Jeanne and her little party were eleven days on the road, but do not
seem to have encountered any special peril. They lodged sometimes in the
security of a convent, sometimes in a village hostel, pursuing the long
and tedious way across the great levels of midland France, which has
so few features of beauty except in the picturesque towns with their
castles and churches, which the escort avoided. At length they paused
in the village of Fierbois not far from Chinon where the Court was, in
order to announce their arrival and ask for an audience, which was not
immediately accorded. Charles held his Court with incredible gaiety and
folly, in the midst of almost every disaster that could overtake a king,
in the castle of Chinon on the banks of the Vienne. The situation and
aspect of this noble building, now in ruins, is wonderfully like that
of Windsor Castle. The great walls, interrupted and strengthened by
huge towers, stretch along a low ridge of rocky hill, with the swift and
clear river, a little broader and swifter than the Thames, flowing at
its foot. The red and high-pitched roofs of the houses clustered between
the castle hill and the stream, give a point of resemblance the more.
The large and ample dwelling, defensible, but with no thought of any
need of defence, a midland castle surrounded by many a level league of
wealthy country, which no hostile force should ever have power to get
through, must have looked like the home of a well-established royalty.
There was no sound or sight of war within its splendid enclosure.
Noble lords and gentlemen crowded the corridors; trains of gay ladies,
attendant upon two queens, filled the castle with fine dresses and gay
voices. There had been but lately a dreadful and indeed shameful defeat,
inflicted by a mere English convoy of provisions upon a large force of
French and Scottish soldiers, the former led by such men as Dunois, La
Hire, Xaintrailles, etc., the latter by the Constable of Scotland, John
Stuart--which defeat might well have been enough to subdue every sound
of revelry: yet Charles's Court was ringing with music and pleasantry,
as if peace had reigned around.
It may be believed that there were many doubts and questions how to
receive this peasant from the fields, which prevented an immediate
reply to her demand for an audience. From the first, de la Tremoille,
Charles's Prime Minister and chief adviser, was strongly against any
encouragement of the visionary, or dealings with the supernatural; but
there would no doubt be others, hoping if not for a miraculous maid,
yet at least for a passing wonder, who might kindle enthusiasm in the
country and rouse the ignorant with hopes of a special blessing from
Heaven. The gayer and younger portion of the Court probably expected
a little amusement, above all, a new butt for their wit, or perhaps a
soothsayer to tell their fortunes and promise good things to come. They
had not very much to amuse them, though they made the best of it. The
joys of Paris were very far off; they were all but imprisoned in this
dull province of Touraine; nobody knew at what moment they might be
forced to leave even that refuge. For the moment here was a new event,
a little stir of interest, something to pass an hour. Jeanne had to wait
two days in Chinon before she was granted an audience, but considering
the carelessness of the Court and the absence of any patron that was but
a brief delay.
The chamber of audience is now in ruins. A wild rose with long, arching,
thorny branches and pale flowers, straggles over the greensward where
once the floor was trod by so many gay figures. From the broken wall you
look sheer down upon the shining river; one great chimney, which at
that season must have been still the most pleasant centre of the large,
draughty hall, shows at the end of the room, with a curious suggestion
of warmth and light which makes ruin more conspicuous. The room must
have been on the ground floor almost level with the soil towards the
interior of the castle, but raised to the height of the cliffs outside.
It was evening, an evening of March, and fifty torches lighted up the
ample room; many noble personages, almost as great as kings, and clothed
in the bewildering splendour of the time, and more than three hundred
cavaliers of the best names in France filled it to overflowing. The
peasant girl from Domremy in the hose and doublet of a servant, a
little travel-worn after her tedious journey, was led in by one of those
splendid seigneurs, dazzled with the grandeur she had never seen before,
looking about her in wonder to see which was the King--while Charles,
perhaps with boyish pleasure in the mystification, perhaps with a little
half-conviction stealing over him that there might be something more in
it, stood among the smiling crowd.
