The rescue of Orleans and the defeat of the invincible English were news
to move France from one end to the other, and especially to raise the
spirits and restore the courage of that part of France which had
no sympathy with the invaders and to which the English yoke was
unaccustomed and disgraceful. The news flew up and down the Loire from
point to point, arousing every village, and breathing new heart and
encouragement everywhere; while in the meantime Jeanne, partially healed
of her wound (on May 9th she rode out in a _maillet_, a light coat of
chain-mail), after a few days' rest in the joyful city which she had
saved with all its treasures, set out on her return to Chinon. She found
the King at Loches, another of the strong places on the Loire where
there was room for a Court, and means of defence for a siege should such
be necessary, as is the case with so many of these wonderful castles
upon the great French river. Hot with eagerness to follow up her first
great success and accomplish her mission, Jeanne's object was to march
on at once with the young Prince, with or without his immense retinue,
to Rheims where he should be crowned and anointed King as she had
promised. Her instinctive sense of the necessities of the position, if
we use that language--more justly, her boundless faith in the orders
which she believed had been give her from Heaven, to accomplish this
great act without delay, urged her on. She was straitened, if we may
quote the most divine of words, till it should be accomplished.
But the Maid, flushed with victory, with the shouts of Orleans still
ringing in her ears, the applause of her fellow-soldiers, the sound of
the triumphant bells, was plunged all at once into the indolence,
the intrigues, the busy nothingness of the Court, in which whispering
favourites surrounded a foolish young prince, beguiling him into foolish
amusements, alarming him with coward fears. Wise men and buffoons alike
dragged him down into that paltry abyss, the one always counselling
caution, the other inventing amusements. "Let us eat and drink for
to-morrow we die." Was it worth while to lose everything that was
enjoyable in the present moment, to subject a young sovereign to toils
and excitement, and probable loss, for the uncertain advantage of a
vain ceremony, when he might be enjoying himself safely and at his ease,
throughout the summer months, on the cheerful banks of the Loire? On the
other hand, the Chancellor, the Chamberlains, the Church, all his graver
advisers (with the exception of Gerson, the great theologian to whom
has been ascribed the authorship of the _Imitation of Christ_, who is
reported to have said, "If France deserts her, and she fails, she is
none the less inspired") shook their hands and advised that the way
should be quite safe and free of danger before the King risked himself
upon it. It was thus that Jeanne was received when, newly alighted from
her charger, her shoulder still but half healed, her eyes scarcely clear
of the dust and smoke, she found herself once more in the ante-chamber,
wasting the days, waiting in vain behind closed doors, tormented by
the lutes and madrigals, the light women and lighter men, useless
and contemptible, of a foolish Court. The Maid, in all the energy
and impulse of a success which had proved all her claims, had also a
premonition that her own time was short, if not a direct intimation, as
some believe, to that effect: and mingled her remonstrances and appeals
with the cry of warning: "I shall only last a year: take the good of me
as long as it is possible."
No doubt she was a very great entertainment to the idle seigneurs and
ladies who would try to persuade her to tell them what was to happen to
them, she who had prophesied the death of Glasdale and her own wound and
so many other things. The Duke of Lorraine on her first setting out had
attempted to discover from Jeanne what course his illness would
take, and whether he should get better; and all the demoiselles and
demoiseaux, the flutterers of the ante-chamber, would be still more
likely to surround with their foolish questions the stout-hearted,
impatient girl who had acquired a little of the roughness of her soldier
comrades, and had never been slow at any time in answering a fool
according to his folly; for Jeanne was no meek or sentimental maiden,
but a robust and vigorous young woman, ready with a quick response, as
well as with a ready blow did any one touch her unadvisedly, or use any
inappropriate freedom. At last, one day while she waited vainly outside
the cabinet in which the King was retired with a few of his councillors,
Jeanne's patience failed her altogether. She knocked at the door, and
being admitted threw herself at the feet of the King. To Jeanne he
was no king till he had received the consecration necessary for every
sovereign of France. "Noble Dauphin," she cried, "why should you hold
such long and tedious councils? Rather come to Rheims and receive your
worthy crown."
The Bishop of Castres, Christopher de Harcourt, who was present, asked
her if she would not now in the presence of the King describe to them
the manner in which her council instructed her, when they talked with
her. Jeanne reddened and replied: "I understand that you would like to
know, and I would gladly satisfy you." "Jeanne," said the King in his
turn, "it would be very good if you could do what they ask, in the
presence of those here." She answered at once and with great feeling:
"When I am vexed to find myself disbelieved in the things I say from
God, I retire by myself and pray to God, complaining and asking of Him
why I am not listened to. And when I have prayed I hear a voice which
says, 'Daughter of God, go, go, go! I will help thee, go!' And when
I hear that voice I feel a great joy." Her face shone as she spoke,
"lifting her eyes to heaven," like the face of Moses while still it bore
the reflection of the glory of God, so that the men were dazzled who
sat, speechless, looking on.
