"GOOD LUCK, JOAN!"
Towards sun-down of February 28 of the year 1429, a large crowd
consisting of men, women and children pressed around the Castle of
Vaucouleurs. The crowd was impatient; it was enthusiastic.
"Are you sure the pretty Joan will leave the castle by this gate?" asked
one of the crowd, addressing at random his nearest neighbor.
"I think so--she can not go out on horseback by the postern gate. She is
to ride along the ramparts with the Sire of Novelpont, who is to escort
her on her long journey. We shall be able to get a good view of her here
on her fine white horse."
"Our hearts all go out to her," remarked a third.
"The prophecy of Merlin is fulfilled. Well did he say--_Gaul, lost by a
woman, will be saved by a virgin from the borders of Lorraine and a
forest of old oaks!_" said a fourth.
"She will deliver us from the English! The poor will again be able to
breathe! Peace and work for all!"
"No more war alarms; no more conflagrations; no more pillaging; no more
massacres! May her name be blessed!"
"It is God who sent us Joan the Maid--Glory to God!"
"And yet a daughter of the field--a simple shepherdess!"
"The Lord God inspires her--she alone is worth a whole army. The
archangels will fight on her side."
"Do you know that Master Tiphaine, the curate of the parish of St.
Euterpe, undertook to exorcise the Maid in case she was a sorceress and
was possessed of a demon? The clerk carried the cross, the choir-boy the
holy-water, and Master Tiphaine carried the sprinkler. But he did not
dare to approach the Maid too near, fearing some trick of the spirit of
Evil. But Joan smiled and said: 'Come near, good Father, I shall not fly
away.'"[42]
"She felt quite sure that she was a daughter of God!"
"Evidently she is a virgin. After the exorcism no clawy demon leaped out
of her mouth!"
"Everybody knows that the devil can not inhabit the body of a virgin.
Consequently Joan can not be a sorceress, whatever people may have said
of her god-mother Sybille."
"So far from suspecting that Joan was an invoker of demons, Master
Tiphaine was so edified with her mildness and modesty that the day after
the exorcism he admitted her to holy communion--she ate the bread of the
angels."
"That was lucky! Who, if not Joan, could eat angels' bread?"
"Do you know, friends, that while the Sire of Baudricourt was waiting
for the answer of the King, and, by God, it seems the answer was long in
coming, the Duke of Lorraine, hearing the report that Joan was the maid
foretold by Merlin, wished to see her?"
"And did he?"
"The Sire of Novelpont took Joan to the duke. 'Well, my young girl,'
said the duke to her, 'you who are sent by God should be able to give
me advice; I am sick, and, it looks to me, near my end--'"
"So much the worse for him! Who does not know that the duke is suffering
from the consequences of his debaucheries, and that, in order to indulge
them at his ease, he has bravely cast off his own wife?"
"No doubt Joan must have known all that, because she answered the duke:
'Monseigneur, call the duchess back to your side, lead an honest life,
God will not forsake you.[43] Help yourself and heaven will help you.'"
"Well answered, holy girl!"
"It is said that those are her favorite words--'Help yourself and heaven
will help you!'"
"Well, may heaven and all its saints protect her during the long journey
that she is to undertake!"
"Is it credible?--a poor child of seventeen years to command an army?"
"Myself and five other archers of the company of the Sire of
Baudricourt," said a sturdy looking soldier, "requested him as a favor
to allow us to escort Joan the Maid. He refused! By the bowels of the
Pope, I would have liked to have that beautiful girl for a captain! Led
by her, I would defy all the English put together! Yes, by the navel of
Satan, I would!"
"Armed men commanded by a woman! That surely is odd!" observed an
impressed cynic.
"Two beautiful eyes looking upon you and seeming to say: 'March upon the
enemy!' are enough to set one's heart on fire! And if, besides, a sweet
voice says to you: 'Courage--forward!' that would be enough to turn the
biggest coward into a hero!"
"Above all if the voice is inspired by God, my brave archer."
"Whether she be inspired by God, by the devil or by her own bravery, I
care as little as for a broken arrow. If one were but alone against a
thousand, he must have the cowardice of a hare not to follow a beautiful
girl, who, sword in hand, rushes upon the enemy."
"I can not help thinking of the pain it must give Joan's family to have
her depart, however glorious the Maid's destiny may be. Her mother must
feel very sad."
"I have it from Dame Laxart that James Darc, a very strict and rough
man, after having twice had his daughter written to, ordering her return
home, and objecting to her riding away with men-at-arms, has invoked a
curse upon her. Furthermore, he forbade his wife and his two sons ever
again to see Joan. She wept all the tears in her poor body upon learning
of her father's curse. 'My heart bleeds to leave my family,' said the
poor child to Dame Laxart, 'but I must go whither God bids me.[44] I
have a glorious mission to fill.'"
"The Maid's father is a brute! He must have a bad heart! The idea of
cursing his daughter--who is going to deliver Gaul."
"She will do so--Merlin foretold it."
"It will be a beautiful day for us all when the English are thrust out
of our poor country which they have been ravaging for so many years!"
"The fault lies with the knighthood," put in a civilian; "why did it
prove so cowardly at Poitiers? This nobility is a costly luxury."
"And on top of all, oppressed and persecuted, Jacques Bonhomme has had
to pay the ransom for the cowardly seigneurs with gilded spurs!"
"But Jacques Bonhomme got tired and kicked in his desperation. Oh, once
at least did the scythe and fork get the better of the lance and sword!
The Jacquerie revenged the serfs! Death to the nobles!"
"But what a carnage was not thereupon made of the Jacques! The day of
reprisals will come!"
"Well, the Jacques had their turn; that is some consolation!"[45]
"Now it will be the turn of the English, thanks to Joan the Maid--the
envoy of God! She will throw them out!"
"Aye, aye! Let her alone--she promised that within a month there will
not be one of these foreigners left in France."[46]
"Glory to her! The shepherdess of Domremy will have done what neither
King, dukes, knights nor captains were capable of accomplishing!"
"Good luck to you, Joan, born like ourselves of the common people! A
blessing on her from all the poor serfs who have been suffering death
and all the agonies of death at the hands of the English!"
"They are letting down the drawbridge of the castle!"
"There she is! That's she!"
"How well shaped and beautiful she is in her man's clothes! Prosperity
to Joan the Maid!"
"Look at her! You would take her for a handsome young page with her
black hair cut round, her scarlet cape, her green jacket, her leather
hose and her spurred boots! Long live our Joan!"
"By my soul, she has a sword on her side!"
"Although not a generous man, the Sire of Baudricourt presented her with
it."
"That's the least he could do! Did not the rest of us in Vaucouleurs go
down in our pockets to purchase a horse for the warrior maid?"
"Master Simon, the cloth merchant, answered for the palfrey as a patient
animal and of a good disposition; a child could lead it; it served as
the mount to a noble dame in the hunt with falcons."
"Upon the word of an archer," again put in the archer of the Sire of
Baudricourt's company, "Joan holds herself in the saddle like a captain!
By the bowels of the Pope! She is beautiful and well shaped! How sorry I
am not to be among the armed men of her escort! I would go with her to
the end of the world, if only for the pleasure of looking at her!"
"Indeed, if I were a soldier, I would prefer to obey orders given by a
sweet voice and from pretty little lips, than given by a rough voice and
from hairy and coarse lips."
"Look at the Sire of Novelpont with his iron armor! He rides at Joan's
right. Do you see him? He is a worthy seigneur."
"He looks as if he would guard her as his own daughter. May God guard
them both!"
"He is adjusting a strap on the bridle of the Maid's palfrey."
"At her left is the Sire of Baudricourt; he will probably accompany her
part of the way."
"There is the equerry Bertrand of Poulagny, carrying his master's lance
and shield."
"Jesus! They have only four armed men with them! All told six persons to
escort Joan from here to Touraine! And through such dangerous
territories! What an imprudence!"
"God will watch over the holy Maid."
"Look--she is turning in her saddle and seems to wave good-bye to
someone in the castle."
"She is taking her handkerchief to her eyes; she is drying her tears."
"She must have been waving good-bye to her uncle and aunt, the old
Laxarts."
"Yes; there they are, both of them, at the lower window of the tower;
they are holding each other's hands and weep to see their niece depart,
perhaps forever! War is so changeable a thing!"
"Poor, dear girl! Her heart must bleed, as she said, to go all alone,
far from her folks, and to battle at the mercy of God!"
"She will now turn around the corner of the rampart--"
"Let her at least hear our hearty adieus--Good luck, Joan the Maid! Good
luck to Joan! Good luck! Good luck! Death to the English!"
"She hears us--she makes a sign--she is waving good-bye to us. Victory
to Joan!"
"Mother! Mother! Take me up in your arms! Put me on your shoulders. Let
me see her again."
"Come child! Take a good look! Always remember Joan! Thanks to her, no
longer will desolate mothers weep for sons and husbands massacred by the
English."
"Good luck to Joan--Good luck!"
"She has turned the corner of the rampart--she is gone!"
"Good luck to Joan the Maid! May the good God go with her!"
"May she deliver us from the English! Good luck, Joan!"
PART II.
CHINON.
CHAPTER I.
THE COUNCIL OF CHARLES VII.
Three of the principal members of the Council of King Charles
VII--George of La Tremouille, chamberlain and a despotic, avaricious and
suspicious minister; the Sire of Gaucourt, an envious and cruel soldier;
and Regnault, Bishop of Chartres, a double-dealing and ambitious
prelate--were assembled on the 7th of March of 1429 in a hall of the
Castle of Chinon.
"May the fever carry off that Robert of Baudricourt! The man's audacity
of writing direct to the King inducing him to receive that female
cowherd!" cried George of La Tremouille. "And Charles considers the
affair a pleasant thing and wants to have a look at the crazy girl! The
fools claim she is sent by God--I hold she has been sent by the devil to
thwart my plans!"
"There is but one way of eluding the formal orders of the King,"
observed the Bishop of Chartres. "That accursed John of Novelpont has
made so much noise that our Sire is determined to see the vassal whom,
since her arrival, we have kept confined in the tower of Coudray to
await the royal audience. The brazen and vagabond minx feels greatly
elated at the imbecile enthusiasm that she has been made the object of
by the clouts of Lorraine, and is surprised at not having been
presented to Charles VII! Blood of Christ! Our do-nothing King is quite
capable, as a means both of ridding himself of us and of dropping all
care on the score of the kingdom's safety, of tempting God by accepting
the aid of this Joan--In that event, my seigneurs, it will be all over
with the influence of the royal council! All that will be left for us to
do will be to quit our posts."
