SAINT JOAN by
George Bernard Shaw
SCENE II
Chinon, in Touraine. An end of the throne room in the castle,
curtained off to make an antechamber. The Archbishop of Rheims,
close on 50, a full-fed prelate with nothing of the ecclesiastic
about him except his imposing bearing, and the Lord Chamberlain,
Monseigneur de la Tremouille, a monstrous arrogant wineskin of a
man, are waiting for the Dauphin. There is a door in the wall to
the right of the two men. It is late in the afternoon on the 8th
of March, 1429. The Archbishop stands with dignity whilst the
Chamberlain, on his left, fumes about in the worst of tempers.
LA TREMOUILLE. What the devil does the Dauphin mean by keeping us
waiting like this? I dont know how you have the patience to stand
there like a stone idol.
THE ARCHBISHOP. You see, I am an archbishop; and an archbishop is a
sort of idol. At any rate he has to learn to keep still and suffer
fools patiently. Besides, my dear Lord Chamberlain, it is the
Dauphin's royal privilege to keep you waiting, is it not?
LA TREMOUILLE. Dauphin be damned! saving your reverence. Do you
know how much money he owes me?
THE ARCHBISHOP. Much more than he owes me, I have no doubt, because
you are a much richer man. But I take it he owes you all you could
afford to lend him. That is what he owes me.
LA TREMOUILLE. Twenty-seven thousand: that was his last haul. A
cool twenty-seven thousand!
THE ARCHBISHOP. What becomes of it all? He never has a suit of
clothes that I would throw to a curate.
LA TREMOUILLE. He dines on a chicken or a scrap of mutton. He
borrows my last penny; and there is nothing to shew for it. [A
page appears in the doorway]. At last!
THE PAGE. No, my lord: it is not His Majesty. Monsieur de Rais is
approaching.
LA TREMOUILLE. Young Bluebeard! Why announce him?
THE PAGE. Captain La Hire is with him. Something has happened, I
think.
Gilles de Rais, a young man of 25, very smart and self-possessed,
and sporting the extravagance of a little curled beard dyed blue at
a clean-shaven court, comes in. He is determined to make himself
agreeable, but lacks natural joyousness, and is not really
pleasant. In fact when he defies the Church some eleven years
later he is accused of trying to extract pleasure from horrible
cruelties, and hanged. So far, however, there is no shadow of the
gallows on him. He advances gaily to the Archbishop. The page
withdraws.
BLUEBEARD. Your faithful lamb, Archbishop. Good day, my lord. Do
you know what has happened to La Hire?
LA TREMOUILLE. He has sworn himself into a fit, perhaps.
BLUEBEARD. No: just the opposite. Foul Mouthed Frank, the only
man in Touraine who could beat him at swearing, was told by a
soldier that he shouldnt use such language when he was at the point
of death.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Nor at any other point. But was Foul Mouthed
Frank on the point of death?
BLUEBEARD. Yes: he has just fallen into a well and been drowned.
La Hire is frightened out of his wits.
Captain La Hire comes in: a war dog with no court manners and
pronounced camp ones.
BLUEBEARD. I have just been telling the Chamberlain and the
Archbishop. The Archbishop says you are a lost man.
LA HIRE [striding past Bluebeard, and planting himself between the
Archbishop and La Tremouille] This is nothing to joke about. It
is worse than we thought. It was not a soldier, but an angel
dressed as a soldier.
THE ARCHBISHOP,
THE CHAMBERLAIN, BLUEBEARD [exclaiming all together] An angel!
}
LA HIRE. Yes, an angel. She has made her way from Champagne with
half a dozen men through the thick of everything: Burgundians,
Goddams, deserters, robbers, and Lord knows who; and they never met
a soul except the country folk. I know one of them: de Poulengey.
He says she's an angel. If ever I utter an oath again may my soul
be blasted to eternal damnation!
THE ARCHBISHOP. A very pious beginning, Captain.
Bluebeard and La Tremouille laugh at him. The page returns.
THE PAGE. His Majesty.
