For reward he allowed her to be hunted to her death without
making one effort to save her. During the next twenty-three years
he remained indifferent to her memory; indifferent to the fact that
her good name was under a damning blot put there by the priest
because of the deeds which she had done in saving him and his
scepter; indifferent to the fact that France was ashamed, and
longed to have the Deliverer’s fair fame restored. Indifferent all
that time. Then he suddenly changed and was anxious to have
justice for poor Joan himself. Why? Had he become grateful at
last? Had remorse attacked his hard heart? No, he had a better
reason–a better one for his sort of man. This better reason was
that, now that the English had been finally expelled from the
country, they were beginning to call attention to the fact that this
King had gotten his crown by the hands of a person proven by the
priests to have been in league with Satan and burned for it by them
as a sorceress–therefore, of what value or authority was such a
Kingship as that? Of no value at all; no nation could afford to
allow such a king to remain on the throne.
It was high time to stir now, and the King did it. That is how
Charles VII. came to be smitten with anxiety to have justice done
the memory of his benefactress.
He appealed to the Pope, and the Pope appointed a great
commission of churchmen to examine into the facts of Joan’s life
and award judgment. The Commission sat at Paris, at Domremy, at
Rouen, at Orleans, and at several other places, and continued its
work during several months. It examined the records of Joan’s
trials, it examined the Bastard of Orleans, and the Duke d’Alen‡on,
and D’Aulon, and Pasquerel, and Courcelles, and Isambard de la
Pierre, and Manchon, and me, and many others whose names I
have made familiar to you; also they examined more than a
hundred witnesses whose names are less familiar to you–the
friends of Joan in Domremy, Vaucouleurs, Orleans, and other
places, and a number of judges and other people who had assisted
at the Rouen trials, the abjuration, and the martyrdom. And out of
this exhaustive examination Joan’s character and history came
spotless and perfect, and this verdict was placed upon record, to
remain forever.
I was present upon most of these occasions, and saw again many
faces which I have not seen for a quarter of a century; among them
some well-beloved faces–those of our generals and that of
Catherine Boucher (married, alas!), and also among them certain
other faces that filled me with bitterness–those of Beaupere and
Courcelles and a number of their fellow-fiends. I saw Haumette
and Little Mengette–edging along toward fifty now, and mothers
of many children. I saw No‰l’s father, and the parents of the
Paladin and the Sunflower.
It was beautiful to hear the Duke d’Alen‡on praise Joan’s splendid
capacities as a general, and to hear the Bastard indorse these
praises with his eloquent tongue and then go on and tell how sweet
and good Joan was, and how full of pluck and fire and
impetuosity, and mischief, and mirthfulness, and tenderness, and
compassion, and everything that was pure and fine and noble and
lovely. He made her live again before me, and wrung my heart.
I have finished my story of Joan of Arc, that wonderful child, that
sublime personality, that spirit which in one regard has had no peer
and will have none–this: its purity from all alloy of self-seeking,
self-interest, personal ambition. In it no trace of these motives can
be found, search as you may, and this cannot be said of any other
person whose name appears in profane history.
With Joan of Arc love of country was more than a sentiment–it
was a passion. She was the Genius of Patriotism–she was
Patriotism embodied, concreted, made flesh, and palpable to the
touch and visible to the eye.
Love, Mercy, Charity, Fortitude, War, Peace, Poetry, Music–these
may be symbolized as any shall prefer: by figures of either sex and
of any age; but a slender girl in her first young bloom, with the