By this time France was once more all in flames: the English and
Burgundians had entered and then abandoned Paris--Duke Philip cynically
leaving that city, which he had promised to give up to Charles, to
its own protection, in order to look after his more pressing personal
concerns: while Bedford spread fire and flame about the adjacent
country, retaking with much slaughter many of the towns which had
opened their gates to the King. Thus while Charles gave no attention
to anything beyond the Loire, and kept his chief champion there, as it
were, on the leash, permitting no return to the most important field
of operations, almost all that had been gained was again lost upon the
banks of the Seine. This was the state of affairs when Jeanne returned
humbled and sad from the abandoned siege of La Charité. Her enemy's
counsels had triumphed all round and this was the result. Individual
fightings of no particular account and under no efficient organisation
were taking place day by day; here a town stood out heroically, there
another yielded to the foreign arms; the population were thrown back
into universal misery, the spring fields trampled under foot, the
villages burned, every evil of war in full operation, invasion
aggravated by faction, the English always aided by one side of France
against the other, and neither peace nor security anywhere.
This was the aspect of affairs on one side. On the other appeared a
still less satisfactory scene. Charles amusing himself, his counsellors,
La Tremoïlle, and the Archbishop of Rheims carrying on fictitious
negotiations with Burgundy and playing with the Maid who was in their
power, sending her out to make a show and cast a spell, then dragging
her back at the end of their shameful chain: while the Court, the King
and Queen, and all their flattering attendants gilded that chain and
tried to make her forget by fine clothes and caresses, at once her
mission and her despair. They were not ungrateful, no: let us do them
justice, for they might well have added this to the number of their
sins: mantles of cloth of gold, patents of nobility were at her command,
had these been what she wanted. The only personal wrong they did
to Jeanne was to set up against her a sort of opposition, another
enchantress and visionary who had "voices" and apparitions too, and who
was admitted to all the councils and gave her advice in contradiction
of the Maid, a certain Catherine de la Rochelle, who was ready to say
anything that was put into her mouth, but who had done nothing to prove
any mission for France or from God. We have little light however upon
the state of affairs in those castles, which one after another were the
abode of the Court during this disastrous winter. They were safe enough
on the other side of the Loire in the fat country where the vines still
flourished and the young corn grew. Now and then a band of armed men was
sent forth to succour a fighting town in the suffering and struggling
Île-de-France, always under the conflicting orders of those intrigants
and courtiers: but within the Court, all was gay; "never man," as rough
La Hire had said on an earlier occasion, "lost his kingdom more gaily
or with better grace" than did Charles. Where was La Hire? Where was
Dunois?--there is no appearance of these champions anywhere. Alençon had
returned to his province. Only La Tremoïlle and the Archbishop holding
all the strings in their hands, upsetting all military plans, disgusting
every chief, met and talked and carried on their busy intrigues, and
played their Sibyl--_Sibylle de carrefour_, says one of the historians
indignantly--against the Maid, who, all discouraged and downcast,
fretted by caresses, sick of inactivity, dragged out the uneasy days in
an uncongenial world; but Jeanne has left no record of the sensations
with which she saw these days pass, eating her heart out, gazing
over that rapid river, on the other side of which all the devils were
unchained and every result of her brief revolution was being lost.
At length however the impatience and despair were more than she could
bear; the Court was then at Sully and the spring had begun with its
longer days and more passable roads. Without a word to anyone the Maid
left the castle. The war had rolled towards these princely walls, as
near as Melun, which was threatened by the English. A little band of
intimate servants and associates, her two brothers, and a few faithful
followers, were with her. So far as we know she never saw Charles or his
courtiers again. They arrived at Melun in time to witness and to take
part in the repulse of the English, and it was here that a communication
was make to Jeanne by her saints of which afterwards there was frequent
mention. Little had been said of them during her dark time of inaction,
and their tone was no longer as of old. It was on the side of the moat
of Melun where probably she was superintending some necessary work
to strengthen the fortifications or to put them in better order for
defence, that this message reached her. The "Voices" which so often had
urged her to victory and engaged the faith of heaven for her success,
had now a word to say, secret and personal to herself. It was that she
should be taken prisoner; and the date was fixed, before the St. Jean.