They stand perfunctorily at court attention. The Dauphin, aged 26,
really King Charles the Seventh since the death of his father, but
as yet uncrowned, comes in through the curtains with a paper in his
hands. He is a poor creature physically; and the current fashion
of shaving closely, and hiding every scrap of hair under the
headcovering or headdress, both by women and men, makes the worst
of his appearance. He has little narrow eyes, near together, a
long pendulous nose that droops over his thick short upper lip, and
the expression of a young dog accustomed to be kicked, yet
incorrigible and irrepressible. But he is neither vulgar nor
stupid; and he has a cheeky humor which enables him to hold his own
in conversation. Just at present he is excited, like a child with
a new toy. He comes to the Archbishop's left hand. Bluebeard and
La Hire retire towards the curtains.
CHARLES. Oh, Archbishop, do you know what Robert de Baudricourt is
sending me from Vaucouleurs?
THE ARCHBISHOP [contemptuously] I am not interested in the newest
toys.
CHARLES [indignantly] It isnt a toy. [Sulkily] However, I can
get on very well without your interest.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Your Highness is taking offence very unnecessarily.
CHARLES. Thank you. You are always ready with a lecture, arnt
you?
LA TREMOUILLE [roughly] Enough grumbling. What have you got
there?
CHARLES. What is that to you?
LA TREMOUILLE. It is my business to know what is passing between
you and the garrison at Vaucouleurs. [He snatches the paper from
the Dauphin's hand, and begins reading it with some difficulty,
following the words with his finger and spelling them out syllable
by syllable].
CHARLES [mortified] You all think you can treat me as you please
because I owe you money, and because I am no good at fighting. But
I have the blood royal in my veins.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Even that has been questioned, your Highness. One
hardly recognizes in you the grandson of Charles the Wise.
CHARLES. I want to hear no more of my grandfather. He was so wise
that he used up the whole family stock of wisdom for five
generations, and left me the poor fool I am, bullied and insulted
by all of you.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Control yourself, sir. These outbursts of
petulance are not seemly.
CHARLES. Another lecture! Thank you. What a pity it is that
though you are an archbishop saints and angels dont come to see
you!
THE ARCHBISHOP. What do you mean?
CHARLES. Aha! Ask that bully there [pointing to La Tremouille].
LA TREMOUILLE [furious] Hold your tongue. Do you hear?
CHARLES. Oh, I hear. You neednt shout. The whole castle can
hear. Why dont you go and shout at the English, and beat them for
me?
LA TREMOUILLE [raising his fist] You young--
CHARLES [running behind the Archbishop] Dont you raise your hand
to me. It's high treason.
LA HIRE. Steady, Duke! Steady!
THE ARCHBISHOP [resolutely] Come, come! this will not do. My Lord
Chamberlain: please! please! we must keep some sort of order. [To
the Dauphin] And you, sir: if you cannot rule your kingdom, at
least try to rule yourself.
CHARLES. Another lecture! Thank you.
LA TREMOUILLE [handing over the paper to the Archbishop] Here:
read the accursed thing for me. He has sent the blood boiling into
my head: I cant distinguish the letters.
CHARLES [coming back and peering round La Tremouille's left
shoulder] I will read it for you if you like. I can read, you
know.
LA TREMOUILLE [with intense contempt, not at all stung by the
taunt] Yes: reading is about all you are fit for. Can you make it
out, Archbishop?
THE ARCHBISHOP. I should have expected more common-sense from De
Baudricourt. He is sending some cracked country lass here--
CHARLES [interrupting] No: he is sending a saint: an angel. And
she is coming to me: to me, the king, and not to you, Archbishop,
holy as you are. She knows the blood royal if you dont. [He
struts up to the curtains between Bluebeard and La Hire].
THE ARCHBISHOP. You cannot be allowed to see this crazy wench.
CHARLES [turning] But I am the king; and I will.
LA TREMOUILLE [brutally] Then she cannot be allowed to see you.
Now!
CHARLES. I tell you I will. I am going to put my foot down--
BLUEBEARD [laughing at him] Naughty! What would your wise
grandfather say?
CHARLES. That just shews your ignorance, Bluebeard. My
grandfather had a saint who used to float in the air when she was
praying, and told him everything he wanted to know. My poor father
had two saints, Marie de Maille and the Gasque of Avignon. It is
in our family; and I dont care what you say: I will have my saint
too.
THE ARCHBISHOP. This creature is not a saint. She is not even a
respectable woman. She does not wear women's clothes. She is
dressed like a soldier, and rides round the country with soldiers.
