; the Sire de Culan, Ad
miral of France ; Ambroise de Lore' ; Etienne de Vignoles,
called La Hire 5 Gautier de Brusac, and other illustrious
captains.

It was grand times : the usual shoutings, and packed mul
titudes, 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,

227

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 benedic
tion 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 gen
erals was this : " See to it that you do nothing without the sanc
tion 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 tradi
tions. It shows you what sort of a reputation as a com-
mander-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 consulta
tions and arguings and speechifyings were going on among
certain of the generals.

In the afternoon of that clay 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 dis
cussion is not set down in the histories ; but I was there, and

229

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'Alengon, 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 7000 picked Eng
lish veterans behind them, and at their head the great Earl of
Suffolk and his two redoubtable brothers the De la Poles.
It seemed to him that the proposal 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 favor
of the soberer and safer procedure of investment by regular
siege. It seemed to him that this fiery and furious new fash
ion of hurling masses of men against impregnable walls of
stone, in defiance 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'Aleii9on was
on his feet, and the Bastard of Orleans, and half a dozen
others, all thundering at once, and pouring out their indig
nant displeasure upon any and all that might hold, secretly
or publicly, distrust of the wisdom of the Commander-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. Circum
stances may change, but those people are never able to see
that they have got to change too, to meet those circumstances.
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 earthquake come and rip
the land to chaos, and that beaten track now lead over prec
ipices and into morasses, those people carft 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 gen
ius 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 conflagration ! 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 splendor and wisdom of her military genius like
her instant comprehension of the size of the change which
has come about, and her instant perception 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 battle
ments and towers, its devastating artillery, its seven thousand
picked veterans ? Joan of Arc is to the fore, and by the
splendor 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 talk
ing 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 :

THE CAPTURE OF THE TOURELLES

231

" It is settled, my General. The matter concerned Jar-
geau. 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 occasion
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 honor, 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 re
membered that we were boys and girls and full of animal spir
its 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 march
ing 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 armor, 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 Lavals 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 Ber-
trand 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 un
der Sir John Fastolfe to reinforce Jargeau, but I think we were
not uneasy, nevertheless. In truth that force was not yet in
our neighborhood. 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 out
works 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 en
couraging cries, and then for a good time one had turmoil,
and clash of steel, and collision 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 mo-

233

ment 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 fau
bourgs were ours.

Yes, they were ours ; the enemy had been driven back with
in the walls. On the ground which Joan had won, we camped ;
for night was coming on.

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 of
fered 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 worn-
en and children sometimes. There are neighbors all about
you who well remember the unspeakable 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 gar
rison ; but that was her way, that was her loving and merci
ful 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 clays' armistice to consider the
proposal in. And Fastolfe coming with five thousand 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'Alengon thought

234

the hour rather early ; but Joan said it was best so, and so
must be obeyed. Then she burst out with one of those en
thusiasms 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 melee when he was wounded. He was uncon
scious, 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 swagger
ing around in his bandages showing off like an innocent big
child — which was just what he was. He was prouder of be
ing 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 Noel 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 aban
doned imagination.

Joan was abroad at the crack of dawn, galloping here and
there and yonder, examining the situation minutely, and choos
ing what she considered the most effective positions for her
artillery ; and with such accurate judgment did she place her

235

guns that her Lieutenant-General's admiration of it still sur
vived in his memory when his testimony was taken at the Re
habilitation, a quarter of a century later.

In this testimony the Duke d'Alengon 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 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, noth
ing 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 movement ceased, and with it all sounds,
all noise. A mute expectancy reigned. The stillness 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 com
manding spot, clustered around Joan. Not far from us, on
every hand, were the lanes and humble dwellings of these out
lying 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 uncon-

236

sciously stopped in their play ; I saw a little boy with his
hoop-stick pointed slanting toward the ground in the act of
steering the hoop around the corner; and so he had stopped
and was listening — the hoop was rolling away, doing its own
steering. I saw a young girl prettily framed in an open win
dow, 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, mo
tionless in the dead air. The startled girl dropped her water
ing-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 tow
ard 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 ;

237

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 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'Alen^on 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 con
centrated 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 as
sault 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 descend-

ed into the fosse herself, the Dwarf helping her and the Pal
adin 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 straight
way 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'Alengon 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 honorably 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 overboard
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 Suf
folk 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 bridge,
giving him the accolade with English coolness and tranquillity

239

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 vic
tory. 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 dicta
tion 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 dan
gers 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."

" How can you say that, Joan, with those deadly things fly
ing 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 necessary
to stay in such a place. And you led an assault again. Joan,
it is tempting Providence. I want you to make me a prom
ise. 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

241

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 forever 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 gen
tler — 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 clays — 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,"! know — I know. I shall
strike — and strike again. And before the fourth day is fin
ished I shall strike yet again." She became silent. We sat
wondering and still. This was for a whole minute, she look
ing at the floor and her lips moving but uttering nothing.
Then came these words, but hardly audible : " And in a thou
sand years the English power in France will not rise up from
that blow."

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 honor 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

242

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 whispered 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 compassion, 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 clo 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 Pere 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, "Oh, cruel, cruel!
how could any be so heartless ? Ah, poor Arbre Fe'e 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 hate
ful, ugly words — they "had the very look of it."

Then we heard a strong voice down the corridor announ
cing—

"His Majesty's messenger — with despatches for her Ex
cellency 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 conviction
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 joyous and light-
hearted as she had been these fatter days. The death-warn
ing had nothing dismal about it for her; no, it was remission
of ejdle, it was leave to come home.

Yes, she had seen the Tree. No one had taken the proph
ecy 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 suc
ceeded, and would go on to the end placid and comfortable.
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 honored old age ? For at that time I thought
old age valuable. I do not know why, but I thought so.
All young people think it, I believe, they being ignorant and
full of superstitions. She had seen the Tree. All that mis
erable 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 !"

244

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 com
mand. 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: Richemont, Constable of
France, this long time in disgrace with the King, largely be
cause of the evil machinations of La Tremouille and his party,
was approaching with a large body of men to offer his ser
vices to Joan — and very much she needed them, now that
Fastolfe was so close by. Richemont 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. Im
portant because they lead up to the exhibition of a new gift
in Joan's extraordinary mental make-up — statesmanship. It
is a sufficiently strange thing to find that great quality in an
I ignorant country girl of seventeen and a half, but she had it.

Joan was for receiving Richemont cordially, and so was La
Hire and the two young Lavals and other chiefs, but the
Lieutenant-General, D'Alen^on, strenuously and stubbornly
opposed it. He said he had absolute orders from the King
to deny and defy Richemont, and that if they were overridden
he would leave the army. This would have been a heavy dis
aster 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 ac
complished it. She persuaded him to disobey the King in

the interest of the nation, and to be reconciled to Count
Richemont 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 lyth, the scouts reported the
approach of Talbot and Fastolfe with Fastolfe's succoring
force. Then the drums beat to arms ; and we set forth to
meet the English, leaving Richemont 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 re
treat and not risk a battle with Joan at this time, but dis
tribute the new levies among the English strongholds of
the Loire, thus securing them against capture ; then be pa
tient and wait — wait for more levies from Paris ; let Joan ex
haust her army with fruitless daily skirmishing ; then at the
right time fall upon her in resistless mass and annihilate her.
He was a wise old experienced 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.

The enemy had taken up a strong position, and were waiting,
in order of battle, with their archers to the front and a stock
ade before them.

Night was coming on. A messenger came from the Eng
lish with a rude defiance and an offer of battle. But Joan's
dignity was not ruffled, her bearing was not discomposed. 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

246

such serenity and peace. About ten o'clock D'Alengon, 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, fif
teen 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 hap
pen."

Then Pothon of Saintrailles said —

"There were other reasons for declining battle, according
to the saying of your Excellency ?"

" Yes. One was that we being weak and the day far gone,

247

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 move
ment 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 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'Alengon.

" 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."

248

"Yes," said D'Alen^on, " 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 prom
ised 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 Guetin, Talbot's lieutenant,
being convinced that he and fiis 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.

249

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.

Gue'tin 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.

CHAPTER XXX

WHEN the morning broke at last on that forever memorable
i8th of June, there was no enemy discoverable anywhere, 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 prom
ised 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
inarch ; no confusion, no panic.

But we had to be cautious. In such a piece of co-untry 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 confidence a little
shaky. Joan divined their state of mind and cried out im
petuously—

" 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 reconnoisance, feeling its way in
the bush, frightened a deer, and it went bounding 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

251

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, 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'Alengon 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 artillery;
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 hundred
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 or
dered La Hire to advance — which La Hire promptly did,
launching his wild riders like a storm -wind, his customary
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 min
utes, seconds — with all her great soul present, in eye, and set
of head, and noble pose of body — but patient, steady, master
of herself — master of herself and of the situation.

252

And yonder, receding, receding, plumes lifting and falling,
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 rush
ing corps.

And now he struck it — struck it hard, and broke its or
der. It lifted the Duke and the Bastard in their saddles to
see it; and they turned, trembling with excitement, to Joan,
saying—

But she put up her hand, still gazing, weighing, calculating,
and said again —

" Wait— not yet."

Fastolfe's hard-driven battle corps raged on like an ava
lanche 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 looking afar
off, said, with the manner of one who is thinking aloud, " In a
thousand years — a thousand years — the English power in
France will not rise up from this blow." She stood again a
time, thinking, then she turned toward her grouped generals,

253

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 comprehend?
France is on the way to be fret !"

"And had never been, but for Joan of Arc!" said La
Hire, passing before her and bowing low, the others following
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 forever, Maid of Orleans, live forever!" 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 Eng
lish prisoner who was too poor to pay a ransom, and from a
distance she had seen that cruel thing done ; and had gal
loped 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.*

* 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 p-°
the testimony of the author of these "Personal Recollection'; ~ l
Arc," given by him in the Rehabilitation proceedings r'«»Ontns would
LATOR. -iig was making

.^jyond the seas,
maid out of her remote
y war, this all-consuming
^ land for three generations,
nost amazing campaign that is
v^en weeks it was finished. In
jiy crippled that gigantic war that
id. At Orleans she struck it a stag-
field of Patay she broke its back.

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.

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 settlement
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
liRte wholly hopeless in the view of all political physicians ;

We s\v~U]ded, three hours later, she was convalescent. Con-
for three lon^, nothing requisite but time and ordinary nurs-
last the bugles Siback to perfect health. The dullest physi-

The Battle of Pat^see this, and there was none to deny it.

Joan of Arc dismounttions have reached convalescence
field, lost in thought. Pres^a procession of battles, a weary

"The praise is to God. Hehing over years , but only one
this day." After a little she lihnd by a single battle. That
off, said, with the manner of one \Patay.

thousand years — a thousand years for you are French, and
France will not rise up from this blownals of your country,
time, thinking, then she turned toward hels ! And when you

255

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 Jong.
And will she build a monument scaled to their rank as com
pared with the world's other fields and heroes ? Perhaps —
if there be room for it under the arch of the sky.

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 Crecy. But she rose and struggled on, year
after year, and at last again she went down under another de
vastating 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 stag
gering blow ; on the field of Patay she broke its back.

256

Think of it. Yes, one can do that ; but understand it ?
Ah, that is another matter-, none will ever be able to compre
hend 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 thousand
dead upon the field. It is said and believed that in three
battles alone — Crecy, Poitiers, and Agincourt — near a hun
dred thousand Frenchmen fell, without counting the thou
sand 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 in
nocent women and children slain by bitter hardship and hun
ger 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 seven
teen 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 neighbor ;
and that neighbor 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 receding 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 benef
icent tidings were sweeping away, now, before the on-rush of
their white splendor.

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 illu
minations 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.

258

when the column entered the gates, and nevermore ceased :
" Welcome to Joan of Arc — way for the SAVIOR OF FRANCE !"
And there was another cry: "Crecy is avenged! Poitiers is
avenged ! Agincourt is avenged ! — Patay shall live forever !"

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 protec
tion. 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 recon
ciliation 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.

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 disposition
to try. In brains, in scientific warfare, and in statesmanship
the Constable Richemont was the ablest man in France. His

260

loyalty was sincere ; his probity was above suspicion — (and
it made him sufficiently conspicuous in that trivial and con
scienceless Court).

In restoring Richemont to France, Joan made thoroughly
secure the successful completion of the great work which she
had begun. She had never seen Richemont 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 extraor
dinary 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 righting to do, and a handy
man could carry that on with small disturbance to the rest of
the country ; and little by little, and with progressive 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 Riche
mont 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 careful 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 equalized each other, and neither
was then greater than its mate.

THE SIEGE OF ORLEANS
(From the painting by J. E. Lenepveu in the PanthSon at Paris)

26l

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. Asa masterpiece of diplomacy,
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 seventeen, Joan of Arc — and
she had known it from the beginning, 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 importance.
Whatever the parish priest believes, his flock believes ; they
love him, they revere him ; he is their unfailing 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 affection
ate obedience, let it cost what it rnay. Add these facts
thoughtfully together, and what is the sum ? This : The par
ish 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.

262

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 conse
cration 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 forever sacred and secure.
The dull parish knows all this. To priest and parish, whoso
ever is anointed of God bears an office whose authority can
no longer be disputed or assailed. 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 appointed in his place. In a word, an un
crowned 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 recognize 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 vastt 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
chess-board the Coronation was. Bedford realized this by-
and-by, and tried to patch up his mistake by crowning 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 great
est move ; but the final result made them all recognizable 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 proclaim
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.
Richemont to the French King's elbow — checkmate.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE Campaign of the Loire had as good as opened the road
to Rheims. There was no sufficient reason now why the Cor
onation should not take place. The Coronation would com
plete the mission which Joan had received from heaven, and
then she would be forever done with war, and would fly home
to her mother and her sheep, and never stir from the hearth
stone and happiness any more. That was her dream ; and
she could not rest, she was so impatient 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 29th of June. The Maid rode by the side of the King ;
on his other side was the Duke d'Alengon. After the Duke
followed three other princes of the blood. After these fol
lowed the Bastard of Orleans, the Marshal de Boussac, and
the Admiral of France. After these came La Hire, Saintrail-
les, 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.

265

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, in the pas
tures 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 misunder
standing here, for we dearly wanted to storm the place and
burn it. It was powerfully garrisoned by English and Bur-
gundian 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 judg
ment 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 pros
pect 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 clays, forsooth ! Name of God, man, we will enter
the gates to-morrow !"

Then she mounted, and rode her lines, crying out —

266

" 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 and
fagots to be prepared and thrown into the fosse, thereby to
bridge it ; and in this rough labor 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 Pala
din 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 Bur-
gundian 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 com
mon 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

267

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 ran
som 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 unlashing 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 that 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 heartstrings.
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 mat-

268

ter requiring persuasion is to the fore, I have indeed a 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 — " say
ing which he stepped to the Burgunclian 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 wtmld prize and praise this compas
sionate 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 honor ?
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 Burgun-
dian's eyes began to protrude from their sockets and stare
with a leaden dulness at vacancy. The color deepened in
his face and became an opaque purple. His hands hung
down limp, his body collapsed with a shiver, every muscle re
laxed 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, jeer
ing, cursing and volleying forth indecencies and bestialities
like a drunken fiend. It was a thing to be expected : sol
diering makes few saints. Many of the on-lookers laughed,
others were indifferent, none was surprised. But presently

269

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 checkered 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.

We marched, marched, kept on marching ; and at last on
the 1 6th of July we came in sight of our goal, and saw the
great cathedral towers of Rheims rise out of the distance !
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 armor, dreamy, beautiful, 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 depu
tation 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 splendors.

We moved betimes in the morning : the coronation cere
monies 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 enthusiasm.

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 re
view 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 this, and believed
it was looking for the last time upon the girlish face of its in
vincible little Chief, its pet, its pride, its darling, whom it had
ennobled in its private heart with nobilities of its own crea
tion, calling her " Daughter of God," " Savior of France,"
"Victory's Sweetheart," "the Page of Christ," together with
still softer titles which were simply naif and frank endear
ments 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 paeans 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

272

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- Arch
bishop'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 peasants made a dividing
double border for that plain. They stretched right down
through it, a broad belt of brighj colors 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 steins — 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 ram
parts 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

273

the city, with all the guilds and industries in holiday costume
marching in our rear with their banners ; and all the route

o *

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 colors ; and the waving of handker
chiefs, 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 honor theretofore restricted to royalty. But she
had a dearer honor and an honor more to be proud of, from
a humbler source : the common people had had leaden med
als 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 heav
en ; 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 Pere 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.

274

Now in order to get the flask, a most ancient ceremonial had
to be gone through with ; otherwise the Abbe 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 accou
tred, they and their steeds, to the Abbey Church as a guard
of honor to the Archbishop of Rheims and his canons, who
were to bear the King's demand for 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, \vith 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

275

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 prancing
and mincing and dancing creatures go backwards all 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 thou
sands there were steeped in dreamless slumber — why, you
could even notice the faintest sounds, like the drowsy buz
zing 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, appeared Joan and
the King. They advanced slowly, side by side, through a
tempest of welcome — explosion after explosion of cheers and
cries, mingled with the deep thunders of the organ and roll
ing tides of triumphant song from chanting choirs. Behind
Joan and the King came the Paladin with the Banner dis
played ; and a majestic figure he was, and most proud and
lofty in his bearing, for he knew that the people were mark
ing him and taking note of the gorgeous state dress which
covered his armor.

At his side was the Sire d'Albret, proxy for the Constable
of France, bearing the Sword of State.

After these, in order of rank, came a body royally attired rep
resenting the lay peers of France ; it consisted of three princes
of the blood, and La Tremouille and the young De Laval 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,

276 , .

that told you where two of them were : " Live the Bastard of
Orle'ans !" " Satan La Hire forever !"

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 ; 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 per
sonage, followed by train-bearers and other attendants, ap
proached, 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 attitud.e
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 clamoring of the bells and the boom
ing 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, oh gentle King, is the pleasure of God accomplished
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 fin-

277

ished ; 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 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, oh 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 moment,
as if trying to comprehend and realize 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 taxation forever." Where
at the silver horns blew a jubilant blast.

278

There, you see, she had had a vision of this very scene 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 "forever." Often
the gratitude of kings and nations fades and their promises
are forgotten or deliberately violated ; but you, who are chil
dren 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 burden 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 " Dom-
remi," 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 let
tered across the face of it — a touching memorial. Thus :

DOM RE MI

KIEN — LA PUCELLE

279

"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 Government,
making reverence to that name and saying to its agent, " Un
cover, and pass on ; it is France that commands" Yes, the prom
ise has been kept ; it will be kept always ; " forever " was the
King's word.*

At two o'clock in the afternoon the ceremonies of the Coro
nation came at last to an end; then the procession formed
once more, with Joan and the King at its head, and took up
its solemn march through the midst of the church, all in
struments and all people making such clamor of rejoicing
noises as was indeed a marvel to hear. And so ended the
third of the great days of Joan's life. And how close together
they stand— May 8th, June i8th, July i;th !

* It was faithfully kept during three hundred and sixty years and more ;
then the over-confident octogenarian's prophecy failed. During the tu
mult of the French Revolution the promise was forgotten and the grace
withdrawn. It has remained in disuse ever since. Joan never asked to be
remembered, but France has remembered her with an inextinguishable
love and reverence ; Joan never asked for a statue, but France has lavished
them upon her ; Joan never asked for a church for Domremy, but France
is building one ; Joan never asked for saintship, but even that is impend
ing. Everything which Joan of Arc did not ask for has been given her,
and with a noble profusion ; but the one humble little thing which she did
ask for and get, has been taken away from her. There is something in
finitely pathetic about this. France owes Domremy a hundred years of
taxes, and could hardly find a citizen within her borders who would vote
against the payment of the debt. — NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR.

CHAPTER XXXVI

WE mounted and rode, a spectacle to remember, a most
noble display of rich vestments and nodding plumes, and as
we moved between the banked multitudes they sank down all
along abreast of us as we advanced, like grain before the
reaper, and kneeling hailed with a rousing welcome the con
secrated King and his companion the Deliverer of France.
But by-and-by when we had paraded about the chief parts of
the city and were come near to the end of our course, we be
ing now approaching the Archbishop's palace, one saw on the
right, hard by the inn that is called the Zebra, a strange thing
—two men not kneeling but standing ! Standing in the front
rank of the kneelers ; unconscious, transfixed, staring. Yes,
and clothed in the coarse garb of the peasantry, these two.
Two halberdiers sprang at them in a fury to teach them better
manners ; but just as they seized them Joan cried out " For
bear !" and slid from her saddle and flung her arms about one
of those peasants, calling him by all manner of endearing
names, and sobbing. For it was her father ; and the other
was her uncle Laxart.

The news flew everywhere, and shouts of welcome were
raised, and in just one little moment those two despised and
unknown plebeians were become famous and popular and en
vied, and everybody was in a fever to get sight of them and
be able to say, all their lives long, that they had seen the
father of Joan of Arc and the brother of her mother. How
easy it was for her to do miracles like to this ! She was like
the sun ; on whatsoever dim and humble object her rays fell,
that thing was straightway drowned in glory.

All graciously the King said :

28l

" Bring them to me."

And she brought them ; she radiant with happiness and
affection, they trembling and scared, with their caps in their
shaking hands ; and there before all the world the King gave
them his hand to kiss, while the people gazed in envy and
admiration; and he said to old D'Arc —

" Give God thanks for that you are father to this child,
this dispenser of immortalities. You who bear a name that
will still live in the mouths of men when all the race of Kings
has been forgotten, it is not meet that you bare your head
before the fleeting fames and dignities of a day — cover your
self !" And truly he looked right fine and princely when he
said that. Then he gave order that the Bailly of Rheims be
brought ; and when he was come, and stood bent low and
bare, the King said to him, "These two are guests of France";
and bade him use them hospitably.

I may as well say now as later, that Papa D'Arc and La-
xart were stopping in that little Zebra inn, and that there they
remained. Finer quarters were offered them by the Bailly,
also public distinctions and brave entertainment ; but they
were frightened at these projects, they being only humble and
ignorant peasants : so they begged off, and had peace. They
could not have enjoyed such things. Poor souls, they did not
even know what to do with their hands, and it took all their
attention to keep from treading on them. The Bailly did the
best he could in the circumstances. He made the innkeeper
place a wh©le floor at their disposal, and told him to provide
everything they might desire, and charge all to the city.
Also the Bailly gave them a horse apiece, and furnishings ;
which so overwhelmed them with pride and delight and as
tonishment that they couldn't speak a word ; for in their
lives they had never dreamed of wealth like this, and could
not believe, at first, that the horses were real and would not
dissolve to a mist and blow away. They could not unglue
their minds from those grandeurs, and were always wrenching
the conversation out of its groove and dragging the matter
of animals into it, so that they could say " my horse " here,

282

and " my horse " there and yonder and all around, and taste
the words and lick their chops over them, and spread their
legs and hitch their thumbs in their armpits, and feel as the
good God feels when He looks out on His fleets of constella
tions ploughing the awful deeps of space and reflects with sat
isfaction that they are His — all His. Well, they were the hap
piest old children one ever saw, and the simplest.

The city gave a grand banquet to the King and Joan in
mid-afternoon, and to the Court and the Grand Staff; and
about the middle of it Pere d'Arc and Laxart were sent for,
but would not venture until it was promised that they might
sit in a gallery and be all by themselves and see all that was
to be seen and yet be unmolested. And so they sat there
and looked down upon the splendid spectacle, and were
moved till the tears ran down their cheeks to see the unbe
lievable honors that were paid to their small darling, and how
naively serene and unafraid she sat there with those consum
ing glories beating upon her.

But at last her serenity was broken up. Yes, it stood the
strain of the King's gracious speech; and of D'Alenc.on's
praiseful words, and the Bastard's ; and even La Hire's thun
der-blast, which took the place by storm ; but at last, as I
have said, they brought a force to bear which was too strong
for her. For at the close the King put up his hand to com
mand silence, and so waited, with his hand up, till every
sound was dead and it was as if one could almost feel the
stillness, so profound it was. Then out of some remote cor
ner of that vast place there rose a plaintive voice, and in
tones most tender and sweet and rich came floating through
that enchanted hush our poor old simple song " L'Arbre Fee
de Bourlemont!" and then Joan broke down and put her face
in her hands and cried. Yes, you see, all in a moment the
pomps and grandeurs dissolved away and she was a little
child again herding her sheep with the tranquil pastures
stretched about her, and war and wounds and blood and
death and the mad frenzy and turmoil of battle a dream. Ah,
that shows you the power of music, that magician of magi-

cians ; who lifts his wand and says his mysterious word and
all things real pass away and the phantoms of your mind
walk before you clothed in flesh.

That was the King's invention, that sweet and dear surprise.
Indeed, he had fine things hidden away in his nature, though
one seldom got a glimpse of them, with that scheming Tre-
mouille and those others always standing in the light, and
he so indolently content to save himself fuss and argument
and let them have their way.

At the fall of night we the Domremy contingent of the per
sonal staff were with the father and uncle at the inn, in their
private parlor, brewing generous drinks and breaking ground
for a homely talk about Domremy and the neighbors, when a
large parcel arrived from Joan to be kept till she came ; and
soon she came herself and sent her guard away, saying she
would take one of her father's rooms and sleep under his
roof, and so be at home again. We of the staff rose and
stood, as was meet, until she made us sit. Then she turned
and saw that the two old men had gotten up too, and were
standing in an embarrassed and unmilitary way ; which made
her want to laugh, but she kept it in, as not wishing to hurt
them ; and got them to their seats and snuggled down be
tween them, and took a hand of each of them upon her
knees and nestled her own hands in them, and said—

" Now we will have no more ceremony, but be kin and
playmates as in other times ; for I am done with the great
wars, now, and you two will take me home with you, and I shall
see — She stopped, and for a moment her happy face so
bered, as if a doubt or a presentiment had flitted through her
mind; then it cleared again, and she said, with a passionate
yearning, "Oh, if the day were but come and we could
start !"

The old father was surprised, and said —

" Why, child, are you in earnest ? Would you leave doing
these wonders that make you to be praised by everybody
while there is still so much glory to be won ; and would you
go out from this grand comradeship with princes and generals

284

to be a drudging villager again and a nobody? It is not
rational."

" No," said the uncle, Laxart, " it is amazing to hear, and
indeed not understandable. It is a stranger thing to hear
her say she will stop the soldiering than it was to hear her
say she would begin it ; and I who speak to you can say in
all truth that that was the strangest word that ever I had
heard till this day and hour. I would it could be explained."

"It is not difficult," said Joan. "I was not ever fond of
wounds and suffering, nor fitted by my nature to inflict
them ; and quarrellings did always distress me, and noise
and tumult were against my liking, my disposition being tow
ard peace and quietness, and love for all things that have
life ; and being made like this, how could I bear to think of
wars and blood, and the pain that goes with them, and the
sorrow and mourning that follow after ? But by his angels
God laid His great commands upon me, and could I disobey?
I did as I was bid. Did he command me to do many things ?
No ; only two : to raise the siege of Orleans, and crown the
King at Rheims. The task is finished, and I am free. Has
ever a poor soldier fallen in my sight, whether friend or foe,
and I not felt his pain in my own body, and the grief of his
home-mates in my own heart ? No, not one ; and, oh, it is
such bliss to know that my release is won, and that I shall
not any more see these cruel things or suffer these tortures
of the mind again ! Then why should I not go to my village
and be as I was before ? It is heaven ! and ye wonder that I
desire it. Ah, ye are men — just men! My mother would
understand."

They didn't quite know what to say; so they sat still
awhile, looking pretty vacant. Then old D'Arc said —

"Yes, your mother — that is true. I never saw such a
woman. She worries, and worries, and worries ; and wakes
nights, and lies so, thinking — that is, worrying; worrying
about you. And when the night-storms go raging along, she
moans and says, * Ah, God pity her, she is out in this with
her poor wet soldiers.' And when the lightning glares and

the thunder crashes she wrings her hands and trembles, say
ing, ' It is like the awful cannon and the flash, and yonder
somewhere she is riding down upon the spouting guns and I
not there to protect her.' "

" Ah, poor mother, it is pity, it is pity f

"Yes, a most strange woman, as I have noticed a many
times. When there is news of a victory and all the village
goes mad with pride and joy, she rushes here and there in a
maniacal frenzy till she finds out the one only thing she cares
to know — that you are safe; then down she goes on her
knees in the dirt and praises God as long as there is any
breath left in her body ; and all on your account, for she
never mentions the battle once. And always she says, ''Now
it is over — now France is saved— »0o> she will come home ' —
and always is disappointed and goes about mourning."

"Don't, father! it breaks my heart. I will be so good to
her when I get home. I will do her work for her, and be her
comfort, and she shall not suffer any more through me."

There was some more talk of this sort, then Uncle Laxart
said —

" You have done the will of God, dear, and are quits ; it is
true, and none may deny it ; but what of the King ? You are
his best soldier; what if he command you to stay?"

That was a crusher — and sudden ! It took Joan a moment
or two to recover from the shock of it ; then she said, quite
simply and resignedly :

" The King is my Lord ; I am his servant." She was silent
and thoughtful a little while, then she brightened up and
said, cheerily, " But let us drive such thoughts away — this is
no time for them. Tell me about home."

So the two old gossips talked and talked ; talked about
everything and everybody in the village ; and it was good to
hear. Joan out of her kindness tried to get us into the con
versation, but that failed, of course. She was the Command-
er-in-Chief, we were nobodies ; her name was the mightiest in
France, we were invisible atoms ; she was the comrade of
princes and heroes, we of the humble and obscure ; she held

286

rank above all Personages and all Puissances whatsoever in
the whole earth, by right of bearing her commission direct
from God. To put it in one word, she was JOAN OF ARC —
and when that is said, all is said. To us she was divine.
Between her and us lay the bridgeless abyss which that word
implies. We could not be familiar with her. No, you can
see yourselves that that would have been impossible.

And yet she was so human, too, and so good and kind and
dear and loving and cheery and charming and unspoiled and
unaffected ! Those are all the words I think of now, but
they are not enough ; no, they are too few and colorless and
meagre to tell it all, or tell the half. Those simple old men
didn't realize her ; they couldn't ; they had never known any
people but human beings, and so they had no other standard
to measure her by. To them, after their first little shyness
had worn off, she was just a girl — that was all. It was amaz
ing. It made one shiver, sometimes, to see how calm and
easy and comfortable they were in her presence, and hear
them talk to her exactly as they would have talked to any
other girl in France.

Why, that simple old Laxart sat up there and droned out
the most tedious and empty tale one ever heard, and neither
he nor Papa D'Arc ever gave a thought to the badness of the
etiquette of it, or ever suspected that that foolish tale was
anything but dignified and valuable history. There was not an
atom oLvalue in it ; and whilst they thought it distressing and
pathetic, it was in fact not pathetic at all, but actually ridicu
lous. At least it seemed so to me, and it seems so yet. Indeed
I know it was, because it made Joan laugh ; and the more sor
rowful it got the more it made her laugh ; and the Paladin
said that he could have laughed himself if she had not been
there, and Noel Rainguesson said the same. It was about
old Laxart going to a funeral there at Domremy two or three
weeks back. He had spots all over his face and hands, and
he got Joan to rub some healing ointment on them, and
while she was doing it, and comforting him, and trying to say
pitying things to him, he told her how it happened. And first

28;

he asked her if she remembered that black bull calf that she
left behind when she came away, and she said indeed she did,
and he was a dear, and she loved him so, and was he well? —
and just drowned him in questions about that creature. And
he said it was a young bull now, and very frisky; and he
was to bear a principal hand at a funeral ; and she said, "The
bull ?" and he said " No, myself" ; but said the bull did take
a hand, but not because of his being invited, for he wasn't;
but anyway he was away over beyond the Fairy Tree, and fell
asleep on the grass with his Sunday funeral clothes on, and a
long black rag on his hat and hanging down his back ; and
when he woke he saw by the sun how late it was, and not a
moment to lose; and jumped up terribly worried, and saw
the young bull grazing there, and thought maybe he could
ride part way on him and gain time ; so he tied a rope around
the bull's body to hold on by, and put a halter on him to
steer with, and jumped on and started; but it was all new to
the bull, and he was discontented with it, and scurried around
and bellowed and reared and pranced, and Uncle Laxart was
satisfied, and wanted to get off and go by the next bull or
some other way that was quieter, but he didn't dare try ; and
it was getting very warm for him, too, and disturbing and
wearisome, and not proper for Sunday ; but by-and-by the
bull lost all his temper, and went tearing down the slope with
his tail in the air and bellowing in the most awful way ; and
just in the edge of the village he knocked down some bee
hives, and the bees turned out and joined the excursion, and
soared along in a black cloud that nearly hid those other two
from sight, and prodded them both, and jabbed them and
speared them and spiked them, and made them bellow and
shriek, and shriek and bellow ; and here they came roaring
through the village like a hurricane, and took the funeral pro
cession right in the centre, and sent that section of it sprawl
ing, and galloped over it, and the rest scattered apart and fled
screeching in every direction, every person with a layer of
bees on him, and not a rag of that funeral left but the corpse;
and finally the bull broke for the river and jumped in, and

288

when they fished Uncle Laxart out he was nearly drowned, and
his face looked like a pudding with raisins in it. And then
he turned around, this old simpleton, and looked a long time
in a dazed way at Joan where she had her face in a cushion,
dying, apparently, and says —

" What do you reckon she is laughing at ?"

And old D'Arc stood looking at her the same way, sort of
absently scratching his head ; but had to give it up, and said
he didn't know — " must have been something that happened
when we weren't noticing."

Yes, both of those old people thought that that tale was pa
thetic ; whereas to my mind it was purely ridiculous, and not in
any way valuable to any one. It seemed so to me then, and it
seems so to me yet. And as for history, it does not resemble
history, for the office of history is to furnish serious and im
portant facts that teach; whereas this strange and useless
event teaches nothing; nothing that I can see, except not
to ride a bull to a funeral ; and surely no reflecting person
needs to be taught that.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Now these were nobles, you know, by decree of the King !
— these precious old infants. But they did not realize it ;
they could not be called conscious of it ; it was an abstraction,
a phantom ; to them it had no substance ; their minds could
not take hold of it. No, they did not bother about their no
bility ; they lived in their horses. The horses were solid ;
they were visible facts, and would make a mighty stir in
Domremy. Presently something was said about the Corona
tion, and old D'Arc said it was going to be a grand thing to
be able to say, when they got home, that they were present in
the very town itself when it happened. Joan looked troubled,
and said —

" Ah, that reminds me. You were here and you didn't send
me word. In the town, indeed ! Why, you could have sat
with the other nobles, and been welcome ; and could have
looked upon the crowning itself, and carried that home to tell.
Ah, why did you use me so, and send me no word ?"

The old father was embarrassed, now, quite visibly embar
rassed, and had the air of one who does not quite know what
to say. But Joan was looking up in his face, her hands upon
his shoulders — waiting. He had to speak; so presently he
drew her to his breast, which was heaving with emotion ; and
he said, getting out his words with difficulty —

" There, hide your face, child, and let your old father hum
ble himself and make his confession. I — I — don't you see,
don't you understand ? — I could not know that these gran
deurs would not turn your young head — it would be only nat
ural. I might shame you before these great per — "

" Father !"

