Of our Blessed Lord Himself it is said in the Gospel of St. Matthew, "et
non fecit ibi virtutes multas propter incredulitatem illorum." These
words I willingly leave in the Roman tongue; for by the wisdom of Holy
Church it is deemed that many mysteries should not be published abroad in
the vulgar speech, lest the unlearned hear to their own confusion. But
if even He, doubtless by the wisdom of His own will, did not many great
works "propter incredulitatem," it is the less to be marvelled at that
His Saints, through the person of the Blessed Maid, were of no avail
where men utterly disbelieved. And that, where infidelity was, even she
must labour in vain was shown anon, even on this very day of my escape
out of Paris town. For I had scarce taken some food, and washed and
armed myself, when the Maid's trumpets sounded, and she herself, armed
and on horseback, despite her wound, rode into St. Denis, to devise with
the gentle Duc d'Alencon. Together they came forth from the gate, and I,
being in their company, heard her cry--
"By my baton, I will never go back till I take that city." {31}
These words Percival de Cagny also heard, a good knight, and maitre
d'hotel of the house of Alencon. Thereon arose some dispute, D'Alencon
being eager, as indeed he always was, to follow where the Maiden led, and
some others holding back.
Now, as they were devising together, some for, some against, for men-at-
arms not a few had fallen in the onfall, there came the sound of horses'
hoofs, and lo! Messire de Montmorency, who had been of the party of the
English, and with them in Paris, rode up, leading a company of fifty or
sixty gentlemen of his house, to join the Maid. Thereat was great joy
and new courage in all men of goodwill, seeing that, within Paris itself,
so many gentlemen deemed ours the better cause and the more hopeful.
Thus there was an end of all dispute, our companies were fairly arrayed,
and we were marching to revenge ourselves for the losses of yesterday,
when two knights came spurring after us from St. Denis. They were the
Duc de Bar, and that unhappy Charles de Bourbon, Comte de Clermont, by
whose folly, or ill-will, or cowardice, the Scots were betrayed and
deserted at the Battle of the Herrings, where my own brother fell, as I
have already told. This second time Charles de Bourbon brought evil
fortune, for he came on the King's part, straitly forbidding D'Alencon
and the Maid to march forward another lance's length. Whereat D'Alencon
swore profane, and the Maiden, weeping, rebuked him. So, with heavy
hearts, we turned, all the host of us, and went back to quarters, the
Maid to pray in the chapel, and the men-at-arms to drink and speak ill of
the King.
All this was on the ninth of September, a weary day to all of us, though
in the evening word came that we were to march early next morning and
attack Paris in another quarter, crossing the river by a bridge of boats
which the Duc d'Alencon had let build to that end. After two wakeful
nights I was well weary, and early laid me down to sleep, rising at dawn
with high hopes. And so through the grey light we marched silently to
the place appointed, but bridge there was none; for the King, having
heard of the Maid's intent, had caused men to work all night long,
destroying that which the gentle Duke had builded. Had the King but
heard the shouts and curses of our company when they found nought but the
bare piles standing, the grey water flowing, and the boats and planks
vanished, he might have taken shame to himself of his lack of faith.
Therefore I say it boldly, it was because of men's unbelief that the Maid
at Paris wrought no great works, save that she put her body in such
hazard of war as never did woman, nay, nor man, since the making of the
world.
I have no heart to speak more of this shameful matter, nor of these days
of anger and blasphemy. It was said and believed that her voices bade
the Maid abide at St. Denis till she should take Paris town, but the
King, and Charles de Bourbon, and the Archbishop of Reims refused to
hearken to her. On the thirteenth day of September, after dinner, the
King, with all his counsellors, rode away from St. Denis, towards Gien on
the Loire. The Maiden, for her part, hung up all her harness that she
had worn, save the sword of St. Catherine of Fierbois, in front of the
altar of Our Lady, and the blessed relics of St. Denis in the chapel.
Thereafter she rode, as needs she must, and we of her company with her,
to join the King, for so he commanded.
And now was the will of the Maid and of the Duc d'Alencon broken, and
broken was all that great army, whereof some were free lances out of many
lands, but more were nobles of France with their men, who had served
without price or pay, for love of France and of the Maid. Never again
were they mustered; nay when, after some weeks passed, the gentle Duc
d'Alencon prayed that he might have the Maiden with him, and burst into
Normandy, where the English were strongest, by the Marches of Maine, even
this grace was refused to him, by the malengin and ill-will of La
Tremouille and the Archbishop of Reims. And these two fair friends met
never more again, neither at fray nor feast. May she, among the Saints,
so work by her prayers that the late sin and treason of the gentle Duke
may be washed out and made clean, for while she lived there was no man
more dear to her, nor any that followed her more stoutly in every onfall.
Now concerning the times that came after this shameful treason at Paris,
I have no joy to write. The King's counsellors, as their manner was,
ever hankered after a peace with Burgundy, and they stretched the false
truce that was to have ended at Christmas to Easter Day, "pacem clamantes
quo non fuit pax." For there was no truce with the English, who took St.