Do you suppose such a person can be admitted to your Highness's
court?
LA HIRE. Stop. [Going to the Archbishop] Did you say a girl in
armor, like a soldier?
THE ARCHBISHOP. So De Baudricourt describes her.
LA HIRE. But by all the devils in hell--Oh, God forgive me, what am
I saying?--by Our Lady and all the saints, this must be the angel
that struck Foul Mouthed Frank dead for swearing.
CHARLES [triumphant] You see! A miracle!
LA HIRE. She may strike the lot of us dead if we cross her. For
Heaven's sake, Archbishop, be careful what you are doing.
THE ARCHBISHOP [severely] Rubbish! Nobody has been struck dead.
A drunken blackguard who has been rebuked a hundred times for
swearing has fallen into a well, and been drowned. A mere
coincidence.
LA HIRE. I do not know what a coincidence is. I do know that the
man is dead, and that she told him he was going to die.
THE ARCHBISHOP. We are all going to die, Captain.
LA HIRE [crossing himself] I hope not. [He backs out of the
conversation].
BLUEBEARD. We can easily find out whether she is an angel or not.
Let us arrange when she comes that I shall be the Dauphin, and see
whether she will find me out.
CHARLES. Yes: I agree to that. If she cannot find the blood royal
I will have nothing to do with her.
THE ARCHBISHOP. It is for the Church to make saints: let De
Baudricourt mind his own business, and not dare usurp the function
of his priest. I say the girl shall not be admitted.
BLUEBEARD. But, Archbishop--
THE ARCHBISHOP [sternly] I speak in the Church's name. [To the
Dauphin] Do you dare say she shall?
CHARLES [intimidated but sulky] Oh, if you make it an
excommunication matter, I have nothing more to say, of course. But
you havnt read the end of the letter. De Baudricourt says she will
raise the siege of Orleans, and beat the English for us.
LA TREMOUILLE. Rot!
CHARLES. Well, will you save Orleans for us, with all your
bullying?
LA TREMOUILLE [savagely] Do not throw that in my face again: do
you hear? I have done more fighting than you ever did or ever
will. But I cannot be everywhere.
THE DAUPHIN. Well, thats something.
BLUEBEARD [coming between the Archbishop and Charles] You have
Jack Dunois at the head of your troops in Orleans: the brave
Dunois, the handsome Dunois, the wonderful invincible Dunois, the
darling of all the ladies, the beautiful bastard. Is it likely
that the country lass can do what he cannot do?
CHARLES. Why doesnt he raise the siege, then?
LA HIRE. The wind is against him.
BLUEBEARD. How can the wind hurt him at Orleans? It is not in the
Channel.
LA HIRE. It is on the river Loire; and the English hold the
bridgehead. He must ship his men across the river and upstream, if
he is to take them in the rear. Well, he cannot, because there is
a devil of a wind blowing the other way. He is tired of paying the
priests to pray for a west wind. What he needs is a miracle. You
tell me that what the girl did to Foul Mouthed Frank was no
miracle. No matter: it finished Frank. If she changes the wind
for Dunois, that may not be a miracle either; but it may finish the
English. What harm is there in trying?
THE ARCHBISHOP [who has read the end of the letter and become more
thoughtful] It is true that De Baudricourt seems extraordinarily
impressed.
LA HIRE. De Baudricourt is a blazing ass; but he is a soldier; and
if he thinks she can beat the English, all the rest of the army
will think so too.
LA TREMOUILLE [to the Archbishop, who is hesitating] Oh, let them
have their way. Dunois' men will give up the town in spite of him
if somebody does not put some fresh spunk into them.
THE ARCHBISHOP. The Church must examine the girl before anything
decisive is done about her. However, since his Highness desires
it, let her attend the Court.
LA HIRE. I will find her and tell her. [He goes out],
CHARLES. Come with me, Bluebeard; and let us arrange so that she
will not know who I am. You will pretend to be me. [He goes out
through the curtains].
BLUEBEARD. Pretend to be that thing! Holy Michael! [He follows
the Dauphin].
LA TREMOUILLE. I wonder will she pick him out!
THE ARCHBISHOP. Of course she will.
LA TREMOUILLE. Why? How is she to know?
