How my devotion to St. Joan of Arc led me to be a Monarchist


My devotion to St. Joan of Arc expressed itself initially as simply a love for the person of St. Joan. That person of St. Joan is a soul magnified by the Lord our Savior in a related, though inferior, manner to the Blessed Virgin Mary’s, whereby we see the glory of God reflected through the prism of her soul. This reflection of St. Joan combined with that of St. Thérèse represents what I often refer to as “the most beautiful color in the Heavens”:

“St. Joan and St. Thérèse, together they are the most beautiful color in the Heavens!”

This outpouring of devotion for St. Joan ended up being far more spiritually and mentally transformational than I ever before would have imagined. Whereas in this devotion I initially found myself more imbued with the life of Christ than I had been in my previous cultural paradigm, this soon turned to a broader interest in Joan’s 15th century France and the contemporary cultural circumstances that led to such a heroic life, indeed among the most heroic lives in all of human history. I felt a strong tug on my heart to explore the history surrounding St. Joan.

Like many historical studies, this adventure continually seemed to require a wider and wider view. It was like dropping a rock in a pond and watching the ripples move outward in all directions. The more I learned of Joan, the more I wanted to know about the influences on the periphery. She was engaged and decisive in the Hundred Years War between England and France. What was the Hundred Years War? She was persecuted in her trial of inquisition by a deceptive, ill-willed Bishop and a group of theologians from the University of Paris who supported the erroneous and destructive “collegial” approach to Church governance rather than the traditional “Monarchical” model grounded in Christ’s model of the Church on the Rock of Peter. What was that all about? The timid dauphin, Charles VII, whom Joan was dragging desperately to his own coronation as King of France, was a Valois, a cadet branch of the Capetians. What? It was absolutely essential that Charles be anointed with the sacred oil of Clovis, the first Catholic King of the Franks who was baptized and blessed with this very oil by St. Rémy at Rheims in 496 AD. How does that all tie in?


The studies that followed opened my eyes to the noble and sacred roles that the Monarchies played in building Christendom. I came to see the role of the temporal Monarchy as critical to the role of the Church in Medieval times, even though the temporal Monarchy fulfilled it’s role as imperfectly and, at times as scandalously, as did the Church in fulfilling her own role.

I came to see that Joan’s vision of Monarchy was one that had its final Form, not in the “kingdoms of man,” but in the “Kingdom of God” where Christ ruled as King of all  Kings. Then, of course, there was that part about her actual visions from Heaven, not just the mental images she had in her head. Those visions of real angels and real saints who now abide in their own glory in Heaven told her that Jesus Christ was the true King of France and that Charles VII, as the temporal king, was Our Lord’s steward on earth.

I mused over what I was learning. Through public revelation, the Lord had a Vicar on earth in the Pope for His Church. Through private revelation to Joan of Arc, He had a temporal steward for His Kingdom of France. This is where Joan’s heart was. It was in the mystical Kingdom of France that had a temporal order in its earthly king, Charles VII, and a Divine Order through its Heavenly King, Jesus Christ. France, for Joan, was the place on earth where God’s Kingdom was to come “on earth as it is in Heaven.”

Given my love and devotion for St. Joan of Arc, bequeathed to me from Our Lord through the Virgin Mary and in cooperation with Ste. Thérèse de Lisieux, I was empowered with a union of St. Joan’s heart. If France was a mystical kingdom whereby Our Lord is served as King of Kings, then I wanted to serve Him as well alongside Joan of Arc.

Jeanne CRAA Frost

The Monarchist in me was born. It is a Monarchism grounded in the heart of St. Joan of Arc which sees France as the Eldest Daughter of the Church serving Our Lord as King of Kings. How far France is from that model today!

Thus, by consequence, how great is the need in our world today for “devotion to Traditional French Catholicism and the Renaissance of Catholic France!”

Ste. Jehanne et Ste. Thérèse, avec la Vierge Marie, prient pour nous!


Pope St. Pius X’s “Prophecy for France”

Le Royaume blog Sept 2015 with mission

I am most grateful to a friend from Belgium who, while reading the works of Pope St. Pius X, stumbled upon the great saint’s “Prophecy for France” in which we at “Ste. Jehanne et Ste. Thérèse,” indeed, at “Le Royaume,” our parent site, also place our hope. May “Le Royaume de France Catholique” (the Kingdom of Catholic France) be restored soon under the Great French Monarch who will work with a holy Pope to defeat the enemies of God and restore the Catholic Church, Catholic Culture, and all of Catholic Civilization.

