A MONK OF FIFE
A Romance of the Days of Jeanne D'Arc - Joan of Arc
by Andrew Lang
CHAPTER XXXII
HOW THE MAID WAS DELIVERED WITH GREAT VICTORY,
AND THE END OF THIS CHRONICLE
It serves not to speak of my later fortunes, being those of a
private man, nor have I the heart to recall old sorrows. We were
wedded when Elliot's grief had in some sort abated, and for one year
we were happier than God has willed that sinful men should long be
in this world. Then that befell which has befallen many. I may not
write of it: suffice it that God took from me both her and her
child. Then, after certain weeks and days of which I am blessed
enough to keep little memory, I forswore arms, and served in the
household of the Lady Margaret of Scotland, who married the Dauphin
on an unhappy day. I have known much of Courts and of the learned,
I have seen the wicked man exalted, and Brother Thomas Noiroufle in
great honour with Charles VII. King of France, and offering before
him, with his murderous hands, the blessed sacrifice of the Mass.
The death of the Lady Margaret, slain by lying tongues, and the
sudden sight of that evil man, Brother Thomas, raised to power and
place, drove me from France, and I was certain years with the King's
ambassadors at the Courts of Italy. There I heard how the Holy
Inquisition had reversed that false judgment of the English and
false French at Rouen, which made me some joy. And then, finding
old age come upon me, I withdrew to my own country, where I have
lived in religion, somewhile in the Abbey of Dunfermline, and this
year gone in our cell of Pluscardine, where I now write, and where I
hope to die and be buried.
Here ends my tale, in my Latin Chronicle left untold, of how a Scots
Monk was with the Maid both in her victories and recoveries of
towns, and even till her death.
For myself, I now grow old, and the earthly time to come is short,
and there remaineth a rest for all souls Christian. Miscreants I
have heard of, men misbelieving and heretics, who deny that the
spirit abides after the death of the body, for in the long years,
say they, the spirit with the flesh wanes, and at last dies with the
bodily death. Wherein they not only make Holy Church a liar, but
are visibly confounded by this truth which I know and feel, namely,
that while my flesh wastes hourly towards old age, and of many
things my memory is weakened, yet of that day in Chinon I mind me as
clearly, and see my love as well, and hear her sweet voice as plain,
as if she had but now left the room.
Herein my memory does not fail, nor does love faint, growing
stronger with the years, like the stream as it races to the fall.
Wherefore, being more strong than Time, Love shall be more strong
than Death. The river of my life speeds yearly swifter, the years
like months go by, the months like weeks, the weeks like days. Even
so fleet on, O Time, till I rest beside her feet! Nay, never, being
young, did I more desire my love's presence when we were apart than
to-day I desire it, the memory of her filling all my heart as
fragrance of flowers fills a room, till it seems as if she were not
far away, but near me, as I write of her. And, foolish that I am! I
look up as if I might see her by my side. I know not if this be so
with all men, for, indeed, I have asked none, nor spoken to any of
the matter save in confession. For I have loved this once, and no
more; wherefore I deem me happier than most, and more certain of a
good end to my love, where the blessed dwell in the Rose of
Paradise, beholding the Beatific Vision.
To this end I implore the prayers of all Christian souls who read
this book, and of all the Saints, and of that Sister of the Saints
whom, while I might, I served in my degree.
VENERABILIS JOHANNA
ORA PRO NOBIS
RETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS CONTINUE TO APPENDIX
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