THE ARCHBISHOP. She will know what everybody in Chinon knows: that
the Dauphin is the meanest-looking and worst-dressed figure in the
Court, and that the man with the blue beard is Gilles de Rais.
LA TREMOUILLE. I never thought of that.
THE ARCHBISHOP. You are not so accustomed to miracles as I am. It
is part of my profession.
LA TREMOUILLE [fueled and a little scandalized] But that would not
be a miracle at all.
THE ARCHBISHOP [calmly] Why not?
LA TREMOUILLE. Well, come! what is a miracle?
THE ARCHBISHOP. A miracle, my friend, is an event which creates
faith. That is the purpose and nature of miracles. They may seem
very wonderful to the people who witness them, and very simple to
those who perform them. That does not matter: if they confirm or
create faith they are true miracles.
LA TREMOUILLE. Even when they are frauds, do you mean?
THE ARCHBISHOP. Frauds deceive. An event which creates faith does
not deceive: therefore it is not a fraud, but a miracle.
LA TREMOUILLE [scratching his neck in his perplexity] Well, I
suppose as you are an archbishop you must be right. It seems a bit
fishy to me. But I am no churchman, and dont understand these
matters.
THE ARCHBISHOP. You are not a churchman; but you are a diplomatist
and a soldier. Could you make our citizens pay war taxes, or our
soldiers sacrifice their lives, if they knew what is really
happening instead of what seems to them to be happening?
LA TREMOUILLE. No, by Saint Denis: the fat would be in the fire
before sundown.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Would it not be quite easy to tell them the truth?
LA TREMOUILLE. Man alive, they wouldnt believe it.
THE ARCHBISHOP. Just so. Well, the Church has to rule men for the
good of their souls as you have to rule them for the good of their
bodies. To do that, the Church must do as you do: nourish their
faith by poetry.
LA TREMOUILLE. Poetry! I should call it humbug.
THE ARCHBISHOP. You would be wrong, my friend. Parables are not
lies because they describe events that have never happened.
Miracles are not frauds because they are often--I do not say
always--very simple and innocent contrivances by which the priest
fortifies the faith of his flock. When this girl picks out the
Dauphin among his courtiers, it will not be a miracle for me,
because I shall know how it has been done, and my faith will not be
increased. But as for the others, if they feel the thrill of the
supernatural, and forget their sinful clay in a sudden sense of the
glory of God, it will be a miracle and a blessed one. And you will
find that the girl herself will be more affected than anyone else.
She will forget how she really picked him out. So, perhaps, will
you.
LA TREMOUILLE. Well, I wish I were clever enough to know how much
of you is God's archbishop and how much the most artful fox in
Touraine. Come on, or we shall be late for the fun; and I want to
see it, miracle or no miracle.
THE ARCHBISHOP [detaining him a moment] Do not think that I am a
lover of crooked ways. There is a new spirit rising in men: we are
at the dawning of a wider epoch. If I were a simple monk, and had
not to rule men, I should seek peace for my spirit with Aristotle
and Pythagoras rather than with the saints and their miracles.
LA TREMOUILLE. And who the deuce was Pythagoras?
THE ARCHBISHOP. A sage who held that the earth is round, and that
it moves round the sun.
LA TREMOUILLE. What an utter fool! Couldnt he use his eyes?
They go out together through the curtains, which are presently
withdrawn, revealing the full depth of the throne room with the
Court assembled. On the right are two Chairs of State on a dais.
Bluebeard is standing theatrically on the dais, playing the king,
and, like the courtiers, enjoying the joke rather obviously. There
is a curtained arch in the wall behind the dais; but the main door,
guarded by men-at-arms, is at the other side of the room; and a
clear path across is kept and lined by the courtiers. Charles is
in this path in the middle of the room. La Hire is on his right.
The Archbishop, on his left, has taken his place by the dais: La
Tremouille at the other side of it. The Duchess de la Tremouille,
pretending to be the Queen, sits in the Consort's chair, with a
group of ladies in waiting close by, behind the Archbishop.
The chatter of the courtiers makes such a noise that nobody notices
the appearance of the page at the door.
