Saints

PART 10 A bronzed and brawny English soldier, standing 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. The Great Trial Began To take up my story, now, where I left off. We heard the clanking of Joan’s chains down the corridors; she was approaching. 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, intensely black, funereally black, not a speck of relieving colour in it from her throat to the floor. 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 colourless, 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, standing 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 summarised 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.’ 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 conscience. 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 expletives, and much movement and confusion; 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!’ Well, maybe you know what a deliberative body of Frenchmen 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 hardly 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 fleeting 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 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 prisoner, and with bitterness in his voice told her to take the oath after her own fashion. Joan sunk at

PART 9 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. ‘The Maid of Orleans taken! 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. Joan made her good-byes to those old fellows in the morning, with loving embraces and many tears, and with a packed multitude for sympathisers, 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 followed at eight. Then came the Burgundian ambassadors, and lost us the rest of that day and whole of the next. 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 20th. 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. Precious 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 conspirator’s 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 garrisoned 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 judgement prevailed, and he turned and retreated towards 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 fifteen-day truce had just been concluded with the Duke of Burgundy, and we would go and tarry at Gien until he should deliver 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 letter 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 whether she would keep it or not; that if she kept it, it would be solely out of tenderness for the King’s honour. All French children know those famous words. How naïve they are! ‘De cette trève qui a été faite, je ne suis pas contente, et je ne sais si je la tiendrai. Si je la tiens, ce sera seulement pour garder I’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 12th 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 Beauvais. 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 for ever in the curses of France!  Compiègne surrendered, and hauled down the English flag. On the 14th we camped two leagues from Senlis. Bedford turned and approached, and took up a

PART 8 The parish priest governs the nation. What is the king, then, if the parish priest withdraw his support and deny his authority? Merely a shadow and no king; let him resign. 5 Great Deeds of St. Joan The great news of Patay was carried over the whole of France in twenty hours, people said. I do not know as to that; but one thing is sure, anyway: the moment a man got it he flew shouting and glorifying God and told his neighbour; and that neighbour flew with it to the next homestead; and so on and so on, without resting, the word travelled; and when a man got it in the night, at what hour soever, he jumped out of his bed and bore the blessed message along. And the joy that went with it was like the light that flows across the land when an eclipse is 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 beneficent tidings were sweeping away, now, before the onrush of their white splendour. The news beat the flying enemy to Yeuville, and the town rose against its English masters and shut the gates against their brethren. It flew to Mont Pipeau, to Saint-Simon, and to this, that, and the other English fortress; and straightway the garrison applied the torch and took to the fields and the woods. A detachment of our army occupied Meung and pillaged it. When we reached Orleans that town was as much as fifty times insaner with joy than we had ever seen it before – which is saying much. Night had just fallen, and the illuminations were on so wonderful a scale that we seemed to plough through seas of fire; and as to the noise – the hoarse cheering of the multitude, the thundering of cannon, the clash of bells – indeed there was never anything like it. And everywhere rose a new cry that burst upon us like a storm when the column entered the gates, and nevermore ceased: ‘Welcome to Joan of Arc – way for the SAVIOUR OF FRANCE!’ And there was another cry: ‘Crécy is avenged! Poitiers is avenged! Agincourt is avenged! – Patay shall live for ever!’ Mad? Why, you never could imagine it in this world. The prisoners were in the centre of the column. When that came along and the people caught sight of their masterful old enemy Talbot, that had made them dance so long to his grim war-music, you may imagine what the uproar was like if you can, for I cannot describe it. They were so glad to see him that presently they wanted to have him out and hang him; so Joan had him brought up to the front to ride in her protection. They made a striking pair. At Beaugency Joan had engaged to bring about a reconciliation 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: The Raising of the Siege. The Victory of Patay. The Reconciliation at Sully-sur-Loire. The Coronation of the King. 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 loyalty was sincere; his probity was above suspicion – (and it made him sufficiently conspicuous in that trivial and conscienceless 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 extraordinary sort was still to be done, yet the remaining work could not safely be left to the King’s idiots; for it would require wise statesmanship and long and patient though desultory hammering of the enemy. Now and then, for a quarter of a century yet, there would be a little fighting to do, and a 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 Richemont cleared away all the English; even from regions where the people had been under their mastership for three hundred years. In such regions wise and

PART 7 Joan had said true: France was on the way to be free. Loire Campaign This time, as before, the King’s last command to the generals was this: ‘See to it that you do nothing without the sanction of the Maid.’ And this time the command was obeyed; and would continue to be obeyed all through the coming days of the Loire campaign. That was a change! That was new! It broke the traditions. It shows you what sort of a reputation as a commander-in-chief the child had made for herself in ten days in the field. It was a conquering of men’s doubts and suspicions and a capturing and solidifying of men’s belief and confidence such as the grayest veteran on the Grand Staff had not been able to achieve in thirty years. Don’t you remember that when at sixteen Joan conducted her own case in a grim court of law and won it, the old judge spoke of her as ‘this marvellous child’? It was the right name, you see. These veterans were not going to branch out and do things without the sanction of the Maid – that is true; and it was a great gain. But at the same time there were some among them who still trembled at her new and dashing war-tactics and earnestly desired to modify them. And so, during the 10th, while Joan was slaving away at her plans and issuing order after order with tireless industry, the old-time consultations and arguings and speechifyings were going on among certain of the generals. In the afternoon of that day they came in a body to hold one of these councils of war; and while they waited for Joan to join them they discussed the situation. Now this discussion is not set down in the histories, but I was there, and I will speak of it, as knowing you will trust me, I not being given to beguiling you with lies. Gautier de Brusac was spokesman for the timid ones; Joan’s side was resolutely upheld by D’Alençon, the Bastard, La Hire, the Admiral of France, the Marshall de Boussac, and all the other really important chiefs. De Brusac argued that the situation was very grave; that Jargeau, the first point of attack, was formidably strong; its imposing walls bristling with artillery; with 7 000 picked English veterans behind them, and at their head the great Earl of Suffolk and his two redoubtable 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 favour of the soberer and safer procedure of investment by regular siege. It seemed to him that this fiery and furious new fashion of hurling masses of men against impregnable walls of stone, in 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’Alençon was on his feet, and the Bastard of Orleans, and half a dozen others, all thundering at once, and pouring out their indignant displeasure upon any and all that might hold, secretly of 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. Circumstances 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 precipices and into morasses, those people can’t learn that they must strike out a new road – no; they will march stupidly along and follow the old one to death and perdition. Men, there’s a new state of things, and a surpassing military genius has perceived it with her clear eye. And a new road is required, and that same clear eye has noted where it must go, and has marked it out for us. The man does not live, never has lived, never will live, that can improve upon it! The old state of things was defeat, defeat, defeat – and by consequence we had troops with no dash, no heart, no hope. Would you assault stone walls with such? No – there was but one way with that kind: sit down before a place an 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 splendour 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 battlements and towers, its devastating artillery,

