Jean D' Arc

I'm still waiting for my story to be published. This is getting to be a mild form of torture. I'll try to keep my perspective though--they could force me to wear women's underwear and throw my first edition copy of Twain's Joan of Arc in the toilet.

I've never mentioned that before, but that was a great book. Reading it now, it was a bit of a dry read, like reading Shakespeare, only four hundred times more comprehensible. It's the one book that could actually make me believe there is a God. Seriously. I tend to believe science and provable facts, which pretty much has me scanning channels on Sundays.

Back in Jean D' Arc's day, in fourteen hundred-ish (I'm not looking anything up, so sue me), France was at a low point. I would have used the superlative, but France has a long and arduous history. To say this was its lowest is not for me to determine--but let's just say this was among them. Bodies lay in the streets decaying and nobody bothered to bury them up, opting to leave them for the wolves to feast upon in the night. England was winning the war between them, and it was generally accepted that it was just a matter of time. At least to my understanding.

Jean D' Arc lived in a tiny village called Domremy, which still exists today, although I have never seen it. I believe she was sixteen at the time. The story goes that she was visited by an angel that told her to visit the French king and acquire from him an army. No small feat, wouldn't you agree? But she did it. The king was suspect at first, but the angel had told her some secrets about him that only he would know, and those she whispered in his ear. That's the legend anyway. History reads that the king granted her request, that she rode at the army's head and crushed the occupation.

There are many explanations any good fiction writer could propose as to how this came about. Perhaps the king was so desultory that any glimmer of hope, even that sparked by such an unlikely catalyst, was worth a try. Perhaps the king had simply given up, a man with his head clamped a Guillotine, staring wild-eyed at the basket where his head will fall. But this makes me think. She was sixteen. I'm scared when I see a sixteen year old of either sex behind the wheel of a car. But this little girl not only convinced the king, but all of his generals too, who were none too pleased at first. But time after time, she was prescient in her strategies, as if an angel were telling her the enemy's next move.

So grateful was the French king for her country's deliverance that he exempted the village of Domremy of taxation, an exemption that lasted for a couple centuries. He wasn't grateful enough though, to intervene when the English finally captured her and burnt her at the stake.

Read Twain's fictionalized version. First, it's classic Twain, full of colorful characters. He researched the work for seven years before writing a single word. It's obvious that he fell in love with his subject.

One thing I've noticed though. The French could give a shit about her. One reaction I got: "What is it about you and Jean D' Arc?" The other: "France has been on the brink of destruction so many times. That's just one of them."

That goes a long way in explaining why they let her burn.

I think GW would say: "Joan of Arc is... I mean was... I mean, France owes a huge debt to Joan of Arc. Now watch this golf shot."