by Mark Twain
2. We all know this to be not a guess, but a mere commonplace fact, a truism. Lorraine was Joan of ^Jeanne d’^Arc’s Dahomey. And there ^Here^ the Riddle ^problem^ confronts us. We can understand how she could ^that she might^ be born with ^intuitive^ military genius with leonine courage with incomparable fortitude with a mind which ^that^ was in several particulars a prodigy a mind which included among its specialities ^manifestations^ the lawyer’s gift of detecting traps laid by the adversary in cunning and treacherous arrangements of seemingly innocent words the orator’s gift of eloquence the advocate’s gift of presenting a case in clear and compact ^concise^ form the judge’s gift of sorting and weighing evidence and finally, something recognisable as more than a mere trace of the statesman’s gift of undcrstanding ^grasping^ a political situation and how to make profitable use of such opportunities as it offers ;we can comprehend how she could be born with ^that^ these great qualities but we cannot comprehend ^might exist in Jeanne d’Arc at her birth, but^ how they became immediately usable ^instantly available^ and effective without the developing forces of a sympathetic atmosphere ^environment^ and the training which comes of teaching, study, practice—years of practice—and ^no less than by^ the crowning help of a thousand mistakes ^is beyond our understanding.^ We can understand how ^know^ the possibilities of the future perfect peach are ^to be^ all lying hid ^dormant^ in the humble bitter-almond,but we cannot conceive of the peach springing directly from the almond without the intervening long seasons of patient cultivation and development. Out of a cattle-pasturing peasant village lost in the remotenesses of an unvisited wilderness and atrophied with ages of stupefaction and ignorance we cannot ^failto^ see a Joan of ^Jeanne d’^Arc issue ^issuing^ equipped to the last detail for her amazing career and hope to be able ^nor can we hope^ to explain the riddle of it, labour at it as we may.
2 “comprehends.”
3. It is beyond us. All the ^our^ rules fail in this girl’s case. In the world’s history she stands alone—quite ^absolutely^ alone. Others have been great ^shone^ in their first ^great^ public exhibitions of generalship, valour, legal talent, diplomacy, fortitude, but always their previous years and associations had ^invariably^ been in a larger or smaller ^greater or less^ degree a preparation for these ^such^ things. There have been no exceptions to the rule.But Joan ^Yet Jeanne^ was competent in a law case at sixteen without ever having seen a law book or a court house before; she had had no training in soldiership and no associations with it, yet she was a competent general in ^on^ her first campaign; she was brave in her first battle, yet her courage had had ^received^ no education—not even the education which a boy’s courage gets from ^obtains through^ never-ceasing reminders that it is not permissible in a boy to be a coward but only in agirl; friendless, alone, ignorant ^unaided^, in the blossom ^bloom^ of her youth she sat week after week, a prisoner in chains, before her ^an^ assemblage of judgesenemies hunting her to her death, the ablest minds in Franceand answered ^answering^ them out of an untaught wisdom which ^that^ overmatched their learning, baffled their tricks and treacheries with a native sagacity which ^that^ compelled their wonder, and scored every ^each^ day a victory against these incredible odds and camped unchallenged on the field. In the history of the human intellect, untrained, inexperienced, and using only its birthright equipment of untried capacities, there is nothing which approaches this. Joan of ^Jeanne d’^Arc stands alone, and must continue to stand alone, by reason of the unfellowcd ^unique^ fact that in the things wherein she was great she was so without shade or suggestion of help from preparatory teaching, practice, environment, or experience. There is no one ^with whom^ to compare herwith, none ^by whom^ to measure her by; for all others among the illustrious grew toward their high place in an atmosphere and surroundings which ^that^ discovered their gift to them and ^that^ nourished it and promoted it, intentionally or unconsciously. There have been other young ^born^ generals, but they were not girls; young generals, but they had been soldiers before they were generals ^earned the baton^: she ^Jeanne^ began as a general; she commanded the first army she ever saw, she led it from victory to victory, and never lost a battle, with it; there have been young commanders-in-chief, but none so young as she: she is the only soldier in history who has held the supreme command of a nation’s armies at the age of seventeen.
