Chapter 47
FRED. Gave me a turn to see you pick it up like that.
JEANNE [_putting it on her head_]. The English wreath is in its right place now. Here, on the head of Jeanne d'Arc. I'll wear that wreath forever. Give me your hand, you English soldier.
FRED. I've not washed since morning, lady.
JEANNE. Your hand, that fights for France. [_She takes it._] And yours, soldier of France.
PAUL. Jeanne! But you--[_Holding back timidly._]
JEANNE. I am where I would always be--[_she has a hand of both_]--amongst my fighting men. They have set me on a pedestal and made a saint of me, but I am better here, between you two, both soldiers of France. They will not let me fight for France to-day. Save for this mystic hour on Christmas Eve I am a thing of stone. But Jeanne lives on. Her spirit fights for France to-day as Jeanne fought five hundred years ago. And, in this hour when I am granted speech, I say, "Fight on, fight on for France till France and Belgium are free and the invader pays the price of treachery. And you, you English who have come to France, and you in England who are making arms for France, I, who have hated you, I, whom you burnt, I, Jeanne d'Arc of Rheims and Orleans, I give you thanks. My people are your people, and my cause your cause. Vivent! Vivent les Anglais!" [_During this speech she drops the soldiers' hands. They resume gradually their sleeping att.i.tudes. JEANNE mounts her pedestal, and gives the last words from it, then becomes stone again. The light fades to darkness, then becomes the moonlight of the opening. BLANCHE enters L. She goes to the steps, looks at the sleeping soldiers, and stands above them. Her basket is empty but for one flower._]
PAUL [_stirring and seeing her_]. Jeanne!
BLANCHE. My name is Blanche, monsieur.
PAUL. But I--you--[_he rises_]. Mademoiselle, you are very like--
BLANCHE. I am the flower-girl whom you saw before you went to sleep, and I am very like myself, monsieur.
PAUL. Was I asleep? [_Looks at statue._] Yes. There is Jeanne.
BLANCHE. Where else should Jeanne be but on her pedestal?
FRED [_stirring_]. Revelley again before you've hardly closed your blooming eyes. [_Sits up sharply on seeing BLANCHE._] Hullo!
You're--you're--[_Turns to PAUL._] Why, c.o.c.key, it
PAUL. You saw her too?
FRED. Saw her? Of course I seen her. She's there. Ain't you and me been talking familiar with her for the last ten minutes?
PAUL. Yes, with Jeanne.
FRED. Took my 'and she did, and chanced the dirt.
BLANCHE. You have been dreaming, monsieur. C'etait une reverie.
FRED. Who's raving? Well, it may be raving, but we all raved together.
You and me and 'im, and I'll eat my bayonet raw if you didn't stand there and take us by the hands and tell us you were that there Joan of Arc what used to tell old Bonaparte what to do when he was in an 'ole.
BLANCHE. It was not I. There is the statue, monsieur. [_Points to it._]
FRED. Where? [_Looks._] Well, that's queer. You're the dead spit and image of 'er, too. And 'ere, 'ere, c.o.c.key! [_Takes PAUL's arm excitedly._]
PAUL. Monsieur?
FRED. Look at the statue. Look at its head. Who put that wreath on it?
Did you climb up there?
PAUL. No.
FRED. No. You know you didn't. We saw her put it on herself.
PAUL. But, monsieur, then you have dreamed the same dream as I.
FRED. I saw you all right, and you saw me?
PAUL. I saw you.
FRED. And we both saw 'er. It's a rum go, c.o.c.key, but I told you I'd given up being surprised. Our lot and yours we're going whacks in licking the Germans, ain't we? Yus, and now we're going whacks in the same dream, so that's that and chance it. Ententing again, only extra cordial. [_Scratches head._] I don't quite see where she comes in, though, if she ain't the statue.
BLANCHE. I am a flower-girl, monsieur.
FRED. Not so many flowers about you, then.
BLANCHE. I have sold out, all but one flower, monsieur, and I came back to see if you [_to PAUL_] had got your wish.
PAUL. Yes, mademoiselle, I had my wish. The saints sent Jeanne to me in a dream.
BLANCHE. You happy man, to get your wis.h.!.+
PAUL. I am happy, mademoiselle. I have spoken with Jeanne d'Arc.
FRED. And you and me will be speaking with our sergeants if we don't buck up and catch that blinking train. Come on, old son, back to the Big Stink for us.
BLANCHE. Messieurs return to fight?
FRED. Lord love you, no. It's only a rumor about the war. We're a Cook's excursion on a joy-ride seeing the sights of France. [_FRED and PAUL move R. together._]
BLANCHE. Monsieur!
FRED [_stopping_]. Well?
BLANCHE. I kept one flower back. It is for you--for the brave English soldier who goes out to fight for France.
FRED. Don't make me homesick. Reminds me of the flower-pots on my kitchen window-sill. [_Takes flower and produces chocolate._] 'Ere, miss, 'ave a bit of chocolate. Made in England, that was.
BLANCHE. Monsieur will need it for himself.
FRED. Go on. Take it. I'm all right. It's Christmas Day and extra rations. [_Kisses her._]
BLANCHE. Merci, monsieur. Et bonne chance, mes braves, bonne chance.
FRED. Oh, we'll chance it all right. Merry Christmas, old dear. [_FRED and PAUL go off together R. BLANCHE watches them go. Lights in the church go out. Girls enter L. as if coming from Ma.s.s, singing a carol._]
GIRLS
Noel! Noel! thy babe that lies Within the manger, Mother-Maid, Is King of earth and Paradise, O guard him well, Noel, Noel Ye shepherds sing, be not afraid.
O little hills of France, awake, For angel hosts are chanting high, His heart is pierced for our sake, Noel, Noel, we guard him well, He liveth though all else shall die.