The result was that Charles kindly promised to set out as soon as the
road between him and Rheims should be free of the English, especially
the towns on the Loire in which a great part of the army dispersed from
Orleans had taken refuge, with the addition of the auxiliary forces of
Sir John Fastolfe, a name so much feared by the French, but at which the
English reader can scarcely forbear a smile. That the young King did not
think of putting himself at the head of the troops or of taking part
in the campaign shows sufficiently that he was indeed a _pauvre sire_,
unworthy his gallant people. Jeanne, however, nothing better being
possible, seems to have accepted this mission with readiness, and
instantly began her preparations to carry it out. It is here that the
young Seigneur Guy de Laval comes in with his description of her already
quoted. He was no humble squire but a great personage to whom the King
was civil and pleased to show courtesy. The young man writes to _ses
mères_, that is, it seems, his mother and grandmother, to whom, in their
distant château, anxiously awaiting news of the two youths gone to the
wars, their faithful son makes his report of himself and his brother.
The King, he says, sent for the Maid, in order, Sir Guy believes, that
he might see her. And afterwards the young man went to Selles where she
was just setting out on the campaign.
From Selles, he writes on the 8th June, exactly a month after the
deliverance of Orleans:
"I went to her lodging to see her, and she sent for wine and told me
we should soon drink wine in Paris. It was a miraculous thing (_toute
divine_) to see her and hear her. She left Selles on Monday at the hour
of vespers for Romorantin, the Marshal de Boussac and a great many armed
men with her. I saw her mount her horse, all in white armour excepting
the head, a little axe in her hand. The great black charger was very
restive at her door and would not let her mount. 'Lead him,' she said,
'to the cross which is in front of the church,' and there she mounted,
the horse standing still as if he had been bound. Then turning towards
the church which was close by she said in a womanly voice (_assez voix
de femme_), 'You priests and people of the Church, make processions and
prayers to God for us'; then turning to the road, 'Forward,' she said.
Her unfolded standard was carried by a page; she had her little axe in
her hand, and by her side rode a brother who had joined her eight
days before. The Maid told me in her lodging that she had sent you,
grandmother, a small gold ring, which was indeed a very small affair,
and that she would fain have sent you something better, considering
your recommendation. To-day M. d'Alençon, the Bastard of Orleans, and
Gaucourt were to leave Selles, following the Maid. And men are arriving
from all parts every day, all with good hope in God who I believe will
help us. But money there is none at the Court, so that for the present I
have no hope of any help or assistance. Therefore I desire you, _Madame
ma mère_, who have my seal, spare not the land neither in sale nor
mortgage . . . . My much honoured ladies and mothers, I pray the blessed
Son of God that you have a good life and long; and both of us recommend
ourselves to our brother Louis. And we send our greetings to the reader
of this letter. Written from Selles, Wednesday, 8th June, 1429. This
afternoon are arrived M. de Vendôme, M. de Boussac, and others, and La
Hire has joined the army, and we shall soon be at work (_on besognera
bientôt_)--May God grant that it should be according to your desire."
It was with difficulty that the Duc d'Alençon had been got to start, his
wife consenting with great reluctance. He had been long a prisoner in
England, and had lately been ransomed for a great sum of money; "Was
not that a sufficient sacrifice?" the Duchess asked indignantly. To risk
once more a husband so costly was naturally a painful thing to do, and
why could not Jeanne be content and stay where she was? Jeanne comforted
the lady, perhaps with a little good-humoured contempt. "Fear nothing,
Madame," she said; "I will bring him back to you safe and sound."
Probably Alençon himself had no great desire to be second in command to
this country lass, even though she had delivered Orleans; and if he
set out at all he would have preferred to take another direction and to
protect his own property and province. The gathering of the army thus
becomes visible to us; parties are continually coming in; and no doubt,
as they marched along, many a little château--and they abound through
the country each with its attendant hamlet--gave forth its master or
heir, poor but noble, followed by as many men-at-arms, perhaps only two
or three, as the little property could raise, to swell the forces with
the best and surest of material, the trained gentlemen with hearts full
of chivalry and pride, but with the same hardy, self-denying habits as
the sturdy peasants who followed them, ready for any privation; with a
proud delight to hear that _on besognera bientôt_--with that St. Michael
at their head, and no longer any fear of the English in their hearts.