The young stranger looked round upon all those amused, light-minded,
sceptical faces, and without a moment's hesitation went forward and
knelt down before him. "Gentil Dauphin," she said, "God give you good
life." "But it is not I that am the King; there is the King," said
Charles. "Gentil Prince, it is you and no other," she said; then rising
from her knee: "Gentil Dauphin, I am Jeanne the Maid. I am sent to you
by the King of Heaven to tell you that you shall be consecrated and
crowned at Rheims, and shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who
is King of France." The little masquerade had failed, the jest was over.
There would be little more laughing among the courtiers, when they saw
the face of Charles grow grave. He took the new-comer aside, perhaps to
that deep recess of the window where in the darkening night the glimmer
of the clear, flowing river, the great vault of sky would still be
visible dimly, outside the circle of the blazing interior with all its
smoky lights.
Charles VII. of France was, like many of his predecessors, a _pauvre
Sire_ enough. He had thought more of his amusements than of the troubles
of his country; but a wild and senseless gaiety will sometimes spring
from despair as well as from lightness of heart; and after all, the
dread responsibility, the sense that in all his helplessness and
inability to do anything he was still the man who ought to do all, would
seem to have moved him from time to time. A secret doubt in his heart,
divulged to no man, had added bitterness to the conviction of his own
weakness. Was he indeed the heir of France? Had he any right to that
sustaining confidence which would have borne up his heart in the midst
of every discouragement? His very mother had given him up and set him
aside. He was described as the so-called Dauphin in treaties signed by
Charles and Isabeau his parents. If anyone knew, she knew; and was it
possible that more powerful even than the English, more cruel than the
Burgundians, this stain of illegitimacy was upon him, making all effort
vain? There is no telling where the sensitive point is in any man's
heart, and little worthy as was this King, the story we are here told
has a thrill of truth in it. It is reported by a certain Sala, who
declares that he had it from the lips of Charles's favourite and close
follower, the Seigneur de Boisi, a courtier who, after the curious
custom of the time, shared even the bed of his master. This was confided
to Boisi by the King in the deepest confidence, in the silence of the
wakeful night:
"This was in the time of the good King Charles, when he knew not what
step to take, and did nothing but think how to redeem his life: for as
I have told you he was surrounded by enemies on all sides. The King in
this extreme thought, went in one morning to his oratory all alone; and
there he made a prayer to our Lord, in his heart, without pronouncing
any words, in which he asked of Him devoutly that if he were indeed the
true heir, descended from the royal House of France, and that justly the
kingdom was his, that He would be pleased to guard and defend him, or
at the worst to give him grace to escape into Spain or Scotland, whose
people, from all antiquity, were brothers-in-arms, friends and allies of
the kings of France, and that he might find a refuge there."
Perhaps there is some excuse for a young man's endeavour to forget
himself in folly or even in dissipation when his secret thoughts are so
despairing as these.
It was soon after this melancholy moment that the arrival of Jeanne
took place. The King led her aside, touched as all were, by her look of
perfect sincerity and good faith; but it is she herself, not Charles,
who repeats what she said to him. "I have to tell you," said the young
messenger of God, "on the part of my Lord (_Messire_) that you are the
true heir of France and the son of the King; He has sent me to
conduct you to Rheims that you may receive your consecration and
your crown,"--perhaps here, Jeanne caught some look which she did not
understand in his eyes, for she adds with, one cannot but think a touch
of sternness--"if you will."
Was it a direct message from God in answer to his prayer, uttered within
his own heart, without words, so that no one could have guessed that
secret? At least it would appear that Charles thought so: for how should
this peasant maid know the secret fear that had gnawed at his heart?
"When thou wast in the garden under the fig-tree I saw thee." Great
was the difference between the Israelite without guile and the troubled
young man, with whose fate the career of a great nation was entangled;
but it is not difficult to imagine what the effect must have been on
the mind of Charles when he was met by this strange, authoritative
statement, uttered like all that Jeanne said, _de la part de Dieu_.