Denis again, and made booty of the arms which the Maid had dedicated to
Our Lady. On our part La Hire and Xaintrailles plundered, for their own
hand, the lands of the Duke of Burgundy, and indeed on every side there
was no fair fighting, such as the Maid loved, but a war of wastry, the
peasants pillaged, and the poor held to ransom. For her part, she spent
her days in prayer for the poor and the oppressed, whom she had come to
deliver, and who now were in worse case than before, the English harrying
certain of the good towns that had yielded to King Charles.
Now her voices ever bade the Maid go back to the Isle of France, and
assail Paris, where lay no English garrison, and the Armagnacs were
stirring as much as they might. But Paris, being at this time under the
government of the Duke of Burgundy, was forsooth within the truce. The
King's counsellors, therefore, setting their wisdom against that of the
Saints, bade the Maid go against the towns of St. Pierre le Moustier and
La Charite, then held by the English on the Loire. This was in November,
when days were short, and the weather bitter cold. The Council was held
at Mehun sur Yevre, and forthwith the Maid, glad to be doing, rode to
Bourges, where she mustered her men, and so marched to St. Pierre le
Moustier, a small town, but a strong, with fosses, towers, and high
walls.
There we lay some two days or three, plying the town with our artillery,
and freezing in the winter nights. At length, having made somewhat of a
breach, the Maid gave the word for the assault, and herself leading, with
her banner in hand, we went at it with what force we might. But twice
and thrice we were driven back from the fosse, and to be plain, our men
were fled under cover, and only the Maid stood within arrow-shot of the
wall, with a few of her household, of whom I was one, for I could not go
back while she held her ground. The arrows and bolts from the town
rained and whistled about us, and in faith I wished myself other where.
Yet she stood, waving her banner, and crying, "Tirez en avant, ils sont a
nous," as was her way in every onfall. Seeing her thus in jeopardy, her
maitre d'hotel, D'Aulon, though himself wounded in the heel so that he
might not set foot to ground, mounted a horse, and riding up, asked her
"why she abode there alone, and did not give ground like the others?"
At this the Maid lifted her helmet from her head, and so, uncovered, her
face like marble for whiteness, and her eyes shining like steel, made
answer--
"I am not alone; with me there are of mine fifty thousand! Hence I will
not give back one step till I have taken the town."
Then I wotted well that, sinful man as I am, I was in the company of the
hosts of Heaven, though I saw them not. Great heart this knowledge gave
me and others, and the Maid crying, in a loud voice, "Aux fagots, tout le
monde!" the very runaways heard her and came back with planks and
faggots, and so, filling up the fosse and passing over, we ran into the
breach, smiting and slaying, and the town was taken.
For my own part, I was so favoured that two knights yielded them my
prisoners (I being the only man of gentle birth among those who beset
them in a narrow wynd), and with their ransoms I deemed myself wealthy
enough, as well I might. So now I could look to win my heart's desire,
if no ill fortune befell. But little good fortune came in our way. From
La Charite, which was beset in the last days of November, we had perforce
to give back, for the King sent us no munitions of war, and for lack of
more powder and ball we might not make any breach in the walls of that
town. And so, by reason of the hard winter, and the slackness of the
King, and the false truce, we fought no more, at that season, but went,
trailing after the Court, from castle to castle.
Many feasts were held, and much honour was done to the Maid, as by gifts
of coat armour, and the ennobling of all her kith and kin, but these
things she regarded not, nor did she ever bear on her shield the sword
supporting the crown, between the lilies of France.
If these were ill days for the Maid, I shame to confess that they were
merry days with me. There are worse places than a king's court, when a
man is young, and light of heart, full of hope, and with money in his
purse. I looked that we should take the field again in the spring; and
having gained some gold, and even some good words, as one not backward
where sword-strokes were going, I know not what dreams I had of high
renown, ay, and the Constable's staff to end withal. For many a poor
Scot has come to great place in France and Germany, who began with no
better fortune than a mind to put his body in peril. Moreover, the
winning of Elliot herself for my wife seemed now a thing almost within my
reach. Therefore, as I say, I kept a merry Yule at Jargeau, going
bravely clad, and dancing all night long with the merriest. Only the wan
face of the Maid (that in time of war had been so gallant and glad) came
between me and my pleasures. Not that she was wilfully and wantonly sad,
yet now and again we could mark in her face the great and loving pity
that possessed her for France. Now I would be half angered with her, but
again far more wroth with myself, who could thus lightly think of that
passion of hers. But when she might she was ever at her prayers, or in
company of children, or seeking out such as were poor and needy, to whom
she was abundantly lavish of her gifts, so that, wheresoever the Court
went, the people blessed her.
In these months I had tidings of Elliot now and again; and as occasion
served I wrote to her, with messages of my love, and with a gift, as of a
ring or a jewel. But concerning the manner of my escape from Paris I had
told Elliot nothing for this cause. My desire was, when soonest I had an
occasion, to surprise her with the gift of her jackanapes anew, knowing
well that nothing could make her greater joy, save my own coming, or a
victory of the Maid. The little creature had been my comrade wheresoever
we went, as at Sully, Gien, and Bourges, only I took him not to the
leaguers of St. Pierre le Moustier and La Charite, but left him with a
fair lady of the Court. He had waxed fat again, for as meagre as he was
when he came to me in prison, and he was full of new tricks, warming
himself at the great fire in hall, like a man.