The first _besogne_ on which this army entered was the siege of Jargeau,
June 11th, into which town Suffolk had thrown himself and his troops
when the siege of Orleans was raised. The town was strong and so was the
garrison, experienced too in all the arts of war, and already aware of
the wild enthusiasm by which Jeanne was surrounded. She passed through
Orleans on the 10th of June, and had there been joined by various new
detachments. The number of her army was now raised, we are told, to
twelve hundred lances, which means, as each "lance" was a separate
party, about three thousand six hundred men, though the _Journal du
Siège_ gives a much larger number; at all events it was a small army
with which to decide a quarrel between the two greatest nations of
Christendom. Her associates in command were here once more seized by the
prevailing sin of hesitation, and many arguments were used to induce her
to postpone the assault. It would seem that this hesitation continued
until the very moment of attack, and was only put an end to when Jeanne
herself impatiently seized her banner from the hand of her squire, and
planting herself at the foot of the walls let loose the fervour of the
troops and cheered them on to the irresistible rush in which lay their
strength. For it was with the commanders, not with the followers, that
the weakness lay. The Maid herself was struck on the head by a stone
from the battlements which threw her down; but she sprang up again in a
moment unhurt. "_Sus! Sus!_ Our Lord has condemned the English--all is
yours!" she cried. She would seem to have stood there in her place
with her banner, a rallying-point and centre in the midst of all the
confusion of the fight, taking this for her part in it, and though she
is always in the thick of the combat, never, so far as we are told,
striking a blow, exposed to all the instruments of war, but injured
by none. The effect of her mere attitude, the steadiness of her stand,
under the terrible rain of stone bullets and dreadful arrows, must of
itself have been indescribable.
In the midst of the fiery struggle, there is almost a comic point in
her watch over Alençon, for whose safety she had pledged herself, now
dragging him from a dangerous spot with a cry of warning, now pushing
him forward with an encouraging word. On the first of these occasions
a gentleman of Anjou, M. de Lude, who took his place in the front was
killed, which seems hard upon the poor gentleman, who was probably quite
as well worth caring for as Alençon. "_Avant, gentil duc_," she cried at
another moment, "forward! Are you afraid? you know I promised your wife
to bring you safe home." Thus her voice keeps ringing through the din,
her white armour gleams. "_Sus! Sus!_" the bold cry is almost audible,
sibilant, whistling amid the whistling of the arrows.
Suffolk, the English Bayard, the most chivalrous of knights, was at last
forced to yield. One story tells us that he would give up his sword only
to Jeanne herself,(1) but there is a more authentic description of his
selection of one youth among his assailants whom the quick perceptions
of the leader had singled out. "Are you noble?" Suffolk asks in
the brevity of such a crisis. "Yes; Guillame Regnault, gentleman of
Auvergne." "Are you a knight?" "Not yet." The victor put a knee to the
ground before his captive, the vanquished touched him lightly on the
shoulder with the sword which he then gave over to him. Suffolk was
always the finest gentleman, the most perfect gentle knight of his time.
"Now let us go and see the English of Meung," cried Jeanne, unwearying,
as soon as this victory was assured. That place fell easily; it
is called the bridge of Meung, in the Chronicle, without further
description, therefore presumably the fortress was not attacked--and
they proceeded onward to Beaugency. These towns still shine over the
plain, along the line of the Loire, visible as far as the eye will
carry over the long levels, the great stream linking one to another like
pearls on a thread. There is nothing in the landscape now to give even a
moment's shelter to the progress of a marching army which must have been
seen from afar, wherever it moved; or to veil the shining battlements,
and piled up citadels rising here and there, concentrated points and
centres of life. The great white Castle of Blois, the darker tower of
Beaugency, still stand where they stood when Jeanne and her men drew
near, as conspicuous in their elevation of walls and towers as if they
had been planted on a mountain top. On more than one occasion during
this wonderful progress from victory to victory, the triumphant leaders
returned for a day or two to Orleans to tell their good tidings, and to
celebrate their success.
And there is but one voice as to the military skill which she displayed
in these repeated operations. The reader sees her, with her banner,
posted in the middle of the fight, guiding her men with a sort of
infallible instinct which adds force to her absolute quick perception of
every difficulty and advantage, the unhesitating promptitude, attending
like so many servants upon the inspiration which is the soul of all.
These are things to which a writer ignorant of war is quite unable to
do justice. What was almost more wonderful still was the manner in which
the Maid held her place among the captains, most of whom would have
thwarted her if they could, with a consciousness of her own superior
place, in which there is never the slightest token of presumption or
self-esteem. She guarded and guided Alençon with a good-natured and
affectionate disdain; and when there was risk of a great quarrel and
a splitting of forces she held the balance like an old and experienced
guide of men.
This latter crisis occurred before Beaugency on the 15th of June, when
the Comte de Richemont, Constable of France, the brother of the Duc de
Bretagne, a great nobleman and famous leader, but in disgrace with the
King and exiled from the Court, suddenly appeared with a considerable
army to join himself to the royalist forces, probably with the hope of
securing the leading place. Richemont was no friend to Jeanne; though he
apparently asked her help and influence to reconcile him with the King.
He seems indeed to have thought it a disgrace to France that her troops
should be led, and victories gained by no properly appointed general,
but by a woman, probably a witch, a creature unworthy to stand before
armed men. It must not be forgotten that even now this was the general
opinion of her out of the range of her immediate influence. The English
held it like a religion. Bedford, in his description of the siege of
Orleans and its total failure, reports to England that the discomfiture
of the hitherto always triumphant army was "caused in great part by the
fatal faith and vain fear that the French had, of a disciple and servant
of the enemy of man, called the Maid, who uses many false enchantments,
and witchcraft, by which not only is the number of our soldiers
diminished but their courage marvellously beaten down, and the boldness
of our enemies increased." Richemont was a sworn enemy of all such.