It was the middle of April when this communication was made and the
Feast of St. Jean, as everybody knows, is in the end of June; two months
only to work in, to strike another blow for France. The "Voices" bade
her not to fear, that God would sustain her. But it would be impossible
not to be startled by such a sudden intimation in the midst of her
reviving plans. The Maid made one terrified prayer, that God would let
her die when she was taken, not subject her to long imprisonment; her
heart prophetically sprang to a sudden consciousness of the most likely,
most terrible end that lay before her, for she had been often enough
threatened with the stake and the fire to know what to expect. But
the saintly voices made no reply. They bade her be strong and of good
courage: is not that the all-sustaining, all-delusive message for every
martyr? It was the will of God, and His support and sustaining power,
which we often take to mean deliverance, but which is not always
so--were promised. She asked where this terrible thing was to happen,
but received no reply. Natural and simple as she was, she confessed
afterwards that had she known she was to be taken on any certain day,
she would not have gone out to meet the catastrophe unless she had
been forced by evident duty to do so. But this was not revealed to her.
"Before the St. Jean!" It must almost have seemed a guarantee that until
that time or near it she was safe. She would seem to have said nothing
immediately of this vision to sadden those about her.
In the meantime, however, there were other adventures in store for her.
From Melun to Lagny was no long journey, but it was through a country
full of enemies in which she must have been subject to attack at every
corner of every road or field. And she had not been long in the latter
place which is said to have had a garrison of Scots, when news came
of the passing of a band of Burgundians, a troop of raiders indeed,
ravaging the country, taking advantage of the war to rob and lay waste
churches, villages, and the growing fields wherever they passed. The
troops was led by Franquet d'Arras, a famous "_pillard_," robber of God
and man. Jeanne set out to encounter this bandit with a party of some
four hundred men, and various noble companions, among whom, however, we
find no name familiar in her previous career, a certain Hugh Kennedy, a
Scot, who is to be met with in various records of fighting, being one of
the most notable among them. Franquet's band fought vigorously but were
cut to pieces, and the leader was taken prisoner. When this man was
brought back to Lagny, a prisoner to be ransomed, and whom Jeanne
desired to exchange for one of her own side, the law laid claim to him
as a criminal. He was a prisoner of war: what was it the Maid's duty to
do? The question is hotly debated by the historians and it was brought
against her at her trial. He was a murderer, a robber, the scourge of
the country--especially to the poor whom Jeanne protected and cared for
everywhere, was he pitiless and cruel. She gave him up to justice, and
he was tried, condemned, and beheaded. If it was wrong from a military
point of view, it was her only error, and shows how little there was
with which to reproach her.
In Lagny other things passed of a more private nature. Every day and all
day long her "voices" repeated their message in her ears. "Before the
St. Jean." She repeated it to some of her closest comrades but left
herself no time to dwell upon it. Still worse than the giving up of
Franquet was the supposed resuscitation of a child, born dead, which
its parents implored her to pray for that it might live again to be
baptised. She explained the story to her judges afterwards. It was
the habit of the time, nay, we believe continues to this day in some
primitive places, to lay the dead infant on the altar in such a case, in
hope of a miracle. "It is true," said Jeanne, "that the maidens of the
town were all assembled in the church praying God to restore life that
it might be baptised. It is also true that I went and prayed with them.
The child opened its eyes, yawned three or four times, was christened
and died. This is all I know." The miracle is not one that will find
much credit nowadays. But the devout custom was at least simple and
intelligible enough, though it afforded an excellent occasion to
attribute witchcraft to the one among those maidens who was not of Lagny
but of God.