290

"And then I was afraid, as remembering that cruel thing I
said once in my sinful anger. Oh, appointed of God to be a
soldier, and the greatest in the land ! and in my ignorant
anger I said I would drown you with my own hands if you
unsexed yourself and brought shame to your name and fam
ily. Ah, how could I ever have said it, and you so good and
dear and innocent ! I was afraid ; for I was guilty. You
understand it now, my child, and you forgive ?"

Do you see ? Even that poor groping old land-crab, with
his skull full of pulp, had pride. Isn't it wonderful ? And
more — he had conscience; he had a sense of right and
wrong, such as it was ; he was able to feel remorse. It looks
impossible, it looks incredible, but it is not. I believe that
some day it will be found out that peasants are people. Yes,
beings in a great many respects like ourselves. And I believe
that some day they will find this out, too— and then ! Well,
then I think they will rise up and demand to be regarded as
part of the race, and that by consequence there will be trouble.
Whenever one sees in a book or in a king's proclamation
those words " the nation," they bring before us the upper
classes ; only those ; we know no other " nation"; for us and
the kings no other "nation" exists. But from the day that
I saw old D'Arc the peasant acting and feeling just as I
should have acted and felt myself, I have carried the con
viction in my heart that our peasants are not merely animals,
beasts of burden put here by the good God to produce food
and comfort for the " nation," but something more and better.
You look incredulous. Well, that is your training; it is the
training of everybody ; but as for me, I thank that incident
for giving me a better light, and I have never forgotten it.

Let me see — where was I ? One's mind wanders around^
here and there and yonder, when one is old. I think I said
Joan comforted him. Certainly, that is what she would do —
there was no need to say that. She coaxed him and petted
him and caressed him, and laid the memory of that old hard
speech of his to rest. Laid it to rest until she 'should be
dead. Then he would remember it again — yes, yes ! Lord,

291

how those things sting, and burn, and gnaw — the things
which we did against the innocent dead ! And we say in our
anguish, " If they could only come back !" Which is all very
well to say, but as far as I can see, it doesn't profit anything.
In my opinion the best way is not to do the thing in the first
place. And I am not alone in this ; I have heard our two
knights say the same thing ; and a man there in Orleans —
no, I believe it was at Beaugency, or one of those places — it
seems more as if it was at Beaugency than the others — this
man said the same thing exactly ; almost the same words ; a
dark man with a cast in his eye and one leg shorter than the
other. His name was — was — it is singular that I can't call
that man's name ; I had it in my mind only a moment ago,
and I know it begins with — no, I don't remember what it
begins with ; but never mind, let it go ; I will think of it pres
ently, and then I will tell you.

Well, pretty soon the old father wanted to know how Joan
felt when she was in the thick of a battle, with the bright
blades hacking and flashing all around her, and the blows rap
ping and slatting on her shield, and blood gushing on her
from the cloven ghastly face and broken teeth of the neighbor
at her elbow, and the perilous sudden back surge of massed
horses upon a person when the front ranks give way before a
heavy rush of the enemy, and men tumble limp and groaning
out of saddles all around, and battle-flags falling from dead
hands wipe across one's face and hide the tossing turmoil a
moment, and in the reeling and swaying and laboring jumble
one's horse's hoofs sink into soft substances and shrieks of
pain respond, and presently — panic! rush! swarm! flight!
and death and hell following after ! And the old fellow got
ever so much excited ; and strode up and down, his tongue
going like a mill, asking question after question and never
waiting for an answer ; and finally he stood Joan up in the
middle of the room and stepped off and scanned her critical
ly, and said —

" No — I don't understand it. You are so little. So little
and slender. When you had your armor on, to-day, it gave

292

one a sort of notion of it ; but in these pretty silks and vel
vets, you are only a dainty page, not a league-striding war-
colossus, moving in clouds and darkness and breathing smoke
and thunder. I would God I might see you at it and go tell
your mother ! That would help her sleep, poor thing ! Here
—teach me the arts of the soldier, that I may explain them
to her."

And she did it. She gave him a pike, and put him through
the manual of arms ; and made him do the steps, too. His
inarching was incredibly awkward and slovenly, and so was
his drill with the pike ; but he didn't know it, and was won
derfully pleased with himself, and mightily excited and
charmed with the ringing, crisp words of command. I am
obliged to say that if looking proud and happy when one is
marching were sufficient, he would have been the perfect
soldier.

And he wanted a lesson in sword-play, and got it. But of
course that was beyond him ; he was too old. It was beau
tiful to see Joan handle the foils, but the old man was a bad
failure. He was afraid of the things, and skipped and dodged
and scrambled around like a woman who has lost her mind
on account of the arrival of a bat. He was of no good as an
exhibition. But if La Hire had only come in, that would have
been another matter. Those two fenced often ; I saw them
many times. True, Joan was easily his master, but it made a
good show for all that, for La Hire was a grand swordsman.
What a swift creature Joan was ! You would see her stand
ing erect with her ankle-bones together and her foil arched
over her head, the hilt in one hand and the button in the
other — the old general opposite, bent forward, left hand re
posing on his back, his foil advanced, slightly wiggling and
squirming, his watching eye boring straight into hers — and
all of a sudden she would give a spring forward, and back
again ; and there she was, with the foil arched over her head
as before. La Hire had been hit, but all that the spectator
saw of it was a something like a thin flash of light in the air,
but nothing distinct, nothing definite.

293

We kept the drinkables moving, for that would please the
Bailly and the landlord ; and old Laxart and D'Arc got to
feeling quite comfortable, but without being what you could
call tipsy. They got out the presents which they had been
buying to carry home — humble things and cheap, but they
would be fine there, and welcome. And they gave to Joan a
present from Pere Fronte and one from her mother — the one
a little leaden image of the Holy Virgin, the other half a yard
of blue silk ribbon ; and she was as pleased as a child ; and
touched, too, as one could see plainly enough. Yes, she
kissed those poor things over and over again, as if they had
been something costly and wonderful ; and she pinned the
Virgin on her doublet, and sent for her helmet and tied the
ribbon on that ; first one way, then another ; then a new way,
then another new way; and with each effort perching the
helmet on her hand and holding it off this way and that, and
canting her head to one side and then the other, examining
the effect, as a bird does when it has got a new bug. And
she said she could almost wish she was going to the wars
again ; for then she would fight with the better courage, as
having always with her something which her mother's touch
had blessed.

Old Laxart said he hoped she would go to the wars again,
but home first, for that all the people there were cruel airx-
ious to see her — and so he went on :

" They are proud of you, dear. Yes, prouder than any vil
lage ever was of anybody before. And indeed it is right and
rational ; for it is the first time a village has ever had any
body like you to be proud of and call its own. And it is
strange and beautiful how they try to give your name to every
creature that has a set that is convenient. It is but half a
year since you began to be spoken of and left us, and so it is
surprising to see how many babies there are already in that
region that are named for you. First it was just Joan ; then
it was Joan-Orleans; then Joan-Orleans-Beaugency-Patay ;
and now the next ones will have a lot of towns and the Coro
nation added, of course. Yes, and the animals the same.

294

They know how you love animals, and so they try to do you
honor and show their love for you by naming all those creat
ures after you ; insomuch that if a body should step out and
call * Joan of Arc — come !' there would be a landslide of cats
and all such things, each supposing it was the one wanted,
and all willing to take the benefit of the doubt, anyway, for
the sake of the food that might be on delivery. The kitten
you left behind — the last estray you fetched home — bears your
name, now, and belongs to Pere Fronte, and is the pet and
pride of the village ; and people have come miles to look at
it and pet it and stare at it and wonder over it because it was
Joan of Arc's cat. Everybody will tell you that ; and one
day when a stranger threw a stone at it, not knowing it was
your cat, the village rose against him as one man and hanged
him ! And but for Pere Fronte —

There was an interruption. It was a messenger from the
King, bearing a note for Joan, which I read to her, saying
he had reflected, and had consulted his other generals, and
was obliged to ask her to remain at the head of the army
and withdraw her resignation. Also, would she come imme
diately and attend a council of war ? Straightway, at a little
distance, military commands and the rumble of drums broke
on the still night, and we knew that her guard was approach
ing.

Deep disappointment clouded her face for just one moment
and no more — it passed, and with it the homesick girl, and
she was Joan of Arc, Commander-in-Chief again, and ready
for duty.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

IN my double quality of page and secretary I followed Joan
to the council. She entered that presence with the bearing
of a grieved goddess. What was become of the volatile child
that so lately was enchanted with a ribbon and suffocated
with laughter over the distresses of a foolish peasant who had
stormed a funeral on the back of a bee-stung bull ? One may
not guess. Simply it was gone, and had left no sign. She
moved straight to the council-table, and stood. Her glance
swept from face to face there, and where it fell, these it lit as
with a torch, those it scorched as with a brand. She knew
where to strike. She indicated the generals with a nod, and
said —

" My business is not with you. You have not craved a
council of war." Then she turned toward the King's privy
council, and continued : " No ; it is with you. A council of
war ! It is amazing. There is but one thing to do, and only
one, and lo, ye call a council of war ! Councils of war have
no value but to decide between two or several doubtful courses.
But a council of war when there is only one course ? Conceive
of a man in a boat and his family in the water, and he goes out
among his friends to ask what he would better do ? A coun
cil of war, name of God ! To determine what ?"

She stopped, and turned till her eyes rested upon the face
of La Tremouille ; and so she stood, silent, measuring him,
the excitement in all faces burning steadily higher and higher,
and all pulses beating faster and faster ; then she said, with
deliberation —

"Every sane man — whose loyalty to his King is not a show
and a pretence — knows that there is but one rational thing
before us — the march upon Paris T

296

Down came the fist of La Hire with an approving crash
upon the table. La Tremouille turned white with anger, but
he pulled himself firmly together and held his peace. The
King's lazy blood was stirred and his eye kindled finely, for the
spirit of war was away down in him somewhere, and a frank
bold speech always found it and made it tingle gladsomely.
Joan waited to see if the chief minister might wish to defend
his position ; but he was experienced and wise, and not a man
to waste his forces where the current was against him. He
would wait ; the King's private ear would be at his disposal
by-and-by.

That pious fox the Chancellor of France took the word
now. He washed his soft hands together, smiling persua
sively, and said to Joan :

" Would it be courteous, your Excellency, to move abruptly
from here without waiting for an answer from the Duke of
Burgundy ? You may not know that we are negotiating with
his Highness, and that there is likely to be a fortnight's truce
between us ; and on his part a pledge to deliver Paris into our
hands without cost of a blow or the fatigue, of a march thither."

Joan turned to him and said, gravely —

" This is not a confessional, my lord. You were not obliged
to expose that shame here."

The Chancellor's face reddened, and he retorted—

" Shame? What is there shameful about it ?"

Joan answered in level, passionless tones —

" One may describe it without hunting far for words. I
knew of this poor comedy, my lord, although it was not in
tended that I should know. It is to the credit of the devisers
of it that they tried to conceal it — this comedy whose text and
impulse are describable in two words."

'The Chancellor spoke up with a fine irony in his man
ner :

" Indeed ? And will your Excellency be good enough to
utter them ?"

" Cowardice and treachery !"

The fists of all the generals came down this time, and again

297

the King's eye sparkled with pleasure. The Chancellor sprang
to his feet and appealed to his Majesty —

" Sire, I claim your protection."

But the King waved him to his seat again, saying —

" Peace. She had a right to be consulted before that thing
was undertaken, since it concerned war as well as politics.
It is but just that she be heard upon it now."

The Chancellor sat down trembling with indignation, and
remarked to Joan —

" Out of charity I will consider that you did not know who
devised this measure which you condemn in so candid lan
guage."

" Save your charity for another occasion, my lord," said
Joan, as calmly as before. " Whenever anything is done to
injure the interests and degrade the honor of France, all but
the dead know how to name the two conspirators-in-chief."

" Sire, sire ! this insinuation — "

"It is not an insinuation, my lord," said Joan, placidly, "it
is a charge. I bring it against the King's chief minister and
his Chancellor."

Both men were on their feet now, insisting that the King
modify Joan's frankness ; but he was not minded to do it.
His ordinary councils were stale water — his spirit was drink
ing wine, now, and the taste of it was good. He said —

" Sit — and be patient. What is fair for one must in fair
ness be allowed the other. Consider — and be just. When
have you two spared her ? What dark charges and harsh
names have you withheld when you spoke of her?" Then he
added, with a veiled twinkle in his eye, " If these are offences
I see no particular difference between them, except that she
says her hard things to your faces, whereas you say yours be
hind her back."

He was pleased with that neat shot and the way it shrivelled
those two people up, and made La Hire laugh out loud and
the other generals softly quake and chuckle. Joan tran
quilly resumed —

" From the first, we have been hindered by this policy of

298

shilly-shally ; this fashion of counselling and counselling and
counselling where no counselling is needed, but only fighting.
We took Orleans on the 8th of May, and could have cleared
the region round about in three days and saved the slaughter
of Patay. We could have been in Rheims six weeks ago,
and in Paris now; and would see the last Englishman pass
out of France in half a year. But we struck no blow after
Orleans, but went off into the country — what for ? Ostensibly
to hold councils ; really to give Bedford time to send re-en-
forcernents to Talbot — which he did ; and Patay had to be
fought. After Patay, more counselling, more waste of pre
cious time. O my King, I would that you would be persuaded !"
She began to warm up, now. " Once more we have our op
portunity. If we rise and strike, all is well. Bid me march
upon Paris. In twenty days it shall be yours, and in six
months all France ! Here is half a year's work before
us ; if this chance be wasted, I give you twenty years to
do it in. Speak the word, O gentle King — speak but the
one—"

" I cry you mercy !" interrupted the Chancellor, who saw a
dangerous enthusiasm rising in the King face. " March upon
Paris ? Does your Excellency forget that the way bristles
with English strongholds ?"

" That for your English strongholds !" and Joan snapped
her fingers scornfully. " Whence have we marched in these
last days ? From Gien. And whither? To Rheims. What
bristled between ? English strongholds. What are they now ?
French ones — and they never cost a blow !" Here applause
broke out from the group of generals, and Joan had to pause
a moment to let it subside. " Yes, English strongholds bris
tled before us ; now French eSle bristle behind us. What is
the argument? A child can read it. The strongholds be
tween us and Paris are garrisoned by no new breed of Eng
lish, but by the same breed as those others — with the same
fears, the same questionings, the same weaknesses, the same
disposition to see the heavy hand of God descending upon
them. We have but to march ! — on the instant — and they are

299

ours, Paris is ours, France is ours ! Give the word, O my
King, command your servant to — "

" Stay !" cried the Chancellor. " It would be madness to
put this affront upon his Highness the Duke of Burgundy.
By the treaty which we have every hope to make with him —

" O, the treaty which we hope to make with him ! He has
scorned you for years, and defied you. Is it your subtle per
suasions that have softened his manners and beguiled him to
listen to proposals ? No ; it was blows ! — the blows which we
gave him ! That is the only teaching that that sturdy rebel
can understand. What does he care for wind? The treaty
which we hope to make with him — alack ! He deliver Paris !
There is no pauper in the land that is less able to do it. He
deliver Paris ! Ah, but that would make great Bedford
smile ! Oh, the pitiful pretext ! the blind can see that this
thin pourparler with its fifteen-day truce has no purpose but
to give Bedford time to hurry forward his forces against us.
More treachery — always treachery! We call a council of
war — with nothing to counsel about; but Bedford calls no
council to teach him what our one course is. He knows what
he would do in our place. He would hang his traitors and
march upon Paris ! O gentle King, rouse ! The way is
open, Paris beckons, France implores. Speak and we —

" Sire, it is madness, sheer madness ! Your Excellency, we
cannot, we must not go back from what we have done ; we have
proposed to treat, we must treat with the Duke of Burgundy."

"And we will 7" said Joan.

" Ah ? How ?"

"At the point of the lance T

The house rose, to a man — all that had French hearts — and
let go a crash of applause — and kept it up ; and in the midst of
it one heard La Hire growl out: "At the point of the lance !
By God, that is the music !" The King was up, too, and drew
his sword, and took it by the blade and strode to Joan and
delivered the hilt of it into her hand, saying —

"There, the King surrenders. Carry it to Paris."

And so the applause burst out again, and the historical
council of war that has bred so many legends was over.

CHAPTER XXXIX

IT was away past midnight, and had been a tremendous
day in the matter of excitement and fatigue, but that was no
matter to Joan when there was business on hand. She did
not think of bed. The generals followed her to her official
quarters, and she delivered her orders to them as fast as she
could talk, and they sent them off to their different commands
as fast as delivered ; wherefore the messengers galloping
hither and thither raised a world of clatter and racket in the
still streets ; and soon were added to this the music of distant
bugles and the roll of drums — notes of preparation ; for the
vanguard would break camp at dawn.

The generals were soon dismissed, but I wasn't ; nor
Joan ; for it was my turn to work, now. Joan walked the
floor and dictated a summons to the Duke of Burgundy to
lay down his arms and make peace and exchange pardons
with the King ; or, if he must fight, go fight the Saracens.
"Pardonnez-vous Tun h 1'autre de bon cceur, entierement,
ainsi que doivent faire loyaux chre'tiens, et, s'il vous plait de
guerroyer, allez contre les Sarrasins." It was long, but it
was good, and had the sterling ring to it. It is my opinion
that it was as fine and simple and straightforward and elo
quent a state paper as she ever uttered.

It was delivered into the hands of a courier, and he gal
loped away with it. Then Joan dismissed me, and told me to
go to the inn and stay ; and in the morning give to her father
the parcel which she had left there. It contained presents
for the Domremy relatives and friends and a peasant dress
which she had bought for herself. She said she would say
good-bye to her father and uncle in the morning if it should

301

still be their purpose to go, instead of tarrying awhile to see
the city.

I didn't say anything, of course ; but I could have said that
wild horses couldn't keep those men in that town half a day.
They waste the glory of being the first to carry the great news
to Domremy — the taxes remitted forever ! — and hear the bells
clang and clatter, and the people cheer and shout ? Oh, not
they. Patay and Orleans and the Coronation were events
which in a vague way these men understood to be colossal ;
but they were colossal mists, films, abstractions : this was a
gigantic reality !

When I got there, do you suppose they were abed ! Quite
the reverse. They and the rest were as mellow as mellow
could be ; and the Paladin was doing his battles over in
great style, and the old peasants were endangering the build
ing with their applause. He was doing Patay now ; and was
bending his big frame forward and laying out the positions
and movements with a rake here and a rake there of his
formidable sword on the floor, and the peasants were stooped
over with their hands on their spread knees observing with
excited eyes and ripping out ejaculations of wonder and ad
miration all along :

" Yes, here we were, waiting — waiting for the word; our
horses fidgeting and snorting and dancing to get away, we
lying back on the bridles till our bodies fairly slanted to the
rear; the word rang out at last — lGof and we went !

"Went? There was nothing like it ever seen ! Where we
swept by squads of scampering English, the mere wind of our
passage laid them flat in piles and rows ! Then we plunged
into the ruck of Fastolfe's frantic battle - corps and tore
through it like a hurricane, leaving a causeway of the dead
stretching far behind ; no tarrying, no slacking rein, but on !
on ! on ! far yonder in the distance lay our prey — Talbot and
his host looming vast and dark like a storm-cloud brooding
on the sea ! Down we swooped upon them, glooming all the
air with a quivering pall of dead leaves flung up by the whirl
wind of our flight. In another moment we should have struck

3Q2 -

them as world strikes world when clisorbited constellations
crash into the Milky Way, but by misfortune and the inscruta
ble dispensation of God I was recognized! Talbot turned
white, and shouting, ' Save yourselves, it is the Standard-
bearer of Joan of Arc !' drove his spurs home till they met
in the middle of his horse's entrails, and fled the field with
his billowing multitudes at his back ! I could have cursed
myself for not putting on a disguise. I saw reproach in
the eyes of her Excellency, and was bitterly ashamed. I
had caused what seemed an irreparable disaster. Another
might have gone aside to grieve, as not seeing any way to
mend it; but I thank God I am not of those. Great occa
sions only summon as with a trumpet-call the slumbering re
serves of my intellect. I saw my opportunity in an instant —
in the next I was away! Through the woods I vanished —
fst! — like an extinguished light! Away around through the
curtaining forest I sped, as if on wings, none knowing what
was become of me, none suspecting my design. Minute
after minute passed, on and on I flew ; on, and still on ; and
at last with a great cheer I flung my Banner to the breeze
and burst out in front of Talbot ! Oh, it was a mighty
thought! That weltering chaos of distracted men whirled
and surged backward like a tidal wave which has struck a
continent, and the day was ours ! Poor helpless creatures,
they were in a trap ; they were surrounded ; they could not
escape to the rear, for there was our army ; they could not
escape to the front, for there was I. Their hearts shrivelled
in their bodies, their hands fell listless at their sides. They
stood still, and at our leisure we slaughtered them to a man ;
all except Talbot and Fasto^e, whom I saved and brought
away, one under each arm."

Well, there is no denying it, the Paladin was in great form
that night. Such style! such noble grace of gesture, such
grandeur of attitude, such energy when he got going ! such
steady rise, on such sure wing, such nicely graduated expen
ditures of voice according to weight of matter, such skilfully
calculated approaches to his surprises and explosions, such

303

belief-compelling sincerity of tone and manner, such a climax
ing peal from his brazen lungs, and such a lightning-vivid pict
ure of his mailed form and flaunting banner when he burst
out before that despairing army ! And oh, the gentle art of
the last half of his last sentence — delivered in the careless
and indolent tone of one who has finished his real story, and
only adds a colorless and inconsequential detail because it
has happened to occur to him in a lazy way.

It was a marvel to see those innocent peasants. Why, they
went all to pieces with enthusiasm, and roared out applauses
fit to raise the roof and wake the dead. When they had
cooled down at last and there was silence but for their heav
ing and panting, old Laxart said, admiringly —

" As it seems to me, you are an army in your single per
son."

"Yes, that is what he is," said Noel Rainguesson, convinc
ingly. "He is a terror; and not just in this vicinity. His
mere name carries a shudder with it to distant lands — just his
mere name ; and when he frowns, the shadow of it falls as far
as Rome, and the chickens go to roost an hour before sched
ule time. Yes ; and some say —

" Noel Rainguesson, you are preparing yourself for trouble.
I will say just one word to you, and it will be to your advan
tage to—"

I saw that the usual thing had got a start. No man could
prophesy when it would end. So I delivered Joan's message
and went off to bed.

Joan made her good-byes to those old fellows in the morn
ing, with loving embraces and many tears, and with a packed
multitude for sympathizers, and they rode proudly away on
their precious horses to carry their great news home. I had
seen better riders, I will say that ; for horsemanship was a
new art to them.

The vanguard moved out at dawn and took the road, with
bands braying, and banners flying; the second division fol
lowed at eight. Then came the Burgundian ambassadors,
and lost us the rest of that day and the whole of the next.

304

But Joan was on hand, and so they had their journey for their
pains. The rest of us took the road at dawn, next morning,
July 2oth. And got how far? Six leagues. Tremouille was
getting in his sly work with the vacillating King, you see. The
King stopped at St. Marcoul and prayed three days. Pre
cious time lost — for us ; precious time gained for Bedford.
He would know how to use it.

We could not go on without the King ; that would be to
leave him in the conspirators' camp. Joan argued, reasoned,
implored ; and at last we got under way again.

Joan's prediction was verified. It was not a campaign, it
was only another holiday excursion. English strongholds
lined our route ; they surrendered without a blow ; we garri
soned them with Frenchmen and passed on. Bedford was on
the march against us with his new army by this time, and on
the 25th of July the hostile forces faced each other and made
preparation for battle; but Bedford's good judgment pre
vailed, and he turned and retreated toward Paris. Now was
our chance. Our men were in great spirits.

Will you believe it ? Our poor stick of a King allowed his
worthless advisers to persuade him to start back for Gien,
whence we had set out when we first marched for Rheims and
the Coronation ! And we actually did start back. The fif
teen-day truce had just been concluded with the Duke of Bur
gundy, and we would go and tarry at Gien until he should de
liver Paris to us without a fight.

We marched to Bray ; then the King changed his mind once
more, and with it his face toward Paris. Joan dictated a let
ter to the citizens of Rheims to encourage them to keep heart
in spite of the truce, and promising to stand by them. She
furnished them the news herself that the King had made this
truce ; and in speaking of it she was her usual frank self.
She said she was not satisfied with it, and didn't know wheth
er she would keep it or not ; that if she kept it, it would be
solely out of tenderness for the King's honor. All French
children know those famous words. How naive they are !
" De cette treve qui a ete faite, je ne suis pas contente, et je

305

ne sais si je la tiendrai. Si je la tiens, ce sera seulement pour
garder 1'honneur du roi." But in any case, she said, she
would not allow the blood royal to be abused, and would keep
the army in good order and ready for work at the end of the
truce.

Poor child, to have to fight England, Burgundy, and a
French conspiracy all at the same time — it was too bad. She
was a match for the others, but a conspiracy — ah, nobody is
a match for that, when the victim that is to be injured is weak
and willing. It grieved her, these troubled days, to be so
hindered and delayed and baffled, and at times she was sad
and the tears lay near the surface. Once, talking with her
good old faithful friend and servant the Bastard of Orleans,
she said —

" Ah, if it might but please God to let me put off this steel
raiment and go back to my father and my mother, and tend
my sheep again with my sister and my brothers, who would
be so glad to see me !"

By the i2th of August we were camped near Dampmartin.
Later we had a brush with Bedford's rear-guard, and had
hopes of a big battle on the morrow, but Bedford and all his
force got away in the night and went on toward Paris.

Charles sent heralds and received the submission of Beau-
vais. The Bishop Pierre Cauchon, that faithful friend and
slave of the English, was not able to prevent it, though he did
his best. He was obscure then, but his name was to travel
round the globe presently, and live forever in the curses of
France ! Bear with me now, while I spit in fancy upon his
grave.

Compiegne surrendered, and hauled down the English flag.
On the 1 4th we camped two leagues from Senlis. Bedford
turned and approached, and took up a strong position. We
went against him, but all our efforts to beguile him out
from his intrenchments failed, though he had promised us
a duel in the open field. Night shut down. Let him look
out for the morning ! But in the morning he was gone
again.

3Q6

We entered Compiegne the iSth of August, turning out the
English garrison and hoisting our own flag.

On the 23d Joan gave command to move upon Paris. The
King and the clique were not satisfied with this, and retired
sulking to Senlis, which had just surrendered. Within a few
days many strong places submitted — Creil, Pont-Saint-Max-
ence, Choisy, Gournay-sur-Aronde, Remy, La Neufville-en-
Hez, Moguay, Chantilly, Saintines. The English power was
tumbling, crash after crash ! And still the King sulked and
disapproved, and was afraid of our movement against the cap
ital.

On the 26th of August, 1429, Joan camped at Saint Denis ;
in effect, under the walls of Paris.

And still the King hung back and was afraid. If we could
but have had him there to back us with his authority ! Bed
ford had lost heart and decided to waive resistance and £o

and concentrate his strength in the best and loyalest province
remaining to him — Normandy. Ah, if we could only have
persuaded the King to come and countenance us with his
presence and approval at this supreme moment !

CHAPTER XL

COURIER after courier was despatched to the King, and he
promised to come, but didn't. The Duke d'Alengon went to
him and got his promise again, which he broke again. Nine
days were lost thus ; then he came, arriving at St. Denis
September yth.

Meantime the enemy had begun to take heart : the spirit
less conduct of the King could have no other result. Prepa
rations had now been made to defend the city. Joan's chances
had been diminished, but she and her generals considered
them plenty good enough yet. Joan ordered the attack for
eight o'clock next morning, and at that hour it began.

Joan placed her artillery and began to pound a strong work
which protected the gate St. Honore'. When it was sufficient
ly crippled the assault was sounded at noon, and it was car
ried by storm. Then we moved forward to storm the gate
itself, and hurled ourselves against it again and again, Joan
in the lead with her standard at her side, the smoke envelop
ing us in choking clouds, and the missiles flying over us and
through us as thick as hail.

In the midst of our last assault, which would have carried
the gate sure and given us Paris and in effect France, Joan
was struck down by a crossbow bolt, and our men fell back
instantly and almost in a panic — for what were they without
her ? She was the army, herself.

Although disabled, she refused to retire, and begged that a
new assault be made, saying it must win ; and adding, with
the battle-light rising in her eyes, " I will take Paris now or
die !" She had to be carried away by force, and this was
done by Gaucourt and the Duke d'Alengon.

308

But her spirits were at the very top notch, now. She was
brimming with enthusiasm. She said she would be carried
before the gate in the morning, and in half an hour Paris
would be ours without any question. She could have kept
her word. About this there is no doubt. But she forgot one
factor — the King, shadow of that substance named La Tre-
mouille. The King forbade the attempt !

You see, a new Embassy had just come from the Duke of
Burgundy, and another sham private trade of some sort was
on foot.

You would know, without my telling you, that Joan's heart
was nearly broken. Because of the pain of her wound and
the pain at her heart she slept little that night. Several times
the watchers heard muffled sobs from the dark room where
she lay at St. Denis, and many times the grieving words
"It could have been taken! — it could have been taken!"
which were the only ones she said.

She dragged herself out of bed a day later with a new
hope. D'Alengon had thrown a bridge across the Seine near
St. Denis. Might she not cross by that and assault Paris at
another point? But the King got wind of it and broke the
bridge down! And more — he declared the campaign ended !
And more still — he had made a new truce and a long one,
in which he had agreed to leave Paris unthreatened and un
molested, and go back to the Loire whence he had come !

Joan of Arc, who had never been defeated by the enemy,
was defeated by her own King. She had said once that all
she feared for her cause was treachery. It had struck its
first blow now. She hung up her white armor in the royal
basilica of St. Denis, and went and asked the King to relieve
her of her functions and let her go home. As usual, she was
wise. Grand combinations, far-reaching great military moves
were at an end, now \ for the future, when the truce should
end, the war would be merely a war of random and idle skir
mishes, apparently ; work suitable for subalterns, and not re
quiring the supervision of a sublime military genius. But the
King would not let her go. The truce did not embrace all

France ; there were French strongholds to be watched and
preserved ; he would need her. Really, you see, Tremouille
wanted to keep her where he could balk and hinder her.

Now came her Voices again. They said, "Remain at St.
Denis" There was no explanation. They did not say why.
That was the voice of God ; it took precedence of the com
mand of the King; Joan resolved to stay. But that filled
La Tremouille with dread. She was too tremendous a force
to be left to herself ; she would surely defeat all his plans.
He beguiled the King to use compulsion. Joan had to sub
mit — because she was wounded and helpless. In the Great
Trial she said she was carried away against her will; and that
if she had not been wounded it could not have been accom
plished. Ah, she had a spirit, that slender girl ! a spirit to
brave all earthly powers and defy them. We shall never
know why the Voices ordered her to stay. We only know
this : that if she could have obeyed, the history of France
would not be as it now stands written in the books. Yes, well
we know that.

On the i3th of September the army, sad and spiritless,
turned its face toward the Loire, and marched — without mu
sic ! Yes, one noted that detail. It was a funeral march ;
that is what it was. A long, dreary funeral march, with never
a shout or a cheer ; friends looking on in tears, all the way,
enemies laughing. We reached Gien at last — that place
whence we had set out on our splendid march toward Rheims
less than three months before, with flags flying, bands playing,
the victory-flush of Patay glowing in our faces, and the massed
multitudes shouting and praising and giving us God-speed.
There was a dull rain falling now, the day was dark, the heav
ens mourned, the spectators were few, we had no welcome but
the welcome of silence, and pity, and tears.

Then the King disbanded that noble army of heroes ; it
furled its flags, it stored its arms : the disgrace of France was
complete. La Tremouille wore the victor's crown ; Joan of
Arc, the unconquerable, was conquered.

CHAPTER XLI

YES, it was as I have said : Joan had Paris and France in
her grip, and the Hundred Years' War under her heel, and the
King made her open her fist and take away her foot.

Now followed about eight months of drifting about with
the King and his council, and his gay and showy and dancing
and flirting and hawking and frolicking and serenading and
dissipating court — drifting from town to town and from castle
to castle — a life which was pleasant to us of the personal
staff, but not to Joan. However, she only saw it, she didn't
live it. The King did his sincerest best to make her happy,
and showed a most kind and constant anxiety in this matter.
All others had to go loaded with the chains of an exacting
court etiquette, but she was free, she was privileged. So that
she paid her duty to the King once a day and passed the pleas
ant word, nothing further was required of her. Naturally,
then, she made herself a hermit, and grieved the weary days
through in her own apartments, with her thoughts and devo
tions for company, and the planning of new forever unrealiz
able military combinations for entertainment. In fancy she
moved bodies of men from this and that and the other point,
so calculating the distances to be covered, the time required
for each body, and the nature of the country to be traversed,
as to have them appear in sight of each other on a given day
or at a given hour and concentrate for battle. It was her
only game, her only relief from her burden of sorrow and in
action. She played it hour after hour, as others play chess ;
and lost herself in it, and so got repose for her mind and heal
ing for her heart.

She never complained, of course. It was not her way. She

was the sort that endure in silence. But — she was a caged
eagle just the same, and pined for the free air and the alpine
heights and the fierce joys of the storm.

France was full of rovers — disbanded soldiers ready for
anything that might turn up. Several times, at intervals,
when Joan's dull captivity grew too heavy to bear, she was
allowed to gather a troop of cavalry and make a health-
restoring dasli against the enemy. These things were like a
bath to her spirits.

It was like old times, there at Saint-Pierre-le-Moutier, to see
her lead assault after assault, be driven back again and again,
but always rally and charge anew, all in a blaze of eagerness
and delight; till at last the tempest of missiles rained so intol
erably thick that old D'Aulon, who was wounded, sounded the
retreat (for the King had charged him on his head to let no
harm come to Joan) ; and away everybody rushed after him —
as he supposed ; but when he turned and looked, there were
we of the staff still hammering away ; wherefore he rode back
and urged her to come, saying she was mad to stay there with
only a dozen men. Her eye danced merrily, and she turned
upon him crying out —

"A dozen men ! name of God, I have fifty thousand, and
will never budge till this place is taken ! Sound the charge !"

Which he did, and over the walls we went, and the fortress
was ours. Old D'Aulon thought her mind was wandering;
but all she meant was, that she felt the might of fifty thou
sand men surging in her heart. It was a fanciful expression ;
but, to my thinking, truer word was never said.

Then there was the affair near Lagny, where we charged
the intrenched Burgundians through the open field four times,
the last time victoriously ; the best prize of it Franquet d' Ar
ras, the freebooter and pitiless scourge of the region round
about.

Now and then other such affairs ; and at last, away toward
the end of May, 1430, we were in the neighborhood of Com-
piegne, and Joan resolved to go to the help of that place,
which was being besieged by the Duke of Burgundy.

I had been wounded lately, and was not able to ride with
out help ; but the good Dwarf took me on behind him, and I
held on to him and was safe enough. We started at midnight,
in a sullen downpour of warm rain, and went slowly and softly
and in dead silence, for we had to slip through the enemy's
lines. We were challenged only once ; we made no answer,
but held our breath and crept steadily and stealthily along,
and got through without any accident. About three or half
past we reached Compiegne, just as the gray dawn was break
ing in the east.