PART 6 Joan, shouting, encouragements to her men, started to climb a scaling-ladder, when that misfortune happened which we knew was to happen – the iron bolt from an arbalest struck between her neck and her shoulder March with me to Rheims 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 – we poor beleaguered citizens who have hardly known the flavour of fish for these many months, have spoil of that sort again, and we owe it to you. There’s a noble shad for breakfast; wait – be persuaded.’ Joan said – ‘Oh, there’s going to be fish in plenty; when this day’s work is done the whole river-front will be yours to do as you please with.’ ‘Ah, your Excellency will do well, that I know; but we don’t require quite that much, even of you; you shall have a month for it in place of a day. Now be beguiled – wait and eat. There’s a saying that he that would cross a river twice in the same day in a boat, will do well to eat fish for luck, lest he had an accident.’ ‘That doesn’t fit my case, for today I cross but once in a boat.’ ‘Oh, don’t say that. Aren’t you coming back to us?’ ‘Yes, but not in a boat.’ ‘How, then?’ ‘By the bridge.’ ‘Listen to that – by the bridge! Now stop this jesting, dear General, and do as I would have you. It’s a noble fish.’ ‘Be good, then, and save me some for supper; and I will bring one of those Englishmen with me and he shall have his share.’ ‘Ah, well, have your way if you must. But he that fasts must attempt but little and stop early. When shall you be back?’ ‘When I’ve raised the siege of Orleans. FORWARD!’ We were off. The streets were full of citizens and of groups and squads of soldiers, but the spectacle was melancholy. There was not a smile anywhere, but only universal gloom. It was as if some vast calamity had smitten all hope and cheer dead. We were not used to this, and were astonished. But when they saw the Maid, there was an immediate stir, and the eager question flew from mouth to mouth – ‘Where is she going? Whither is she bound?’ Joan heard it, and called out – ‘Whither would ye suppose? I am gong to take the Tourelles.’ It would not be possible for any to describe how those few words turned that mourning into joy – into exultation – into frenzy; and how a storm of huzzahs burst out and swept down the streets in every direction and woke those corpse-like multitudes to vivid life and action and turmoil in a moment. The soldiers broke from the crowd and came flocking to our standard, and many of the citizens ran and got pikes and halberds and joined us. As we moved on, our numbers increased steadily, and the 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 de Gaucourt, Bailly of Orleans, with orders to prevent Joan from getting out and resuming the attack on the Tourelles, and this shameful thing had plunged the city into sorrow and despair. But that feeling was gone now. They believed the Maid was a match for the council, and they were right. When we reached the gate, Joan told Gaucourt to open it and let her pass. He said it would be impossible to do this, for his orders were from the council and were strict. Joan said – ‘There is no authority above mine but the King’s. If you have an order from the King, produce it.’ ‘I cannot claim to have an order from him, General.’ ‘Then make way, or take the consequences!’ He began to argue the case, for he was like the rest of the tribe, always ready to fight with words, not acts; but in the midst of his gabble Joan interrupted with the terse order – ‘Charge!’ We came with a rush, and brief work we made of that small job. It was good to see the Bailly’s surprise. He was not used to this unsentimental promptness. He said afterwards that he was cut off in the midst of what he was saying – in the midst of an argument by which he could have proved that he could not let Joan pass – an argument which Joan could not have answered. ‘Still, it appears she did answer it,’ said the person he was talking to. We swung through the gate in great style, with a vast accession of noise, the most of which was laughter, and soon our van was over the river and moving down against the Tourelles. First we must take a supporting work called a 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

there is no other wound, as yet; I am writing about one which I shall get when we storm that bastille tomorrow.’

PART 4 Joan’s Voices had told her that there was an ancient sword hidden somewhere behind the altar of St Catherine’s at Fierbois, and she sent De Metz to get it. Command of an Army 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 presently from Blois. Men, provisions and money were offering in plenty now, and Joan appointed Blois as a recruiting station and depot of supplies, and ordered up La Hire from the front to take charge. The Great Bastard – him of the ducal house, and governor of Orleans – had been clamouring for weeks for Joan to be sent to him, and now came another messenger, old D’Aulon, a veteran officer, a trusty man and fine and honest. The King kept him, and gave him to Joan to be chief of her household, and commanded her to appoint the rest of her people herself, making their number and dignity accord with the greatness of her office; and at the same time he gave order that they should be properly equipped with arms, clothing, and horses. Meantime the King was having a complete suit of armour made for her at Tours. It was of the finest steel, heavily plated with silver, richly ornamented with engraved designs, and polished like a mirror. Joan’s Voices had told her that there was