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SAINT JOAN by
George Bernard Shaw
SCENE I
A fine spring morning on the river Meuse, between Lorraine and
Champagne, in the year 1429 A.D., in the castle of Vaucouleurs.
Captain Robert de Baudricourt, a military squire, handsome and
physically energetic, but with no will of his own, is disguising
that defect in his usual fashion by storming terribly at his
steward, a trodden worm, scanty of flesh, scanty of hair, who might
be any age from 18 to 55, being the sort of man whom age cannot
wither because he has never bloomed.
The two are in a sunny stone chamber on the first floor of the
castle. At a plain strong oak table, seated in chair to match, the
captain presents his left profile. The steward stands facing him
at the other side of the table, if so deprecatory a stance as his
can be called standing. The mullioned thirteenth-century window is
open behind him. Near it in the corner is a turret with a narrow
arched doorway leading to a winding stair which descends to the
courtyard. There is a stout fourlegged stool under the table, and
a wooden chest under the window.
ROBERT. No eggs! No eggs!! Thousand thunders, man, what do you
mean by no eggs?
STEWARD. Sir: it is not my fault. It is the act of God.
ROBERT. Blasphemy. You tell me there are no eggs; and you blame
your Maker for it.
STEWARD. Sir: what can I do? I cannot lay eggs.
ROBERT [sarcastic] Ha! You jest about it.
STEWARD. No, sir, God knows. We all have to go without eggs just
as you have, sir. The hens will not lay.
ROBERT. Indeed! [Rising] Now listen to me, you.
STEWARD [humbly] Yes, sir.
ROBERT. What am I?
STEWARD. What are you, sir?
ROBERT [coming at him] Yes: what am I? Am I Robert, squire of
Baudricourt and captain of this castle of Vaucouleurs; or am I a
cowboy?
STEWARD. Oh, sir, you know you are a greater man here than the
king himself.
ROBERT. Precisely. And now, do you know what you are?
STEWARD. I am nobody, sir, except that I have the honor to be your
steward.
ROBERT [driving him to the wall, adjective by adjective] You have
not only the honor of being my steward, but the privilege of being
the worst, most incompetent, drivelling snivelling jibbering
jabbering idiot of a steward in France. [He strides back to the
table].
STEWARD [cowering on the chest] Yes, sir: to a great man like you
I must seem like that.
ROBERT [turning] My fault, I suppose. Eh?
STEWARD [coming to him deprecatingly] Oh, sir: you always give my
most innocent words such a turn!
ROBERT. I will give your neck a turn if you dare tell me when I
ask you how many eggs there are that you cannot lay any.
STEWARD [protesting] Oh sir, oh sir--
ROBERT. No: not oh sir, oh sir, but no sir, no sir. My three
Barbary hens and the black are the best layers in Champagne. And
you come and tell me that there are no eggs! Who stole them? Tell
me that, before I kick you out through the castle gate for a liar
and a seller of my goods to thieves. The milk was short yesterday,
too: do not forget that.
STEWARD [desperate] I know, sir. I know only too well. There is
no milk: there are no eggs: tomorrow there will be nothing.
ROBERT. Nothing! You will steal the lot: eh?
STEWARD. No, sir: nobody will steal anything. But there is a
spell on us: we are bewitched.
ROBERT. That story is not good enough for me. Robert de
Baudricourt burns witches and hangs thieves. Go. Bring me four
dozen eggs and two gallons of milk here in this room before noon,
or Heaven have mercy on your bones! I will teach you to make a
fool of me. [He resumes his seat with an air of finality].
STEWARD. Sir: I tell you there are no eggs. There will be none--
not if you were to kill me for it--as long as The Maid is at the
door.
ROBERT. The Maid! What maid? What are you talking about?
STEWARD. The girl from Lorraine, sir. From Domremy.