V.
AS PROPHET.
Her history has still another feature which sets her apart and leaves her without fellow or competitor: there have been many uninspired prophets, but she was the only one who ever ventured the daring detail of naming, along ^in connection^ with a foretold event, the event’s precise nature ^of that event,^ the special time-limit ^and place^ within which it would occur, and the place—and scored ^and in every case realized the complete^ fulfilment. At Vaucouleurs she said she must go to ^see^ the King and be made his general, and ^of his forces in order to^ break the English power, and crown her sovereign—“at Rheims.” It all happened. It was all to happen “next year”—and it did. She foretold her first wound and its character and date a month in advance, and the ^beforehand; this^ prophecy was recorded in a public record-book three weeks in advance. She repeated it the morning of the named date ^named,^ and it was fulfilled before night. At Tours she foretold the limit of her military career saying it would end in one year from the time of this ^her^ utterance and she was right. She foretold her martyrdom using that word and naming a time three months away ^distant^—and again she was right. At a time ^period^ when France seemed hopelessly and permanently in the hands of the English she twice asserted in her prison before her judges that within seven years^’ time^ the English would meet with a mightier disaster than had been the fall of Orleans: it happened within five—the fall of Paris. ^when Paris fell.^ Other prophecies of hers came true, both as to the event named and the time-limit prescribed.
VI.
HER CHARACTER.
She was deeply religious, and believed that she had daily speech with angels; that she saw them face to face, and that they counselled her, advised ^comforted^ her, and brought commands to her direct from God. She had a childlike faith in the heavenly origin of her apparitions and her Voices, and not any threat of any form of death was able to ^in any form could^ frighten it out of her loyal heart. She was ^had^ a beautiful and simple and lovable character. In the records of the Trial this comes out in clear and shining detail. She was gentle and winning and affectionate; she loved her home, her friends and her village life; she was miserable in the presence of pain and suffering; she was full of compassion: on the field of her most splendid victory she forgot her triumphs to hold in her lap the head of a dying enemy and ^to^ comfort his passing spirit with pitying words; in an age when it was common to slaughter prisoners, she stood dauntless between hers and harm, and saved them alive; she was forgiving, generous, unselfish, magnanimous, she was pure from all spot or stain of baseness. And always she was a girl, and dear and worshipful, as is meet for ^in^ that estate :when she fell wounded, the first time, she was frightened and cried when she saw her ^the^ blood gushing from her breast; but she was Joan of ^Jeanne d’^Arc, and when presently she found that her generals were sounding the retreat, she staggered to her feet and led the assault again and took that place by storm. There is ^was^ no blemish in that ^the^ rounded and beautiful character^of Jeanne, the Maid.^ There was no self conceit in it, no vanity. Only once in her life did she forget whom she was, and use the language of brag and boast. In those exhausting Trials she sat in her chains five and six dreary hours every day in her dungeon, answering her judges; and many times the questions were wearisomely silly and she lost interest, and no doubt her mind went dreaming back to the free days in the field and the fierce joys of battle. One day, at such a time, a tormentor broke the monotony with a fresh new theme, asking, “Did you learn any trade at home?” Then her head went up and her eyes kindled; and the stormer of bastiles, tamer of Talbot the English lion, thunder-breathing deliverer of a cowed nation and a hunted king, answered “Yes! to sew and
to spin; and when it comes to that, I am not afraid to be matched against any woman in Rouen!” It was the only time she ever bragged: let us be charitable and forget it.
VII.
HER FACE AND FORM.