Read more about St. Pius X’s “Prophecy for France” at The Angelus Online.

Pope St. Pius X

The allocution Vi Ringrazio (Nov. 29, 1911)9

“What shall I say to you now, dear sons of France, who groan beneath the weight of persecution? The people who made an alliance with God at the baptismal font of Rheims will repent and return to its first vocation. Her faults will not remain unpunished, but she will never perish, the daughter of so many merits, so many sighs, and so many tears.

A day will come, and we hope it will not be far, when France, like Saul on the road to Damascus, will be surrounded by a heavenly light and will hear a voice repeating to her, “My daughter, why do you persecute me?” And to her response, “Who art thou, Lord?” the voice will reply, “I am Jesus, whom you persecute. It is hard for you to kick against the goad, because, in your obstinacy, you destroy yourself.” And she, trembling and astonished, will say, “Lord, what wouldst thou have me do?” And He will say, “Rise up, wash the filth that has disfigured you, awaken in your heart those dormant affections and the pact of our alliance and go, eldest daughter of the Church, predestined nation, vessel of election, go, as in the past, and carry my name before all peoples and before the kings of the earth.”

Jeanne fete cloud

A Catholic madman’s guide to the galaxy (and on going home to Guymon, OK)



(Written in the Spring of 2012.)

I’m writing this not knowing whether or not I will be able to make my Guymon High School 35th class reunion this summer. Guymon Oklahoma is far from Chicago, and Oklahoma City, the gathering spot for the reunion, is not much closer. We’re all grown up these days, if not in mind at least in body and in accumulated responsibilities. Duties, time, money, and the general vagaries of life all come into play in determining the outcome. Then we have to sort, prioritize, plan-a-tize, and all those other “ize” kinds of things. Sometimes I just wish I were closer to home. And that, the general theme of coming home, and coming home from where, is what I would like to present to you here.

The first thing to notice is that I refer to Guymon, OK as home. The home where I now live is in the Chicago metro area. It is indeed “a” home. For my son, who has spent most of his life here, this will be as much “home” for him as Guymon is “home” for me. So, in that sense, Chicago land is sacred ground. Plus, I really like it here. But none of that can alter the fundamental truth for me that Guymon is “my” home. Of course, if I were to go back there today, I would not know too many people (and they would certainly not recognize me). Most of the friends with whom I grew up are gone as well. But that does nothing to keep Guymon from still being “home.” A high school classmate recently wrote me a note on Facebook pointing out that there is an old saying to the effect that while young, one tries to get away from home, only to spend the rest if his or her life trying to get back. “I heard that,” as one might say “back home.”

This all became poignantly clear to me over the past few years. Facebook brought me back into touch with those people and those memories in a way that I could never have imagined a few years earlier when I was globe-trotting. I assumed then that there was only forward motion with no chance to go back. Yet, the oddest thing has happened to me over this time. I have traveled to worlds beyond while at the same time finding myself heading “home” again. Forward motion has come together with what is behind me in a way that has touched me profoundly.

I believe that when that happens, when time comes together into one moment where the past, present, and future collide, we call that eternity. It is the Eternal NOW. I think that this NOW brushed up against me. I did not know what it was. It startled me. Yet, it has left an indelible mark on my soul. Rather, it has bored all the way through my soul like a branding iron to my most hidden chambers. That I write publicly about these things, in effect as one who pens a private diary only to purposely leave it on a bench in a public square, might seem strange, self-centered, imprudent, all the above, or, quite simply, just mad. But the reality is that it seems impossible for me not to do it. Like an energy source, this NOW has a life of its own that at the same time has become the essence of my own life. It is not of me, but it is me, and there is no other way I can explain it. It demands to break out. My joy in living is to let it do so. Plus, I don’t like traveling alone.

It was on July 17, 2006 that the thing happened. I won’t go into the details, as I have written a number of posts about this event. But for those of you who have followed my journeys over the years, you know what that thing was that happened. On that day my life was unalterably altered by the influence of the greatest heroine in the history of France, or of all the world for that matter, Ste. Jeanne d’Arc. I could not possibly recount to you here how all of this happened. You would have to simply read through my material. But my experience that day, and the spiritual journey it brought about in me over what appears to be the rest of my years on earth and then into eternity, forever shook me to my core. Life has not been the same since, nor could it ever be, and I will not rest until I am finally eternally home in the Mystical Kingdom of France with Jeanne d’Arc.

