Saint Joan

epub:type="z3998:persona">La Trémouille 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 Trémouille. 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, ma’am, 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 Trémouille 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 Trémouille. 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 don’t 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, thou’lt 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 Thou’rt not king yet, lad: thou’rt but Dauphin. Be not led away by them around thee. Dressing up don’t 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 don’t care what I wear myself; I should look ugly anyhow.