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Mark Twain's Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc
Chapter 17
ANOTHER TEN days' wait. The great theologians of that treasury of all
valuable knowledge and all wisdom, the University of Paris, were still
weighing and considering and discussing the Twelve Lies.
I had had but little to do these ten days, so I spent them mainly 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
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 destitution 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 inaction, and brooding stillness, and thoughts that travel by
day and night and night and day round and round in the same circle, and
wear the brain and break the heart with weariness. 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 support and sympathy of persons of her own sex, and the
delicate offices and gentle ministries which only these can furnish; 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 circumstances 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 profound 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 ignoble deceits, 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 foresight; 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 and noble enthusiasms, the gift of turning hares into
heroes, slaves and skulkers into battalions that march to death with
songs on their lips. But all these are exalting activities; they keep
hand and heart and brain 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 accomplished under blighting and unnerving and hopeless conditions
all that her splendid equipment of moral and intellectual 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.
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