Why did this hard-bitten cultural critic, cynic and skeptic write a tender and hagiographic historical novel about a medieval French Catholic warrior-saint? From his own comments over the decades, he wasn’t especially fond of the French he thought the medieval period was an age of superstition and ignorance he mocked patriotism as just another brand of thoughtless provincialism and he certainly was no fan or defender of organized religion. 1896’s Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc was, and still is, a mystery to many. As many of my long-time readers may know, I’ve long had a fascination with Joan of Arc and with Mark Twain’s book about her.
When reading a book of Mark Twain‘s letters to select one for an intellectual history seminar presentation last year (this is a lightly edited version of that very presentation) this letter to H.H. The family seldom requires this of me, but they know I am not working today. Possibly the book may not sell, but that is nothing-it was written for love.
But on this last third I have constantly used five French sources and five English ones and I think no telling historical nugget in any of them that has escaped me.
The first two-thirds of the book were easy for I only needed to keep my historical record straight therefore I used for reference only one French history and one English one -and shoveled in as much fancy work and invention on both sides of the historical road as I pleased. It was a perilous thing to try in a tale, but I never believed it a doubtful one-provided I stuck strictly to business and didn’t weaken and give up: or didn’t get lazy and skimp the work. Although it is mere history-history pure and simple-history stripped naked of flowers, embroideries, colorings, exaggerations, inventions-the family agree that I have succeeded. For I wanted the whole Rouen trial in, if it could be got in in such a way that the reader’s interest would not flag-in fact I wanted the reader’s interest to increase and so I stuck to it with that determination in view-with the result that I have left nothing out but unimportant repetitions. I have never done any work before that caused so much thinking and weighing and measuring and planning and cramming, or so much cautious and painstaking execution.
I judged that this end of the book would be hard work, and it turned out to be so. With the long strain gone, I am in a sort of physical collapse today, but it will be gone tomorrow. …At 6 minutes past 7, yesterday evening, Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. Mark Twain on the USS Mohican in the Seattle Harbor, about to embark for Europe, 1895Įxcerpt from a letter from Mark Twain to H.H.
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