I fulfilled my duty to protect my daughter.
I taught her to keep her eye
* * *
turned inward, to reject temptation, to avoid the eye
of the serpent, unlike Eve, who traded life
in the Garden to know evil. Woman is the daughter
of sin, and if unchecked, the ruination of a good man,
the humiliation and sorrow of a loving father,
an embarrassment to her brothers and sons.
* * *
My wife has given me three fine sons.
Their backs are strong and straight; their eyes
are clear. They will honor me, their father,
when I take my place on the great circle of life.
I am a farmer, but am richer than a nobleman
whose wife’s womb yields only daughters.
* * *
And as for Joan, my eldest daughter,
she was stronger in temperament than my sons,
as grave in her demeanor as a virtuous man.
But I sometimes saw a spark in her eye:
the spark of ambition. It would ruin her life
and the name and reputation of her father.
* * *
Obedient, chaste, respectful to her mother and father,
in almost every way, she was the perfect daughter,
working more in a week than many girls do in a life-
time. But she would never bear me grandsons.
I knew this as sure as I knew that oxeye
daisies thrive over the grave of an honest man.
* * *
Daughter, I said to her. Listen to your father.
Man is your light. Find a husband. Give him sons.
Life wants nothing from you. Remove that spark from your eye!
Joan
The morning sky is gray, and a
crowd begins to form. The townsfolk
are aroused today. Buzzing like
a swarm of bees, they have come to
watch me die. Some of them are ill
at ease, but not as ill at ease
as I. Reluctant to remember,
reluctant to forget, I am
defiant in my triumph but
taunted with regret. I think
of all I have experienced,
and all that I have not, every-
thing I kept in darkness and the
suffering that it brought. I did not
tell my father that I would never
wed. I did not tell myself that
I had other desires instead,
desires that I fought against,
desires I could not name, desires
that spoke an unknown tongue, desires
that lit a flame. Even now when
at the end, with nothing left to
lose, I cannot identify
what I could never choose.
ROM the first time I heard my Voices, I dedicated my virginity for so long as it should please God; and I was then about thirteen years of age.
* * *
Joan
Trial of Condemnation
Virginity
I am a bed
forever made.
I am a fortress,
a stockade,
a desert and
a garden.
* * *
I am a chamber,
ever locked.
I am a weapon,
never cocked.
A sentence and
a pardon.
* * *
A stone,
a field
unsown,
unplowed,
a vow,
a habit,
gown
and shroud,
I soften and
I harden.
* * *
I am
an absence,
a tranquil
O.
I am all
she will
never know,
* * *
her prisoner
and her warden.
Joan
The next three years I often spent
alone. I did my chores as always
but the angels had shown me that
my life was not what I thought that
it would be. I was sometimes then
in a state of ecstasy, marred
only by the anxiety
of knowing what I was called to
do. But as time passed, my confidence
slowly grew until the day my
saints instructed me to leave my
Domrémy for the nearby town
of Vaucouleurs, where Robert de
Baudricourt, my voices said, would
get me to Chinon and the unanointed
king. I left my family, my
friends, everything I had loved or
known. I did not say goodbye;
they would not have let me leave. I
was a girl. I was alone. There
was no other choice but to deceive.
HE Voice said to me: “. . . Go, raise the siege which is being made before the city of Orléans. Go!” it added, “to Robert de Baudricourt” . . . I went to my uncle [Durand Laxart] and said that I wished to stay with him for a time. I remained there eight days. I said to him, “I must go to Vaucouleurs.”
* * *
Joan
Trial of Condemnation
The Road to Vaucouleurs
I do not know where I begin.
And where I end I do not
know. I do not move but still
I bend. Was I a traitor or her
friend? What does her destiny
portend? I do not know.
* * *
Upon my back I felt her weight.
She walked alone upon my back.
She passed the fields, the mound-
ed stacks, the surest step I’ve ever
known and yet a girl not fully
grown upon my back.
* * *
I took her there. To her longed-
for destination I took her.
There was no choice. I took
her where she would begin her
new vocation. To her glory
and damnation, I took her there.
* * *
I do not know where I begin.
And where I end I do not know.
I do not move but still I bend.
Was I a traitor or her friend?
What does her destiny por-
tend? I do not know.
Joan
I never once looked back.
From that bright morning to this
black day, there’s been for me
no other way. In the fearless song
of every serenading bird,
I hear one pure and piercing anthem:
Onward!
HEN I arrived, I recognized Robert de Baudricourt, although I had never seen him. I knew him, thanks to my Voice, which made me recognize him. I said to Robert, “I must go into France!” [France was equivalent to wherever Charles was.] Twice Robert refused to hear me, and repulsed me. The third time, he received me, and furnished me with men.
* * *
Joan
Trial of Condemnation
Robert De Baudricourt
It is a testimony to my iron will
that Vaucouleurs has never lost its way.
I have kept the English army out
because I am a man, the kind of man
who brooks no fools. I have no time
for prophets, seers, dupes who have a dream
* * *
and think it leads to truth. What is a dream
but a storehouse of a day’s events? And who will
say it’s more is he who wastes my time.