The impression thus made, however, was on Charles alone, and he was
surrounded by councillors, so much the more pedantic and punctilious as
they were incapable, and placed amidst pressing necessities with which
in themselves they had no power to cope. It may easily be allowed, also,
that to risk any hopes still belonging to the hapless young King on the
word of a peasant girl was in itself, according to every law of reason,
madness and folly. She would seem to have had the women on her side
always and at every point. The Church did not stir, or else was hostile;
the commanders and military men about, regarded with scornful disgust
the idea that an enterprise which they considered hopeless should be
confided to an ignorant woman--all with perfect reason we are obliged to
allow. Probably it was to gain time--yet without losing the aid of such
a stimulus to the superstitious among the masses--and to retard any rash
undertaking--that it was proposed to subject Jeanne to an examination
of doctors and learned men touching her faith and the character of
her visions, which all this time had been of continual recurrence, yet
charged with no further revelation, no mystic creed, but only with the
one simple, constantly repeated command.
Accordingly, after some preliminary handling by half a dozen bishops,
Jeanne was taken to Poitiers--where the university and the local
parliament, all the learning, law, and ecclesiastical wisdom which were
on the side of the King, were assembled--to undergo this investigation.
It is curious that the entire history of this wildest and strangest of
all visionary occurrences is to be found in a series of processes at
law, each part recorded and certified under oath; but so it is. The
village maid was placed at the bar, before a number of acute legists,
ecclesiastics, and statesmen, to submit her to a not-too-benevolent
cross-examination. Several of these men were still alive at the time
of the Rehabilitation and gave their recollections of this examination,
though its formal records have not been preserved. A Dominican monk,
Aymer, one of an order she loved, addressed her gravely with the
severity with which that institution is always credited. "You say that
God will deliver France; if He has so determined, He has no need of
men-at-arms." "Ah!" cried the girl, with perhaps a note of irritation
in her voice, "the men must fight; it is God who gives the victory." To
another discomfited Brother, Jeanne, exasperated, answered with a little
roughness, showing that our Maid, though gentle as a child to all gentle
souls, was no piece of subdued perfection, but a woman of the fields,
and lately much in the company of rough-spoken men. He was of Limoges, a
certain Brother Seguin, "_bien aigre homme_," and disposed apparently
to weaken the trial by questions without importance: he asked her what
language her celestial visitors spoke? "Better than yours," answered the
peasant girl. He could not have been, as we say in Scotland, altogether
"an ill man," for he acknowledged that he spoke the patois of his
district, and therefore that the blow was fair. But perhaps for
the moment he was irritated too. He asked her, a question equally
unnecessary, "do you believe in God?" to which with more and more
impatience she made a similar answer: "Better than you do." There was
nothing to be made of one so well able to defend herself. "Words are
all very well," said the monk, "but God would not have us believe
you, unless you show us some sign." To this Jeanne made an answer more
dignified, though still showing signs of exasperation, "I have not come
to Poitiers to give signs," she said; "but take me to Orleans--I will
then show the signs I am sent to show. Give me as small a band as you
please, but let me go."
The situation of Orleans was at the time a desperate one. It was
besieged by a strong army of English, who had built a succession of
towers round the city, from which to assail it, after the manner of the
times. The town lies in the midst of the plain of the Loire, with not
so much as a hillock to offer any advantage to the besiegers. Therefore
these great works were necessary in face of a very strenuous resistance,
and the possibility of provisioning the besieged, which their river
secured. The English from their high towers kept up a disastrous
fire, which, though their artillery was of the rudest kind, did great
execution. The siege was conducted by eminent generals. The works
were of themselves great fortifications, the assailants numerous, and
strengthened by the prestige of almost unbroken success; there seemed
no human hope of the deliverance of the town unless by an overwhelming
army, which the King's party did not possess, or by some wonderful and
utterly unexpected event. Jeanne had always declared the destruction
of the English and the relief of Orleans to be the first step in her
mission.
