in the mouths of men when all the race of kings has been
forgotten, it is not meet that you bare your head before the fleeting
fames and dignities of a day–cover yourself!” And truly he looked
right fine and princely when he said that. Then he gave order that
the Bailly of Rheims be brought; and when he was come, and
stood bent low and bare, the King said to him, “These two are
guests of France;” and bade him use them hospitably.
I may as well say now as later, that Papa D’Arc and Laxart were
stopping in that little Zebra inn, and that there they remained.
Finer quarters were offered them by the Bailly, also public
distinctions and brave entertainment; but they were frightened at
these projects, they being only humble and ignorant peasants; so
they begged off, and had peace. They could not have enjoyed such
things. Poor souls, they did not even know what to do with their
hands, and it took all their attention to keep from treading on
them. The Bailly did the best he could in the circumstances. He
made the innkeeper place a whole floor at their disposal, and told
him to provide everything they might desire, and charge all to the
city. Also the Bailly gave them a horse apiece and furnishings;
which so overwhelmed them with pride and delight and
astonishment that they couldn’t speak a word; for in their lives they
had never dreamed of wealth like this, and could not believe, at
first, that the horses were real and would not dissolve to a mist and
blow away. They could not unglue their minds from those
grandeurs, and were always wrenching the conversation out of its
groove and dragging the matter of animals into it, so that they
could say “my horse” here, and “my horse” there and yonder and
all around, and taste the words and lick their chops over them, and
spread their legs and hitch their thumbs in their armpits, and feel
as the good God feels when He looks out on His fleets of
constellations plowing the awful deeps of space and reflects with
satisfaction that they are His–all His. Well, they were the happiest
old children one ever saw, and the simplest.
The city gave a grand banquet to the King and Joan in
mid-afternoon, and to the Court and the Grand Staff; and about the
middle of it PЉre D’Arc and Laxart were sent for, but would not
venture until it was promised that they might sit in a gallery and be
all by themselves and see all that was to be seen and yet be
unmolested. And so they sat there and looked down upon the
splendid spectacle, and were moved till the tears ran down their
cheeks to see the unbelievable honors that were paid to their small
darling, and how na‹vely serene and unafraid she sat there with
those consuming glories beating upon her.
But at last her serenity was broken up. Yes, it stood the strain of
the King’s gracious speech; and of D’Alen‡on’s praiseful words,
and the Bastard’s; and even La Hire’s thunder-blast, which took the
place by storm; but at last, as I have said, they brought a force to
bear which was too strong for her. For at the close the King put up
his hand to command silence, and so waited, with his hand up, till
every sound was dead and it was as if one could almost the
stillness, so profound it was. Then out of some remote corner of
that vast place there rose a plaintive voice, and in tones most
tender and sweet and rich came floating through that enchanted
hush our poor old simple song “L’Arbre F‚e le Bourlemont!” and
then Joan broke down and put her face in her hands and cried. Yes,
you see, all in a moment the pomps and grandeurs dissolved away
and she was a little child again herding her sheep with the tranquil
pastures stretched about her, and war and wounds and blood and
death and the mad frenzy and turmoil of battle a dream. Ah, that
shows you the power of music, that magician of magicians, who