an ancient sword hidden somewhere behind the altar of St Catherine’s at Fierbois, and she sent De Metz to get it. The priests knew of no such sword, but a search was made, and sure enough it was found in that place, buried a little way under the ground. It had no sheath and was very rusty, but the priests polished it up and sent it to Tours, whither we were now to come. They also had a sheath of crimson velvet made for it, and the people of Tours equipped it with another one, made of cloth of gold. But Joan meant to carry this sword always in battle; so she laid the showy sheaths away and got one made of leather. It was generally believed that this sword had belonged to Charlemagne, but that was only a matter of opinion. I wanted to sharpen the 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. Jeanne d’Arc’s sword was called the “Sword of St. Catherine” and had five crosses on the blade At Tours she designed her Standard, and a Scotch painter named James Power made it. It was of the most delicate white boucassin, with fringes of silk. For device it bore the image of God the Father throned in the clouds and holding the world in His hand; two angels knelt at His feet, presenting lilies; inscription, JESUS, MARIA; on the reverse the crown of France supported by two angels. She also caused a smaller standard or pennon to be made, whereon was represented an angel offering a lily to the Holy Virgin. When we presently stood in the presence, in front of a crowd of glittering officers of the army, Joan greeted us with a winning smile, and said she appointed all of us to places in her household, for she wanted her old friends by her. It was a beautiful surprise to have ourselves honoured like this when she could have had people of birth and consequence instead, but we couldn’t find our tongues to say so, she was become so great and so high above us now. One at a time we stepped forward and each received his warrant from the hand of our chief, D’Aulon. All of us had honourable places: the two knights stood highest; then Joan’s two brothers; I was first page and secretary, a young gentleman named Raimond was second page; Noël was her messenger; she had two heralds, and also a chaplain and almoner, whose name was Jean Pasquerel. She had previously appointed a maître d’hôtel and a number of domestics. Now she looked around and said: ‘But where is the Paladin?’ The Sieur Bertrand said: ‘He thought he was not sent for, your Excellency.’ ‘Now that is not well. Let him be called.’ The Paladin entered humbly enough. He ventured no farther than just within the door. He stopped there, looking embarrassed and afraid. Then Joan spoke pleasantly, and said: ‘I watched you on the road. You began badly, but improved. Of old you were a fantastic talker, but there is a man in you, and I will bring it out.’ It was fine to see the Paladin’s face light up when she said that. ‘Will you follow where I lead?’ ‘Into the fire!’ he said; and I said to myself, ‘By the ring of that, I think she has turned this braggart into a hero. It is another of her miracles, I make no doubt of it.’ ‘I believe you,’ said Joan. ‘Here – take my banner. You will ride with me in every field, and when France is saved you will give it me back.’ He took the banner, which is now the most precious of the memorials that remain of Joan of Arc, and his voice was unsteady with emotion when he said: ‘If I ever disgrace this trust, my comrades here will know how to do a friend’s office upon my body, and this charge I lay upon them, as knowing they will not fail me.’ Orders had been issued

PART 3 I have not come to Poitiers to show signs and do miracles. Send me to Orleans and you shall have signs enough. Give me men-at-arms – few or many – and let me go!’ Examination at Poitiers It is true that Joan had been hindered and put off a good while, but now that she was admitted to an audience at last, she was received with honours granted to only the greatest personages. At the entrance door stood four heralds in a row, in splendid tabards, with long slender silver trumpets at their mouths, with square silken banners depending from them embroidered with the arms of France. As Joan and the Count passed by, these trumpets gave forth in unison one long rich note, and as we moved down the hall under the pictured and gilded vaulting, this was repeated at ever fifty feet of our progress – six times in all. It made our good knights proud and happy, and they held themselves erect, and stiffened their stride, and looked fine and soldierly. They were not expecting this beautiful and honourable tribute to out little country maid. When we entered the great audience hall, there it all was, just as I have already painted it. Here were ranks of guards in shining armour and with polished halberds; two sides of the hall were like flower-gardens for variety of colour and the magnificence of the costumes; light streamed upon these masses of colour from two hundred and fifty flambeaux. There was a wide free space down the middle of the hall, and at the end of it was a throne royally canopied, and upon it sat a crowned and sceptred figure nobly clothed and blazing with jewels. Joan walked two yards behind the Count, we three walked two yards behind Joan. Our solemn march ended when we were as yet some eight or ten steps from the throne. The Count made a deep obeisance, pronounced Joan’s name, then bowed again and moved to his place among a group of officials near the throne. I was devouring the crowned personage with all my eyes, and my heart almost still with awe. The eyes of all others were fixed upon Joan in a gaze of wonder which was half worship, and which seemed to say, ‘How sweet – how lovely – how divine!’ All lips were parted and motionless, which was a sure sign that those people, who seldom forget themselves, had forgotten themselves now, and were not conscious of anything but the one object they were gazing upon. They had the look of people who are under the enchantment of a vision. Then they presently began to come to life again, rousing themselves out of the spell and shaking it off as one drives away little by little a clinging drowsiness or intoxication. Now they fixed their attention upon Joan with a strong new interest of another sort; they were full of curiosity to see what she would do – they having a secret and particular reason for this curiosity. So they watched. This is what they saw: She made no obeisance, nor even any slight inclination of her head, but stood looking toward the throne in silence. That was all there was to see, at present. I glanced up at De Metz, and was shocked at the 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 feeling: ‘God of His grace give you long life, O dear and gentle Dauphin!’ In his astonishment and exultation De Metz cried out: ‘By the shadow of God, it is an amazing thing!’ Then he mashed all the bones in my hand in his grateful grip, and added, with a proud shake of his mane, ‘Now, what have these painted infidels to say!’ Meantime the young person in the plain clothes was saying to Joan: ‘Ah, you mistake, my child, I am not the King. There he is,’ and he pointed to the throne. The knight’s face clouded, and he muttered in grief and indignation: ‘Ah, it is a shame to use her so. But for this lie she had gone through safe. I will go and proclaim to all the house what -‘ ‘Stay were 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 towards the King, and said: ‘No, gracious liege, you are he, and none other.’ ‘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

PART 2 “I bring you news from God, that our Lord will give you back your kingdom, bringing you to be crowned at Reims, and driving out your enemies. In this I am God’s messenger.” Going to Meet the King The royal fortress in Chinon On the 20th Joan called her small army together – the two knights and her two brothers and me – for a private council of war. No, it was not a council – that is not the right name, for she did not consult with us, she merely gave us orders. She mapped out the course she would travel toward the King, and did it like a person perfectly versed in geography; and this itinerary of daily marches was so arranged as to avoid here and there peculiarly dangerous regions by flank movements – which showed that she knew her political geography as intimately as she knew her physical geography; yet she had never had a day’s schooling, of course, and was without education. I was astonished, but thought her Voices must have taught her. But upon reflection I saw that this was not so. By her references to what this and that and the other person had told her, I perceived that she had been diligently questioning those crowds of visiting strangers, and that out of them she had patiently dug all this mass of 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 23rd, at eleven of the clock at night.’ Then we were dismissed. The two knights were startled – yes, and troubled; and the Sieur Bertrand said – ‘Even if the governor shall really furnish the letter and the escort, he still may not do it in time to meet the date she has chosen. Then how can she venture to name that date? It is a great risk – a great risk to select and decide upon the date, in this state of uncertainty.’ I said – ‘Since she has named the 23rd, we may trust her. The Voices have told her, I think. We shall do best to obey.’ We did obey. Joan’s parents were notified to come before the 23rd, but prudence forbade that they be told why this limit was named. All day, the 23rd, she glanced up wistfully whenever new bodies of strangers entered the house, but her parents did not appear. Still she was not discouraged, but hoped on. But when night fell, at last, her hopes perished, and the tears came; however, she dashed them away, and said – ‘It was to be so, no doubt; no doubt it was so ordered; I must bear it, and will.’ De Metz tried to comfort her by saying – ‘The governor sends no word; it may be that they will come tomorrow, and –‘ He got no further, for she interrupted him, saying – ‘To what good end? We start at eleven tonight.’ 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 said – ‘You said true child. The battle was lost, on the day you said. So I have kept my word. Now go – come of it what may.’ Joan gave him thanks, and he went his way. The lost battle was the famous disaster that is called in history the Battle of the Herrings. All the lights in the house were at once put out, and a little while after, when the streets had become dark and still, we crept stealthily through them and out at the western gate and rode away under whip and spur. We were twenty-five strong, and well-equipped. We rode in double file, Joan and her brothers in the centre of the column, with Jean de Metz at the head of it and the Sieur Bertrand at its extreme rear. 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. Some of the men had been trying to understand why Joan continued to be alert, vigorous, and confident while the strongest men in the company were fagged with the heavy marches and exposure and were become morose and irritable. There, it shows you how men can have eyes and yet not see. They had also seen other evidences that women have far more endurance and patience and fortitude than men – but what good had their seeing these things been to them? None. It had taught them nothing. They were still surprised to see a girl of seventeen bear the fatigues of war better than trained veterans of the army. No, they knew nothing, and their reasonings were of a piece with their ignorance. They argued and discussed among themselves, with Noël listening, and arrived at the decision that Joan was a witch, and had her strange pluck and strength from Satan; so they made a plan to watch for a safe opportunity and take

Mark Twain The facts of the story seem stranger than fiction, but they’re all true. Twain later insisted, “I never attributed an act to the Maid herself that was not strictly historical, and I never put a sentence in her mouth which she had not uttered.” Joan of Arc is the only person, of either sex, who has ever held supreme command of the military forces of a nation at the age of seventeen. Joan said that it was her relationship with Archangel Michael, the chief and lord of the armies of heaven, that helped her defeat English invaders and inspire many people to develop deeper faith in God in the process. The details of the life of Joan of Arc is unique among the world’s biographies in one respect: It is the only story of a human life which comes to us under oath, the only one which comes to us from the witness-stand. The official records of the Great Trial of 1431, and the of the Process of Rehabilitation of a quarter of a century later, are still preserved in the National Archives of France.  King Charles VII ennobling Joan of Arc in 1429. National Archives of France PART 1 She first saw Saint Michael and eventually Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret. They deemed her Jehanne the Maid, Child of God. My Voices; that is what I call them to myself Heaven-Sent Apparitions 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 treasury bankrupt, its soldiers disheartened and dispersed, all spirit torpid, all courage dead in the hearts of the people through long years of foreign and domestic outrage and oppression, their King cowed, resigned to its fate, and preparing to fly the country; and she laid her hand upon this nation, this corpse, and it rose and followed her. She led it from victory to victory, she turned back the tide of the Hundred Years’ War, she fatally crippled the English power, and died with the earned title of Deliver of France, which she bears to this day. There was in her face a sweetness and serenity and purity that justly reflected her spiritual nature. She was deeply religious, and this is a thing which sometimes gives a melancholy cast to a 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. All through her childhood and up to the middle of her fourteenth year, Joan had been the most light-hearted creature and the merriest in the village, with a hop-skip-and-jump gait and a happy and catching laugh; and this disposition, supplemented by her warm and sympathetic nature and frank and winning ways, had made her everybody’s pet. She did not share her thinkings with the village at large, yet gave me glimpses of them, and so I knew, better than the rest, what was absorbing her interest. Many a time the idea crossed my mind that she had a secret – a secret which she was keeping wholly to herself, as well from me as from the others. This idea had come to me because several times she had cut a sentence in two and changed the subject when apparently she was on the verge of a revelation of some sort. I was to find this secret out, but not just yet. The day after the conversation which I have been reporting we were together in the pastures and fell to talking about France. ‘Joan, I have been thinking the whole thing 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 today it is more than desperate, it is hopeless.’  ‘The case of France hopeless? Why should you think that? Tell me.’ It is a most pleasant thing to find that what you think would inflict a hurt upon one whom you honour has not done it. I was relieved now, and could say all my say without and furtiveness 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 favourites 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 resistance; 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. These are the facts. Are they correct?’ She asked, in an ordinary, level tone – ‘What – that the case of France of hopeless?’ ‘Necessarily. In face of these facts, doubt of it is impossible.’ ‘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 –