Besides the formal and official examination of her faith and character,
held at Poitiers, private inquests of all kinds were made concerning
of the claims of the miraculous maid. She was visited by every curious
person, man or woman, in the neighbourhood, and plied with endless
questions, so that her simple personal story, and that of her
revelations--_mes voix_, as she called them--became familiarly known
from her own report, to the whole country round about. The women pressed
a question specially interesting--for no doubt, many a good mother half
convinced otherwise, shook her head at Jeanne's costume--Why she wore
the dress of a man? for which the Maid gave very good reasons: in the
first place because it was the only dress for fighting, which, though so
far from her desires or from the habits of her life, was henceforward to
be her work; and also because in her strange circumstances,
constrained as she was to live among men, she considered it safest
for herself--statements which evidently convinced the minds of the
questioners. It was, no doubt, good policy to make her thus widely and
generally known, and the result was a daily growing enthusiasm for her
and belief in her, in all classes. The result of the formal process was
that the doctors could find nothing against her, and they reluctantly
allowed that the King might lawfully take what advantage he could of her
offered services.
Jeanne was then brought back to Chinon, where she was lodged in one of
the great towers still standing, though no special room is pointed
out as hers. And there she was subjected to another process, more
penetrating still than the interrogations of the graver tribunals. The
Queens and their ladies and all the women of the Court took her in hand.
They inquired into her history in every subtle and intimate feminine
way, testing her innocence and purity; and once more she came out
triumphant. The final judgment was given as follows: "After hearing all
these reports, the King taking into consideration the great goodness
that was in the Maid, and that she declared herself to be sent by
God, it was by the said Seigneur and his council determined that from
henceforward he should make use of her for his wars, since it was for
this that she was sent."
It was now necessary to equip Jeanne for her service. She had a
_maison_, an _état majeur_, or staff, formed for her, the chief of
which, Jean d'Aulon, already distinguished and worthy of such a trust
never left her thenceforward until the end of her active career. Her
chaplain, Jean Pasquerel, also followed her fortunes faithfully. Charles
would have given her a sword to replace the probably indifferent weapon
given her by Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs; but Jeanne knew where to find
the sword destined for her. She gave orders that someone should be sent
to Fierbois, the village at which she had paused on her way to Chinon,
to fetch a sword which would be found there buried behind the high altar
of the church of St. Catherine. To make this as little miraculous as
possible, we are told by some historians that it was common for knights
to be buried with their arms, and that Jeanne, in her visit to this
church, where she heard three masses in succession to make up for the
absence of constant religious services on her journey--had probably
seen some tomb or other token that such an interment had taken place.
However, as we are compelled to receive the far greater miracle of
Jeanne herself and her work, without explanation, it is foolish to take
the trouble to attempt any explanation of so small a matter as this. The
sword in fact was found, by the clergy of the church, and was by them
cleaned and polished and put in a scabbard of crimson velvet, scattered
over with fleur-de-lys in gold, for her use. Her standard, which she
considered of the greatest importance was made apparently at Tours. It
was of white linen, fringed with silk and embroidered with a figure of
the Saviour holding a globe in His hands, while an angel knelt at either
side in adoration. Jhesus' Maria was inscribed at the foot. A repetition
of this banner, which must have been re-copied from age to age is to be
seen now at Tours. Having indicated the exact device to be emblazoned
upon the banner, as dictated to her by her saints,--Margaret and
Catherine--Jeanne announced her intention of carrying it herself, a
somewhat surprising office for one who was to act as a general. But it
was the command of her heavenly guides. "Take the standard on the part
of God, and carry it boldly," they had said. She had, besides, a
simple, half-childish intention of her own in this, which she explained
shame-faced--she had no wish to use her sword though she loved it, and
would kill no man. The banner was a more safe occupation, and saved her
from all possibility of blood-shedding; it must however, have required
the robust arm of a peasant to sustain the heavy weight.