Joan set to work at once, and concerted a plan with Guil-
laume de Flavy, captain of the city — a plan for a sortie toward
evening against the enemy, who was posted in three bodies on
the other side of the Oise, in the level plain. From our side
one of the city gates communicated with a bridge. The end of
this bridge was defended on the other side of the river by one
of those fortresses called a boulevard ; and this boulevard also
commanded a raised road, which stretched from its front across
the plain to the village of Marguy. A force of Burgundians
occupied Marguy ; another was camped at Clairoix, a couple
of miles above the raised road ; and a body of English was
holding Venette, a mile and a half below it. A kind of bow-
and-arrow arrangement, you see : the causeway the arrow, the
boulevard at the feather-end of it, Marguy at the barb, Ve
nette at one end of the bow, Clairoix at the other.

Joan's plan was to go straight per causeway against Mar-
guy, carry it by assault, then turn swiftly upon Clairoix, up to
the right, and capture that camp in the same way, then face
to the rear and be ready for heavy work, for the Duke of Bur
gundy lay behind Clairoix with a reserve. Flavy's lieutenant,
with archers and the artillery of the boulevard, was to keep
the English troops from coming up from below and seizing the
causeway and cutting off Joan's retreat in case she should
have to make one. Also, a fleet of covered boats was to be
stationed near the boulevard as an additional help in case a
retreat should become necessary.

It was the 24th of May. At four in the afternoon Joan

moved out at the head of six hundred cavalry — on her last
march in this life !

It breaks my heart. I had got myself helped up on to the
walls, and from there I saw much that happened, the rest was
told me long afterwards by our two knights and other eye-wit
nesses. Joan crossed the bridge, and soon left the boulevard
behind her and went skimming away over the raised road with
her horsemen clattering at her heels. She had on a brilliant
silver-gilt cape over her armor, and I could see it flap and
flare and rise and fall like a little patch of white flame.

It was a bright day, and one could see far and wide over
that plain. Soon we saw the English force advancing, swiftly
and in handsome order, the sunlight flashing from its arms.

Joan crashed into the Burgundians at Marguy and was re
pulsed. Then we saw the other Burgundians moving down
from Clairoix. Joan rallied her men and charged again, and
was again rolled back. Two assaults occupy a good deal of
time — and time was precious here. The English were ap
proaching the road, now, from Venette, but the boulevard
opened fire on them and they were checked. Joan heartened
her men with inspiring words and led them to the charge
again in great style. This time she carried Marguy with a
hurrah. Then she turned at once to the right and plunged
into the plain and struck the Clairoix force, which was just
arriving; then there was heavy work, and plenty of it, the
two armies hurling each other backward turn about and about,
and victory inclining first to the one, then to the other.
Now all of a sudden there was a panic on our side. Some
say one thing caused it, some another. Some say the can
nonade made our front ranks think retreat was being: cut off

by the English, some say the rear ranks got the idea that Joan
was killed. Anyway our men broke, and went flying in a wild
rout for the causeway. Joan tried to rally them and face them
around, crying to them that victory was sure, but it did no
good, they divided and swept by her like a wave. Old D'Au-
lon begged her to retreat while there was yet a chance for
safety, but she refused ; so he seized her horse's bridle and

314

bore her along with the wreck and ruin in spite of herself.
And so along the causeway they came swarming, that wild
confusion of frenzied men and horses — and the artillery had
to stop firing, of course ; consequently the English and Bur-
gundians closed in in safety, the former in front, the latter
behind their prey. Clear to the boulevard the French were
washed in this enveloping inundation ; and there, cornered in
an angle formed by the flank of the boulevard and the slope of
the causeway, they bravely fought a hopeless fight, and sank
down one by one.

Flavy, watching from the city wall, ordered the gate to be
closed and the drawbridge raised. This shut Joan out.

The little personal guard around her thinned swiftly.
Both of our good knights went down, disabled; Joan's two
brothers fell wounded ; then Noel Rainguesson — all wounded
while loyally sheltering Joan from blows aimed at her. When
only the Dwarf and the Paladin were left, they would not
give up, but stood their ground stoutly, a pair of steel towers
streaked and splashed with blood ; and where the axe of the
one fell, and the sword of the other, an enemy gasped and
died. And so fighting, and loyal to their duty to the last,
good simple souls, they came to their honorable end. Peace
to their memories ! they were very dear to me.

Then there was a cheer and a rush, and Joan, still defiant,
still laying about her with her sword, was seized by her
cape and dragged from her horse. She was borne away a
prisoner to the Duke of Burgundy's camp, and after her fol
lowed the victorious army roaring its joy.

The awful news started instantly on its round ; from lip to
lip it flew ; and wherever it came it struck the people as with
a sort of paralysis ; and they murmured over and over again,
as if they were talking to themselves, or in their sleep, "The
Maid of Orleans taken ! . . . Joan of Arc a prisoner ! . . . the
Savior of France lost to us !" — and would keep saying that
over, as if they couldn't understand how it could be, or how
God could permit it, poor creatures !

You know what a city is like when it is hung from eaves to

pavement with rustling black ? Then you know what Tours
was like, and some other cities. But can any man tell you
what the mourning in the hearts of the peasantry of France
was like ? No, nobody can tell you that ; and, poor dumb
things, they could not have told you themselves ; but it was
there — indeed yes. Why, it was the spirit of a whole nation
hung with crape !

The 24th of May. We will draw down the curtain, now,
upon the most strange, and pathetic, and wonderful military
drama that has been played upon the stage of the world.
Joan of Arc will march no more.

TRIAL AND MARTYRDOM

CHAPTER I

I CANNOT bear to dwell at great length upon the shameful
history of the summer and winter following the capture. For
a while I was not much troubled, for I was expecting every day
to hear that Joan had been put to ransom, and that the King
— no, not the King, but grateful France — had come eagerly
forward to pay it. By the laws of war she could not be de
nied the privilege of ransom. She was not a rebel ; she was
a legitimately constituted soldier, head of the armies of
France by her King's appointment, and guilty of no crime
known to military law; therefore she could not be detained
upon any pretext, if ransom were proffered.

But clay after day dragged .by and no ransom was offered !
It seems incredible, but it is true. Was that reptile Tre-
mouille busy at the King's ear? All we know is, that the
King was silent, and made no offer and no effort in behalf of
this poor girl who had done so much for him.

But unhappily there was alacrity enough in another quarter.
The news of the capture reached Paris the day after it hap
pened, and the glad English and Burgundians deafened the
world all the day and all the night with the clamor of their
joy- bells and the thankful thunder of their artillery; and
the next day the Vicar General of the Inquisition sent a
message to the Duke of Burgundy requiring the delivery of
the prisoner into the hands of the Church to be tried as an
idolater.

The English had seen their opportunity, and it was the
English power that was really acting, not the Church. The
Church was being used as a blind, a disguise ; and for a forci
ble reason : the Church was not only able to take the life of

320

Joan of Arc, but to blight her influence and the valor-breeding
inspiration of her name, whereas the English power could but
kill her body; that would not diminish or destroy the influ
ence of her name ; it would magnify it and make it permanent.
Joan of Arc was the only power in France that the English
did not despise, the only power in France that they con
sidered formidable. If the Church could be brought to take
her life, or to proclaim her an idolater, a heretic, a witch, sent
from Satan, not from heaven, it was believed that the English
supremacy could be 'at once reinstated.

The Duke of Burgundy listened — but waited. He could
not doubt that the French King or the French people would
come forward presently and pay a higher price than the Eng
lish. He kept Joan a close prisoner in a strong fortress, and
continued to wait, week after week. He was a French Prince,
and was at heart ashamed to sell her to the English. Yet
with all his waiting no offer came to him from the French
side.

One day Joan played a cunning trick on her jailer, and not
only slipped out of her prison, but locked him up in it. But
as she fled away she was seen by a sentinel, and was caught
and brought back.

Then she was sent to Beaurevoir, a stronger castle. This
was early in August, and she had been in captivity more than
two months, now. Here she was shut up in the top of a tower
which was sixty feet high. She ate her heart there for an
other long stretch — about three months and a half. And she
was aware, all these weary five months of captivity, that the
English, under cover of the Church, were dickering for her as
one would dicker for a horse or a slave, and that France was
silent, the King silent, all her friends the same. Yes, it was
pitiful.

And yet when she heard at last that Compiegne was being
closely besieged and likely to be captured, and that the ene
my had declared that no inhabitant of it should escape mas
sacre, not even children of seven years of age, she was in a
fever at once to fly to our rescue. So she tore her bed-

321

clothes to strips and tied them together and descended this
frail rope in the night, and it broke and she fell and was bad
ly bruised, and remained three days insensible, meantime nei
ther eating nor drinking.

And now came relief to us, led by the Count of Venclome,
and Compiegne.was saved and the siege raised. This was a
disaster to the Duke of Burgundy. He had to have money,
now. It was a good time for a new bid to be made for Joan
of Arc. The English at once sent a French Bishop — that
forever infamous Pierre Cauchon of Beauvais. He was
partly promised the Archbishopric of Rouen, which was va
cant, if he should succeed. He claimed the right to preside
over Joan's ecclesiastical trial because the battle - ground
where she was taken was within his diocese.

By the military usage of the time the ransom of a royal
Prince was 10,000 livres of gold, which is 61,125 francs — a
fixed sum, you see. It must be accepted, when offered ; it
could not be refused.

Cauchon brought the offer of this very sum from the Eng
lish — a royal Prince's ransom for the poor little peasant girl
of Domremy. It shows in a striking way the English idea of
her formidable importance. It was accepted. For that sum
Joan of Arc the Savior of France was sold ; sold to her ene
mies ; to the enemies of her country; enemies who had lashed
and thrashed and thumped and trounced France for a centu
ry and made holiday sport of it ; enemies who had forgotten,
years and years ago, what a Frenchman's face was like, so
used were they to seeing nothing but his back ; enemies
whom she had whipped, whom she had cowed, whom she
had taught to respect French valor, new-born in her na
tion by the breath of her spirit ; enemies who hungered for
her life as being the only puissance able to stand between
English triumph and French degradation. Sold to a French
priest by a French Prince, with the French King and the
French nation standing thankless by and saying noth
ing.

And she — what did she say ? Nothing. Not a reproach

322

passed her lips. She was too great for that — she was Joan of
Arc ; and when that is said, all is said.

As a soldier, her record was spotless. She could not be
called to account for anything under that head. A subter
fuge must be found, and, as we have seen, was found. She
must be tried by priests for crimes against religion. If none
could be discovered, some must be invented. Let the mis
creant Cauchon alone to contrive those.

Rouen was chosen as the scene of the trial. It was in the
heart of the English power -, its population had been under
English dominion so many generations that they were hardly
French now, save in language. The place was strongly gar
risoned. Joan was taken there near the end of December,
1430, and flung into a dungeon. Yes, and clothed in chains,
that free spirit !

Still France made no move. How do I account for this ?
I think there is only one way. You will remember that
whenever Joan was not at the front, the French held back and
ventured nothing ; that whenever she led, they swept every
thing before them, so long as they could see her white armor
or her banner; that every time she fell wounded or was re
ported killed — as at Compiegne — they broke in panic and
fled like sheep. I argue from this that they had undergone
no real transformation as yet ; that at bottom they were still
under the spell of a timorousness born of generations of un-
success, and a lack of confidence in each other and in their
leaders born of old and bitter experience in the way of
treacheries of all sorts — for their kings had been treacherous
to their great vassals and to their generals, and these in turn
were treacherous to the head of the state and to each other.
The soldiery found that they could depend utterly on Joan,
and upon her alone. With her gone, everything was gone.
She was the sun that melted the frozen torrents and set them
boiling ; with that sun removed, they froze again, and the
army and all France became what they had been before, mere
dead corpses — that and nothing more ; incapable of thought,
hope, ambition, or motion.

•as-

-•*•<":: IK'

JACQUES D'ARC AND UNCLE LAXART- WATCHING THE PROCESSION

CHAPTER II

MY wound gave me a great deal of trouble clear into the
first part of October ; then the fresher weather renewed my
life and strength. All this time there were reports drifting
about that the King was going to ransom Joan. I believed
these, for I was young and had not yet found out the little
ness and meanness of our poor human race, which brags
about itself so much, and thinks it is better and higher than
the other animals.

In October I was well enough to go out with two sorties,
and in the second one, on the 23d, I was wounded again.
My luck had turned, you see. On the night of the 25111 the
besiegers decamped, and in the disorder and confusion one
of their prisoners escaped and got safe into Compiegne, and
hobbled into my room as pallid and pathetic an object as you
would wish to see.

" What ? Alive ? Noel Rainguesson !"

It was indeed he. It was a most joyful meeting, that you
will easily know ; and also as sad as it was joyful. We could
not speak Joan's name. One's voice would have broken
down. We knew who was meant when she was mentioned ;
we could say " she " and " her," but we could not speak the
name.

We talked of the personal staff. Old D'Aulon, wounded
and a prisoner, was still with Joan and serving her, by per
mission of the Duke of Burgundy. Joan was being treated
with the respect due to her rank and to her character as a
prisoner of war taken in honorable conflict. And this was
continued — as we learned later — until she fell into the hands
of that bastard of Satan, Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais.

324

Noel was full of noble and affectionate praises and appre
ciations of our old boastful big Standard-bearer, now gone
silent forever, his real and imaginary battles all fought, his
work done, his life honorably closed and completed.

"And think of his luck!" burst out Noel, with his eyes full
of tears. " Always the pet child of luck ! See how it followed
him and stayed by him, from his first step all through, in the
field or out of it; always a splendid figure in the public eye,
courted and envied everywhere ; always having a chance to
do fine things and always doing them ; in the beginning called
the Paladin in joke, and called it afterwards in earnest be
cause he magnificently made the title good ; and at last—
supremest luck of all — died in the field ! died with his harness
on ; died faithful to his charge, the Standard in his hand ;
died — oh, think of it — with the approving eye of Joan of Arc
upon him ! He drained the cup of glory to the last drop,
and went jubilant to his peace, blessedly spared all part in the
disaster which was to follow. What luck, what luck ! And
we? What was our sin that we are still here, we who have
also earned our place with the happy dead ?"

And presently he said :

" They tore the sacred Standard from his dead hand and
carried it away, their most precious prize after its captured
owner. But they haven't it now. A month ago we put our
lives upon the risk — our two good knights, my fellow-prison
ers, and I — and stole it, and got it smuggled by trusty hands to
Orleans, and there it is now, safe for all time in the Treasury."

I was glad and grateful to learn that. I have seen it often
since, when I have gone to Orleans on the 8th of May to be
the petted old guest of the city and hold the first place of
honor at the banquets and in the processions— I mean since
Joan's brothers passed from this life. It will still be there,
sacredly guarded by French love, a thousand years from now
— yes, as long as any shred of it hangs together.*

* It remained there three hundred and sixty years, and then was de
stroyed in a public bonfire, together with two swords, a plumed cap, several

325

Two or three weeks after this talk came the tremendous
news like a thunder-clap, and we were aghast — Joan of Arc
sold to the English !

Not for a moment had we ever dreamed of such a thing.
We were young, you see, and did not know the human race,
as I have said before. We had been so proud of our country,
so sure of her nobleness, her magnanimity, her gratitude.
We had expected little of the King, but of France we had ex
pected everything. Everybody knew that in various towns
patriot priests had been marching in procession urging the peo
ple to sacrifice money, property, everything, and buy the free
dom of their heaven-sent deliverer. That the money would
be raised we had not thought of doubting.

But it was all over, now, all over. It was a bitter time for
us. The heavens seemed hung with black ; all cheer went out
from our hearts. Was this comrade here at my bedside really
Noel Rainguesson, that light-hearted creature whose whole
life was but one long joke, and who used up more breath in
laughter than in keeping his body alive ? No, no ; that Noel
I was to see no more. This one's heart was broken. He
moved grieving about, and absently, like one in a dream ; the
stream of his laughter was dried at its source.

Well, that was best. It was my own mood. We were com
pany for each other. He nursed me patiently through the dull
long weeks, and at last, in January, I was strong enough to go
about again. Then he said :

"Shall we go, now?"

suits of state apparel, and other relics of the Maid, by a mob in the time
of the Revolution. Nothing which the hand of Joan of Arc is known to
have touched now remains in existence except a few preciously guarded
military and state papers which she signed, her pen being guided by a
clerk or her secretary Louis de Conte. A bowlder exists from which she
is known to have mounted her horse when she was once setting out upon
a campaign. Up to a quarter of a century ago there was a single hair
from her head still in existence. It was drawn through the wax of a seal
attached to the parchment of a state document. It was surreptitiously
snipped out, seal and all, by some vandal relic-hunter, and carried off.
Doubtless it still exists, but only the thief knows where. — TRANSLATOR.

326

"Yes."

There, was no need to explain. Our hearts were in Rouen,
we would carry our bodies there. All that we cared for in
this life was shut up in that fortress. We could not help her,
but it would be some solace to us to be near her, to breathe
the air that she breathed, and look daily upon the stone walls
that hid her. What if we should be made prisoners there ?
Well, we could but do our best, and let luck and fate decide
what should happen.

And so we started. We could not realize the change which
had come upon the country. We seemed able to choose our
own route and go wherever we pleased, unchallenged and un
molested. When Joan of Arc was in the field, there was a
sort of panic of fear everywhere ; but now that she was out of
the way, fear had vanished. Nobody was troubled about you
or afraid of you, nobody was curious about you or your busi
ness, everybody was indifferent.

We presently saw that we could take to the Seine, and not
weary ourselves out with land travel. So we did it, and were
carried in a boat to within a league of Rouen. Then we got
ashore ; not on the hilly side, but on the other, where it is as
level as a floor. Nobody could enter or leave the city without
explaining himself. It was because they feared attempts at a
rescue of Joan.

We had no trouble. We stopped in the plain with a family
of peasants and stayed a week, helping them with their work
for board and lodging, and making friends of them. We
got clothes like theirs, and wore them. When we had worked
our way through their reserves and gotten their confidence,
we found that they secretly harbored French hearts in their
bodies. Then we came out frankly and told them everything,
and found them ready to do anything they could to help us.
Our plan was soon made, and was quite simple. It was to
help them drive a flock of sheep to the market of the city,
One morning early we made the venture in a melancholy
drizzle of rain, and passed through the frowning gates unmo
lested. Our friends had friends living over a humble wine-shop

327

in a quaint tall building situated in one of the narrow lanes
that run down from the cathedral to the river, and with these
they bestowed us ; and the next day they smuggled our own
proper clothing and other belongings to us. The family that
lodged us — the Pierrons — were French in sympathy, and we
needed to have no secrets from them.

CHAPTER III

IT was necessary for me to have some way to gain bread
for Noel and myself ; and when the Pierrons found that I
knew how to write, they applied to their confessor in my be
half, and he got a place for me with a good priest named
Manchon, who was to be the chief recorder in the Great Trial
of Joan of Arc now approaching. It was a strange position
for me — clerk to the recorder — and dangerous if my sympa
thies and late employment should be found out. But there
was not much danger. Manchon was at bottom friendly to
Joan and would not betray me; and my name would not, for
I had discarded my surname and retained only my given one,
like a person of low degree.

I attended Manchon constantly straight along, out of Janu
ary and into February, and was often in the citadel with him
— in the very fortress where Joan was imprisoned, though not
in the dungeon where she was confined, and so did not see
her, of course.

Manchon told me 'everything that had been happening be
fore my coming. Ever since the purchase of Joan, Cauchon
had been busy packing his jury for the destruction of the Maid
— weeks and weeks he had spent in this bad industry. The
University of Paris had sent him a number of learned and
able and trusty ecclesiastics of the stripe he wanted ; and he
had scraped together a clergyman of like stripe and great
fame here and there and yonder, until he was able to construct
a formidable court numbering half a hundred distinguished
names. French names they were, but their interests and sym
pathies were English.

A great officer of the Inquisition was also sent from Paris,

329

for the accused must be tried by the forms of the Inquisition ;
but this was a brave and righteous man, and he said squarely
that this court had no power to try the case, wherefore he re
fused to act ; and the same honest talk was uttered by two or
three others.

The Inquisitor was right. The case as here resurrected
against Joan had already been tried long ago at Poitiers, and
decided in her favor. Yes, and by a higher tribunal than
this one, for at the head of it was an Archbishop — he of
Rheims — Couchon's own metropolitan. So here, you see, a
lower court was impudently preparing to re-try and re-decide
a cause which had already been decided by its superior, a
court of higher authority. Imagine it ! No, the case could
not properly be tried again. Cauchon could not properly pre
side in this new court, for more than one reason : Rouen was
not in his diocese ; Joan had not been arrested in her domi
cile, which was still Domremy; and finally this proposed judge
was the prisoner's outspoken enemy, and therefore he was in
competent to try her. Yet all these large difficulties were got
ten rid of. The territorial Chapter of Rouen finally granted
territorial letters to Cauchon — though only after a struggle
and under compulsion. Force was also applied to the In
quisitor, and he was obliged to submit.

So, then, the little English King, by his representative, for
mally delivered Joan into the hands of the court, but with
this reservation: if the court failed to condemn her, he was to
have her back again !

Ah, dear, what chance was there for that forsaken and
friendless child? Friendless indeed — it is the right word.
For she was in a black dungeon, with half a dozen brutal com
mon soldiers keeping guard night and day in the room where
her cage was — for she was in a cage; an iron cage, and
chained to her bed by neck and hands and feet. Never a
person near her whom she had ever seen before ; never a
woman at all. Yes, this was indeed friendlessness.

Now it was a vassal of Jean de Luxembourg who captured
Joan at Compiegne, and it was Jean who sold her to the Duke

33°

of Burgundy. Yet this very De Luxembourg was shameless
enough to go and show his face to Joan in her cage. He
came with two English earls, Warwick and Stafford. He was
a poor reptile. He told her he would get her set free if she
would promise not to fight the English any more. She had
been in that cage a long time now, but not long enough to
break her spirit. She retorted scornfully —

" Name of God, you but mock me. I know that you have
neither the power nor the will to do it."

He insisted. Then the pride and dignity of the soldier rose
in Joan, and she lifted her chained hands and let them fall
with a clash, saying —

" See these ! They know more than you, and can prophesy
better. I know that the English are going to kill me, for they
think that when I am dead they can get the Kingdom of
France. It is not so. Though there were a hundred thou
sand of them they would never get it."

This defiance infuriated Stafford, and he — now think of it
— he a free, strong man, she a chained and helpless girl — he
drew his dagger and flung himself at her to stab her. But
Warwick seized him and held him back. Warwick was wise.
Take her life in that way ? Send her to Heaven stainless and
undisgraced ? It would make her the idol of France, and the
whole nation would rise and march to victory and emancipa
tion under the inspiration of her spirit. No, she must be saved
for another fate than that.

Well, the time was approaching for the Great Trial. For
more than two months Cauchon had been raking and scrap
ing everywhere for any odds and ends of evidence or suspi
cion or conjecture that might be made usable against Joan,
and carefully suppressing all evidence that came to hand in
her favor. He had limitless ways and means and powers at
his disposal for preparing and strengthening the case for the
prosecution, and he used them all.

But Joan had no one to prepare her case for her, and she
was shut up in those stone walls and had no friend to appeal
to for help. And as for witnesses, she could not call a sin-

331

gle one in her defence ; they were all far away, under the
French flag, and this was an English court ; they would have
been seized and hanged if they had shown their faces at the
gates of Rouen. No, the prisoner must be the sole witness —
witness for the prosecution, witness for the defence ; and with
a verdict of death resolved upon before the doors were opened
for the court's first sitting.

When she learned that the court was made up of ecclesias
tics in the interest of the English, she begged that in fairness
an equal number of priests of the French party should be
added to these. Cauchon scoffed at her message, and would
not even deign to answer it.

By the law of the Church — she being a minor under twen
ty-one — it was her right to have counsel to conduct her case,
advise her how to answer when questioned, and protect her
from falling into traps set by cunning devices of the prosecu
tion. She probably did not know that this was her right, and
that she could demand it and require it, for there was none
to tell her that; but she begged for this help at any rate.
Cauchon refused it. She urged and implored, pleading her
youth and her ignorance of the complexities and intricacies
of the law and of legal procedure. Cauchon refused again,
and said she must get along with her case as best she might
by herself. Ah, his heart was a stone.

Cauchon prepared the proces verbal. I will simplify that
by calling it the Bill of Particulars. It was a detailed list of
the charges against her, and formed the basis of the trial.
Charges ? It was a list of suspicions and public rumors —
those were the words used. It was merely charged that she
was suspected of having been guilty of heresies, witchcraft,
and other such offences against religion.

Now by law of the Church, a trial of that sort could not
be begun until a searching inquiry had been made into the
history and character of the accused . and it was essential that
the result of this inquiry be added to the proces verbal and
form a part of it. You remember that that was the first
thing they did before the trial at Poitiers. They did it again,

332

now. An ecclesiastic was sent to Domremy. There and all
about the neighborhood he made an exhaustive search into
Joan's history and character, and came back with his verdict.
It was very clear. The searcher reported that he found
Joan's character to be in every way what he " would like his
own sister's character to be." Just about the same report
that was brought back to Poitiers, you see. Joan's was a
character which could endure the minutest examination.

This verdict was a strong point for Joan, you will say.
Yes, it would have been if it could have seen the light ; but
Cauchon was awake, and it disappeared from the proces verbal
before the trial. People were prudent enough not to inquire
what became of it.

One would imagine that Cauchon was ready to begin the
trial by this time. But no, he devised one more scheme for
poor Joan's destruction, and it promised to be a deadly one.

One of the great personages picked out and sent down by
the University of Paris was an ecclesiastic named Nicolas
Loyseleur. He was tall, handsome, grave, of smooth soft
speech and courteous and winning manners. There was no
seeming of treachery or hypocrisy about him, yet he was full
of both. He was admitted to Joan's prison by night, dis
guised as a cobbler ; he pretended to be from her own coun
try; he professed to be secretly a patriot; he revealed the
fact that he was a priest. She was filled with gladness to
see one from the hills and plains that were so dear to her;
happier still to look upon a priest and disburden her heart
in confession, for the offices of the Church were the bread of
life, the breath of her nostrils to her, and she had been long
forced to pine for them in vain. She opened her whole in
nocent heart to this creature, and in return he gave her ad
vice concerning her trial which could have destroyed her if
her deep native wisdom had not protected her against fol
lowing it.

You will ask, what value could this scheme have, since the
secrets of the confessional are sacred and cannot be revealed ?
True — but suppose another person should overhear them ?

333

That person is not bound to keep the secret. Well, that is
what happened. Cauchon had previously caused a hole to
be bored through the wall ; and he stood with his ear to that
hole and heard all. It is pitiful to think of these things.
One wonders how they could treat that poor child so. She
had not done them any harm.

CHAPTER IV

ON Tuesday the 2oth of February, whilst I sat at my mas
ter's work in the evening, he came in, looking sad, and said
it had been decided to begin the trial at eight o'clock the
next morning, and I must get ready to assist him.

Of course I had been expecting such news every day for
many days ; but no matter, the shock of it almost took my
breath away and set me trembling like a leaf. I suppose
that without knowing it I had been half imagining that at the
last moment something would happen, something that would
stop this fatal trial : maybe that La Hire would burst in at
the gates with his hellions at his back ; maybe that God
would have pity and stretch forth His mighty hand. But
now — now there was no hope.

The trial was to begin in the chapel of the fortress and
would be public. So I went sorrowing away and told Noel,
so that he might be there early and secure a place. It
would give him a chance to look again upon the face which
we so revered and which was so precious to us. All the
way, both going and coming, I ploughed through chattering
and rejoicing multitudes of English soldiery and English-
hearted French citizens. There was no talk but of the com
ing event. Many times I heard the remark, accompanied by
a pitiless laugh—

" The fat Bishop has got things as he wants them at last, and
says he will lead the vile witch a merry dance and a short one/'

But here and there I glimpsed compassion and distress in
a face, and it was not always a French one. English soldiers
feared Joan, but they admired her for her great deeds and her
unconquerable spirit.

335

In the morning Manchon and I went early, yet as we ap
proached the vast fortress we found crowds of men already
there and still others gathering. The chapel was already full
and the way barred against further admissions of unofficial
persons. We took our appointed places. Throned on high
sat the president, Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, in his grand
robes, and before him in rows sat his robed court — fifty dis
tinguished ecclesiastics, men of high degree in the Church, of
clear-cut intellectual faces, men of deep learning, veteran
adepts in strategy and casuistry, practised setters of traps for
ignorant minds and unwary feet. When I looked around
upon this army of masters of legal fence, gathered here to
find just one verdict and no other, and remembered that Joan
must fight for her good name and her life single-handed
against them, I asked myself what chance an ignorant poor
country girt of nineteen could have in such an unequal conflict •
and my heart sank down low, very low. When I looked again
at that obese president, puffing and wheezing there, his great
belly distending and receding with each breath, and noted his
three chins, fold above fold, and his knobby and knotty face,
and his purple and splotchy complexion, and his repulsive
cauliflower nose, and his cold and malignant eyes — a brute,
every detail of him — my heart sank lower still. And when I
noted that all were afraid of this man, and shrank and fidg
eted in their seats when his eye smote theirs, my last poor
ray of hope dissolved away and wholly disappeared.

There was one unoccupied seat in this place, and only one.
It was over against the wall, in view of every one. It was a little
wooden bench without a back, and it stood apart and solitary
on a sort of dais. Tall men-at-arms in morion, breast-plate,
and steel gauntlets stood as stiff as their own halberds on each
side of this dais, but no other creature was near by it. A pa
thetic little bench to me it was, for I knew whom it was for;
and the sight of it carried my mind back to the great court at
Poitiers, where Joan sat upon one like it and calmly fought
her cunning fight with the astonished doctors of the Church
and Parliament, and rose from it victorious and applauded

336

by all, and went forth to fill the world with the glory of her
name.

What a dainty little figure she was, and how gentle and in
nocent, how winning and beautiful in the fresh bloom of her
seventeen years ! Those were grand days. And so recent —
for she was but just nineteen now — and how much she had
seen since, and what wonders she had accomplished !

But now — oh, all was changed, now. She had been lan
guishing in dungeons, away from light and air and the cheer
of friendly faces, for nearly three-quarters of a year — she, born
child of the sun, natural comrade of the birds and of all happy
free creatures. She would be weary, now, and worn with this
long captivity, her forces impaired ; despondent, perhaps, as
knowing there was no hope. Yes, all was changed.

All this time there had been a muffled hum of conversation,
and rustling of robes and scraping of feet on the floor, a com
bination of dull noises which filled all the place. Suddenly —

" Produce the accused !';

It made me catch my breath. My heart began to thump
like a hammer. But there was silence, now — silence absolute.
All those noises ceased, and it was as if they had never been.
Not a sound ; the stillness grew oppressive ; it was like a
weight upon one. All faces were turned towards the door ;
and one could properly expect that, for most of the people
there suddenly realized, no doubt, that they were about to see,
in actual flesh and blood, what had been to them before only
an embodied prodigy, a word, a phrase, a world -girdling
Name.

The stillness continued. Then, far down the stone-paved
corridors, one heard a vague slow sound approaching : dank

clink . . clank — Joan of Arc, Deliverer of France, in

chains !

My head swam ; all things whirled and spun about me.
Ah, / was realizing, too.

CHAPTER V

I GIVE you my honor, now, that I am not going to distort
or discolor the facts of this miserable trial. No, I will give
them to you honestly, detail by detail, just as Manchon and I
set them down daily in the official record of the court, and
just as one may read them in the printed histories. There
will be only this difference : that in talking familiarly with
you I shall use my right to comment upon the proceedings
and explain them as I go along, so that you can understand
them better ; also, I shall throw in trifles which came under
our eyes and have a certain interest for you and me, but were
not important enough to go into the official record.*

To take up my story, now, where I left off. We heard the
clanking of Joan's chains down the corridors ; she was ap
proaching.

Presently she appeared ; a thrill swept the house, and one
heard deep breaths drawn. Two guardsmen followed her at
a short distance to the rear. Her head was bowed a little,
and she moved slowly, she being weak and her irons heavy.
She had on men's attire — all black •, a soft woollen stuff, in
tensely black, funereally black, not a speck of relieving color
in it from her throat to the floor. A wide collar of this same
black stuff lay in radiating folds upon her shoulders and breast ;
the sleeves of her doublet were full, down to the elbows, and
tight thence to her manacled wrists ; below the doublet, tight
black hose down to the chains on her ankles.

* He kept his word. His account of the Great Trial will be found to
be in strict and detailed accordance with the sworn facts of history. — TRANS
LATOR.

338

Half-way to her bench she stopped, just where a wide shaft
of light fell slanting from a window, and slowly lifted her face.
Another thrill ! — it was totally colorless, white as snow ; a face
of gleaming snow set in vivid contrast upon that slender
statue of sombre unmitigated black. It was smooth and pure
and girlish, beautiful beyond belief, infinitely sad and sweet.
But, dear, dear ! when the challenge of those untamed eyes
fell upon that judge, and the droop vanished from her form
and it straightened up soldierly and noble, my heart leaped
for joy; and I said, all is well, all is well — they have not
broken her, they have not conquered her, she is Joan of Arc
still ! Yes, it was plain to me, now, that there was one spirit
there which this dreaded judge could not quell nor make afraid.

She moved to her place and mounted the dais and seated
herself upon her bench, gathering her chains into her lap and
nestling her little white hands there. Then she waited in
tranquil dignity, the only person there who seemed unmoved
and unexcited. A bronzed and brawny English soldier, stand
ing at martial ease in the front rank of the citizen spectators,
did now most gallantly and respectfully put up his great hand
and give her the military salute ; and she, smiling friendly,
put up hers and returned it ; whereat there was a sympathetic
little break of applause, which the judge sternly silenced.

Now the memorable inquisition called in history the Great
Trial began. Fifty experts against a novice, and no one to
help the novice !

The judge summarized the circumstances of the case and
the public reports and suspicions upon which it was based ;
then he required Joan to kneel and make oath that she would
answer with exact truthfulness to all questions asked her.

Joan's mind was not asleep. It suspected that dangerous
possibilities might lie hidden under this apparently fair and
reasonable demand. She answered with the simplicity which
so often spoiled the enemy's best-laid plans in the trial at
Poitiers, and said,

" No ; for I do not know what you are going to ask me;
you might ask of me things which I would not tell you."

339

This incensed the Court, and brought out a brisk flurry
of angry exclamations. Joan was not disturbed. Cauchon
raised his voice and began to speak in the midst of this noise,
but he was so angry that he could hardly get his words out.
He said —

" With the divine assistance of our Lord we require you
to expedite these proceedings for the welfare of your con
science. Swear, with your hands upon the Gospels, that you
will answer true to the questions which shall be asked you !"
and he brought down his fat hand with a crash upon his
official table.