THE PAGE. The Duke of-- [Nobody listens]. The Duke of-- [The
chatter continues. Indignant at his failure to command a hearing,
he snatches the halberd of the nearest man-at-arms, and thumps the
floor with it. The chatter ceases; and everybody looks at him in
silence]. Attention! [He restores the halberd to the man-at-
arms]. The Duke of Vendome presents Joan the Maid to his Majesty.
CHARLES [putting his finger on his lip] Ssh! [He hides behind the
nearest courtier, peering out to see what happens].
BLUEBEARD [majestically] Let her approach the throne.
Joan, dressed as a soldier, with her hair bobbed and hanging
thickly round her face, is led in by a bashful and speechless
nobleman, from whom she detaches herself to stop and look around
eagerly for the Dauphin.
THE DUCHESS [to the nearest lady in waiting] My dear! Her hair!
All the ladies explode in uncontrollable laughter.
BLUEBEARD [trying not to laugh, and waving his hand in deprecation
of their merriment] Ssh--ssh! Ladies! Ladies!!
JOAN [not at all embarrassed] I wear it like this because I am a
soldier. Where be Dauphin?
A titter runs through the Court as she walks to the dais.
BLUEBEARD [condescendingly] You are in the presence of the
Dauphin.
Joan looks at him sceptically for a moment, scanning him hard up
and down to make sure. Dead silence, all watching her. Fun dawns
in her face.
JOAN. Coom, Bluebeard! Thou canst not fool me. Where be Dauphin?
A roar of laughter breaks out as Gilles, with a gesture of
surrender, joins in the laugh, and jumps down from the dais beside
La Tremouille. Joan, also on the broad grin, turns back, searching
along the row of courtiers, and presently makes a dive, and drags
out Charles by the arm.
JOAN [releasing him and bobbing him a little curtsey] Gentle
little Dauphin, I am sent to you to drive the English away from
Orleans and from France, and to crown you king in the cathedral at
Rheims, where all true kings of France are crowned.
CHARLES [triumphant, to the Court] You see, all of you: she knew
the blood royal. Who dare say now that I am not my father's son?
[To Joan] But if you want me to be crowned at Rheims you must talk
to the Archbishop, not to me. There he is [he is standing behind
her]!
JOAN [turning quickly, overwhelmed with emotion] Oh, my lord! [She
falls on both knees before him, with bowed head, not daring to look
up] My lord: I am only a poor country girl; and you are filled
with the blessedness and glory of God Himself; but you will touch
me with your hands, and give me your blessing, wont you?
BLUEBEARD [whispering to La Tremouille] The old fox blushes.
LA TREMOUILLE. Another miracle!
THE ARCHBISHOP [touched, putting his hand on her head] Child: you
are in love with religion.
JOAN [startled: looking up at him] Am I? I never thought of that.
Is there any harm in it?
THE ARCHBISHOP. There is no harm in it, my child. But there is
danger.
JOAN [rising, with a sunflush of reckless happiness irradiating her
face] There is always danger, except in heaven. Oh, my lord, you
have given me such strength, such courage. It must be a most
wonderful thing to be Archbishop.
The Court smiles broadly: even titters a little.
THE ARCHBISHOP [drawing himself up sensitively] Gentlemen: your
levity is rebuked by this maid's faith. I am, God help me, all
unworthy; but your mirth is a deadly sin.
Their faces fall. Dead silence.
BLUEBEARD. My lord: we were laughing at her, not at you.
THE ARCHBISHOP. What? Not at my unworthiness but at her faith!
Gilles de Rais: this maid prophesied that the blasphemer should be
drowned in his sin--
JOAN [distressed] No!
THE ARCHBISHOP [silencing her by a gesture] I prophesy now that
you will be hanged in yours if you do not learn when to laugh and
when to pray.
BLUEBEARD. My lord: I stand rebuked. I am sorry: I can say no
more. But if you prophesy that I shall be hanged, I shall never be
able to resist temptation, because I shall always be telling myself
that I may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
The courtiers take heart at this. There is more tittering.
JOAN [scandalized] You are an idle fellow, Bluebeard; and you have
great impudence to answer the Archbishop.
LA HIRE [with a huge chuckle] Well said, lass! Well said!
JOAN [impatiently to the Archbishop] Oh, my lord, will you send
all these silly folks away so that I may speak to the Dauphin
alone?
LA HIRE [goodhumoredly] I can take a hint. [He salutes; turns on
his heel; and goes out].