It will show how long a time all these examinations and preparations had
taken when we read that Jeanne set out from Blois, where she had passed
some time in military preparations, only on the 27th day of April;
nearly two whole months had thus been taken up in testing her truth, and
arranging details, trifling and unnecessary in her eyes:--a period which
had been passed in great anxiety by the people of Orleans, with the huge
bastilles of the English--three of which were named Paris, Rouen, and
London--towering round them, their provisions often intercepted, all
the business of life come to a standstill, and the overwhelming
responsibility upon them of being almost the last barrier between the
invader and the final subjugation of France. It is strange to add that,
judging by ordinary rules, the garrison of Orleans ought to have been
quite sufficient in itself in numbers and science of war, to have beaten
and dispersed the English force which had thus succeeded in shutting
them in; there were many notable captains among them, with Dunois,
known as the Bastard of Orleans, one of the most celebrated and brave
of French generals, at their head. Dunois was in no way inferior to the
generals of the English army; he was popular, beloved by the people and
soldiers alike, and though illegitimate, of the House of Orleans, one of
the native seigneurs of the place. The wonder is how he and his officers
permitted the building of these towers, and the shutting in of the town
which they were quite strong enough to protect. But it was a losing game
which they were playing, a part which does not suit the genius of the
nation; and the superstition in favour of the English who had won so
many battles with all the disadvantages on their side,--cutting the
finest armies to pieces--was strong upon the imagination of the time. It
seemed a fate which no valour or skill upon the side of the French could
avert. Dunois, himself an unlikely person, one would have thought, to
yield the honour of the fight to a woman, seems to have perceived
that without a strong counter-motive, not within the range of ordinary
methods, the situation was beyond hope.
Accordingly, on the 27th or 28th of April, Jeanne set out at the head of
her little army, accompanied by a great number of generals and captains.
She had been equipped by the Queen of Sicily (with a touch of that keen
sense of decorative effect which belonged to the age) in white armour
inlaid with silver--all shining like her own St. Michael himself, a
radiance of whiteness and glory under the sun--armed _de toutes pièces
sauve la teste_, her uncovered head rising in full relief from the
dazzling breastplate and gorget. This is the description given of her by
an eye-witness a little later. The country is flat as the palm of one's
hand. The white armour must have flashed back the sun for miles and
miles of the level road, to the eyes which from the height of any
neighbouring tower watched the party setting out. It is all fertile now,
the richest plain, and even then, corn and wine must have been in full
bourgeon, the great fresh greenness of the big leaves coming out upon
such low stumps of vine as were left in the soil; but the devastated
country was in those days covered with a wild growth like the _macchia_
of Italian wilds, which half hid the movements of the expedition. They
went by the Loire to Tours, where Jeanne had been assigned a dwelling of
her own, with the estate of a general; and from thence to Blois, where
they had to wait for some days while the convoy of provisions, which
they were to convey to Orleans, was being prepared. And there Jeanne
fulfilled one of the preliminary duties of her mission. She had informed
her examiners at Poitiers that she had been commanded to write to the
English generals before attacking them, appealing to them _de la part de
Dieu_, to give up their conquests, and leave France to the French.
The letter which we quote would seem to have been dictated by her at
Poitiers, probably to the confessor who now formed part of her suite and
who attended her wherever she went:
JHESUS MARIA.
King of England, and you Duke of Bedford calling yourself Regent of
France, you, William de la Poule, Comte de Sulford, John, Lord of
Talbot, and you Thomas, Lord of Scales, who call yourself lieutenants
of the said Bedford, listen to the King of Heaven: Give back to the Maid
who is here sent on the part of God the King of Heaven, the keys of all
the good towns which you have taken by violence in His France. She is
ready to make peace if you will hear reason and be just towards France
and pay for what you have taken. And you archers, brothers-in-arms,
gentles and others who are before the town of Orleans, go in peace on
the part of God; if you do not so you will soon have news of the Maid
who will see you shortly to your great damage. King of England, if you
do not this, I am captain in this war, and in whatsoever place in France
I find your people I will make them go away. I am sent here on the part
of God the King of Heaven to push you all forth of France. If you obey I
will be merciful. And be not strong in your own opinion, for you do not
hold the kingdom from God the Son of the Holy Mary, but it is held by
Charles the true heir, for God, the King of Heaven so wills, and it is
revealed by the Maid who shall enter Paris in good company. If you will
not believe this news on the part of God and the Maid, in whatever place
you may find yourselves we shall make our way there, and make so great
a commotion as has not been in France for a thousand years, if you will
not hear reason. And believe this, that the King of Heaven will send
more strength to the Maid than you can bring against her in all your
assaults, to her and to her good men-at-arms. You, Duke of Bedford, the
Maid prays and requires you to destroy no more. If you act according to
reason you may still come in her company where the French shall do the
greatest work that has ever been done for Christianity. Answer then if
you will still continue against the city of Orleans. If you do so
you will soon recall it to yourself by great misfortunes. Written the
Saturday of Holy Week (22 March, 1429).(1)
Jeanne had by this time made a wonderful moral revolution in her little
army; most likely she had not been in the least aware what an army was,
until this moment; but frank and fearless, she had penetrated into
every corner, and it was not in her to permit those abuses at which an
ordinary captain has to smile. The pernicious and shameful crowd of camp
followers fled before her like shadows before the day. She stopped the
big oaths and unthinking blasphemies which were so common, so that La
Hire, one of the chief captains, a rough and ready Gascon, was reduced
to swear by his _bâton_, no more sacred name being permitted to him.