From Lagny Jeanne went on to various other places in danger, or which
wanted encouragement and help. She made two or three hurried visits to
Compiègne, which was threatened by both parties of the enemy; at one
time raising the siege of Choicy, near Compiègne, in company with the
Archbishop of Rheims, a strange brother in arms. On another of her
visits to Compiègne there is said to have occurred an incident which, if
true, reveals to us with very sad reality the trouble that overshadowed
the Maid. She had gone to early mass in the Church of St. Jacques, and
communicated, as was her custom. It must have been near Easter--perhaps
the occasion of the first communion of some of the children who are
so often referred to, among whom she loved to worship. She had retired
behind a pillar on which she leaned as she stood, and a number of
people, among whom were many children, drew near after the service to
gaze at her. Jeanne's heart was full, and she had no one near to whom
she could open it and relieve her soul. As she stood against the pillar
her trouble burst forth. "Dear friends and children," she said, "I have
to tell you that I have been sold and betrayed, and will soon be given
up to death. I beg of you to pray for me; for soon I shall no longer
have any power to serve the King and the kingdom." These words were told
to the writer who records them, in the year 1498, by two very old men
who had heard them, being children at the time. The scene was one to
dwell in a child's recollection, and, if true, it throws a melancholy
light upon the thoughts that filled the mind of Jeanne, though her
actions may have seemed as energetic and her impulses as strong as in
her best days.
At last the news came speeding through the country that Compiègne was
being invested on all sides. It had been the headquarters of Charles
and had received him with acclamations, and therefore the alarm of the
townsfolk for the retribution awaiting them, should they fall into the
hands of the enemy, was great; it was besides a very important position.
Jeanne was at Crespy en Valois when this news reached her. She set out
immediately (May 22, 1430) to carry aid to the garrison: "_F'irai voir
mes bons amis de Compiègne_," she said. The words are on the base of
her statue which now stands in the Place of that town. Something of
her early impetuosity was in this impulse, and no apparent dread of
any fatality. She rode all night at the head of her party, and arrived
before the dawn, a May morning, the 23d, still a month from the fatal
"St. Jean." Though the prophecy was always in her ears, she must have
felt that whole month still before her, with a sensation of almost
greater safety because the dangerous moment was fixed. The town received
her with joy, and no doubt the satisfaction and relief which hailed her
and her reinforcements gave additional fervour to the Maid, and drove
out of her mind for a moment the fatal knowledge which oppressed it.
There is some difficulty in understanding the events of this day, but
the lucid narrative of Quicherat, which we shall now quote, gives a
very vivid picture of it. Jeanne had timed her arrival so early in the
morning, probably with the intention of keeping the adversaries in their
camps unaware of so important an addition to the garrison, in order that
she might surprise them by the sortie she had determined upon; but no
doubt the news had leaked forth somehow, if through no other means, by
the sudden ringing of the bells and sounds of joy from the city. She
paid her usual visits to the churches, and noted and made all her
arrangements for the sortie with her usual care, occupying the long
summer day in these preparations. And it was not till five o'clock in
the evening that everything was complete, and she sallied forth. We hear
nothing of the state of the town, or of any suspicion existing at the
time as to the governor Flavy who was afterwards believed by some to be
the man who sold and betrayed her. It is a question debated warmly like
all these questions. He was a man of bad reputation, but there is no
evidence that he was a traitor. The incidents are all natural enough,
and seem to indicate clearly the mere fortune of war upon which no man
can calculate. We add from Quicherat the description of the field and
what took place there:
"Compiègne is situated on the left bank of the Oise. On the other side
extends a great meadow, nearly a mile broad, at the end of which the
rising ground of Picardy rises suddenly like a wall, shutting in the
horizon. The meadow is so low and so subject to floods that it is
crossed by an ancient foot of the low hills. Three village churches mark
the extent of the landscape visible from the walls of Compiègne;
Margny (sometimes spelt Marigny) at the end of the road; Clairoix three
quarters of a league higher up, at the confluence of the two rivers,
the Aronde and the Oise, close to the spot where another tributary, the
Aisne, also flows into the Oise; and Venette a mile and a half lower
down. The Burgundians had one camp at Margny, another at Clairoix; the
headquarters of the English were at Venette. As for the inhabitants
of Compiègne, their first defence facing the enemy was one of those
redoubts or towers which the chronicles of the fifteenth century called
a boulevard. It was placed at the end of the bridge and commanded the
road.