"And I, Raoul of Gaucourt, who served under Sancerre and under the
Constable of Clisson, I who vanquished the Turks at Nicopolis, I am to
take orders from a woman who tended cattle! Death and massacre! I sooner
would break my sword!"
"These are hollow words, Raoul of Gaucourt," said the Sire of La
Tremouille thoughtfully; "words are powerless against facts. Our Sire,
indolent, fickle and cowardly, may, at the desperate pass his affairs
are in, wish to try the supernatural influence of this female cowherd.
Let us not deceive ourselves. Since the day that Joan was at my orders
relegated to the tower of Coudray, half a league from here, the outcry
raised by John of Novelpont has had its effect upon a part of the court.
His enthusiasm for the said Joan, his reports of her beauty, her
modesty, her military genius, have awakened a lively curiosity among a
number of courtiers."
"Mercy!" cried Raoul of Gaucourt. "The idea of pretending that peasant
possesses military genius! The man must be crazy enough for a
strait-jacket."
"Raoul, collect yourself," replied the Bishop of Chartres; "my son in
God George of La Tremouille, has stated the facts. He is right. A part
of the court, greedy after novelties, jealous of our power, and tired of
seeing a portion of their domains in the hands of the English has given
an ear to the excited reports of John of Novelpont upon the visionary
girl. A goodly number of these courtiers have beset the King. He wishes
to see her. It would be absurd and impolitic to try to struggle against
the current that has set in."
"So, then, we are to yield, are we?" cried Raoul of Gaucourt, wrathfully
striking the table at which they were seated. "Yield before this
sorceress who should be roasted on fagots!"
"We may avail ourselves of the fagots later on, my brave Raoul; but at
present we must yield.--You know it better than I in your capacity of an
experienced captain, Sire of La Tremouille; the position that can not be
carried by a front attack, may yet be flanked."
"Your words are golden, dear tonsured companion. Among friends agreed
upon the same end and having identical interests, the full truth is due
to each by all. I shall, accordingly, open my mind to you upon the
present situation. I have for some time succeeded in removing the
princes of the blood from the councils of the King. We reign. Moreover,
as regards myself, I am, just at present, far from desiring to see the
war with the English and Burgundians come to an end. I have need of its
continuance. My brother, who is on familiar terms with the Regent of
England and the Duke of Burgundy, has obtained from both protection for
my domains. Only this year, when the enemy pushed forward as far as the
walls of Orleans, my lands and my seigniory of Sully were spared.[47]
That is not all. Thanks to the civil troubles and to the numerous
partisans whom I keep in pay in Poitou, that province is at my mercy. I
do not lose the hope of annexing it to my possessions,[48] provided the
war is prolonged a little. You see, I have a powerful interest in
thwarting the projects of this female envoy of God, should they ever be
realized. I do not wish for the expulsion of the English, I do not wish
for the end of the war, for the reason that the war serves my purposes.
Such, in all sincerity, are my personal motives. Now, let us see whether
your interests, Regnault, Bishop of Chartres, and yours, Raoul of
Gaucourt are not of the same nature as mine. As to you, Bishop of
Chartres, should the war end suddenly by force of arms, what becomes of
all the negotiations that for a long time you have been secretly
conducting with the Regent of England on one side, and the Duke of
Burgundy on the other--negotiations that have cost so much toil and
that, justly so, give the King so high an opinion of your importance?
What becomes of the guarantees and the pecuniary advantages that, like a
shrewd negotiator, you demand and know how to obtain from the princes
that you negotiate with?"
"All my hopes will be shattered if our troops, fanaticized by this girl,
should gain but one victory in a single encounter with the English,"
cried the Bishop of Chartres. "The Regent of England wrote to me only
recently that _he was not disinclined to entertain my propositions for a
treaty_, in which case, added the Duke of Bedford, _I could be sure of
obtaining all that I have demanded of him_. But if the fires of war
should flare up again under the inspiration of this bedeviled peasant
girl, all negotiations will be broken off, and then good-bye to the
profits that I sought to derive. So that you were right, George of La
Tremouille, when you said that our interests command us to join hands
against Joan."
"And as to you, Raoul of Gaucourt," replied the Sire of La Tremouille,
"I hope you are not ignorant of the fact that Dunois, Lahire,
Xaintrailles, the Constable of Richemont, the Duke of Alençon, and other
leading commanders, are all jealous of your ability and of your seat in
the royal council, and that they will rank themselves on the side of the
girl, whom they will turn into a docile instrument to overthrow you. If
the royal army wins but one victory, your influence and military
prestige will be eclipsed by the success of your rivals. Our King,
fickle, ungrateful and irresolute as we know him to be, will sacrifice
you at the first suspicion of treason or incompetence."
"Thunder and blood!" cried Raoul of Gaucourt, "I have a good mind to go
straight to the tower of Coudray and order the execution of the
sorceress without the formality of a trial! We shall find priests enough
to affirm that Satan carried her off."
"The method is violent and clumsy, dear captain!" replied George of La
Tremouille. "The same end can be reached by other methods. It is
understood that I, you, and the Bishop of Chartres have common interests
which bind us against the girl. What we must now do is to consider how
to ruin her. Let's begin with you, holy Bishop of Chartres, the
spiritual director of our Sire. However debauched he is, occasionally he
is afraid of the devil. Could you not insinuate to the good King that he
would endanger the salvation of his soul if he were, precipitately and
without a previous inquest, to attach faith to the creature that calls
herself a deputy of the Lord, but who is more likely a deputy of
Satan?"
"An excellent idea!" exclaimed the Bishop of Chartres. "I shall convince
Charles VII that it is imperative to have Joan examined by the clerks of
theology, they being alone qualified to ascertain and solemnly declare
whether she is obeying a divine inspiration, or whether, on the
contrary, she is not a brazen impostor possessed of the evil spirit, in
which case, by placing confidence in the girl, our Sire would then
render himself the accomplice in a sorcery. I shall then empanel a
canonical college that shall be charged with pronouncing finally and
infallibly upon the degree of faith that may be accorded to the alleged
divine mission of Joan. Obedient to my secret instructions she shall be
pronounced a heretic, a sorceress and possessed of the evil spirit. The
fagots will soon be in full flare to receive her to the heart's content
of our brave Gaucourt. We shall have her burned alive."
"Blood of God!" cried the soldier. "I shall myself set fire to the pyre.
There is the infamous female serf, who meant to command noble captains,
burnt to a crisp!"
"She is not yet roasted, dear Gaucourt!" observed the Sire of La
Tremouille. "Let us suppose that the plan of our friend the Bishop of
Chartres fails; let us suppose that by some fatal accident and contrary
to the instructions issued to it by our worthy bishop, the canonical
council declares the said Joan truly and duly inspired by God--"
"I answer for the clerks whom I shall choose for the examination! They
will all be men entirely devoted to me."
"Dear Bishop, it sometimes happens that the soldiers we think we can
answer for man for man, slip us at the moment of action. It may happen
that way with your clerks. Let us proceed from the theory that King
Charles, finding himself _in extremis_, is inclined to take the risk of
placing the said Joan at the head of his armies. It will then rest with
you, Raoul of Gaucourt, more than with anyone else, to ruin the insolent
girl, who has but one fixed thought--to raise the siege of Orleans. You
must then demand of the King the command of the town of Orleans, and you
must consent to serve under her orders."
"May hell confound me if ever, even for a single hour, I should consent
to receive orders from that she-cowherd!"
"Be not all tempest and flame, brave Gaucourt. Remember that the bulk of
the troops would then be under your immediate orders. Joan will issue
orders to you, but you can disregard them, you can cross and thwart all
her plans of battle; you can cause well calculated delays in the
movements of the troops; above all you could--well--manoeuvre in such a
way as to have the crazy girl fall into the hands of the English. In
short, it would lie with you, more than with us, to prevent her from
winning her first battle."
"At the first check that she meets," added the Bishop of Chartres
insinuatingly to Raoul of Gaucourt, "the enthusiasm that she now excites
will change into contempt. The people will feel ashamed of having
allowed themselves to be duped by so clumsy an imposition. The revulsion
against her will be immediate. If, contrary to all expectations--I
should say certainty--the canonical council appointed by myself should
declare Joan truly inspired by God;--if the King then places her at the
head of his troops--then, brave Gaucourt, the loss of her first battle,
brought on by your skilful manoeuvres, will deal a fatal blow to the
adventuress! Victorious, she would be the envoy of God; vanquished, she
becomes the envoy of Satan!--Then we may proceed against her in regular
form under the pretext of heresy and sorcery--then will the fagots that
you are in such a hurry to set fire to soon be kindled to receive her.
It depends upon you whether she shall be burned alive by us, or allowed
to be taken by the English, who will execute her."
"Well," answered Raoul of Gaucourt meditatively, "let us suppose the
she-cowherd orders a sally against the besiegers; the bridge is lowered;
the bedeviled girl rushes out over it; a few of our men follow her;--I
give the signal to retreat; my people hasten to re-enter the town; the
bridge is raised--and the wench remains in the power of the enemy! Is
that it?"
"Yes; can we rely upon you?"
"Yes; I perceive the way, either by a false sally or some other
manoeuvre, to settle the she-devil!"
"And now," resumed the Sire of La Tremouille, "let us feel hopeful; our
plot is well laid; our nets are skilfully spread. It will be impossible
for the visionary to escape; either you, Gaucourt, or you, worthy
Bishop, will prevent it. As to me, I shall not be idle. But first of
all, holy Bishop, is it not an established fact that a demon can not
possess the body of a virgin?"
"It is an unquestionable fact, according to the formula of exorcism--We
shall attend to that."
"Now, then, Joan claims to be a virgin. Her fanatical and imbecile
followers call her Joan the Maid. Either the street-walker, indecently
clad in man's clothes, is the concubine of John of Novelpont, to judge
by the interest he takes in her, or she is really chaste and a virgin.
