Charles promises Joan a monument more magnificent than 'Rhodope's of Memphis' — almost certainly meaning the Great Pyramid of Giza, which Renaissance scholars sometimes misattributed to a legendary Greek courtesan named Rhodope. The source is probably Herodotus's Histories, filtered through several unreliable intermediaries. The factual error is interesting, but the symbolic resonance is more interesting still. If Shakespeare (or his source) knew Rhodope was a courtesan, then Charles's comparison lands as a spectacular own-goal: he's honoring France's virgin warrior-saint with a monument he associates with a famous sex worker. This would read as darkly comic to an Elizabethan audience familiar with classical mythology. If Shakespeare didn't know — if it's just a historical slip — the play still uses it: the audience's unease about Joan's sexuality (is she really a virgin? is she Charles's lover?) is activated at exactly the moment when Charles most loudly proclaims her honor. Either way, the scene is doing something complicated underneath its surface triumphalism.
Advance our waving colours on the walls;
Rescued is Orleans from the English.
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform’d her word.
Raise up our flags waving on the walls. Orleans has been rescued from the English. Joan la Pucelle has kept her promise.
Put our flags up on the walls and wave them high. Orleans is free from the English now. Joan has done exactly what she said.
raise our flags orleans is free joan kept her word
Divinest creature, Astraea’s daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success?
Thy promises are like Adonis’ gardens
That one day bloom’d and fruitful were the next.
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
Recover’d is the town of Orleans.
More blessed hap did ne’er befall our state.
Most divine woman, daughter of Astraea the goddess of justice, how can I honor you for this victory? Your promises are like Adonis' magical gardens that bloomed one day and were fruitful the next. France, celebrate your glorious prophetess! The town of Orleans is recovered. We have never had better fortune.
You're incredible, like the daughter of the goddess of justice herself. How can I possibly reward you for this? Your promises keep coming true instantly, like magic gardens that grow overnight. France, celebrate—you've got this amazing prophetess! Orleans is saved. This is the best thing that's ever happened to us.
you're divine your promises work like magic france is celebrating orleans is saved best day ever
Scene 1-6 is the structural mirror of scene 1-1. The play opened with England in black, mourning Henry V, flags draped over a coffin, three messengers delivering progressively worse news. It closes Act 1 with France on the walls, flags flying, the Dauphin promising bells and bonfires and processions. Both scenes are ceremonial — more ritual than drama. Both are about how nations perform grief and triumph. And crucially, both are excessive: Bedford's lament in 1-1 was overblown ('Hung be the heavens with black'), and Charles's praise here is equally overblown ('France's new patron saint'). Shakespeare seems to be suggesting that both sides are equally prone to mythologizing — equally given to turning military events into grand narratives that may not survive contact with reality. The play will spend the next four acts puncturing both myths.
Reignier (Duke of Anjou, father of Margaret) tends toward enthusiasm without much depth — he's the first to call for bells and bonfires, the cheerleader of the French command. He'll matter more in Act 5 when his daughter Margaret becomes Suffolk's obsession and eventually Henry VI's queen.
Why ring not bells aloud throughout the town?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires
And feast and banquet in the open streets
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.
ALENÇON.
All France will be replete with mirth and joy
When they shall hear how we have play’d the men.
Why aren't bells ringing throughout the whole town? Dauphin, order the citizens to make bonfires and have feasts and banquets in the open streets to celebrate the happiness that God has given us. All of France will be filled with happiness and joy when they hear how we have acted like real men.
Why isn't every bell in town ringing? Dauphin, get everyone to build fires and throw parties in the streets to celebrate. All of France is going to go crazy when they hear what we did—we actually performed like warriors.
ring the bells build bonfires party in the streets we actually won
’Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
For which I will divide my crown with her,
And all the priests and friars in my realm
Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis to her I’ll rear
Than Rhodope’s of Memphis ever was;
In memory of her when she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich-jewel’d coffer of Darius,
Transported shall be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France.
No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France’s saint.
Come in, and let us banquet royally
After this golden day of victory.
It's Joan, not us, who won this battle. Because of that, I'll share my crown with her. Every priest and monk in my kingdom will march in procession singing her praise forever. I'll build a grander monument to her than the great pyramid of Rhodope in Memphis. To remember her after she's dead, her ashes will be placed in a more valuable urn than the jeweled chest of Darius the Persian king, and it will be carried in grand ceremonial parades in front of all the kings and queens of France. We won't call on Saint Denis anymore. Joan la Pucelle will be France's saint. Come inside and let's have a royal feast to celebrate this glorious day of victory.
Joan won this—not us. So I'm going to share my crown with her. Every priest and monk in France will march around singing her praises forever. I'll build a bigger monument than any ancient pyramid. When she dies, her ashes go in an urn more valuable than any treasure, and it'll be carried through official parades in front of all the French royalty. From now on, we're not calling on Saint Denis anymore. Joan la Pucelle is going to be France's saint. Let's go inside and have an amazing royal party for this incredible victory.
joan won this i'm sharing my crown everyone will honor her forever she's france's saint now let's party
The Reckoning
This scene is pure victory lap — and Shakespeare knows exactly what he's doing with it. Charles's praise of Joan escalates from 'Astraea's daughter' (goddess of justice) to 'new patron saint of France', promising her a pyramid taller than any of the ancient world's wonders, her ashes transported before kings at festivals. It's so excessive it tips into absurdity. The Elizabethan audience, primed to distrust French excess and Joan's divine claims alike, was almost certainly meant to read this as hubris — the kind of overconfidence that precedes catastrophe. The scene is seven chunks long. Its brevity is itself the point: this triumph will not last.
If this happened today…
A country retakes a besieged city it had nearly lost. The liberator — an outsider, a woman no one believed in — stands on the walls for the cameras. The president promises her a state funeral when she dies, a national holiday named after her, a monument bigger than the Lincoln Memorial. The crowd goes wild. Nobody mentions that the war isn't over.