Or so I used to say, the narrow way
I used to think. Now I’m like a man
evicted from his home, who’s been turned out
* * *
from the com
fort of his own beliefs, out-
done and conquered by a girl who dreamed
that she and she alone would do what no man
has done, who came to me and said, “I will
expel from France all those who break away
from Charles, the rightful king, and the time
has come for you to help me in my quest.” But time
was short, she said. She insisted she must go out
of Vaucouleurs, that I must help her find her way
to Charles, that I must help fulfill her dream,
that I, Robert, was subject to her will,
which was the holy will of God. What man
* * *
would dare to speak to me like this? What man
would have such insolence? Time after time
she came to me. A girl! But the power of her will
was stronger than my own. Twice, I threw her out
but dogged as a sharp, recurrent dream,
she reappeared, standing in my doorway
* * *
like a boulder, in her off-putting way,
her shoulders squared, as bold as any man
I’ve ever known. Now I often daydream
about that uncanny girl. Though my time
in Vaucouleurs with her was brief, throughout
my life, I’ve not met another like her. I never will.
* * *
In the end, I was a man in a dream, her dream,
and afflicted with the sentiment that my time was running out.
“Take what you need,” I said. “I will not stand in your way.”
Joan
I endured the scorn of Baudricourt,
his contempt, his mocking laughter, and
the rank hostility of all
the men who came after. Though assailed
by their derision, I prevailed.
My vision never faltered. I
stood in front of them unafraid,
unaltered, until gradually
their privilege and their power
began to fade and weaken like
a flower in a time of drought.
If ever I was plagued by
anxiety or doubt, I put it
aside and fought arrogance with
arrogance and pride with
burnished pride.
Fire
I thrill I thrill I thrill my darling
I thrill I thrill I thrill
I burn I burn I burn my darling
I burn I burn I burn
I yearn I yearn I yearn my darling
I yearn I yearn I yearn
Joan
“Take what you need,” he said. I stood
before him in my red dress and
made a list. I would need men to
give assistance and escort me,
men who would comport themselves
with honor, men I could trust, men
who could control their lust. For when
we traveled to Chinon, I would
have no female chaperone to
shield me from these knights and squires,
who might publicly admire my
valor and my spirit but privately
would prove themselves by trying to
get near it. The road, I knew, was
treacherous, our enemies
surrounding us until we crossed
the river Loire, our destination
far away. So I determined,
come what may, that I would not depart
unarmed. I would meet the future
king unharmed, untouched by guide or
English horde. My heart was pounding in
my side when I asked him for his sword.
ROM Vaucouleurs, I departed . . . armed with a sword given me by Robert de Baudricourt, but without other arms.
* * *
Joan
Trial of Condemnation
The Sword
Joan
But I knew a sword was not enough.
I would not meet my king in a
rough red dress, a signal that I
was less than I knew myself to
be. My blessed saints had given me
the liberty that I had always
craved, a freedom I had not been
brave enough to take. Now, at last,
I resolved that I would shake off
the russet shell that had defined
me, locked in, constrained, and
undermined me. The young dauphin
would find the Maid as she was truly
meant to be. Though I knew I would
ridicule and personal attack,
I took a breath and crossed a line.
There would be no going back.
HEN Jeannette was at Vaucouleurs, I saw her dressed in a red dress, poor and worn.
* * *
Jean de Metz, squire
Trial of Nullification
The Red Dress
I can’t forget that day
in Vaucouleurs. She tore me
from her body as if I’d stained
her skin, and left me like a
corpse on the cold, indurate floor.
She’d worn me every day—no
choice—but at her very core she bore
me an antipathy as sharp as any pin. No,
I won’t forget that day in Vaucouleurs—
the way she turned and walked so boldly
out the door, leaving me to wonder, alone
with my chagrin, as lifeless as a corpse on a cold,
indurate floor. I’d never heard her laugh like that
before, as if she’d been relieved of agony that
twisted deep within. On that strange and fateful day
in Vaucouleurs, it was in that very room she knelt
and swore to never wear a woman’s shift again.
Once she left me on that cold, indurate floor, she disap-
peared; I never saw her more. What was my transgression?
What my sin? Forgotten in the town of Vaucouleurs,
abandoned like a corpse on a cold, indurate floor.
Joan
The dress was made of homespun that
I myself had cut and sewn, yet
it pressed against my shoulders as
cumbersome as stone. There were times
I had the strange idea it longed
to pull me down. But I would have
felt the same in any dress or
gown, even those constructed of
rich brocades and lace. In vestments
other women wear with ease, I
felt false and out of place. But that
day in Vaucouleurs I knew there
was attire that suited me much
better, clothing in which I saw
myself solid and unfettered,
and in which I would no longer
play the mute in a dishonorable
charade. So I stepped out of the
red dress and left behind the
masquerade, the costume, and the
mask. And with it Joan the girl and
daughter, and her domestic tasks.
ASKED her when she wished to start. “Sooner at once than tomorrow, and sooner tomorrow than later,” she said. I asked her also if she could make this journey dressed as she was. She replied she would willingly take a man’s dress.
* * *
Jean de Metz, squire
Trial of Nullification
The Tunic
Joan
I have led men into the nether-
world of battle. I have contended
to the tumult and the rattle
of besmirched and bloodied swords. I
have rallied screaming soldiers toward
their death, stepped over fallen warriors
to the rasp of their last breath. But
the boldest action I have
&n
bsp; taken was in that domestic
dressing room. It led directly
to myself, and directly to
my doom. How often did they ask
me why I would not wear a dress.
How they frequently berated
me and urged me to confess that
to put on the clothes of men was
a foul abomination. They
said it was a mortal sin and
even promised me salvation
from the smoke and scorching fire if
I would just recant and put on
women’s attire, the way, they said,
that God Himself intended. They
said my tunic and my doublet
derided and offended all
that to Him was sacred. And in
a moment of great weakness, I
recanted and relented. They
offered me a dress; I nodded and
consented and said that I would
wear it. But once back in my tower
cell, I knew I could not bear it—