Joan said, with composure —

"As concerning my father and mother, and the faith, and
what things I have done since my coming into France, I will
gladly answer ; but as regards the revelations which I have
received from God, my Voices have forbidden me to confide
them to any save my King —

Here there was another angry outburst of threats and ex
pletives, and much movement and confusion 5 so she had to
stop, and wait for the noise to subside ; then her waxen face
flushed a little and she straightened up and fixed her eye on
the judge, and finished her sentence in a voice that had the
old ring in it —

" — and I will never reveal these things though you cut my
head off I1'

Well, maybe you know what a deliberative body of French
men is like. The judge and half the court were on their feet
in a moment, and all shaking their fists at the prisoner and
all storming and vituperating at once, so that you could hard
ly hear yourself think. They kept this up several minutes ;
and because Joan sat untroubled and indifferent, they grew
madder and noisier all the time. Once she said, with a fleet
ing trace of the old-time mischief in her eye and manner —

" Prithee speak one at a time, fair lords, then I will answer
all of you,"

At the end of three whole hours of furious debating over
the oath, the situation had not changed a jot. The Bishop

340

was still requiring an unmodified oath, Joan was refusing for
the twentieth time to take any except the one which she had
herself proposed. There was a physical change apparent,
but it was confined to court and judge ; they were hoarse,
droopy, exhausted by their long frenzy, and had a sort of
haggard look in their faces, poor men, whereas Joan was still
placid and reposeful and did not seem noticeably tired.

The noise quieted down ; there was a waiting pause of some
moments' duration. Then the judge surrendered to the pris
oner, and with bitterness in his voice told her to take the oath
after her own fashion. Joan sunk at once to her knees-, and
as she laid her hands upon the Gospels, that big English sol
dier set free his mind :

"By God if she were but English, she were not in this
place another half a second !"

It was the soldier in him responding to the soldier in her.
But what a stinging rebuke it was, what an arraignment of
French character and French royalty ! Would that he could
have uttered just that one phrase in the hearing of Orleans ! I
know that that grateful city, that adoring city, would have
risen, to the last man and the last woman, and marched upon
Rouen. Some speeches — speeches that shame a man and
humble him — burn themselves into the memory and remain
there. That one is burnt into mine.

After Joan had made oath, Cauchon asked her her name,
and where she was born, and some questions about her fam
ily; also what her age was. She answered these. Then he
asked her how much education she had.

" I have learned from my mother the Pater Noster, the
Ave Maria, and the Belief. All that I know was taught me
by my mother."

Questions of this unessential sort dribbled on for a consid
erable time. Everybody was tired out by now, except Joan.
The tribunal prepared to rise. At this point Cauchon forbade
Joan to try to escape from prison, upon pain of being held
guilty of the crime of heresy — singular logic ! She answered
simply—

" I am not bound by this prohibition. If I could escape I
would not reproach myself, for I have given no promise, and
I shall not."

Then she complained of the burden of her chains, and
asked that they might be removed, for she was strongly
guarded in that dungeon and there was no need of them. But
the Bishop refused, and reminded her that she- had broken
out of prison twice before. Joan of Arc was too proud to in
sist. She only said, as she rose to go with the guard —

" It is true I have wanted to escape, and I do want to es
cape." Then she added, in a way that would touch the pity
of anybody, I think, " It is the right of every prisoner."

And so she went from the place in the midst of an impress
ive stillness, which made the sharper and more distressful to
me the clank of those pathetic chains.

What presence of mind she had ! One could never surprise
her out of it. She saw Noel and me there when she first took
her seat on her bench , and we flushed to the forehead with
excitement and emotion, but her face showed nothing, be
trayed nothing. Her eyes sought us fifty times that day, but
they passed on and there was never any ray of recognition in
them. Another would have started upon seeing us, and then
— why then there could have been trouble for us, of course.

We walked slowly home together, each busy with his own
grief and saying not a word.

CHAPTER VI

THAT night Manchon told me that all through the day's
proceedings Cauchon had had some clerks concealed in the
embrasure of a window who were to make a special report
garbling Jean's answers and twisting them from their right
meaning. lAh, that was surely the cruelest man and the
most shameless that has lived in this world. But his scheme
failed. Those clerks had human hearts in them, and their
base work revolted them, and they turned to and boldly made
a straight report, whereupon Cauchon cursed them and ordered
them out of his presence with a threat of drowning, which was
his favorite and most frequent menace. The matter had got
ten abroad and was making great and unpleasant talk, and
Cauchon would not try to repeat this shabby game right away.
It comforted me to hear that.

When we arrived at the citadel next morning, we found
that a change had been made. The chapel had been found
too small. The court had now removed to a noble chamber
situated at the end of the great hall of the castle. The num
ber of judges was increased to sixty-two — one ignorant girl
against such odds, and none to help her.

The prisoner was brought in. She was as white as ever,
but she was looking no whit worse than she looked when
she had first appeared the day before. Isn't it a strange
thing? Yesterday she had sat five hours on that backless
bench with her chains in her lap, baited, badgered, persecuted
by that unholy crew, without even the refreshment of a cup
of water— for she was never offered anything, and if I have
made you know her by this .time you will know without my
telling you that she was not a person likely to ask favors of

343

those people. And she had spent the night caged in her
wintry dungeon with her chains upon her ; yet here she was,
as I say, collected, unworn, and ready for the conflict ; yes,
and the only person there who showed no signs of the wear
and worry of yesterday. And her eyes — ah, you should have
seen them and broken your hearts. Have you seen that
veiled deep glow, that pathetic hurt dignity, that unsubdued
and unsubduable spirit that burns and smoulders in the eye
of a caged eagle and makes you feel mean and shabby under
the burden of its mute reproach ? Her eyes were like that.
How capable they were, and how wonderful ! Yes, at all
times and in all circumstances they could express as by print
every shade of the wide range of her moods. In them were
hidden floods of gay sunshine, the softest and peacefulest twi
lights, and devastating storms and lightnings. Not in this
world have there been others that were comparable to them.
Such is my opinion, and none that had the privilege to see
them would say otherwise than this which I have said con
cerning them.

The seance began. And how did it begin, should you
think ? Exactly as it began before — with that same tedious
thing which had been settled once, after so much wrangling.
The Bishop opened thus :

"You are required, new, to take the oath pure and simple,
to answer truly all questions asked you."

Joan replied placidly —

" I have made oath yesterday, my lord ; let that suffice."

The Bishop insisted and insisted, with rising temper ; Joan
but shook her head and remained silent. At last she
said —

" I made oath yesterday ; it is sufficient." Then she sighed
and said, " Of a truth, you do burden me too much."

The Bishop still insisted, still commanded, but he could not
move her. At last he gave it up and turned her over for the
day's inquest to an old hand at tricks and traps and decep
tive plausibilities — Beaupere, a doctor of theology. Now
notice the form of this sleek strategist's first remark — flung

344

out in an easy, off-hand way that would have thrown any un-
watchful person off his guard —

''Now, Joan, the matter is very simple; just speak up and
frankly and truly answer the questions which I am going to
ask you, as you have sworn to do."

It was a failure. Joan was not asleep. She saw the arti
fice. She said —

" No. You could ask me things which I could not tell
you — and would not." Then, reflecting upon how profane
and out of character it was for these ministers of God to be
prying into matters which had proceeded from His hands
under the awful seal of His secrecy, she added, with a warn
ing note in her tone, " If you were well informed concerning
me you would wish me out of your hands. I have done noth
ing but by revelation."

Beaupere changed his attack, and began an approach from
another quarter. He would slip upon her, you see, under
cover of innocent and unimportant questions.

" Did you learn any trade at home ?"

" Yes, to sew and to spin." Then the invincible soldier,
victor of Patay, conqueror of the lion Talbot, deliverer of Or
leans, restorer of a king's crown, commander -in -chief of a
nation's armies, straightened herself proudly up, gave her head
a little toss, and said with naive complacency, "And when
it comes to that, I am not afraid to be matched against any
woman in Rouen !"

The crowd of spectators broke out with applause — which
pleased Joan — and there was many a friendly and petting
smile to be seen. But Cauchon stormed at the people and
warned them to keep still and mind their manners.

Beaupere asked other questions. Then —

" Had you other occupations at home ?"

" Yes. I helped my mother in the household work and
went to the pastures with the sheep and the cattle."

Her voice trembled a little, but one could hardly notice it.
As for me, it brought those old enchanted days flooding back
to me, and I could not see what I was writing: for a little while.

345

Beaupere cautiously edged along up with other questions
toward the forbidden ground, and finally repeated a question
which she had refused to answer a little while back — as to
whether she had received the Eucharist in those days at other
festivals than that of Easter. Joan merely said —

" Passez outre" Or, as one might say, " Pass on to matters
which you are privileged to pry into."

I heard a member of the court say to a neighbor —

" As a rule, witnesses are but dull creatures, and an easy
prey — yes, and easily embarrassed, easily frightened — but
truly one can neither scare this child nor find her dozing."

Presently the house pricked up its ears and began to listen
eagerly, for Beaupere began to touch upon Joan's Voices, a
matter of consuming interest and curiosity to everybody.
His purpose was, to trick her into heedless sayings that could
indicate that the Voices had sometimes given her evil advice
— hence that they had come from Satan, you see. To have
dealings with the devil — well, that would send her to the
stake in brief order, and that was the deliberate end and aim
of this trial.

"When did you first hear these Voices ?"

" I was thirteen when I first heard a Voice coming from
God to help me to live well. I was frightened. It came at
mid-clay, in my father's garden in the summer."

" Had you been fasting ?"

"Yes."

" The day before ?"

"No."

" From what direction did it come ?"

" From the right — from toward the church."

" Did it come with a bright light ?"

" Oh, indeed yes. It was brilliant. When I came into
France I often heard the Voices very loud."

" What did the Voice sound like ?"

" It was a noble Voice, and I thought it was sent to me
from God. The third time I heard it I recognized it as being
an angel's."

346

"You could understand it?"

" Quite easily. It was always clear."

" What advice did it give you as to the salvation of your
soul ?"

" It told me to live rightly, and be regular in attendance
upon the services of the Church. And it told me that 1
must go to France."

"In what species of form did the Voice appear?"

Joan looked suspiciously at the priest a moment, then said,
tranquilly —

" As to that, I will not tell you."

" Did the Voice seek you often ?"

"Yes. Twice or three times a week, saying, 'Leave your
village and go to France.' "

" Did your father know about your departure ?"

" No. The Voice said, ' Go to France ' ; therefore I could
not abide at home any longer."

"What else did it say?"

" That I should raise the siege of Orleans."

" Was that all ?"

" No, I was to go to Vaucouleurs, and Robert de Baudri-
court would give me soldiers to go with me to France ; and I
answered, saying that I was a poor girl who did not know how
to ride, neither how to fight."

Then she told how she was baulked and interrupted at
Vaucouleurs, but finally got her soldiers, and began her
march.

" How were you dressed ?"

The court of Poitiers had distinctly decided and decreed
that as God had appointed her to do a man's work, it was
meet and no scandal to religion that she should dress as a
man ; but no matter, this court was ready to use any and all
weapons against Joan, even broken and discredited ones, and
much was going to be made of this one before this trial should
end.

" I wore a man's dress, also a sword which Robert de Bau-
dricourt gave me, but no other weapon."

THE PALADIN TELLS HOW HE WON PATAY

347

" Who was it that advised you to wear the dress of a man ?"

Joan was suspicious again. She would not answer.

The question was repeated.

She refused again.

"Answer. It is a command !"

" Passez outre" was all she said.

So Beaupere gave up the matter for the present.

" What did Baudricourt say to you when you left ?"

" He made them that were to go with me promise to take
charge of me, and to me he said, ' Go, and let happen what
may !' " (AdTienne que pourra /)

After a good deal of questioning upon other matters she
was asked again about her attire. She said it was necessary
for her to dress as a man.

" Did your Voice advise it ?''

Joan merely answered placidly —

" I believe my Voice gave me good advice."

It was all that could be got out of her, so the questions
wandered to other matters, and finally to her first meeting
with the King at Chinon. She said she chose out the King,
who was unknown to her, by the revelation of her Voices.
All that happened at that time was gone over. Finally —

" Do you still hear those Voices ?"

"They come to me every day."

" What do you ask of them ?"

" I have never asked of them any recompense but the sal
vation of my soul."

" Did the Voice always urge you to follow the army ?"

He is creeping upon her again. She answered—

"It required me to remain behind at St. Denis. I would
have obeyed if I had been free, but I was helpless by my
wound, and the knights carried me away by force."

" When were you wounded ?"

" I was wounded in the moat before Paris, in the assault."

The next question reveals what Beaupere had been leading
up to —

" Was it a feast day ?"

You see? The suggestion is that a voice coming from God
would hardly advise or permit the violation, by war and blood
shed, of a sacred day.

Joan was troubled a moment, then she answered yes, it was
a feast day.

" Now then, tell me this : did you hold it right to make the
attack on such a clay ?"

This was a shot which might make the first breach in a wall
which had suffered no damage thus far. There was immedi
ate silence in the court and intense expectancy noticeable all
about. But Joan disappointed the house. She merely made
a slight little motion with her hand, as when one brushes
away a fly, and said with reposeful indifference —

" Passez outre:'

Smiles danced for a moment in some of the sternest faces
there, and several even laughed outright. The trap had been
long and laboriously prepared; it fell, and was empty.

The court rose. It had sat for hours, and was cruelly
fatigued. Most of the time had been taken up with apparent
ly idle and purposeless inquiries about the Chinon events, the
exiled Duke of Orleans, Joan's first proclamation, and so on,
but all this seemingly random stuff had really been sown thick
with hidden traps. But Joan had fortunately escaped them
all, some by the protecting luck which attends upon ignorance
and innocence, some by happy accident, the others by force
of her best and surest helper, the clear vision and lightning
intuitions of her extraordinary mind.

Now then, this daily baiting and badgering of this friend
less girl, a captive in chains, was to continue a long, long time
— dignified sport, a kennel of mastiffs and blood-hounds har
assing a kitten ! — and I may as well tell you, upon sworn tes
timony, what it was like from the first clay to the last. When
poor Joan had been in her grave a quarter of a century, the
Pope called together that great court which was to re-examine
her history, and whose just verdict cleared her illustrious
name from every spot and stain, and laid upon the verdict
and conduct of our Rouen tribunal the blight of its everlast-

349

ing execrations. Manchon and several of the judges who had
been members of our court were among the witnesses who
appeared before that Tribunal of Rehabilitation. Recalling
these miserable proceedings which I have been telling you
about, Manchon testified thus :— here you have it, all in fair
print in the official history :

When Joan spoke of her apparitions she was interrupted at almost every
word. They wearied her with long and multiplied interrogatories upon
all sorts of things. Almost every day the interrogatories of the morning
lasted three or four hours; then from these morning-interrogatories they
extracted the particularly difficult and subtle points, and these served as
material for the afternoon-interrogatories, which lasted tivo or three hours,
Moment by moment they skipped from one subject to another; yet in
spite of this she ahvavs responded with an astonishing wisdom and memory.
She often corrected the judges, saying, " But I have already answered that
once before — ask the recorder," referring them to me.

And here is the testimony of one of Joan's judges. Re
member, these witnesses are not talking about two or three
clays, they are talking about a tedious \Q^ procession of days :

They asked her profound questions, but she extricated herself quite
well. Sometimes the questioners changed suddenly and passed to another
subject to see if she would not contradict herself. They burdened her with
long interrogatories of two or three hours, from which the judges themselves
went forth fatigued. From the snares with which she was beset the ex-
pertest man in the world could not have extricated himself but with diffi
culty. She gave her responses with great prudence ; indeed to such a de
gree that during three weeks I believed she was inspired.

Ah, had she a mind such as I have described ? You see
what these priests say under oath — picked men, men chosen
for their places in that terrible court on account of their learn
ing, their experience, their keen and practised intellects and
their strong bias against the prisoner. They make that poor
young country girl out the match, and more than the match,
of the sixty-two trained adepts. Isn't it so? They from
the University of Paris, she from the sheepfold and the cow-
stable ! Ah yes, she was great, she was wonderful. It took
six thousand years to produce her ; her like will not be seen
in the earth again in fifty thousand. Such is my opinion.

CHAPTER VII

THE third meeting of the court was in that same spacious
chamber, next day, 24th of February.

How did it begin work ? In just the same old way.
When the preparations were ended, the robed sixty -two
massed in their chairs and the guards and order-keepers dis
tributed to their stations, Cauchon spoke from his throne
and commanded Joan to lay her hands upon the Gospels and
swear to tell the truth concerning everything asked her !

Joan's eyes kindled, and she rose ; rose and stood, fine and
noble, and faced toward the Bishop and said —

"Take care what you do, my Lord, you who are my judge,
for you take a terrible responsibility on yourself and you
presume too far."

It made a great stir, and Cauchon burst out upon her with
an awful threat — the threat of instant condemnation unless
she obeyed. That made the very bones in my body turn
cold, and I saw cheeks about me blanch — for it meant fire and
the stake ! But Joan, still standing, answered him back, proud
and undismayed —

"Not all the clergy in Pa-ris and Rouen could condemn me,
lacking the right !"

This made a great tumult, and part of it was applause from
the spectators. Joan resumed her seat. The Bishop still in
sisted. Joan said —

"I have already made oath. It is enough."

The Bishop shouted —

' ' In refusing to swear, you place yourself under suspi
cion r'

"Let be. I have sworn already. It is enough."

The Bishop continued to insist. Joan answered that " she
would tell what she knew — but not all that she knew."

The Bishop plagued her straight along, till at last she said,
in a weary tone —

" I came from God ; I have nothing more to do here. Re
turn me to God, from whom I came."

It was piteous to hear; it was the same as saying, "You
only want my life ; take it and let me be at peace."

The Bishop stormed out again—

" Once more I command you to —

Joan cut in with a nonchalant "Passez outre" and Cauchon
retired from the struggle ; but he retired with some credit
this time, for he offered a compromise, and Joan, always
clear-headed, saw protection for herself in it and promptly
and willingly accepted it. She was to swear to tell the truth
" as touching the matters set down in the proces verbal"
They could not sail her outside of definite limits, now ; her
course was over a charted sea, henceforth. The Bishop had
granted more than he had intended, and more than he would
honestly try to abide by.

By command, Beaupere resumed his examination of the
accused. It being Lent, there might be a chance to catch
her neglecting some detail of her religious duties. I could
have told him he would fail there. Why, religion was her
life!

" Since when have you eaten or drunk?"

If the least thing had passed her lips in the nature of sus
tenance, neither her youth nor the fact that she was being
half starved in her prison could save her from dangerous sus
picion of contempt for the commandments of the Church.

" I have done neither since yesterday at noon."

The priest shifted to the Voices again.

"When have you heard your Voice ?"

" Yesterday and to-day."

" At what time ?"

" Yesterday it was in the morning."

"What were you doing, then?"

352

" I was asleep and it woke me."

" By touching your arm ?"

" No ; without touching me."

" Did you thank it ? Did you kneel ?"

He had Satan in his mind, you see ; and was hoping, per
haps, that by-and-by it could be shown that she had ren
dered homage to the archenemy of God and man.

"Yes, I thanked it; and knelt in my bed where I was
chained, and joined my hands and begged it to implore God's
help for me so that I might have light and instruction as
touching the answers I should give here."

" Then what did the Voice say ?"

" It told me to answer boldly, and God would help me."
Then she turned toward Cauchon and said, "You say that
you are my judge ; now I tell you again, take care what you
do, for in truth I am sent of God and you are putting your
self in great danger."

Beaupere asked her if the Voice's counsels were not fickle
and variable.

" No. It never contradicts itself. This very day it has
told me again to answer boldly."

" Has it forbidden you to answer only part of what is
asked you ?"

" I will tell you nothing as to that. I have revelations
touching the King my master, and those I will not tell you."
Then she was stirred by a great emotion, and the tears sprang
to her eyes and she spoke out as with strong conviction,
saying—

" I believe wholly — as wholly as I believe the Christian
faith and that God has redeemed us from the fires of hell,
that God speaks to me by that Voice !"

Being questioned further concerning the Voice, she said
she was not at liberty to tell all she knew.

" Do you think God would be displeased at your telling the
whole truth ?"

"The Voice has commanded me to tell the King certain
things, and not you — and some very lately — even last night;

353

things which I would he knew. He would be more easy at
his dinner."

"Why doesn't the Voice speak to the King itself, as it did
when you were with him ? Would it not if you asked it ?"

" I do not know if it be the wish of God." She was pen
sive, a moment or two, busy with her thoughts and far away,
no doubt ; then she added a remark in which Beaupere, al
ways watchful, always alert, detected a possible opening— a
chance to set a trap. Do you think he jumped at it instantly,
betraying the joy he had in his find, as a young hand at craft
and artifice would do ? No, oh, no, you could not tell that he
had noticed the remark at all. He slid indifferently away
from it at once, and began to ask idle questions about other
things, so as to slip around and spring on it from behind, so
to speak : tedious and empty questions as to whether the
Voice had told her she would escape from this prison ; and
if it had furnished answers to be used by her in to-day's
seance ; if it was accompanied with a glory of light ; if it had
eyes, etc. That risky remark of Joan's was this :

"Without the Grace of God I could do nothing."

The court saw the priest's game, and watched his play with
a cruel eagerness. Poor Joan was grown dreamy and absent;
possibly she was tired. Her life was in imminent danger, and
she did not suspect it. The time was ripe now, and Beaupere
quietly and stealthily sprung his trap :

" Are you in a state ^of Grace ?"

Ah, we had two or three honorable brave men in that pack
of judges ; and Jean Lefevre was one of them. He sprang
to his feet and cried out —

"It is a terrible question ! The accused is not obliged to
answer it !"

Cauchon's face flushed black with anger to see this plank
flung to the perishing child, and he shouted — •

" Silence ! and take your seat. The accused will answer
the question !"

There was no hope, no way out of the dilemma ; for whether
she said yes or whether she said no, it would be all the same —
23

354

a disastrous answer, for the Scriptures had said one cannot
know this thing. Think what hard hearts they were to set
this fatal snare for that ignorant young girl and be proud of
such work and happy in it. It was a miserable moment for
me while we waited ; it seemed a year. All the house showed
excitement ; and mainly it was glad excitement. Joan looked
out upon these hungering faces with innocent untroubled eyes,
and then humbly and gently she brought out that immortal an
swer which brushed the formidable snare away as it had been
but a cobweb :

" If I 'be not in a state of Grace, I pray God place me in it;
if I be in it, I pray God keep me so"

Ah, you will never see an effect like that ; no, not while you
live. For a space there was the silence of the grave. Men
looked wondering into each other's faces, and some were awed
and crossed themselves ; and I heard Lefevre mutter —

" It was beyond the wisdom of man to devise that answer.
Whence come this child's amazing inspirations?"

Beaupere presently took up his work again, but the humili
ation of his defeat weighed upon him, and he made but a
rambling and dreary business of it, he not being able to put
any heart in it.

He asked Joan a thousand questions about her childhood
and about the oak wood, and the fairies, and the children's
games and romps under our dear Arbre Fee de Bourlemont,
and this stirring up of old memories broke her voice and made
her cry a little, but she bore up as well as she could, and an
swered everything.

Then the priest finished by touching again upon the matter
of her apparel — a matter which was never to be lost sight of in
this still-hunt for this innocent creature's life, but kept always
hanging over her, a menace charged with mournful possibili
ties :

" Would you like a woman's dress ?"

"Indeed yes, if I may go out from this prison— but here,
"no."

CHAPTER VIII

THE court met next on Monday the 27th. Would you be
lieve it? The Bishop ignored the contract limiting the exam
ination to matters set down in the proces verbal and again
commanded Joan to take the oath without reservations. She
said —

"You should be content; I have sworn enough."

She stood her ground, and Cauchon had to yield.

The examination was resumed, concerning Joan's Voices.

"You have said that you recognized them as being the
Voices of angels the third time that you heard them. What
angels were they ?"

" St. Catherine and St. Marguerite."

" How did you know that it was those two saints ? How
could you tell the one from the other ?''

" I know it was they ; and I know how to distinguish them."

" By what sign ?"

" By their manner of saluting me. I have been these sev
en years under their direction, and I knew who they were be
cause they told me."

" Whose was the first Voice that came to you when you were
thirteen years old ?"

" It was the Voice of St. Michael. I saw him before my
eyes ; and he was not alone, but attended by a cloud of an
gels."

" Did you see the archangel and the attendant angels in
the body, or in the spirit ?"

" I saw them with the eyes of my body, just as I see you ;
and when they went away I cried because they did not take
me with them."

356

It made me see that awful shadow again that fell dazzling
white upon her that day under FArbre Fee de Bourlemont,
and it made me shiver again, though it was so long ago. It
was really not very long gone by, but it seemed so, because
so much had happened since.

" In what shape and form did St. Michael appear ?"

" As to that, I have not received permission to speak."

" What did the archangel say to you that first time ?"

" I cannot answer you to-day."

Meaning, I think, that she would have to get permission of
her Voices first.

Presently, after some more questions as to the revelations
which had been conveyed through her to the King, she com
plained of the unnecessity of all this, and said —

"I will say again, as I have said before, many times in
these sittings, that I answered all questions of this sort before
the court at Poitiers, and I would that you would bring here
the record of that court and read from that. Prithee sent!
for that book."

There was no answer. It was a subject that had to be got
around and put aside. That book had wisely been gotten
out of the way, for it contained things which would be very
awkward here. Among them was a decision that Joan's mis
sion was from God, whereas it was the intention of this infe
rior court to show that it was from the devil; also a decision
permitting Joan to wear male attire, whereas it was the pur
pose of this court to make the male attire do hurtful work
against her.

"How was it that you were moved to come into France —
by your own desire ?"

" Yes , and by command of God. But that it was his will
I would not have come. I would sooner have had my body
torn in sunder by horses than come, lacking that."

Beaupere shifted once more to the matter of the male at
tire, now, and proceeded to make a solemn talk about it.
That tried Joan's patience ; and presently she interrupted
and said —

357

" It is a trifling thing and of no consequence. And I did
not put it on by counsel of any man, but by command of
God."

" Robert de Baudricourt did not order you to wear it?"

"No."

" Do you think you did well in taking the dress of a man ?"

" I did well to do whatsoever thing God commanded me
to do."

" But in this particular case do you think you did well in
taking the dress of a man ?"

" I have done nothing but by command of God."

Beaupere made various attempts to lead her into contra
dictions of herself; also to put her words and acts in disac
cord with the Scriptures. But it was lost time. He did not
succeed. He returned to her visions, the light which shone
about them, her relations with the King, and so on.

" Was there an angel above the King's head the first time
you saw him?"

" By the Blessed Mary !— "

She forced her impatience down, and finished her sentence
with tranquillity : " If there was one I did not see it."

"Was there light?"

" There were more than three hundred soldiers there, and
five hundred torches, without taking account of spiritual light."

"What made the King believe in the revelations which
you brought him ?"

" He had signs ; also the counsel of the clergy."

"What revelations were made to the King?"

"You will not get that out of me this year." Presently she
added : " During three weeks I was questioned by the clergy
at Chinon and Poitiers. The King had a sign before he
would believe ; and the clergy were of opinion that my acts
were good and not evil."

The subject was dropped now for a while, and Beaupere
took up the matter of the miraculous sword of Fierbois to see
if he could not find a chance there to fix the crime of sorcery
upon Joan.

358

" How did you know that there was an ancient sword buried
in the ground under the rear of the altar of the church of
St. Catherine of Fierbois ?"

Joan had no concealments to make as to this :

" I knew the sword was there because my Voices told me
so; and I sent to ask that it be given to me to carry in the
wars. It seemed to me that it was not very deep in the
ground. The clergy of the church caused it to be sought for
and dug up ; and they polished it, and the rust fell easily off
from it."

"Were you wearing it when" you were taken in battle at
Compiegne ?''

" No. But I wore it constantly until I left St. Denis after
the attack upon Paris."

This sword, so mysteriously discovered and so long and so
constantly victorious, was suspected of being under the pro
tection of enchantment.

"Was that sword blest ? What blessing had been invoked
upon it?"

" None. I loved it because it was found in the church of
St. Catherine, for I loved that church very dearly."

She loved it because it had been built in honor of one of
her angels.

" Didn't you lay it upon the altar, to the end that it might
be lucky?" (The altar of St. Denis.)

"No."

" Didn't you pray that it might be made lucky ? '

" Truly it were no harm to wish that my harness might be
fortunate."

"Then it was not that sword which you wore in the field
of Compiegne ? What sword did you wear there ?"

The sword of the Burgundian Franquet d'Arras, whom I
took prisoner in the engagement at Lagny. I kept it be
cause it was a good war-sword — good to lay on stout thumps
and blows with."

She said that quite simply ; and the contrast between her
delicate little self and the grim soldier- words which she

359

dropped with such easy familiarity from her lips made many
spectators smile.

" What is become of the other sword ? Where is it now ?"

"Is that in the proces verbal ?"

Beaupere did not answer.

" Which do you love best, your banner or your sword ?"

Her eye lighted gladly at the mention of her banner, and
she cried out —

"I love my banner best — oh, forty times more than the
sword ! Sometimes I carried it myself when I charged the
enemy, to avoid killing any one." Then she added, naively,
and with again that curious contrast between her girlish
little personality and her subject, " I have never killed any
one."

It made a great many smile; and no wonder, when you
consider what a gentle and innocent little thing she looked.
One could hardly believe she had ever even seen men slaugh
tered, she looked so little fitted for such things.

" In the final assault at Orleans did you tell your soldiers
that the arrows shot by the enemy and the stones discharged
from their catapults and cannon would not strike any one
but you ?"

"No. And the proof is, that more than a hundred of my
men were struck. I told them to have no doubts and no
fears ; that they would raise the siege. I was wounded in the
neck by an arrow in the assault upon the bastille that com
manded the bridge, but St. Catherine comforted me and I
was cured in fifteen days without having to quit the saddle
and leave my work."

" Did you know that you were going to be wounded ?"

" Yes ; and I had told it to the King beforehand. I had
it from my Voices."

" When you took Jargeau, why did you not put its com
mandant to ransom ?"

" I offered him leave to go out unhurt from the place, with
all his garrison ; and if he would not I would take it by storm."

" And you did, I believe."

360

" Yes."

" Had your Voices counselled you to take it by storm ?"

" As to that, I do not remember."

Thus closed a weary long sitting, without result. Every
device that could be contrived to trap Joan into wrong think
ing, wrong doing, or disloyalty to the Church, or sinfulness as
a little child at home or later had been tried, and none of them
had succeeded. She had come unscathed through the ordeal.

Was the court discouraged ? No. Naturally it was very
much surprised, very much astonished, to find its work baf
fling and difficult instead of simple and easy, but it had pow
erful allies in the shape of hunger, cold, fatigue, persecution,
deception, and treachery ; and opposed to this array nothing
but a defenceless and ignorant girl who must some time or
other surrender to bodily and mental exhaustion or get caught
in one of the thousand traps set for her.

And had the court made no progress during these seem
ingly resultless sittings ? Yes. It had been feeling its way,
groping here, groping there, and had found one or two vague
trails which might freshen by-and-by and lead to something.
The male attire, for instance, and the visions and Voices.
Of course no one doubted that she had seen supernatural
beings and been spoken to and advised by them. And of
course no one doubted that by supernatural help miracles
had been done by Joan, such as choosing out the King in a
crowd when she had never seen him before, and her discov
ery of the sword buried under the altar. It would have been
foolish to doubt these things, for we all know that the air is
full of devils and angels that are visible to traffickers in magic
on the one hand and to the stainlessly holy on the other ;
but what many and perhaps most did doubt was, that Joan's
visions, voices, and miracles came from God. It was hoped
that in time they could be proven to have been of satanic origin.
Therefore, as you see, the court's persistent fashion of coming
back to that subject every little while and spooking around it
and prying into it was not to pass the time — it had a strictly
business end in view.

CHAPTER IX

THE next sitting opened on Thursday the first of March.
Fifty-eight judges present— the others resting.

As usual, Joan was required to take an oath without reser
vations. She showed no temper this time. She considered
herself well buttressed by the proces verbal compromise which
Cauchon was so anxious to repudiate and creep out of ; so
she merely refused, distinctly and decidedly ; and added, in
a spirit of fairness and candor —

" But as to matters set down in the proces verbal, J_wil_l_
freely tell the whole truth — yes, as freely and fully as if I
were before the Pope."

Here was a chance ! We had two or three Popes, then ;
only one of them could be the true Pope, of course. Every
body judiciously shirked the question of which was the true
Pope and refrained from naming him, it being clearly dan
gerous to go into particulars in this matter. Here was an
opportunity to trick an unadvised girl into bringing herself
into peril, and the unfair judge lost no time in taking advan
tage of it. He asked, in a plausibly indolent and absent
way—

" Which one do you consider to be the true Pope JT'

The house took an attitude of deep attention, and so waited
to hear the answer and see the prey walk into the trap. But
when the answer came it covered the judge with confusion,
and you could see many people covertly chuckling. For Joan
asked in a voice and manner which almost deceived even me,
so innocent it seemed —

" Are there two ?"

One of the ablest priests in that body and one of the best

362

swearers there, spoke right out so that half the house heard
him, and said —

" By God it was a master stroke !"

As soon as the judge was better of his embarrassment he
came back to the charge, but was prudent and passed by
Joan's question —

" Is it true that you received a letter from the Count of Ar-
magnac asking you which of the three Popes he ought to
obey?1'

"Yes, and answered it."

Copies of both letters were produced and read. Joan said
that hers had not been quite strictly copied. She said she
had received the Count's letter when she was just mounting
her horse ; and added —

" So, in dictating a word or two of reply I said I would try
to answer him from Paris or somewhere where I could be at
rest."

She was asked again which Pope she had considered the
right one.

" I was not able to instruct the Count of Armagnac as to
which one he ought to obey "; then she added, with a frank
fearlessness which sounded fresh and wholesome in that den
of trimmers and shufflers, " but as for me, I hold that we are
bound to obey our Lord the Pope who is at Rome."

The matter was dropped. Then they produced and read a
copy of Joan's first effort at dictating — her proclamation sum
moning the English to retire from the siege of Orleans and
vacate France — truly a great and fine production for an un
practised girl of seventeen.

" Do you acknowledge as your own the document which
has just been read ?"

" Yes, except that there are errors in it — words which make
me give myself too much importance." I saw what was com
ing; I was troubled and ashamed. " For instance, I did not
say ' Deliver up to the Maid ' (rendez a la Puerile)-, I said ' De
liver up to the King' (rendez au Rot] ; and I did not call my
self ' Commander- in - Chief ' (chef de guerre). All those are

363

words which my secretary substituted ; or mayhap he mis
heard me or forgot what I said."

She did not look at me when she said it ; she spared me
that embarrassment. I hadn't misheard her at all, and hadn't
forgotten. I changed her language purposely, for she was
Commander-in-Chief and entitled to call herself so, and it was
becoming and proper, too ; and who was going to surrender
anything to the King ? — at that time a stick, a cipher ? If
any surrendering was done, it would be to the noble Maid of
Vaucouleurs, already famed and formidable though she had
not yet struck a blow.

Ah, there would have been a fine and disagreeable episode
(for me) there, if that pitiless court had discovered that the
very scribbler of that piece of dictation, secretary to Joan of
Arc, was present — and not only present, but helping build the
record ; and not only that, but destined at a far distant day
to testify against lies and perversions smuggled into it by
Cauchon and deliver them over to eternal infamy !

" Do you acknowledge that you dictated this proclamation?1'

" I do."

" Have you repented of it ? Do you retract it ?"

Ah, then she was indignant !