"The plan of the Maid was to make a sortie towards the evening, to
attack Margny and afterwards Clairoix, and then at the opening of the
Aronde valley to meet the Duke of Burgundy and his forces who were
lodged there, and who would naturally come to the aid of his other
troops when attacked. She took no thought for the English, having
already carefully arranged with Flavy how they should be prevented from
cutting off her retreat. The governor provided against any chance of
this by arming the boulevard strongly with archers to drive off any
advancing force, and also by keeping ready on the Oise a number of
covered boats to receive the foot-soldiers in case of a retrograde
movement.
"The action began well: the garrison of Margny yielded in the twinkling
of an eye. That of Clairoix rushing to the support of their brothers in
arms was repulsed, then in its turn repulsed the French; and three times
this alternative of advance and retreat took place on the flat ground of
the meadow without serious injury to either party. This gave time to the
English to take part in the fray;(1) though thanks to the precautions of
Flavy all they could do was to swell the ranks of the Burgundians.
But unfortunately the rear of the Maid's army was struck with the
possibility that a diversion might be attempted from behind, and their
retreat cut off. A panic seized them; they broke their ranks, turned
back and fled, some to the boats, some to the barrier of the boulevard.
The English witnessing this flight rushed after them, secure now on the
side of Compiègne, where the archers no longer ventured to shoot
lest they should kill the fugitives instead of the enemies. They (the
English) thus got possession of the raised road, and pushed on so hotly
after the fugitives that their horses' heads touched the backs of the
crowd. It thus became necessary for the safety of the town to close the
gates until the barrier of the boulevard should be set up again."
*****
These disastrous accidents had taken place while Jeanne, charging in
front with her companions and body-guard, remained quite unaware of any
misfortune. She would hear no call to retreat, even when her companions
were roused to the dangers of their position. "Forward, they are ours!"
was all her cry. As at St. Pierre-le-Moutier she was ready to defeat the
Burgundian army alone. At length the others perceiving something of
what had happened seized her bridle and forced her to retire. She was of
herself too remarkable a figure to be concealed amid the group of armed
men who rode with her, encircling her, defending the rear of the flying
party. Over her armour she wore a crimson tunic, or according to some
authorities a short cloak, of gorgeous material embroidered with gold,
and though by this time the twilight must have afforded a partial
shelter, yet the knowledge that she was there gave keenness to every
eye. Behind, the scattered Burgundians had rallied and begun to pursue,
while the armour and spears of the English glittered in front between
the little party and the barrier which was blocked by a terrified crowd
of fugitives. Even then a party of horsemen might have cut their way
through; but at the moment when Jeanne and her followers drew near, the
barrier was sharply closed and the wild, confused, and fighting crowd,
treading each other down, struggling for life, were forced back upon the
English lances. Thus the retreating band riding hard along the raised
road, in order and unbroken, found the path suddenly barred by the
forces of the enemy, the fugitives of their own army, and the closed
gates of the town.
An attempt was then made by the Maid and her companions to turn towards
the western gate where there still might have been a chance of safety;
but by this time the smaller figure among all those steel-clad men, and
the waving mantle, must have been distinguished through the dusk and the
dust. There was a wild rush of combat and confusion, and in a moment she
was surrounded, seized, her horse and her person, notwithstanding all
resistance. With cries of "Rendez vous," and many an evil name, fierce
faces and threatening weapons closed round her. One of her assailants--a
Burgundian knight, a Picard archer, the accounts differ--caught her
by her mantle and dragged her from her horse; no Englishman let us be
thankful, though no doubt all were equally eager and ready. Into the
midst of that shouting mass of men, in the blinding cloud of dust,
in the darkening of the night, the Maid of France disappeared for one
terrible moment, and was lost to view. And then, and not till then, came
a clamour of bells into the night, and all the steeples of Compiègne
trembled with the call to arms, a sally to save the deliverer. Was it
treachery? Was it only a perception, too late, of the danger? There are
not wanting voices to say that a prompt sally might have saved Jeanne,
and that it was quite within the power of the Governor and city had they
chosen. Who can answer so dreadful a suggestion? it is too much shame
to human nature to believe it. Perhaps within Compiègne as without, they
were too slow to perceive the supreme moment, too much overwhelmed to
snatch any chance of rescue till it was too late.