"Never man hated more, all heresies, sorcerers, and sorceresses, than
he; for he burned more in France, in Poitou, and Bretagne, than any
other of his time." The French generals were divided as to the merits
of Richemont and the advantages to be derived from his support.
Alençon, the nominal commander, declared that he would leave the army
if Richemont were permitted to join it. The letters of the King were
equally hostile to him; but on the other hand there were some who held
that the accession of the Constable was of more importance than all
the Maids in France. It was a moment which demanded very wary guidance.
Jeanne, it would seem, did not regard his arrival with much pleasure;
probably even the increase of her forces did not please her as it would
have pleased most commanders, holding so strongly as she did, to the
miraculous character of her own mission and that it was not so much the
strength of her troops as the help of God that got her the victory. But
it was not her part to reject or alienate any champion of France. We
have an account of their meeting given by a retainer of Richemont,
which is picturesque enough. "The Maid alighted from her horse, and the
Constable also. 'Jeanne,' he said, 'they tell me that you are against
me. I know not if you are from God (_de la part de Dieu_) or not. If
you are from God I do not fear you; if you are of the devil, I fear you
still less.' 'Brave Constable,' said Jeanne, 'you have not come here by
any will of mine; but since you are here you are welcome.'"
Armed neutrality but suspicion on one side, dignified indifference but
acceptance on the other, could not be better shown.
These successes, however, had been attended by various _escarmouches_
going on behind. The English, who had been driven out of one town after
another, had now drawn together under the command of Talbot, and a party
of troops under Fastolfe, who came to relieve them, had turned back as
Jeanne proceeded, making various unsuccessful attempts to recover what
had been lost. Failing in all their efforts they returned across the
country to Genville, and were continuing their retreat to Paris when the
two enemies came within reach of each other. An encounter in open field
was a new experience of which Jeanne as yet had known nothing. She had
been successful in assault, in the operations of the siege, but to meet
the enemy hand to hand in battle was what she had never been required to
do; and every tradition, every experience, was in favour of the English.
From Agincourt to the Battle of the Herrings at Rouvray near Orleans,
which had taken place in the beginning of the year (a fight so named
because the field of battle had been covered with herrings, the
conquerors in this case being merely the convoy in charge of provisions
for the English, which Fastolfe commanded), such a thing had not been
known as that the French should hold their own, much less attain any
victory over the invaders. In these circumstances there was much talk of
falling back upon the camp near Beaugency and of retreating or avoiding
an engagement; anything rather than hazard one of those encounters which
had infallibly ended in disaster. But Jeanne was of the same mind as
always, to go forward and fear nothing. "Fall upon them! Go at them
boldly," she cried. "If they were in the clouds we should have them. The
gentle King will now gain the greatest victory he has ever had."
It is curious to hear that in that great plain of the Beauce, so flat,
so fertile, with nothing but vines and cornfields now against the
horizon, the two armies at last almost stumbled upon each other by
accident, in the midst of the brushwood by which the country was wildly
overgrown. The story is that a stag roused by the French scouts rushed
into the midst of the English, who were advantageously placed among
the brushwood to arrest the enemy on their march; the wild creature
terrified and flying before an army blundered into the midst of the
others, was fired at and thus betrayed the vicinity of the foe. The
English had no time to form or set up their usual defences. They were so
taken by surprise that the rush of the French came without warning, with
a suddenness which gave it double force. La Hire made the first attack
as leader of the van, and there was thus emulation between the two
parties, which should be first upon the enemy. When Alençon asked Jeanne
what was to be the issue of the fight, she said calmly, "Have you good
spurs?" "What! You mean we shall turn our backs on our enemies?" cried
her questioner. "Not so," she replied. "The English will not fight,
they will fly, and you will want good spurs to pursue them." Even this
somewhat fantastic prophecy put heart into the men, who up to this time
had been wont to fly and not to fight.
And this was what happened, strange as it may seem. Talbot himself was
with the English forces, and many a gallant captain beside: but the
men and their leaders were alike broken in spirit and filled with
superstitious terrors. Whether these were the forces of hell or those of
heaven that came against them no one could be sure; but it was a power
beyond that of earth. The dazzled eyes which seemed to see flights
of white butterflies fluttering about the standard of the Maid, could
scarcely belong to one who thought her a servant of the enemy of men.
But she was a pernicious witch to Talbot, and strangely enough to
Richemont also, who was on her own side. The English force was thrown
into confusion, partly, we may suppose, from the broken ground on which
they were discovered, the undergrowth of the wood which hid both armies
from each other. But soon that disorder turned into the wildest panic
and flight. It would almost seem as if between these two hereditary
opponents one must always be forced into this miserable part. Not all
the chivalry of France had been able to prevent it at the long string of
battles in which they were, before the revelation of the Maid; and not
the desperate and furious valour of Talbot could preserve his English
force from the infection now. Fastolfe, with the philosophy of an old
soldier, deciding that it was vain to risk his men when the field
was already lost, rode off with all his band. Talbot fought with
desperation, half mad with rage to be thus a second time overcome by so
unlikely an adversary, and finally was taken prisoner; while the whole
force behind him fled and were killed in their flight, the plain being
scattered with their dead bodies.