" No ! Not even these chains " — and she shook them —
" not even these chains can chill the hopes that I uttered
there. And more!" — she rose, and stood a moment with a
divine strange light kindling in her face, then her words burst
forth as in a flood — " I warn you now that before seven years
a disaster will smite the English, oh, many fold greater than
the fall of Orleans ! and — "

" Silence ! Sit down !"

" — and then, soon after, they will lose all France f

Now consider these things. The French armies no longer
existed. The French cause was standing still, our King was
standing still, there was no hint that by-and-by the Constable
Richemont would come forward and take up the great work
of Joan of Arc and finish it. In face of all this, Joan made that
prophecy — made it with perfect confidence — and it came true.

364

For within five years Paris fell — 1436 — and our King
marched into it flying the victor's flag. So the first part of
the prophecy was then fulfilled — in fact, almost the entire
prophecy ; for, with Paris in our hands, the fulfilment of the
rest of it was assured.

Twenty years later all France was ours excepting a single
town — Calais.

Now that will remind you of an earlier prophecy of Joan's.
At the time that she wanted to take Paris and could have
done it with ease if our King had but consented, she said
that that was the golden time ; that with Paris ours, all France
would be ours in six months. But if this golden opportunity
to recover France was wasted, said she, " / give you twenty
years to do it in"

She was right. After Paris fell, in 1436, the rest of the
work had to be done city by city, castle by castle, and it took
twenty years to finish it.

Yes, it was the first day of March, 1431, there in the court,
that she stood in the view of everybody and uttered that
strange and incredible prediction. Now and then, in this
world, somebody's prophecy turns up correct, but when you
come to look into it there is sure to be considerable room for
suspicion that the prophecy was made after the fact. But
here the matter is different. There in that court Joan's proph
ecy was set down in the official record at the hour and mo
ment of its utterance, years before the fulfilment, and there
you may read it to this day. Twenty-five years after Joan's
death the record was produced in the great Court of the Re
habilitation and verified under oath by Manchon and me, and
surviving judges of our court confirmed the exactness of the
record in their testimony.

Joan's startling utterance on that now so celebrated first of
March stirred up a great turmoil, and it was some lime before
it quieted down again. Naturally everybody was troubled,
for a prophecy is a grisly and awful thing, whether one thinks
it ascends from hell or comes down from heaven. All that
these people felt sure of was, that the inspiration back of it

365

was genuine and puissant. They would have given their right
hands to know the source of it.

At last the questions began again.

" How do you know that those things are going to happen ?"

" I know it by revelation. And I know it as surely as I
know that you sit here before me."

This sort of answer was not going to allay the spreading
uneasiness. Therefore, after some further dallying the judge
got the subject out of the way and took up one which he could
enjoy more.

" What language do your Voices speak ?"

" French."

" St. Marguerite, too ?"

"Verily; why not? She is on our side, not on the Eng
lish ?"

Saints and angels who did not condescend to speak Eng
lish ! a grave affront. They could not be brought into court
and punished for contempt, but the tribunal could take silent
note of Joan's remark and remember it against her; which
they did. It might be useful by-and-by.

" Do your saints and angels wear jewelry? — crowns, rings,
ear-rings ?"

To Joan, questions like this were profane frivolities and
not worthy of serious notice ; she answered indifferently. But
the question brought to her mind another matter, and she
turned upon Cauchon and said —

" I had two rings. They have been taken away from me
during my captivity. You have one of them. It is the gift
of my brother. Give it back to me. If not to me, then I
pray that it be given to the Church."

The judges conceived the idea that maybe these rings were
for the working of enchantments. Perhaps they could be
made to do Joan a damage.

" Where is the other ring ?"

" The Burgundians have it."

" Where did you get it ?"

" My father and mother gave it to me."

366

" Describe it."

" It is plain and simple and has ' Jesus and Mary ' engraved
upon it."

Everybody could see that that was not a valuable equip
ment to do devil's work with. So that trail was not worth
following. Still, to make sure, one of the judges asked Joan
if she had ever cured sick people by touching them with the
ring. She said no.

" Now as concerning the fairies, that were used to abide
near by Doinremy whereof there are many reports and tradi
tions. It is said that your godmother surprised these creat
ures on a summer's night dancing under the tree called L'Arbre
Fee de Bourlemont. Is it not possible that your pretended
saints and angels are but those fairies ?"

" Is that in your proces .?"

She made no other answer.

" Have you not conversed with St. Marguerite and St. Cathe
rine under that tree ?"

" I do not know."

" Or by the fountain near the tree ?"

" Yes, sometimes."

"What promises did they make you?"

" None but such as they had God's warrant for."

"But what promises did they make?"

"That is not in your proces ; yet I will say this much : they
told me that the King would become master of his kingdom
in spite of his enemies."

" And what else ?"

There was a pause ; then she said humbly —

" They promised to lead me to Paradise."

If faces do really betray what is passing in men's minds, a
fear came upon many in that house, at this time, that maybe,
after all, a chosen servant and herald of God was here being
hunted to her death. The interest deepened. Movements
and whisperings ceased : the stillness became almost painful.

Have you noticed that almost from the beginning the nat
ure of the questions asked Joan showed that in some way or

36;

other the questioner very often already knew his fact before
he asked his question ? Have you noticed that somehow or
other the questioners usually knew just how and where to
search for Joan's secrets ; that they really knew the bulk of
her privacies — a fact not suspected by her — and that they had
no task before them but to trick her into exposing those
secrets ?

Do you remember Loyseleur the hypocrite, the treacherous
priest, tool of Cauchon ? Do you remember that under the
sacred seal of the confessional Joan freely and trustingly re
vealed to him everything concerning her history save only a
few things regarding her supernatural revelations which her
Voices had forbidden her to tell to any one — and that the
unjust judge, Cauchon, was a hidden listener all the time?

Now you understand how the inquisitors were able to de
vise that long array of minutely prying questions ; questions
whose subtlety and ingenuity and penetration are astonishing
until we come to remember Loyseleur's performance and rec
ognize their source. Ah, Bishop of Beauvais, you are now
lamenting this cruel iniquity these many years in hell ! Yes
verily, unless one has come to your help. There is but one
among the redeemed that would do it ; and it is futile to hope
that that one has not already done it — Joan of Arc.

We will return to the court and the questionings.

"Did they make you still another promise?"

" Yes, but that is not in your proces. I will not tell it now,
but before three months I will tell it you."

The judge seems to know the matter he is asking about,
already ; one gets this idea from his next question.

" Did your Voices tell you that you would be liberated be
fore three months ?"

Joan often showed a little flash of surprise at the good
guessing of the judges, and she showed one this time. I was
frequently in terror to find my mind (which /could not con
trol) criticising the Voices and saying, " They counsel her to
speak boldly — a thing which she would do without any sug
gestion from them or anybody else — but when it comes to tell-

368

ing her any useful thing, such as how these conspirators man
age to guess their way so skilfully into her affairs, they are
always off attending to some other business." I am reverent
by nature ; and when such thoughts swept through my head
they made me cold with fear, and if there was a storm and
thunder at the time, I was so ill that I could but with difficul
ty abide at my post and do my work.

Joan answered —

"That is not in your p races. I do not know when I shall
be set free, but some who wish me out of this world will go
from it before me."

It made some of them shiver.

" Have your Voices told you that you will be delivered
from this prison ?"

Without a doubt they had, and the judge knew it before he
asked the question.

"Ask me again in three months and I will tell you."

She said it with such a happy look, the tired prisoner !
And I? And Noel Rainguesson, drooping yonder? — why,
the floods of joy went streaming through us from crown to
sole ! It was all that we could do to hold still and keep from
making fatal exposure of our feelings.

She was to be set free in three months. That was
what she meant ; we saw it. The Voices had told her so,
and told her true — true to the very day — May 30. But
we know, now, that they had mercifully hidden from her how
she was to be set free, but left her in ignorance. Home
again ! That was our understanding of it — Noel's and mine ;
that was our dream; and now we would count the days, the
hours, the minutes. They would fly lightly along ; they would
soon be over. Yes, we would carry our idol home ; and there,
far from the pomps and tumults of the wrorld, we would take
up our happy life again and live it out as we had begun it, in
the free air and the sunshine, with the friendly sheep and the
friendly people for comrades, and the grace and charm of the
meadows, the woods, and the river always before our eyes and
their deep peace in our hearts. Yes, that was our dream, the

369

dream that carried us bravely through that three months to an
exact and awful fulfilment, the thought of which would have
killed us, I think, if we had foreknown it and been obliged
to bear the burden of it upon our hearts the half of those
heavy days.

Our reading of the prophecy was this : We believed the
King's soul was going to be smitten with remorse ; and that
he would privately plan a rescue with Joan's old lieutenants,
D'Alengon and the Bastard and La Hire, and that this rescue
would take place at the end of the three months. So we made
up our minds to be ready and take a hand in it.

In the present and also in later sittings Joan was urged to
name the exact day of her deliverance ; but she could not do
that. She had not the permission of her Voices. Moreover,
the Voices themselves did not name the precise day. Ever
since the fulfilment of the prophecy, I have believed that
Joan had the idea that her deliverance was going to come in
the form of death. But not that death ! Divine as she was,
dauntless as she wras in battle, she was human also. She
was not solely a saint, an angel, she was a clay-made girl also
— as human a girl as any in the world, and full of a human
girl's sensitivenesses and tendernesses and delicacies. And
so, that death ! No, she could not have lived the three months
with that one before her, I think. You remember that the first
time she was wounded she was frightened, and cried, just as
any other girl of seventeen would have done, although she
had known for eighteen days that she was going to be
wounded on that very day. No, she was not afraid of any
ordinary death, and an ordinary death was what she believed
the prophecy of deliverance meant, I think, for her face showed
happiness, not horror, when she uttered it.

Now I will explain why I think as I do. Five weeks be
fore she was captured in the battle of Compiegne, her Voices
told her what was coming. They did not tell her the day or
the place, but said she would be taken prisoner and that it
would be before the feast of St. John. She begged that
death, certain and swift, should be her fate, and the captivity
24

370

brief; for she was a free spirit, and dreaded the confinement.
The Voices made no promise, but only told her to bear what
ever came. Now as they did not refuse the swift death, a
hopeful young thing like Joan would naturally cherish that
fact and make the most of it, allowing it to grow and establish
itself in her mind. And so now that she was told she was to
be " delivered " in three months, I think she believed it meant
that she would die in her bed in the prison, and that that
was why she looked happy and content — the gates of Para
dise standing open for her, the time so short, you see, her
troubles so soon to be over, her reward so close at hand.
Yes, that would make her look happy, that would make her
patient and bold, and able to fight her fight out like a soldier.
Save herself if she could, of course, and try her best, for that
was the way she was made ; but die with her face to the front
if die she must.

Then later, when she charged Cauchon with trying to kill
her with a poisoned fish, her notion that she was to be "de
livered " by death in the prison — if she had it, and I believe
she had — would naturally be greatly strengthened, you see.

But I am wandering from the trial. Joan was asked to
definitely name the time that she would be delivered from
prison.

" I have always said that I was not permitted to tell you
everything. I am to be set free, and I desire to ask leave of
my Voices to tell you the day. This is why I wish for delay."

" Do your Voices forbid you to tell the truth ?"

" Is it that you wish to know matters concerning the King
of France ? I tell you again that he will regain his kingdom,
and that I know it as well as I know that you sit here before
me in this tribunal." She sighed and, after a little pause,
added : " I should be dead but for this revelation, which com
forts me always."

Some trivial questions were asked her about St. Michael's
dress and appearance. She answered them with dignity, but
one saw that they gave her pain. After a little she said—

"I have great joy in seeing him, for when I see him I have

THE MAID OF ORLEANS
(From the portrait, by an unknown painter, in the H6tel de Ville at Rouen)

the feeling that I am not in mortal sin." She added,
" Sometimes St. Marguerite and St. Catherine have allowed
me to confess myself to them."

Here was a possible chance to set a successful snare for
her innocence.

"When you confessed were you in mortal sin, do you
think ?"

But her reply did her no hurt. So the inquiry was shifted
once more to the revelations made to the King — secrets
which the court had tried again and again to force out of
Joan, but without success.

" Now as to the sign given to the King — "

" I have already told you that I will tell you nothing
about it."

" Do you know what the sign was ?"

" As to that, you will not find out from me."

All this refers to Joan's secret interview with the King —
held apart, though two or three others were present. It was
known — through Loyseleur, of course — that this sign was a
crown and was a pledge of the verity of Joan's mission. But
that is all a mystery until this day — the nature of the crown,
I mean — and will remain a mystery to the end of time. We
can never know whether a real crown descended upon the
King's head, or only a symbol, the mystic fabric of a vision.

" Did you see a crown upon the King's head when he re
ceived the revelation ?"

" I cannot tell you as to that, without perjury."

" Did the King have that crown at Rheims ?"

" I think the King put upon his head a crown which he
found there ; but a much richer one was brought him after
wards."

" Have you seen that one ?"

" I cannot tell you, without perjury. But whether I have seen
it or not, I have heard say that it was rich and magnificent."

They went on and pestered her to weariness about that
mysterious crown, but they got nothing more out of her. The
sitting closed. A long, hard day for all of us.

CHAPTER X

THE court rested a day, then took up work again on Satur
day the third of March.

This was one of our stormiest sessions. The whole court
was out of patience ; and with good reason. These three
score distinguished churchmen, illustrious tacticians, veteran
legal gladiators, had left important posts where their super
vision was needed, to journey hither from various regions and
accomplish a most simple and easy matter — condemn and
send to death a country lass of nineteen who could neither
read nor write, knew nothing of the wiles and perplexities of
legal procedure, could call not a single witness in her defence,
was allowed no advocate or adviser, and must conduct her
case by herself against a hostile judge and a packed jury. In
two hours she would be hopelessly entangled, routed, defeat
ed, convicted. Nothing could be more certain than this — so
they thought. But it was a mistake. The two hours had
strung out into days ; what promised to be a skirmish had ex
panded into a siege ; the thing which had looked so easy had
proven to be surprisingly difficult ; the light victim who was
to have been puffed away like a feather remained planted like
a rock ; and on top of all this, if anybody had a right to laugh
it was the country lass and not the court.

She was not doing that, for that was not her spirit ; but
others were doing it. The whole town was laughing in its
sleeve, and the court knew it, and its dignity was deeply hurt.
The members could not hide their annoyance.

And so, as I have said, the session was stormy. It was
easy to see that these men had made up their minds to force
words from Joan to-day which should shorten up her case and

373

bring it to a prompt conclusion. It shows that after all their
experience with her they did not know her yet. They went
into the battle with energy. They did not leave the ques
tioning to a particular member ; no, everybody helped. They
volleyed questions at Joan from all over the house, and some
times so many were talking at once that she had to ask them
to deliver their fire one at a time and not by platoons. The
beginning was as usual :

" You are once more required to take the oath pure and
simple."

" I will answer to what is in the proces verbal. When I do
more, I will choose the occasion for myself."

That old ground was debated and fought over inch by inch
with great bitterness and many threats. But Joan remained
steadfast, and the questionings had to shift to other matters.
Half an hour was spent over Joan's apparitions — their dress,
hair, general appearance, and so on — in the hope of fishing
something of a damaging sort out of the replies ; but with no
result.

Next, the male attire was reverted to, of course. After
many well-worn questions had been re-asked, one or two new
ones were put forward.

" Did not the King or the Queen sometimes ask you to quit
the male dress ?"

"That is not in yo\xr proces"

" Do you think you would have sinned if you had taken the
dress of your sex?"

" I have done best to serve and obey my sovereign Lord
and Master."

After a while the matter of Joan's Standard was taken up,
in the hope of connecting magic and witchcraft with it.

"Did not your men copy your banner in their pennons?"

" The lancers of my guard did it. It was to distinguish
them from the rest of the forces. It was their own idea."

" Were they often renewed ?"

" Yes. When the lances were broken they were renewed."

The purpose of the questions unveils itself in the next one.

374

" Did you not say to your men that pennons made like your
banner would be lucky?"

The soldier-spirit in Joan was offended at this puerility. She
drew herself up, and said with dignity and fire : " What I said
to them was, ' Ride these English down !' and I did it myself."

Whenever she flung out a scornful speech like that at these
French menials in English livery it lashed them into a rage ;
and that is what happened this time. There were ten, twenty,
sometimes even thirty of them on their feet at a time, storm
ing at the prisoner minute after minute, but Joan was not dis
turbed.

By-and-by there was peace, and the inquiry was resumed.

It was now sought to turn against Joan the thousand lov
ing honors which had been done her when she was raising
France out of the dirt and shame of a century of slavery and
castigation.

" Did you not cause paintings and images of yourself to be
made ?"

" No. At Arras I saw a painting of myself kneeling in ar
mor before the King and delivering him a letter ; but I caused
no such things to be made."

" Were not masses and prayers said in your honor ?"

" If it was done it was not by my command. But if any
prayed for me I think it was no harm."

" Did the French people believe you were sent of God ?"

" As to that, I know not : but whether they believed it or
not, I was not the less sent of God."

" If they thought you were sent of God do you think it was
well thought ?"

" If they believed it, their trust was not abused."

" What impulse was it, think you, that moved the people to
kiss your hands, your feet, and your vestments ?"

" They were glad to see me, and so they did those things ;
and I could not have prevented them if I had had the heart.
Those poor people came lovingly to me because I had not
done them any hurt, but had done the best I could for them
according to my strength."

375

See what modest little words she uses to describe that
touching spectacle, her marches about France walled in on
both sides by the adoring multitudes : " They were glad to see
me." Glad ? Why, they were transported with joy to see her.
When they could not kiss her hands or her feet, they knelt in
the mire and kissed the hoof-prints of her horse. They wor
shipped her; and that is what these priests were trying to
prove. It was nothing to them that she was not to blame
for what other people did. No, if she was worshipped, it was
enough ; she was guilty of mortal sin. Curious logic, one must
say.

" Did you not stand sponsor for some children baptized at
Rheims ?"

" At Troyes I did, and at St. Denis ; and I named the boys
Charles, in honor of the King, and the girls I named Joan."

" Did not women touch their rings to those which you
wore ?"

" Yes, many did, but I did not know their reason for it."

"At Rheims was your Standard carried into the church?
Did you stand at the altar with it in your hand at the Coro
nation ?"

"Yes."

" In passing through the country did you confess yourself
in the churches and receive the sacrament?"

"Yes."

" In the dress of a man ?"

" Yes. But I do not remember that I was in armor."

It was almost a concession ! almost a half-surrender of the
permission granted her by the Church at Poitiers to dress as
a man. The wily court shifted to another matter : to pursue
this one at this time might call Joan's attention to her small
mistake, and by her native cleverness she might recover her
lost ground. The tempestuous session had worn her and
drowsed her alertness.

" It is reported that you brought a dead child to life in the
church at Lagny. Was that in answer to your prayers ?"

" As to that, I have no knowledge. Other young girls were

376

praying for the child, and I joined them and prayed also, do
ing no more than they."

"Continue."

" While we prayed it came to life, and cried. It had been
dead three days, and was as black as my doublet. It was
straightway baptized, then it passed from life again and was
buried in holy ground."

"Why did you jump from the tower of Beaurevoir by night
and try to escape ?"

" I would go to the succor of Compiegne."

It was insinuated that this was an attempt to commit the
deep crime of suicide to avoid falling into the hands of the
English.

" Did you not say that you would rather die than be deliv
ered into the power of the English ?"

Joan answered frankly, without perceiving the trap —

" Yes ; my words were, that I would rather that my soul
be returned unto God than that I should fall into the hands
of the English."

It was now insinuated that when she came to, after jumping
from the tower, she was angry and blasphemed the name of
God ; and that she did it again when she heard of the defec
tion of the Commandant of Soissons. She was hurt and in
dignant at this, and said —

" It is not true. I have never cursed. It is not my custom
to swear."

CHAPTER XI

A HALT was called. It was time. Cauchon was losing
ground in the fight, Joan was gaining it. There were signs
that here and there in the court a judge was being softened
toward Joan by her courage, her presence of mind, her forti
tude, her constancy, her piety, her simplicity and candor, her
manifest purity, the nobility of her character, her fine intelli
gence, and the good brave fight she was making, all friendless
and alone against unfair odds, and there was grave room for
fear that this softening process would spread further and pres
ently bring Cauchon's plans in danger.

Something must be done, and it was done. Cauchon was
not distinguished for compassion, but he now gave proof that
he had it in his character. He thought it pity to subject so
many judges to the prostrating fatigues of this trial when it
could be conducted plenty well enough by a handful of them.
Oh, gentle Judge ! But he did not remember to modify the
fatigues for the little captive.

He would let all the judges but a handful go, but he would
select the handful himself, and he did. He chose tigers. If
a lamb or two got in, it was by oversight, not intention ; and
he knew what to do with lambs when discovered.

He called a small council, now, and during five days they
sifted the huge bulk of answers thus far gathered from Joan.
They winnowed it of all chaff, all useless matter — that is, all
matter favorable to Joan ; they saved up all matter which
could be twisted to her hurt, and out of this they constructed
a basis for a new trial which should have the semblance of a
continuation of the old one. Another change. It was plain
that the public trial had wrought damage : its proceedings

378

had been discussed all over the town and had moved many
to pity the abused prisoner. There should be no more of
that. The sittings should be secret hereafter, and no specta
tors admitted. So Noel could come no more. I sent this
news to him. I had not the heart to carry it myself. I would
give the pain a chance to modify before I should see him in
the evening.

On the tenth of March the secret trial began. A week had
passed since I had seen Joan. Her appearance gave me a
great shock. She looked tired and weak. She was listless
and far away, and her answers showed that she was dazed
and not able to keep perfect run of all that was done and
said. Another court would not have taken advantage of her
state, seeing that her life was at stake here, but would have
adjourned and spared her. Did this one ? No ; it worried
her for hours, and with a glad and eager ferocity, making all
it could out of this great chance, the first one it had had.

She was tortured into confusing herself concerning the
" sign " which had been given the King, and the next day
this was continued hour after hour. As a result, she made
partial revealments of particulars forbidden by her Voices ;
and seemed to me to state as facts things which were but al
legories and visions mixed with facts.

The third day she was brighter, and looked less worn.
She was almost her normal self again, and did her work well.
Many attempts were made to beguile her into saying indis
creet things, but she saw the purpose in view and answered
with tact and wisdom.

" Do you know if St. Catherine and St. Marguerite hate the
English?"

"They love whom Our Lord loves, and hate whom He
hates."

"Does God hate the English?"

" Of the love or the hatred of God toward the English I
know nothing." Then she spoke up with the old martial
ring in her voice and the old audacity in her words, and
added, " But I know this — that God will send victory to the

379

French, and that all the English will be flung out of France
but the dead ones !"

"Was God on the side of the English when they were
prosperous in France ?"

" I do not know if God hates the French, but I think that
he allowed them to be chastised for their sins."

It was a sufficiently nai've way to account for a chastise
ment which had now strung out for ninety - six years. But
nobody found fault with it. There was nobody there who
would not punish a sinner ninety-six years if he could, nor
anybody there who would ever dream of such a thing as the
Lord's being any shade less stringent than men.

" Have you ever embraced St. Marguerite -and St. Cather
ine ?"

" Yes, both of them."

The evil face of Cauchon betrayed satisfaction when she
said that.

"When you hung garlands upon EArbre Fee de Bourle-
mont, did you do it in honor of your apparitions ?"

"No."

Satisfaction again. No doubt Cauchon would take it for
granted that she hung them there out of sinful love for the
fairies.

"When the saints appeared to you did you bow, did you
make reverence, did you kneel ?"

" Yes ; I did them the most honor and the most reverence
that I could."

A good point for Cauchon if he could eventually make it
appear that these were no saints to whom she had done rev
erence, but devils in disguise.

Now there was the matter of Joan's keeping her supernat
ural commerce a secret from her parents. Much might be
made of that. In fact, particular emphasis had been given to
it in a private remark written in the margin of \hzproces : " She
concealed her visions from her parents and from every one"
Possibly this disloyalty to her parents might itself be the
sign of the satanic source of her mission.

" Do you think it was right to go away to the wars without
getting your parents' leave ? It is written one must honor
his father and his mother."

" I have obeyed them in all things but that. And for that
I have begged their forgiveness in a letter and gotten it."

" Ah, you asked their pardon ? So you knew you were
guilty of sin in going without their leave!"

Joan was stirred. Her eyes flashed, and she exclaimed —

" I was commanded of God, and it was right to go ! If I
had had a hundred fathers and mothers and been a king's
daughter to boot I would have gone."

"Did you never ask your Voices if you might tell your
parents ?"

"They were willing that I should tell them, but I would
not for anything have given my parents that pain."

To the minds of the questioners this headstrong conduct
savored of pride. That sort of pride would move one to
seek sacrilegious adorations.

" Did not your Voices call you Daughter of God ?"

Joan answered with simplicity, and unsuspiciously —

"Yes; before the siege of Orleans and since, they have
several times called me Daughter of God."

Further indications of pride and vanity were sought.

" What horse were you riding when you were captured ?
Who gave it you ?"

"The King."

"You had other things — riches — of the King?"

" For myself I had horses and arms, and money to pay the
service in my household."

" Had you not a treasury ?"

" Yes. Ten or twelve thousand crowns." Then she said
with naivete, " It was not a great sum to carry on a war with."

" You have it yet ?"

" No. It is the King's money. My brothers hold it for
him."

"What were the arms which you left as an offering in the
church of St. Denis ?"

" My suit of silver mail and a sword."

" Did you put them there in order that they might be
adored ?"

" No. It was but an act of devotion. And it is the cus
tom of men of war who have been wounded to make such
offering there. I had been wounded before Paris."

Nothing appealed to those stony hearts, those dull imagina
tions — not even this pretty picture, so simply drawn, of the
wounded girl-soldier hanging her toy harness there in curious
companionship with the grim and dusty iron mail of the his
toric defenders of France. No, there was nothing in it for
them ; nothing, unless evil and injury for that innocent creat
ure could be gotton out of it somehow.

"Which aided most — you the Standard, or the Standard
you ?"

" Whether it was the Standard or whether it was I, is noth
ing — the victories came from God."

" But did you base your hopes of victory in yourself or in
your Standard ?"

" In neither. In God, and not otherwhere."

"Was not your Standard waved around the King's head at
the Coronation ?"

"No. It was not."

"Why was it that your Standard had place at the crowning
of the King in the Cathedral of Rheims, rather than those of
the other captains ?"

Then, soft and low, came that touching speech which will
'live as long as language lives, and pass into all tongues, and
move all gentle hearts wheresoever it shall come, down to the
latest day :

"// had borne the burden, it had earned the honor." *

* What she said has been many times translated, but never with success.
There is a haunting pathos about the original which eludes all efforts to
convey it into our tongue. It is as subtle as an odor, and escapes in 'the
transmission. Her words were these :

"// avait tie a la peine, cetait bien raison qtiil fut a V honneur"
Monseigneur Ricard, Honorary Vicar-General to the Archbishop of Aix,

How simple it is, and how beautiful. And how it beggars
the studied eloquence of the masters of oratory. Eloquence
was a native gift of Joan of Arc; it came from her lips with
out effort and without preparation. Her words were as sub
lime as her deeds, as sublime as her character ; they had their
source in a great heart and were coined in a great brain.

finely speaks of it (""Jeanne d"1 Arc la Venerable," page 197) as " that
sublime reply, enduring in the history of celebrated sayings like the cry of
a French and Christian soul wounded unto death in its patriotism and its
faith. " — TRANSLATOR.

CHAPTER XII

Now as a next move, this small secret court of holy assas
sins did a thing so base that even at this day, in my old age,
it is hard to speak of it with patience.

In the beginning of her commerce with her Voices there at
Domremy, the child Joan solemnly devoted her life to God,
vowing her pure body and her pure soul to his service. You
will remember that her parents tried to stop her from going
to the wars by haling her to the court at Toul to compel her
to make a marriage which she had never promised to make —
a marriage with our poor, good, windy, big, hard-fighting and
most dear and lamented comrade the Standard-bearer, who
fell in honorable battle and sleeps in God these sixty years,
peace to his ashes ! And you will remember how Joan, six
teen years old, stood up in that venerable court and conduct
ed her case all by herself, and tore the poor Paladin's case to
rags and blew it away with a breath ; and how the astonished
old judge on the bench spoke of her as "this marvellous
child."

You remember all that. Then think what I felt, to see
these false priests here in the tribunal wherein Joan had
fought a fourth lone fight in three years, deliberately twist
that matter entirely around and try to make out that Joan
haled the Paladin into court and pretended that he had prom
ised to marry her, and was bent on making him do it.

Certainly there was no baseness that those people were
ashamed to stoop to in their hunt for that friendless girl's
life. What they wanted to show was this — that she had com
mitted the sin of relapsing from her vow and trying to vio
late it.

Joan detailed the true history of the case, but lost her tem
per as she went along, and finished with some words for Cau-
chon which he remembers yet, whether he is fanning himself
in the world he belongs in OT has swindled his way into the
other.

The rest of this day and part of the next the court labored
upon the old theme — the male attire. It was shabby work for
those grave men to be engaged in ; for they well knew one of
Joan's reasons for clinging to the male dress was, that soldiers
of the guard were always present in her room whether she
was asleep or awake, and that the male dress was a better
protection for her modesty than the other.

The court knew that one of Joan's purposes had been the
deliverance of the exiled Duke of Orleans, and they were cu
rious to know how she had intended to manage it. Her plan
was characteristically business-like, and her statement of it
as characteristically simple and straightforward :

" I would have taken English prisoners enough in France
for his ransom ; and failing that, I would have invaded Eng
land and brought him out by force."

That was just her way. If a thing was to be done, it was
love first, and hammer and tongs to follow ; but no shilly
shallying between. She added with a little sigh —

" If I had had my freedom three years, I would have deliv
ered him."

" Have you the permission of your Voices to break out of
prison whenever you can ?"

" I have asked their leave several times, but they have not
given it."

I think it is as I have said, she expected the deliverance of
death, and within the prison walls, before the three months
should expire.

"Would you escape if you saw the doors open?"

She spoke up frankly and said —

"Yes — for I should see in that the permission of Our Lord.
God helps who help themselves, the proverb says. But ex
cept I thought I had permission, I would not go."

Now, then, at this point, something occurred which con
vinces me, every time I think of it — and it struck me so at
the time — that for a moment, at least, her hopes wandered to
the King, and put into her mind the same notion about her
deliverance which Noel and I had settled upon — a rescue by
her old soldiers. I think the idea of the rescue did occur to
her, but only as a passing thought, and that it quickly passed
away.

Some remark of the Bishop of Beauvais moved her to re
mind him once more that he was an unfair judge, and had no
right to preside there, and that he was putting himself in
great danger.

"What danger?" he asked.

" I do not know. St. Catherine has promised me help, but
I do not know the form of it. I do not know whether I am
to be delivered from this prison or whether when you send me
to the scaffold there will happen a trouble by which I shall be
set free. Without much thought as to this matter, I am of
the opinion that it may be one or the other." After a pause
she added these words, memorable forever — words whose
meaning she may have miscaught, misunderstood, as to that
we can never know ; words which she may have rightly under
stood ; as to that also, we can never know ; but words whose
mystery fell away from them many a year ago and revealed
their real meaning to all the world :

" But what my Voices have said clearest is, that I shall be
delivered by a great victory''1 She paused, my heart was beat
ing fast, for to me that great victory meant the sudden burst
ing in of our old soldiers with war-cry and clash of steel at
the last moment and the carrying off of Joan of Arc in tri
umph. But oh, that thought had such a short life ! For now
she raised her head and finished, with those solemn words
which men still so often quote and dwell upon — words which
filled me with fear, they sounded so like a prediction. "And
always they say * Submit to whatever comes ; do not grieve for
your martyrdom; from it you will ascend into the Kingdom of
Paradise.' "
25

386

Was she thinking of fire and the stake? I think not. I
thought of it myself, but I believe she was only thinking of
this slow and cruel martyrdom of chains and captivity and in
sult. Surely martyrdom was the right name for it.

It was Jean de la Fontaine who was asking the questions.
He was willing to make the most he could out of what she
had said :

" As the Voices have told you you are going to Paradise,
you feel certain that that will happen and that you will not be
damned in hell. Is that so ?"

" I believe what they told me. I know that I shall be
saved."

" It is a weighty answer."

"To me the knowledge that I shall be saved is a great
treasure."

" Do you think that after that revelation you could be able
to commit mortal sin ?"

"As to that, I do not know. My hope for salvation is in
holding fast to my oath to keep my body and my soul pure."

" Since you know you are to be saved do you think it nec
essary to go to confession ?"

The snare was ingeniously devised, but Joan's simple and
humble answer left it empty —

"One cannot keep his conscience too clean."

We were now arriving at the last day of this new trial.
Joan had come through the ordeal well. It had been a long
and wearisome struggle for all concerned. All ways had been
tried to convict the accused, and all had failed, thus far. The
inquisitors were thoroughly vexed and dissatisfied. How
ever, they resolved to make one more effort, put in one more
day's work. This was done — March iyth. Early in the sit
ting a notable trap was set for Joan :

"Will you submit to the determination of the Church all
your words and deeds, whether good or bad ?"

That was well planned. Joan was in imminent peril now.
If she should heedlessly say yes, it would put her mission
tise/fupon trial, and one would know how to decide its source

387

and character promptly. If she should say no, she would
render herself chargeable with the crime of heresy.

But she was equal to the occasion. She drew a distinct
line of separation between the Church's authority over her as
a subject member, and the matter of her mission. She said
she loved the Church and was ready to support the Christian
faith with all her strength ; but as to the works done under
her mission, those must be judged by God alone, who had
commanded them to be done.

The judge still insisted that she submit them to the deci
sion of the Church. She said — •

" I will submit them to Our Lord who sent me. It would
seem to me that He and His Church are one, and that there
should be no difficulty about this matter." Then she turned
upon the judge and said, "Why do you make a difficulty
where there is no room for any ?"

Then Jean de la Fontaine corrected her notion that there
was but one Church. There were two — the Church Trium
phant, which is God, the saints, the angels, and the redeemed,
and has its seat in heaven ; and the Church Militant, which
is our Holy Father the Pope, Vicar of God, the prelates, the
clergy and all good Christians and catholics, the which Church
has its seat in the earth, is governed by the Holy Spirit, and
cannot err. " Will you not submit those matters to the
Church Militant ?"

" I am come to the King of France from the Church Tri
umphant on high by its commandant, and to that Church I
will submit all those things which I have done. For the
Church Militant I have no other answer now."

The court took note of this straightly worded refusal, and
would hope to get profit out of it ; but the matter was dropped
for the present, and a long chase was then made over the old
hunting-ground — the fairies, the visions, the male attire, and
all that.

In the afternoon the satanic Bishop himself took the chair
and presided over the closing scenes of the trial. Along tow
ard the finish, this question was asked by one of the judges :

388

" You have said to my lord the Bishop that you would an
swer him as you would answer before our Holy Father the
Pope, and yet there are several questions which you contin
ually refuse to answer. Would you not answer the Pope more
fully than you have answered before my lord of Beauvais ?
Would you not feel obliged to answer the Pope, who is the
Vicar of God, more fully ?"

Now fell a thunder-clap out of a clear sky —

" Take me to the Pope. I will answer to everything that I
ought to."