Perhaps this was the origin of the harmless swearing which abounds in
France, meaning probably just as much and as little as bigger oaths in
careless mouths; but no doubt the soldiers' language was very unfit for
gentle ears. Jeanne moved among the wondering ranks, all radiant in her
silver armour and with her virginal undaunted countenance, exhorting all
those rude and noisy brothers to take thought of their duties here, and
of the other life that awaited them. She would stop the march of the
army that a conscience-stricken soldier might make his confession, and
desired the priests to hear it if necessary without ceremony, or church,
under the first tree. Her tender heart was such that she shrank from any
man's death, and her hair rose up on her head, as she said, at the sight
of French blood shed--although her mission was to shed it on all sides
for a great end. But the one thing she could not bear was that
either Frenchmen or Englishmen should die unconfessed, "unhouseled,
disappointed, unannealed." The army went along attended by songs of
choristers and masses of priests, the grave and solemn music of the
Church accompanied strangely by the fanfares and bugle notes. What a
strange procession to pass along the great Loire in its spring fulness,
the raised banners and crosses, and that dazzling white figure, all
effulgence, reflected in the wayward, quick flowing stream!
La Hire, who is like a figure out of Dumas, and indeed did service as
a model to that delightful romancer, had come from Orleans to escort
Jeanne upon her way, and Dunois met her as she approached the town.
There could not be found more unlikely companions than these two, to
conduct to a great battle the country maid who was to carry the honours
of the day from them both, and make men fight like heroes, who under
them did nothing but run away. The candour and true courage of such
leaders in circumstances so extraordinary, are beyond praise, for it was
an offence both to their pride and skill in their profession, had she
been anything less than the messenger of God which she claimed to
be; and these rude soldiers were not men to be easily moved by devout
imaginations. There would seem, however, even in the case of the greater
of the two, to have arisen a strange friendship and mutual understanding
between the famous man of war and the peasant girl. Jeanne, always
straightforward and simple, speaks to him, not with the downcast eyes of
her humility, but as an equal, as if the great Dunois had been a _prud'
homme_ of her own degree. There is no appearance indeed that the Maid
allowed herself to be overborne now by any shyness or undue humility.
She speaks loudly, so as to be heard by those fighting men, taking
something of their own brief and decisive tone, often even impatient, as
one who would not be put aside either by cunning or force.
Her meeting with Dunois makes this at once evident. She had been
deceived in the manner of her approach to Orleans, her companions, among
whom there were several field-marshals and distinguished leaders, taking
advantage of her ignorance of the place to lead her by the opposite bank
of the river instead of that on which the English towers were built,
which she desired to attack at once. This was the beginning of a long
series of deceits and hostile combinations, by which at every step
of her way she was met and retarded; but it turned, as these devices
generally did, to the discomfiture of the adverse captains. She crossed
the river at Chécy above Orleans, to meet Dunois who had come so far to
meet her. It will be seen by the conversation which she held with him
on his first appearance, how completely Jeanne had learnt to assert
herself, and how much she had overcome any fear of man. "Are you the
Bastard of Orleans?" she said. "I am; and glad of your coming," he
replied. "Is it you who have had me led to this side of the river and
not to the bank on which Talbot is and his English?" He answered that
he and the wisest of the leaders had thought it the best and safest
way. "The counsel of God, our Lord, is more sure and more powerful than
yours," she replied. The expedition, as a matter of fact, had to turn
back, and to lose precious time, there being, it is to be presumed,
no means of transporting so large a force across the river. The large
convoy of provisions which Jeanne brought was embarked in boats while
the majority of the army returned to Blois, in order to cross by the
bridge.
