Saint Joan

bad, sir. Jolly. Like as if you were always drunk without the trouble and expense of drinking. Tip top company too: emperors and popes and kings and all sorts. They chip me about giving that young judy the cross; but I don’t care: I stand up to them proper, and tell them that if she hadnt a better right to it than they, she’d be where they are. That dumbfounds them, that does. All they can do is gnash their teeth, hell fashion; and I just laugh, and go off singing the old chanty: Rum tum trumple⁠—Hullo! Who’s that knocking at the door? They listen. A long gentle knocking is heard. Charles Come in. The door opens; and an old priest, white-haired, bent, with a silly but benevolent smile, comes in and trots over to Joan. The Newcomer Excuse me, gentle lords and ladies. Do not let me disturb you. Only a poor old harmless English rector. Formerly chaplain to the cardinal: to my lord of Winchester. John de Stogumber, at your service. He looks at them inquiringly. Did you say anything? I am a little deaf, unfortunately. Also a little⁠—well, not always in my right mind, perhaps; but still, it is a small village with a few simple people. I suffice: I suffice: they love me there; and I am able to do a little good. I am well connected, you see; and they indulge me. Joan Poor old John! What brought thee to this state? De Stogumber I tell my folks they must be very careful. I say to them, “If you only saw what you think about you would think quite differently about it. It would give you a great shock. Oh, a great shock.” And they all say “Yes, parson: we all know you are a kind man, and would not harm a fly.” That is a great comfort to me. For I am not cruel by nature, you know. The Soldier Who said you were? De Stogumber Well, you see, I did a very cruel thing once because I did not know what cruelty was like. I had not seen it, you know. That is the great thing: you must see it. And then you are redeemed and saved. Cauchon Were not the sufferings of our Lord Christ enough for you? De Stogumber No. Oh no: not at all. I had seen them in pictures, and read of them in books, and been greatly moved by them, as I thought. But it was no use: it was not our Lord that redeemed me, but a young woman whom I saw actually burnt to death. It was dreadful: oh, most dreadful. But it saved me. I have been a different man ever since, though a little astray in my wits sometimes. Cauchon Must then a Christ perish in torment in every age to save those that have no imagination? Joan Well, if I saved all those he would have been cruel to if he had not been cruel to me, I was not burnt for nothing, was I? De Stogumber Oh, no; it was not you. My sight is bad: I cannot distinguish your features: but you are not she: oh no: she was burnt to a cinder: dead and gone, dead and gone. The Executioner Stepping from behind the bed curtains on Charles’s right, the bed being between them. She is more alive than you, old man. Her heart would not burn; and it would not drown. I was a master at my craft: better than the master of Paris, better than the master of Toulouse; but I could not kill The Maid. She is up and alive everywhere. The Earl of Warwick Sallying from the bed curtains on the other side, and coming to Joan’s left hand. Madame: my congratulations on your rehabilitation. I feel that I owe you an apology. Joan Oh, please don’t mention it. Warwick Pleasantly. The burning was purely political. There was no personal feeling against you, I assure you. Joan I bear no malice, my lord. Warwick Just so. Very kind of you to meet me in that way: a touch of true breeding. But I must insist on apologizing very amply. The truth is, these political necessities sometimes turn out to be political mistakes; and this one was a veritable howler; for your spirit conquered us, madam, in spite of our faggots. History will remember me for your sake, though the incidents of the connection were perhaps a little unfortunate. Joan Ay, perhaps just a little, you funny man. Warwick Still, when they make you a saint, you will owe your halo to me, just as this lucky monarch owes his crown to you. Joan Turning from him. I shall owe nothing to any man: I owe everything to the spirit of God that was within me. But fancy me a saint! What would St. Catherine and St. Margaret say if the farm girl was cocked up beside them! A clerical-looking gentleman in black frockcoat and trousers, and tall hat, in the fashion of the year 1920, suddenly appears before them in the corner on their right. They all stare at him. Then they burst into uncontrollable laughter. The Gentleman Why this mirth, gentlemen? Warwick I congratulate you on having invented a most extraordinarily comic dress. The Gentleman I do not understand. You are all in fancy dress: I am properly dressed. Dunois All dress is fancy dress, is it not, except our natural skins? The Gentleman Pardon me: I am here on serious business, and cannot engage in frivolous discussions. He takes out a paper, and assumes a dry official manner. I am sent to announce to you that Joan of Arc, formerly known as The Maid, having been the subject of an inquiry instituted by the Bishop of Orleans⁠— Joan Interrupting. Ah! They remember me still in Orleans. The Gentleman Emphatically, to mark his indignation at the interruption.⁠—by the Bishop of Orleans into the claim of the said Joan of Arc to be canonized as a saint⁠— Joan Again interrupting.