It made the Bishop's purple face fairly blanch with con
sternation. If Joan had only known, if she had only known !
She had lodged a mine under this black conspiracy able to
blow the Bishop's schemes to the four winds of heaven, and
she didn't know it. She had made that speech by mere in
stinct, not suspecting what tremendous forces were hidden in
it, and there was none to tell her what she had done. I knew,
and Manchon knew ; and if she had known how to read writ
ing we could have hoped to get the knowledge to her some
how ; but speech was the only way, and none was allowed to
approach her near enough for that. So there she sat, once
more Joan of Arc the Victorious, but all unconscious of it.
She was miserably worn and tired, by the long day's struggle
and by illness, or she must have noticed the effect of that
speech and divined the reason of it.

She had made many master-strokes, but this was the master
stroke. It was an appeal to Rome. It was her clear right ;
and if she had persisted in it Cauchon's plot would have
tumbled about his ears like a house of cards, and he would
have gone from that place the worst beaten man of the
century. He was daring, but he was not daring enough to
stand up against that demand if Joan had urged it. But no,
she was ignorant, poor thing, and did not know what a blow
she had struck for life and liberty.

France was not the Church. Rome had no interest in the
destruction of this messenger of God. Rome would have
given her a fair trial, and that was all that her cause needed.

389

From that trial she would have gone forth free and honored
and blest.

But it was not so fated. Cauchon at once diverted the
questions to other matters and hurried the trial quickly to an
end.

As Joan moved feebly away, dragging her chains, I felt
stunned and dazed, and kept saying to myself, " Such a little
while ago she said the saving word and could have gone free ;
and now, there she goes to her death ; yes, it is to her death,
I know it, I feel it. They will double the guards ; they will
never let any come near her now between this and her con
demnation, lest she get a hint and speak that word again.
This is the bitterest day that has come to me in all this mis
erable time."

CHAPTER XIII

So the second trial in the prison was over. Over, and no
definite result. The character of it I have described to you.
It was baser in one particular than the previous one; for this
time the charges had not been communicated to Joan, there
fore she had been obliged to fight in the dark. There was
no opportunity to do any thinking beforehand ; there was no
foreseeing what traps might be set, and no way to prepare for
them. Truly it was a shabby advantage to take of a girl sit
uated as this one was. One day, during the course of it, an
able lawyer of Normandy, Maitre Lohier, happened to be in
Rouen, and I will give you his opinion of that trial, so that
you may see that I have been honest with you, and that my
partisanship has not made me deceive you as to its unfair and
illegal character. Cauchon showed Lohier the proces and
asked his opinion about the trial. Now this was the opinion
which he gave to Cauchon. He said that the whole thing
was null and void ; for these reasons : i, because the trial
was secret, and full freedom of speech and action on the part
of those present not possible ; 2, because the trial touched
the honor of the King of France, yet he was not summoned
to defend himself, nor any one appointed to represent him ;
3, because the charges against the prisoner were not com
municated to her ; 4, because the accused, although young
and simple, had been forced to defend her cause without help
of counsel, notwithstanding she had so much at stake.

Did that please Bishop Cauchon ? It did not. He burst
out upon Lohier with the most savage cursings, and swore
he would have him drowned. Lohier escaped from Rouen
and got out of France with all speed, and so saved his life.

Well, as I have said, the second trial was over, without
definite result. But Cauchon did not give up. He could
trump up another. And still another and another, if neces
sary. He had the half-promise of an enormous prize— the
Archbishopric of Rouen — if he should succeed in burning the
body and damning to hell the soul of this young girl who had
never done him any harm ; and such a prize as that, to a
man like the Bishop of Beauvais, was worth the burning and
damning of fifty harmless girls, let alone one.

So he set to work again straight off, next day; and with
high confidence, too, intimating with brutal cheerfulness that
he should succeed this time. It took him and the other
scavengers nine days to dig matter enough out of Joan's tes
timony and their own inventions to build up the new mass of
charges. And it was a formidable mass indeed, for it num
bered sixty-six articles !

This huge document was carried to the castle the next day,
March 2yth ; and there, before a dozen carefully selected
judges, the new trial was begun.

Opinions were taken, and the tribunal decided that Joan
should hear the articles read, this time. Maybe that was on
account of Lohier's remark upon that head ; or maybe it was
hoped that the reading would kill the prisoner with fatigue —
for, as it turned out, this reading occupied several days. It
was also decided that Joan should be required to answer
squarely to every article, and that if she refused she should
be considered convicted. You see, Cauchon was managing
to narrow her chances more and more all the time ; he was
drawing the toils closer and closer.

Joan was brought in, and the Bishop of Beauvais opened
with a speech to her which ought to have made even himself
blush, so laden it was with hypocrisy and lies. He said that
this court was composed of holy and pious churchmen whose
hearts were full of benevolence and compassion toward her,
and that they had no wish to hurt her body, but only a desire
to instruct her and lead her into the way of truth and salva
tion.

392

Why, this man was born a devil ; now think of his describ
ing himself and those hardened slaves of his in such language
as that.

And yet, worse was to come. For now, having in mind an
other of Lohier's hints, he had the cold effrontery to make to
Joan a proposition which I think will surprise you when you
hear it. He said that this court, recognizing her untaught
estate and her inability to deal with the complex and difficult
matters which were about to be considered, had determined,
out of their pity and their mercifulness, to allow her to choose
one or more persons out of their own number to help her with
counsel and advice !

Think of that — a court made up of Loyseleur and his
breed of reptiles. It was granting leave to a lamb to ask
help of a wolf. Joan looked up to see if he was serious, and
perceiving that he was at least pretending to be, she declined,
of course.

The Bishop was not expecting any other reply. He had
made a show of fairness and could have it entered on the
minutes, therefore he was satisfied.

Then he commanded Joan to answer straightly to every
accusation ; and threatened to cut her off from the Church
if she failed to do that or delayed her answers beyond a given
length of time. Yes, he was narrowing her chances down,
step by step.

Thomas de Courcelles began the reading of that intermi
nable document, article by article. Joan answered to each
article in its turn ; sometimes merely denying its truth, some
times by saying her answer would be found in the records of
the previous trials.

What a strange document that was, and what an exhibition

and exposure of the heart of man, the one creature authorized

to boast that he is made in the image of God. To know Joan

» of Arc was to know one who was wholly noble, pure, truth-

' ful, brave, compassionate, generous, pious, unselfish, modest,

blameless as the very flowers in the fields — a nature fine and

beautiful, a character supremely great. To know her from

393

that document would be to know her as the exact reverse
of all that. Nothing that she was appears in it, everything
that she was not appears there in detail.

Consider some of the things it charges against her, and re
member who it is it is speaking of. It calls her a sorceress,
a false prophet, an invoker and companion of evil spirits, a
dealer in magic, a person ignorant of the Catholic faith, a
schismatic ; she is sacrilegious, an idolater, an apostate, a
blasphemer of God and his saints, scandalous, seditious, a dis
turber of the peace ; she incites men to war, and to the spill
ing of human blood ; she discards the decencies and proprie
ties of her sex, irreverently assuming the dress of a man and
the vocation of a soldier; she beguiles both princes and peo
ple ; she usurps divine honors, and has caused herself to be
adored and venerated, offering her hands and her vestments
to be kissed.

There it is — every fact of her life distorted, perverted, re
versed. As a child she had loved the fairies, she had spoken
a pitying word for them when they were banished from their
home, she had played under their tree and around their foun
tain — hence she was a comrade of evil spirits. She had lifted
France out of the mud and moved her to strike for freedom,
and led her to victory after victory — hence she was a dis
turber of the peace — as indeed she was, and a provoker of
war — as indeed she was again ! and France will be proud of
it and grateful for it for many a century to come. And she
had been adored — as if she could help that, poor thing, or was
in any way to blame for it. The cowed veteran and the wa
vering recruit had drunk the spirit of war from her eyes and
touched her sword with theirs and moved forward invincible
— hence she was a sorceress.

And so the document went on, detail by detail, turning
these waters of life to poison, this gold to dross, these proofs
of a noble and beautiful life to evidences of a foul and odious
one.

Of course the sixty-six articles were just a rehash of the
things which had come up in the course of the previous trials,

394

so I will touch upon this new trial but lightly. In fact Joan
went but little into detail herself, usually merely saying "That
is not tru&—passez outre'''1; or, "I have answered that before
— let the clerk read it in his record", or saying some other
brief thing.

She refused to have her mission examined and tried by the
earthly Church. The refusal was taken note of.

She denied the accusation of idolatry and that she had
sought men's homage. She said —

" If any kissed my hands and my vestments it was not by
my desire, and I did what I could to prevent it."

She had the pluck to say to that deadly tribunal that she
did not know the fairies to be evil beings. She knew it was a
perilous thing to say, but it was not in her nature to speak
anything but the truth when she spoke at all. Danger had
no weight with her in such things. Note was taken of her
remark.

She refused, as always before, when asked if she would put
off the male attire if she were given permission to commune.
And she added this :

" When one receives the sacrament, the manner of his
dress is a small thing and of no value in the eyes of Our
Lord."

She was charged with being so stubborn in clinging to her
male dress that she would not lay it off even to get the blessed
privilege of hearing mass. She spoke out with spirit and
said :

" I would rather die than be untrue to my oath to God."

She was reproached with doing man's work in the wars and
thus deserting the industries proper to her sex. She answered,
with some little touch of soldierly disdain —

"As to the matter of women's work, there's plenty to
do it."

It was always a comfort to me to see the soldier-spirit crop
up in her. While that remained in her she would be Joan of
Arc, and able to look trouble and fate in the face.

" It appears that this mission of yours which you claim

395

you had from God, was to make war and pour out human
blood."

Joan replied quite simply, contenting herself with explain
ing that war was not her first move, but her second :

"To begin with, I demanded that peace should be made.
If it was refused, then I would fight."

The judge mixed the Burgundians and English together in
speaking of the enemy which Joan had come to make war
upon. But she showed that she made a distinction between
them by act and word, the Burgundians being Frenchmen and
therefore entitled to less brusque treatment than the English.
She said :

" As to the Duke of Burgundy, I required of him, both by
letters and by his .ambassadors, that he make peace with the
King. As to the English, the only peace for them was that
they leave the country and go home."

Then she said that even with the English she had shown a
pacific disposition, since she had warned them away by proc
lamation before attacking them.

" If they had listened to me," said she, " they would have
done wisely." At this point she uttered her prophecy again,
saying with emphasis, " Before seven years they will see it
themselves."

Then they presently began to pester her again about her
male costume, and tried to persuade her to voluntarily prom
ise to discard it. I was never deep, so I think it no wonder
that I was puzzled by their persistency in what seemed a
thing of no consequence, and could not make out what their
reason could be. But we all know, now. We all know now
that it was another of their treacherous projects. Yes, if they
could but succeed in getting her to formally discard it they
could play a game upon her which would quickly destroy her.
So they kept at their evil work until at last she broke out and
said —

"Peace! Without the permission of God I will not lay it
off though you cut off my head !"

At one point she corrected the /raw verbal, saying —

396

" It makes me say that everything which I have done was
done by the counsel of Our Lord. I did not say that. I said
'all which I have well done.' "

Doubt was cast upon the authenticity of her mission be
cause of the ignorance and simplicity of the messenger chosen.
Joan smiled at that. She could have reminded these people
that Our Lord, who is no respecter of persons, had chosen the
lowly for his high purposes even oftener than he had chosen
bishops and cardinals ; but she phrased her rebuke in simpler
terms :

" It is the prerogative of Our Lord to choose His instru
ments where He will."

She was asked what form of prayer she used in invoking
counsel from on high. She said the form was brief and sim
ple ; then she lifted her pallid face and repeated it, clasping
her chained hands :

" Most dear God, in honor of your holy passion I beseech
you, if you love me, that you will reveal to me what I am to
answer to these churchmen. As concerns my dress, I know
by what command I have put it on, but I know not in what
manner I am to lay it off. I pray you tell me what to do."

She was charged with having dared, against the precepts of
God and His saints, to assume empire over men and make
herself Commander-in-Chief. That touched the soldier in her.
She had a deep reverence for priests, but the soldier in her
had but small reverence for a priest's opinions about war ;
so, in her answer to this charge she did not condescend to go
into any explanations or excuses, but delivered herself with
bland indifference and military brevity.

" If I was Commander-in-Chief, it was to thrash the Eng
lish!"

Death was staring her in the face here, all the time, but no
matter : she dearly loved to make these English - hearted
Frenchmen squirm, and whenever they gave her an opening
she was prompt to jab her sting into it. She got great re
freshment out of these little episodes. Her days were a des
ert ; these were the oases in it.

397

Her being in the wars with men was charged against her
as an indelicacy. She said —

" I had a woman with me when I could — in towns and lodg
ings. In the field I always slept in my armor."

That she and her family had been ennobled by the King
was charged against her as evidence that the source of her
deeds were sordid self-seeking. She answered that she had
not asked this grace of the King, it was his own act.

This third trial was ended at last. And once again there
was no definite result.

Possibly a fourth trial might succeed in defeating this ap
parently unconquerable girl. So the malignant Bishop set
himself to work to plan it.

He appointed a commission to reduce the substance of
the sixty -six articles to twelve compact lies, as a basis
for the new attempt. This was done. It took several
days.

Meantime Cauchon went to Joan's cell one day, with Man-
chon and two of the judges, Isambard de la Pierre and Martin
Ladvenue, to see if he could not manage somehow to beguile
Joan into submitting her mission to the examination and
decision of the church militant — that is to say, to that part
of the church militant which was represented by himself and
his creatures.

Joan once more positively refused. Isambard de la Pierre
had a heart in his body, and he so pitied this persecuted
poor girl that he ventured to do a very daring thing; for he
asked her if she would be willing to have her case go before
the Council of Basel, and said it contained as many priests of
her party as of the English party.

Joan cried out that she would gladly go before so fairly
constructed a tribunal as that; but before Isambard could
say another word, Cauchon turned savagely upon him and
exclaimed —

" Shut up, in the devil's name !"

Then Manchon ventured to do a brave thing, too, though
he did it in great fear for his life. He asked Cauchon if he

398

should enter Joan's submission to the Council of Basel upon
the minutes.

" No ! It is not necessary."

" Ah," said poor Joan, reproachfully, " you set down every
thing that is against me, but you will not set down what is
for me."

It was piteous. It would have touched the heart of a brute.
But Cauchon was more than that.

CHAPTER XIV

WE were now in the first days of April. Joan was ill.
She had fallen ill the 2gth of March, the day after the close
of the third trial, and was growing worse when the scene
which I have just described occurred in her cell. It was just
like Cauchon to go there and try to get some advantage out
of her weakened state.

Let us note some of the particulars in the new indictment —
the Twelve Lies.

Part of the first one says Joan asserts that she has found
her salvation. She never said anything of the kind. It also
says she refuses to submit herself to the Church. Not true.
She was willing to submit all her acts to this Rouen tribunal
except those done by command of God in fulfilment of her
mission. Those she reserved for the judgment of God. She
refused to recognize Cauchon and his serfs as the Church,
but was willing to go before the Pope or the Council of
Basel.

A clause of another of the Twelve says she admits having
threatened with death those who would not obey her. Dis
tinctly false. Another clause says she declares that all she
has done has been done by command of God. What she
really said was, all that she had done well — a correction made
by herself as you have already seen.

Another of the Twelve says she claims that she has never
committed any sin. She never made any such claim.

Another makes the wearing of the male dress a sin. If it
was, she had high Catholic authority for committing it —
that of the Archbishop of Rheims and the tribunal of Poitiers.

The Tenth Article was resentful against her for "pretend-

400

ing" that St. Catherine and St. Marguerite spoke French and
not English, and were French in their politics.

The Twelve were to be submitted first to the learned doc
tors of theology of the University of Paris for approval.
They were copied out and ready by the night of April 4th.
Then Manchon did another bold thing: he wrote in the mar
gin that many of the Twelve put statements in Joan's mouth
which were the exact opposite of what she had said. That
fact would not be considered important by the University of
Paris, and would not influence its decision or stir its human
ity, in case it had any — which it hadn't when acting in a po
litical capacity, as at present — but it was a brave thing for
that good Manchon to do, all the same.

The Twelve were sent to Paris next day, April 5th. That
afternoon there was a great tumult in Rouen, and excited
crowds were flocking through all the chief streets, chattering
and seeking for news; for a report had gone abroad that Joan
of Arc was sick unto death. In truth these long seances had
worn her out, and she was ill indeed. The heads of the Eng
lish party were in a state of consternation ; for if Joan should
die uncondemned by the Church and go to the grave un-
smirched, the pity and the love of the people would turn her
wrongs and sufferings and death into a holy martyrdom, and
she would be even a mightier power in France dead, than she
had been when alive.

The Earl of Warwick and the English Cardinal (Winches
ter) hurried to the castle and sent messengers flying for
physicians. Warwick was a hard man, a rude coarse man, a
man without compassion. There lay the sick girl stretched
in her chains in her iron cage — not an object to move man to
ungentle speech, one would think ; yet Warwick spoke right
out in her hearing and said to the physicians —

" Mind you take good care of her. The King of England
has no mind to have her die a natural death. She is dear to
him, for he bought her dear, and he does not want her to die,
save at the stake. Now then, mind you cure her."

The doctors asked Joan what had made her ill. She said

401

the Bishop of Beauvais had sent her a fish and she thought it
was that.

Then Jean d'Estivet burst out on her, and called her
names and abused her. He understood Joan to be charging
the Bishop with poisoning her, you see ; and that was not
pleasing to him, for he was one of Cauchon's most loving and
conscienceless slaves, and it outraged him to have Joan injure
his master in the eyes of these great English chiefs, these
being men who could ruin Cauchon and would promptly do it
if they got the conviction that he was capable of saving Joan
from the stake by poisoning her and thus cheating the Eng
lish out of all the real value gainable by her purchase from the
Duke of Burgundy.

Joan had a high fever, and the doctors proposed to bleed
her. Warwick said —

" Be careful about that ; she is smart and is capable of kill
ing herself."

He meant that to escape the stake she might undo the
bandage and let herself bleed to death.

But the doctors bled her anyway, and then she was better.

Not for long, though. Jean d'Estivet could not hold still,
he was so worried and angry about the suspicion of poisoning
which Joan had hinted at ; so he came back in the evening
and stormed at her till he brought the fever all back again.

When Warwick heard of this he was in a fine temper, you
may be sure, for here was his prey threatening to escape
again, and all through the over-zeal of this meddling fool.
Warwick gave D'Estivet a quite admirable cursing — admirable
as to strength, I mean, for it was said by persons of culture
that the art of it was not good — and after that the meddler
kept still.

Joan remained ill more than two weeks ; then she grew
better. She was still very weak, but she could bear a lit
tle persecution now without much danger to her life. It
seemed to Cauchon a good time to furnish it. So he called
together some of his doctors of theology and went to her dun
geon. Manchon and I went along to keep the record — that
26

402

is, to set down what might be useful to Cauchon, and leave
out the rest.

The sight of Joan gave me a shock. Why, she was but a
shadow ! It was difficult for me to realize that this frail little
creature with the sad face and drooping form was the same
Joan of Arc that I had so often seen, all fire and enthusiasm,
charging through a hail of death and the lightning and thun
der of the guns at the head of her battalions. It wrung my
heart to see her looking like this.

But Cauchon was not touched. He made another of those
conscienceless speeches of his, all dripping with hypocrisy and
guile. He told Joan that among her answers had been some
which had seemed to endanger religion ; and as she was ig
norant and without knowledge of the Scriptures, he had
brought some good and wise men to instruct her, if she de
sired it. Said he, " We are churchmen, and disposed by our
good will as well as by our vocation to procure for you the
salvation of your soul and your body, in every way in our
power, just as we would do the like for our nearest kin or for
ourselves. In this we but follow the example of Holy Church,
who never closes the refuge of her bosom against any that are
willing to return."

Joan thanked him for these sayings and said :

" I seem to be in danger of death from this malady ; if it
be the pleasure of God that I die here, I beg that I may be
heard in confession and also receive my Saviour ; and that I
may be buried in consecrated ground."

Cauchon thought he saw his opportunity at last ; this weak
ened body had the fear of an unblessed death before it and
the pains of hell to follow. This stubborn spirit would sur
render now. So he spoke out and said —

" Then if you want the Sacraments, you must do as all good
Catholics do, and submit to the Church. ';

He was eager for her answer ; but when it came there was
no surrender in it, she still stood to her guns. She turned
her head away and said wearily —

" I have nothing more to say."

Cauchon's temper was stirred, and he raised his voice threat
eningly and said that the more she was in danger of death the
more she ought to amend her life ; and again he refused the
things she begged for unless she would submit to the Church.
Joan said —

" If I die in this prison I beg you to have me buried in
holy ground ; if you will not, I cast myself upon my Saviour."

There was some more conversation of the like sort, then
' Cauchon demanded again, and imperiously, that she submit
^herself and all her deeds to the Church. His threatening and
storming went for nothing. That body was weak, but the
spirit in it was the spirit of Joan of Arc; and out of that came
the steadfast answer which these people were already so fa
miliar with and detested so sincerely —

" Let come what may, I will neither do nor say any other
wise than I have said already in your tribunals."

Then the good theologians took turn about and worried her
with reasonings and arguments and Scriptures ; and always
they held the lure of the Sacraments before her famishing soul,
and tried to bribe her with them to surrender her mission to
the Church's judgment — that is to their judgment — as if they
were the Church ! But it availed nothing. I could have told
them that beforehand, if they had asked me. But they never
asked me anything ; I was too humble a creature for their no
tice.

Then the interview closed with a threat ; a threat of fear
ful import ; a threat calculated to make a Catholic Christian
feel as if the ground were sinking from under him —

"The Church calls upon you to submit; disobey, and she
will abandon you as if you were a pagan !"

Think of being abandoned by the Church ! — that august
Power in whose hands is lodged the fate of the human race ;
whose sceptre stretches beyond the furthest constellation that
twinkles in the sky ; whose authority is over the millions that
live and over the billions that wait trembling in purgatory for
ransom or doom ; whose smile opens the gates of Heaven to
you, whose frown delivers you to the fires of everlasting hell ;

404

a Power whose dominion overshadows and belittles earthly
empire as earthly empire overshadows and belittles the pomps
and shows of a village. To be abandoned by one's King-
yes, that is death, and death is much ; but to be abandoned
by Rome, to be abandoned by the Church ! Ah, death is
nothing to that, for that is consignment to endless life — and
such a life !

I could see the red waves tossing in that shoreless lake of
fire, I could see the black myriads of the damned rise out of
them and struggle and sink and rise again ; and I knew that
Joan was seeing what I saw, while she paused musing ; and
I believed that she must yield now, and in truth I hoped she
would, for these men were able to make the threat good and
deliver her over to eternal suffering, and I knew that it was in
their natures to do it.

But I was foolish to think that thought and hope that hope.
Joan of Arc was not made as others are made. Fidelity to
principle, fidelity to truth, fidelity to her word, all these were
in her bone and in her flesh — they were parts of her. She
could not' change, she could not cast them out. She was the
very genius of Fidelity, she was Steadfastness incarnated.
Where she had taken her stand and planted her foot, there
she would abide ; hell itself could not move her from that
place.

Her Voices had not given her permission to make the sort
of submission that was required, therefore she would stand
fast. She would wait, in perfect obedience, let come what
might.

My heart was like lead in my body when I went out from
that dungeon ; but she — she was serene, she was not troubled.
She had done what she believed to be her duty, and that was
sufficient; the consequences were not her affair. The last
thing she said, that time, was full of this serenity, full of con
tented repose —

" I am a good Christian born and baptized, and a good
Christian I will die."

CHAPTER XV

Two weeks went by; the second of May was come, the chill
was departed out of the air, the wild flowers were springing
in the glades and glens, the birds were piping in the woods,
all nature was brilliant with sunshine, all spirits were renewed
and refreshed, all hearts glad, the world was alive with hope
and cheer, the plain beyond the Seine stretched away soft and
rich and green, the river was limpid and lovely, the leafy isl
ands were dainty to see, and flung still daintier reflections of
themselves upon the shining water ; and from the tall bluffs
above the bridge Rouen was become again a delight to the
eye, the most exquisite and satisfying picture of a town that
nestles under the arch of heaven anywhere.

When I say that all hearts were glad and hopeful, I mean
it in a general sense. There were exceptions — we who were
the friends of Joan of Arc, also Joan of Arc herself, that poor
girl shut up there in that frowning stretch of mighty walls and
towers : brooding in darkness, so close to the flooding down
pour of sunshine yet so impossibly far away from it ; so long
ing for any little glimpse of it, yet so implacably denied it by
those wolves in the black gowns who were plotting her death
and the blackening of her good name.

Cauchon was ready to go on with his miserable work. He
had a new scheme to try, now. He would see what persuasion
could do — argument, eloquence, poured out upon the incorri
gible captive from the mouth of a trained expert. That was
his plan. But the reading of the Twelve Articles to her was
not a part of it. No, even Cauchon was ashamed to lay that
monstrosity before her ; even he had a remnant of shame in
him, away down deep, a million fathoms deep, and that rem
nant asserted itself now and prevailed.

406

On this fair second of May, then, the black company gathered
itself together in the spacious chamber at the end of the great
hall of the castle — the Bishop of Beauvais on his throne, and
sixty-two minor judges massed before him, with the guards
and recorders at their stations and the orator at his desk.

Then we heard the far clank of chains, and presently Joan
entered with her keepers and took her seat upon her isolated
bench. She was looking well, now, and most fair and beauti
ful after her fortnight's rest from wordy persecution.

She glanced about and noted the orator. Doubtless she
divined the situation.

The orator had written his speech all out, and had it in his
hand, though he held it back of him out of sight. It was so
thick that it resembled a book. He began flowingly, but in
the midst of a flowery period his memory failed him and he
had to snatch a furtive glance at his manuscript — which much
injured the effect. Again this happened, and then a third
time. The poor man's face was red with embarrassment, the
whole great house was pitying him, which made the matter
worse ; then Joan dropped in a remark which completed his
trouble. She said :

" Read your book — and then I will answer you !"

Why, it was almost cruel the way those mouldy veterans
laughed ; and as for the orator, he looked so flustered and
helpless that almost anybody would have pitied him, and I
had difficulty to keep from doing it myself. Yes, Joan was
feeling very well after her rest, and the native mischief that
was in her lay near the surface. It did not show, when she
made the remark, but I knew it was close in there back of the
words.

When the orator had gotten back his composure he did a
wise thing; for he followed Joan's advice : he made no more
attempts at sham impromptu oratory, but read his speech
straight from his "book." In the speech he compressed the
Twelve Articles into six and made these his text.

Every now and then he stopped and asked questions, and
Joan replied. The nature of the church militant was ex-

407

plained, and once more Joan was asked to submit herself
to it.

She gave her usual answer.

Then she was asked —

" Do you believe the Church can err ?"

" I believe it cannot err ; but for those deeds and words of
mine which were done and uttered by command of God, I will
answer to him alone."

" Will you say that you have no judge upon earth ? Is not
our Holy Father the Pope your judge ?"

" I will say nothing to you about it. I have a good Master
who is our Lord and to Him I will submit all."

Then came these terrible words :

" If you do not submit to the Church you will be pro
nounced a heretic by these judges here present and burned at
the stake !"

Ah, that would have smitten you or me dead with fright,
but it only roused the lion heart of Joan of Arc, and in her
answer rang that martial note which had used to stir her sol
diers like a bugle-call —

" I will not say otherwise than I have said already; and if
I saw the fire before me I would say it again !"

It was uplifting to hear her battle-voice once more and see
the battle-light burn in her eye. Many there were stirred ;
every man that was a man was stirred, whether friend or foe ;
and Manchon risked his life again, good soul, for he wrote in
the margin of the record in good plain letters these brave
words : " Supcrba responsio /" and there they have remained
these sixty years, and there you may read them to this day.

" Superba responsio /" Yes, it was just that. For this "su
perb answer " came from the lips of a girl of nineteen with
death and hell staring her in the face.

Of course the matter of the male attire was gone over
again ; and as usual at wearisome length ; also, as usual, the
customary bribe was offered : if she would discard that dress
voluntarily they would let her hear mass. But she answered
as she had often answered before —

408

" I will go in a woman's robe to all services of the church
if I may be permitted, but I will resume the other dress when
I return to my cell."

They set several traps for her in a tentative form ; that is
to say, they placed supposititious propositions before her and
cunningly tried to commit her to one end of the propositions
without committing themselves to the other. But she always
saw the game and spoiled it. The trap was in this form —

" Would you be willing to do so and so if wre should give
you leave ?"

Her answer was always in this form or to this effect :
"When you give me leave, then you will know."
Yes, Joan was at her best, that second of May. She had all
her wits about her, and they could not catch her anywhere. It
was a long, long session, and all the old ground was fought over
again, foot by foot, and the orator-expert worked all his per
suasions, all his eloquence ; but the result was the familiar
one — a drawn battle, the sixty-two retiring upon their base,
the solitary enemy holding her original position within her
original lines.

CHAPTER XVI

THE brilliant weather, the heavenly weather, the bewitching
weather made everybody's heart to sing, as I have told you ;
yes, Rouen was feeling light-hearted and gay, and most willing
and ready to break out and laugh upon the least occasion ;
and so when the news went around that the young girl in the
tower had scored another defeat against Bishop Cauchon
there was abundant laughter — abundant laughter among the
citizens of both parties, for they all hated the Bishop. It is
true, the English-hearted majority of the people wanted Joan
burned, but that did not keep them from laughing at the man
they hated. It would have been perilous for anybody to
laugh at the English chiefs or at the majority of Cauchon's
assistant judges, but to laugh at Cauchon or D'Estivet and
Loyseleur was safe — nobody would report it.

The difference between Cauchon and cochon * was not no
ticeable in speech, and so there was plenty of opportunity for
puns : the opportunities were not thrown away.

Some of the jokes got well worn in the course of two or
three months, from repeated use ; for every time Cauchon
started a new trial the folk said "The sow has littered f
again"; and every time the trial failed they said it over again,
with its other meaning, " The hog has made a mess of it."

And so, on the third of May, Noel and I, drifting about the
town, heard many a wide-mouthed lout let go his joke and
his laugh, and then move to the next group, proud of his wit
and happy, to work it off again —

* Hog, pig.

f Cochonner, to litter, to farrow ; also, " to make a mess of !"

4io

" 'Ods blood, the sow has littered five times, and five times
has made a mess of it!"

And now and then one was bold enough to say — but he
said it softly —

" Sixty-three and the might of England against a girl, and
she camps on the field five times !"

Cauchon lived in the great palace of the Archbishop, and
it was guarded by English soldiery ; but no matter, there was
never a dark night but the walls showed, next morning, that
the rude joker had been there with his paint and brush. Yes,
he had been there, and had smeared the sacred walls with
pictures of hogs in all attitudes except flattering ones ; hogs
clothed in a Bishop's vestments and wearing a Bishop's mitre
irreverently cocked on the side of their heads.

Cauchon raged and cursed over his defeats and his impo
tence during seven days, then he conceived a new scheme.
You shall see what it was ; for you have not cruel hearts, and
you would never guess it.

On the ninth of May there was a summons, and Manchon
and I got our materials together and started. But this time
we were to go to one of the other towers — not the one which
was Joan's prison. It was round and grim and massive, and
built of the plainest and thickest and solidest masonry — a
dismal and forbidding structure.*

We entered the circular room on the ground floor, and I
saw what turned me sick — the instruments of torture and the
executioners standing ready! Here you have the black heart
of Cauchon at the blackest, here you have the proof that in
his nature there was no such thing as pity. One wonders if
he ever knew his mother or ever had a sister.

Cauchon was there, and the Vice-Inquisitor and the Abbot
of St. Corneille ; also six others, among them that false Loy-
seleur. The guards were in their places, the rack was there,
and by it stood the executioner and his aids in their crimson

* The lower half of it remains to-day just as it was then ; the upper
half is of a later date. — TRANSLATOR.

EXECUTION OF JOAN OF ARC
(From the mural painting- by J. E. Lenepveu in the Pantheon at Paris)

hose and doubtlets, meet color for their bloody trade. The
picture of Joan rose before me stretched upon the rack, her
feet tied to one end of it, her wrists to the other, and those
red giants turning the windlass and pulling her limbs out of
their sockets. It seemed to me that I could hear the bones
snap and the flesh tear apart, and I did not see how that
body of anointed servants of the merciful Jesus could sit
there and look so placid and indifferent.

After a little, Joan arrived and was brought in. She saw
the rack, she saw its attendants, and the same picture which
I had been seeing must have risen in her mind ; but do you
think she quailed, do you think she shuddered ? No, there
was no sign of that sort. She straightened herself up, and
there was a slight curl of scorn about her lip ; but as for fear,
she showed not a vestige of it.

This was a memorable session, but it was the shortest one
of all the list. When Joan had taken her seat a resume of
her " crimes " was read to her. Then Cauchon made a sol
emn speech. In it he said that in the course of her several
trials Joan had refused to answer some of the questions and
had answered others with lies, but that now he was going to
have the truth out of her, and the whole of it.

His manner was full of confidence this time; he was sure
he had found a way at last to break this child's stubborn
spirit and make her beg and cry. He would score a victory
this time and stop the mouths of the jokers of Rouen. You
see, he was only just a man, after all, and couldn't stand
ridicule any better than other people. He talked high,
and his splotchy face lighted itself up with all the shifting
tints and signs of evil pleasure and promised triumph — pur- I
pie, yellow, red, green — they were all there, with sometimes |
the dull and spongy blue of a drowned man, the uncanniest
of them all. And finally he burst out in a great passion and
said —

"There is the rack, and there are its ministers! You will
reveal all, now, or be put to the torture. Speak."

Then she made that great answer, which will live forever ;

412

made it without fuss or bravado, and yet how fine and noble
was the sound of it —

" I will tell you nothing more than I have told you ; no,
not even if you tear the limbs from my body. And even
if in my pain I did say something otherwise, I would al
ways say afterwards that it was the torture that spoke and
not I."

There was no crushing that spirit. You should have seen
Cauchon. Defeated again, and he had not dreamed of such
a thing. I heard it said next day, around the town, that he
had a full confession, all written out, in his pocket and all
ready for Joan to sign. I do not know that that was true,
but it probably was, for her mark signed at the bottom of a
confession would be the kind of evidence (for effect with the
public) which Cauchon and his people would particularly
value, you know.

No, there was no crushing that spirit, and no beclouding
that clear mind. Consider the depth, the wisdom of that an
swer, coming from an ignorant girl. Why, there were not six
men in the world who had ever reflected that words forced
out of a person by horrible tortures were not necessarily
words of verity and truth, yet this unlettered peasant girl put
her finger upon that flaw with an unerring instinct. I had
always supposed that torture brought out the truth — every
body supposed it -, and when Joan came out with those sim
ple common-sense words they seemed to flood the place with
light. It was like a lightning-flash at midnight which sud
denly reveals a fair valley sprinkled over with silver streams
and gleaming villages and farmsteads where was only an im
penetrable world of darkness before. Manchon stole a side-
wise look at me, and his face was full of surprise ; and there
was the like to be seen in other faces there. Consider — they
were old, and deeply cultured, yet here was a village maid
able to teach them something which they had not known be
fore. I heard one of them mutter — •

" Verily it is a wonderful creature. She has laid her hand
upon an accepted truth that is as old as the world, and it

413

has crumbled to dust and rubbish under her touch. Now
whence got she that marvellous insight ?"

