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Mark Twain's Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc
Chapter 5
WE RESTED and otherwise refreshed ourselves two or three hours at Gien,
but by that time the news was abroad that the young girl commissioned of
God to deliver France was come; wherefore, such a press of people flocked
to our quarters to get sight of her that it seemed best to seek a quieter
place; so we pushed on and halted at a small village called Fierbois.
We were now within six leagues of the King, who was a 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 Domremians. 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 Jean.
"Why, the Paladin."
The Paladin seemed not to hear.
"What had he to do with it?" asked Pierre d'Arc.
"Everything. It was nothing but Joan's confidence in his discretion that
enabled her to keep up her heart. She could depend on us and on herself
for 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 perceive a danger, for instance, where a danger exists; whereas--"
"Hear him twaddle--the damned idiot!" muttered the Paladin.
"--whereas, it being purely a quality of the heart, and proceeding by
feeling, not reason, its reach is 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 you give credence to the malicious inventions of this
ramshackle slander-mill that has been doing its best to destroy my
character for years, and will grind up your own reputations for you next.
I got off to tighten my saddle-girth--I wish I may die in my tracks if it
isn't so--and whoever wants to believe it can, and whoever don't can let
it alone."
"There, that is the way with him, you see; he never can discuss a theme
temperately, but always flies off the handle and becomes disagreeable.
And you notice his defect of memory. He remembers getting off his horse,
but forgets all the rest, even the tree. But that is natural; he would
remember getting off the horse because he was so used to doing it. He
always did it when there was an alarm and the clash of arms at the
front."
"Why did he choose that time for it?" asked Jean.
"I don't know. To tighten up his girth, he thinks, to climb a tree, I
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 situation. It seems
offensive to me to refuse to believe a person when he makes so direct a
statement, and yet I am obliged to say, rude as it may appear, that I am
not able to believe the whole of it--no, I am not able to believe that
you climbed nine trees."
"There!" cried the Paladin; "now what do you think of yourself, 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. In gratitude 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, I 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 plowing
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:
"The King has got the letter, but they will not let us have speech with
him."
"Who is it that forbids?"
"None forbids, but there be three or four that are nearest his
person--schemers and traitors every one--that put obstructions in the
way, and seek all ways, by lies and pretexts, to make delay. Chiefest of
these are Georges de la Tremouille and that plotting fox, the Archbishop
of Rheims. While they keep the King idle and in bondage to his sports and
follies, they are great and their importance grows; whereas if ever he
assert himself and rise and strike for crown and country like a man,
their reign is done. So they but thrive, they care not if the crown go to
destruction and the King with it."
"You have spoken with others besides these?"
"Not of the Court, no--the Court are the meek slaves of those reptiles,
and watch their mouths and their actions, acting as they act, thinking as
they think, saying as they say; wherefore they are cold to us, and turn
aside and go another way when we appear. But we have spoken with the
commissioners from Orleans. They said with heat: 'It is a marvel that any
man in such desperate case as is the King can moon around in 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 treasure forty
francs, and not a farthing more, God be witness! no army, nor any shadow
of one; and by contrast with his hungry poverty you behold this crownless
pauper and his shoals of fools and favorites tricked out in the gaudiest
silks and velvets you shall find in any Court in Christendom. And look
you, he knows that when our city falls--as fall it surely will except
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 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 confederate have for backer that
veteran soldier Raoul de Gaucourt, Grand Master of the Palace, a worthy
man, but simply a soldier, with no head for any greater matter. He cannot
make out to see how a country-girl, ignorant of war, can take a sword in
her small hand and win victories where the trained generals of France
have looked for defeats only, for fifty years--and always found them. And
so he lifts his frosty 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 beguilers," said
Bertrand. "She was full of interest, and asked a thousand questions, all
of which I answered according to my ability. Then she sat thinking over
these replies until I thought she was lost in a dream and would wake no
more. But it was not so. At last she said, slowly, and as if she were
talking to herself: 'A child of seventeen--a girl--country-bred
--untaught--ignorant of war, the use of arms, and the conduct of battles
--modest, gentle, shrinking--yet throws away her shepherd's crook and
clothes herself in steel, and fights her way through a hundred and fifty
leagues of 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 fighters that forget what fear is
when they are in that presence --fighters who go into battle with joy in
their eyes and songs on their lips, and sweep over the field like a
storm --that is the spirit that can save France, and that alone, come it
whence it may! It is in her, I do truly believe, for what else could
have borne up that child on that great march, and made her despise its
dangers and fatigues? The King must see her face to face--and shall!'
She dismissed me with those good words, and I know her promise will be
kept. They will delay her all they can--those animals--but she will not
fail in the end."
"Would she were King!" said the other knight, 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 foreign land. The commissioners say there is a spell
upon him that makes him hopeless--yes, and that it is shut up in a
mystery which they cannot fathom."
