Saint Joan

himself between the Archbishop and La Trémouille. 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 Constable
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 Trémouille 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 head-covering 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 isn’t 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, aren’t you? La Trémouille Roughly. Enough grumbling. What have you got there? Charles What is that to you? La Trémouille 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 don’t come to see you! The Archbishop What do you mean? Charles Aha! Ask that bully there Pointing to La Trémouille. La Trémouille Furious. Hold your tongue. Do you hear? Charles Oh, I hear. You needn’t shout. The whole castle can hear. Why don’t you go and shout at the English, and beat them for me? La Trémouille Raising his fist. You young⁠— Charles Running behind the Archbishop. Don’t 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 Trémouille Handing the paper to the Archbishop. Here: read the accursed thing for me. He has sent the blood boiling into my head: I can’t distinguish the letters. Charles Coming back and peering round La Trémouille’s left shoulder. I will read it for you if you like. I can read, you know. La Trémouille 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 don’t. 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 Trémouille 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 shows 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 Maillé and the Gasque of Avignon. It is in our family; and I don’t 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