Jeanne herself made use of those spurs concerning which she had
enquired, and carried away by the passion of battle, followed in the
pursuit, we are told, until she met a Frenchman brutally ill-using
a prisoner whom he had taken, upon which the Maid, indignant, flung
herself from her horse, and, seating herself on the ground beside the
unfortunate Englishman, took his bleeding head upon her lap and, sending
for a priest, made his departure from life at least as easy as pity and
spiritual consolation could make it on such a disastrous field. In all
the records there is no mention of any actual fighting on her part.
She stands in the thick of the flying arrows with her banner, exposing
herself to every danger; in moments of alarm, when her forces seem
flagging, she seizes and places a ladder against the wall for an
assault, and climbs the first as some say; but we never see her strike
a blow. On the banks of the Loire the fate of the mail-clad Glasdale,
hopeless in the strong stream underneath the ruined bridge, brought
tears to her eyes, and now all the excitement of the pursuit vanished
in an instant from her mind, when she saw the English man-at-arms dying
without the succour of the Church. Pity was always in her heart; she was
ever on the side of the angels, though an angel of war and not of peace.
It is perhaps because the numbers engaged were so few that this flight
or "Chasse de Patay," has not taken a more important place in the
records of French historians. In general it is only by means of Fontenoy
that the _amour propre_ of the French nation defends itself against the
overwhelming list of battles in which the English have had the better of
it. But this was probably the most complete victory that has ever been
gained over the stubborn enemy whom French tactics are so seldom able to
touch; and the conquerors were purely French without any alloy of alien
arms, except a few Scots, to help them. The entire campaign on the Loire
was one of triumph for the French arms, and of disaster for the English.
They--it is perhaps a point of national pride to admit it frankly--were
as well beaten as heart of Frenchman could desire, beaten not only in
the result, but in the conduct of the campaign, in heart and in courage,
in skill and in genius. There is no reason in the world why it should
not be admitted. But it was not the French generals, not even Dunois,
who secured these victories. It was the young peasant woman, the
dauntless Maid, who underneath the white mantle of her inspiration,
miraculous indeed, but not so miraculous as this, had already developed
the genius of a soldier, and who in her simplicity, thinking nothing
but of her "voices" and the counsel they gave her, was already the best
general of them all.
When Talbot stood before the French generals, no less a person than
Alençon himself is reported to have made a remark to him, of that
ungenerous kind which we call in feminine language "spiteful," and which
is not foreign to the habit of that great nation. "You did not think
this morning what would have happened to you before sunset," said the
Duc d'Alençon to the prisoner. "It is the fortune of war," replied the
English chief.
Once more, however it is like a sudden fall from the open air and
sunshine when the victorious army and its chiefs turned back to the
Court where the King and his councillors sat idle, waiting for news
of what was being done for them. A battle-field is no fine sight; the
excitement of the conflict, the great end to be served by it, the sense
of God's special protection, even the tremendous uproar of the fight,
the intoxication of personal action, danger, and success have, we do not
doubt a rapture and passion in them for the moment, which carry the mind
away; but the bravest soldier holds his breath when he remembers the
after scene, the dead and dying, the horrible injuries inflicted, the
loss and misery. However, not even the miserable scene of the Chasse de
Patay is so painful as the reverse of the dismal picture, the halls of
the royal habitation where, while men died for him almost within hearing
of the fiddling and the dances, the young King trifled away his useless
days among his idle favourites, and the musicians played, the assemblies
were held, and all went on as in the Tuileries. We feel as if we had
fallen fathoms deep into the meannesses of mankind when we come back
from the bloodshed and the horror outside, to the King's presence
within. The troops which had gone out in uncertainty, on an enterprise
which might well have proved too great for them, had returned in full
flush of triumph, having at last fully broken the spell of the English
superiority--which was the greatest victory that could have been
achieved: besides gaining the substantial advantage of three important
towns brought back to the King's allegiance--only to find themselves as
little advanced as before, coming back to the self-same struggle with
indolent complaining, indifference, and ingratitude.
Jeanne had given the signs that had been demanded from her. She had
delivered Orleans, she cleared the King's road toward the north. She
had filled the French forces with an enthusiasm and transport of valour
which swept away all the traditions of ill fortune. From every point of
view the instant march upon Rheims and the accomplishment of the great
object of her mission had not only become practicable, but was the
wisest and most prudent thing to do.
But this was not the opinion of the Chancellor of France, the Archbishop
of Rheims, and La Tremouille, or of the indolent young King himself, who
was very willing to rejoice in the relief from all immediate danger, the
restoration of the surrounding country, and even the victory itself,
if only they would have left him in quiet where he was, sufficiently
comfortable, amused, and happy, without forcing necessary dangers.
