"THE TIME HAS ARRIVED."
Towards the end of February of 1429, a small troop of soldiers, on their
way back to their duke in Lorraine, and belonging to the party of the
Armagnacs, halted at Domremy. The hospitable villagers cordially
quartered the strangers at their houses. A sergeant fell to James Darc.
The family gave him a friendly reception; they helped him to ease
himself of his casque, his buckler, his lance and his sword, and the
brilliant weapons were deposited in a corner of the apartment where Joan
and her mother were busy preparing the family meal. The sight of the
arms that the soldier had laid aside caused the young girl to tremble.
She could not resist the desire of secretly touching them, and profiting
by a moment when she was left alone, she even put the iron casque upon
her young head and took in her virile hand the heavy sword which she
drew from its scabbard and brandished, thrusting and cutting.
At seventeen Joan was tall and strong. The superb contours of her
virginal bosom[27] filled and rounded her corsage, scarlet as her skirt.
Her large black eyes, pensive and mild, her ebony hair, her clear
complexion, slightly tanned by the sun, her cherry lips, her white
teeth, her chaste physiognomy, serious and candid, imparted an
attractive aspect to her appearance; as she now donned the soldier's
casque the young girl was resplendent with martial beauty. The sergeant
and James Darc entered the room. The latter frowned with severity; the
soldier, however, charmed at seeing his casque on the head of the
beautiful peasant girl, addressed to her some complimentary words. The
anger of James redoubled, but he controlled himself. Blushing at being
thus surprised, Joan quickly took off the casque and returned the sword
to its scabbard. The family sat down to table. Although the sergeant was
still young, he claimed to have often been among the royal troops that
had taken the field against the English. He dilated upon his own
prowesses, caressed his moustache, and threw side glances at Joan.
To the great astonishment of her family, and despite the obviously
increasing though still controlled anger of her father, Joan came out of
her ordinary reserve. She drew her stool near that of the soldier,
seemed greatly to admire the hero, and overwhelmed him with questions
concerning the royal army--its strength, its tactics, its present
location, the number of its pieces of artillery, the names of the
captains who inspired their soldiers with confidence.
Greatly flattered by the curiosity of the beautiful young girl
concerning his military feats, even imagining that she was perhaps more
interested in the warrior than in the war, the sergeant answered
gallantly all the questions put by Joan. On her part, she listened to
him with such rapt attention, and seemed by the fire in her eyes and the
animation on her face to take so profound an interest in the
conversation, that James Darc felt indignant thinking that the military
carriage of the soldier was turning Joan's head. The eyes of the
indignant father shot daggers at the soldier. Joan, too much preoccupied
with her own thoughts, did not notice the rising anger of her parent,
but plied her questions. With secret sorrow she learned then that,
driven back beyond the Loire after a recent battle called the "Battle of
the Herrings," the royal army had fled in disorder; that the English
were besieging Orleans; and that, once the city was taken and Touraine
invaded, the fate of the King and of France would be sealed, all his
domains would then be in the hands of the English.
"Is there then no help for Gaul?" cried Joan, a prey to inexpressible
exaltation. "Is all lost?"
"If the siege of Orleans is not raised within a month," answered the
sergeant; "if the English are not driven back far from the Loire, then
France will cease to exist! And this is as true as you are the most
beautiful maid of Lorraine. Blood of Christ! When a little while ago you
had my casque on your head, I thought I had before me the goddess of
war. With a captain such as you, I would attack a whole army
single-handed!"
At these words James Darc rose abruptly from the table; he told his
guest that night was approaching, and country people, who rose with the
sun, also retired with the sun. Cross at being thus bade to go, the
sergeant slowly picked up his arms and sought to catch Joan's eyes. But
the maid, wholly forgetful of the soldier, now sat on her stool steeped
in painful meditations, thinking only of the fresh disasters of Gaul, at
which her tears flowed freely.
"There can now be no doubt left," the peasant said to himself, "my
daughter, so chaste and so pious until this day, has suddenly gone
crazy over this braggart; she is weeping over his departure. Shame upon
her and us! A curse upon the hospitality that I have extended to this
stranger! May the devil take him!"
After the guest had gone, James Darc's face assumed an expression of
intense severity. Barely repressing his indignation, he stepped up to
his daughter, took her rudely by the arm, motioned her imperiously to
the stairs, and cried:
"Go upstairs! There has been enough palavering to-day. I shall talk to
you to-morrow!"
Still absorbed in her own racking thoughts, Joan obeyed her father
mechanically. When she regained her own room, the latter proceeded,
addressing his sons, both of whom were surprised at their father's
rudeness towards their sister:
"May God help us! Did you notice the manner in which Joan looked at the
sergeant? Oh, if she ever fell in love with a soldier, it would be your
duty to drown her with your own hands; or, I swear it, I would sooner
strangle her myself."[28]
The peasant uttered the words with such an explosion of rage that Joan
heard him. She understood the mistake her father had fallen into, and
wept. But soon "her voices" whispered to her:
"The time has arrived. Without you France and her King are lost--Go,
daughter of God!--Save your King--Save France!--The Lord is with
you--You are about to enter upon your mission."