Saint Joan

George Bernard Shaw

• Publisher: Clydesdale
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781949846034
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

Rediscover the story of the inspirational Saint Joan of Arc with the classic play by George Bernard Shaw. The historical saint begins her story as a simple country girl in fifteenthcentury France who is inspired by visions from God to help liberate her country from the English. She secures soldier's clothing and convinces the soon-to-be king, Charles, to begin battling for his country. Though her regiment succeeds in battle after battle, her enemies (the English) move against her. When Joan moves to liberate Paris from the English control—against the advice of her friends—she is captured and tried for heresy. Despite help from a Bishop and the Inquisitor, who truly want to see Joan succeed, her beliefs simply do not match with the Church; people do not hear visions from God, only from the church, therefore Joan must be possessed by demons. Subsequently, Joan is sentenced to death. Now read this beautiful new edition of the talented George Bernard Shaw's play, SaintJoan. Discover why the Catholic Church made this young woman into one of the most famous saints known today.

SAINT JOAN

SCENE I

A fine spring morning on the river Meuse, between Lorraine and Champagne, in the year 1429 A.D., in the castle of Vaucouleurs.

Captain ROBERT DE BAUDRICOURT, a military squire, handsome and physically energetic, but with no will of his own, is disguising that defect in his usual fashion by storming terribly at his STEWARD, a trodden worm, scanty of flesh, scanty of hair, who might be any age from 18 to 55, being the sort of man whom age cannot wither because he has never bloomed.

The two are in a sunny stone chamber on the first floor of the castle. At a plain strong oak table, seated in chair to match, the CAPTAIN presents his left profile. The STEWARD stands facing him at the other side of the table, if so deprecatory a stance as his can be called standing. The mullioned thirteenth–century window is open behind him. Near it in the corner is a turret with a narrow arched doorway leading to a winding stair which descends to the courtyard. There is a stout fourlegged stool under the table, and a wooden chest under the window.

ROBERT: No eggs! No eggs!! Thousand thunders, man, what do you mean by no eggs?

STEWARD: Sir: it is not my fault. It is the act of God.

ROBERT: Blasphemy. You tell me there are no eggs; and you blame your Maker for it.

STEWARD: Sir: what can I do? I cannot lay eggs.

ROBERT: [sarcastic] Ha! You jest about it.

STEWARD: No, sir, God knows. We all have to go without eggs just as you have, sir. The hens will not lay.

ROBERT: Indeed! [Rising] Now listen to me, you.

STEWARD: [humbly] Yes, sir.

ROBERT: What am I?

STEWARD: What are you, sir?

ROBERT: [coming at him] Yes: what am I? Am I Robert, squire of Baudricourt and captain of this castle of Vaucouleurs; or am I a cowboy?

STEWARD: Oh, sir, you know you are a greater man here than the king himself.

ROBERT: Precisely. And now, do you know what you are?

STEWARD: I am nobody, sir, except that I have the honor to be your steward.

ROBERT: [driving him to the wall, adjective by adjective] You have not only the honor of being my steward, but the privilege of being the worst, most incompetent, driveling, sniveling, jibbering, jabbering idiot of a steward in France. [He strides back to the table].

STEWARD: [cowering on the chest] Yes, sir: to a great man like you I must seem like that.

ROBERT: [turning] My fault, I suppose. Eh?

STEWARD: [coming to him deprecatingly] Oh, sir: you always give my most innocent words such a turn!

ROBERT: I will give your neck a turn if you dare tell me when I ask you how many eggs there are that you cannot lay any.

STEWARD: [protesting] Oh sir, oh sir—

ROBERT: No: not oh sir, oh sir, but no sir, no sir. My three Barbary hens and the black are the best layers in Champagne. And you come and tell me that there are no eggs! Who stole them? Tell me that, before I kick you out through the castle gate for a liar and a seller of my goods to thieves. The milk was short yesterday, too: do not forget that.

STEWARD: [desperate] I know, sir. I know only too well. There is no milk: there are no eggs: tomorrow there will be nothing.

ROBERT: Nothing! You will steal the lot: eh?

STEWARD: No, sir: nobody will steal anything. But there is a spell on us: we are bewitched.

ROBERT: That story is not good enough for me. Robert de Baudricourt burns witches and hangs thieves. Go. Bring me four dozen eggs and two gallons of milk here in this room before noon, or Heaven have mercy on your bones! I will teach you to make a fool of me. [He resumes his seat with an air of finality].

STEWARD: Sir: I tell you there are no eggs. There will be none—not if you were to kill me for it—as long as The Maid is at the door.

ROBERT: The Maid! What maid? What are you talking about?

STEWARD: The girl from Lorraine, sir. From Domrémy.

ROBERT: [rising in fearful wrath] Thirty thousand thunders! Fifty thousand devils! Do you mean to say that that girl, who had the impudence to ask to see me two days ago, and whom I told you to send back to her father with my orders that he was to give her a good hiding, is here still?

STEWARD: I have told her to go, sir. She won’t.

ROBERT: I did not tell you to tell her to go: I told you to throw her out. You have fifty men-at-arms and a dozen lumps of able-bodied servants to carry out my orders. Are they afraid of her?

STEWARD: She is so positive, sir.

ROBERT: [seizing him by the scruff of the neck] Positive! Now see here. I am going to throw you downstairs.

