Saint Joan · Scene II (2/2) (1/2)
La Trémouille What the devil does the Dauphin mean by keeping us waiting like this? I don’t know how you have the patience to stand there like a stone idol.
The Archbishop You see, I am an archbishop; and an archbishop is a sort of idol. At any rate he has to learn to keep still and suffer fools patiently. Besides, my dear Lord Chamberlain, it is the Dauphin’s royal privilege to keep you waiting, is it not?
La Trémouille Dauphin be damned! saving your reverence. Do you know how much money he owes me.
The Archbishop Much more than he owes me, I have no doubt, because you are a much richer man. But I take it he owes you all you could afford to lend him. That is what he owes me.
La Trémouille Twenty-seven thousand: that was his last haul. A cool twenty-seven thousand!
The Archbishop What becomes of it all? He never has a suit of clothes that I would throw to a curate.
La Trémouille He dines on a chicken or a scrap of mutton. He borrows my last penny; and there is nothing to show for it. A page appears in the doorway. At last!
The Page No, my lord: it is not His Majesty. Monsieur de Rais is approaching.
La Trémouille Young Bluebeard! Why announce him?
The Page Captain La Hire is with him. Something has happened, I think.
Gilles de Rais*, a young man of 25, very smart and self-possessed, and sporting the extravagance of a little curled beard dyed blue at a clean-shaven court, comes in. He is determined to make himself agreeable, but lacks natural joyousness, and is not really pleasant. In fact when he defies the Church some eleven years later he is accused of trying to extract pleasure from horrible cruelties, and hanged. So far, however, there is no shadow of the gallows on him. He advances gaily to the Archbishop. The page* withdraws.
Bluebeard Your faithful lamb, Archbishop. Good day, my lord. Do you know what has happened to La Hire?
La Trémouille He has sworn himself into a fit, perhaps.
Bluebeard No: just the opposite. Foul Mouthed Frank, the only man in Touraine who could beat him at swearing, was told by a soldier that he shouldn’t use such language when he was at the point of death.
The Archbishop Nor at any other point. But was Foul Mouthed Frank on the point of death?
Bluebeard Yes: he has just fallen into a well and been drowned. La Hire is frightened out of his wits.
Captain La Hire comes in: a war dog with no court manners and pronounced camp ones.
Bluebeard I have just been telling the Chamberlain and the Archbishop. The Archbishop says you are a lost man.
La Hire Striding past Bluebeard, and planting himself between the Archbishop and La Trémouille. This is nothing to joke about. It is worse than we thought. It was not a soldier, but an angel dressed as a soldier.
The Archbishop The Constable Bluebeard Exclaiming all together. An angel!
La Hire Yes, an angel. She has made her way from Champagne with half a dozen men through the thick of everything: Burgundians, Goddams, deserters, robbers, and Lord knows who; and they never met a soul except the country folk. I know one of them: de Poulengey. He says she’s an angel. If ever I utter an oath again may my soul be blasted to eternal damnation.
The Archbishop A very pious beginning, Captain.
Bluebeard* and La Trémouille laugh at him. The page* returns.
The Page His Majesty.
They stand perfunctorily at court attention. The Dauphin, aged 26, really King Charles the Seventh since the death of his father, but as yet uncrowned, comes in through the curtains with a paper in his hands. He is a poor creature physically; and the current fashion of shaving closely, and hiding every scrap of hair under the head-covering or headdress, both by women and men, makes the worst of his appearance. He has little narrow eyes, near together, a long pendulous nose that droops over his thick short upper lip, and the expression of a young dog accustomed to be kicked, yet incorrigible and irrepressible. But he is neither vulgar nor stupid; and he has a cheeky humor which enables him to hold his own in conversation. Just at present he is excited, like a child with a new toy. He comes to the Archbishop’s left hand. Bluebeard and La Hire retire towards the curtains.
Charles Oh, Archbishop, do you know what Robert de Baudricourt is sending me from Vaucouleurs?
The Archbishop Contemptuously. I am not interested in the newest toys.
Charles Indignantly. It isn’t a toy. Sulkily. However, I can get on very well without your interest.
The Archbishop Your Highness is taking offence very unnecessarily.
Charles Thank you. You are always ready with a lecture, aren’t you?
La Trémouille Roughly. Enough grumbling. What have you got there?
Charles What is that to you?
La Trémouille It is my business to know what is passing between you and the garrison at Vaucouleurs. He snatches the paper from the Dauphin’s hand, and begins reading it with some difficulty, following the words with his finger and spelling them out syllable by syllable.