ROBERT [rising in fearful wrath] Thirty thousand thunders! Fifty
thousand devils! Do you mean to say that that girl, who had the
impudence to ask to see me two days ago, and whom I told you to
send back to her father with my orders that he was to give her a
good hiding, is here still?
STEWARD. I have told her to go, sir. She wont.
ROBERT. I did not tell you to tell her to go: I told you to throw
her out. You have fifty men-at-arms and a dozen lumps of able-
bodied servants to carry out my orders. Are they afraid of her?
STEWARD. She is so positive, sir.
ROBERT [seizing him by the scruff of the neck] Positive! Now see
here. I am going to throw you downstairs.
STEWARD. No, sir. Please.
ROBERT. Well, stop me by being positive. It's quite easy: any
slut of a girl can do it.
STEWARD [hanging limp in his hands] Sir, sir: you cannot get rid
of her by throwing me out. [Robert has to let him drop. He squats
on his knees on the floor, contemplating his master resignedly].
You see, sir, you are much more positive than I am. But so is she.
ROBERT. I am stronger than you are, you fool.
STEWARD. No, sir: it isnt that: it's your strong character, sir.
She is weaker than we are: she is only a slip of a girl; but we
cannot make her go.
ROBERT. You parcel of curs: you are afraid of her.
STEWARD [rising cautiously] No sir: we are afraid of you; but she
puts courage into us. She really doesnt seem to be afraid of
anything. Perhaps you could frighten her, sir.
ROBERT [grimly] Perhaps. Where is she now?
STEWARD. Down in the courtyard, sir, talking to the soldiers as
usual. She is always talking to the soldiers except when she is
praying.
ROBERT. Praying! Ha! You believe she prays, you idiot. I know
the sort of girl that is always talking to soldiers. She shall
talk to me a bit. [He goes to the window and shouts fiercely
through it] Hallo, you there!
A GIRL'S VOICE [bright, strong, and rough] Is it me, sir?
ROBERT. Yes, you.
THE VOICE. Be you captain?
ROBERT. Yes, damn your impudence, I be captain. Come up here.
[To the soldiers in the yard] Shew her the way, you. And shove
her along quick. [He leaves the window, and returns to his place
at the table, where he sits magisterially].
STEWARD [whispering] She wants to go and be a soldier herself.
She wants you to give her soldier's clothes. Armor, sir! And a
sword! Actually! [He steals behind Robert].
Joan appears in the turret doorway. She is an ablebodied country
girl of 17 or 18, respectably dressed in red, with an uncommon
face; eyes very wide apart and bulging as they often do in very
imaginative people, a long well-shaped nose with wide nostrils, a
short upper lip, resolute but full-lipped mouth, and handsome
fighting chin. She comes eagerly to the table, delighted at having
penetrated to Baudricourt's presence at last, and full of hope as
to the results. His scowl does not check or frighten her in the
least. Her voice is normally a hearty coaxing voice, very
confident, very appealing, very hard to resist.
JOAN [bobbing a curtsey] Good morning, captain squire. Captain:
you are to give me a horse and armor and some soldiers, and send me
to the Dauphin. Those are your orders from my Lord.
ROBERT [outraged] Orders from your lord! And who the devil may
your lord be? Go back to him, and tell him that I am neither duke
nor peer at his orders: I am squire of Baudricourt; and I take no
orders except from the king.
JOAN [reassuringly] Yes, squire: that is all right. My Lord is
the King of Heaven.
ROBERT. Why, the girl's mad. [To the steward] Why didn't you
tell me so, you blockhead?
STEWARD. Sir: do not anger her: give her what she wants.
JOAN [impatient, but friendly] They all say I am mad until I talk
to them, squire. But you see that it is the will of God that you
are to do what He has put into my mind.
ROBERT. It is the will of God that I shall send you back to your
father with orders to put you under lock and key and thrash the
madness out of you. What have you to say to that?
JOAN. You think you will, squire; but you will find it all coming
quite different. You said you would not see me; but here I am.