It shall be my part to prick the libertine curiosity of the King on the
subject by proposing to him to assemble a council of matrons. Such a
council, presided over, let us suppose, by the King's mother-in-law,
Yolande of Sicily, will be commissioned to ascertain whether Joan is
really a virgin. If she is none, the most violent suspicions of
imposture and sorcery immediately rise against her. Then she no longer
is the alleged saint whom God has inspired, but an audacious cheat, a
worthy companion of the easy wenches who follow the encampments. She
will then be shamefully whipped, and then driven away, if not burned for
a sorceress."
"I am ready to accept your theory that she is a ribald," replied the
Bishop of Chartres, "and, with you, I feel sure that John of Novelpont,
who is so fascinated with her, is her lover. Nevertheless, if by
accident she does not lie and is justified in allowing herself to be
called the Maid, and if it is solemnly established that she is still
pure, would not that greatly redound to her advantage? Would not then
the presumption of her divine mission be strengthened? On the other
hand, by not submitting Joan to any such trial, the field remains free
for suspicions, which it would then be an easy thing for us to fan; we
could easily set calumny afloat."
"Your objection is serious," answered the Sire of La Tremouille.
"Nevertheless, just supposing the girl to be chaste, what must not be
her shame at the thought of so humiliating an investigation! The more
conscious she be of the chastity of her life, that they say has been
irreproachable until now, all the more will the creature feel grieved
and indignant at a suspicion that so outrages her honor! The chaster she
is, all the more will she revolt at the shamefulness of the
verification! She will scorn the proposition as an unbearable insult,
and will refuse to appear before the council of matrons!--Skilfully
exploited, her refusal will turn against her."
"Upon the word of a soldier, the idea is ingenious and droll! I foresee
that our wanton Sire will himself want to preside over the council that
is to do the examining!"
"And yet, should Joan submit to the trial, and come out triumphant, she
will then have a great advantage over us."
"No greater than if she is believed to be a maid upon her own word. The
convocation of a council of matrons offers us two chances: if Joan
submits to the disgraceful examination she may be declared a strumpet;
if she refuses, her refusal makes against her!"
"There is nothing to answer to that," said Raoul of Gaucourt; "I adhere
to the plan of a council of matrons to pass upon her virginity."
"Now, let us sum up and lay down our plan of conduct. First, to obtain
from the King that a council of matrons be summoned to pass and publicly
pronounce itself upon the maidenhood of our adventuress; secondly, in
case she issues triumphant from that trial, to convoke a canonical
council, instructed to put to the girl the most subtle, the hardest, the
most perplexing theological questions, and to announce from her answers
whether or not she is inspired by God; thirdly, and lastly, in the next
to impossible event that this second examination also result in her
favor, to manoeuvre in such manner that she lose her first battle and
remain a prisoner in the hands of the English--one way or another she is
bound to go down."
At this moment the equerry of Charles VII knocked at the door of the
council hall, and entered to announce to the Sire of La Tremouille that
the King demanded his minister's immediate presence.
CHAPTER II.
ALOYSE OF CASTELNAU.
Charles VII--the "gentle Dauphin" of France and object of the fervent
adoration of Joan, who now for several days lay sequestered in the tower
of Coudray--soon tired of the interview to which he had summoned his
minister, and sought recreation elsewhere. He found it in the company of
his mistress, Aloyse of Castelnau. Indolently stretched upon a cushion
at her feet he chatted with her. Frail and slight of stature, the
prince, although barely twenty-three years of age, was pale, worn-out
and unnerved by excesses. Aloyse, on the other hand, in the full
splendor of her beauty, soon found occasion to answer a joke of her
royal lover on the subject of Joan the Maid. She said smiling:
"Fie, Charles! Fie, you libertine! To hold such language about an
inspired virgin who wishes to restore to you the crown of France!"
"If it is to be that way, the ways of the Lord are strange and
inscrutable, as our tonsured friends say. To have the crown and kingdom
of France turn upon the maidenhood, upon the virginity of a cowherd!"
"Are you still at it?" responded Aloyse, interrupting Charles. "I guess
your villainous thoughts regarding the poor girl."
"I ask myself, how could the idea have germinated in the mind of that
poor girl of restoring my crown to me!"
"You display very little concern about your kingdom!"
"On the contrary--I think a good deal of my crown. It is the cares of
royalty that cause me to speak in that way, my beautiful mistress."
"If the English take Orleans, the key of Touraine and Poitou, and they
then invade those provinces, what will then be left to you?"
"You, my charmer! And if I must make the confession, it has often
occurred to me that my great-grandfather, King John II, of pious memory,
must have recorded among the happy days of his life the one on which he
lost the battle of Poitiers--"
"The day when your great-grandfather, taken prisoner by the English, was
transported to their own country? You must be crazy, my dear Charles!"
"Without any doubt, I am crazy; but crazy with love for you, my Aloyse!
But let us come back to King John, made prisoner at the battle of
Poitiers. He is taken to England. He is received with chivalrous
courtesy and unheard-of magnificence. A sumptuous palace is assigned to
him for prison, and he is invited out to exquisite banquets. The
handsomest girls of England are charged to watch him. The forests that
are at his disposal teem with game; the fields are vast; the rivers
limpid. Thus his time is divided between love, play, the table, fishing,
hunting--until he dies of indigestion. While King John was thus
peaceably enjoying life in England, what was his son doing, the unhappy
Charles V? Driven out of Paris by a vile populace that rose in rebellion
at the voice of Marcel, the unhappy Charles the Wise, as he was called,
frightened out of his senses by the ferocities of the Jacquerie, beset
by the bustle of royalty, broken with the fatigues of war, ever on
horseback, ever sleeping on the hard ground, and never sleeping with
both eyes shut, living on poor fare and on poorer love, rushing hither
and thither over hill and dale, was ever out of breath running after his
crown! By the glories of Easter! Do you call that 'wisdom'?"
"He at least had the glory of re-conquering his crown, and indulged the
pleasure of executing his enemies."
"Oh, I well understand the happiness of revenge. I abominate those
insolent Parisians, those chasers of kings. If I had that accursed town
in my power, I would order the most inveterate Burgundians to be hanged.
But I would be careful not to establish my residence there, out of fear
of fresh seditions. Charles V revenged himself; he reigned, but at the
price of what anxieties, torments and incessant civil wars! While his
father, King John, was all the while living happily in England,
surrounded by abundance and love! To want this, to oppose that in
matters of public concern, are intellectual labors that I leave to the
Sire of La Tremouille and his fellows of the royal council to rack their
brains over. Without alarming myself over the future, my Aloyse, I allow
the current to carry me, rocked in your arms. Whatever may happen, I
laugh! Long live love!"
"Oh, you do not speak like a King."
"A plague upon royalty! A burning crown of thorns! I'd rather have your
white hands weave me a chaplet of myrtle, and fill my cup. If they do, I
would gladly see the debris of my throne crumble and vanish. When the
English will have conquered the provinces that still are left to me,
they will take care of me as they did of my predecessor, King John! So,
then, long live wine, idleness and love! If, on the contrary, in His ill
will towards me, the Lord has stirred up this raging Maid, who is
obstinately set upon restoring to me the crown of my fathers with all
its escort of uneasiness, bluster and troubles--let it be! Let my fate
be fulfilled! But, I swear to God, I shall budge not one step to insure
the success of the warrior maid!"
"Then you have no faith in the inspiration of Joan, the Maid?"
"I have faith in your pretty eyes, for the reason that they keep all
their promises; and I have none in the shepherdess. Were it not that I
am daily beset with the outcry of people who have the royalty more at
heart than I myself, I long ago would have sent her back to her muttons.
But the Sire of La Tremouille himself inclines to yielding to these
clamors. Some insist on seeing in Joan a divine instrument; others hold
that in the desperate state of things we should try to profit by the
influence that the Maid may exert over the minds of the soldiers. I am,
accordingly, compelled to receive her at court to-day. But the Sire of
La Tremouille is of the opinion that a council of matrons should first
decide whether the pretty girl really possesses the magic charm with the
aid of which I am to reconquer my kingdom."
"Come, Charles! A truce to your villainous jokes!"
"If Diana were your patron you could not be more intractable, my Aloyse!
I do not recognize you to-day."
"Ah, I have one more proof of how indolent you are, how cowardly and how
neglectful of your own honor. How often have not I said to you: Place
yourself at the head of your troops, who are indignant at seeing the
King refusing to share their hardships! Take a bold resolve; don your
cuirass and go to battle!"
"A pest! My Amazon, you speak at ease of the hardships and perils of
war. I am no Caesar--that much is certain!"
"Shameless heart! Miserable coward!"
"I wish to live to love you."
"You make me blush with shame!"
"You blush at being the mistress of the poor 'King of Bourges' as I am
called--at reigning over so sorry a kingdom! You would like to reign
over the kingdom of all France!"
"Am I wrong in wishing that you should reign gloriously? I wish you were
more ambitious."
"Oh, my beloved! Would I, if I again were to become King of France, find
the satin of your skin whiter and smoother? wine to taste better? or
idleness more agreeable?"
"But glory! Glory!"
"Vanity! Vanity! I never have envied any glory other than that of the
great King Solomon, of that valorous hero of six hundred concubines and
more than four hundred legitimate wives! But unable to reach the heights
of that amorous potentate, I content myself with aspiring after the
destiny of King John, my great-grandfather."
"Shame upon you, Charles! Such sentiments are disgraceful, and will
prevent a single captain from taking the field for you."
"Oh, those valiant captains who combat my enemies have no thought to my
interests. They fight at the head of companies of mercenaries in order
to pillage the populace and to recover their own seigniories that have
fallen into the hands of the English."
The belle Aloyse was about to answer Charles VII when George of La
Tremouille entered the royal apartment after repeatedly knocking at the
door. The minister said:
"Sire, everything is ready for the reception of Joan. We await your
orders."
"Let us go and receive the Maid! I greatly approve your idea of putting
the inspired girl to the test, and finding out if she can pick me out
among the courtiers, while Trans will play the role of King. The comedy
is to start."
CHAPTER III.
THE TEST.
Animated by conflicting sentiments, the men and women of the court of
Charles VII, gathered in a gallery of the Castle of Chinon, awaited the
arrival of Joan the Maid. Some, and they were few, believed the girl
inspired; most of the others regarded her either as a poor visionary, a
docile instrument that might be turned to account by the heads of the
State, or an adventuress whom her own audacity, coupled to the credulity
of fools, was pushing forward. All, however, whatever their opinion
concerning the mission that the peasant girl of Domremy claimed for
herself, saw in her a daughter of the rustic plebs, and asked themselves
how the Lord could have chosen his elect from such a low condition.
