Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, Volume 1

M >> Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) >> Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, Volume 1


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'Alencon; the Bastard of Orleans; the Sire de
Boussac, Marshal of France; the Lord de Granville, Master of the
Crossbowmen; the Sire de Culan, Admiral of France; Ambroise de Lor;
Etienne 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 for her so! 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!



Chapter 26 The Last Doubts Scattered

THIS TIME, as before, the King's last command to the generals was this:
"See to it that you do nothing without the sanction of the Maid." And
this time the command was obeyed; and would continue to be obeyed all
through the coming great days of the Loire campaign.

That was a change! That was new! It broke the traditions. It shows you
what sort of a reputation as a commander-in-chief the child had made for
herself in ten days in the field. It was a conquering of men's doubts and
suspicions and a capturing and solidifying of men's belief and confidence
such as the grayest veteran on the Grand Staff had not been able to
achieve in thirty years. Don't you remember that when at sixteen Joan
conducted her own case in a grim court of law and won it, the old judge
spoke of her as "this marvelous child"? It was the right name, you see.

These veterans were not going to branch out and do things without the
sanction of the Maid--that is true; and it was a great gain. But at the
same time there were some among them who still trembled at her new and
dashing war tactics and earnestly desired to modify them. And so, during
the 10th, while Joan was slaving away at her plans and issuing order
after order with tireless industry, the old-time consultations and
arguings and speechifyings were going on among certain of the generals.

In the afternoon of that day they came in a body to hold one of these
councils of war; and while they waited for Joan to join them they
discussed the situation. Now this discussion is not set down in the
histories; but I was there, and I will speak of it, as knowing you will
trust me, I not being given to beguiling you with lies.

Gautier de Brusac was spokesman for the timid ones; Joan's side was
resolutely upheld by d'Alencon, the Bastard, La Hire, the Admiral of
France, the Marshal de Boussac, and all the other really important
chiefs.

De Brusac argued that the situation was very grave; that Jargeau, the
first point of attack, was formidably strong; its imposing walls
bristling with artillery; with seven thousand picked English veterans
behind them, and at their head the great Earl of Suffolk and his two
redoubtable brothers, the De la Poles. It seemed to him that the proposal
of Joan of Arc to try to take such a place by storm was a most rash and
over-daring idea, and she ought to be persuaded to relinquish it in favor
of the soberer and safer procedure of investment by regular siege. It
seemed to him that this fiery and furious new fashion of hurling masses
of men against impregnable walls of stone, in defiance of the established
laws and usages of war, was--

But he got no further. La Hire gave his plumed helm an impatient toss and
burst out with:

"By God, she knows her trade, and none can teach it her!"

And before he could get out anything more, D'Alencon was on his feet, and
the Bastard of Orleans, and a half a dozen others, all thundering at
once, and pouring out their indignant displeasure upon any and all that
mid hold, secretly or publicly, distrust of the wisdom of the
Commander-in-Chief. And when they had said their say, La Hire took a
chance again, and said:

"There are some that never know how to change. Circumstances may change,
but those people are never able to see that they have got to change too,
to meet those circumstances. All that they know is the one beaten track
that their fathers and grandfathers have followed and that they
themselves have followed in their turn. If an earthquake come and rip the
land to chaos, and that beaten track now lead over precipices and into
morasses, those people can't learn that they must strike out a new
road--no; they will march stupidly along and follow the old one, to death
and perdition. Men, there's a new state of things; and a surpassing
military genius has perceived it with her clear eye. And a new road is
required, and that same clear eye has noted where it must go, and has
marked it out for us. The man does not live, never has lived, never will
live, that can improve upon it! The old state of things was defeat,
defeat, defeat--and by consequence we had troops with no dash, no heart,
no hope. Would you assault stone walls with such? No--there was but one
way with that kind: sit down before a place and wait, wait--starve it
out, if you could. The new case is the very opposite; it is this: men all
on fire with pluck and dash and vim and fury and energy--a restrained
conflagration! What would you do with it? Hold it down and let it smolder
and perish and go out? What would Joan of Arc do with it? Turn it loose,
by the Lord God of heaven and earth, and let it swallow up the foe in the
whirlwind of its fires! Nothing shows the splendor and wisdom of her
military genius like her instant comprehension of the size of the change
which has come about, and her instant perception of the right and only
right way to take advantage of it. With her is no sitting down and
starving out; no dilly-dallying and fooling around; no lazying, loafing,
and going to sleep; no, it is storm! storm! storm! and still storm!
storm! storm! and forever storm! storm! storm! hunt the enemy to his
hole, then turn her French hurricanes loose and carry him by storm! And
that is my sort! Jargeau? What of Jargeau, with its battlements and
towers, its devastating artillery, its seven thousand picked veterans?
Joan of Arc is to the fore, and by the splendor of God its fate is
sealed!"

