make him confess it; that could bring down a proud man’s pride
and make him humble; that could put courage into a coward and
strike dead the courage of the bravest; that could appease
resentments and real hatreds; that could make the doubter believe
and the hopeless hope again; that could purify the impure mind;
that could persuade–ah, there it is–persuasion! that is the word;
what or who is it that it couldn’t persuade? The maniac of
Domremy–the fairy-banishing priest–the reverend tribunal of
Toul–the doubting and superstitious Laxart–the obstinate veteran
of Vaucouleurs–the characterless heir of France–the sages and
scholars of the Parliament and University of Poitiers–the darling
of Satan, La Hire–the masterless Bastard of Orleans, accustomed
to acknowledge no way as right and rational but his own–these
were the trophies of that great gift that made her the wonder and
mystery that she was.
We mingled companionably with the great folk who flocked to the
big house to make Joan’s acquaintance, and they made much of us
and we lived in the clouds, so to speak. But what we preferred
even to this happiness was the quieter occasions, when the formal
guests were gone and the family and a few dozen of its familiar
friends were gathered together for a social good time. It was then
that we did our best, we five youngsters, with such fascinations as
we had, and the chief object of them was Catherine. None of us
had ever been in love been in love before, and now we had the
misfortune to all fall in love with the same person at the same
time–which was the first moment we saw her. She was a merry
heart, and full of life, and I still remember tenderly those few
evenings that I was permitted to have my share of her dear society
and of comradeship with that little company of charming people.
The Paladin made us all jealous the first night, for when he got
fairly started on those battles of his he had everything to himself,
and there was no use in anybody else’s trying to get any attention.
Those people had been living in the midst of real war for seven
months; and to hear this windy giant lay out his imaginary
campaigns and fairly swim in blood and spatter it all around,
entertained them to the verge of the grave. Catherine was like to
die, for pure enjoyment. She didn’t laugh loud–we, of course,
wished she would–but kept in the shelter of a fan, and shook until
there was danger that she would unhitch her ribs from her spine.
Then when the Paladin had got done with a battle and we began to
feel thankful and hope for a change, she would speak up in a way
that was so sweet and persuasive that it rankled in me, and ask him
about some detail or other in the early part of his battle which she
said had greatly interested her, and would he be so good as to
describe that part again and with a little more particularity?–which
of course precipitated the whole battle on us, again, with a hundred
lies added that had been overlooked before.
I do not know how to make you realize the pain I suffered. I had
never been jealous before, and it seemed intolerable that this
creature should have this good fortune which he was so ill entitled
to, and I have to sit and see myself neglected when I was so
longing for the least little attention out of the thousand that this
beloved girl was lavishing on him. I was near her, and tried two or
three times to get started on some of the things that I had done in
those battles–and I felt ashamed of myself, too, for stooping to
such a business–but she cared for nothing but his battles, and
could not be got to listen; and presently when one of my attempts
caused her to lose some precious rag or other of his mendacities
and she asked him to repeat, thus bringing on a new engagement,
of course, and increasing the havoc and carnage tenfold, I felt so
humiliated by this pitiful miscarriage of mine that I gave up and