STEWARD: No, sir. Please.

ROBERT: Well, stop me by being positive. It’s quite easy: any slut of a girl can do it.

STEWARD: [hanging limp in his hands] Sir, sir: you cannot get rid of her by throwing me out. [Robert has to let him drop. He squats on his knees on the floor, contemplating his master resignedly]. You see, sir, you are much more positive than I am. But so is she.

ROBERT: I am stronger than you are, you fool.

STEWARD: No, sir: it isn’t that: it’s your strong character, sir. She is weaker than we are: she is only a slip of a girl; but we cannot make her go.

ROBERT: You parcel of curs: you are afraid of her.

STEWARD: [rising cautiously] No sir: we are afraid of you; but she puts courage into us. She really doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything. Perhaps you could frighten her, sir.

ROBERT: [grimly] Perhaps. Where is she now?

STEWARD: Down in the courtyard, sir, talking to the soldiers as usual. She is always talking to the soldiers except when she is praying.

ROBERT: Praying! Ha! You believe she prays, you idiot. I know the sort of girl that is always talking to soldiers. She shall talk to me a bit. [He goes to the window and shouts fiercely through it] Hallo, you there!

A GIRL’S VOICE: [bright, strong, and rough] Is it me, sir?

ROBERT: Yes, you.

THE VOICE: Be you captain?

ROBERT: Yes, damn your impudence, I be captain. Come up here. [To the soldiers in the yard] Shew her the way, you. And shove her along quick. [He leaves the window, and returns to his place at the table, where he sits magisterially].

STEWARD: [whispering] She wants to go and be a soldier herself. She wants you to give her soldier’s clothes. Armor, sir! And a sword! Actually! [He steals behind Robert].

JOAN appears in the turret doorway. She is an ablebodied country girl of 17 or 18, respectably dressed in red, with an uncommon face; eyes very wide apart and bulging as they often do in very imaginative people, a long well-shaped nose with wide nostrils, a short upper lip, resolute but full-lipped mouth, and handsome fighting chin. She comes eagerly to the table, delighted at having penetrated to BAUDRICOURT’S presence at last, and full of hope as to the results. His scowl does not check or frighten her in the least. Her voice is normally a hearty coaxing voice, very confident, very appealing, very hard to resist.

JOAN: [bobbing a curtsey] Good morning, captain squire. Captain: you are to give me a horse and armor and some soldiers, and send me to the Dauphin. Those are your orders from my Lord.

ROBERT: [outraged] Orders from your lord! And who the devil may your lord be? Go back to him, and tell him that I am neither duke nor peer at his orders: I am squire of Baudricourt; and I take no orders except from the king.

JOAN: [reassuringly] Yes, squire: that is all right. My Lord is the King of Heaven.

ROBERT: Why, the girl’s mad. [To the steward] Why didn’t you tell me so, you blockhead?

STEWARD: Sir: do not anger her: give her what she wants.

JOAN: [impatient, but friendly] They all say I am mad until I talk to them, squire. But you see that it is the will of God that you are to do what He has put into my mind.

ROBERT: It is the will of God that I shall send you back to your father with orders to put you under lock and key and thrash the madness out of you. What have you to say to that?

JOAN: You think you will, squire; but you will find it all coming quite different. You said you would not see me; but here I am.

STEWARD: [appealing] Yes, sir. You see, sir.

ROBERT: Hold your tongue, you.

STEWARD: [abjectly] Yes, sir.

ROBERT: [to Joan, with a sour loss of confidence] So you are presuming on my seeing you, are you?

JOAN: [sweetly] Yes, squire.

ROBERT: [feeling that he has lost ground, brings down his two fists squarely on the table, and inflates his chest imposingly to cure the unwelcome and only too familiar sensation] Now listen to me. I am going to assert myself.

JOAN: [busily] Please do, squire. The horse will cost sixteen francs. It is a good deal of money: but I can save it on the armor. I can find a soldier’s armor that will fit me well enough: I am very hardy; and I do not need beautiful armor made to my measure like you wear. I shall not want many soldiers: the Dauphin will give me all I need to raise the siege of Orleans.

ROBERT: [flabbergasted] To raise the siege of Orleans!

JOAN: [simply] Yes, squire: that is what God is sending me to do. Three men will be enough for you to send with me if they are good men and gentle to me. They have promised to come with me. Polly and Jack and—

ROBERT: Polly!! You impudent baggage, do you dare call squire Bertrand de Poulengey Polly to my face?

JOAN: His friends call him so, squire: I did not know he had any other name. Jack—

ROBERT: That is Monsieur John of Metz, I suppose?

JOAN: Yes, squire. Jack will come willingly: he is a very kind gentleman, and gives me money to give to the poor. I think John Godsave will come, and Dick the Archer, and their servants John of Honecourt and Julian. There will be no trouble for you, squire: I have arranged it all: you have only to give the order.

ROBERT: [contemplating her in a stupor of amazement] Well, I am damned!

JOAN: [with unruffled sweetness] No, squire: God is very merciful; and the blessed saints Catherine and Margaret, who speak to me every day [he gapes], will intercede for you. You will go to paradise; and your name will be remembered for ever as my first...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Half-Title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• PREFACE
• SAINT JOAN