Monday, March 28, 2011

Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc

Over spring break I glanced at a book on my bookshelf and surprised, picked it up. I had no idea that Mark Twain wrote a book about Joan of Arc; even more surprising, that he thought it was his best work. I figured it was his big chance to poke fun at organized religion; his humorous disdain of it is rather well-known. But most surprising of all, I noticed the book was published by Ignatius, a Catholic publisher (so it couldn't be too irreverent), and as I was reading, I realized Mark Twain adored this girl. After reading his book, so do I.

Personal Recollections is told by her first page and secretary, Sieur Louis de Conte, who was purportedly with her from childhood to martyrdom. But such details are irrelevant; the obvious hero (excuse me - heroine) is Joan of Arc from the first page to the last, working her will despite any and all obstacles. She convinces and charms all who speak to her; after her review of Blois Camp, I was ready to follow her myself.  The work is similar in some ways to The Stars My Destination in that it is giant refutation of Tolstoy's account of history, but it is far more effective in this vein than Bester's work. Joan of Arc had a mission and a world-changing directive. If time is a river and us commoners are but small grains of sand or pebbles, she is a gigantic boulder. Flawless character, passionate, resolute religious faith, extraordinary nobility, and unbelievable courage are only a few of her traits. When reading of the conclusion of her trial I sank down and wanted to weep, and this feeling arises in me but exceptionally rarely.

Equally impressive is Twain's restraint. He does not use this book to express his criticism or reservations of the Catholic Church, though he has both and both are real. Joan of Arc has neither, and in distancing himself from her via de Conte, Twain keeps his silence. Joan was neither feminist, lesbian, nor transvestite opposing oppressive Catholic traditions and he does not write her as being such; rather her nature comes to us as it was made clear to him over twelve years of research in France.

I had heard something of her exploits before, and admired her through Chesterton's brief mention in Orthodoxy, but reading Personal Recollections floored me. Many of her deeds are common knowledge: raising the siege of Orleans, the Loire Campaign, Patay, The Bloodless March, Rheims, but seeing her ride down her path like a thunderbolt was awe-inspiring. It is true, as one reviewer complained, that the battles lack suspense; I minded that not at all, for I was under her spell and swept along with her in victory after victory. I am not a partisan concerning the Hundred Year's War, but I admire greatness in all its forms, and St. Joan of Arc, a poor peasant girl of eighteen, is the greatest solely human being I know of - man or woman, and Mark Twain enabled me to see that.

"Whatever men call great, search for it in Joan of Arc and you will find it."