Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc (Vols. I-II) Chapter 5 We Pierce the Last Ambuscades
by Mark Twain
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. Noël
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, Noël
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 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 yoiurself,
No‰l 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," Noël 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--1high 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--bu 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--asI 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.