shepherdess, very candid, but not given to talking.”
It was quite true–in their case. But if they could have looked back
and seen her with us in the happy pastures of Domremy, they
would have perceived that she had a tongue that could go fast
enough when no harm could come of her words.
So we traveled to Poitiers, to endure there three weeks of tedious
delay while this poor child was being daily questioned and
badgered before a great bench of–what? Military experts?–since
what she had come to apply for was an army and the privilege of
leading it to battle against the enemies of France. Oh no; it was a
great bench of priests and monks–profoundly leaned and astute
casuists–renowned professors of theology! Instead of setting a
military commission to find out if this valorous little soldier could
win victories, they set a company of holy hair-splitters and
phrase-mongers to work to find out if the soldier was sound in her
piety and had no doctrinal leaks. The rats were devouring the
house, but instead of examining the cat’s teeth and claws, they only
concerned themselves to find out if it was a holy cat. If it was a
pious cat, a moral cat, all right, never mind about the other
capacities, they were of no consequence.
Joan was as sweetly self-possessed and tranquil before this grim
tribunal, with its robed celebrities, its solemn state and imposing
ceremonials, as if she were but a spectator and not herself on trial.
She sat there, solitary on her bench, untroubled, and disconcerted
the science of the sages with her sublime ignorance–an ignorance
which was a fortress; arts, wiles, the learning drawn from books,
and all like missiles rebounded from its unconscious masonry and
fell to the ground harmless; they could not dislodge the garrison
which was within–Joan’s serene great heart and spirit, the guards
and keepers of her mission.
She answered all questions frankly, and she told all the story of her
visions and of her experiences with the angels and what they said
to her; and the manner of the telling was so unaffected, and so
earnest and sincere, and made it all seem so lifelike and real, that
even that hard practical court forgot itself and sat motionless and
mute, listening with a charmed and wondering interest to the end.
And if you would have other testimony than mine, look in the
histories and you will find where an eyewitness, giving sworn
testimony in the Rehabilitation process, says that she told that tale
“with a noble dignity and simplicity,” and as to its effect, says in
substance what I have said. Seventeen, she was–seventeen, and all
alone on her bench by herself; yet was not afraid, but faced that
great company of erudite doctor4s of law ant theology, and by the
help of no art learned in the schools, but using only the
enchantments which were hers by nature, of youth, sincerity, a
voice soft and musical, and an eloquence whose source was the
heart, not the head, she laid that spell upon them. Now was not
that a beautiful thing to see? If I could, I would put it before you
just as I saw it; then I know what you would say.
As I have told you, she could not read. “One day they harried and
pestered her with arguments, reasonings, objections, and other
windy and wordy trivialities, gathered out of the works of this and
that and the other great theological authority, until at last her
patience vanished, and she turned upon them sharply and said:
“I don’t know A from B; but I know this: that I am come by
command of the Lord of Heaven to deliver Orleans from the
English power and crown the King of Rheims, and the matters ye
are puttering over are of no consequence!”
Necessarily those were trying days for her, and wearing for
everybody that took part; but her share was the hardest, for she had
no holidays, but must be always on hand and stay the long hours
through, whereas this, that, and the other inquisitor could absent
himself and rest up from his fatigues when he got worn out. And