Voices Read online

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

  be subject to every kind of

  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—