The Broken Soldier and the Maid of France | Page 9

and
most heavenly, flows under that place like a hidden stream, rising at
every turn in springs and fountains. The poor little village lives in and
for her memory. Her presence haunts the ridges and the woods, treads
the green pastures, follows the white road beside the river, and breathes
in the never-resting valley-wind that marries the flowers in June and
spreads their seed in August.
At the small basilica built to her memory on the place where her old
beech-tree, "Fair May," used to stand there was an ancient caretaker
who explained to Pierre the pictures from the life of the Maid with
which the walls are decorated. They are stiff and conventional, but the
old man found them wonderful and told with zest the story of La

Pucelle--how she saw her first vision; how she recognized the Dauphin
in his palace at Chinon; how she broke the siege of Orleans; how she
saw Charles crowned in the cathedral at Rheims; how she was burned
at the stake in Rouen. But they could not kill her soul. She saved
France.
In the village church there was a priest from the border of Alsace, also
a pilgrim like Pierre, but one who knew the shrine better. He showed
the difference between the new and the old parts of the building.
Certain things the Maid herself had seen and touched. "Here is the old
holy-water basin, an antique, broken column hollowed out on top. Here
her fingers must have rested often. Before this ancient statue of Saint
Michel she must have often knelt to say her prayers. The cure of the
parish was a friend of hers and loved to talk with her. She was a good
girl, devout and obedient, not learned, but a holy and great soul. She
saved France."
In the house where she was born, and passed her childhood, a crippled
old woman was custodian. It was a humble dwelling of plastered stone,
standing between two tall fir-trees, with ivy growing over the walls,
lilies and hollyhocks blooming in the garden. Pierre found it not half so
good a house as "L'Alouette." But to the custodian it was more precious
than a palace. In this upper room with its low mullioned window the
Maid began her life. Here, in the larger room below, is the kneeling
statue which the Princess Marie d'Orleans made of her. Here, to the
right, under the sloping roof, with its worm-eaten beams, she slept and
prayed and worked.
"See, here is the bread-board between two timbers where she cut the
bread for the croute-au-pot. From this small window she looked at
night and saw the sanctuary light burning in the church. Here, also, as
well as in the garden and in the woods, her heavenly voices spoke to
her and told her what she must do for the king and her country. She was
not afraid or ashamed, though she lived in so small a house. Here in
this very room she braided her hair and put on her red dress, and set
forth on foot for her visit to Robert de Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs. He
was a rough man and at first he received her roughly. But at last she

convinced him. He gave her a horse and arms and sent her to the king.
She saved France."
[Illustration]
At the rustic inn Pierre at thick slices of dark bread and drank a stoup of
thin red wine at noon. He sat at a bare table in the corner of the room.
Behind him, at a table covered with a white cloth, two captains on
furlough had already made their breakfast. They also were pilgrims,
drawn by the love of Jeanne d'Arc to Domremy. They talked of nothing
else but of her. Yet their points of view were absolutely different.
One of them, the younger, was short and swarthy, a Savoyard, the son
of an Italian doctor at St. Jean de Maurienne. He was a skeptic; he
believed in Jeanne, but not in the legends about her.
"I tell you," said he, eagerly, "she was one of the greatest among
women. But all that about her 'voices' was illusion. The priests
suggested it. She had hallucinations. Remember her age when they
began--just thirteen. She was clever and strong; doubtless she was
pretty; certainly she was very courageous. She was only a girl. But she
had a big, brave idea which--the liberation of her country. Pure? Yes. I
am sure she was virtuous. Otherwise the troops would not have
followed and obeyed her as they did. Soldiers are very quick about
those things. They recognize and respect an honest woman. Several
men were in love with her, I think. But she was 'une nature froide.' The
only thing that moved her was her big,