Happily we have no light upon the tumult around the prisoner, the ugly
triumph, the shouts and exultation of the captors who had seized the
sorceress at last; nor upon the thoughts of Jeanne, with her threatened
doom fulfilled and unknown horrors before her, upon which imagination
must have thrown the most dreadful light, however strongly her courage
was sustained by the promise of succour from on high. She had not been
sent upon this mission as of old. No heavenly voice had said to her
"Go and deliver Compiègne." She had undertaken that warfare on her own
charges with no promise to encourage her, only the certainty of being
overthrown "before the St. Jean." But the St. Jean was still far off, a
long month of summer days between her and that moment of fate! So far
as we can see Jeanne showed no unseemly weakness in this dark hour. One
account tells us that she held her sword high over her head declaring
that it was given by a higher than any who could claim its surrender
there. But she neither struggled nor wept. Not a word against her
constancy and courage could any one, then or after, find to say. The
Burgundian chronicler tells us one thing, the French another. "The Maid,
easily recognised by her costume of crimson and by the standard which
she carried in her hand, alone continued to defend herself," says one;
but that we are sure could not have been the case as long as d'Aulon,
who accompanied her, was still able to keep on his horse. "She yielded
and gave her parole to Lyonnel, bâtard de Wandomme," says another; but
Jeanne herself declares that she gave her faith to no one, reserving
to herself the right to escape if she could. In that dark evening
scene nothing is clear except the fact that the Maid was taken, to the
exultation and delight of her captors and to the terror and grief of the
unhappy town, vainly screaming with all its bells to arms,--and with its
sons and champions by hundreds dying under the English lances and in the
dark waves of the Oise.
The archer or whoever it was who secured this prize, took Jeanne back,
along the bloody road with its relics of the fight, to Margny, the
Burgundian camp, where the leaders crowded together to see so important
a prisoner. "Thither came soon after," says Monstrelet, "the Duke of
Burgundy from his camp of Coudon, and there assembled the English, the
said Duke and those of the other camps in great numbers, making, one
with the other, great cries and rejoicings on the taking of the Maid:
whom the said Duke went to see in the lodging where she was and spoke
some words to her which I cannot call to mind, though I was there
present; after which the said Duke and the others withdrew for the
night, leaving the Maid in the keeping of Messer John of Luxembourg"--to
whom she had been immediately sold by her first captor. The same night,
Philip, this noble Duke and Prince of France, wrote a letter to convey
the blessed information:
"The great news of this capture should be spread everywhere and brought
to the knowledge of all, that they may see the error of those who could
believe and lend themselves to the pretensions of such a woman. We write
this in the hope of giving you joy, comfort, and consolation, and that
you may thank God our Creator. Pray that it may be His holy will to be
more and more favourable to the enterprises of our royal master and to
the restoration of his sway over all his good and faithful subjects."
This royal master was Henry VI. of England, the baby king, doomed
already to expiate sins that were not his, by the saddest life and
reign. The French historians whimsically but perhaps not unnaturally,
have the air of putting down this baseness on Philip's part, and on that
of his contemporaries in general, to the score of the English, which is
hard measure, seeing that the treachery of a Frenchman could in no way
be attributed to the other nation of which he was the natural enemy, or
at least, antagonist. Very naturally the subsequent proceedings in all
their horror and cruelty are equally put down to the English account,
although Frenchmen took, exulted over as a prisoner, tried and condemned
as an enemy of God and the Church, the spotless creature who was France
incarnate, the very embodiment of her country in all that was purest and
noblest. We shall see with what spontaneous zeal all France, except her
own small party, set to work to accomplish this noble office.