Oh, he carried them. There was not another word said about persuading
Joan to change her tactics. They sat talking comfortably enough after
that.

By and by Joan entered, and they rose and saluted with their swords, and
she asked what their pleasure might be. La Hire said:

"It is settled, my General. The matter concerned Jargeau. There were some
who thought we could not take the place."

Joan laughed her pleasant laugh, her merry, carefree laugh; the laugh
that rippled so buoyantly from her lips and made old people feel young
again to hear it; and she said to the company:

"Have no fears--indeed, there is no need nor any occasion for them. We
will strike the English boldly by assault, and you will see." Then a
faraway look came into her eyes, and I think that a picture of her home
drifted across the vision of her mind; for she said very gently, and as
one who muses, "But that I know God guides us and will give us success, I
had liefer keep sheep than endure these perils."

We had a homelike farewell supper that evening--just the personal staff
and the family. Joan had to miss it; for the city had given a banquet in
her honor, and she had gone there in state with the Grand Staff, through
a riot of joy-bells and a sparkling Milky Way of illuminations.

After supper some lively young folk whom we knew came in, and we
presently forgot that we were soldiers, and only remembered that we were
boys and girls and full of animal spirits and long-pent fun; and so there
was dancing, and games, and romps, and screams of laughter--just as
extravagant and innocent and noisy a good time as ever I had in my life.
Dear, dear, how long ago it was!--and I was young then. And outside, all
the while, was the measured tramp of marching battalions, belated odds
and ends of the French power gathering for the morrow's tragedy on the
grim stage of war. Yes, in those days we had those contrasts side by
side. And as I passed along to bed there was another one: the big Dwarf,
in brave new armor, sat sentry at Joan's door--the stern Spirit of War
made flesh, as it were--and on his ample shoulder was curled a kitten
asleep.



Chapter 27 How Joan Took Jargeau

WE MADE a gallant show next day when we filed out through the frowning
gates of Orleans, with banners flying and Joan and the Grand Staff in the
van of the long column. Those two young De Lavals were come now, and were
joined to the Grand Staff. Which was well; war being their proper trade,
for they were grandsons of that illustrious fighter Bertrand du Guesclin,
Constable of France in earlier days. Louis de Bourbon, the Marshal de
Rais, and the Vidame de Chartres were added also. We had a right to feel
a little uneasy, for we knew that a force of five thousand men was on its
way under Sir John Fastolfe to reinforce Jargeau, but I think we were not
uneasy, nevertheless. In truth, that force was not yet in our
neighborhood. Sir John was loitering; for some reason or other he was not
hurrying. He was losing precious time--four days at Etampes, and four
more at Janville.

We reached Jargeau and began business at once. Joan sent forward a heavy
force which hurled itself against the outworks in handsome style, and
gained a footing and fought hard to keep it; but it presently began to
fall back before a sortie from the city. Seeing this, Joan raised her
battle-cry and led a new assault herself under a furious artillery fire.
The Paladin was struck down at her side wounded, but she snatched her
standard from his failing hand and plunged on through the ruck of flying
missiles, cheering her men with encouraging cries; and then for a good
time one had turmoil, and clash of steel, and collision and confusion of
struggling multitudes, and the hoarse bellowing of the guns; and then the
hiding of it all under a rolling firmament of smoke--a firmament through
which veiled vacancies appeared for a moment now and then, giving fitful
dim glimpses of the wild tragedy enacting beyond; and always at these
times one caught sight of that slight figure in white mail which was the
center and soul of our hope and trust, and whenever we saw that, with its
back to us and its face to the fight, we knew that all was well. At last
a great shout went up--a joyous roar of shoutings, in fact--and that was
sign sufficient that the faubourgs were ours.

Yes, they were ours; the enemy had been driven back within the walls. On
the ground which Joan had won we camped; for night was coming on.

Joan sent a summons to the English, promising that if they surrendered
she would allow them to go in peace and take their horses with them.
Nobody knew that she could take that strong place, but she knew it --knew
it well; yet she offered that grace--offered it in a time when such a
thing was unknown in war; in a time when it was custom and usage to
massacre the garrison and the inhabitants of captured cities without pity
or compunction--yes, even to the harmless women and children sometimes.
There are neighbors all about you who well remember the unspeakable
atrocities which Charles the Bold inflicted upon the men and women and
children of Dinant when he took that place some years ago. It was a
unique and kindly grace which Joan offered that garrison; but that was
her way, that was her loving and merciful nature--she always did her best
to save her enemy's life and his soldierly pride when she had the mastery
of him.

