Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc (Vols. I-II) Chapter 34 The Jests of the Burgundians
by Mark Twain
The campaign of the Loire had as good as opened the road to
Rheims. There was no sufficient reason now why the Coronation
should not take place. The Coronation would complete the mission
which Joan had received from heaven, and then she would be
forever done with war, and would fly home to her mother and her
sheep, and never stir from the hearthstone and happiness any more.
That was her dream; and she could not rest, she was so impatient
to see it fulfilled. She became so possessed with this matter that I
began to lose faith in her two prophecies of her early death--and,
of course, when I found that faith wavering I encouraged it to
waver all the more.
The King was afraid to start to Rheims, because the road was
mile-posted with English fortresses, so to speak. Joan held them in
light esteem and not things to be afraid of in the existing modified
condition of English confidence.
And she was right. As it turned out, the march to Rheims was
nothing but a holiday excursion: Joan did not even take any
artillery along, she was so sure it would not be necessary. We
marched from Gien twelve thousand strong. This was the 29th of
June. The Maid rode by the side of the King; on his other side was
the Duke d'Alençon. After the duke followed three other princes of
the blood. After these followed the Bastard of Orleans, the
Marshal de Boussac, and the Admiral of France. After these came
La Hire, Saintrailles, Tremouille, and a long procession of knights
and nobles.
We rested three days before Auxerre. The city provisioned the
army, and a deputation waited upon the King, but we did not enter
the place.
Saint-Florentin opened its gates to the King.
On the 4th of July we reached Saint-Fal, and yonder lay Troyes
before us--a town which had a burning interest for us boys; for we
remembered how seven years before, in the pastures of Domremy,
the Sunflower came with his black flag and brought us the
shameful news of the Treaty of Troyes--that treaty which gave
France to England, and a daughter of our royal line in marriage to
the Butcher of Agincourt. That poor town was not to blame, of
course; yet we flushed hot with that old memory, and hoped there
would be a misunderstanding here, for we dealry wanted to storm
the place and burn it. It was powerfully garrisoned by English and
Burgundian soldiery, and was expecting reinforcements from
Paris. Before night we camped before its gates and made rough
work with a sortie which marched out against us.
Joan summoned Troyes to surrender. Its commandant, seeing that
she had no artillery, scoffed at the idea, and sent her a grossly
insulting reply. Five days we consulted and negotiated. No result.
The King was about to turn back now and give up. He was afraid
to go on, leaving this strong place in his rear. Then La Hire put in a
word, with a slap in it for some of his Majesty's advisers:
"The Maid of Orleans undertook this expedition of her own
motion; and it is my mind that it is her judgment that should be
followed here, and not that of any other, let him be of whatsoever
breed and standing he may."
There was wisdom and righteousness in that. So the King sent for
the Maid, and asked her how she thought the prospect looked. She
said, without any tone of doubt or question in her voice:
"In three days' time the place is ours."
The smug Chancellor put in a word now:
"If we were sure of it we would wait her six days."
"Six days, forsooth! Name of God, man, we will enter the gates
to-morrow!"
Then she mounted, and rode her lines, crying out:
"Make preparation--to your work, friends, to your work! We
assault at dawn!"
She worked hard that night, slaving away with her own hands like
a common soldier. She ordered fascines and fagots to be prepared
and thrown into the fosse, thereby to bridge it; and in this rough
labor she took a man's share.
At dawn she took her place at the head of the storming force and
the bugles blew the assault. At that moment a flag of truce was
flung to the breeze from the walls, and Troyes surrendered without
firing a shot.
The next day the King with Joan at his side and the Paladin
bearing her banner entered the town in state at the head of the
army. And a goodly army it was now, for it had been growing ever
bigger and bigger from the first.
And now a curious thing happened. By the terms of the treaty
made with the town the garrison of English and Burgundian
soldiery were to be allowed to carry away their "goods" with them.
This was well, for otherwise how would they buy the wherewithal
to live? Very well; these people were all to go out by the one gate,
and at the time set for them to depart we young fellows went to
that gate, along with the Dwarf, to see the march-out. Presently
here they came in an interminable file, the foot-soldiers in the
lead. As they approached one could see that each bore a burden of
a bulk and weight to sorely tax his strength; and we said among
ourselves, truly these folk are well off for poor common soldiers.
When they were come nearer, what do you think? Every rascal of
them had a French prisoner on his back! They were carrying away
their "goods," you see--their property--strictly according to the
permission granted by the treaty.
Now think how clever that was, how ingenious. What could a body
say? what could a body do? For certainly these people were within
their right. These prisoners were property; nobody could deny that.