Almost before one could draw breath the University of Paris claimed her
as a proper victim for the Inquisition. Compiègne made no sally for
her deliverance; Charles, no attempt to ransom her. From end to end of
France not a finger was lifted for her rescue; the women wept over her,
the poor people still crowded around the prisoner wherever seen, but the
France of every public document, of every practical power, the living
nation, when it did not utter cries of hatred, kept silence. We in
England have over and over again acknowledged with shame our guilty part
in her murder; but still to this day the Frenchman tries to shield
his under cover of the English influence and terror. He cannot deny La
Tremoïlle, nor Cauchon, nor the University, nor the learned doctors
who did the deed; individually he is ready to give them all up to the
everlasting fires which one cannot but hope are kept alive for some
people in spite of all modern benevolences; but he skilfully turns back
to the English as a moving cause of everything. Nothing can be more
untrue. The English were not better than the French, but they had the
excuse at least of being the enemy. France saved by a happy chance her
_blanches mains_ from the actual blood of the pure and spotless Maid;
but with exultation she prepared the victim for the stake, sent her
thither, played with her like a cat with a mouse and condemned her to
the fire. This is not to free us from our share: but it is the height of
hypocrisy to lay the blood of Jeanne, entirely to our door.
Thus Jeanne's inspiration proved itself over again in blood and tears;
it had been proved already on battle-field and city wall, with loud
trumpets of joy and victory. But the "voices" had spoken again, sounding
another strain; not always of glory--it is not the way of God; but of
prison, downfall, distress. "Be not astonished at it," they said to
her; "God will be with you." From day to day they had spoken in the same
strain, with no joyful commands to go forth and conquer, but the one
refrain: "Before the St. Jean." Perhaps there was a certain relief in
her mind at first when the blow fell and the prophecy was accomplished.
All she had to do now was to suffer, not to be surprised, to trust in
God that He would support her. To Jeanne, no doubt, in the confidence
and inexperience of her youth, that meant that God would deliver her.
And so He did; but not as she expected. The sunshine of her life was
over, and now the long shadow, the bitter storm was to come.
Nothing could be more remarkable than the response of France in general
to this extraordinary event. In Paris there were bonfires lighted to
show their joy, the _Te Deum_ was sung at Notre Dame. At the Court
Charles and his counsellors amused themselves with another prophet, a
shepherd from the hills who was to rival Jeanne's best achievements, but
never did so. Only the towns which she had delivered had still a tender
thought for Jeanne. At Tours the entire population appeared in
the streets with bare feet, singing the _Miserere_ in penance and
affliction. Orleans and Blois made public prayers for her safety.
Rheims, in which there was much independent interest in Jeanne and her
truth, had to be specially soothed by a letter from the Archbishop, in
which he made out with great cleverness that it was the fault of Jeanne
alone that she was taken. "She did nothing but by her own will, without
obeying the commandments of God," he says; "she would hear no counsel,
but followed her own pleasure,"; and it is in this letter that we hear
of the shepherd lad who was to replace Jeanne, and that it was his
opinion or revelation that God had suffered the Maid to be taken because
of her growing pride, because she loved fine clothes, and preferred her
own will to any guidance. We do not know whether this contented the
city of Rheims; similar reasoning however seems to have silenced France.
Nobody uttered a protest, nor struck a blow; the mournful procession of
Tours, where she had been first known in the outset of her career, the
prayers of Orleans which she had delivered, are the only exceptions we
know of. Otherwise there was lifted in France neither voice nor hand to
avert her doom.
(1) The three camps must have formed a sort of irregular
triangle. The English at Venette being only half a mile from
the gates of Compiègne.