Mont saint michel 3.jpg

I did something that day, July 17, 2006, that is perhaps the most outrageous, the most daring, the most breathtaking, the most unthinkable thing a person could do. I did what so few people in the modern world have done. This act was an egregious break with modern society. It was the most counter-revolutionary, counter-cultural act a person can make in the modern era. What I did was this. I decided to take the Catholic Church at her word. I decided to accept everything she had to say and to (you might want to pause here for strength) surrender my intellect and will, that is, to submit my intellect and will, to the authority of the Catholic Church. Can you imagine? The audacity! John Lennon’s Revolution was easy. That can be done falling out bed in the morning. You should try the Counter-Revolution. That will make your hair stand on end like a loopty-loop roller-coaster. I went where in the modern world we could almost say, no man goes before us. Modern man will say that he is not foolish enough to do what I did. I will respond that he is not brave enough to do what I did. With shrieks from the general community, I went forward. Into the mist I went.

Why, in heaven or on earth, would I have done that? What causes a man to simply go mad? Well, for starters, I was motivated by the desire to live. The day before, July 16, 2006, I was not far from death and was even closer to insanity. The choices before me on July 16 were: Jail, Asylum, or Coffin. One of those three was going to be my destiny within my near future, probably within a year. Yet, only 24 hours later, on July 17, 2006, I was completely restored by the authority of the King of Heaven Himself.

I then found myself before the Queen of Heaven who gave me one command, and one command only, as a condition for my continued freedom from the chains that had held me bound: “Seek First the Kingdom.” Ste. Jeanne d’Arc, the heavenly Daughter of God who restored the Kingdom of France for Jesus Christ during her temporal life, was to be my constant companion and guide. Why this is so is not as mysterious as it might first sound, but you will need to read my other writings to understand it. Thus, before me in one direction was death, or more likely, insanity just preceding an early death. Before me in the opposite direction was a Kingdom. Which path would I choose? It was up to me. Perhaps this decision was not as difficult as you might have imagined in the beginning. Mad? I was already mad. Been there, done that. “Imagine there’s no heaven, and no religion, too” Mr. Lennon? Sorry. Been there done that, too. That’s what drove me mad.

Crossing through the threshold of the gateway into the Kingdom, I found, as G.K. Chesterton has described it, that the Church was bigger on the inside than on the outside. That is because the Church is not simply an institution; it is not simply a religion; it is not simply a philosophy; nor is it a mere opinion. The Church is a Kingdom. It is a Kingdom that is seen on earth as one sees mountains in the distance from a meadow on a hillside looking through the early morning mist. Something grand is out there, but you just can’t see it all. The actual reality is indeed bigger than the foggy view you have before you. Only when the mist rises can we see the entire panorama. The mist will not fully rise until we die.

Mystical France radiance

Over the past six years, I have been riding through that Kingdom, misty as it might be for me, with my most faithful guide. My goodness. We have battled the Saracen at Tours with Charles Martel, fought Crusades in the Holy Lands, studied philosophy with Thomas Aquinas in Paris, crowned Kings in Rheims, been imprisoned at Rouen, burned at the stake, backed-up to the gates of hell, fought the Protestant and Catholic Wars of Religion, marched alongside general Charette in the armée catholique et royale of the Vendée during the French Revolution, had peaceful retreats in the meadows of France, and once or twice on a sunny day even caught glimpses of those celestial castles. I am happy to argue religion and philosophy with you, but you first have to convince me that you’re having more fun than I am.

Through it all, I became a new man who is still the same man. Note that I did not say that I was a new man who was still the old man, for the new and the old cannot co-exist. New wine in old wineskins will merely split and spoil the new wine. No, I mean I became a new man who is the same man. As Aquinas teaches us, grace builds on nature; it does not destroy nature.

I knew then that my destiny was in a place I like to call “La France Mystique,” or, Mystical France. I had become (brace yourself) medieval-minded. Rather than the ardent Democratic Republican I had been so dogmatically taught to be from my youth, I had become a strong supporter of the Frankish Royalty and of the restoration of the French Monarchy. I have even proposed a Catholic Monarchy for the United States (a real popular concept here, as you can imagine – it should really take off any day now). Why, again, would I do, say, and propose such madness? Well, now, this time, it is not from a sense of desperation; rather, it is from a sense of love. I do and say mad things about my saintly heroine, her kings, her queens, and her land because I have come, through all of these grand adventures, to love this Kingdom with that King, that Queen, and that saintly heroine. I sought the Kingdom as commanded, and that Kingdom is breathtaking.