My dears, if those had been English captives, conceive of the
richness of that booty! For English prisoners had been scarce and
precious for a hundred years; whereas it was a different matter
with French prisoners. They had been over-abundant for a century.
The possessor of a French prisoner did not hold him long for
ransom, as a rule, but presently killed him to save the cost of his
keep. This shows you how small was the value of such a
possession in those times. When we took Troyes a calf was worth
thirty francs, a sheep sixteen, a French prisoner eight. It was an
enormous price for those other animals--a price which naturally
seems incredible to you. It was the war, you see. It worked two
ways: it made meat dear and prisoners cheap.
Well, here were these poor Frenchmen being carried off. What
could we do? Very little of a permanent sort, but we did what we
could. We sent a messenger flying to Joan, and we and the French
guards halted the procession for a parley--to gain time, you see. A
big Burgundian lost his temper and swore a great oath that none
should stop him; he would go, and would take his prisoner with
him. But we blocked him off, and he saw that he was mistaken
about going--he couldn't do it. He exploded into the maddest
cursings and revilings, then, and, unlashing his prisoner from his
back, stood him up, all bound and helpless; then drew his knife,
and said to us with a light of sarcasting triumph in his eye:
"I may not carry him away, you say--yet he is mine, none will
dispute it. Since I may not convey him hence, this property of
mine, there is another way. Yes, I can kill him; not even the dullest
among you will question that right. Ah, you had not thought of
that--vermin!"
That poor starved fellow begged us with his piteous eyes to save
him; then spoke, and said he had a wife and little children at home.
Think how it wrung our heartstrings. But what could we do? The
Burgundian was within his right. We could only beg and plead for
the prisoner. Which we did. And the Burgundian enjoyed it. He
stayed his hand to hear more of it, and laugh at it. That stung. Then
the Dwarf said:
"Prithee, young sirs, let me beguile him; for when a matter
requiring permission is to the fore, I have indeed a gift in that sort,
as any will tell you that know me well. You smile; and that is
punishment for my vanity; and fairly earned, I grant you. Still, if I
may toy a little, just a little--" saying which he stepped to the
Burgundian and began a fair soft speech, all of goodly and gentle
tenor; and in the midst he mentioned the Maid; and was going on
to say how she out of her good heart would prize and praise this
compassionate deed which he was about to-- It was as far as he
got. The Burgundian burst into his smooth oration with an insult
leveled at Joan of Arc. We sprang forward, but the Dwarf, his face
all livid, brushed us aside and said, in a most grave and earnest
way:
"I crave your patience. Am not I her guard of honor? This is my
affair."
And saying this he suddenly shot his right hand out and gripped the
great Burgundian by the throat, and so held him upright on his feet.
"You have insulted the Maid," he said; "and the Maid is France.
The tongue that does that earns a long furlough."
One heard the muffled cracking of bones. The Burgundian's eyes
began to protrude from their sockets and stare with a leaden
dullness at vacancy. The color deepened in his face and became an
opaque purple. His hands hung down limp, his body collapsed with
a shiver, every muscle relaxed its tension and ceased from its
function. The Dwarf took away his hand and the column of inert
mortality sank mushily to the ground.
We struck the bonds from the prisoner and told him he was free.
His crawling humbleness changed to frantic joy in a moment, and
his ghastly fear to a childish rage. He flew at that dead corpse and
kicked it, spat in its face, danced upon it, crammed mud into its
mouth, laughing, jeering, cursing, and volleying forth indecencies
and bestialities like a drunken fiend. It was a thing to be expected;
soldiering makes few saints. Many of the onlookers laughed,
others were indifferent, none was surprised. But presently in his
mad caperings the freed man capered within reach of the waiting
file, and another Burgundian promptly slipped a knife through his
neck, and down he went with a death-shriek, his brilliant artery
blood spurting ten feet as straight and bright as a ray of light.
There was a great burst of jolly laughter all around from friend and
foe alike; and thus closed one of the pleasantest incidents of my
checkered military life.
And now came Joan hurrying, and deeply troubled. She considered
the claim of the garrison, then said:
"You have right upon your side. It is plain. It was a careless word
to put in the treaty, and covers too much. But ye may not take
these poor men away. They are French, and I will not have it. The
King shall ransom them, every one. Wait till I send you word from
him; and hurt no hair of their heads; for I tell you, I who speak,
that that would cost you very dear."
That settled it. The prisoners were safe for one while, anyway.
Then she rode back eagerly and required that thing of the King,
and would listen to no paltering and no excuses. So the King told
her to have her way, and she rode straight back and bought the
captives free in his name and let them go.