STEWARD [appealing] Yes, sir. You see, sir.
ROBERT. Hold your tongue, you.
STEWARD [abjectly] Yes, sir.
ROBERT [to Joan, with a sour loss of confidence] So you are
presuming on my seeing you, are you?
JOAN [sweetly] Yes, squire.
ROBERT [feeling that he has lost ground, brings down his two fists
squarely on the table, and inflates his chest imposingly to cure
the unwelcome and only too familiar sensation] Now listen to me.
I am going to assert myself.
JOAN [busily] Please do, squire. The horse will cost sixteen
francs. It is a good deal of money: but I can save it on the
armor. I can find a soldier's armor that will fit me well enough:
I am very hardy; and I do not need beautiful armor made to my
measure like you wear. I shall not want many soldiers: the Dauphin
will give me all I need to raise the siege of Orleans.
ROBERT [flabbergasted] To raise the siege of Orleans!
JOAN [simply] Yes, squire: that is what God is sending me to do.
Three men will be enough for you to send with me if they are good
men and gentle to me. They have promised to come with me. Polly
and Jack and--
ROBERT. Polly!! You impudent baggage, do you dare call squire
Bertrand de Poulengey Polly to my face?
JOAN. His friends call him so, squire: I did not know he had any
other name. Jack--
ROBERT. That is Monsieur John of Metz, I suppose?
JOAN. Yes, squire. Jack will come willingly: he is a very kind
gentleman, and gives me money to give to the poor. I think John
Godsave will come, and Dick the Archer, and their servants John of
Honecourt and Julian. There will be no trouble for you, squire: I
have arranged it all: you have only to give the order.
ROBERT [contemplating her in a stupor of amazement] Well, I am
damned!
JOAN [with unruffled sweetness] No, squire: God is very merciful;
and the blessed saints Catherine and Margaret, who speak to me
every day [he gapes], will intercede for you. You will go to
paradise; and your name will be remembered for ever as my first
helper.
ROBERT [to the steward, still much bothered, but changing his tone
as he pursues a new clue] Is this true about Monsieur de
Poulengey?
STEWARD [eagerly] Yes, sir, and about Monsieur de Metz too. They
both want to go with her.
ROBERT [thoughtful] Mf! [He goes to the window, and shouts into
the courtyard] Hallo! You there: send Monsieur de Poulengey to
me, will you? [He turns to Joan] Get out; and wait in the yard.
JOAN [smiling brightly at him] Right, squire. [She goes out].
ROBERT [to the steward] Go with her, you, you dithering imbecile.
Stay within call; and keep your eye on her. I shall have her up
here again.
STEWARD. Do so in God's name, sir. Think of those hens, the best
layers in Champagne; and--
ROBERT. Think of my boot; and take your backside out of reach of
it.
The steward retreats hastily and finds himself confronted in the
doorway by Bertrand de Poulengey, a lymphatic French gentleman-at-
arms, aged 36 or thereabout, employed in the department of the
provost-marshal, dreamily absent-minded, seldom speaking unless
spoken to, and then slow and obstinate in reply; altogether in
contrast to the self-assertive, loud-mouthed, superficially
energetic, fundamentally will-less Robert. The steward makes way
for him, and vanishes.
Poulengey salutes, and stands awaiting orders.
ROBERT [genially] It isnt service, Polly. A friendly talk. Sit
down. [He hooks the stool from under the table with his instep].
Poulengey, relaxing, comes into the room: places the stool between
the table and the window: and sits down ruminatively. Robert, half
sitting on the end of the table, begins the friendly talk.
ROBERT. Now listen to me, Polly. I must talk to you like a
father.
Poulengey looks up at him gravely for a moment, but says nothing.