Now in the middle of the month of January, in the year of Grace fourteen
hundred and thirty, the Maid told us of her household that she would
journey to Orleans, to abide for some space with certain ladies of her
friends, namely, Madame de St. Mesmin and Madame de Mouchy, who loved her
dearly. To the most of us she gave holiday, to see our own friends. The
Maid knew surely that in France my friends were few, and well she guessed
whither I was bound. Therefore she sent for me, and bidding me carry her
love to Elliot, she put into my hands a gift to her friend. It was a
ring of silver-gilt, fashioned like that which her own father and mother
had given her. At this ring she had a custom of looking often, so that
the English conceived it to be an unholy talisman, though it bore the
Name that is above all names. That ring I now wear in my bosom. So,
saying farewell, with many kind words on her part, I rode towards Tours,
where Elliot and her father as then dwelt, in that same house where I had
been with them to be healed of my malady, after the leaguer of Orleans.
To Tours I rode, telling them not of my coming, and carrying the
jackanapes well wrapped up in furs of the best. The weather was frosty,
and folk were sliding on the ice of the flooded fields near Tours when I
came within sight of the great Minster. The roads rang hard; on the
smooth ice the low sun was making paths of gold, and I sang as I rode.
Putting up my horse at the sign of the "Hanging Sword," I took the ape
under my great furred surcoat, and stole like a thief through the alleys,
towards my master's house. The night was falling, and all the casement
of the great chamber was glowing with the colour and light of a leaping
fire within. There came a sound of music too, as one touched the
virginals to a tune of my own country. My heart was beating for joy, as
it had beaten in the bushment outside Paris town.
I opened the outer door secretly, for I knew the trick of it, and I saw
from the thin thread of light on the wall of the passage that the chamber
door was a little ajar. The jackanapes was now fretting and struggling
within my surcoat, so, opening the coat, I put him down by the chamber
door. He gave a little scratch, as was his custom, for he was a very
mannerly little beast, and the sound of the virginals ceased. Then,
pushing the door with his little hands, he ran in, with a kind of cry of
joy.
"In Our Lady's name, what is this?" came the voice of Elliot. "My dear,
dear little friend, what make you here?"
Then I could withhold myself no longer, but entered, and my lady ran to
me, the jackanapes clinging about her neck with his arms. But mine were
round her too, and what words we said, and what cheer we made each the
other, I may not write, commending me to all true lovers, whose hearts
shall tell them that whereof I am silent. Much was I rebuked for that I
did not write to warn them of my coming, which was yet the more joyful
that they were not warned. And then the good woman, Elliot's kinswoman,
must be called (though in sooth not at the very first), and then a great
fire must be lit in my old chamber; and next my master came in, from a
tavern where he had been devising with some Scots of his friends; and all
the while the jackanapes kept such a merry coil, and played so many of
his tricks, and got so many kisses from his mistress, that it was marvel.
But of all that had befallen me in the wars, and of how the Maiden did
(concerning which Elliot had questioned me first of all), I would tell
them little till supper was brought.
And then, indeed, out came all my tale, and they heard of what had been
my fortune in Paris, and how the jackanapes had delivered me from
durance, whereon never, surely, was any beast of his kind so caressed
since our father Adam gave all the creatures their names. But as
touching the Maid, I told how she had borne herself at St. Pierre le
Moustier, and of all the honours that had been granted to her, and I bade
them be of good heart and hope, for that her banner would be on the wind
in spring, after Easter Day. All the good news that might be truly told
I did tell, as how La Hire had taken Louviers town, and harried the
English up to the very gates of Rouen. And I gave to Elliot the ring
which the Maid had sent to her, fashioned like that she herself wore, but
of silver gilt, whereas the Maid's was of base metal, and it bore the
Holy Names MARI. IHS. Thereon Elliot kissed it humbly, and avowed
herself to be, that night, the gladdest damsel in all France.
"For I have gotten you, mon ami, and my little friend that I had lost,
beyond all hope, and I have a kind word and a token from Her, la fille de
Dieu," whereat her speech faltered, and her eyes swam in tears. But some
trick of her jackanapes brought back her mirth, and so the hours passed,
as happy as any in my life. Truly the memory of these things tells me
how glad this world might be, wherein God has placed us, were it not
troubled by the inordinate desires of men. In my master's house of
Tours, then, my days of holiday went merrily by, save for one matter, and
that of the utmost moment. For my master would in no manner permit me to
wed his daughter while this war endured; and Elliot herself, blushing
like any rose, told me that, while the Maid had need of me, with the Maid
I must abide at my duty, and that she herself had no mind for happiness
while her friend was yet labouring in the cause of France. Howbeit, I
delivered me of my vow, by pilgrimage to the chapel in Fierbois. {32}