The judges laid their heads together and began to talk
low. It was plain, from chance words which one caught now
and then, that Cauchon and Loyseleur were insisting upon
the application of the torture, and that most of the others were
urgently objecting.

Finally Cauchon broke out with a good deal of asperity in
his voice and ordered Joan back to her dungeon. That was
a happy surprise for me. I was not expecting that the Bishop
would yield.

When Manchon came home that night he said he had
found out why the torture was not applied. There were two
reasons. One was, a fear that Joan might die under the
torture, which would not suit the English at all ; the other
was, that the torture would effect nothing if Joan was going
to take back everything she said under its pains ; and as to
putting her mark to a confession, it was believed that not
even the rack could ever make her do that.

So all Rouen laughed again, and kept it up for three days,
saying—

"The sow has littered six times, and made six messes
of it."

And the palace walls got a new decoration — a mitred hog
carrying a discarded rack home on its shoulder, and Loyseleur
weeping in its wake. Many rewards were offered for the
capture of these painters, but nobody applied. Even the
English guard feigned blindness and would not see the ar
tists at work.

The Bishop's anger was very high now. He could not
reconcile himself to the idea of giving up the torture. It was
the pleasantest idea he had invented yet, and he would not
cast it by. So he called in some of his satellites on the twelfth,
and urged the torture again. But it was a failure. With
some, Joan's speech had wrought an effect ; others feared she
might die under the torture ; others did not believe that any
amount of suffering could make her put her mark to a lying

414

confession. There were fourteen men present, including the
Bishop. Eleven of them voted dead against the torture, and
stood their ground in spite of Cauchon's abuse. Two voted
with the Bishop and insisted upon the torture. These two
were Loyseleur and the orator — the man whom Joan had
bidden to " read his book " — Thomas de Courcelles, the re
nowned pleader, and master of eloquence.

Age has taught me charity of speech ; but it fails me when
I think of those three names — Cauchon, Courcelles, Loyseleur.

CHAPTER XVII

ANOTHER ten days' wait. The great theologians of that
treasury of all valuable knowledge and all wisdom, the Uni
versity of Paris, were still weighing and considering and dis
cussing the Twelve Lies.

I had but little to do, these ten days, so I spent them main
ly in walks about the town with Noel. But there was no
pleasure in them, our spirits being so burdened with cares,
and the outlook for Joan growing so steadily darker and
darker all the time. And then we naturally contrasted our
circumstances with hers : this freedom and sunshine, with
her darkness and chains -, our comradeship, with her lonely
estate ; our alleviations of one sort and another, with her des
titution in all. She was used to liberty, but now she had
none ; she was an out-of-door creature by nature and habit,
but now she was shut up day and night in a steel cage like
an animal-, she was used to the light, but now she was always
in a gloom where all objects about her were dim and spectral ;
she was used to the thousand various sounds which are the
cheer and music of a busy life, but now she heard only the
monotonous footfall of the sentry pacing his watch ; she had
been fond of talking with her mates, but now there was no
one to talk to ; she had had an easy laugh, but it was
gone dumb, now; she had been born for comradeship, and
blithe and busy work, and all manner of joyous activities, but
here were only dreariness, and leaden hours, and weary in
action, and brooding stillness, and thoughts that travel day
and night and night and day round and round in the same
circle, and wear the brain and break the heart with weariness.

416

It was death in life; yes, death in life, that is what it must
have been. And there was another hard thing about it all.
A young girl in trouble needs the soothing solace and sup
port and sympathy of persons of her own sex, and the deli
cate offices and gentle ministries which only these can fur
nish ; yet in all these months of gloomy captivity in her
dungeon Joan never saw the face of a girl or a woman. Think
how her heart would have leaped to see such a face.

Consider. If you would realize how great Joan of Arc was,
remember that it was out of such a place and such circum
stances that she came week after week and month after
month and confronted the master intellects of France single-
handed, and baffled their cunningest schemes, defeated their
ablest plans, detected and avoided their secretest traps and
pitfalls, broke their lines, repelled their assaults, and camped
on the field after every engagement; steadfast always, true to
her faith and her ideals-, defying torture, defying the stake,
and answering threats of eternal death and the pains of hell
with a simple " Let come what may, here I take my stand
and will abide."

Yes, if you would realize how great was the soul, how pro
found the wisdom, and how luminous the intellect of Joan of
Arc, you must study her there, where she fought out that long
fight all alone — and not merely against the subtlest brains
and deepest learning of France, but against the ignoblest de
ceits, the meanest treacheries, and the hardest hearts to be
found in any land, pagan or Christian.

She was great in battle — we all know that-, great in fore
sight -, great in loyalty and patriotism ; great in persuading
discontented chiefs and reconciling conflicting interests and
passions , great in the ability to discover merit and genius
wherever it lay hidden ; great in picturesque and eloquent
speech ; supremely great in the gift of firing the hearts of
hopeless men with noble enthusiasms, the gift of turning
hares into heroes, slaves and skulkers into battalions that
march to death with songs upon their lips. But all these are
exalting activities-, they keep hand and heart and brain

417

keyed up to their work : there is the joy of achievement, the
inspiration of stir and movement, the applause which hails
success ; the soul is overflowing with life and energy, the
faculties are at white heat; weariness, despondency, inertia —
these do not exist.

Yes, Joan of Arc was great always, great everywhere, but
she was greatest in the Rouen trials. There she rose above
the limitations and infirmities of our human nature, and ac
complished under blighting and unnerving and hopeless con
ditions all that her splendid equipment of moral and in
tellectual forces could have accomplished if they had been
supplemented by the mighty helps of hope and cheer and
light, the presence of friendly faces, and a fair and equal fight,
with the great world looking on and wondering.

CHAPTER XVIII

TOWARD the end of the ten-day interval the University of
Paris rendered its decision concerning the Twelve Articles.
By this finding, Joan was guilty upon all the counts: she must
renounce her errors and make satisfaction, or be abandoned
to the secular arm for punishment.

The University's mind was probably already made up be
fore the Articles were laid before it ; yet it took it from the
fifth to the eighteenth to produce its verdict. I think the
delay may have been caused by temporary difficulties con
cerning two points :

1, As to who the fiends were who were represented in Joan's
Voices ;

2, As to whether her saints spoke French only.

You understand, the University decided emphatically that
it was fiends who spoke in those Voices; it would need to
prove that, and it did. It found out who the fiends were, and
named them in the verdict : Belial, Satan, and Behemoth.
This has always seemed a doubtful thing to me, and not en
titled to much credit. I think so for this reason : if the Uni
versity had actually known it was those three, it would for
very consistency's sake have told how it knew it, and not
stopped with the mere assertion, since it had made Joan ex
plain how she knew they were not fiends. Does not that
seem reasonable ? To my mind the University's position was
weak, and I will tell you why. It had claimed that Joan's
angels were devils in disguise, and we all know that devils do
disguise themselves as angels ; up to that point the Universi
ty's position was strong ; but you see yourself that it eats its
own argument when it turns around and pretends that it can

419

tell who such apparitions are, while denying the like ability to
a person with as good a head on her shoulders as the best one
the University could produce.

The doctors of the University had to see those creatures in
order to know; and if Joan was deceived, it is argument that
they in their turn could also be deceived, for their insight and
judgment were surely not clearer than hers.

As to the other point which I have thought may have
proved a difficulty and cost the University delay, I will touch
but a moment upon that, and pass on. The University de
cided that it was blasphemy for Joan to say that her saints
spoke French and not English, and were on the French side
in political sympathies. I think that the thing which trou
bled the doctors of theology was this : they had decided that
the three Voices were Satan and two other devils ; but they
had also decided that these Voices were not on the French
side — thereby tacitly asserting that they were on the English
side ; and if on the English side, then they must be angels
and not devils. Otherwise, the situation was embarrassing.
You see, the University being the wisest and deepest and
most erudite body in the world, it would like to be logical if
it could, for the sake of its reputation ; therefore it would
study and study, clays and days, trying to find some good com
mon-sense reason for proving the Voices devils in Article No.
i and proving them angels in Article No. 10. However, they
had to give it up. They found no way out : and so, to this day
the University's verdict remains just so — devils in No. i, an
gels in No. 10 ; and no way to reconcile the discrepancy.

The envoys brought the verdict to Rouen, and with it a let
ter for Cauchon which was full of fervid praise. The Uni
versity complimented him on his zeal in hunting down this
woman " whose venom had infected the faithful of the whole
West," and as recompense it as good as promised him " a
crown of imperishable glory in heaven." Only that ! — a crown
in heaven ; a promissory note and no indorser ; always some
thing away off yonder ; not a word about the Archbishopric
of Rouen, which was the thing Cauchon was destroying his

420

soul for. A crown in heaven ; it must have sounded like a
sarcasm to him, after all his hard work. What should he do
in heaven ? he did not know anybody there.

On the nineteenth of May a court of fifty judges sat in the
archiepiscopal palace to discuss Joan's fate. A few wanted
her delivered over to the secular arm at once for punishment,
but the rest insisted that she be once more "charitably ad
monished " first.

So the same court met in the castle on the twenty-third, and
Joan was brought to the bar. Pierre Maurice, a canon of Rouen,
made a speech to Joan in which he admonished her to save
her life and her soul by renouncing her errors and surrender
ing to the Church. He finished with a stern threat : if she
remained obstinate the damnation of her soul was certain, the
destruction of her body probable. But Joan was immovable.
She said —

" If I were under sentence, and saw the fire before me, and
the executioner ready to light it — more, if I were in the fire
itself, I would say none but the things which I have said in
these trials ; and I would abide by them till I died."

A deep silence followed, now, which endured some mo
ments. It lay upon me like a weight. I knew it for an
omen. Then Cauchon, grave and solemn, turned to Pierre
Maurice —

" Have you anything further to say ?"

The priest bowed low, and said —

" Nothing, my lord."

"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything further to say?'1

" Nothing."

"Then the debate is closed. To-morrow, sentence will be
pronounced. Remove the prisoner."

She seemed to go from the place erect and noble. But I do
not know; my sight was dim with tears.

To-morrow — twenty-fourth of May ! Exactly a year since I
saw her go speeding across the plain at the head of her troops,
her silver helmet shining, her silvery cape fluttering in the
wind, her white plumes flowing, her sword held aloft ; saw her

421

charge the Burgundian camp three times, and carry it ; saw
her wheel to the right and spur for the Duke's reserves ; saw
her fling herself against it in the last assault she was ever to
make. And now that fatal day was come again — and see
what it was bringing !

CHAPTER XIX

JOAN had been adjudged guilty of heresy, sorcery, and all
the other terrible crimes set forth in the Twelve Articles, and
her life was in Cauchon's hands at last. He could send her
to the stake at once. His work was finished now, you think ?
He was satisfied ? Not at all. What would his Archbishopric
be worth if the people should get the idea into their heads
that this faction of interested priests, slaving under the Eng
lish lash, had wrongly condemned and burned Joan of Arc,
Deliverer of France ? That would be to make of her a holy
martyr. Then her spirit would rise from her body's ashes, a
thousand-fold reinforced, and sweep the English domination
into the sea, and Cauchon along with it. No, the victory was
not complete yet. Joan's guilt must be established by evi
dence which would satisfy the people. Where was that evi
dence to be found ? There was only one person in the world
who could furnish it — Joan of Arc herself. She must con
demn herself, and in public — at least she must seem to
do it.

But how was this to be managed ? Weeks had been spent
already in trying to get her to surrender — time wholly wasted ;
what was to persuade her now ? Torture had been threat
ened, the fire had been threatened ; what was left ? Illness,
deadly fatigue, and the sight of the fire, the presence of the
fire ! That was left.

Now that was a shrewd thought. She was but a girl, after
all, and, under illness and exhaustion, subject to a girl's weak
nesses.

Yes, it was shrewdly thought. She had tacitly said, her
self, that under the bitter pains of the rack they would be

THE MAID OF ORLEANS
(From a statue by Freimet in the Rue de Rivoli at Paris)

able to extort a false confession from her. It was a hint
worth remembering, and it was remembered.

She had furnished another hint at the same time : that as
soon as the pains were gone, she would retract the confes
sion. That hint was also remembered.

She had herself taught them what to do, you see. First,
they must wear out her strength, then frighten her with the
fire. Second, while the fright was on her, she must be made
to sign a paper.

But she would demand a reading of the paper. They could
not venture to refuse this, with the public there to hear. Sup
pose that during the reading her courage should return ? she
would refuse to sign, then. Very well, even that difficulty
could be got over. They could read a short paper of no im
portance, then slip a long and deadly one into its place and
trick her into signing that.

Yet there was still one other difficulty. If they made her
seem to abjure, that would free her from the death penalty.
They could keep her in a prison of the Church, but they could
not kill her. That would not answer-, for only her death
would content the English. Alive she was a terror, in a
prison or out of it. She had escaped from two prisons
already.

But even that difficulty could be managed. Cauchon would
make promises to her ; in return, she would promise to leave
off the male dress. He would violate his promises, and that
would so situate her that she would not be able to keep hers.
Her lapse would condemn her to the stake, and the stake
would be ready.

These were the several moves -, there was nothing to do
but to make them, each in its order, and the game was won.
One might almost name the day that the betrayed girl, the
most innocent creature in France, and the noblest, would go
to her pitiful death.

And the time was favorable — cruelly favorable. Joan's
spirit had as yet suffered no decay, it was as sublime and
masterful as ever ; but her body's forces had been steadily

424

wasting away in those last ten days, and a strong mind needs
a healthy body for its rightful support.

The world knows, now, that Cauchon's plan was as I have
sketched it to you, but the world did not know it at that time.
There are sufficient indications that Warwick and all the other
English chiefs except the highest one — the Cardinal of Win
chester — were not let into the secret ; also, that only Loyse-
leur and Beaupere, on the French side, knew the scheme.
Sometimes I have doubted if even Loyseleur and Beaupere
knew the whole of it at first. However, if any did, it was
these two.

It is usual to let the condemned pass their last night of
life in peace, but this grace was denied to poor Joan, if one
may credit the rumors of the time. Loyseleur was smuggled
into her presence, and in the character of priest, friend, and
secret partisan of France and hater of England, he spent some
hours in beseeching her to do " the only right and righteous
thing" — submit to the Church, as a good Christian should;
and that then she would straightway get out of the clutches
of the dreaded English and be transferred to the Church's
prison, where she would be honorably used and have women
about her for jailers. He knew where to touch her. He
knew how odious to her was the presence of her rough and
profane English guards ; he knew that her Voices had vague
ly promised something which she interpreted to be escape,
rescue, release of some sort, and the chance to burst upon
France once more and victoriously complete the great work
which she had been commissioned of Heaven to do. Also
there was that other thing : if her failing body could be
further weakened by loss of rest and sleep, now, her tired
mind would be dazed and drowsy on the morrow, and in
ill condition to stand out against persuasions, threats, and
the sight of the stake, and also be purblind to traps and
snares which it would be swift to detect when in its normal
estate.

I do not need to tell you that there was no rest for me that
night. Nor for Noel. We went to the main gate of the city

425

before nightfall, with a hope in our minds, based upon that
vague prophecy of Joan's Voices which seemed to promise a
rescue by force at the last moment. The immense news had
flown swiftly far and wide that at last Joan of Arc was con
demned, and would be sentenced and burned alive on the
morrow ; and so, crowds of people were flowing in at the
gate, and other crowds were being refused admission by the
soldiery ; these being people who brought doubtful passes or
none at all. We scanned these crowds eagerly, but there was
nothing about them to indicate that they were our old war-
comrades in disguise, and certainly there were no familiar
faces among them. And so, when the gate was closed at last,
we turned away grieved, and more disappointed than we cared
to admit, either in speech or thought.

The streets were surging tides of excited men. It was dif
ficult to make one's way. Toward midnight our aimless
tramp brought us to the neighborhood of the beautiful church
of St. Ouen, and there all was bustle and work. The square
was a wilderness of torches and people ; and through a guard
ed passage dividing the pack, laborers were carrying planks
and timbers and disappearing with them through the gate of
the churchyard. We asked what was going forward ; the
answer was —

" Scaffolds and the stake. Don't you know that the French
witch is to be burnt in the morning?"

Then we went away. We had no heart for that place.

At dawn we were at the city gate again ; this time with a
hope which our wearied bodies and fevered minds magnified
into a large probability. We had heard a report that the
Abbot of Jumieges with all his monks was coming to witness
the burning. Our desire, abetted by our imagination, turned
those nine hundred monks into Joan's old campaigners, and
their Abbot into La Hire or the Bastard or D'Alen9on ; and
we watched them file in, unchallenged, 'the multitude respect
fully dividing and uncovering while they passed, with our
hearts in our throats and our eyes swimming with tears of joy
and pride and exultation ; and we tried to catch glimpses of

426

the faces under the cowls, and were prepared to give signal to
any recognized face that we were Joan's men and ready and
eager to kill and be killed in the good cause. How foolish
we were ; but we were young, you know, and youth hopeth all
things, believeth all things.

CHAPTER XX

IN the morning I was at my official post. It was on a plat
form raised the height of a man, in the churchyard, under the
eaves of St. Ouen. On this same platform was a crowd of
priests and important citizens, and severa"! lawyers. Abreast
it, with a small space between, was another and larger plat
form, handsomely canopied against sun ancj rain, and richly
carpeted ; also it was furnished with comfortable chairs, and
with two which were more sumptuous than the others, and
raised above the general level. One of these two was occu
pied by a prince of the royal blood of England, his Eminence
the Cardinal of Winchester ; the other by Cauchon, Bishop of
Beauvais. In the rest of the chairs sat three bishops, the
Vice-Inquisitor, eight abbots, and the sixty-two friars and
lawyers who had sat as Joan's judges in her late trials.

Twenty steps in front of the platforms was another — a
table-topped pyramid of stone, built up in retreating courses,
thus forming steps. Out of this rose that grisly thing the
stake ; about the stake bundles of fagots and firewood were
piled. On the ground at the base of the pyramid stood three
crimson figures, the executioner and his assistants. At their
feet lay what had been a goodly heap of brands, but was now
a smokeless nest of ruddy coals ; a foot or two from this was
a supplemental supply of wood and fagots compacted into a
pile shoulder-high and containing as much as six pack-horse
loads. Think of that. We seem so delicately made, so de
structible, so insubstantial ; yet it is easier to reduce a granite
statue to ashes than it is to do that with a man's body.

The sight of the stake sent physical pains tingling down the
nerves of my body; and yet, turn as I would, my eyes would

428

keep coming back to it, such fascination has the grewsome
and the terrible for us.

The space occupied by the platforms and the stake was
kept open by a wall of English soldiery, standing elbow to el
bow, erect and stalwart figures, fine and sightly in their pol
ished steel ; while from behind them on every hand stretched
far away a level plain of human heads -, and there was no
window and no housetop within our view, howsoever distant,
but was black with patches and masses of people.

But there was no noise, no stir ; it was as if the world was
dead. The impressiveness of this silence and solemnity was
deepened by a leaden twilight, for the sky was hidden by a
pall of low-hanging storm-clouds ; and above the remote hori
zon faint winkings of heat-lightning played, and now and then
one caught the dull mutterings and complainings of distant
thunder.

At last the stillness was broken. From beyond the square
rose an indistinct sound, but familiar — curt, crisp phrases of
command ; next I saw the plain of heads dividing, and the
steady swing of a marching host was glimpsed between. My
heart leaped, for a moment. Was it La Hire and his hell
ions ? No — that was not their gait. No, it was the prisoner
and her escort; it was Joan of Arc, under guard, that was
coming ; my spirits sank as low as they had been before.
Weak as she was, they made her walk •, they would increase
her weakness all they could. The distance was not great— it
was but a few hundred yards — but short as it was it was a
heavy tax upon one who had been lying chained in one spot
for months, and whose feet had lost their powers from inac
tion. Yes, and for a year Joan had known only the cool
damps of a dungeon, and now she was dragging herself
through this sultry summer heat, this airless and suffocating
void. As she enterec the gate, drooping with exhaustion,
there was that creature Loyseleur at her side with his head
bent to her ear. We knew afterwards that he had been with
her again this morning in the prison wearying her with his
persuasions and enticing her with false promises, and that he

429

was now still at the same work at the gate, imploring her to
yield everything that would be required of her, and assuring
her that if she would do this all would be well with her : she
would be rid of the dreaded English and find safety in the
powerful shelter and protection of the Church. A miserable
man, a stony-hearted man !

The moment Joan was seated on the platform she closed
her eyes and allowed her chin to fall ; and so sat, with her
hands nestling in her lap, indifferent to everything, caring for
nothing but rest. And she was so white again ; white as ala
baster.

How the faces of that packed mass of humanity lighted up
with interest, and with what intensity all eyes gazed upon this
fragile girl ! And how natural it was ; for these people real
ized that at last they were looking upon that person whom
they had so long hungered to see ; a person whose name and
fame filled all Europe, and made all other names and all other
renowns insignificant by comparison : Joan of Arc, the won
der of the time, and destined to be the wonder of all times ! |
And I could read as by print, in their marvelling counte
nances, the words that were drifting through their minds :
" Can it be true ; is it believable, that it is this little creature,
this girl, this child with the good face, the sweet face, the beau
tiful face, the dear and bonny face, that has carried fortresses
by storm, charged at the head of victorious armies, blown the
might of England out of her path with a breath, and fought
a long campaign, solitary and alone, against the massed brains
and learning of France — and had won it if the fight had been
fair !"

Evidently Cauchon had grown afraid of Manchon because
of his pretty apparent leanings toward Joan, for another re
corder was in the chief place, here, which left my master and
me nothing to do but sit idle and look on.

Well, I supposed that everything had been done which
could be thought of to tire Joan's body and mind, but it was
a mistake \ one more device had been invented. This was to
preach a long sermon to her in that oppressive heat.

43°

When the preacher began, she cast up one distressed and
disappointed look, then dropped her head again. This
preacher was Guillaume Erard, an oratorical celebrity. He
got his text from the Twelve Lies. He emptied upon Joan
all the calumnies, in detail, that had been bottled up in that
mess of venom, and called her all the brutal names that the
Twelve were labelled with, working himself into a whirlwind
of fury as he went on ; but his labors were wasted, she seemed
lost in dreams, she made no sign, she did not seem to hear.
At last he launched this apostrophe :

" O France, how hast thou been abused ! Thou hast al
ways been the home of Christianity ; but now, Charles, who
calls himself thy King and governor, indorses like the here
tic and schismatic that he is, the words and deeds of a worth
less and infamous woman !" Joan raised her head, and her
eyes began to burn and flash. The preacher turned toward
her : " It is to you, Joan, that I speak, and I tell you that
your King is schismatic and a heretic !"

Ah, he might abuse her to his heart's content ; she could
endure that ; but to her dying moment she could never hear
in patience a word against that ingrate, that treacherous dog
our King, whose proper place was here, at this moment,
sword in hand, routing these reptiles and saving this most
noble servant that ever King had in this world — and he
would have been there if he had not been what I have called
him. Joan's loyal soul was outraged, and she turned upon
the preacher and flung out a few. words with a spirit which
the crowd recognized as being in accordance with the Joan
of Arc traditions —

u By my faith, sir ! I make bold to say and swear,
on pain of death, that he is the most noble Christian of
all Christians, and the best lover of the faith and the
Church !"

There was an explosion of applause from the crowd — which
angered the preacher, for he had been aching long to hear an
expression like this, and now that it was come at last it had
fallen to the wrong person : he had done all the work ; the

431

other had carried off all the spoil. He stamped his foot and
shouted to the sheriff —

" Make her shut up !"

That made the crowd laugh.

A mob has small respect for a grown man who has to call
on a sheriff to protect him from a sick girl.

Joan had damaged the preacher's cause more with one
sentence than he had helped it with a hundred ; so he was
much put out, and had trouble to get a good start again.
But he needn't have bothered ; there was no occasion. It
was mainly an English-feeling mob. It had but obeyed a
law of our nature — an irresistible law — to enjoy and applaud
a spirited and promptly delivered retort, no matter who makes
it. The mob was with the preacher ; it had been beguiled
for a moment, but only that ; it would soon return. It was
there to see this girl burnt ; so that it got that satisfaction —
without too much delay — it would be content.

Presently the preacher formally summoned Joan to submit
to the Church. He made the demand with confidence, for
he had gotten the idea from Loyseleur and Beaupere that she
was worn to the bone, exhausted, and would not be able to
put forth any more resistance ; and indeed, to look at her it
seemed that they must be right. Nevertheless, she made one
more effort to hold her ground, and said, wearily—

" As to that matter, I have answered my judges before. I
have told them to report all that I have said and done to our
holy Father the Pope — to whom, and to God first, I appeal."

Again, out of her native wisdom, she had brought those
words of tremendous import, but was ignorant of their value.
But they could have availed her nothing in any case, now,
•with the stake there and these thousands of enemies about
her. Yet they made every churchman there blench, and the
preacher changed the subject with all haste. Well might
those criminals blench, for Joan's appeal of her case to the
Pope stripped Cauchon at once of jurisdiction over it, and
annulled all that he and his judges had already done in the
matter and all that they should do in it thenceforth.

432

Joan went on presently to reiterate, after some further talk,
that she had acted by command of God in her deeds and ut
terances ; then, when an attempt was made to implicate the
King, and friends of hers and his, she stopped that. She
said —

" I charge my deeds and words upon no one, neither upon
my King nor any other. If there is any fault in them, I am
responsible and no other."

She was asked if she would not recant those of her words
and deeds which had been pronounced evil by her judges.
Her answer made confusion and damage again :

" I submit them to God and the Pope."

The Pope once more ! It was very embarrassing. Here
was a person who was asked to submit her case to the Church,
and who frankly consents — offers to submit it to the very
head of it. What more could any one require ? How was
one to answer such a formidably unanswerable answer as
that?

The worried judges put their heads together and whispered
and planned and discussed. Then they brought forth this
sufficiently shambling conclusion — but it was the best they
could do, in so close a place : they said the Pope was so far
away ; and it was not necessary to go to him, anyway, because
these present judges had sufficient power and authority to
deal with the present case, and were in effect " the Church "
to that extent. At another time they could have smiled at
this conceit, but not now ; they were not comfortable enough,
now.

The mob was getting impatient. It was beginning to put
on a threatening aspect ; it was tired standing, tired of the
scorching heat ; and the thunder was coming nearer, the
lightning was flashing brighter. It was necessary to hurry
this matter to a close. Erard showed Joan a written form,
which had been prepared and made all ready beforehand, and
asked her to abjure.

" Abjure ? What is abjure ?"

She did not know the word. It was explained to her by

433

Massieu. She tried to understand, but she was breaking,
under exhaustion, and she could not gather the meaning. It
was all a jumble and confusion of strange words. In her de
spair she sent out this beseeching cry —

" I appeal to the Church universal whether I ought to ab
jure or no !"

Erard exclaimed —

" You shall abjure instantly, or instantly be burnt !"

She glanced up, at those awful words, and for the first
time she saw the stake and the mass of red coals — redder
and angrier than ever, now, under the constantly deepening
storm-gloom. She gasped and staggered up out of her seat
muttering and mumbling incoherently, and gazed vacantly
upon the people and the scene about her like one who is
dazed, or thinks he dreams, and does not know where he is.

The priests crowded about her imploring her to sign the
paper, there were many voices beseeching and urging her at
once, there was great turmoil and shouting and excitement,
amongst the populace and everywhere.

" Sign ! sign !" from the priests ; " sign — sign and be saved !"
And Loyseleur was urging at her ear, " Do as I told you — do
not destroy yourself !"

Joan said plaintively to these people —

" Ah, you do not do well to seduce me."

The judges joined their voices to the others. Yes, even
the iron in their hearts melted, and they said —

" Oh, Joan, we pity you so ! Take back what you have
said, or we must deliver you up to punishment."

And now there was another voice — it was from the other
platform — pealing solemnly above the din : Cauchon's — read
ing the sentence of death !

Joan's strength was all spent. She stood looking about
her in a bewildered way a moment, then slowly she sank to
her knees, and bowed her head and said —

"I submit."

They gave her no time to reconsider — they knew the peril

of that. The moment the words were out of her mouth
28

434

Massieu was reading to her the abjuration, and she was re
peating the words after him mechanically, unconsciously —
and smiling ; for her wandering mind was far away in some
happier world.

Then this short paper of six lines was slipped aside and a
long one of many pages was smuggled into its place, and she,
noting nothing, put her mark to it, saying, in pathetic apology,
that she did not know how to write. But a secretary of the
King of England was there to take care of that defect ; he
guided her hand with his own, and wrote her name — Jehanne.

The great crime was accomplished. She had signed —
what? She did not know — but the others knew. She had
signed a paper confessing herself a sorceress, a dealer with
devils, a liar, a blasphemer of God and His angels, a lover of
blood, a promoter of sedition, cruel, wicked, commissioned of
Satan ; and this signature of hers bound her to resume the
dress of a woman. There were other promises, but that one
would answer, without the others ; that one could be made to
destroy her.

Loyseleur pressed forward and praised her for having done
" such a good day's work."

But she was still dreamy, she hardly heard.

Then Cauchon pronounced the words which dissolved the
excommunication and restored her to her beloved Church,
with all the dear privileges of worship. Ah, she heard that !
You could see it in the deep gratitude that rose in her face
and transfigured it with joy.

But how transient was that happiness ! For Cauchon, with
out a tremor of pity in his voice, added these crushing
words —

"And that she may repent of her crimes and repeat them
no more, she is sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, with the
bread of affliction and the water of anguish !"

Perpetual imprisonment ! She had never dreamed of that —
such a thing had never been hinted to her by Loyseleur or by
any other. Loyseleur had distinctly said and promised that
" all would be well with her." And the very last words spoken

JOAN SIGNS THE LIST OF ACCUSATIONS

435

to her by Erard, on that very platform, when he was urging
her to abjure, was a straight, unqualified promise— that if she
would do it she should go free from captivity.

She stood stunned and speechless a moment; then she re
membered, with such solacement as the thought could furnish,
that by another clear promise — a promise made by Cauchon
himself — she would at least be the Church's captive, and have
women about her in place of a brutal foreign soldiery. So
she turned to the body of priests and said, with a sad resig
nation —

" Now, you men of the Church, take me to your prison, and
leave me no longer in the hands of the English"; and she
gathered up her chains and prepared to move.

But alas, now came these shameful words from Cauchon —
and with them a mocking laugh :

"Take her to the prison whence she came !"

Poor abused girl ! She stood dumb, smitten, paralyzed. It
was pitiful to see. She had been beguiled, lied to, betrayed ;
she saw it all, now.

The rumbling of a drum broke upon the stillness, and for
just one moment she thought of the glorious deliverance
promised by her Voices — I read it in the rapture that lit her
face ; then she saw what it was — her prison escort — and that
light faded, never to revive again. And now her head began
a piteous rocking motion, swaying slowly, this way and that,
as is the way when one is suffering unwordable pain, or when
one's heart is broken ; then drearily she went from us, with
her face in her hands, and sobbing bitterly.

CHAPTER XXI

THERE is no certainty that any one in all Rouen was in the
secret of the deep game which Cauchon was playing except
the Cardinal of Winchester. Then you can imagine the as
tonishment and stupefaction of that vast mob gathered there
and those crowds of churchmen assembled on the two plat
forms, when they saw Joan of Arc moving away, alive and
whole — slipping out of their grip at last, after all this tedious
waiting, all this tantalizing expectancy.

Nobody was able to stir or speak, for a while, so paralyzing
was the universal astonishment, so unbelievable the fact that
the stake was actually standing there unoccupied and its prey
gone. Then suddenly everybody broke into a fury of rage ;
maledictions and charges of treachery began to fly freely ;
yes, and even stones : a stone came near killing the Cardinal
of Winchester — it just missed his head. But the man who
threw it was not to blame, for he was excited, and a person
who is excited never can throw straight.

The tumult was very great indeed, for a while. In the
midst of it a chaplain of the Cardinal even forgot the propri
eties so far as to opprobriously assail the august Bishop of
Beauvais himself, shaking his fist in his face and shouting :

" By God, you are a traitor !"

" You lie !" responded the Bishop.

He a traitor ! Oh, far from it ; he certainly was the last
Frenchman that any Briton had a right to bring that charge
against.

The Earl of Warwick lost his temper, too. He was a
doughty soldier, but when it came to the intellectuals — when
it came to delicate chicane, and scheming, and trickery — he

437

couldn't see any further through a millstone than another.
So he burst out in his frank warrior fashion, and swore that
the King of England was being treacherously used, and that
Joan of Arc was going to be allowed to cheat the stake. But
they whispered comfort into his ear —

" Give yourself no uneasiness, my lord ; we shall soon have
her again."

Perhaps the like tidings found their way all around, for
good news travels fast as well as bad. At any rate the rag-
ings presently quieted down, and the huge concourse crumbled
apart and disappeared. And thus we reached the noon of
that fearful Thursday.

We two youths were happy ; happier than any words can
tell — for we were not in the secret any more than the rest.
Joan's life was saved. We knew that, and that was enough.
France would hear of this day's infamous work — and then !
Why, then her gallant sons would flock to her standard by
thousands and thousands, multitudes upon multitudes, and their '
wrath would be like the wrath of the ocean when the storm-
winds sweep it ; and they would hurl themselves against this
doomed city and overwhelm it like the resistless tides of that
ocean, and Joan of Arc would march again ! In six days —
seven days — one short week — noble France, grateful France,
indignant France, would be thundering at these gates — let us
count the hours, let us count the minutes, let us count the sec
onds ! Oh happy day, oh day of ecstasy, how our hearts sang
in our bosoms !

For we were young, then ; yes, we were very young.

Do you think the exhausted prisoner was allowed to rest
and sleep after she had spent the small remnant of her
strength in dragging her tired body back to the dungeon?

No ; there was no rest for her, with those sleuth-hounds on
her track. Cauchon and some of his people followed her to her
lair, straightway ; they found her dazed and dull, her mental
and physical forces in a state of prostration. They told her
she had abjured ; that she had made certain promises—
among them, to resume the apparel of her sex ; and that if

438

she relapsed, the Church would cast her out for good and all.
She heard the words, but they had no meaning to her. She
was like a person who has taken a narcotic and is dying for
sleep, dying for rest from nagging, dying to be let alone, and
who mechanically does everything the persecutor asks, taking
but dull note of the things done, and but dully recording them
in the memory. And so Joan put on the gown which Cau-
chon and his people had brought ; and would come to herself
by-and-by, and have at first but a dim idea as to when and
how the change had come about.

Cauchon went away happy and content. Joan had resumed
woman's dress without protest ; also she had been formally
warned against relapsing. He had witnesses to these facts.
How could matters be better ?

But suppose she should not relapse ?

Why, then she must be forced to do it.

Did Cauchon hint to the English guards that thenceforth if
they chose to make their prisoner's captivity crueler and bit
terer than ever, no official notice would be taken of it ? Per
haps so ; since the guards did begin that policy at once, and
no official notice was taken of it. Yes, from that moment
Joan's life in that dungeon was made almost unendurable. Do
not ask me to enlarge upon it. I will not do it.

