“No matter–begin! let us begin!”
“It is too late. Without doubt the Duke of Bedford has been
gathering troops to push to the succor of his strongholds on the
Loire.”
“Yes, while we have been disbanding ours–and pity ’tis. But we
must throw away no more time; we must bestir ourselves.”
The King objected that he could not venture toward Rheims with
those strong places on the Loire in his path. But Joan said:
“We will break them up. Then you can march.”
With that plan the King was willing to venture assent. He could sit
around out of danger while the road was being cleared.
Joan came back in great spirits. Straightway everything was
stirring. Proclamations were issued calling for men, a
recruiting-camp was established at Selles in Berry, and the
commons and the nobles began to flock to it with enthusiasm.
A deal of the month of May had been wasted; and yet by the 6th of
June Joan had swept together a new army and was ready to march.
She had eight thousand men. Think of that. Think of gathering
together such a body as that in that little region. And these were
veteran soldiers, too. In fact, most of the men in France were
soldiers, when you came to that; for the wars had lasted
generations now. Yes, most Frenchmen were soldiers; and
admirable runners, too, both by practice and inheritance; they had
done next to nothing but run for near a century. But that was not
their fault. They had had no fair and proper leadership–at least
leaders with a fair and proper chance. Away back, King and Court
got the habit of being treacherous to the leaders; then the leaders
easily got the habit of disobeying the King and going their own
way, each for himself and nobody for the lot. Nobody could win
victories that way. Hence, running became the habit of the French
troops, and no wonder. Yet all that those troops needed in order to
be good fighters was a leader who would attend strictly to
business–a leader with all authority in his hands in place of a tenth
of it along with nine other generals equipped with an equal tenth
apiece. They had a leader rightly clothed with authority now, and
with a head and heart bent on war of the most intensely
businesslike and earnest sort–and there would be results. No doubt
of that. They had Joan of Arc; and under that leadership their legs
would lose the art and mystery of running.
Yes, Joan was in great spirits. She was here and there and
everywhere, all over the camp, by day and by night, pushing
things. And wherever she came charging down the lines, reviewing
the troops, it was good to hear them break out and cheer. And
nobody could help cheering, she was such a vision of young bloom
and beauty and grace, and such an incarnation of pluck and life
and go! she was growing more and more ideally beautiful every
day, as was plain to be seen–and these were days of development;
for she was well past seventeen now–in fact, she was getting close
upon seventeen and a half–indeed, just a little woman, as you may
say.
The two young Counts de Laval arrived one day–fine young
fellows allied to the greatest and most illustrious houses of France;
and they could not rest till they had seen Joan of Arc. So the King
sent for them and presented them to her, and you may believe she
filled the bill of their expectations. When they heard that rich
voice of hers they must have thought it was a flute; and when they
saw her deep eyes and her face, and the soul that looked out of that
face, you could see that the sight of her stirred them like a poem,
like lofty eloquence, like martial music. One of them wrote home
to his people, and in his letter he said, “It seemed something divine
to see her and hear her.” Ah, yes, and it was a true word. Truer
word was never spoken.
He saw her when she was ready to begin her march and open the