THE ARCHBISHOP. Come, gentlemen. The Maid comes with God's
blessing, and must be obeyed.
The courtiers withdraw, some through the arch, others at the
opposite side. The Archbishop marches across to the door, followed
by the Duchess and La Tremouille. As the Archbishop passes Joan,
she falls on her knees, and kisses the hem of his robe fervently.
He shakes his head in instinctive remonstrance; gathers the robe
from her; and goes out. She is left kneeling directly in the
Duchess's way.
THE DUCHESS [coldly] Will you allow me to pass, please?
JOAN [hastily rising, and standing back] Beg pardon, maam, I am
sure.
The Duchess passes on. Joan stares after her; then whispers to the
Dauphin.
JOAN. Be that Queen?
CHARLES. No. She thinks she is.
JOAN [again staring after the Duchess] Oo-oo-ooh! [Her awestruck
amazement at the figure cut by the magnificently dressed lady is
not wholly complimentary].
LA TREMOUILLE [very surly] I'll trouble your Highness not to gibe
at my wife. [He goes out. The others have already gone].
JOAN [to the Dauphin] Who be old Gruff-and-Grum?
CHARLES. He is the Duke de la Tremouille.
JOAN. What be his job?
CHARLES. He pretends to command the army. And whenever I find a
friend I can care for, he kills him.
JOAN. Why dost let him?
CHARLES [petulantly moving to the throne side of the room to escape
from her magnetic field] How can I prevent him? He bullies me.
They all bully me.
JOAN. Art afraid?
CHARLES. Yes: I am afraid. It's no use preaching to me about it.
It's all very well for these big men with their armor that is too
heavy for me, and their swords that I can hardly lift, and their
muscle and their shouting and their bad tempers. They like
fighting: most of them are making fools of themselves all the time
they are not fighting; but I am quiet and sensible; and I dont want
to kill people: I only want to be left alone to enjoy myself in my
own way. I never asked to be a king: it was pushed on me. So if
you are going to say 'Son of St Louis: gird on the sword of your
ancestors, and lead us to victory' you may spare your breath to
cool your porridge; for I cannot do it. I am not built that way;
and there is an end of it.
JOAN [trenchant and masterful] Blethers! We are all like that to
begin with. I shall put courage into thee.
CHARLES. But I dont want to have courage put into me. I want to
sleep in a comfortable bed, and not live in continual terror of
being killed or wounded. Put courage into the others, and let them
have their bellyful of fighting; but let me alone.
JOAN. It's no use, Charlie: thou must face what God puts on thee.
If thou fail to make thyself king, thoult be a beggar: what else
art fit for? Come! Let me see thee sitting on the throne. I have
looked forward to that.
CHARLES. What is the good of sitting on the throne when the other
fellows give all the orders? However! [he sits enthroned, a
piteous figure] here is the king for you! Look your fill at the
poor devil.
JOAN. Thourt not king yet, lad: thourt but Dauphin. Be not led
away by them around thee. Dressing up dont fill empty noddle. I
know the people: the real people that make thy bread for thee; and
I tell thee they count no man king of France until the holy oil has
been poured on his hair, and himself consecrated and crowned in
Rheims Cathedral. And thou needs new clothes, Charlie. Why does
not Queen look after thee properly?
CHARLES. We're too poor. She wants all the money we can spare to
put on her own back. Besides, I like to see her beautifully
dressed; and I dont care what I wear myself: I should look ugly
anyhow.
JOAN. There is some good in thee, Charlie; but it is not yet a
king's good.
CHARLES. We shall see. I am not such a fool as I look. I have my
eyes open; and I can tell you that one good treaty is worth ten
good fights. These fighting fellows lose all on the treaties that
they gain on the fights. If we can only have a treaty, the English
are sure to have the worst of it, because they are better at
fighting than at thinking.
JOAN. If the English win, it is they that will make the treaty:
and then God help poor France! Thou must fight, Charlie, whether
thou will or no. I will go first to hearten thee. We must take
our courage in both hands: aye, and pray for it with both hands
too.
CHARLES [descending from his throne and again crossing the room to
escape from her dominating urgency] Oh do stop talking about God
and praying. I cant bear people who are always praying. Isnt it
bad enough to have to do it at the proper times?
