Neither to her parents，nor to the curéwhen she made her confession，does she seem to have communicated these strange experiences，though they had lasted for some time before she felt impelled to act upon them，and could keep silence no longer.She was but thirteen when the revelations began and she was seventeen when at last she set forth to fulfil her mission.She had no guidance from her voices，she herself says，as to whether she should tell or not tell what had been communicated to her；and no doubt was kept back by her shyness，and by the dreamy confusion of childhood between the real and unreal.One would have thought that a life in which these visions were of constant recurrence would have been rapt altogether out of wholesome use and wont，and all practical service.But this does not seem for a moment to have been the case.Jeanne was no hysterical girl，living with her head in a mist，abstracted from the world.She had all the enthusiasms even of youthful friendship，other girls surrounding her with the intimacy of the village，paying her visits，staying all night，sharing her room and her bed.She was ready to be sent for by any poor woman that needed help or nursing，she was always industrious at her needle；one would love to know if perhaps in the /Trésor/at Rheims there was some stole or maniple with flowers on it，wrought by her hands.But the /Trésor/at Rheims is nowadays rather vulgar if truth must be told，and the bottles and vases for the consecration of Charles X.that /pauvre sire/，are more thought of than relics of an earlier age.
At length，however，one does not know how，the secret of her double life came out.No doubt long brooding over these voices，long intercourse with such celestial visitors，and the mission continually pressed upon her--meaningless to the child at first，a thing only to shed terrified tears over and wonder at--ripened her intelligence so that she came at last to perceive that it was practicable，a thing to be done，a charge to be obeyed.She had this before her，as a girl in ordinary circumstances has the new developments of life to think of，and how to be a wife and mother.And the news brought by every passer-by would prove doubly interesting，doubly important to Jeanne，in her daily growing comprehension of what she was called upon to do.As she felt the current more and more catching her feet，sweeping her on，overcoming all resistance in her own mind，she must have been more and more anxious to know what was going on in the distracted world，more and more touched by that great pity which had awakened her soul.And all these reports were of a nature to increase that pity till it became overwhelming.The tales she would hear of the English must have been tales of cruelty and horror；not so many years ago what tales did not we hear of German ferocity in the French villages，perhaps not true at all，yet making their impression always；and it was more probable in that age that every such story should be true.Then the compassion which no one can help feeling for a young man deprived of his rights，his inheritance taken from him，his very life in danger，threatened by the stranger and usurper，was deepened in every particular by the fact that it was the King，the very impersonation of France，appointed by God as the head of the country，who was in danger.Everything that Jeanne heard would help to swell the stream.
Thus she must have come step by step--this extraordinary，impossible suggestion once sown in her dreaming soul--to perceive a kind of miraculous reasonableness in it，to see its necessity，and how everything pointed towards such a deliverance.It would have seemed natural to believe that the prophecies of the countryside which promised a virgin from an oak grove，a maiden from Lorraine，to deliver France，might have affected her mind，did we not have it from her own voice that she had never heard that prophecy[1]；but the word of the blessed Michael，so often repeated，was more than an old wife's tale；and the child's alarm would seem to have died away as she came to her full growth.And Jeanne was no ethereal spirit lost in visions，but a robust and capable peasant girl，fearing little，and full of sense and determination，as well as of an inspiration so far above the level of the crowd.We hear with wonder afterwards that she had the making of a great general in her untutored female soul，--which is perhaps the most wonderful thing in her career，--and saw with the eye of an experienced and able soldier，as even Dunois did not always see it，the fit order of an attack，the best arrangement of the forces at her command.This I honestly avow is to me the most incredible point in the story.I am not disturbed by the apparition of the saints；there is in them an ineffable appropriateness and fitness against which the imagination，at least，has not a word to say.The wonder is not，to the natural mind，that such interpositions of heaven come，but that they come so seldom.But that Jacques d'Arc's daughter，the little girl over her sewing，whose only fault was that she went to church too often，should have the genius of a soldier，is too bewildering for words to say.A poet，yes，an inspiring influence leading on to miraculous victory；but a general，skilful with the rude artillery of the time，divining the better way in strategy，--this is a wonder beyond the reach of our faculties；yet according to Alen？on，Dunois，and other military authorities，it was true.
