Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, Mark Twain [ebook reader online .txt] 📗

of Satan, and so the officers were prudent and did not try to make them fight. It was said also that some of the officers were affected by the same superstitious fears. Well, in any case, they never offered to molest us, and we poked by all the grisly fortresses in peace. During the march I caught up on my devotions, which were in arrears; so it was not all loss and no profit for me after all.

It was on this march that the histories say Dunois told Joan that the English were expecting reinforcements under the command of Sir John Fastolfe, and that she turned upon him and said:

“Bastard, Bastard, in God’s name I warn you to let me know of his coming as soon as you hear of it; for if he passes without my knowledge you shall lose your head!”

It may be so; I don’t deny it; but I didn’t hear it. If she really said it I think she only meant she would take off his official head⁠—degrade him from his command. It was not like her to threaten a comrade’s life. She did have her doubts of her generals, and was entitled to them, for she was all for storm and assault, and they were for holding still and tiring the English out. Since they did not believe in her way and were experienced old soldiers, it would be natural for them to prefer their own and try to get around carrying hers out.

But I did hear something that the histories didn’t mention and don’t know about. I heard Joan say that now that the garrisons on the other wide had been weakened to strengthen those on our side, the most effective point of operations had shifted to the south shore; so she meant to go over there and storm the forts which held the bridge end, and that would open up communication with our own dominions and raise the siege. The generals began to balk, privately, right away, but they only baffled and delayed her, and that for only four days.

All Orleans met the army at the gate and huzzaed it through the bannered streets to its various quarters, but nobody had to rock it to sleep; it slumped down dog-tired, for Dunois had rushed it without mercy, and for the next twenty-four hours it would be quiet, all but the snoring.

XVII Sweet Fruit of Bitter Truth

When we got home, breakfast for us minor fry was waiting in our mess-room and the family honored us by coming in to eat it with us. The nice old treasurer, and in fact all three were flatteringly eager to hear about our adventures. Nobody asked the Paladin to begin, but he did begin, because now that his specially ordained and peculiar military rank set him above everybody on the personal staff but old d’Aulon, who didn’t eat with us, he didn’t care a farthing for the knights’ nobility nor mine, but took precedence in the talk whenever it suited him, which was all the time, because he was born that way. He said:

“God be thanked, we found the army in admirable condition I think I have never seen a finer body of animals.”

“Animals!” said Miss Catherine.

“I will explain to you what he means,” said Noël. “He⁠—”

“I will trouble you not to trouble yourself to explain anything for me,” said the Paladin, loftily. “I have reason to think⁠—”

“That is his way,” said Noël; “always when he thinks he has reason to think, he thinks he does think, but this is an error. He didn’t see the army. I noticed him, and he didn’t see it. He was troubled by his old complaint.”

“What’s his old complaint?” Catherine asked.

“Prudence,” I said, seeing my chance to help.

But it was not a fortunate remark, for the Paladin said:

“It probably isn’t your turn to criticize people’s prudence⁠—you who fall out of the saddle when a donkey brays.”

They all laughed, and I was ashamed of myself for my hasty smartness. I said:

“It isn’t quite fair for you to say I fell out on account of the donkey’s braying. It was emotion, just ordinary emotion.”

“Very well, if you want to call it that, I am not objecting. What would you call it, Sir Bertrand?”

“Well, it⁠—well, whatever it was, it was excusable, I think. All of you have learned how to behave in hot hand-to-hand engagements, and you don’t need to be ashamed of your record in that matter; but to walk along in front of death, with one’s hands idle, and no noise, no music, and nothing going on, is a very trying situation. If I were you, de Conte, I would name the emotion; it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

It was as straight and sensible a speech as ever I heard, and I was grateful for the opening it gave me; so I came out and said:

“It was fear⁠—and thank you for the honest idea, too.”

“It was the cleanest and best way out,” said the old treasurer; “you’ve done well, my lad.”

That made me comfortable, and when Miss Catherine said, “It’s what I think, too,” I was grateful to myself for getting into that scrape.

Sir Jean de Metz said:

“We were all in a body together when the donkey brayed, and it was dismally still at the time. I don’t see how any young campaigner could escape some little touch of that emotion.”

He looked about him with a pleasant expression of inquiry on his good face, and as each pair of eyes in turn met the head they were in nodded a confession. Even the Paladin delivered his nod. That surprised everybody, and saved the Standard-Bearer’s credit. It was clever of him; nobody believed he could tell the truth that way without practice, or would tell that particular sort of a truth either with or without practice. I suppose he judged it would favorably impress the family. Then the old treasurer said:

“Passing the forts in that trying way required the same