Joan Of Arc Author:Laura E. Richards JOAN OF ARC Bit LAURA E. RICHARDS AUTHOR 07 FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, ABIGAIL ADAMS AND t TIMES, EUZABETH PRY, ETC. D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK LONDON 1919 COPYRIGHT, IQIQ, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY SUITED IN THE UNITED STATES Of AMERICA JCKN OF ARC TO THE MEMORY OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT ALSO A SOLDIER The extracts from Joan of Arc, by Francis C.... more » Lowell, are used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. Selections from The Maid of France by Andrew Lang, are used by permission of Messrs. Longmans, Green Co. Theodosia Garrisons poem, The Soul of Jeanne dArc, is reproduced by permission of Chas. Scribners Sons CONTENTS CHAPTEB PACHB I. FRANCE IMPERISHABLE 1 II. THE LION AND THE LILIES 19 III. DOMRMY .32 IV. GRAPES OF WRATH 46 V. THE VOICES 57 VI. THE EMPTY THRONE 69 VII. VAUCOULEURS AND CHINON 83 VIII. RECOGNITION 100 IX. ORLEANS 117 X. THE RELIEF 132 XI. THE DELIVERANCE 142 XII. THE WEEK OF VICTORIES 163 XIII. RHEIMS 181 XIV. PARIS 197 XV. COMPI GNE 214 XVI. ROUEN .... V . . . 239 CHAPTER I FRANCE IMPERISHABLE THE SOUL OF JEANNE DARC She came not into the Presence as a martyred saint might come, Crowned, white-robed and adoring, with cry revei ence dumb-She stood as a straight young soldier, confident, gallant, strong, Who asks a boon of his captain in the sudden hush of the drum She said Now have I stayed too long in this my place of bliss, With these glad dead that, comforted, forget what sor row is Upon that world whose stony stair they climbed to come to this But lo, a cry hath torn the peace wherein so long I stayed, Like a trumpets call at Heavens wall from a herald unafraid, A million voices in one cry, Where w the Maid, the JOAN OF ARC 1 had forgot from too much joy that olden task of mine, But I have heard a certain word shatter the chant divine, Have watched a banner glow and grow before mine eyes for sign. I would return to that my land flung in the teeth of war, I would cast down my robe and crown that pleasure me no more, And don the armor that I knew, the valiant sword I bore. And angels militant shall fling the gates of Heaven wide, And souls new-dead whose lives were shed like leaves on wars red tide Shall cross their swords above our heads and cheer us as we ride For with me goes that soldier saint, Saint Michael of the sword, And I shall nde on his right side, a page beside his lord, And men shall follow like swift blades to reap a sure reward Grant that I answer this my call, yea, though the end may be The naked shame, the biting flame, the last, long agony I vould go singing down that road where fagots wait for me Mine be the fire about my feet, the smoke above my head, So might I glow, a torch to show the path my heroes tread, My Captain Oh, my Captan, let me go back she said. Theodosta Garrison. 2 FRANCE IMPERISHABLE IN the fourth year of the Great War 1918, the sufferings of France, the immemorial battlefield of nations, were in all our hearts. We heard from time to time that France was bled white that she had been injured past recovery that she was dying. Students of History know better than this. France does not die She bleeds yes she has bled, and stanched her wounds and gone gloriously on, and bled again, since the days when Gaul and Iberian, Kymrian and Phoenician, Hun and Goth, raged and fought to and fro over the patient fields of the pleasant land. Ask Caesar and Vercingetorix, Attila and Theo doric, Clovis and Charles the Hammer, if France can die, and hear their shadowy laughter Wave after wave, sea upon sea, of blood and carnage, sweep over her she re mains imperishable. The sun of her day of glory never sets. Her darkest day, perhaps, was that against which her brightest flower shines white. In telling, however briefly, the story of Joan the Maid, it is necessary to call back that day, in some ways so like our own to see what was 3« less