THIS TIME, as before, the King’s last command to the generals was this:
“See to it that you do nothing without the sanction of the Maid.” And
this time the command was obeyed; and would continue to be obeyed all
through the coming great days of the Loire campaign.
That was a change! That was new! It broke the traditions. It shows you
what sort of a reputation as a commander-in-chief the child had made for
herself in ten days in the field. It was a conquering of men’s doubts
and suspicions and a capturing and solidifying of men’s belief and
confidence such as the grayest veteran on the Grand Staff had not been
able to achieve in thirty years. Don’t you remember that when at sixteen
Joan conducted her own case in a grim court of law and won it, the old
judge spoke of her as “this marvelous child”? It was the right name, you
see.
These veterans were not going to branch out and do things without the
sanction of the Maid—that is true; and it was a great gain. But at the
same time there were some among them who still trembled at her new and
dashing war tactics and earnestly desired to modify them. And so, during
the 10th, while Joan was slaving away at her plans and issuing order
after order with tireless industry, the old-time consultations and
arguings and speechifyings were going on among certain of the generals.
In the afternoon of that day they came in a body to hold one of these
councils of war; and while they waited for Joan to join them they
discussed the situation. Now this discussion is not set down in the
histories; but I was there, and I will speak of it, as knowing you will
trust me, I not being given to beguiling you with lies.
Gautier de Brusac was spokesman for the timid ones; Joan’s side was
resolutely upheld by d’Alencon, the Bastard, La Hire, the Admiral of
France, the Marshal de Boussac, and all the other really important
chiefs.
De Brusac argued that the situation was very grave; that Jargeau,
the first point of attack, was formidably strong; its imposing walls
bristling with artillery; with seven thousand picked English veterans
behind them, and at their head the great Earl of Suffolk and his
two redoubtable brothers, the De la Poles. It seemed to him that the
proposal of Joan of Arc to try to take such a place by storm was a most
rash and over-daring idea, and she ought to be persuaded to relinquish
it in favor of the soberer and safer procedure of investment by regular
siege. It seemed to him that this fiery and furious new fashion of
hurling masses of men against impregnable walls of stone, in defiance of
the established laws and usages of war, was—
But he got no further. La Hire gave his plumed helm an impatient toss
and burst out with:
“By God, she knows her trade, and none can teach it her!”
And before he could get out anything more, D’Alencon was on his feet,
and the Bastard of Orleans, and a half a dozen others, all thundering at
once, and pouring out their indignant displeasure upon any and all
that might hold, secretly or publicly, distrust of the wisdom of the
Commander-in-Chief. And when they had said their say, La Hire took a
chance again, and said:
“There are some that never know how to change. Circumstances may change,
but those people are never able to see that they have got to change too,
to meet those circumstances. All that they know is the one beaten
track that their fathers and grandfathers have followed and that they
themselves have followed in their turn. If an earthquake come and rip
the land to chaos, and that beaten track now lead over precipices and
into morasses, those people can’t learn that they must strike out a new
road—no; they will march stupidly along and follow the old one, to death
and perdition. Men, there’s a new state of things; and a surpassing
military genius has perceived it with her clear eye. And a new road is
required, and that same clear eye has noted where it must go, and has
marked it out for us. The man does not live, never has lived, never
will live, that can improve upon it! The old state of things was defeat,
defeat, defeat—and by consequence we had troops with no dash, no heart,
no hope. Would you assault stone walls with such? No—there was but one
way with that kind: sit down before a place and wait, wait—starve it
out, if you could. The new case is the very opposite; it is this: men
all on fire with pluck and dash and vim and fury and energy—a restrained
conflagration! What would you do with it? Hold it down and let it
smolder and perish and go out? What would Joan of Arc do with it? Turn
it loose, by the Lord God of heaven and earth, and let it swallow up the
foe in the whirlwind of its fires! Nothing shows the splendor and wisdom
of her military genius like her instant comprehension of the size of the
change which has come about, and her instant perception of the right and
only right way to take advantage of it. With her is no sitting down and
starving out; no dilly-dallying and fooling around; no lazying, loafing,
and going to sleep; no, it is storm! storm! storm! and still storm!
storm! storm! and forever storm! storm! storm! hunt the enemy to his
hole, then turn her French hurricanes loose and carry him by storm!
And that is my sort! Jargeau? What of Jargeau, with its battlements and
towers, its devastating artillery, its seven thousand picked veterans?
Joan of Arc is to the fore, and by the splendor of God its fate is
sealed!”
Oh, he carried them. There was not another word said about persuading
Joan to change her tactics. They sat talking comfortably enough after
that.
By and by Joan entered, and they rose and saluted with their swords, and
she asked what their pleasure might be. La Hire said:
“It is settled, my General. The matter concerned Jargeau. There were
some who thought we could not take the place.”
Joan laughed her pleasant laugh, her merry, carefree laugh; the laugh
that rippled so buoyantly from her lips and made old people feel young
again to hear it; and she said to the company:
“Have no fears—indeed, there is no need nor any occasion for them. We
will strike the English boldly by assault, and you will see.” Then a
faraway look came into her eyes, and I think that a picture of her home
drifted across the vision of her mind; for she said very gently, and as
one who muses, “But that I know God guides us and will give us success,
I had liefer keep sheep than endure these perils.”
We had a homelike farewell supper that evening—just the personal staff
and the family. Joan had to miss it; for the city had given a banquet in
her honor, and she had gone there in state with the Grand Staff, through
a riot of joy-bells and a sparkling Milky Way of illuminations.
After supper some lively young folk whom we knew came in, and we
presently forgot that we were soldiers, and only remembered that we
were boys and girls and full of animal spirits and long-pent fun; and so
there was dancing, and games, and romps, and screams of laughter—just as
extravagant and innocent and noisy a good time as ever I had in my life.
Dear, dear, how long ago it was!—and I was young then. And outside, all
the while, was the measured tramp of marching battalions, belated odds
and ends of the French power gathering for the morrow’s tragedy on the
grim stage of war. Yes, in those days we had those contrasts side by
side. And as I passed along to bed there was another one: the big Dwarf,
in brave new armor, sat sentry at Joan’s door—the stern Spirit of War
made flesh, as it were—and on his ample shoulder was curled a kitten
asleep.