Charles Mortified. You all think you can treat me as you please because I owe you money, and because I am no good at fighting. But I have the blood royal in my veins.
The Archbishop Even that has been questioned, your Highness. One hardly recognizes in you the grandson of Charles the Wise.
Charles I want to hear no more of my grandfather. He was so wise that he used up the whole family stock of wisdom for five generations, and left me the poor fool I am, bullied and insulted by all of you.
The Archbishop Control yourself, sir. These outbursts of petulance are not seemly.
Charles Another lecture! Thank you. What a pity it is that though you are an archbishop saints and angels don’t come to see you!
The Archbishop What do you mean?
Charles Aha! Ask that bully there Pointing to La Trémouille.
La Trémouille Furious. Hold your tongue. Do you hear?
Charles Oh, I hear. You needn’t shout. The whole castle can hear. Why don’t you go and shout at the English, and beat them for me?
La Trémouille Raising his fist. You young⁠—
Charles Running behind the Archbishop. Don’t you raise your hand to me. It’s high treason.
La Hire Steady, Duke! Steady!
The Archbishop Resolutely. Come, come! this will not do. My lord Chamberlain; please! please! we must keep some sort of order. To the Dauphin. And you, sir: if you cannot rule your kingdom, at least try to rule yourself.
Charles Another lecture! Thank you.
La Trémouille Handing the paper to the Archbishop. Here: read the accursed thing for me. He has sent the blood boiling into my head: I can’t distinguish the letters.
Charles Coming back and peering round La Trémouille’s left shoulder. I will read it for you if you like. I can read, you know.
La Trémouille With intense contempt, not at all stung by the taunt. Yes: reading is about all you are fit for. Can you make it out, Archbishop?
The Archbishop I should have expected more common sense from De Baudricourt. He is sending some cracked country lass here⁠—
Charles Interrupting. No: he is sending a saint: an angel. And she is coming to me: to me, the king, and not to you, Archbishop, holy as you are. She knows the blood royal if you don’t. He struts up to the curtains between Bluebeard and La Hire.
The Archbishop You cannot be allowed to see this crazy wench.
Charles Turning. But I am the king; and I will.
La Trémouille Brutally. Then she cannot be allowed to see you. Now!
Charles I tell you I will. I am going to put my foot down⁠—
Bluebeard Laughing at him. Naughty! What would your wise grandfather say?
Charles That just shows your ignorance, Bluebeard. My grandfather had a saint who used to float in the air when she was praying, and told him everything he wanted to know. My poor father had two saints, Marie de Maillé and the Gasque of Avignon. It is in our family; and I don’t care what you say: I will have my saint too.
The Archbishop This creature is not a saint. She is not even a respectable woman. She does not wear women’s clothes. She is dressed like a soldier, and rides round the country with soldiers. Do you suppose such a person can be admitted to your Highness’s court?
La Hire Stop. Going to the Archbishop. Did you say a girl in armor, like a soldier?
The Archbishop So De Baudricourt describes her.
La Hire But by all the devils in hell⁠—Oh, God forgive me, what am I saying?⁠—by Our Lady and all the saints, this must be the angel that struck Foul Mouthed Frank dead for swearing.
Charles Triumphantly. You see! A miracle.
La Hire She may strike the lot of us dead if we cross her. For Heaven’s sake, Archbishop, be careful what you are doing.
The Archbishop Severely. Rubbish! Nobody has been struck dead. A drunken blackguard who has been rebuked a hundred times for swearing has fallen into a well, and been drowned. A mere coincidence.
La Hire I do not know what a coincidence is. I do know that the man is dead, and that she told him he was going to die.
The Archbishop We are all going to die, Captain.
La Hire Crossing himself. I hope not. He backs out of the conversation.
Bluebeard We can easily find out whether she is an angel or not. Let us arrange when she comes that I shall be the Dauphin, and see whether she will find me out.
Charles Yes: I agree to that. If she cannot find the blood royal I will have nothing to do with her.
The Archbishop It is for the Church to make saints: let De Baudricourt mind his own business, and not dare usurp the function of his priest. I say the girl shall not be admitted.
Bluebeard But, Archbishop⁠—
The Archbishop Sternly. I speak in the Church’s name. To the Dauphin. Do you dare say she shall?
Charles Intimidated but sulky. Oh, if you make it an excommunication matter, I have nothing more to say, of course. But you haven’t read the end of the letter. De Baudricourt says she will raise the siege of Orleans, and beat the English for us.
La Trémouille Rot!