Splendidly dressed, the Sire of Trans sat on what looked like a
throne--an elevated seat placed under a canopy at one end of the
gallery. He was to simulate the King, while Charles VII himself, mixing
in the crowd of his favorite courtiers, was laughing in his sleeve,
satisfied with the idea of the test that Joan's sagacity was to be put
to. Joan presently entered, conducted by a chamberlain. She held her cap
in her hand and was in man's attire--a short jacket, slashed hose and
spurred boots. Intimidated at first by the sight of the courtiers, Joan
quickly regained her self-possession; holding her head high and
preserving a modest yet confident bearing, she stepped forward in the
gallery. Vaguely suspecting the ill-will of many of the seigneurs of the
King's household, the girl scented a snare, and said to the chamberlain
who escorted her:
"Do not deceive me, sir; take me to the Dauphin of France."[49]
The chamberlain motioned toward the Sire of Trans, who lolled
ostentatiously on the raised and canopied seat at the extremity of the
gallery. The mimic King was a man of large size, corpulent and of middle
age. On her journey, Joan had often interrogated the knight of Novelpont
on Charles VII, his external appearance, his features. Being thus
informed that the prince was of a frail physique, pale complexion and
short stature, and finding no point of resemblance between that portrait
and the robustious appearance of the Sire of Trans, Joan readily
perceived that she was being trifled with. Wounded to the heart by the
fraud, the sign of insulting mistrust or of a joke unworthy of royalty,
if Charles was an accomplice in the game, Joan turned back toward the
chamberlain, and said, with indignation mantling her cheek:
"You deceive me--him that you point out to me is not the King."[50]
Immediately noticing a few steps away from her a frail looking and pale
young man of small stature, whose features accorded perfectly with the
description that she preserved as a perpetual souvenir in her mind, Joan
walked straight towards the King and bent her knee before him, saying in
a sweet and firm voice: "Sir Dauphin, the Lord God sends me to you in
His name to save you. Place armed men at my command, and I shall raise
the siege of Orleans and drive the English from your kingdom. Before a
month is over I shall take you to Rheims, where you will be crowned King
of France."[51]
Some of the bystanders, convinced as they were that the peasant girl of
Domremy obeyed an inspiration, considered supernatural the sagacity that
she had just displayed in recognizing Charles VII from among the
courtiers; they were all the more impressed by the language that she
held to the King. A large number of others, attributing Joan's
penetration to a freak of accident, saw in her words only a ridiculous
and foolish boast, and they suppressed with difficulty their jeering
disdain at this daughter of the fields daring so brazenly to promise the
King that she would clear his kingdom of the English, until then the
vanquishers of the most renowned captains.
Charles fixed upon Joan a defiant and libertine look that brought the
blush to her cheeks, ordered her to rise, and said to her with an air of
nonchalance and sarcasm that revealed mistrust in every word:
"My poor child, we are thankful for your good intentions towards us and
our kingdom. You promise us miraculously to drive away the English and
to restore to us our crown. That is all very well. Finally, you claim to
be inspired by God--and on top of all, that you are a maid. Before
placing any faith in your promises we must first make sure that you are
not possessed of an evil spirit and that you are virgin. On the latter
head, your pretty face at least justifies doubt. In order to remove it
the venerable Yolande, Queen of Sicily and mother of my wife, will
preside over a council of matrons that will be commissioned by us duly,
authentically and notarially to verify your virginity.[52] After that,
my pretty child, if you issue triumphant from the trial, we shall then
have to establish whether you are really sent to us by God. To that end,
an assembly of the most illustrious clerks in theology, convened in our
town of Poitiers, where our parliament is in session, will examine and
interrogate you, and it will then declare, according to the answers that
you make, whether you are inspired by God or possessed of the devil. You
will admit, my little girl, that it would be insane to confide to you
the command of our armed men before we have become convinced that God
really inspires you--and, above all, that you are really a virgin."
At these words, so full of indifference, of mistrust, and of insulting
immodesty, which were received with lewd smiles by the surrounding
courtiers, and that, moreover, were pronounced by the "gentle Dauphin of
France," whose misfortunes had so long been rending her heart, Joan felt
crushed, and her chastity and dignity revolted at the bare thought of
the disgraceful and humiliating examination that her body was first to
be submitted to by the orders of that very Charles VII.
A prey to bitter sorrow, for a moment, in accord with the expectations
of the Sire of La Tremouille, who was the promotor of the unworthy plan,
Joan thought of renouncing her mission and abandoning the King to his
fate. But it immediately occurred to the warm-hearted girl that not that
indolent, ungrateful and debauched prince alone was concerned in her
mission, but also Gaul, for so many years the bleeding victim of the
foreigners' rapacity. Gaul's deliverance was at stake, Gaul, that having
drained the cup of suffering to the very dregs, had attracted the
compassion of the Lord! Accordingly, strengthening her faith and her
energy in the recollection of the mysterious voices that guided her,
recalling the prophecies of Merlin, confident in the military genius
that she felt developing within her, and drawing from the consciousness
of her own chastity and from the ardor of her love of country the
necessary courage to resign herself to the ignominy that she was
threatened with, yet anxious to make an effort to escape it, she raised
to Charles VII her eyes bathed in tears and said to him: "Oh, Sire! Why
not believe me and try me! I swear to you, I have come to you by the
will of heaven!"[53]
CHAPTER IV.
THE HALL OF RABATEAU.
Upon her arrival at Poitiers, where the parliament was then in session
and where she was to undergo the two examinations--on her virginity and
her orthodoxy--Joan was placed in the house of Master John Rabateau, in
charge of the latter's wife, a good and worthy woman whom Joan charmed
with her piety, her innocence and the sweetness of her disposition. Joan
shared her hostess's bed, and spent the first night weeping at the
thought of the indecorous examination that she was to be subjected to
the next day. The examination took place in the presence of Queen
Yolande of Sicily and several other dames, among whom was the wife of
Raoul of Gaucourt. Being an agent of the perfidious projects of George
of La Tremouille, the soldier had succeeded in securing a place for his
own wife on the commission that was to inquire into the chastity of
Joan. He thought thereby to promote the chances of Joan's conviction. He
failed. The infamous investigation was held, and Joan emerged triumphant
from the disgraceful ordeal that deeply wounded her chaste and maidenly
heart.
More serious and more arduous was the second examination; it lasted
longer; and was unnecessarily prolonged.
A large number of royal councilors and members of parliament, assisted
by several clerks in theology, among the latter of whom was Brother
Seguin of the Carmelite Order and Brother Aimery of the Preachers'
Order, and among the former of whom were Masters Eraut and Francois
Garivel, proceeded at noon to the house of John Rabateau, in order to
conduct the interrogatories that were to be put to Joan, who, always in
her man's attire, awaited them and stood ready to answer them.
The inquisition took place in a spacious apartment. In the center of the
hall stood a table, around which the men appointed to determine whether
or not Joan the Maid was possessed of an evil spirit took their seats.
Some of the inquisitors wore brown or black robes with black capes,
others had on red robes lined with ermine. Their aspect was threatening,
derisive and severe. They were all carefully picked by the Bishop of
Chartres, who joined them after they arrived at Rabateau's house, and
who presided in his quality of Chancellor of France. The holy man, whose
very soul was sold to George of La Tremouille, saw with secret annoyance
the purity of Joan established by the council of matrons. Though
defeated there, the Bishop relied upon being able so to disconcert the
poor peasant girl by the imposing appearance of the learned and
redoubtable tribunal, and so to confuse her with subtle and insidious
questions on the most arduous possible of theological points, that she
would compromise and convict herself with her own answers. Several of
the courtiers who had faith in the mission of the inspired young woman,
followed her to Poitiers in order to witness the interrogatory. They
stood at one end of the hall.
Joan was brought in. She stepped forward, pale, sad and with eyes cast
down. So delicate and proud was the girl's susceptibility that at the
sight of the councilors and priests, all of them men informed upon the
humiliating examination that she had undergone shortly before, Joan,
although pronounced pure, now felt as confused as if she had been
pronounced impure. To so chaste a soul, to a soul of such elevation as
Joan's, the shadow of a suspicion, even if removed, becomes an
irreparable insult. This notwithstanding, the Maid controlled her
feelings, she invoked the support of her good saints, and it seemed to
her that she heard their mysterious voices softly murmur at her ear:
"Go, daughter of God! Fear naught; the Lord is with you. Answer in all
sincerity and bravely. You will issue triumphant from this new trial."
The Bishop of Chartres motioned to Joan to approach nearer to the table,
and said to her in a grave, almost threatening voice: "Joan, we have
been sent by the King to examine and interrogate you. Do not hope to
impose upon us with your lies and falsifications."
The interrogatory, being thus opened, proceeded as follows:
JOAN--"I have never lied! I shall answer you. But you are learned
clerks, while I know not A from B. I can say nothing to you but that I
have a mission from God to raise the siege of Orleans."
BROTHER SEGUIN (harshly)--"Do you pretend that the Lord God sends you to
the King? You can not be believed. Holy Writ forbids faith being
attached to the words of people who claim to be inspired from above,
unless they give a positive sign of the divinity of their mission. Now,
then, what sign can you give of yours? We want to know."
JOAN--"The signs I shall give will be my acts.[54] You will then be able
to judge whether they proceed from God."
MASTER ERAUT--"What acts do you mean?"
JOAN--"Those that I have to accomplish by the will of God."
FRANCOIS GARIVEL--"Well, tell us what acts those will be. You will have
to give more definite answers."
JOAN--"They are three."
BROTHER SEGUIN--"Which is the first?"
JOAN--"The raising of the siege of Orleans, after which I shall drive
the English out of Gaul."
MASTER ERAUT--"And the second?"
JOAN--"I shall have the Dauphin consecrated at Rheims."
BROTHER SEGUIN--"And the third?"
JOAN--"I shall deliver Paris to the King."
Despite their prejudice against Joan and the ill will they entertained
for the girl, whom they now saw for the first time, the members of the
tribunal were struck no less by the Maid's beauty and conduct than by
the exactness of her answers, that bore an irresistible accent of
conviction. The audience, composed mainly of France's partisans, among
whom was John of Novelpont, indicated by a murmur of approbation the
increasingly favorable impression made upon them by the girl's answers.