The English asked fifteen days' armistice to consider the proposal in.
And Fastolfe coming with five thousand men! Joan said no. But she offered
another grace: they might take both their horses and their side-arms--but
they must go within the hour.

Well, those bronzed English veterans were pretty hard-headed folk. They
declined again. Then Joan gave command that her army be made ready to
move to the assault at nine in the morning. Considering the deal of
marching and fighting which the men had done that day, D'Alencon thought
the hour rather early; but Joan said it was best so, and so must be
obeyed. Then she burst out with one of those enthusiasms which were
always burning in her when battle was imminent, and said:

"Work! work! and God will work with us!"

Yes, one might say that her motto was "Work! stick to it; keep on
working!" for in war she never knew what indolence was. And whoever will
take that motto and live by it will likely to succeed. There's many a way
to win in this world, but none of them is worth much without good hard
work back out of it.

I think we should have lost our big Standard-Bearer that day, if our
bigger Dwarf had not been at hand to bring him out of the melee when he
was wounded. He was unconscious, and would have been trampled to death by
our own horse, if the Dwarf had not promptly rescued him and haled him to
the rear and safety. He recovered, and was himself again after two or
three hours; and then he was happy and proud, and made the most of his
wound, and went swaggering around in his bandages showing off like an
innocent big-child--which was just what he was. He was prouder of being
wounded than a really modest person would be of being killed. But there
was no harm in his vanity, and nobody minded it. He said he was hit by a
stone from a catapult--a stone the size of a man's head. But the stone
grew, of course. Before he got through with it he was claiming that the
enemy had flung a building at him.

"Let him alone," said Noel Rainguesson. "Don't interrupt his processes.
To-morrow it will be a cathedral."

He said that privately. And, sure enough, to-morrow it was a cathedral. I
never saw anybody with such an abandoned imagination.

Joan was abroad at the crack of dawn, galloping here and there and
yonder, examining the situation minutely, and choosing what she
considered the most effective positions for her artillery; and with such
accurate judgment did she place her guns that her Lieutenant-General's
admiration of it still survived in his memory when his testimony was
taken at the Rehabilitation, a quarter of a century later.

In this testimony the Duke d'Alencon said that at Jargeau that morning of
the 12th of June she made her dispositions not like a novice, but "with
the sure and clear judgment of a trained general of twenty or thirty
years' experience."

The veteran captains of the armies of France said she was great in war in
all ways, but greatest of all in her genius for posting and handling
artillery.

Who taught the shepherd-girl to do these marvels--she who could not read,
and had had no opportunity to study the complex arts of war? I do not
know any way to solve such a baffling riddle as that, there being no
precedent for it, nothing in history to compare it with and examine it
by. For in history there is no great general, however gifted, who arrived
at success otherwise than through able teaching and hard study and some
experience. It is a riddle which will never be guessed. I think these
vast powers and capacities were born in her, and that she applied them by
an intuition which could not err.

At eight o'clock all movement ceased, and with it all sounds, all noise.
A mute expectancy reigned. The stillness was something awful --because it
meant so much. There was no air stirring. The flags on the towers and
ramparts hung straight down like tassels. Wherever one saw a person, that
person had stopped what he was doing, and was in a waiting attitude, a
listening attitude. We were on a commanding spot, clustered around Joan.
Not far from us, on every hand, were the lanes and humble dwellings of
these outlying suburbs. Many people were visible--all were listening, not
one was moving. A man had placed a nail; he was about to fasten something
with it to the door-post of his shop--but he had stopped. There was his
hand reaching up holding the nail; and there was his other hand n the act
of striking with the hammer; but he had forgotten everything--his head
was turned aside listening. Even children unconsciously stopped in their
play; I saw a little boy with his hoop-stick pointed slanting toward the
ground in the act of steering the hoop around the corner; and so he had
stopped and was listening--the hoop was rolling away, doing its own
steering. I saw a young girl prettily framed in an open window, a
watering-pot in her hand and window-boxes of red flowers under its
spout--but the water had ceased to flow; the girl was listening.
Everywhere were these impressive petrified forms; and everywhere was
suspended movement and that awful stillness.

Joan of Arc raised her sword in the air. At the signal, the silence was
torn to rags; cannon after cannon vomited flames and smoke and delivered
its quaking thunders; and we saw answering tongues of fire dart from the
towers and walls of the city, accompanied by answering deep thunders, and
in a minute the walls and the towers disappeared, and in their place
stood vast banks and pyramids of snowy smoke, motionless in the dead air.
The startled girl dropped her watering-pot and clasped her hands
together, and at that moment a stone cannon-ball crashed through her fair
body.