ROBERT. It's about this girl you are interested in. Now, I have
seen her. I have talked to her. First, she's mad. That doesnt
matter. Second, she's not a farm wench. She's a bourgeoise. That
matters a good deal. I know her class exactly. Her father came
here last year to represent his village in a lawsuit: he is one of
their notables. A farmer. Not a gentleman farmer: he makes money
by it, and lives by it. Still, not a laborer. Not a mechanic. He
might have a cousin a lawyer, or in the Church. People of this
sort may be of no account socially; but they can give a lot of
bother to the authorities. That is to say, to me. Now no doubt it
seems to you a very simple thing to take this girl away, humbugging
her into the belief that you are taking her to the Dauphin. But if
you get her into trouble, you may get me into no end of a mess, as
I am her father's lord, and responsible for her protection. So
friends or no friends, Polly, hands off her.
POULENGEY [with deliberate impressiveness] I should as soon think
of the Blessed Virgin herself in that way, as of this girl.
ROBERT [coming off the table] But she says you and Jack and Dick
have offered to go with her. What for? You are not going to tell
me that you take her crazy notion of going to the Dauphin
seriously, are you?
POULENGEY [slowly] There is something about her. They are pretty
foulmouthed and foulminded down there in the guardroom, some of
them. But there hasn't been a word that has anything to do with
her being a woman. They have stopped swearing before her. There
is something. Something. It may be worth trying.
ROBERT. Oh, come, Polly! pull yourself together. Common-sense was
never your strong point; but this is a little too much. [He
retreats disgustedly].
POULENGEY [unmoved] What is the good of commonsense? If we had
any commonsense we should join the Duke of Burgundy and the English
king. They hold half the country, right down to the Loire. They
have Paris. They have this castle: you know very well that we had
to surrender it to the Duke of Bedford, and that you are only
holding it on parole. The Dauphin is in Chinon, like a rat in a
corner, except that he wont fight. We dont even know that he is
the Dauphin: his mother says he isnt; and she ought to know. Think
of that! the queen denying the legitimacy of her own son!
ROBERT. Well, she married her daughter to the English king. Can
you blame the woman?
POULENGEY. I blame nobody. But thanks to her, the Dauphin is down
and out; and we may as well face it. The English will take
Orleans: the Bastard will not be able to stop them.
ROBERT. He beat the English the year before last at Montargis.
I was with him.
POULENGEY. No matter: his men are cowed now; and he cant work
miracles. And I tell you that nothing can save our side now but a
miracle.
ROBERT. Miracles are all right, Polly. The only difficulty about
them is that they dont happen nowadays.
POULENGEY. I used to think so. I am not so sure now. [Rising,
and moving ruminatively towards the window] At all events this is
not a time to leave any stone unturned. There is something about
the girl.
ROBERT. Oh! You think the girl can work miracles, do you?
POULENGEY. I think the girl herself is a bit of a miracle.
Anyhow, she is the last card left in our hand. Better play her
than throw up the game. [He wanders to the turret].
ROBERT [wavering] You really think that?
POULENGEY [turning] Is there anything else left for us to think?
ROBERT [going to him] Look here, Polly. If you were in my place
would you let a girl like that do you out of sixteen francs for a
horse?
POULENGEY. I will pay for the horse.
ROBERT. You will!
POULENGEY. Yes: I will back my opinion.
ROBERT. You will really gamble on a forlorn hope to the tune of
sixteen francs?
POULENGEY. It is not a gamble.
ROBERT. What else is it?
POULENGEY. It is a certainty. Her words and her ardent faith in
God have put fire into me.
ROBERT [giving him up] Whew! You are as mad as she is.
POULENGEY [obstinately] We want a few mad people now. See where
the sane ones have landed us!
ROBERT [his irresoluteness now openly swamping his affected
decisiveness] I shall feel like a precious fool. Still, if you
feel sure--?
POULENGEY. I feel sure enough to take her to Chinon--unless you
stop me.
ROBERT. This is not fair. You are putting the responsibility on
me.
POULENGEY. It is on you whichever way you decide.