Jeanne's successes and her unseasonable zeal and the commotion that she
and her train of captains made, pouring in, in all the excitement
of their triumph, into the midst of the madrigals--seem to have been
anything but welcome. Go to Rheims to be crowned? yes, some time when
it was convenient, when it was safe. But in the meantime what was more
important was to forbid Richemont, whom the Chancellor hated and the
King did not love, to come into the presence or to have any share either
in warfare or in pageant. This was not only in itself an extremely
foolish thing to do, which is always a recommendation, but it was at the
same time an excuse for wasting a little precious time. When this was
at last accomplished, and Richemont, though deeply wounded and offended,
proved himself so much a man of honour and a patriot, that though
dismissed by the King he still upheld, if languidly, his cause--there
was yet a great deal of resistance to be overcome. Paris though so far
off was thrown into great excitement and alarm by the flight at Patay,
and the whole city was in commotion fearing an immediate advance and
attack. But in Loches, or wherever Charles may have been, it was all
taken very easily. Fastolfe, the fugitive, had his Garter taken from
him as the greatest disgrace that could be inflicted, for his shameful
flight, about the time when Richemont, one of the victors, was being
sent off and disgraced on the other side for the crime of having helped
to inflict, without the consent of the King, the greatest blow which
had yet been given to the English domination! So the Court held on its
ridiculous and fatal course.
However the force of public feeling which must have been very frankly
expressed by many important voices was too much for Charles and he was
at length compelled to put himself in motion. The army had assembled at
Gien, where he joined it, and the great wave of enthusiasm awakened by
Jeanne, and on which he now moved forth as on the top of the wave,
was for the time triumphant. No one dared say now that the Maid was
a sorceress, or that it was by the aid of Beelzebub that she cast out
devils; but a hundred jealousies and hatreds worked against her behind
backs, among the courtiers, among the clergy, strange as that may sound,
in sight of the absolute devotion of her mind, and the saintly life
she led. So much was this the case still, notwithstanding the practical
proofs she had given of her claims, that even persons of kindred mind,
partially sharing her inspirations, such as the famous Brother Richard
of Troyes, looked upon her with suspicion and alarm--fearing a delusion
of Satan. It is more easy perhaps to understand why the archbishops and
bishops should have been inclined against her, since, though perfectly
orthodox and a good Catholic, Jeanne had been independent of all
priestly guidance and had sought no sanction from the Church to her
commission, which she believed to be given by Heaven. "Give God the
praise; but we know that this woman is a sinner." This was the best they
could find to say of her in the moment of her greatest victories; but
indeed it is no disparagement to Jeanne or to any saint that she should
share with her Master the opprobrium of such words as these.
At last however a reluctant start was made. Jeanne with her "people,"
her little staff, in which, now, were two of her brothers, a second
having joined her after Orleans, left Gien on the 28th of June; and the
next day the King very unwillingly set out. There is given a long list
of generals who surrounded and accompanied him, three or four princes of
the blood, the Bastard of Orleans, the Archbishop of Rheims, marshals,
admirals, and innumerable seigneurs, among whom was our young Guy de
Laval who wrote the letter to his "mothers" which we have already quoted
and whose faith in the Maid we thus know; and our ever faithful La Hire,
the big-voiced Gascon who had permission to swear by his _bâton_, the
d'Artagnan of this history. We reckon these names as those of friends:
Dunois the ever-brave, Alençon the _gentil Duc_ for whom Jeanne had
a special and protecting kindness, La Hire the rough captain of Free
Lances, and the graceful young seigneur, Sir Guy as we should have
called him had he been English, who was so ready to sell or mortgage his
land that he might convey his troop befittingly to the wars. This little
group brightens the march for us with their friendly faces. We know that
they have but one thought of the warrior maiden in whose genius they had
begun to have a wondering confidence as well as in her divine mission.
While they were there we feel that she had at least so many who
understood her, and who bore her the affection of brothers. We are told
that in the progress of the army Jeanne had no definite place. She rode
where she pleased, sometimes in the front, sometimes in the rear. One
imagines with pleasure that wherever her charger passed along the lines
it would be accompanied by one or other of those valiant and faithful
companions.
The first place at which a halt was made was Auxerre, a town occupied
chiefly by Burgundians, which closed its gates, but by means of bribes,
partly of provisions to be supplied, partly of gifts to La Tremouille,
secured itself from the attack which Jeanne longed to lead. Other
smaller strongholds on the road yielded without hesitation. At last they
came to Troyes, a large and strong place, well garrisoned and confident
in its strength, the town distinguished in the history of the time
by the treaty made there, by which the young King had been
disinherited--and by the marriage of Henry of England with the Princess
Catherine of France, in whose right he was to succeed to the throne.
