whereas to my mind it was purely ridiculous, and not in any way
valuable to any one. It seemed so to me then, and it seems so to me
yet. And as for history, it does not resemble history; for the office
of history is to furnish serious and important facts that teach;
whereas this strange and useless event teaches nothing; nothing
that I can see, except not to ride a bull to a funeral; and surely no
reflecting person needs to be taught that.
Chapter 37 Again to Arms
NOW THESE were nobles, you know, by decree of the
King!–these precious old infants. But they did not realize it; they
could not be called conscious of it; it was an abstraction, a
phantom; to them it had no substance; their minds could not take
hold of it. No, they did not bother about their nobility; they lived in
their horses. The horses were solid; they were visible facts, and
would make a mighty stir in Domremy. Presently something was
said about the Coronation, and old D’Arc said it was going to be a
grand thing to be able to say, when they got home, that they were
present in the very town itself when it happened. Joan looked
troubled, and said:
“Ah, that reminds me. You were here and you didn’t send me word.
In the town, indeed! Why, you could have sat with the other
nobles, and ben welcome; and could have looked upon the
crowning itself, and carried that home to tell. Ah, why did you use
me so, and send me no word?”
The old father was embarrassed, now, quite visibly embarrassed,
and had the air of one who does not quite know what to say. But
Joan was looking up in his face, her hands upon his
shoulders–waiting. He had to speak; so presently he drew her to
his breast, which was heaving with emotion; and he said, getting
out his words with difficulty:
“There, hide your face, child, and let your old father humble
himself and make his confession. I–I–don’t you see, don’t you
understand?–I could not know that these grandeurs would not turn
your young head–it would be only natural. I might shame you
before these great per–”
“Father!”
“And then I was afraid, as remembering that cruel thing I said once
in my sinful anger. Oh, appointed of God to be a soldier, and the
greatest in the land! and in my ignorant anger I said I would drown
you with my own hands if you unsexed yourself and brought
shame to your name and family. Ah, how could I ever have said it,
and you so good and dear and innocent! I was afraid; for I was
guilty. You understand it now, my child, and you forgive?”
Do you see? Even that poor groping old land-crab, with his skull
full of pulp, had pride. Isn’t it wonderful? And more–he had
conscience; he had a sense of right and wrong, such as it was; he
was able to find remorse. It looks impossible, it looks incredible,
but it is not. I believe that some day it will be found out that
peasants are people. Yes, beings in a great many respects like
ourselves. And I believe that some day they will find this out,
too–and then! Well, then I think they will rise up and demand to
be regarded as part of the race, and that by consequence there will
be trouble. Whenever one sees in a book or in a king’s
proclamation those words “the nation,” they bring before us the
upper classes; only those; we know no other “nation”; for us and
the kings no other “nation” exists. But from the day that I saw old
D’Arc the peasant acting and feeling just as I should have acted
and felt myself, I have carried the conviction in my heart that our
peasants are not merely animals, beasts of burden put here by the
good God to produce food and comfort for the “nation,” but
something more and better. You look incredulous. Well, that is
your training; it is the training of everybody; but as for me, I thank
that incident for giving me a better light, and I have never