Jeanne PF2

But still, recently, I could tell that my heart was nevertheless, and simultaneously, sending me home, back home to the much smaller and fantastically less romantic kingdom of Guymon, OK where I grew up and had such wonderful childhood memories. Despite these marvelous adventures in forward motion, I was still, as my facebook friend had warned, trying to get “back home.” Why? And how could I, now that I was destined only for “La France Mystique”?

Then it dawned on me. My saintly heroine was pointing out something to me. My original conversion to the Catholic Church came on the heels of my engagement to my wife, Josey, in my home town. My first introduction to the Queen of Heaven was in the Church of St. Peter’s in my home town. My introduction to Ste. Thérèse de Lisieux, the 19th century French Carmelite nun who introduced me to Jeanne d’Arc had occurred in Guymon (or at least from a book found in that Catholic book store in Amarillo we always visited). My trip to France in high school with my classmates, whereby I first saw Jeanne’s statue at the island fortress of Mont-Saint-Michel, took place while I was still in Guymon. I looked back over the many writings I had produced during these recent years. I noted that in my earliest accounts I mention being grounded in the contemplative spirit during my youth while looking out on the high plains that surrounded my home town.

It became obvious. I was new, but I was the same. The seed of the Kingdom had been with me all the time that I was growing up in Guymon. I left that town and those friends, in a temporal sense, only to ride headlong to the gates of hell. I then rode, in a mystical sense, through ancient Christendom with Jeanne d’Arc only to find the Kingdom of Heaven. And I have now come home to my native town and my friends, at least in spirit if not in time and space, only to discover that both home and the Kingdom had been available to me my entire life.

I’m new, but I’m the same. A new man, yet the same man. But NOW a whole man, thanks to the King of this Kingdom, the Queen, and Sainte Jeanne d’Arc with her ever faithful heavenly sister Thérèse. Most importantly though, I am home. Home where both forward meets what is behind in what we might call “the Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.”

Vive la France Mystique, y’all.


MM France banner with site and phrase

How an American man from Oklahoma found spiritual kinship with the Mystical Kingdom of France



One of the most prominent themes in all of my writings is that of our growth through time and space toward our Final Form that resides in the Mind of God. I often quote St. Thomas Aquinas who himself quoted Aristotle and integrated the latter’s profound philosophy of the four causes of creation – Formal, Material, Efficient, and Final –  into the Christian framework.

Another of my prominent themes, a cousin to the first, is that of the Kingdom of God represented by a beautiful landscape whereby we are all integrated in our almost infinite individual variety into one, magnificent panorama. That unity of the particulars into one beautiful Final Form called The Kingdom is that of the one unifying Principle, Jesus Christ, He Who is the Word through Whom all things were created. Thus, the two themes fit together in a manner that hopes to satisfy both our Intellect (Faith) and our Will (Love). Our Intellects (Faith) lead us to seek (Hope) the Principle End (Love) Who unites us as radically unique individuals into the one beautiful panorama of the landscape that metaphorically represents the Kingdom Of God, just as unique flowers, trees, meadows, rivers, and mountains are united into one breathtaking view in nature.

Those themes, how and for what purpose we are created with how we are integrated as individuals into the Whole, are precisely the points that explain how I, a man born in America and raised on the High Plains of the great state of Oklahoma, found his calling in life through a spiritual connection with the “mystical” Kingdom of France, and, more specifically, with the spirit of the devout Catholic Royalists of Western France.

Royaume de France

Just out of Guymon High School and before entering Princeton University in the Fall of 1977, I had the opportunity to travel to Brittany, France near the Normandy border for a six week cultural study along with a number of my friends from GHS. At the time I was simply a mainstream American, Protestant young man as were the majority of folk from Guymon. The mainstream, Protestant dominated culture of Guymon was the center of my world, though I was well aware of a larger world beyond the remote town’s borders (where there was even a place called France!).

Toward the end of our stay, we journeyed through Normandy to the island fortress of Mont Saint-Michel, the one pocket of resistance in the Hundred Years War that stayed true to St. Joan of Arc’s Charles VII, despite the fact that the bulk of Normandy had become English occupied land. There, before the chapel, I stood before a statue of St. Joan of Arc. “Who is that?” I asked Ms. Bowling, our French teacher (note that whereas I knew of this larger world where existed a place called “France,” my understanding of what was “under the hood” in that place was pretty limited!). “Ah, c’est Jeanne d’Arc!” (“It is Joan of Arc!”), she replied, or something close to that. I shrugged and walked away, thinking no more of it. How naive was I! I may not have thought more about the matter, but it appears that the aforementioned “Jeanne d’Arc” WAS thinking more about it. We had been introduced.