Even some of the members of the tribunal seemed to begin to feel an
interest in her. Alarmed at these symptoms, the Bishop of Chartres
addressed Joan almost in a rage: "You promise to raise the siege of
Orleans, to drive the English out of Gaul, to consecrate the King at
Rheims and to place Paris in his hands? These are idle words! We refuse
to believe you unless you give some sign to show that you are truly
inspired by God, and chosen by Him to accomplish these truly marvelous
things."
JOAN (impatiently)--"Once more, I say to you, I have not come to
Poitiers to display signs! Give me men-at-arms and take me to Orleans.
The siege will be speedily raised, and the English driven from the
kingdom. That will be the sign of my mission. If you do not believe me,
come and fight under me. You will then see whether, with the help of
God, I fail to keep my promise. These will be my signs and my actions."
MASTER ERAUT--"Your assurance is great! Where do you get it from?"
JOAN--"From my confidence in the voice of my dear saints. They advise
and inspire me in the name of God."
BROTHER SEGUIN (roughly)--"You speak of God. Do you believe in Him?"
JOAN--"I believe in Him more than you do, who can imagine such a thing
possible as not to believe in Him!"
BROTHER AIMERY (with a grotesque Limousin accent)--"You say, Joan, that
voices advise you in the name of God? In what tongue do those voices
speak to you?"
JOAN (slightly smiling)--"In a better tongue than yours, sir."[55]
The humorous and keen retort caused Joan's partisans to laugh aloud, a
hilarity in which several members of the tribunal shared. They now began
to think that despite the lowliness of her condition, the cowherdess, as
they called her, was no ordinary being. Some of the members of the
tribunal began to look upon her as inspired; others, of a less
credulous turn of mind, thought to themselves that, thanks to her
beauty, her brightness and her valiant resolution, she might, at the
desperate state of things, actually become a valuable instrument in the
war. In short, it occurred to them that to declare Joan possessed of a
demon, and thus reject the unexpected help that she brought the King
would be to expose themselves to serious reproaches from the partisans
of Joan who were witnesses to the interrogation, and that the reproaches
would soon be taken up and repeated by public clamor. The Bishop of
Chartres, the accomplice of the Sire of La Tremouille and of Gaucourt,
was not slow to scent the disposition of the tribunal. In a towering
passion he cried to his fellow judges: "Messires, the holy canons forbid
us to attach faith to the words of this girl; and the holy canons are
our guide!"
JOAN (proudly raising her head)--"And I tell you that the book of the
Lord which inspires me is worth more than yours! In that book no priest,
however learned he may be, is able to read!"
MASTER ERAUT--"Religion forbids women to wear male attire under pain of
mortal sin. Why did you put it on? Who authorized you to?"
JOAN--"I am compelled to assume male attire, seeing I am to battle with
men to the end of my mission. Evil thoughts will thus be removed from
their minds. That is the reason for my disguise."
FRANCOIS GARIVEL--"And so you, a woman, are not afraid of shedding blood
in battle?"
JOAN (with angelic sweetness)--"May God preserve me from shedding blood!
I have a horror of blood! I wish to kill nobody; I shall carry in
battle only a staff or a standard, to guide the armed men. I shall leave
my sword in its scabbard."
MASTER ERAUT--"Suppose our assembly declares to the King our Sire that,
with a safe conscience, he may entrust you with armed men to enable you
to undertake the raising of the siege of Orleans, what means would you
adopt to that end?"
JOAN--"To the end of avoiding, if it is possible, any further shedding
of blood, I shall first summon the English, in the name of God who sends
me, to raise the siege of Orleans and return to their country; if they
refuse obedience to my letter, I shall march against them at the head of
the royal army, and with the help of heaven, I shall drive them out of
Gaul!"
BISHOP OF CHARTRES (disdainfully)--"You would write to the English, and
you have just told us you do, not know A from B?"
JOAN--"I do not know how to write, but I could dictate, Seigneur
Bishop."
BISHOP OF CHARTRES--"I take you at your word. Here are pens and a
parchment. I shall be your secretary. Let us see! Dictate to me the
letter to the English. Upon my faith, its style will be singular!"
A deep silence ensued. Triumphantly the Bishop took up a pen, feeling
sure he had laid a dangerous trap for the poor peasant girl, incapable,
as he thought, of dictating a letter equal to the occasion. Even the
partisans of Joan, although greatly incensed at the manifest ill will of
the Bishop towards her, feared to see her succumb at this new trial. The
minds of all were on tenter-hooks.
BISHOP OF CHARTRES (ironically)--"Come, now, Joan, here I am ready to
write under your dictation."
JOAN--"Write, sir."
And the maid dictated the following letter with a mild but firm voice:
"IN THE NAME OF JESUS AND MARY.
"King of England, submit to the kingdom of heaven, and place in the
hands of Joan the keys of all the towns that you have forced. She
comes sent by God to reclaim those towns in the name of Charles.
She is ready to grant you peace if you are willing to leave France.
"King of England, if you do not do as I request you, then I, Joan,
chief of war, will everywhere smite your men; I shall drive them
out, whether they will or no. If they surrender at mercy, I shall
grant them mercy; if not, I shall do them so much damage that
nothing like it will have been seen in France for a thousand years
back. What is here said will be done.
"You, archers and other companions in arms who are before Orleans,
be gone, by the Lord's command, back to England, your own country.
If not, fear Joan. You will remember your defeat! You shall not
keep France! France will belong to the King to whom God gave the
kingdom!"
Joan broke off her dictation, and addressing herself to the Bishop of
Chartres, who was stupefied at the virile simplicity of the letter,
that, despite himself, he had been compelled to write, she said:
"Sir, what are the names of the English captains?"
BISHOP OF CHARTRES--"The Count of Suffolk, Lord Talbot and the knight
Thomas of Escall, lieutenants of the Duke of Bedford, Regent for the
King of England."
JOAN--"Write, sir!
"Count of Suffolk, Lord Talbot, Knight Thomas of Escall, all of you
lieutenants of the Duke of Bedford, who styles himself Regent of
the Kingdom of France for the King of England, make answer! Will
you raise the siege of Orleans? Will you cease the great cruelty
that you heap upon the poor people of the country of France? If you
refuse the peace that Joan demands of you, you will preserve a sad
remembrance of your rout. The most brilliant feats of arms ever
accomplished by the French in Christendom will be seen. We shall
then see who will prevail, you--or heaven!
"Written on Tuesday of the great week of Easter, of the year
1429."[56]
JOAN (addressing the Bishop of Chartres after having dictated)--"Sir,
sign for me, if you please, my name at the bottom of this letter. I
shall make my cross in God beside the signature, seeing I cannot write,
and write the following address on the parchment: 'To the Duke of
Bedford who styles himself Regent of the Kingdom of France for the King
of England."
The partisans of Joan, the members of the tribunal, even the Bishop of
Chartres could hardly believe the evidence of their own senses: a poor
rustic girl, only recently arrived from the heart of Lorraine, to hold
in that letter a language that was at once so courteous, so dignified
and so sensible--it bordered on a miracle.
Aye, a miracle of courage! A miracle of sense! A miracle of
patriotism!--readily accomplished by Joan, thanks to her superior native
intelligence and her confidence in her own military genius, of which she
now began to be conscious; thanks to her faith in the heavenly support
promised to her by her mysterious voices; finally, thanks to her firm
resolve to act bravely obedient to the proverb that she delighted in
repeating--_Help yourself, and heaven will help you!_
Much to the secret anger of the Bishop of Chartres, the declaration that
the tribunal would make was no longer doubtful. Joan's triumph in the
hall of Rabateau was complete. The tribunal declared that, Joan's
virginity having been established, a demon could possess neither her
body nor her soul; that she seemed inspired of God; and that the
enormity of the public misfortunes justified the King to avail himself
with a clean conscience of the unexpected and seemingly providential
help. Despite his own shameful indolence, despite the opposition of the
Sire George of La Tremouille, and fearing to exasperate public opinion,
that was waxing ever more pronouncedly in favor of Joan, Charles VII
found himself compelled to accept the aid of the peasant girl of
Domremy; whom, however, he cursed and swore at in secret. Inclined now
to believe Joan inspired, the slothful King fretted at the thought of
the trials and cares that the threatened vigorous renewal of hostilities
against the English was to inflict upon him. He feared to see himself
compelled by the force of circumstances to show himself at the head of
his troops, to ride up hills and down dales, to endure fatigue, to face
danger. But he was compelled to yield to the current of enthusiasm
produced by the promises of deliverance made by Joan the Maid. It was
decided that Joan was to proceed to Blois, and thence to Orleans, where
she was to confer with Dunois, Lahire, Xaintrailles and other renowned
captains upon the raising of the siege of Orleans. An equerry named
Daulon was attached to the service of the Maid, together with a young
page of fifteen named Imerguet. She was given battle horses, and
servants to attend to her needs. A special suit of armor was ordered for
her. In remembrance of the prediction of Merlin, she demanded that the
armor be white, as also one of her chargers, her pennon and her
standard, on the latter of which she ordered two blue-winged angels to
be painted, holding in their hands the stalk of a lily in blossom.
Furious at not being able to catch Joan in the snares that they had
spread for her, George of La Tremouille and his two accomplices, the
Bishop of Chartres and the Sire of Gaucourt, pursued their darksome
plots with increased intensity. It was agreed among them, and in line
with their previously laid plans, that Gaucourt was to demand of Charles
VII the command of the town of Orleans. The three intriguers expected by
that means to block the Maid's movements, ruin her military operations,
and expose her to a first check that would forever confound her, or to
allow her to be captured by the English in some sally when she was to be
left in the lurch.
On Thursday the 28th of April, 1429, Joan Darc left Chinon for Blois,
where she was to join Dunois and Marshal Retz, before proceeding to
Orleans. The peasant girl, now fast maturing into a warrior, started on
the journey, her mind occupied with recollections of the child's combat
between the urchins of Maxey and of Domremy, a battle where she had for
the first time vaguely felt her vocation for war, and also recalling the
passage in the prophecy where the Gallic bard declared:
"I see an angel with wings of azure and dazzling with light.
He holds in his hands a royal crown.
I see a steed of battle as white as snow--
I see an armor of battle as brilliant as silver.--
For whom is that crown, that steed, that armor?