How strange it is!—that almost invariably the artist remembers only one detail—one minor and meaningless detail of the personality of Joan of ^Jeanne d’^Arc that she was a peasant girland forgets all the rest; and so he paints her as a strapping middle-aged fish^wife,^crwoman, with costume and face to match. He is slave to his one ^prevailing^ idea, and forgets ^omits^ to observe that the supremely great souls are never lodged in big ^gross^ bodies. No brawn, ^tissue,^ no muscle, could endure the work that their bodies must do ^strain of their physical efforts^; they do ^perform^ their miracles by ^through^ the spirit, which has fifty times the strength and staying-power of brawn and muscle. The Napoleons are little, not big; and they work twenty hours in ^out of ^ the twenty-four, and come up fresh while ^the^ big soldiers with little hearts faint around them with fatigue. We know what Joan of Arc ^Jeanne^ was like, without asking— ^inquiring,^ merely by what she did. The artist should paint her spirit—then he could not fail to paint her body right. She would rise before us, then, ^in such wise,^ a vision to win us, not ^to^ repel: a lithe^, slender^ young slender figure, instinct with “the unbought grace of youth,” dear and bonny and ^wholly^ lovable, the face beautiful, and transfigured with the light of that lustrous ^her luminous^ intellect and the fires of that ^her^ unquenchable spirit.^ “It was a miraculous thing,” said Guy de Laval, writing from Selles, “to see her and hear her.”^
Insert this remark.
2. Taking into account, as I have suggested before, all the circumstancesher origin, youth, sex, illiteracy, early environment, and ^together with^ the obstructing conditions under which she exploited ^demonstrated^ her high gifts and made her conquests in the field and ^no less than^ before the courts that tried her for her life,she is by far the most extraordinary person the human race has ever ^yet^ produced^, nor does there exist in any language so remarkable a history as the official record of Jeanne d’Arc’s trial and rehabilitation.
3. I have studied the career of Jeanne d’Arc for years past; I have, moreover, written and published a story of her life: but I am ever ready, as now, to break another lance in honour of the Maid.^
The Letter.
Dear Mr. X:
I find on my desk the first two pages of Miss Z’s Translation, with your emendations marked in them. Thank you for sending them.
I have examined the first page of my amended Introduction, and will begin, now, and jot down some notes upon your corrections. If I find any changes which shall not seem to me to be improvements, I will point out my reasons for thinking so. In this way I may chance to be helpful to you, and thus profit you, perhaps, as much as you have desired to profit me.
NOTES.
SECTION I. First Paragraph.
“Jeanne d’Arc.” This is rather cheaply pedantic, and is not in very good taste. Joan is not known by that name among plain people of our race and tongue. I notice that the name of the Deity occurs several times in the brief instalment of the Trials which you have favored me with; to be consistent, it will be necessary that you strike out “God” and put in “Dieu.” Do not neglect this.
First line. What is the trouble with “at the”? And why “Trial”? Has some uninstructed person deceived you into the notion that there was but one, instead of half a dozen?
Amongst. Wasn’t “among” good enough?
Next half-dozen Corrections. Have you failed to perceive that by taking the word “both” out of its proper place you have made foolishness of the sentence? And don’t you see that your smug “of which” has turned that sentence into reporter’s English? “Quite.” Why do you intrude that shop-worn favorite of yours where there is nothing useful for it to do? Can’t you rest easy in your literary grave without it?
Next Sentence. You have made no improvement in it; did you change it merely to be changing something?
Second Paragraph. Now you have begun on my punctuation. Don’t you realize that you ought not to intrude your help in a delicate art like that, with your limitations? And do you think you have added just the right smear of polish to the closing clause of the sentence?
Second Paragraph. How do you know it was his “own” sword? It could have been a borrowed one. I am cautious in matters of history, and you should not put statements in my mouth for which you cannot produce vouchers. Your other corrections are rubbish.
Third Paragraph Ditto.