JOAN [pitying him] Thou poor child, thou hast never prayed in thy
life. I must teach thee from the beginning.
CHARLES. I am not a child: I am a grown man and a father; and I
will not be taught any more.
JOAN. Aye, you have a little son. He that will be Louis the
Eleventh when you die. Would you not fight for him?
CHARLES. No: a horrid boy. He hates me. He hates everybody,
selfish little beast! I dont want to be bothered with children. I
dont want to be a father; and I dont want to be a son: especially a
son of St Louis. I dont want to be any of these fine things you
all have your heads full of: I want to be just what I am. Why cant
you mind your own business, and let me mind mine?
JOAN [again contemptuous] Minding your own business is like
minding your own body: it's the shortest way to make yourself sick.
What is my business? Helping mother at home. What is thine?
Petting lapdogs and sucking sugar-sticks. I call that muck. I
tell thee it is God's business we are here to do: not our own. I
have a message to thee from God; and thou must listen to it, though
thy heart break with the terror of it.
CHARLES. I dont want a message; but can you tell me any secrets?
Can you do any cures? Can you turn lead into gold, or anything of
that sort?
JOAN. I can turn thee into a king, in Rheims Cathedral; and that
is a miracle that will take some doing, it seems.
CHARLES. If we go to Rheims, and have a coronation, Anne will want
new dresses. We cant afford them. I am all right as I am.
JOAN. As you are! And what is that? Less than my father's
poorest shepherd. Thourt not lawful owner of thy own land of
France till thou be consecrated.
CHARLES. But I shall not be lawful owner of my own land anyhow.
Will the consecration pay off my mortgages? I have pledged my last
acre to the Archbishop and that fat bully. I owe money even to
Bluebeard.
JOAN [earnestly] Charlie: I come from the land, and have gotten my
strength working on the land; and I tell thee that the land is
thine to rule righteously and keep God's peace in, and not to
pledge at the pawnshop as a drunken woman pledges her children's
clothes. And I come from God to tell thee to kneel in the
cathedral and solemnly give thy kingdom to Him for ever and ever,
and become the greatest king in the world as His steward and His
bailiff, His soldier and His servant. The very clay of France will
become holy: her soldiers will be the soldiers of God: the rebel
dukes will be rebels against God: the English will fall on their
knees and beg thee let them return to their lawful homes in peace.
Wilt be a poor little Judas, and betray me and Him that sent me?
CHARLES [tempted at last] Oh, if I only dare!
JOAN. I shall dare, dare, and dare again, in God's name! Art for
or against me?
CHARLES [excited] I'll risk it, I warn you I shant be able to keep
it up; but I'll risk it. You shall see. [Running to the main door
and shouting] Hallo! Come back, everybody. [To Joan, as he runs
back to the arch opposite] Mind you stand by and dont let me be
bullied. [Through the arch] Come along, will you: the whole
Court. [He sits down in the royal chair as they all hurry in to
their former places, chattering and wondering]. Now I'm in for it;
but no matter: here goes! [To the page] Call for silence, you
little beast, will you?
THE PAGE [snatching a halberd as before and thumping with it
repeatedly] Silence for His Majesty the King. The King speaks.
[Peremptorily] Will you be silent there? [Silence].
CHARLES [rising] I have given the command of the army to The Maid.
The Maid is to do as she likes with it. [He descends from the
dais].
General amazement. La Hire, delighted, slaps his steel thigh-piece
with his gauntlet.
LA TREMOUILLE [turning threateningly towards Charles] What is
this? _I_ command the army.
Joan quickly puts her hand on Charles's shoulder as he
instinctively recoils. Charles, with a grotesque effort
culminating in an extravagant gesture, snaps his fingers in the
Chamberlain's face.
JOAN. Thourt answered, old Gruff-and-Grum. [Suddenly flashing out
her sword as she divines that her moment has come] Who is for God
and His Maid? Who is for Orleans with me?
LA HIRE [carried away, drawing also] For God and His Maid! To
Orleans!
ALL THE KNIGHTS [following his lead with enthusiasm] To Orleans!
Joan, radiant, falls on her knees in thanksgiving to God. They all
kneel, except the Archbishop, who gives his benediction with a
sigh, and La Tremouille, who collapses, cursing.
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