The great artillery duel went on, each side hammering away with all its
might; and it was splendid for smoke and noise, and most exalting to
one's spirits. The poor little town around about us suffered cruelly. The
cannon-balls tore through its slight buildings, wrecking them as if they
had been built of cards; and every moment or two one would see a huge
rock come curving through the upper air above the smoke-clouds and go
plunging down through the roofs. Fire broke out, and columns of flame and
smoke rose toward the sky.

Presently the artillery concussions changed the weather. The sky became
overcast, and a strong wind rose and blew away the smoke that hid the
English fortresses.

Then the spectacle was fine; turreted gray walls and towers, and
streaming bright flags, and jets of red fire and gushes of white smoke in
long rows, all standing out with sharp vividness against the deep leaden
background of the sky; and then the whizzing missiles began to knock up
the dirt all around us, and I felt no more interest in the scenery. There
was one English gun that was getting our position down finer and finer
all the time. Presently Joan pointed to it and said:

"Fair duke, step out of your tracks, or that machine will kill you."

The Duke d'Alencon did as he was bid; but Monsieur du Lude rashly took
his place, and that cannon tore his head off in a moment.

Joan was watching all along for the right time to order the assault. At
last, about nine o'clock, she cried out:

"Now--to the assault!" and the buglers blew the charge.

Instantly we saw the body of men that had been appointed to this service
move forward toward a point where the concentrated fire of our guns had
crumbled the upper half of a broad stretch of wall to ruins; we saw this
force descend into the ditch and begin to plant the scaling-ladders. We
were soon with them. The Lieutenant-General thought the assault
premature. But Joan said:

"Ah, gentle duke, are you afraid? Do you not know that I have promised to
send you home safe?"

It was warm work in the ditches. The walls were crowded with men, and
they poured avalanches of stones down upon us. There was one gigantic
Englishman who did us more hurt than any dozen of his brethren. He always
dominated the places easiest of assault, and flung down exceedingly
troublesome big stones which smashed men and ladders both --then he would
near burst himself with laughing over what he had done. But the duke
settled accounts with him. He went and found the famous cannoneer, Jean
le Lorrain, and said:

"Train your gun--kill me this demon."

He did it with the first shot. He hit the Englishman fair in the breast
and knocked him backward into the city.

The enemy's resistance was so effective and so stubborn that our people
began to show signs of doubt and dismay. Seeing this, Joan raised her
inspiring battle-cry and descended into the fosse herself, the Dwarf
helping her and the Paladin sticking bravely at her side with the
standard. She started up a scaling-ladder, but a great stone flung from
above came crashing down upon her helmet and stretched her, wounded and
stunned, upon the ground. But only for a moment. The Dwarf stood her upon
her feet, and straightway she started up the ladder again, crying:

"To the assault, friends, to the assault--the English are ours! It is the
appointed hour!"

There was a grand rush, and a fierce roar of war-cries, and we swarmed
over the ramparts like ants. The garrison fled, we pursued; Jargeau was
ours!

The Earl of Suffolk was hemmed in and surrounded, and the Duke d'Alencon
and the Bastard of Orleans demanded that he surrender himself. But he was
a proud nobleman and came of a proud race. He refused to yield his sword
to subordinates, saying:

"I will die rather. I will surrender to the Maid of Orleans alone, and to
no other."

And so he did; and was courteously and honorably used by her.

His two brothers retreated, fighting step by step, toward the bridge, we
pressing their despairing forces and cutting them down by scores. Arrived
on the bridge, the slaughter still continued. Alexander de la Pole was
pushed overboard or fell over, and was drowned. Eleven hundred men had
fallen; John de la Pole decided to give up the struggle. But he was
nearly as proud and particular as his brother of Suffolk as to whom he
would surrender to. The French officer nearest at hand was Guillaume
Renault, who was pressing him closely. Sir John said to him:

"Are you a gentleman?"

"Yes."

"And a knight?"

"No."

Then Sir John knighted him himself there on the bridge, giving him the
accolade with English coolness and tranquillity in the midst of that
storm of slaughter and mutilation; and then bowing with high courtesy
took the sword by the blade and laid the hilt of it in the man's hand in
token of surrender. Ah, yes, a proud tribe, those De la Poles.

It was a grand day, a memorable day, a most splendid victory. We had a
crowd of prisoners, but Joan would not allow them to be hurt. We took
them with us and marched into Orleans next day through the usual tempest
of welcome and joy.

And this time there was a new tribute to our leader. From everywhere in
the packed streets the new recruits squeezed their way to her side to
touch the sword of Joan of Arc and draw from it somewhat of that
mysterious quality which made it invincible.