campaign, and this is what he said about it:
“She was clothed all in white armor save her head, and in her hand
she carried a little battle-ax; and when she was ready to mount her
great black horse he reared and plunged and would not let her.
Then she said, ‘Lead him to the cross.’ This cross was in front of
the church close by. So they led him there. Then she mounted, and
he never budged, any more than if he had been tied. Then she
turned toward the door of the church and said, in her soft womanly
voice, ‘You, priests and people of the Church, make processions
and pray to God for us!’ Then she spurred away, under her
standard, with her little ax in her hand, crying ‘Forward–march!’
One of her brothers, who came eight days ago, departed with her;
and he also was clad all in white armor.”
I was there, and I saw it, too; saw it all, just as he pictures it. And I
see it yet–the little battle-ax, the dainty plumed cap, the white
armor–all in the soft June afternoon; I see it just as if it were
yesterday. And I rode with the staff–the personal stdaff–the staff
of Joan of Arc.
That young count was dying to go, too, but the King held him back
for the present. But Joan had made him a promise. In his letter he
said:
“She told me that when the King starts for Rheims I shall go with
him. But God grant I may not have to wait till then, but may have a
part in the battles!”
She made him that promise when she was taking leave of my lady
the Duchess d’Alen‡on. The duchess was exacting a promise, so it
seemed a proper ttime for others to do the like. The duchess was
troubled for her husband, for she foresaw desperate fighting; and
she held Joan to her breast, and stroked her hair lovingly, and said:
“You must watch over him, dear, and take care of him, and send
him back to me safe. I require it of you; I will not let you go till
you promise.”
Joan said:
“I give you the promise with all my heart; and it is not just words,
it is a promise; you shall have him back without a hurt. Do you
believe? And are you satisfied with me now?”
The duchess could not speak, but she kissed Joan on the forehead;
and so they parted.
We left on the 6th and stopped over at Romorantin; then on the 9th
Joan entered Orleans in state, under triumphal arches, with the
welcoming cannon thundering and seas of welcoming flags
fluttering in the breeze. The Grand Staff rode with her, clothed in
shining splendors of costume and decorations: the Duke
d’Alen‡on; the Bastard of Orleans; the Sire de Boussac, Marshal of
France; the Lord de Graville, Master of the Crossbowmen; the Sire
de Culan, Admiral of France; Ambroise de Lor‚; ђtienne de
Vignoles, called La Hire; Gautier de Brusac, and other illustrious
captains.
It was grand times; the usual shoutings and packed multitudes, the
usual crush to get sight of Joan; but at last we crowded through to
our old lodgings, and I saw old Boucher and the wife and that dear
Catherine gather Joan to their hearts and smother her with
kisses–and my heart ached tterso! for I could have kissed
Catherine better than anybody, and more and longer; yet was not
thought of for that office, and I so famished for it. Ah, she was so
beautiful, and oh, so sweet! I had loved her the first day I ever saw
her, and from that day forth she was sacred to me. I have carried
her image in my heart for sixty-three years–all lonely thee, yes,
solitary, for it never has had company–and I am grown so old, so
old; but it, oh, it is as fresh and young and merry and mischievous
and lovely and sweet and pure and witching and divine as it was
when it crept in there, bringing benediction and peace to its
habitation so long ago, so long ago–for it has not aged a day!