"I know the mystery," said Joan, with quiet confidence; "I know it, and
he knows it, but no other but God. When I see him I will tell him a
secret that will drive away his trouble, then he will hold up his head
again."
I was miserable with curiosity to know what it was that she would tell
him, but she did not say, and I did not expect she would. She was but a
child, it is true; but she was not a chatterer to tell great matters and
make herself important to little people; no, she was reserved, and kept
things to herself, as the truly great always do.
The next day Queen Yolande got one victory over the King's keepers, for,
in spite of their protestations and obstructions, 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 spirit animated her, and
they implored him to trust in her, believe in her, and have faith that
she was sent to save France. They begged him to consent to see her. He
was strongly moved to do this, and promised that he would not drop the
matter out of his mind, but would consult with his council about it. This
began to look encouraging. Two hours later there was a great stir below,
and the innkeeper came flying up to say a commission of illustrious
ecclesiastics was come from the King--from the King his very self,
understand!--think of this vast 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
downstairs, and presently appeared again, backing into the room, and
bowing to the ground with every step, in front of four imposing and
austere bishops and their train of servants.
Joan rose, and we all stood. The bishops took seats, and for a while no
word was said, for it was their 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 degrading personages of their dignity to the base function
of ambassadors to her in her plebeian tavern, that they could not find
any words to say at first. Then presently their spokesman told Joan they
were aware that she had a message for the King, wherefore she was now
commanded to put it into words, briefly and without waste of time or
embroideries of speech.
As for me, I could hardly contain my joy--our message was to reach the
King at last! And there was the same joy and pride and exultation in the
faces of our knights, too, and in those of Joan's brothers. And I knew
that they were all praying--as I was--that the awe which we felt in the
presence of these great dignitaries, and which would have tied our
tongues and locked our jaws, would not affect her in the like degree, but
that she would be enabled to word her message well, and with little
stumbling, and so make a favorable impression here, where it would be so
valuable and so important.
Ah, dear, how little we were expecting what happened then! We were aghast
to hear her say what she said. She was standing in a reverent attitude,
with her head down and her hands clasped in front of her; for she was
always reverent toward the consecrated servants of God. When the
spokesman had finished, she raised her head and set her calm eye on those
faces, not any more disturbed by their state and grandeur than a princess
would have been, and said, with all her ordinary simplicity and modesty
of voice and manner:
"Ye will forgive me, reverend sirs, but I have no 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, to you fling the King's command in his face and refuse to
deliver this message of yours to his servants appointed to receive it?"
"God has appointed me to receive it, and another's commandment may not
take precedence of that. I pray you let me have speech for 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?"
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 ben so wise until this fatal hour. At last the Sieur
Bertrand found courage to ask her why she had let this great chance to
get her message to the King go by.
"Who sent them here?" she asked.
"The King."
"Who moved the King to send them?" She waited for an answer; none came,
for we began to see what was in her mind--so she answered herself: "The
Dauphin's council moved him to it. Are they enemies to me and to the
Dauphin's weal, or are they friends?"
"Enemies," answered the Sieur Bertrand.
"If one would have a message go sound and ungarbled, does one choose
traitors and tricksters to send it by?"
I saw that we had been fools, and she wise. They saw it too, so none
found anything to say. Then she went on:
"They had but small wit that contrived this trap. They thought to get my
message and seem to deliver it straight, yet deftly twist it from its
purpose. You know that one part of my message is but this--to move the
Dauphin by argument and reasonings to give me men-at-arms and send me to
the siege. If an enemy carried these in the right words, the exact words,
and no word missing, yet left out the persuasions of gesture and
supplicating tone and beseeching looks that inform the words and make
them live, where were the value of that argument--whom could it convince?
Be patient, the Dauphin will hear me presently; have no fear."
The Sieur de Metz nodded his head several times, and muttered as to
himself:
"She was right and wise, and we are but dull fools, when all is said."
It was just my thought; I could have said it myself; and indeed it was
the thought of all there present. A sort of awe crept over us, to think
how that untaught girl, taken suddenly and unprepared, was yet able to
penetrate the cunning devices of a King's trained advisers and defeat
them. Marveling over this, and astonished at it, we fell silent and spoke
no more. We had come to know that she was great in courage, fortitude,
endurance, patience, conviction, fidelity to all duties--in all things,
indeed, that make a good and trusty soldier and perfect him for his post;
now we were beginning to feel that maybe there were greatnesses in her
brain that were even greater than these great qualities of the heart. It
set us thinking.
What Joan did that day bore fruit the very day after. The King was
obliged to respect the spirit of a young girl who could hold her own and
stand her ground like that, and he asserted himself sufficiently to put
his respect into an act instead of into polite and empty words. He moved
Joan out of that poor inn, and housed her, with us her servants, in the
Castle of 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 unconscious
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.
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