Gaul, lost by a woman, will be saved by a virgin
From the borders of Lorraine and a forest of oaks.--
For whom that crown, that steed, that armor?
Oh, how much blood!
It spouts up, it flows in torrents!
Oh, how much blood do I see! It is a lake,
It is a sea of blood!
It steams; its vapor rises--rises like an autumn mist to heaven,
Where the thunder peals and where the lightning flashes.
Athwart those peals of thunder, those flashes of lightning,
That crimson mist, I see a martial virgin.
White is her armor and white is her steed.
She battles--she battles--she battles still
In the midst of a forest of lances.
And seems to be riding on the backs of the archers.
The steed, as white as snow, was for the martial virgin.
For her was the armor of battle as brilliant as silver.
But for whom the royal crown?
Gaul, lost by a woman, will be saved by a virgin
From the borders of Lorraine and a forest of oaks."
PART III.
ORLEANS.
CHAPTER I.
FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 1429.
In one week the martial Maid, inspired by the love for her people and
country, vanquished the English, triumphant since the battle of
Poitiers, more than seventy years before, when John II and the coward
nobility of France took to their heels. In one week the brave daughter
of the people accomplished what for over seventy years had proved beyond
the strength of the most illustrious captains. The week has been called
THE WEEK OF JOAN DARC.
Night had set in, but it was a balmy night of spring, and anyone on the
evening of April 29, 1429, who stood on the street leading to the Banier
Gate, one of the gates of the town of Orleans, would have thought it was
bright day. All the windows, at which the inhabitants crowded, were
illuminated with lamps. To the light of these was joined that of torches
with which a large number of armed bourgeois and artisans had furnished
themselves and were ranged in a double row along the full length of the
thoroughfare for the purpose of keeping back the crowd. The courage of
these town soldiers had been severely tested by the perils of the siege
which they had long sustained single handed, having at first refused to
admit into the city the companies of soldiers that consisted of
insolent, thievish and ferocious mercenaries. However, after many a
brave attempt, and seeing their numbers reduced from day to day under
the shot and fire of the besiegers, the townsmen of Orleans had found
themselves compelled to accept and support the mercenary bands of
Lahire, of Dunois, of Xaintrailles and of other professional captains,
who hired themselves and their men for cash to whomsoever paid for their
services. They were dangerous auxiliaries, ever drawing in their train a
mob of dissolute women who were themselves no less thievish than the
English.
Accordingly, often had the councilmen of Orleans--resolute citizens, who
bravely led their militia to the ramparts when these were assailed, or
outside of the city when they made a sally--had lively disputes with the
captains on the score of the misconduct of their men, or of their
timidity in battle. These men, to whom arms was a trade, not having as
the inhabitants themselves, families, property, their own hearths, to
defend, were not particularly anxious about the speedy raising of the
siege, well quartered and paid as they were by the town. It was,
accordingly, with inexpressible impatience that the people of Orleans
awaited the arrival of Joan Darc. They relied upon her help to drive the
English from their redoubts, and to free themselves from the heavy
burden of the French captains.
A compact crowd of men, women and children, held back by a military
cordon, filled the two sides of the thoroughfare, at the end of which
the residence of Master James Boucher, the treasurer, was situated, and
was even more brilliantly illuminated than any other. Presently the hum
of the multitude was silenced by the loud and rapid peals from the
belfry of the town hall, together with the roar of artillery, announcing
the arrival of the Maid. The faces of the citizens, until recently sad
and somber, now breathed joy and hope. All shared and expressed the
opinion that the virgin girl of Lorraine, prophesied by Merlin, was
coming to deliver Orleans. She was announced to be of divinely dazzling
beauty, brave and instinct with a military genius that struck even
Dunois, Lahire and Xaintrailles, all of them renowned captains at the
time defending the city for pay, when on the previous day they met her
at Blois. Two of their equerries, who had ridden ahead into Orleans
during the day, reported the marvel, which spread from mouth to mouth,
and they announced the entry of Joan Darc for that evening.
Everywhere on her passage from Chinon to Blois, the equerries added, her
march had been a continuous ovation, in which she was greeted by the
joyful cries of the peasants, who for so long a time had been exposed to
the ravages of the enemy, and was acclaimed by them as their redeeming
angel sent by God. These, and similar accounts that were rife, revived
the confidence of the townsmen. The crowd was especially dense in the
neighborhood of the residence of Master James Boucher, where the heroine
was to lodge.
Nine o'clock struck from the tower of the Church of St. Croix. Almost at
the same instant the sound of trumpets was heard at a distance. The
music approached slowly, and presently the brilliant light of the
torches revealed a cavalcade riding in. The little page Imerguet and the
equerry Daulon marched ahead, the one carrying the pennon, the other the
white standard of the warrior maid, on which two azure-winged angels
were painted holding in their hand a stalk of lilies in blossom. Behind
them followed Joan Darc, mounted on her white charger, caparisoned in
blue, while she herself was cased in a light plate armor of iron that
resembled pale silver--a complete suit, leg-pieces, thigh-pieces, and
coat of mail, arm-pieces and a rounded breast-plate that protected her
virginal bosom. The visor of her casque, wholly raised, exposed her
sweet and handsome face, set off by her black hair cut round at the
neck. Profoundly moved by the acclamations that the good people of
Orleans greeted her with, and which she received as a homage to her
saints, a tear was seen to roll down from her large black eyes, adding
to their brilliancy. Already familiarized with the handling of a horse,
she elegantly guided her mount with one hand, while with the other she
held a little white baton, the only weapon that, in her horror of blood,
she wished to use in leading the soldiers to battle. Behind her rode
Dunois, accoutered in a brilliant suit of armor, ornamented in gold;
behind these came, mixed among the councilmen of Orleans, Marshal Retz,
Lahire, Xaintrailles and other captains. Among the latter was the Sire
of Gaucourt, leading a reinforcement of royal troops to Orleans and
invested with the command of the town. With a sinister look, and hatred
in his heart, the sire meditated dark schemes. Equerries and bourgeois
deputations from the town brought up the rear of the train, which soon
was pressed upon from all sides by so compact a mass that for a moment
Joan Darc's steed could not move a step. Enraptured at her beauty and at
her carriage at once so modest and yet so martial, men, women and
children contemplated her with delirious joy and covered her with
blessings. Some were even carried to the point of wishing to kiss her
spurred boots half covered with the scales of her leg-pieces. As much
touched as confused, she said naïvely to Dunois, turning towards him:
"Indeed, I will not have the courage to protect myself against these
demonstrations, if God does not himself protect me."[57]
At that moment one of the militiamen who held a torch approached the
Maid so closely in order to obtain a better view of her that he
involuntarily set fire to the fringe of the standard borne by Daulon.
Fearing the flag was in danger, Joan uttered a cry of fright, clapped
the spurs to her horse before which the crowd rolled back, and
approaching the equerry at a bound seized the burning banner, smothered
the flames between her gauntlets and then gracefully waved it over her
casque,[58] as if to reassure the people of Orleans, who might construe
the accident into an evil omen. Such was the presence of mind and the
horsemanship displayed by Joan on the occasion that the enraptured crowd
broke out into redoubled acclamations. Even the mercenaries, who, not
being on guard that night upon the ramparts, had been able to join the
crowd, saw in the Maid an angel of war and felt stronger; like the
archer of Vaucouleurs, it seemed to them that, led to battle by such a
charming captain, they were bound to vanquish the enemy and avenge their
previous defeats. Dunois, Lahire, Xaintrailles, Marshal Retz, all of
them experienced captains, noticed the exaltation of their mercenaries,
who but the day before seemed wholly discouraged; while the Sire of
Gaucourt, perceiving the to him unexpected influence that the Maid
exercised, not upon the Orleans militiamen merely, but upon the rough
soldiers themselves, grew ever somberer and more secretly enraged.
Joan was slowly advancing through a surging mass of admiring humanity
towards the house of James Boucher, when the cavalcade was arrested for
a moment by a detachment of armed men that issued from one of the side
streets. They were leading two English prisoners, and were headed by a
large-sized man of jovial and resolute mien. The leader of the squad was
a Lorrainian by birth, who had long lived in Orleans and was called
Master John. He had well earned the reputation of being the best
culverin-cannonier of the town. His two enormous bomb-throwers, which he
had christened "Riflard" and "Montargis," and which, planted on the near
side of the bridge on the redoubt of Belle-Croix, ejected unerring shot,
caused great damage to the English. He was feared and abhorred by them.
Our merry cannonier was not ignorant of their hatred, his cannons seemed
to be the objective point for the best aimed bolts of the enemy's
archers. He, accordingly, at times amused himself by feigning to be shot
dead, suddenly dropping down beside one of his culverins. On such
occasions his fellow townsmen engaged at the cannons would raise him and
carry him away with demonstrations of great sorrow, that were echoed by
the English with counter-demonstrations of joy. But regularly on the
morrow they saw again Master John, in happier trim than ever,[59] and
ever more accurate and telling with the shot from Riflard and Montargis.
A few days later he would again repeat the comedy of death and the
miracle of resurrection. It was this jolly customer who headed the squad
that was leading the two prisoners to jail. At the sight of the warrior
maid, he drew near her, contemplated her for a moment in rapt
admiration, and reaching to her his heavy gloved hand said with
considerable pride:
"Brave Maid, here is a countryman of yours, born like yourself in
Lorraine; and he is at your service, together with Riflard and
Montargis, his two heavy cannons."
Dunois leaned over towards Joan and said to her in a low voice:
"This worthy fellow is Master John, the ablest and most daring cannonier
in the place. He is, moreover, very expert in all things that concern
the siege of a town."
"I am happy to find here a countryman," said the Maid, smiling and
cordially stretching out her gauntleted hand to the cannonier. "I shall
to-morrow morning see how you manoeuvre Riflard and Montargis. We shall
together examine the entrenchments of the enemy, you shall be my chief
of artillery, and we shall drive the English away with shot of
cannon--and the help of God!"
"Countrywoman," cried Master John in a transport of delight, "my cannons
shall need but to look at you, and they will go off of themselves, and
their balls will fly straight at the English."
The cannonier was saying these words when Joan heard a cry of pain, and
from the back of her horse she saw one of the two English prisoners drop
on his back, bleeding, with his scalp cut open by the blow of a pike
that a mercenary had dealt upon his head, saying:
"Look well at Joan the Maid. Look at her, you dog of an Englishman.[60]
As sure as I have killed you, she will thrust your breed out of France!"
