Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc — Volume 1, Mark Twain [best novels of all time .txt] 📗

Tuesday a crowd of us were romping and singing around the Fairy Tree, and hanging garlands on it in memory of our lost little fairy friends, when Little Mengette cried out:

“Look! What is that?”

When one exclaims like that in a way that shows astonishment and apprehension, he gets attention. All the panting breasts and flushed faces flocked together, and all the eager eyes were turned in one direction—down the slope, toward the village.

“It’s a black flag.”

“A black flag! No—is it?”

“You can see for yourself that it is nothing else.”

“It is a black flag, sure! Now, has any ever seen the like of that before?”

“What can it mean?”

“Mean? It means something dreadful—what else?”

“That is nothing to the point; anybody knows that without the telling. But what?—that is the question.”

“It is a chance that he that bears it can answer as well as any that are here, if you contain yourself till he comes.”

“He runs well. Who is it?”

Some named one, some another; but presently all saw that it was Etienne Roze, called the Sunflower, because he had yellow hair and a round pock-marked face. His ancestors had been Germans some centuries ago. He came straining up the slope, now and then projecting his flag-stick aloft and giving his black symbol of woe a wave in the air, whilst all eyes watched him, all tongues discussed him, and every heart beat faster and faster with impatience to know his news. At last he sprang among us, and struck his flag-stick into the ground, saying:

“There! Stand there and represent France while I get my breath. She needs no other flag now.”

All the giddy chatter stopped. It was as if one had announced a death. In that chilly hush there was no sound audible but the panting of the breath-blown boy. When he was presently able to speak, he said:

“Black news is come. A treaty has been made at Troyes between France and the English and Burgundians. By it France is betrayed and delivered over, tied hand and foot, to the enemy. It is the work of the Duke of Burgundy and that she-devil, the Queen of France. It marries Henry of England to Catharine of France—”

“Is not this a lie? Marries the daughter of France to the Butcher of Agincourt? It is not to be believed. You have not heard aright.”

“If you cannot believe that, Jacques d’Arc, then you have a difficult task indeed before you, for worse is to come. Any child that is born of that marriage—if even a girl—is to inherit the thrones of both England and France, and this double ownership is to remain with its posterity forever!”

“Now that is certainly a lie, for it runs counter to our Salic law, and so is not legal and cannot have effect,” said Edmond Aubrey, called the Paladin, because of the armies he was always going to eat up some day. He would have said more, but he was drowned out by the clamors of the others, who all burst into a fury over this feature of the treaty, all talking at once and nobody hearing anybody, until presently Haumette persuaded them to be still, saying:

“It is not fair to break him up so in his tale; pray let him go on. You find fault with his history because it seems to be lies. That were reason for satisfaction—that kind of lies—not discontent. Tell the rest, Etienne.”

“There is but this to tell: Our King, Charles VI., is to reign until he dies, then Henry V. of England is to be Regent of France until a child of his shall be old enough to—”

“That man is to reign over us—the Butcher? It is lies! all lies!” cried the Paladin. “Besides, look you—what becomes of our Dauphin? What says the treaty about him?”

“Nothing. It takes away his throne and makes him an outcast.”

Then everybody shouted at once and said the news was a lie; and all began to get cheerful again, saying, “Our King would have to sign the treaty to make it good; and that he would not do, seeing how it serves his own son.”

But the Sunflower said: “I will ask you this: Would the Queen sign a treaty disinheriting her son?”

“That viper? Certainly. Nobody is talking of her. Nobody expects better of her. There is no villainy she will stick at, if it feed her spite; and she hates her son. Her signing it is of no consequence. The King must sign.”

“I will ask you another thing. What is the King’s condition? Mad, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and his people love him all the more for it. It brings him near to them by his sufferings; and pitying him makes them love him.”

“You say right, Jacques d’Arc. Well, what would you of one that is mad? Does he know what he does? No. Does he do what others make him do? Yes. Now, then, I tell you he has signed the treaty.”

“Who made him do it?”

“You know, without my telling. The Queen.”

Then there was another uproar—everybody talking at once, and all heaping execrations upon the Queen’s head. Finally Jacques d’Arc said:

“But many reports come that are not true. Nothing so shameful as this has ever come before, nothing that cuts so deep, nothing that has dragged France so low; therefore there is hope that this tale is but another idle rumor. Where did you get it?”

The color went out of his sister Joan’s face. She dreaded the answer; and her instinct was right.

“The cure of Maxey brought it.”

There was a general gasp. We knew him, you see, for a trusty man.

“Did he believe it?”

The hearts almost stopped beating. Then came the answer:

“He did. And that is not all. He said he knew it to be true.”

Some of the girls began to sob; the boys were struck silent. The distress in Joan’s face was like that which one sees in the face of a dumb animal that has received a mortal hurt. The animal bears it, making no complaint; she bore it also, saying no word. Her brother Jacques put his hand on her head and caressed her hair to indicate his sympathy, and she gathered the hand to her lips and kissed it for thanks, not saying anything. Presently the reaction came, and the boys began to talk. Noel Rainguesson said:

“Oh, are we never going to be men! We do grow along so slowly, and France never needed soldiers as she needs them now, to wipe out this black insult.”

“I hate youth!” said