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Updated: June 28, 2025
No whisper ever reached Esclairmonde that the terrible Pucelle was a maiden as pure and high-souled as herself.
Take her, Milor—take your Joan of Arc; I would not attempt to deprive you of her if she were a real flesh and blood Pucelle, and my own sister.” The Englishman, with a grand oath, seized the Comte’s hand in both his own, and shook it heartily; then scrambling up his paraphernalia of war, spoke a hurried farewell, and disappeared down the stairs.
With one impassioned glance at the figure of La Pucelle, he threw himself into his fiaker, and drove rapidly out of sight.
About the commencement of the XVIth century, the houses in the neighbourhood of the church of Saint-Eloi and the rue du Vieux-Palais, were erected; one of them still remains, it is the Hôtel da Bourgtheroulde, which I have already described. The old market was thus divided, into two unequal parts. The spot where the innocent Joan of Arc was burnt in 1431, retains the name of place de la Pucelle.
First they made for Jargeau, but they came too late, and then they rode to Meun, and would have assailed the French in the bridge-fort, but, even then, they heard how Beaugency had yielded to La Pucelle, and how the garrison was departed into Normandy, like pilgrims, without swords, and staff in hand.
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.
The French have performed nothing in this kind which is not far below those two Italians, and subject to a thousand more reflections, without examining their "St. Louis," their "Pucelle," or their "Alaric." The English have only to boast of Spenser and Milton, who neither of them wanted either genius or learning to have been perfect poets; and yet both of them are liable to many censures.
Now, I affirm that she did not; not in any sense of the word "thought" applicable to the case. Here is France calumniating La Pucelle: here is England defending her. M. Michelet can only mean, that, on a priori principles, every woman must be presumed liable to such a weakness; that Joanna was a woman; ergo, that she was liable to such a weakness.
Like all provincials of his generation, he had been brought up on the Latin Classics, many pages of which he knew by heart, and also a mass of proverbs, and on La Fontaine and Boileau, the Boileau of L'Art Poetique, and, above all, of Lutrin, on the author of La Pucelle, and the poetae minores of the eighteenth century, in whose manner he squeezed out a certain number of poems.
Joanna, therefore, in her quiet occupation of a shepherdess, would be led continually to brood over the political condition of her country, by the traditions of the past no less than by the mementoes of the local present. M. Michelet, indeed, says that La Pucelle was not a shepherdess. I beg his pardon: she was.
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