[3] The lower half of it remains to-day just as it was then; the
upper half is of a later date. — TRANSLATOR.
Chapter 17 Supreme in Direst Peril
ANOTHER ten days’ wait. The great theologians of that treasury of
all valuable knowledge and all wisdom, the University of Paris,
were still weighing and considering and discussing the Twelve
Lies.
I had had but little to do these ten days, so I spent them mainly in
walks about the town with No‰l. But there was no pleasure in
them, our spirits being so burdened with cares, and the outlook for
Joan growing steadily darker and darker all the time. And then we
naturally contrasted our circumstances with hers: this freedom and
sunshine, with her darkness and chains; our comradeship, with her
lonely estate; our alleviations of one sort and another, with her
destitution in all. She was used to liberty, but now she had none;
she was an out-of-door creature by nature and habit, but now she
was shut up day and night in a steel cage like an animal; she was
used to the light, but now she was always in a gloom where all
objects about her were dim and spectral; she was used to the
thousand various sounds which are the cheer and music of a busy
life, but now she heard only the monotonous footfall of the sentry
pacing his watch; she had been fond of talking with her mates, but
now there was no one to talk to; she had had an easy laugh, but it
was gone dumb now; she had been born for comradeship, and
blithe and busy work, and all manner of joyous activities, but here
were only dreariness, and leaden hours, and weary inaction, and
brooding stillness, and thoughts that travel by day and night and
night and day round and round in the same circle, and wear the
brain and break the heart with weariness. It was death in life; yes,
death in life, that is what it must have been. And there was another
hard thing about it all. A young girl in trouble needs the soothing
solace and support and sympathy of persons of her own sex, and
the delicate offices and gentle ministries which only these can
furnish; yet in all these months of gloomy captivity in her dungeon
Joan never saw the face of a girl or a woman. Think how her heart
would have leaped to see such a face.
Consider. If you would realize how great Joan of Arc was,
remember that it was out of such a place and such circumstances
that she came week after week and month after month and
confronted the master intellects of France single-handed, and
baffled their cunningest schemes, defeated their ablest plans,
detected and avoided their secretest traps and pitfalls, broke their
lines, repelled their assaults, and camped on the field after every
engagement; steadfast always, true to her faith and her ideals;
defying torture, defying the stake, and answering threats of eternal
death and the pains of hell with a simple “Let come what may,
here I take my stand and will abide.”
Yes, if you would realize how great was the soul, how profound
the wisdom, and how luminous the intellect of Joan of Arc, you
must study her there, where she fought out that long fight all
alone–and not merely against the subtlest brains and deepest
learning of France, but against the ignoble deceits, the meanest
treacheries, and the hardest hearts to be found in any land, pagan
or Christian.
She was great in battle–we all know that; great in foresight; great
in loyalty and patriotism; great in persuading discontented chiefs
and reconciling conflicting interests and passions; great in the
ability to discover merit and genius wherever it lay hidden; great in
picturesque and eloquent speech; supremely great in the gift of
firing the hearts of hopeless men and noble enthusiasms, the gift of
turning hares into heroes, slaves and skulkers into battalions that
march to death with songs on their lips. But all these are exalting
activities; they keep hand and heart and brain keyed up to their
work; there is the joy of achievement, the inspiration of stir and