It was an ill-omened place for a French king and the camp was torn with
dissensions. Should the army march by, taking no notice of it and so
get all the sooner to Rheims? or should they pause first, to try their
fortune against those solid walls? But indeed it was not the camp that
debated this question. The camp was of Jeanne's mind whichever side she
took, and her side was always that of the promptest action. The garrison
made a bold sortie, the very day of the arrival of Charles and his
forces, but had been beaten back: and the King encamped under the walls,
wavering and uncertain whether he might not still depart on the morrow,
but sending a repeated summons to surrender, to which no attention was
paid.
Once more there was a pause of indecision; the King was not bold enough
either to push on and leave the city, or to attack it. Again councils of
war succeeded each other day after day, discussing the matter over and
over, leaving the King each time more doubtful, more timid than before.
From these debates Jeanne was anxiously held back, while every silken
fool gave his opinion. At last, one of the councillors was stirred by
this strange anomaly. He declared among them all, that as it was by the
advice of the Maid that the expedition had been undertaken, without her
acquiescence it ought not to be abandoned. "When the King set out it was
not because of the great puissance of the army he then had with him, or
the great treasure he had to provide for them, nor yet because it seemed
to him a probable thing to be accomplished; but the said expedition
was undertaken solely at the suit of the said Jeanne, who urged him
constantly to go forward, to be crowned at Rheims, and that he should
find little resistance, for it was the pleasure and will of God. If
the said Jeanne is not to be allowed to give her advice now, it is my
opinion that we should turn back," said the Seigneur de Treves, who had
never been a partisan of or believer in Jeanne. We are told that at this
fortunate moment when one of her opponents had thus pronounced in her
favour, Jeanne, impatient and restless, knocked at the door of the
council chamber as she had done before in her rustic boldness; and then
there occurred a brief and characteristic dialogue.
"Jeanne," said the Archbishop of Rheims, taking the first word, probably
with the ready instinct of a conspirator to excuse himself from
having helped to shut her out, "the King and his council are in great
perplexity to know what they should do."
"Shall I be believed if I speak?" said the Maid.
"I cannot tell," replied the King, interposing; "though if you say
things that are reasonable and profitable, I shall certainly believe
you."
"Shall I be believed?" she repeated.
"Yes," said the King, "according as you speak."
"Noble Dauphin," she exclaimed, "order your people to assault the city
of Troyes, to hold no more councils; for, by my God, in three days I
will introduce you into the town of Troyes, by love or by force, and
false Burgundy shall be dismayed."
"Jeanne," said the Chancellor, "if you could do that in six days, we
might well wait."
"You shall be master of the place," said the Maid, addressing herself
steadily to the King, "not in six days, but to-morrow."
And then there occurred once more the now habitual scene. It was no
longer the miracle it had been to see her dash forward to her post under
the walls with her standard which was the signal for battle, to which
the impatient troops responded, confident in her, as she in herself. But
for the first time we hear how the young general, learning her trade of
war day by day, made her preparations for the siege. She was a gunner
born, according to all we hear, and was quick to perceive the advantage
of her rude artillery though she had never seen one of these _bouches
de feu_ till she encountered them at Orleans. The whole army was set to
work during the night, knights and men-at-arms alike, to raise--with any
kind of handy material, palings faggots, tables, even doors and windows,
taken it must be feared from some neighbouring village or faubourg--a
mound on which to place the guns. The country as we have said is as
flat as the palm of one's hand. They worked all night under cover of
the darkness with incredible devotion, while the alarmed townsfolk not
knowing what was being done, but no doubt divining something from the
unusual commotion, betook themselves to the churches to pray, and began
to ponder whether after all it might not be better to join the King
whose armies were led by St. Michael himself in the person of his
representative, than to risk a siege. Once more the spell of the Maid
fell on the defenders of the place. It was witchcraft, it was some
vile art. They had no heart to man the battlements, to fight like their
brothers at Orleans and Jargeau in face of all the powers of the evil
one: the cry of "_Sus! Sus!_" was like the death-knell in their ears.
While the soldiers within the walls were thus trembling and drawing
back, the bishop and his clergy took the matter in hand; they sallied
forth, a long procession attended by half the city, to parley with the
King. It was in the earliest dawn, while yet the peaceful world was
scarcely awake; but the town had been in commotion all night, every
visionary person in it seeing visions and dreaming dreams, and a panic
of superstition and spiritual terror taking the strength out of every
arm. Jeanne was already at her post, a glimmering white figure in the
faint and visionary twilight of the morning, when the gates of the city
swung back before this tremulous procession. The King, however, received
the envoys graciously, and readily promised to guarantee all the rights
of Troyes, and to permit the garrison to depart in peace, if the town
was given up to him. We are not told whether the Maid acquiesced in this
arrangement, though it at once secured the fulfilment of her prophecy;
but in any case she would seem to have been suspicious of the good faith
of the departing garrison. Instead of retiring to her tent she took
her place at the gate, watchful, to see the enemy march forth. And
her suspicion was not without reason. The allied troops, English and
Burgundian, poured forth from the city gates, crestfallen, unwilling to
look the way of the white witch, who might for aught they knew lay them
under some dreadful spell, even in the moment of passing. But in the
midst of them came a darker band, the French prisoners whom they had
previously taken, who were as a sort of funded capital in their hands,
each man worth so much money as a ransom, It was for this that Jeanne
had prepared herself. "_En nom Dieu_," she cried, "they shall not
be carried away." The march was stopped, the alarm given, the King
unwillingly aroused once more from his slumbers. Charles must have been
disturbed at the most untimely hour by the ambassadors from the town,
and it mattered little to his supreme indolence and indifference what
might happen to his unfortunate lieges; but he was forced to bestir
himself, and even to give something from his impoverished exchequer
for the ransom of the prisoners, which must have been more disagreeable
still. The feelings of these men who would have been dragged away in
captivity under the eyes of their victorious countrymen, but for the
vigilance of the Maid, may easily be imagined.