ROBERT. Yes: thats just it. Which way am I to decide? You dont
see how awkward this is for me. [Snatching at a dilatory step with
an unconscious hope that Joan will make up his mind for him] Do
you think I ought to have another talk to her?
POULENGEY [rising] Yes. [He goes to the window and calls] Joan!
JOAN'S VOICE. Will he let us go, Polly?
POULENGEY. Come up. Come in. [Turning to Robert] Shall I leave
you with her?
ROBERT. No: stay here; and back me up.
Poulengey sits down on the chest. Robert goes back to his
magisterial chair, but remains standing to inflate himself more
imposingly. Joan comes in, full of good news.
JOAN. Jack will go halves for the horse.
ROBERT. Well!! [He sits, deflated].
POULENGEY [gravely] Sit down, Joan.
JOAN [checked a little, and looking to Robert] May I?
ROBERT. Do what you are told.
Joan curtsies and sits down on the stool between them. Robert
outfaces his perplexity with his most peremptory air.
ROBERT. What is your name?
JOAN [chattily] They always call me Jenny in Lorraine. Here in
France I am Joan. The soldiers call me The Maid.
ROBERT. What is your surname?
JOAN. Surname? What is that? My father sometimes calls himself
d'Arc; but I know nothing about it. You met my father. He--
ROBERT. Yes, yes; I remember. You come from Domremy in Lorraine,
I think.
JOAN. Yes; but what does it matter? we all speak French.
ROBERT. Dont ask questions: answer them. How old are you?
JOAN. Seventeen: so they tell me. It might be nineteen. I dont
remember.
ROBERT. What did you mean when you said that St Catherine and St
Margaret talked to you every day?
JOAN. They do.
ROBERT. What are they like?
JOAN [suddenly obstinate] I will tell you nothing about that: they
have not given me leave.
ROBERT. But you actually see them; and they talk to you just as I
am talking to you?
JOAN. No: it is quite different. I cannot tell you: you must not
talk to me about my voices.
ROBERT. How do you mean? voices?
JOAN. I hear voices telling me what to do. They come from God.
ROBERT. They come from your imagination.
JOAN. Of course. That is how the messages of God come to us.
POULENGEY. Checkmate.
ROBERT. No fear! [To Joan] So God says you are to raise the
siege of Orleans?
JOAN. And to crown the Dauphin in Rheims Cathedral.
ROBERT [gasping] Crown the D--! Gosh!
JOAN. And to make the English leave France.
ROBERT [sarcastic] Anything else?
JOAN [charming] Not just at present, thank you, squire.
ROBERT. I suppose you think raising a siege is as easy as chasing
a cow out of a meadow. You think soldiering is anybody's job?
JOAN. I do not think it can be very difficult if God is on your
side, and you are willing to put your life in His hand. But many
soldiers are very simple.
ROBERT [grimly] Simple! Did you ever see English soldiers
fighting?
JOAN. They are only men. God made them just like us; but He gave
them their own country and their own language; and it is not His
will that they should come into our country and try to speak our
language.
ROBERT. Who has been putting such nonsense into your head? Dont
you know that soldiers are subject to their feudal lord, and that
it is nothing to them or to you whether he is the duke of Burgundy
or the king of England or the king of France? What has their
language to do with it?
JOAN. I do not understand that a bit. We are all subject to the
King of Heaven; and He gave us our countries and our languages, and
meant us to keep to them. If it were not so it would be murder to
kill an Englishman in battle; and you, squire, would be in great
danger of hell fire. You must not think about your duty to your
feudal lord, but about your duty to God.
POULENGEY. It's no use, Robert: she can choke you like that every
time.
ROBERT. Can she, by Saint Denis! We shall see. [To Joan] We are
not talking about God: we are talking about practical affairs. I
ask you again, girl, have you ever seen English soldiers fighting?
Have you ever seen them plundering, burning, turning the
countryside into a desert? Have you heard no tales of their Black
Prince who was blacker than the devil himself, or of the English
king's father?