Fourth Paragraph. Your word “directly” is misleading; it could be construed to mean “at once.” Plain clarity is better than ornate obscurity. I note your sensitive marginal remark: “Rather unkind to French feelings—referring to Moscow.” Indeed I have not been concerning myself about French feelings, but only about stating the facts. I have said several uncourteous things about the French—calling them a “nation of ingrates,” in one place,—but you have been so busy editing commas and semicolons that you overlooked them and failed to get scared at them. The next paragraph ends with a slur at the French, but I have reasons for thinking you mistook it for a compliment. It is discouraging to try to penetrate a mind like yours. You ought to get it out and dance on it. That would take some of the rigidity out of it. And you ought to use it sometimes; that would help. If you had done this every now and then along through life, it would not have petrified.
Fifth Paragraph. Thus far, I regard this as your masterpiece! You are really perfect in the great art of reducing simple and dignified speech to clumsy and vapid commonplace.
Sixth Paragraph. You have a singularly fine and aristocratic disrespect for homely and unpretending English. Every time I use “go back” you get out your polisher and slick it up to “return.” “Return” is suited only to the drawing-room—it is ducal, and says itself with a simper and a smirk.
Seventh Paragraph. “Permission” is ducal. Ducal and affected. “Her” great days were not “over;” they were only half over. Didn’t you know that? Haven’t you read anything at all about Joan of Arc? The truth is, you do not pay any attention; I told you on my very first page that the public part of her career lasted two years, and you have forgotten it already. You really must get your mind out and have it repaired; you see, yourself, that it is all caked together.
Eighth Paragraph. She “rode away to assault and capture a stronghold.” Very well; but you do not tell us whether she succeeded or not. You should not worry the reader with uncertainties like that. I will remind you once more that clarity is a good thing in literature. An apprentice cannot do better than keep this useful rule in mind. Closing Sentences. Corrections which are not corrections.
Ninth Paragraph. “Known” history. That word is a polish which is too delicate for me; there doesn’t seem to be any sense in it. This would have surprised me, last week.
Second Sentence. It cost me an hour’s study before I found out what it meant. I see, now, that it is intended to mean what it meant before. It really does accomplish its intent, I think, though in a most intricate and slovenly fashion. What was your idea in re-framing it? Merely in order that you might add this to your other editorial contributions and be able to say to people that the most of the Introduction was your work? I am afraid that that was really your sly and unparliamentary scheme. Certainly we do seem to live in a very wicked world.
Closing Sentence. There is your empty “however” again. I cannot think what makes you so flatulent.
II. IN CAPTIVITY. “Remainder.” It is curious and interesting to notice what an attraction a fussy, mincing, nickel-plated artificial word has for you. This is not well.
Third Sentence. But she was held to ransom; it wasn’t a case of “should have been.” And it wasn’t a case of ’if it had been offered;” it was offered, and also accepted, as the second paragraph shows. You ought never to edit except when awake.
Fourth Sentence. Why do you wish to change that? It was
more than “demanded,” it was required. Have you no sense of shades of meaning, in words?
Fifth Sentence. Changing it to “benefactress” takes the dignity out of it. If I had called her a braggart, I suppose you would have polished her into a braggartess, with your curious and random notions about the English tongue.
Closing Sentence. “Sustained” is sufficiently nickel-plated to meet the requirements of your disease, I trust. “Wholly” adds nothing; the sentence means just what it meant before. In the rest of the sentence you sacrifice simplicity to airy fussiness.
Second Paragraph. It was not blood-money, O unteachable ass, any more than is the money that buys a house or a horse; it was an ordinary business-transaction of the time, and was not dishonorable. “With her hands, feet and neck both chained,” etc. The restricted word “both” cannot be applied to three things, but only to two. “Fence:” You “lifted” that word from further along—and with what valuable result? The next sentence—after your doctoring of it—has no meaning. The one succeeding it—after your doctoring of it—refers to nothing, wanders around in space, has no meaning and no reason for existing, and is by a shade or two more demented and twaddlesome than anything hitherto ground out of your strange and interesting editorial-mill.
Closing Sentence. “Neither” for “either.” Have you now debauched the grammar to your taste?