Jeanne seems to have entered the town at once, to prepare for the
reception of the King, and to take instant possession of the place,
forestalling all further impediment. The people in the streets, however,
received her in a very different way from those of Orleans, with trouble
and alarm, staring at her as at a dangerous and malignant visitor. The
Brother Richard, before mentioned, the great preacher and reformer, was
the oracle of Troyes, and held the conscience of the city in his hands.
When he suddenly appeared to confront her, every eye was turned upon
them. But the friar himself was in no less doubt than his disciples; he
approached her dubiously, crossing himself, making the sacred sign in
the air, and sprinkling a shower of holy water before him to drive away
the demon, if demon there was. Jeanne was not unused to support the
rudest accost, and her frank voice, still _assez femme_, made itself
heard over every clamour. "Come on, I shall not fly away," she cried,
with, one hopes, a laugh of confident innocence and good-humour, in face
of those significant gestures and the terrified looks of all about her.
French art has been unkind to Jeanne, occupying itself very little about
her till recently; but her short career is full of pictures. Here the
simple page grows bright with the ancient houses and highly coloured
crowd: the frightened and eager faces at every window, the white warrior
in the midst, sending forth a thousand rays from the polished steel
and silver of breastplate and helmet: and the brown Franciscan monk
advancing amid a shower of water drops, a mysterious repetition of
signs. It gives us an extraordinary epitome of the history of France at
that period to turn from this scene to the wild enthusiasm of Orleans,
its crowd of people thronging about her, its shouts rending the air;
while Troyes was full of terror, doubt, and ill-will, though its nearest
neighbour, so to speak, the next town, and so short a distance away.
A little later in the same day, the next after the surrender, Jeanne,
riding with her standard by the side of the King, conducted him to the
cathedral where he confirmed his previous promises and received the
homage of the town. It was a beautiful sight, the chronicle tells us, to
see all these magnificent people, so well dressed and well mounted; "_il
feroit très beau voir._"
The fate of Troyes decided that of Chalons, the only other important
town on the way, the gates of which were thrown open as Charles and his
army, which grew and increased every day, proceeded on its road. Every
promise of the Maid had been so far accomplished, both in the greater
object and in the details: and now there was nothing between Charles the
disinherited and almost ruined Dauphin of three months ago, trying to
forget himself in the seclusion and the sports of Chinon--and the sacred
ceremonial which drew with it every tradition and every assurance of an
ancient and lawful throne.
Jeanne had her little adventure, personal to herself on the way. Though
there were neither posts nor telegraphs in those days, there has always
been a strange swift current in the air or soil which has conveyed news,
in a great national crisis, from one end of the country to the other. It
was not so great a distance to Domremy on the Meuse from Troyes on the
Loire, and it appears that a little group of peasants, bolder than the
rest, had come forth to hang about the road when the army passed and
see what was so fine a sight, and perhaps to catch a glimpse of their
_payse_, their little neighbour, the _commère_ who was godmother to
Gerard d'Epinal's child, the youthful gossip of his young wife--but who
was now, if all tales were true, a great person, and rode by the side
of the King. They went as far as Chalons to see if perhaps all this were
true and not a fable; and no doubt stood astonished to see her ride by,
to hear all the marvellous tales that were told of her, and to assure
themselves that it was truly Jeanne upon whom, more than upon the King,
every eye was bent. This small scene in the midst of so many great ones
would probably have been the most interesting of all had it been told
us at any length. The peasant travellers surrounded her with wistful
questions, with wonder and admiration. Was she never afraid among all
those risks of war, when the arrows hailed about her and the _bouches
de feu_, the mouths of fire, bellowed and flung forth great stones and
bullets upon her? "I fear nothing but treason," said the victorious
Maid. She knew, though her humble visitors did not, how that base thing
skulked at her heels, and infested every path. It must not be forgotten
that this wonderful and victorious campaign, with all its lists of towns
taken and armies discomfited, lasted six weeks only, almost every day of
which was distinguished by some victory.
(1) The former story was written in 1429, by the Greffier of
Rochelle. "I will yield me only to her, the most valiant
woman in the world." The Greffier was writing at the moment,
but not, of course, as an eyewitness.--A. L.