JOAN. You must not be afraid, Robert--
ROBERT. Damn you, I am not afraid. And who gave you leave to call
me Robert?
JOAN. You were called so in church in the name of our Lord. All
the other names are your father's or your brother's or anybody's.
ROBERT. Tcha!
JOAN. Listen to me, squire. At Domremy we had to fly to the next
village to escape from the English soldiers. Three of them were
left behind, wounded. I came to know these three poor goddams
quite well. They had not half my strength.
ROBERT. Do you know why they are called goddams?
JOAN. No. Everyone calls them goddams.
ROBERT. It is because they are always calling on their God to
condemn their souls to perdition. That is what goddam means in
their language. How do you like it?
JOAN. God will be merciful to them; and they will act like His
good children when they go back to the country He made for them,
and made them for. I have heard the tales of the Black Prince.
The moment he touched the soil of our country the devil entered
into him, and made him a black fiend. But at home, in the place
made for him by God, he was good. It is always so. If I went into
England against the will of God to conquer England, and tried to
live there and speak its language, the devil would enter into me;
and when I was old I should shudder to remember the wickedness I
did.
ROBERT. Perhaps. But the more devil you were the better you might
fight. That is why the goddams will take Orleans. And you cannot
stop them, nor ten thousand like you.
JOAN. One thousand like me can stop them. Ten like me can stop
them with God on our side. [She rises impetuously, and goes at
him, unable to sit quiet any longer]. You do not understand,
squire. Our soldiers are always beaten because they are fighting
only to save their skins; and the shortest way to save your skin is
to run away. Our knights are thinking only of the money they will
make in ransoms: it is not kill or be killed with them, but pay or
be paid. But I will teach them all to fight that the will of God
may be done in France; and then they will drive the poor goddams
before them like sheep. You and Polly will live to see the day
when there will not be an English soldier on the soil of France;
and there will be but one king there: not the feudal English king,
but God's French one.
ROBERT [to Poulengey] This may be all rot, Polly; but the troops
might swallow it, though nothing that we can say seems able to put
any fight into them. Even the Dauphin might swallow it. And if
she can put fight into him, she can put it into anybody.
POULENGEY. I can see no harm in trying. Can you? And there is
something about the girl--
ROBERT [turning to Joan] Now listen you to me; and [desperately]
dont cut in before I have time to think.
JOAN [plumping down on the stool again, like an obedient
schoolgirl] Yes, squire.
ROBERT. Your orders are, that you are to go to Chinon under the
escort of this gentleman and three of his friends.
JOAN [radiant, clasping her hands] Oh, squire! Your head is all
circled with light, like a saint's.
POULENGEY. How is she to get into the royal presence?
ROBERT [who has looked up for his halo rather apprehensively] I
dont know: how did she get into my presence? If the Dauphin can
keep her out he is a better man than I take him for. [Rising] I
will send her to Chinon; and she can say I sent her. Then let come
what may: I can do no more.
JOAN. And the dress? I may have a soldier's dress, maynt I,
squire?
ROBERT. Have what you please. I wash my hands of it.
JOAN [wildly excited by her success] Come, Polly. [She dashes
out].
ROBERT [shaking Poulengey's hand] Goodbye, old man, I am taking a
big chance. Few other men would have done it. But as you say,
there is something about her.
POULENGEY. Yes: there is something about her. Goodbye. [He goes
out].
Robert, still very doubtful whether he has not been made a fool of
by a crazy female, and a social inferior to boot, scratches his
head and slowly comes back from the door.
The steward runs in with a basket.
STEWARD. Sir, sir--
ROBERT. What now?
STEWARD. The hens are laying like mad, sir. Five dozen eggs!
ROBERT [stiffens convulsively: crosses himself: and forms with his
pale lips the words] Christ in heaven! [Aloud but breathless]
She did come from God.
GO TO SCENE II
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