Joan the Maid 2

Approximately eight years later, at age 26, I married the lovely woman who remains my wife to this day. I was converted to the Catholic Church in the process (she is a cradle Catholic), and soon after was given the book, “True Devotion to Mary” by St. Louis de Montfort. St. Louis was an early 18th century priest who gave missions throughout the Vendée, Brittany, and Normandy. At nearly the same time, I was introduced to St Thérèse de Lisieux, affectionately known as “the Little Flower,” through reading her autobiography. St. Thérèse was a Carmelite nun from Normandy who lived and died in the late 19th century. France, St. Joan of Arc, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, St. Louis de Montfort, True Devotion to Mary, Normandy, Brittany…etc.

So, thinking about my most prominent themes referenced above, you might see a picture developing in my journey through space and time, much the way a Form takes recognizable shape when one connects the dots in a puzzle. In the midst of the apparently confusing mess of “dots” there rests an image representing the Final Form for one’s purpose in the Mind of God. One simply must slow down in life long enough to contemplate the puzzle.

Time went by (as it has a tendency to do). I later found myself in dire spiritual and physical trouble in the summer of 2006. Through the intercession of The Most Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Joan of Arc, I was restored. On March 25th, 2008, I was making a renewal of my consecration to Mary according to St. Louis de Montfort while sitting in her chapel inside the Cathedral of St. Louis the King in St. Louis, MO. A hint of French Royalty was now being shaped into the mix with the conglomeration made up of those other “dots.”


The following Christmas I received a family genealogy from my nephew that demonstrated that one our family’s major branches came from Normandy. At the time, I was writing the first of my books, Journey to Christendom – The Freedom Dance, under the inspiration of St. Joan of Arc. Through St. Joan a continuing interest in the French Monarchy grew in my soul. Shortly thereafter I discovered the story of the Wars of the Vendée whereby the courageous locals in Western France, only a mere lifetime away from the influence of St. Louis de Montfort, gave their lives to defend the Catholic Church, their way of life, and importantly, the 1,300 year old Monarchy that had defined France as the “Eldest daughter of the Church” over those 13 centuries.

Immediately the dots faded away, and I could see the Form, the picture of who I am and who I was meant to be. My journey began on the High Plains of Oklahoma in a small town called Guymon. However, my destiny was a place far away, in fact, further away in a sense than that “place called France” I had visited so many years before. This destiny was more than all that. It was, and is, to a place I call “mystical France.” This destiny represents my Final Form, or the purpose for which I was created in the Mind of God, and where I, as a uniquely formed individual, fit into that marvelous unified landscape.


This destiny is only one very tiny piece of the whole. However, I do not mind being small in the overall scheme of the panorama. I am, in this destiny, with St. Joan of Arc, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, and, through them, with the Mother of God in the Kingdom that is ruled by Jesus Christ. There is no more to desire than that. It is not prominence I seek, only alignment with my destiny, however small and unnoticeable that is.

As Catholics we do not believe that it is right to presume on our salvation. God is always true to His promises; yet, we, with our free will, are ever capable of devising our own ruin. This is particularly true for me. I pray, as all should, for the grace of final perseverance.

If, when you are in Heaven, you happen to make a journey to Mystical France, and if you see me in the land of my destiny with St. Joan and St. Thérèse, know that there is no happier person in the entire Kingdom. If, when you are in Heaven, you happen to make a journey to Mystical France, and you do not see me in the land of my destiny, know that there is no more foolish person in Hell.

Vive l’Église, la Reine, et le Roi des Rois.


The Monarch

A holy prince the throne shall take
A wonderful Monarch he will make
When God will be worshiped again once more
A period of peace will reign for sure
And troubles shall cease at least for a time
The Church will enjoy great glory sublime
And all will follow Christ, the true King
In Heaven the angels will rejoice and sing
And the Monarch will reign along with the Pope
to give us once more a much needed hope
This prophecy shall come, oh people take heed
when the world will be in terrible need
We await for this time when the Church is restored
and Christ as true King shall be adored

written by:Soldier for Christ 33

For those who wish to love Joan of Arc – Mark Twain and his Recollections


For those who wish to love Joan of Arc (and who would not?), Mark Twain’s book, Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc is a must read. I say, “for those who wish to love Joan of Arc,” because, unlike many writings on historical figures, this book does not relate dry historical data couched in cold, erudite, academic language. On the contrary, this book tells her astonishing story by one who loved her and who was himself astonished by that story. Now, that is how we want to read of the exploits of Joan of Arc! Devotion to the saintly child can only be spread by those who are devoted to her! Only through the fire of the soul deep in our hearts can we spread the warmth of transcendent inspiration. Leave spiritless skepticism to modern, professional historians. Welcome to our side, Mr. Twain.