Charles Well, will you save Orleans for us, with all your bullying?
La Trémouille Savagely. Do not throw that in my face again: do you hear? I have done more fighting than you ever did or ever will. But I cannot be everywhere.
The Dauphin Well, that’s something.
Bluebeard Coming between the Archbishop and Charles. You have Jack Dunois at the head of your troops in Orleans: the brave Dunois, the handsome Dunois, the wonderful invincible Dunois, the darling of all the ladies, the beautiful bastard. Is it likely that the country lass can do what he cannot do?
Charles Why doesn’t he raise the siege, then?
La Hire The wind is against him.
Bluebeard How can the wind hurt him at Orleans? It is not on the Channel.
La Hire It is on the river Loire; and the English hold the bridgehead. He must ship his men across the river and upstream, if he is to take them in the rear. Well, he cannot, because there is a devil of a wind blowing the other way. He is tired of paying the priests to pray for a west wind. What he needs is a miracle. You tell me that what the girl did to Foul Mouthed Frank was no miracle. No matter: it finished Frank. If she changes the wind for Dunois, that may not be a miracle either; but it may finish the English. What harm is there in trying?
The Archbishop Who has read the end of the letter and become more thoughtful. It is true that De Baudricourt seems extraordinarily impressed.
La Hire De Baudricourt is a blazing ass; but he is a soldier; and if he thinks she can beat the English, all the rest of the army will think so too.
La Trémouille To the Archbishop, who is hesitating. Oh, let them have their way. Dunois’ men will give up the town in spite of him if somebody does not put some fresh spunk into them.
The Archbishop The Church must examine the girl before anything decisive is done about her. However, since his Highness desires it, let her attend the Court.
La Hire I will find her and tell her. He goes out.
Charles Come with me, Bluebeard; and let us arrange so that she will not know who I am. You will pretend to be me. He goes out through the curtains.
Bluebeard Pretend to be that thing! Holy Michael! He follows the Dauphin.
La Trémouille I wonder will she pick him out!
The Archbishop Of course she will.
La Trémouille Why? How is she to know?
The Archbishop She will know what everybody in Chinon knows: that the Dauphin is the meanest-looking and worst-dressed figure in the Court, and that the man with the blue beard is Gilles de Rais.
La Trémouille I never thought of that.
The Archbishop You are not so accustomed to miracles as I am. It is part of my profession.
La Trémouille Puzzled and a little scandalized. But that would not be a miracle at all.
The Archbishop Calmly. Why not?
La Trémouille Well, come; what is a miracle?
The Archbishop A miracle, my friend, is an event which creates faith. That is the purpose and nature of miracles. They may seem very wonderful to the people who witness them, and very simple to those who perform them. That does not matter: if they confirm or create faith they are true miracles.
La Trémouille Even when they are frauds, do you mean?
The Archbishop Frauds deceive. An event which creates faith does not deceive: therefore it is not a fraud, but a miracle.
La Trémouille Scratching his neck in his perplexity. Well, I suppose as you are an archbishop you must be right. It seems a bit fishy to me. But I am no churchman, and don’t understand these matters.
The Archbishop You are not a churchman; but you are a diplomatist and a soldier. Could you make our citizens pay war taxes, or our soldiers sacrifice their lives, if they knew what is really happening instead of what seems to them to be happening?
La Trémouille No, by Saint Dennis: the fat would be in the fire before sundown.
The Archbishop Would it not be quite easy to tell them the truth?
La Trémouille Man alive, they wouldn’t believe it.
The Archbishop Just so. Well, the Church has to rule men for the good of their souls as you have to rule them for the good of their bodies. To do that, the Church must do as you do: nourish their faith by poetry.
La Trémouille Poetry! I should call it humbug.
The Archbishop You would be wrong, my friend. Parables are not lies because they describe events that have never happened. Miracles are not frauds because they are often⁠—I do not say always⁠—very simple and innocent contrivances by which the priest fortifies the faith of his flock. When this girl picks out the Dauphin among his courtiers, it will not be a miracle for me, because I shall know how it has been done, and my faith will not be increased. But as for the others, if they feel the thrill of the supernatural, and forget their sinful clay in a sudden sense of the glory of God, it will be a miracle and a blessed one. And you will find that the girl herself will be more affected than anyone else. She will forget how she really picked him out. So, perhaps, will you.
La Trémouille Well, I wish I were clever enough to know how much of you is God’s archbishop and how much the most artful fox in Touraine. Come on, or we shall be late for the fun; and I want to see it, miracle or no miracle.