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Updated: May 10, 2025
She persuaded him to disobey the King in the interest of the nation, and to be reconciled to Count Richemont and welcome him. That was statesmanship; and of the highest and soundest sort. Whatever thing men call great, look for it in Joan of Arc, and there you will find it. In the early morning, June 17th, the scouts reported the approach of Talbot and Fastolfe with Fastolfe's succoring force.
And yonder, receding, receding, plumes lifting and falling, lifting and falling, streamed the thundering charge of La Hire's godless crew, La Hire's great figure dominating it and his sword stretched aloft like a flagstaff. "Oh, Satan and his Hellions, see them go!" Somebody muttered it in deep admiration. And now he was closing up closing up on Fastolfe's rushing corps.
There are so many touches of character and definite incidents which apply in common to the two knights that the poet has been assumed to have had the historic Fastolfe ever in view when drawing the portrait of his Falstaff. The historian Fuller assumed this to have been the case, for he complains that the "stage have been overbold" in dealing with Fastolfe's memory.
And now he struck it struck it hard, and broke its order. It lifted the duke and the Bastard in their saddles to see it; and they turned, trembling with excitement, to Joan, saying: "Now!" But she put up her hand, still gazing, weighing, calculating, and said again: "Wait not yet." Fastolfe's hard-driven battle-corps raged on like an avalanche toward the waiting advance-guard.
Some alarm seems to have been felt among the French troops at the news of Fastolfe's approach. Joan mildly rebuked those who showed anxiety by saying to them: 'Were I not sure of success, I would prefer to keep sheep than to endure these perils. The faubourgs of the town of Jargeau were attacked and taken, but before storming the place, Joan, according to her habit, sent a summons to the army.
Then we plunged into the ruck of Fastolfe's frantic battle-corps and tore through it like a hurricane, leaving a causeway of the dead stretching far behind; no tarrying, no slacking rein, but on! on! on! far yonder in the distance lay our prey Talbot and his host looming vast and dark like a storm-cloud brooding on the sea!
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