Mark Twain

Recollections is one of the most magnificent stories in history told by one of the most magnificent writers in history. Many people are surprised to know that Mr. Twain wrote on Joan of Arc, and few know that he considered it his best book. He spent twelve years researching it, including taking a trip to France, and he used both French and English sources. He called it something to the effect of a “labor of love.” The rest of his books “did not require research and got none.” Mark Twain was neither Catholic nor even particularly religious. He distrusted organized religion. Yet, he was nevertheless slain spiritually and emotionally by the Maid of Orléans, who was eventually declared a Saint of the Roman Church.

Mark Twain’s book is considered to be historically very accurate, though he delightfully fills in “gaps” using his famous Twain humor and by developing memorable, Twain-typical characters. You will chuckle at how he weaves everything together and yet marvel at how, despite this, he is still able to tell the history with integrity.


One of the very ingenious methods he uses here is to tell the story from the standpoint of a third person. He, Mark Twain, is Louis de Conte, Joan of Arc’s true-to-life page given her by Charles VII. Twain tells the story as if Louis were relating it back to us in his later, aged years as we all sit around the fireplace like fidgety, excited grandchildren. Marvelous story-telling!

Let us now peer into the opening of the book as Mark Twain, well, rather we should say “Louis,” begins his tale. We can imagine him taking a sip of wine and settling in as we all sit on the floor anxiously awaiting his account of a most stunning historical figure, a heroine whom we have begun to study in school, and someone whom he personally knew! “Grandpa, you KNEW Joan of Arc?!?” Really? Tell us, please!” Yes, Monsieur de Conte, please, do tell us.

“This is the year 1492. I am eighty-two years of age. The things I am going to tell you are things which I saw myself as a child and as a youth.

In the tales and songs and histories of Joan of Arc which you and the rest of the world read and sing and study in the books wrought in the late invented art of printing, mention is made of me, the Sieur Louis de Conte – I was her page and secretary. I was with her from the beginning until the end.

I fought at her side in the wars; to this day I carry in my mind, fine and clear, the picture of that dear little figure, with breast bent to the flying horse’s neck, charging at the head of the armies of France, her hair streaming back, her silver mail ploughing steadily deeper and deeper into the thick of battle, sometimes nearly drowned from sight by tossing heads of horses, uplifted sword-arms, wind-blown plumes, and intercepting shields.

I was with her to the end; and when that black day came whose accusing shadow will lie always upon the memory of the mitred French slaves of England who were her assassins, and upon France who stood idle and essayed no rescue, my hand was the last she touched in life.

As the years and decades drifted by, and the spectacle of the marvelous child’s meteor-flight across the war-firmament of France and its extinction in the smoke clouds of the stake receded deeper and deeper into the past and grew ever more strange and wonderful and divine and pathetic, I came to comprehend and recognize her at last for what she was – the most noble life that was ever born into this world save only One.”

What a fine start! The old man might pause here for a moment to stare into the fire. Perhaps he is remembering, or maybe he is meditating. He simply stares in silence, unable to continue for a minute or two; though, it seems  to us like an eternity. Indeed, he may be on the brink of the eternal Kingdom trying to catch one more glimpse of his faithful companion. I think that I see a tear forming in his eye. He is, in his mind’s eye, seeing the whole picture, the entire landscape that was his life with Joan of Arc, from the laughter at its dawn to the lamentations at its dusk. Words are difficult to form, as he desires not to merely tell us, but to SHOW us who this glorious figure is. Words are so meager, yet words are all that he has.

Well, in order to come to know the rest of the story, that is, to hear our aged grandpa as he finally turns his head, laughing and crying all at the same time, to regale us with all of the glorious tales of Joan of Arc, we must read the book. It will be well worth your time, I assure you. Remember, though, it is not for those who wish to study Joan of Arc. It is for those who wish to love her. As grandpa continues his tale, you will find yourself helpless but to do so.


Mystical France radiance