Jeanne, however, having freely expressed her opinion, adapted herself to
the circumstances, though extremely averse to separate herself from her
soldiers, good men who had confessed and prepared their souls for every
emergency. She finally consented, however, to ride on with Dunois and La
Hire. The wind was against the convoy, so that the heavy boats, deeply
laden with beeves and corn, had a dangerous and slow voyage before them.
"Have patience," cried Jeanne; "by the help of God all will go well";
and immediately the wind changed, to the astonishment and joy of all,
and the boats arrived in safety "in spite of the English, who offered no
hindrance whatever," as she had predicted. The little party made their
way along the bank, and in the twilight of the April evening, about
eight o'clock, entered Orleans. The Deliverer, it need not be said, was
hailed with joy indescribable. She was on a white horse, and carried,
Dunois says, the banner in her hand, though it was carried before her
when she entered the town. The white figure in the midst of those darkly
gleaming mailed men, would in itself throw a certain glory through the
dimness of the night, as she passed the gates and came into view by the
blaze of all the torches, and the lights in the windows, over the dark
swarming crowds of the citizens. Her white banner waving, her white
armour shining, it was little wonder that the throng that filled the
streets received the Maid "as if they had seen God descending among
them." "And they had good reason," says the Chronicle, "for they had
suffered many disturbances, labours, and pains, and, what is worse,
great doubt whether they ever should be delivered. But now all were
comforted, as if the siege were over, by the divine strength that was in
this simple Maid whom they regarded most affectionately, men, women, and
little children. There was a marvellous press around her to touch her
or the horse on which she rode, so much so that one of the torchbearers
approached too near and set fire to her pennon; upon which she touched
her horse with her spurs, and turning him cleverly, extinguished the
flame, as if she had long followed the wars."
There could have been nothing she resembled so much as St. Michael, the
warrior-angel, who, as all the world knew, was her chief counsellor and
guide, and who, no doubt, blazed, a familiar figure, from some window in
the cathedral to which this his living picture rode without a pause, to
give thanks to God before she thought of refreshment or rest. She spoke
to the people who surrounded her on every side as she went on through
the tumultuous streets, bidding them be of good courage and that if they
had faith they should escape from all their troubles. And it was only
after she had said her prayers and rendered her thanksgiving, that
she returned to the house selected for her--the house of an important
personage, Jacques Boucher, treasurer to the Duke of Orleans, not like
the humble places where she had formerly lodged. The houses of that age
were beautiful, airy and light, with much graceful ornament and solid
comfort, the arched and vaulted Gothic beginning to give place to those
models of domestic architecture which followed the Renaissance, with
their ample windows and pleasant space and breadth. There the table was
spread with a joyous meal in honour of this wonderful guest, to which,
let us hope, Dunois and La Hire and the rest did full justice. But
Jeanne was indifferent to the feast. She mixed with water the wine
poured for her into a silver cup, and dipped her bread in it, five
or six small slices. The visionary peasant girl cared for none of the
dainty meats. And then she retired to the comfort of a peaceful chamber,
where the little daughter of the house shared her bed: strange return
to the days when Hauvette and Mengette in Domremy lay by her side and
talked as girls love to do, through half the silent night. Perhaps
little Charlotte, too, lay awake with awe to wonder at that other young
head on the pillow, a little while ago shut into the silver helmet, and
shining like the archangel's. The _état majeur_, the Chevalier d'Aulon,
Jean de Metz, and Bertrand de Poulengy, who had never left her, first
friends and most faithful, and her brother Pierre d'Arc, were lodged in
the same house. It was the last night of April, 1429.
(1) The dates must of course be reckoned by the old style.--
This letter was dispatched from Tours, during her pause
there.