At the sight of the flowing blood, that she had a horror of, the warrior
maid grew pale; with a movement more rapid than thought, and pained at
the soldier's brutality, she leaped from her horse, pressed her way to
the Englishman, knelt down beside him, and raising the unhappy man's
head, called with tears in her eyes to the surrounding militiamen:
"Give him grace; the prisoner is unarmed--come to his help."[60a]
At this compassionate appeal, several women, moved with pity, came to
the wounded man, tore up their handkerchiefs and bound up his gash,
while the warrior maid, still on her knees, held up the Englishman's
head. The wounded man recovered consciousness for a moment, and at the
sight of the young girl's handsome face, instinct with pity, he joined
his two hands in adoration and wept.
"Come, poor soldier; you need not fear. You shall not be hurt," said
Joan to him, rising, and she put her foot into the stirrup that her
little page Imerguet presented to her.
"Daughter of God, you are a saint!" cried a young woman with exaltation
at the act of charity that she had just witnessed, and throwing herself
upon her knees before the warrior maid at the moment that the latter was
about to leap upon her horse she added: "I beseech you, deign to touch
my ring!" saying which she raised her hand up to Joan. "Blessed by you,
I shall preserve the jewel as a sacred relic."
"I am no saint," answered the warrior maid with an ingenuous smile. "As
for your ring, touch it yourself. You are no doubt a good and worthy
woman; your touch will be as good as mine."[61]
So saying, Joan remounted her horse, to be saluted anew by the
acclamations of the throng; even the most hardened soldiers were touched
by the sentiments of pity that she had displayed towards an unarmed
enemy. So far from taxing her with weakness, they admired the goodness
of her heart and her generosity.
Master John frantically cheered his countrywoman, and the cries of "Good
luck, Joan!" "Good luck to the liberator of Orleans!" resounded like the
roll of thunder. Almost carried off its feet by the crowding mass of
people, Joan's horse finally arrived with its inspired rider before the
house of Master James Boucher. Standing at the threshold of his door
with his wife and his daughter Madeleine near him, Master James Boucher
awaited his young guest, and led her, together with the councilmen and
captains, into a large hall where a sumptuous supper was prepared for
the brilliant train. Timid and reserved, the Maid said to Master
Boucher:
"I thank you, sir, but I shall not take supper. If your daughter will be
kind enough to show me to the room where I am to sleep, and to help me
take off my armor, I would be grateful to her. All I wish, sir, is a
little bread moistened in water and wine--that is all I shall need; I
shall immediately go to sleep. I wish to be awakened at early morning,
to inspect the entrenchments with Master John the cannonier."[62]
According to her wishes, the Maid retired, Master Boucher's daughter
Madeleine showing her to her room. At first seized with fear of the
inspired Maid, Madeleine was soon so completely captivated by her
sweetness and the affability of her words, that she naïvely offered to
share her room during her sojourn in Orleans. Joan accepted the offer
with gladness, happy at finding a companion that pleased her so well
Madeleine gently helped her to disarm and brought her her refection.
Just before lying down to sleep Joan said to her:
"Now that I have met you and your parents, Madeleine, I feel all the
happier that God has sent me to deliver the good town of Orleans."[63]
The Maid knelt down at the head of her bed, did her devotions for the
night, invoked her two patron saints, implored them with a sigh to
bestow their blessings upon her mother, her father and her brothers, and
was soon plunged in peaceful sleep, while Madeleine long remained awake,
contemplating the sweet heroine in silent admiration.
CHAPTER II.
SATURDAY, APRIL 30, 1429.
Just before daybreak, and punctual to his appointment made the previous
evening, Master John the cannonier was at James Boucher's door.
Immediately afterwards, Joan opened the window of her room, which was on
the first floor, and looked out upon the street which still was dark.
She called down:
"Oh, Master John, are you there?"
"Yes, my brave countrywoman," answered the Lorrainian, "I have been
waiting for you."
Joan soon left the house and joined the cannonier. She had not resumed
her full armor of battle, but had merely put on a light iron coat of
mail which she wore under her coat. A hood took the place of her casque.
Her baton was in her hand, and on her shoulder was flung a short mantle
in which she meant to wrap herself on her return, in order to prevent
being recognized and thus becoming the object of popular ovations. She
asked Master John to make with her the rounds of the town outside the
ramparts, in order to inform herself on the strength of the enemy's
entrenchments. Joan departed with her guide, traversed the still
deserted streets, and issuing by the Banier Gate, started on her
excursion.
Twelve formidable redoubts, called "bastilles," surrounded the town from
the side of the Beauce and the side of the Sologne districts, and only
slightly beyond range of the town's cannon. The most considerable of
these hostile fortifications were the bastille of St. Laurence to the
west, of St. Pouaire to the north, of St. Loup to the east, and of St.
Privé, of the Augustinians and of St. John-le-Blanc to the south and on
the other side of the Loire. Furthermore, and opposite to the head of
the bridge, which, on the side of the besieged, was protected by a
fortified earthwork, the English had raised a formidable castle, flanked
with frame towers, called by them "tournelles." All these redoubts,
manned with large garrisons, were surrounded with wide and deep moats,
besides a belt of palisades planted at the foot of thick earthworks that
were crowned with platforms on which were placed culverins and ballistas
intended to hurl bolts into the town or upon its sallying forces. The
bastilles, raised at distances of from two to three hundred fathoms from
each other, completely encircled the town, and cut it off from the roads
and the upper river.
Joan Darc minutely questioned the cannonier upon the manner in which the
English fought in the redoubts, which she frequently approached with
tranquil audacity in order to be able to judge by herself of the
besiegers' means of defence. During the examination, she came near being
struck by a volley of bolts darted at her from the bastille of St.
Laurence. She was in no wise frightened, but only smiled at the sight of
the projectiles that fell a few paces short of her. Joan, astonished the
cannonier no less by her calmness and bravery than by the relevancy of
her observations. Her every word revealed surprising military aptitude,
and a quick and accurate eye. Among other things, she said to the
cannonier, after having inquired from him what were the tactics hitherto
pursued by the besieged, that it seemed to her the better way was, not
to attack all the redoubts at once in general sallies as had hitherto
been done, but to concentrate all the troops upon one point, and in that
manner attack the bastilles one after another with the certainty of
carrying them, seeing that they could hold but a limited number of
defenders, while in the open field nothing could limit the number of the
assailants; their combined mass could be three and four times superior
to the garrison of each redoubt taken separately. Finally, by a number
of other observations Joan revealed the extraordinary intuition that has
ever been the mark of great captains. More and more astonished at such a
martial instinct, the cannonier cried:
"Well, countrywoman, in what book did you learn all that?"
"In the book that our Lord God inspires me to read. That book is ever
open before me," naïvely answered Joan.[64]
While the Maid was thus examining the enemy's works and was meditating
upon and maturing her plan of campaign, the Sire of Gaucourt, who had
been appointed chief of the royal troops sent to Orleans, was meditating
upon and maturing the dark plot of treason long before hatched by him
together with his two accomplices of the royal council, the Sire of La
Tremouille and the Bishop of Chartres. Early that morning Gaucourt
visited the most influential captains. Envy and malice supplied the
man's lack of acumen. Moreover, carefully instructed by La Tremouille,
he appealed to the worst passions of these men of the sword. He reminded
them of the frantic enthusiasm with which Joan was received by the
populace, by the town militia, even by their own mercenaries. Did not
they, celebrated warriors, feel humiliated by the triumph of the peasant
girl, of that cowherdess? Were not the insensate expectations pinned
upon the visionary girl an insult to their fame? Did they not feel
wounded and angry at the thought that their companies until then
dejected and discouraged, seemed inflamed with ardor at the bare sight
of the seventeen-year-old girl, even before she had delivered her first
battle? The insidious words found an echo in the perverse spirits of
several of the captains. As has often been seen before and will be seen
again in the future with people of the military trade, several of the
captains gave a willing ear to the perfidious insinuations of Gaucourt,
and agreed, if not openly to refuse their co-operation with the Maid, at
least to thwart her designs, to prevent their successful execution, and
ever to oppose her in the councils of war. Dunois and Lahire were the
only ones who thought it would be "good policy" to profit by the
exaltation that the Maid inspired in the people and even in the
mercenaries; they were of the opinion that she should be seconded if she
actually gave evidence of military genius. These views notwithstanding,
the majority of the captains adhered to their ill will for the young
girl of Domremy, of whom they were vilely jealous. Gaucourt augured well
for his black designs without, however, as yet daring fully to reveal to
his ready accomplices his infamous machination--to cause the Maid to
fall into the hands of the English by leaving her in the lurch at a
sally and raising the draw-bridge behind her--as, indeed, was one day to
happen.
Back from her long excursion around the ramparts of Orleans in the
company of Master John, Joan said to Gaucourt and other chiefs who
called upon her, that she had consulted her voices and they advised a
simultaneous attack on the next day, Sunday, by all the combined forces
of the army upon the bastille of the Tournelles to the end of first of
all freeing the head of the Orleans bridge, opening the roads from the
side of Beauce for the entry of provisions, which the town began to run
short of, and facilitating the entrance of the reinforcements that had
been ordered from Tours and Blois. The captains crossed themselves at
hearing the Maid, a daughter of God, propose such an enormity--to fight
on Sunday! Would that not, they remonstrated with Joan, be to inaugurate
her arms with a sacrilege? As to themselves, sooner should their hands
shrivel than draw their swords on that day, a day devoted to rest and
prayer! In vain did Joan cry: "Oh, sirs! He prays who fights for the
welfare of Gaul!" The captains remained unshakable in their orthodoxy on
the pious observance of the dominical rest. Much against her will Joan
saw herself compelled to postpone the plan for Monday, but desirous of
turning the postponement to account and avoiding all she could the
effusion of blood that she had such a horror of, she requested her
equerry Daulon to write at her dictation another and short letter to the
English, the first one having been forwarded to them from Blois by a
herald. The missive having been written and signed with her name, Joan
attached to it her "cross in God" in the fashion of a counter-sign,
placed the parchment in her leathern girdle-pouch and invited the
captains to accompany her to the ramparts on the Loire that faced the
bastille of the Tournelles, occupied by the English. The warrior maid
wished once more to examine the important position, preparatorily to the
Monday attack. The request was complied with, and several captains
accompanied her, in the midst of a large concourse of people, of
soldiers and of mercenaries, no less enthusiastic than the previous
evening, to the gate of the little castle on the river. Joan advanced to
the edge of the boulevard of the bridge, so near to the bastille of the
Tournelles, that the voice of the besieged could be heard by the
besiegers. A large number of the Orleans militiamen were on guard upon
the embattled platform of their own entrenchment which was equipped with
ballistas and other engines of war used in hurling bolts and large
stones. Transported with joy at the sight of the Maid in their midst,
the good people surrounded her and inquired with martial ardor and
impatience: "When will the assault be?" She promised it for Monday, and
ordered them to raise a white flag in order to propose a truce of an
hour to the English at the Tournelles, to whom she desired to speak. The
flag of peace rose in the air, the besiegers answered with a like signal
that they accepted a momentary suspension of hostilities, and several of
them appeared at the embrasures of their bastille, not yet aware of
Joan's proximity. The Maid picked out a large arrow from one of the
quivers that hung from each of the ballistas, pushed the iron through
the parchment on which the missive that she had brought with her was
written, and having thus securely fastened it, she gave the arrow to one
of the cannoniers with the request to hurl it into the Tournelles.