CHAPTER XXII

FRIDAY and Saturday were happy days for Noel and me.
Our minds were full of our splendid dream of France aroused
—France shaking her mane — France on the march — France
at the gates — Rouen in ashes, and Joan free ! Our imagina
tion was on fire ; we were delirious with pride and joy. For
we were very young, as I have said.

We knew nothing about what had been happening in the
dungeon the yester-afternoon. We supposed that as Joan
had abjured and been taken back into the forgiving bosom of
the Church, she was being gently used, now, and her captiv
ity made as pleasant and comfortable for her as the circum
stances would allow. So, in high contentment, we planned
out our share in the great rescue, and fought our part of the
fight over and over again during those two happy days — as
happy days as ever I have known.

Sunday morning came. I was awake, enjoying the balmy,
lazy weather, and thinking. Thinking of the rescue — what
else ? I had no other thought now. I was absorbed in that,
drunk with the happiness of it.

I heard a voice shouting, far clown the street, and soon it
came nearer, and I caught the words —

"Joan of Arc has relapsed 7 The witch's time has come /"

It stopped my heart, it turned my blood to ice. That was
more than sixty years ago, but that triumphant note rings as
clear in my memory to-day as it rang in my ear that long-van
ished summer morning. We are so strangely made ; the
memories that could make us happy pass away ; it is the
memories that break our hearts that abide.

Soon other voices took up that cry — tens, scores, hundreds

440

of voices ; all the world seemed filled with the brutal joy of
it. And there were other clamors — the clatter of rushing feet,
merry congratulations, bursts of coarse laughter, the rolling
of drums, the boom and crash of distant bands profaning the
sacred day with the music of victory and thanksgiving.

About the middle of the afternoon came a summons for
Manchon and me to go to Joan's dungeon — a summons from
Cauchon. But by that time distrust had already taken pos
session of the English and their soldiery again, and all Rouen
was in an angry and threatening mood. We could see plenty
evidences of this from our own windows — fist-shaking, black
looks, tumultuous tides of furious men billowing by along the
street.

And we learned that up at the castle things were going
very badly indeed ; that there was a great mob gathered
there who considered the relapse a lie and a priestly trick,
and among them many half-drunk English soldiers. More
over, these people had gone beyond words. They had laid
hands upon a number of churchmen who were trying to enter
the castle, and it had been difficult work to rescue them and
save their lives.

And so Manchon refused to go. He said he would not go
a step without a safeguard from Warwick. So next morning
Warwick sent an escort of soldiers, and then we went. Mat
ters had not grown peacefuler meantime, but worse. The
soldiers protected us from bodily damage, but as we passed
through the great mob at the castle we were assailed with in
sults and shameful epithets. I bore it well enough, though,
and said to myself, with secret satisfaction, " In three or
four short days, my lads, you will be employing your tongues
in a different sort from this — and I shall be there to
hear."

To my mind these were as good as dead men. How many
of them would still be alive after the rescue that was coming ?
Not more than enough to amuse the executioner a short half-
hour, certainly.

It turned out that the report was true. Joan had relapsed.

441

She was sitting there in her chains, clothed again in her male
attire.

She accused nobody. That was her way. It was not in
her character to hold a servant to account for what his master
had made him do, and her mind had cleared, now, and she
knew that the advantage which had been taken of her the
previous morning had its origin, not in the subordinate, but
in the master — Cauchon.

Here is what had happened. While Joan slept, in the early
morning of Sunday, one of the guards stole her female ap
parel and put her male attire in its place. When she woke
she asked for the other dress, but the guards refused to give
•it back. She protested, and said she was forbidden to wear
the male dress. But they continued to refuse. She had to
have clothing, for modesty's sake ; moreover, she saw that
she could not save her life if she must fight for it against
treacheries like this ,- so she put on the forbidden garments,
knowing what the end would be. She was weary of the
struggle, poor thing.

\Ve had followed in the wake of Cauchon, the Vice-Inquisi
tor, and the others — six or eight — and when I saw Joan sitting
there, despondent, forlorn, and still in chains, when I was ex
pecting to find her situation so different, I did not know what
to make of it. The shock was very great. I had doubted
the relapse, perhaps j possibly I had believed in it, but had
not realized it.

Cauchon's victory was complete. He had had a harassed
and irritated and disgusted look for a long time, but that was
all gone now, and contentment and serenity had taken its
place. His purple face was full of tranquil and malicious
happiness. He went trailing his robes and stood grandly in
front of Joan, with his legs apart, and remained so more than
a minute, gloating over her and enjoying the sight of this
poor ruined creature, who had won so lofty a place for him
in the service of the meek and merciful Jesus, Saviour of the
World, Lord of the Universe — in case England kept her
promise to him, who kept no promises himself.

442

Presently the judges began to question Joan. One of them,
named Marguerie, who was a man with more insight than
prudence, remarked upon Joan's change of clothing, and said —

"There is something suspicious about this. How could it
have come about without connivance on the part of others ?
Perhaps even something worse ?"

"Thousand devils!" screamed Cauchon, in a fury. "Will
you shut your mouth ?"

" Armagnac ! Traitor!" shouted the soldiers on guard, and
made a rush for Marguerie with their lances levelled. It was
with the greatest difficulty that he was saved from being run
through the body. He made no more attempts to help the
inquiry, poor man. The other judges proceeded with the ques
tionings.

"Why have you resumed this male habit?"

I did not quite catch her answer, for just then a soldier's
halberd slipped from his fingers and fell on the stone floor
with a crash 5 but I thought I understood Joan to say that she
had resumed it of her own motion.

"But you have promised and sworn that you would not go
back to it."

I was full of anxiety to hear her answer to that question ;
and when it came it was just what I was expecting. She said
— quite quietly —

" I have never intended and never understood myself to
swear I would not resume it."

There — I had been sure, all along, that she did not know
what she was doing and saying on the platform Thursday,
and this answer of hers was proof that I had not been mis
taken. Then she went on to add this —

" But I had a right to resume it, because the promises
made to me have not been kept — promises that I should be
allowed to go to mass, and receive the communion, and that I
should be freed from the bondage of these chains — but they
are still upon me, as you see."

" Nevertheless, you have abjured, and have especially prom
ised to return no more to the dress of a man."

443

Then Joan held out her fettered hands sorrowfully toward
these unfeeling men and said —

" I would rather die than continue so. But if they may be
taken off, and if I may hear mass, and be removed to a peni
tential prison, and have a woman about me, I will be good, and
will do what shall seem good to you that I do."

Cauchon sniffed scoffingly at that. Honor the compact
which he and his had made with her ? Fulfil its conditions ?
What need of that ? Conditions had been a good thing to
concede, temporarily, and for advantage; but they had served
their turn — let something of a fresher sort and of more conse
quence be considered. The resumption of the male dress was
sufficient for all practical purposes, but perhaps Joan could
be led to add something to that fatal crime. So Cauchon
asked her if her Voices had spoken to her since Thursday—
and he reminded her of her abjuration.

"Yes," she answered -, and then it came out that the Voices
had talked with her about the abjuration — told her about it, I
suppose. She guilelessly reasserted the heavenly origin of her
mission, and did it with the untroubled mien of one who was
not conscious that she had ever knowingly repudiated it. So
I was convinced once more that she had had no notion of
what she was doing that Thursday morning on the platform.
Finally she said, " My Voices told me I did very wrong to con
fess that what I had done was not well." Then she sighed,
and said with simplicity, " But it was the fear of the fire that
made me do so."

That is, fear of the fire had made her sign a paper whose
contents she had not understood then, but understood now by
revelation of her Voices and by testimony of her persecutors.

She was sane now, and not exhausted ; her courage had
come back, and with it her inborn loyalty to the truth. She
was bravely and serenely speaking it again, knowing that it
would deliver her body up to that very fire which had such
terrors for her.

That answer of hers was quite long, quite frank, wholly free
from concealments or palliations. It made me shudder; I

444

knew she was pronouncing sentence of death upon herself.
So did poor Manchon. And he wrote in the margin abreast
of it—

RESPONSIO MORTIFERA.

Fatal answer. Yes, all present knew that it was indeed a
fatal answer. Then there fell a silence such as falls in a sick
room when the watchers by the dying draw a deep breath and
say softly one to another, " All is over."

Here, likewise, all was over-, but after some moments Cau-
chon, wishing to clinch this matter and make it final, put this
question —

" Do you still believe that your Voices are St. Marguerite
and St. Catherine ?"

" Yes — and that they come from God."

" Yet you denied them on the scaffold ?"

Then she made direct and clear affirmation that she had
never had any intention to deny them ; and that if — I noted
the if— " if she had made some retractions and revocations
on the scaffold it was from fear of the fire, and was a violation
of the truth."

There it is again, you see. She certainly never knew what
it was she had done on the scaffold until she was told of it
afterwards by these people and by her Voices.

And now she closed this most painful scene with these
words; and there was a weary note in them that was pa
thetic—

" I would rather do my penance all at once ; let me die.
I cannot endure captivity any longer."

The spirit born for sunshine and liberty so longed for re
lease that it would take it in any form, even that.

Several among the company of judges went from the place
troubled and sorrowful, the others in another mood. In the
court of the castle we found the Earl of Warwick and fifty
English waiting, impatient for news. As soon as Cauchon
saw them he shouted — laughing — think of a man destroying
a friendless poor girl and then having the heart to laugh at it :

"Make yourselves comfortable — it's all over with her!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE young can sink into abysses of despondency, and it
was so with Noel and me, now ; but the hopes of the young
are quick to rise again, and it was so with ours. We called
back that vague promise of the Voices, and said the one to the
other that the glorious release was to happen at "the last mo
ment " — " that other time was not the last moment, but this is ;
it will happen now ; the King will come, La Hire will come,
and with them our veterans, and behind them all France !"
And so we were full of heart again, and could already hear,
in fancy, that stirring music the clash of steel and the war-
cries and the uproar of the onset, and in fancy see our pris
oner free, her chains gone, her sword in her hand.

But this dream was to pass also, and come to nothing.
Late at night, when Manchon came in, he said —

" I am come from the dungeon, and I have a message for
you from that poor child."

A message to me ! If he had been noticing I think he
would have discovered me — discovered that my indifference
concerning the prisoner was a pretence ; for I was caught off
my guard, and was so moved and so exalted to be so honored
by her that I must have shown my feeling in my face and
manner.

"A message for me, your reverence?"

" Yes. It is something she wishes done. She said she had
noticed the young man who helps me, and that he had a good
face- and did I think he would do a kindness for her ? I said
I knew you would, and asked her what it was, and she said a
letter — would you write a letter to her mother ? And I said
you would. But I said I would do it myself, and gladly; but

446

she said no, that my labors were heavy, and she thought the
young man would not mind the doing of this service for one
not able to do it for herself, she not knowing how to write.
Then I would have sent for you, and at that the sadness van
ished out of her face. Why, it was as if she was going to
see a friend, poor friendless thing. But I was not permitted.
I did my best, but the orders remain as strict as ever, the
doors are closed against all but officials ; as before, none but
officials may speak to her. So I went back and told her, and
she sighed, and was sad again. Now this is what she begs
you to write to her mother. It is partly a strange message,
and to me means nothing, but she said her mother would
understand. You will * convey her adoring love to her fam
ily and her village friends, and say there will be no rescue,
for that this night — and it is the third time in the twelve
month, and is final — she has seen The Vision of the Tree.' "

" How strange !"

" Yes, it is strange, but that is what she said ; and said her
parents would understand. And for a little time she was lost
in dreams and thinkings, and her lips moved, and I caught
in her mutterings these lines, which she said over two or three
times, and they seemed to bring peace and contentment to
her. I set them down, thinking they might have some con
nection with her letter and be useful; but it was not so-, they
were a mere memory, floating idly in a tired mind, and they
have no meaning, at least no relevancy."

I took the piece of paper, and found what I knew I should
find:

"And when in exile wand'ring we
Shall fainting yearn for glimpse of thee,
O rise upon our sight !"

There was no hope any more. I knew it now. I knew
that Joan's letter was a message to Noel and me, as well as
to her family, and that its object was to banish vain hopes
from our minds and tell us from her own mouth of the blow
that was going to fall upon us, so that we, being her soldiers,

CAUCHON ACCUSES JOAN OF VIOLATING HER OATH

447

would know it for a command to bear it as became us and
her, and so submit to the will of God ; and in thus obeying,
find assuagement of our grief. It was like her, for she was
always thinking of others, not of herself. Yes, her heart was
sore for us ; she could find time to think of us, the humblest
of her servants, and try to soften our pain, lighten the burden
of our troubles, — she that was drinking of the bitter waters ;
she that was walking in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

I wrote the letter. You will know what it cost me, without
my telling you. I wrote it with the same wooden stylus which
had put upon parchment the first words ever dictated by Joan
of Arc — that high summons to the English to vacate France,
two years past, when she was a lass of seventeen ; it had now
set down the last ones which she was ever to dictate. Then
I broke it. For the pen that had served Joan of Arc could
not serve any that would come after her in this earth without
abasement.

The next day, May 2Qth, Cauchon summoned his serfs, and
forty-two responded. It is charitable to believe that the
other twenty were ashamed to come. The forty- two pro
nounced her a relapsed heretic, and condemned her to be
delivered over to the secular arm. Cauchon thanked them.
Then he sent orders that Joan be conveyed the next morn
ing to the place known as the Old Market, and that she be
then delivered to the civil judge, and by the civil judge to the
executioner. That meant that she would be burnt.

All the afternoon and evening of Tuesday the 29th the
news was flying, and the people of the country-side flocking
to Rouen to see the tragedy — all, at least, who could prove
their English sympathies and count upon admission. The
press grew thicker and thicker in the streets, the excitement
grew higher and higher. And now a thing was noticeable
ao-ain which had been noticeable more than once before —

that there was pity for Joan in the hearts of many of these
people. Whenever she had been in great danger it had mani
fested itself, and now it was apparent again — manifest in a
pathetic dumb sorrow which was visible in many faces.

448

Early the next morning, Wednesday, Martin Ladvenu and
another friar were sent to Joan to prepare her for death ; and
Manchon and I went with them — a hard service for me. We
tramped through the dim corridors, winding this way and that,
and piercing ever deeper and deeper into that vast heart of
stone, and at last we stood before Joan. But she did not
know it. She sat with her hands in her lap and her head
bowed, thinking, and her face was very sad. One might not
know what she was thinking of. Of her home, and the peace
ful pastures, and the friends she was no more to see ? Of her
wrongs, and her forsaken estate, and the cruelties which had
been put upon her? Or was it of death — the death which
she had longed for, and which was now so close ? Or was it
of the kind of death she must suffer ? I hoped not ; for she
feared only one kind, and that one had for her unspeakable
terrors. I believed she so feared that one that with her strong
will she would shut the thought of it wholly out of her mind, and
hope and believe that God would take pity on her and grant
her an easier one ; and so it might chance that the awful news
which we were bringing might come as a surprise to her, at last.

We stood silent awhile, but she was still unconscious of
us, still deep in her sad musings and far away. Then Martin
Ladvenu said, softly —

"Joan."

She looked up then, with a little start, and a wan smile, and
said —

" Speak. Have you a message for me ?"

" Yes, my poor child. Try to bear it. Do you think you
can bear it ?"

" Yes " — very softly, and her head drooped again.

" I am come to prepare you for death."

A faint shiver trembled through her wasted body. There
was a pause. In the stillness we could hear our breathings.
Then she said, still in that low voice —

"When will it be ?"

The muffled notes of a tolling bell floated to our ears out
of the distance.

449

" Now. The time is at hand."

That slight shiver passed again.

" It is so soon — ah, it is so soon !"

There was a long silence. The distant throbbings of the
bell pulsed through it, and we stood motionless and listening.
But it was broken at last —

" What death is it ?"

" By fire !"

"Oh, I knew it, I knew it !" She sprang wildly to her feet,
and wound her hands in her hair, and began to writhe and
sob, oh, so piteously, and mourn and grieve and lament, and
turn to first one and then another of us, and search our faces
beseechingly, as hoping she might find help and friendliness
there, poor thing— she that had never denied these to any
creature, even her wounded enemy on the battle-field.

" Oh, cruel, cruel, to treat me so ! And must my body,
that has never been defiled, be consumed to-day and turned
to ashes ? Ah, sooner would I that my head were cut off
seven times than suffer this woful death. I had the promise
of the Church's prison when I submitted, and if I had but
been there, and not left here in the hands of my enemies, this
miserable fate had not befallen me. Oh, I appeal to God the
Great Judge, against the injustice which has been done me."

There was none there that could endure it. They turned
away, with the tears running down their faces. In a moment
I was on my knees at her feet. At once she thought only of
my danger, and bent and whispered in my ear : " Up ! — do not
peril yourself, good heart. There — God bless you always !"
and I felt the quick clasp of her hand. Mine was the last
hand she touched with hers in life. None saw it ; history
does not know of it or tell of it, yet it is true, just as I have
told it. The next moment she saw Cauchon coming, and she
went and stood before him and reproached him, saying—

" Bishop, it is by you that I die !"

He was not shamed, not touched : but said, smoothly — .

"Ah, be patient, Joan. You die because you have not
kept your promise, but have returned to your sins."
29

450

"Alas," she said, "if you had put me in the Church's
prison, and given me right and proper keepers, as you prom
ised, this would not have happened. And for this I summon
you to answer before God !"

Then Cauchon winced, and looked less placidly content
than before, and he turned him about and went away.

Joan stood awhile musing. She grew calmer, but occasion
ally she wiped her eyes, and now and then sobs shook her
body ; but their violence was modifying now, and the intervals
between them were growing longer. Finally she looked up and
saw Pierre Maurice, who had come in with the Bishop, and
she said to him —

" Master Peter, where shall I be this night ?"

" Have you not good hope in God ?"

"Yes — and by His grace I shall be in Paradise."

Now Martin Ladvenu heard her in confession ; then she
begged for the sacrament. But how grant the communion to
one who had been publicly cut off from the Church, and was
now no more entitled to its privileges than an unbaptized
pagan ? The brother could not do this, but he sent to
Cauchon to inquire what he must do. All laws, human and
divine, were alike to that man — he respected none of them.
He sent back orders to grant Joan whatever she wished. Her
last speech to him had reached his fears, perhaps : it could
not reach his heart, for he had none.

The Eucharist was brought now to that poor soul that had
yearned for it with such unutterable longing all these desolate
months. It was a solemn moment. While we had been in the
deeps of the prison, the public courts of the castle had been
filling up with crowds of the humbler sort of men and women,
who had learned what was going on in Joan's cell, and had
come with softened hearts to do — they knew not what; to
hear — they knew not what. We knew nothing of this, for they
were out of our view. And there were other great crowds of
the like caste gathered in masses outside the castle gates.
And when the lights and the other accompaniments of the
Sacrament passed by, coming to Joan in the prison, all those

multitudes kneeled down and began to pray for her, and many
wept ; and when the solemn ceremony of the communion
began in Joan's cell, out of the distance a moving sound was
borne moaning to our ears — it was those invisible multitudes
chanting the litany for a departing soul.

The fear of the fiery death was gone from Joan of Arc now,
to come again no more, except for one fleeting instant — then
it would pass, and serenity and courage would take its place
and abide till the end.

CHAPTER XXIV

AT nine o'clock the Maid of Orleans, Deliverer of France,
went forth in the grace of her innocence and her youth to lay
down her life for the country she loved with such devotion,
and for the King that had abandoned her. She sat in the
cart that is used only for felons. In one respect she was
treated worse than a felon; for whereas she was on her way to
be sentenced by the civil arm, she already bore her judgment
inscribed in advance upon a mitre -shaped cap which she
wore:

HERETIC, RELAPSED, APOSTATE, IDOLATER.

In the cart with her sat the friar Martin Ladvenu and
Maitre Jean Massieu. She looked girlishly fair and sweet
and saintly in her long white robe, and when a gush of sun
light flooded her as she emerged from the gloom of the
prison and was yet for a moment still framed in the arch of
the sombre gate, the massed multitudes of poor folk mur
mured "A vision! a vision!" and sank to their knees pray
ing, and many of the women weeping ; and the moving in
vocation for the dying rose again, and was taken up and
borne along, a majestic wave of sound, which accompanied
the doomed, solacing and blessing her, all the sorrowful way
to the place of death. " Christ have pity ! Saint Margaret
have pity ! Pray for her, all ye saints, archangels, and blessed
martyrs, pray for her ! Saints and angels intercede for her !
From thy wrath, good Lord, deliver her ! O Lord God, save
her ! Have mercy on her, we beseech Thee, good Lord !" %

It is just and true, what one of the histories has said :

453

" The poor and the helpless had nothing but their prayers to
give Joan of Arc ; but these we may believe were not unavail
ing. There are few more pathetic events recorded in history
than this weeping, helpless, praying crowd, holding their light
ed candles and kneeling on the pavement beneath the pris.on
walls of the old fortress."

And it was so all the way : thousands upon thousands
massed upon their knees and stretching far down the dis
tances, thick-sown with the faint yellow candle-flames, like a
field starred with golden flowers.

But there were some that did not kneel ; these were the
English soldiers. They stood elbow to elbow, on each side
of Joan's road, and walled it in, all the way; and behind these
living walls knelt the multitudes.

By-and-by a frantic man in priest's garb came wailing and
lamenting, and tore through the crowd and the barrier of sol
diers and flung himself on his knees by Joan's cart and put
up his hands in supplication, crying out —

" O, forgive, forgive !"

It was Loyseleur !

And Joan forgave him ; forgave him out of a heart that
knew nothing but forgiveness, nothing but compassion, noth
ing but pity for all that suffer, let their offence be what it
might. And she had no word of reproach for this poor
wretch who had wrought day and night with deceits and
treacheries and hypocrisies to betray her to her death.

The soldiers would have killed him, but the Earl of War
wick saved his life. What became of him is not known. He
hid himself from the world somewhere, to endure his remorse
as he might.

In the square of the Old Market stood the two platforms
and the stake that had stood before in the church-yard of St.
Ouen. The platforms were occupied as before, the one by
Joan and her judges, the other by great dignitaries, the prin
cipal being Cauchon and the English Cardinal — Winchester.
The square was packed with .people, the windows and roofs
of the blocks of buildings surrounding it were black with them.

454

When the preparations had been finished, all noise and
movement gradually ceased, and a waiting stillness followed
which was solemn and impressive.

And now, by order of Cauchon, an ecclesiastic named Nicho
las Midi preached a sermon, wherein he explained that when
a branch of the vine — which is the Church — becomes diseased
and corrupt, it must be cut away or it will corrupt and destroy
the whole vine. He made it appear that Joan, through her
wickedness, was a menace and a peril to the Church's purity
and holiness, and her death therefore necessary. When he
was come to the end of his discourse he turned toward her
and paused a moment, then he said —

" Joan, the Church can no longer protect you. Go in
peace !"

Joan had been placed wholly apart and conspicuous, to sig
nify the Church's abandonment of her, and she sat there in
her loneliness, waiting in patience and resignation for the end.
Cauchon addressed her now. He had been advised to read
the form of her abjuration to her, and had brought it with
him ; but he changed his mind, fearing that she would pro
claim the truth — that she had never knowingly abjured — and
so bring shame upon him and eternal infamy. He contented
himself with admonishing her to keep in mind her wicked
nesses, and repent of them, and think of her salvation. Then
he solemnly pronounced her excommunicate and cut off from
the body of the Church. With a final word he delivered her
over to the secular arm for judgment and sentence.

Joan, weeping, knelt and began to pray. For whom ? Her
self ? Oh no — for the King of France. Her voice rose sweet
and clear, and penetrated all hearts with its passionate pathos.
She never thought of his treacheries to her, she never thought
of his desertion of her, she never remembered that it was be
cause he was an ingrate that she was here to die a miserable
death ; she remembered only that he was her King, that she
was his loyal and loving subject, and that his enemies had un
dermined his cause with evil reports and false charges, and he
not by to defend himself. And so, in the very presence of

455

death, she forgot her own troubles to implore all in her hear
ing to be just to him ; to believe that he was good and noble
and sincere, and not in any way to blame for any acts of hers,
neither advising them nor urging them, but being wholly clear
and free of all responsibility for them. Then, closing, she
begged in humble and touching words that all here present
would pray for her and would pardon her, both her enemies
and such as might look friendly upon her and feel pity for her
in their hearts.

There was hardly one heart there that was not touched —
even the English, even the judges showed it, and there was
many a lip that trembled and many an eye that was blurred
with tears ; yes, even the English Cardinal's — that man with
a political heart of stone but a human heart of flesh.

The secular judge who should have delivered judgment and
pronounced sentence was 'himself so disturbed that he forgot
his duty, and Joan went to her death unsentenced — thus com
pleting with an illegality what had begun illegally and had so
continued to the end. He only said — to the guards —

"Take her"; and to the executioner, " Do your duty."

Joan asked for a cross. None was able to furnish one.
But an English soldier broke a stick in two and crossed the
pieces and tied them together, and this cross he gave her,
moved to it by the good heart that was in him ; and she
kissed it and put it in her bosom. Then Isambard de la
Pierre went to the church near by and brought her a conse
crated one ; and this one also she kissed, and pressed it to
her bosom with rapture, and then kissed it again and again,
covering it with tears and pouring out her gratitude to God and
the saints.

And so, weeping, and with her cross to her lips, she climbed
up the cruel steps to the face of the stake, with the friar Isam
bard at her side. Then she was helped up to the top of the
pile of wood that was built around the lower third of the stake,
and stood upon it with her back against the stake, and the
world gazing up at her breathless. The executioner ascended
to her side and wound chains about her slender body, and so

456

fastened her to the stake. Then he descended to finish his
dreadful office ; and there she remained alone — she that had
had so many friends in the days when she was free, and had
been so loved and so dear.

All these things I saw, albeit dimly and blurred with tears ;
but I could bear no more. I continued in my place, but
what I shall deliver to you now I got by others' eyes and
others' mouths. Tragic sounds there were that pierced my
ears and wounded my heart as I sat there, but it is as I tell
you : the latest image recorded by my eyes in that desolating
hour was Joan of Arc with the grace of her comely youth
still unmarred ; and that image, untouched by time or decay,
has remained with me all my days. Now I will go on.

If any thought that now, in that solemn hour when all trans
gressors repent and confess, she would revoke her revocation
and say her great deeds had been evil deeds and Satan and
his fiends their source, they erred. No such thought was in
her blameless mind. She was not thinking of herself and
her troubles, but of others, and of woes that might befall
them. And so, turning her grieving eyes about her, where
rose the towers and spires of that fair city, she said —

"Oh, Rouen, Rouen, must I die here, and must you be my
tomb ? Ah, Rouen, Rouen, I have great fear that you will
suffer for my death."

A whiff of smoke swept upward past her face, and for one
moment terror seized her and she cried out, " Water ! Give
me holy water !" but the next moment her fears were gone,
and they came no more to torture her.

She heard the flames crackling below her, and immediately
distress for a fellow-creature who was in danger took pos
session of her. It was the friar Isambard. She had given
him her cross and begged him to raise it toward her face and
let her eyes rest in hope and consolation upon it till she was
entered into the peace of God. She made him go out from
the danger of the fire. Then she was satisfied, and said —

" Now keep it always in my sight until the end."

Not even yet could Cauchon, that man without shame, en-

THE MARTYRDOM OF THE MAID OF ORLEANS

457

dure to let her die in peace, but went toward her, all black
with crimes and sins as he was, and cried out —

" I am come, Joan, to exhort you for the last time to repent
and seek the pardon of God."

" I die through you," she said, and these were the last
words she spoke to any upon earth.

Then the pitchy smoke, shot through with red flashes of
flame, rolled up in a thick volume and hid her from sight;
and from the heart of this darkness her voice rose strong and
eloquent in prayer, and when by moments the wind shredded
somewhat of the smoke aside, there were veiled glimpses of
an upturned face and moving lips. At last a mercifully swift
tide of flame burst upward, and none saw that face any more
nor that form, and the voice was still.

Yes, she was gone from us : JOAN OF ARC ! What little
words they are, to tell of a rich world made empty and poor !

CONCLUSION

JOAN'S brother Jacques died in Domremy during the Great
Trial at Rouen. This was according to the prophecy which
Joan made that day in the pastures the time that she said
the rest of us would go to the great wars.

When her poor old father heard of the martyrdom it broke
his heart and he died.

The mother was granted a pension by the City of Orleans,
and upon this she lived out her days, which were many.
Twenty-four years after her illustrious child's death she trav
elled all the way to Paris in the winter time and was present
at the opening of the discussion in the Cathedral of Notre
Dame which was the first step in the Rehabilitation. Paris
was crowded with people, from all about France, who came
to get sight of the venerable dame, and it was a touching
spectacle when she moved through these reverend wet-eyed
multitudes on her way to the grand honors awaiting her at
the cathedral. With her were Jean and Pierre, no longer
the light-hearted youths who marched with us from Vaucou-
leurs, but war-worn veterans with hair beginning to show
frost.

After the martyrdom Noel and I went back to Domremy,
but presently when the Constable Richemont superseded La
Tremouille as the King's chief adviser and began the com
pletion of Joan's great work, we put on our harness and re
turned to the field and fought for the King all through the
wars and skirmishes until France was freed of the English.
It was what Joan would have desired of us ; and, dead or
alive, her desire was law for us. All the survivors of the per
sonal staff were faithful to her memory and fought for the

459

King to the end. Mainly we were well scattered, but when
Paris fell we happened to be together. It was a great day
and a joyous ; but it was a sad one at the same time, because
Joan was not there to march into the captured capital with us.

Noel and I remained always together, and I was by his
side when death claimed him. It was in the last great battle
of the war. In that battle fell also Joan's sturdy old enemy,
Talbot. He was eighty-five years old, and had spent his whole
life in battle. A fine old lion he was, with his flowing white
mane and his tameless spirit; yes, and his indestructible en
ergy as well ; for he fought as knightly and vigorous a fight
that day as the best man there.

La Hire survived the martyrdom thirteen years ; and al
ways fighting, of course, for that was all he enjoyed in life. I
did not see him in all that time, for we were far apart, but one
was always hearing of him.

The Bastard of Orleans and D'Alen^on and D'Aulon lived
to see France free, and to testify with Jean and Pierre d'Arc
and Pasquerel and me at the Rehabilitation. But they are all
at rest now, these many years. I alone am left of those who
fought at the side of Joan of Arc in the great wars. She said
I would live until these wars were forgotten — a prophecy which
failed. If I should live a thousand years it would still fail.
For whatsoever had touch with Joan of Arc, that thing is im
mortal.

Members of Joan's family married, and they have left de
scendants. Their descendants are of the nobility, but their
family name and blood bring them honors which no other
nobles receive or may hope for. You have seen how every
body along the way uncovered when those children came yes
terday to pay their duty to me. It was not because they are
noble, it is because they are grandchildren of the brothers of
Joan of Arc.

Now as to the Rehabilitation. Joan crowned the King at
Rheims. For reward he allowed her to be hunted to her
death without making one effort to save her. During the next
twenty-three years he remained indifferent to her memory ; in-

460

different to the fact that her good name was under a damning
blot put there by the priests because of the deeds which she
had done in saving him and his sceptre ; indifferent to the
fact that France was ashamed, and longed to have the Deliv
erer's fair fame restored. Indifferent all that time. Then he
suddenly changed and was anxious to have justice for poor
Joan, himself. Why ? Had he become grateful at last ? Had
remorse attacked his hard heart ? No, he had a better rea
son — a better one for his sort of man. This better reason
was that, now that the English had been finally expelled from
the country, they were beginning to call attention to the fact
that this King had gotten his crown by the hands of a person
proven by the priests to have been in league with Satan and
burnt for it by them as a sorceress — therefore, of what value
or authority was such a Kingship as that ? Of no value at all ;
no nation could afford to allow such a king to remain on the
throne.

It was high time to stir, now, and the King did it. That is
how Charles VII. came to be smitten with anxiety to have
justice done the memory of his benefactress.

He appealed to the Pope, and the Pope appointed a great
commission of churchmen to examine into the facts of Joan's
life and award judgment. The Commission sat at Paris, at
Domremy, at Rouen, at Orleans, and at several other places,
and continued its work during several months. It examined
the records of Joan's trials, it examined the Bastard of Or
leans, and the Duke d'Alengon, and D'Aulon, and Pasquerel,
and Courcelles, and Isambard de la Pierre, and Manchon, and
me, and many others whose names I have made familiar to
you; also they examined more than a hundred witnesses
whose names are less familiar to you — friends of Joan in
Domremy, Vaucouleurs, Orleans, and other places, and a num
ber of judges and other people who had assisted at the Rouen
trials, the abjuration, and the martyrdom. And out of this
exhaustive examination Joan's character and history came
spotless and perfect, and this verdict was placed upon record,
to remain forever.

46i

I was present upon most of these occasions, and saw again
many faces which I have not seen for a quarter of a century;
among them some well-beloved faces — those of our generals
and that of Catherine Boucher (married, alas !), and also among
them certain other faces that filled me with bitterness — those
of Beaupere and Courcelles and a number of their fellow-
fiends. I saw Haumette and Little Mengette— edging along
toward fifty, now, and mothers of many children. I saw
Noel's father, and the parents of the Paladin and the Sun
flower.

It was beautiful to hear the Duke d'Alengon praise Joan's
splendid capacities as a general, and to hear the Bastard in
dorse these praises with his eloquent tongue and then go on
and tell how sweet and good Joan was, and how full of pluck
and fire and impetuosity, and mischief, and mirthfulness, and
tenderness, and compassion, and everything that was pure
and fine and noble and lovely. He made her live again be
fore me, and wrung my heart.

I have finished my story of Joan of Arc, that wonderful
child, that sublime personality, that spirit which in one re
gard has had no peer and will have none — this : its purity
from all alloy of self-seeking, self-interest, personal ambition.
In it no trace of these motives can be found, search as you
may, and this cannot be said of any other person whose name
appears in profane history.

With Joan of Arc love of country was more than a senti
ment — it was a passion. She was the Genius of Patriotism —
she was Patriotism embodied, concreted, made flesh, and pal
pable to the touch and visible to the eye.

Love, Mercy, Charity, Fortitude, War, Peace, Poetry, Mu
sic — these may be symbolized as any shall prefer : by figures
of either sex and of any age ; but a slender girl in her first
young bloom, with the martyr's crown upon her head, and in
her hand the sword that severed her country's bonds — shall
not this, and no other, stand for PATRIOTISM through all the
ages until time shall end ?

RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT

202 Main Library

LOAN PERIOD 1
HOME USE

ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS

%??^

CALL (415) 642-3405

DUE AS STAMPED BELOW

MAR 2g rag

4KK £t> liW

^CR 0 J 1%3^O

Mima APR 2 6 mej

.-"i: :

., WiiT

MviD

APR J- 4 1997

JUN 1 3 1995

UAN112001

^FB 7

JAN 0 7 20

,-\ f /•»

^EC o 2 2002

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY
FORM NO. DD6, 60m, 1 783 BERKELEY, CA 94720

U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES

CD2E71MD1D

V-'*'

• • . , " •— .'

* t •

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

Internet Archive Audio

Featured

Top

Images

Featured

Top

Software

Featured

Top

Books

Featured

Top

Video

Featured

Top

Mobile Apps

Browser Extensions

Archive-It Subscription

Save Page Now

Full text of "Personal recollections of Joan of Arc"

See other formats