realm like a rat in a trap; his royal shelter this huge gloomy tomb
of a castle, with wormy rags for upholstery and crippled furniture
for use, a very house of desolation; in his treasure forty francs, and
not a farthing more, God be witness! no army, nor any shadow of
one; and by contrast with his hungry poverty you behold this
crownless pauper and his shoals of fools and favorites tricked out
in the gaudiest silks and velvets you shall find in any Court in
Christendom. And look you, he knows that when our city falls–as
fall it surely will except succor come swiftly–France falls; he
knows that when that day comes he will be an outlaw and a
fugitive, and that behind him the English flag will float
unchallenged over every acre of his great heritage; he knows these
things, he knows that our faithful city is fighting all solitary and
alone against disease, starvation, and the sword to stay this awful
calamity, yet he will not strike one blow to save her, he will not
hear our prayers, he will not even look upon our faces.’ That is
what the commissioners said, and they are in despair.”
Joan said, gently:
“It is pity, but they must not despair. The Dauphin will hear them
presently. Tell them so.”
She almost always called the King the Dauphin. To her mind he
was not King yet, not being crowned.
“We will tell them so, and it will content them, for they believe
you come from God. The Archbishop and his confederate have for
backer that veteran soldier Raoul de Gaucourt, Grand Master of
the Palace, a worthy man, but simply a soldier, with no head for
any greater matter. He cannot make out to see how a country-girl,
ignorant of war, can take a sword in her small hand and win
victories where the trained generals of France have looked for
defeats only, for fifty years–and always found them. And so he
lifts his frosty mustache and scoffs.”
“When God fights it is but small matter whether the hand that
bears His sword is big or little. He will perceive this in time. Is
there none in that Castle of Chinon who favors us?”
“Yes, the King’s mother-in-law, Yolande, Queen of Sicily, who is
wise and good. She spoke with the Sieur Bertrand.”
“She favors us, and she hates those others, the King’s beguilers,”
said Bertrand. “She was full of interest, and asked a thousand
questions, all of which I answered according to my ability. Then
she sat thinking over these replies until I thought she was lost in a
dream and would wake no more. But it was not so. At last she said,
slowly, and as if she were talking to herself: ‘A child of
seventeen–a girl–country-bred–untaught–ignorant of war, the use
of arms, and the conduct of battles–modest, gentle, shrinking–yet
throws away her shepherd’s crook and clothes herself in steel, and
fights her way through a hundred and fifty leagues of fear, and
comes–she to whom a king must be a dread and awful
presence–and will stand up before such an one and say, Be not
afraid, God has sent me to save you! Ah, whence could come a
courage and conviction so sublime as this but from very God
Himself!’ She was silent again awhile, thinking and making up her
mind; then she said, ‘And whether she comes of God or no, there is
that in her heart that raises her above men–1high above all men
that breathe in France to-day–for in her is that mysterious
something that puts heart into soldiers, and turns mobs of cowards
into armies of fighters that forget what fear is when they are in that
presence–fighters who go into battle with joy in their eyes and
songs on their lips, and sweep over the field like a storm –that is
the spirit that can save France, and that alone, come it whence it
may! It is in her, I do truly believe, for what else could have borne
up that child on that great march, and made her despise its dangers
and fatigues? The King must see her face to face–and shall!’ She