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Mark Twain's Personal Recollections of JoanOfArc
BOOK 2: IN COURT AND CAMP
Chapter 1
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 might men unafraid, and say her
say; and she had not been able to do that but by the help of God. That I
know. Therefore with all humbleness I am at her command, to do with me as
she will."
"My uncle is very good to me," Joan said. "I sent and asked him to come
and persuade my mother to let him take me home with him to tend his wife,
who is not well. It is arranged, and we go at dawn to-morrow. From his
house I shall go soon to Vaucouleurs, and wait and strive until my prayer
is granted. Who were the two cavaliers who sat to your left at the
governor's table that day?"
"One was the Sieur Jean de Novelonpont de Metz, the other the Sieur
Bertrand de Poulengy."
"Good metal--good metal, both. I marked them for men of mine. . . . What
is it I see in your face? Doubt?"
I was teaching myself to speak the truth to her, not trimming it or
polishing it; so I said:
"They considered you out of your head, and said so. It is true they
pitied you for being in such misfortune, but still they held you to be
mad."
This did not seem to trouble her in any way or wound her. She only said:
"The wise change their minds when they perceive that they have been in
error. These will. They will march with me. I shall see them presently. .
. . You seem to doubt again? Do you doubt?"
"N-no. Not now. I was remembering that it was a year ago, and that they
did not belong here, but only chanced to stop a day on their journey."
"They will come again. But as to matters now in hand; I came to leave
with you some instructions. You will follow me in a few days. Order your
affairs, for you will be absent long."
"Will Jean and Pierre go with me?"
"No; they would refuse now, but presently they will come, and with them
they will bring my parents' blessing, and likewise their consent that I
take up my mission. I shall be stronger, then--stronger for that; for
lack of it I am weak now." She paused a little while, and the tears
gathered in her eyes; then she went on: "I would say good-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 behind; then the two girls said their
good-bys, clinging about each other's neck, and pouring out their grief
in loving words and tears, a pitiful sight to see. And Joan took one long
look back upon the distant village, and the Fairy Tree, and the oak
forest, and the flowery plain, and the river, as if she was trying to
print these scenes on her memory so that they would abide there always
and not fade, for she knew she would not see them any more in this life;
then she turned, and went from us, sobbing bitterly. It was her birthday
and mine. She was seventeen years old.
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