Stepping upon the parapet, Joan called out to the English:
"Stand aside that you may not be wounded by the arrow on which I have
fastened the letter that I have written to you. Read it!"
The ballista was set in motion; the arrow whizzed through the air and
carried into the enemy's encampment the missive of Joan, which ran as
follows:
ALL OF YOU, MEN OF ENGLAND, WHO HAVE NO RIGHTS OVER THE KINGDOM OF
FRANCE:--
I, Joan, call upon you by the order of God, to abandon your
bastilles and to return to your own country. If not I shall do you
such damage that you will eternally remember it. This is the second
time that I write to you. I shall write no more.--JOAN.[65]
Informed by their spies of the incredible and menacing enthusiasm
created in Orleans by the arrival of the Maid, the English soldiers
began to believe her inspired of the devil, nor could the dangerous
superstition any longer be easily combated by their chiefs. Learning
from her missive that the Maid was now so near them, the more timid grew
pale, while others uttered furious imprecations. One of the most rabid
among the latter, an English captain of wide repute named Gladescal, a
man of colossal size and armed cap-a-pie, still held the Maid's letter
in his hand, and shook his fist at her, while he foamed at the mouth
with rage.
"You and your men," cried out Joan to them in her kind and serious
voice, "surrender yourselves, every man, at mercy. Your lives will be
spared on condition that you agree to return to your own country."[66]
At these words of peace, Gladescal and his men answered with a new
explosion of vituperation. The stentorian voice of Gladescal was heard
above all the others: "I shall have you roasted, you bedeviled witch!"
"If you catch me!" Joan answered. "But I, if I overcome you, and I
certainly shall, with the aid of God, I shall cast you far away from
France, you and yours; I shall thump you out of the land, seeing that
you refuse to surrender at mercy.[67] God battles on our side."
"Go back to your cows, vile serf!" yelled Gladescal. "Get you gone, you
ribald and triple fraud!"
"Yes, yes!" repeated the English amidst hisses and jeers. "Go back and
tend your cows! Go back, infernal fraud and strumpet!"[68]
The unworthy and obscene insults hurled at her in the presence of so
many of her people fell short of the warrior maid, whose conscience was
free from any blot. But they deeply wounded her delicate sense of
modesty, the most salient feature of her character; she wept.[69]
Several of the captains who accompanied Joan smiled maliciously, and
hoped that the invectives of the English would smirch the girl's
character in the opinion of the Orleans militiamen and of the soldiers
who had witnessed the insult. It was otherwise. Moved by her virginal
beauty, her celestial appearance, her touching tears, and above all,
affected by the religious respect that her person inspired in all who
approached her, they could not repress their indignation. Inflamed with
rage, they rushed to the battlements and in turn shook their fists at
the English, returning insult for insult, and crying with fervor:
"Good luck! Good luck to Joan the Maid!"
"We shall cut you to pieces, you vagabonds and English swine!"
"Joan will throw you far from here!"
Some of the cannoniers even forgot the truce, and set the loaded
ballistas in motion, to which the enemy replied with a volley of arrows.
Joan, unsuspecting of danger, did not budge from the parapet, and seemed
to defy death with serenity. Two men were wounded near her. Covering her
with their bodies, the militiamen forced her to descend from the
parapet, and implored her to spare herself for the great assault on
Monday. On the other hand, most of the English attributed her escape
from the murderous discharge of their arrows to a supernatural
interposition, and their superstitious fears received fresh increment.
They feared the devil and his sorceries.
CHAPTER III.
SUNDAY, MAY 1, 1429.
Unable to overcome the opposition of the captains to attacking the enemy
on Sunday morning, Joan again proceeded at break of day and in the
company of John the cannonier to examine the enemy's position. Master
John conceived a singular attachment for the martial maid, and he later
accompanied her in almost all her engagements, being charged by her with
the command of the artillery. Due to his extensive experience at the
siege of Orleans, the cannonier had acquired profound skill in matters
connected with the attack and defence of fortifications. On her part,
endowed with unusual perspicacity in martial matters, Joan derived in a
short time great advantage from the practical knowledge of Master John.
Back from her Sunday morning excursion, the Maid proceeded to the Church
of St. Croix, where she attended high mass and took the communion in the
presence of a vast concourse of people, upon all of whom the Maid's
modesty and piety left a profound impression. Upon her return to the
house of James Boucher, Joan entertained herself in the afternoon by
joining in the family sewing, and she astonished not a little both
Madeleine and her mother, who were charmed to see the warrior maid, from
whom the deliverance of the town and even the kingdom was expected,
display so much skill, ingenuity and familiarity in the labors of her
own sex. More than once was she obliged to interrupt the sewing at which
she was engaged and show herself at one of the casements in response to
the clamors of the admiring crowds that pressed before the treasurer's
house.
Towards evening, the captains who were hostile to Joan either from
jealousy or any other cause, held a meeting and decided that the
projected Monday attack should not take place. It was absolutely
necessary, they claimed, to await a reinforcement that Marshal St. Sever
was bringing from Blois and that was expected to attempt an entry during
the night of Tuesday. This further postponement, of which Joan was
notified by one of the captains, afflicted her profoundly. Guided by her
good judgment, Joan considered the delays disastrous; they allowed the
ardor of the troops to cool off after it had been rekindled by her
presence, and gave the English time to recover from their dread,
because, thrown into increasing consternation by the reports that they
received concerning the Maid, the English had not, since her arrival,
dared to quit their bastilles to skirmish against the town. But
compelled to yield to the will of the captains, whom to oppose had not
yet occurred to her, Joan could only weep at the further delay. But
presently the scales began to drop from her eyes. Reflection showed her
that the delays were intentional, and her voices, the echoes of her
sentiments and her thoughts, said to her:
"They are deceiving you--the captains treasonably seek to oppose the
will of heaven that you deliver Orleans and set Gaul free. Courage. God
protects you. Rely only upon yourself for the fulfilment of the mission
that He has entrusted to you."
CHAPTER IV.
MONDAY, MAY 2, 1429.
Strengthened by her "voices," Joan sent her equerry, Daulon, early in
the morning to convoke the captains for noon at the house of her host.
Most of them responded to the call. When they were assembled, the virgin
warrior, nowise intimidated, declared to them with mildness but with
firmness, that if on the next day, Tuesday, they did not in concert with
her definitely arrange a plan of attack for Wednesday morning, she would
then, without any further delay, mount her horse, raise her standard
and, preceded by her equerry sounding the trumpet call and her page
carrying her pennon, traverse the streets of the town and call to arms
the good townsmen of Orleans, and the soldiers also; and that she alone
would lead them to battle, certain of victory with the aid of God.
The Maid's resolute language and the fear of seeing her carry out her
threat had their effect upon the captains. Several signs of popular
dissatisfaction had manifested themselves on the inexplicable delay in
using the unexpected help that Joan had brought from heaven. Pointing
with becoming dignity to the numberless proofs that they had given of
their bravery and of their devotion to the public cause, the councilmen
complained bitterly of being ignored, in the councils where the fate of
the town was decided upon; and no less than Joan they condemned the
fatal, perhaps irreparable, delays of the captains. Yielding despite
themselves to the pressure of public opinion, the captains promised the
Maid to meet the next day and decide jointly with her upon a plan of
battle.
Without the consciousness of her military genius, that every day rose
mightier within her; without her invincible patriotism; without her
settled faith in divine help, Joan would before now have renounced the
painful and glorious task that she had set to herself. The indolence and
craven egotism of Charles VII, his insulting doubts concerning her
character, the infamous physical examination that she was forced to
undergo, the ill will of the captains towards her since her arrival in
Orleans, had profoundly grieved her simple and loyal spirit. But
determined to deliver Gaul from its age-long foes and to save the King
despite himself, seeing that she considered the safety of the country
bound up in his throne, the heroine thrust her personal sufferings aside
and only thought of pursuing her task of deliverance to its
consummation.
CHAPTER V.
TUESDAY, MAY 3, 1429.
On Tuesday the council of war assembled at the house of James Boucher
and in the presence of Joan. The Maid submitted briefly and spiritedly
the plan of attack that she had matured and modified after the several
reconnoitering tours which she had made during the last three days.
Instead of first attacking the Tournelles, as she had at first
contemplated, she proposed collecting all the disposable forces in an
attack against the redoubt of St. Loup, situated on the left bank of the
Loire and constituting one of the most important posts of the enemy,
seeing that, as it commanded the road to Berry and the Sologne, it
rendered difficult the revictualing of the town and the entry of
reinforcements. That redoubt was to be carried, first; she was then to
march successively against the others. The only forces that Joan
proposed to keep from the expedition was a body of reserve, that was to
be held ready to sally from the town for the protection of the
assailants of the bastille of St. Loup, in case the English should issue
from their other redoubts to the help of the attacked garrison and thus
attempt a diversion. A few men placed in the belfry of the town hall
were to watch the movements of the English, and if these were seen to
sally in order to attempt either the junction of their forces or the
diversion foreseen by Joan, the signal was to be given to the reserve
corps to fall upon the enemy, intercept their march to St. Loup, drive
them back, and keep them from taking the French in the rear. The plan,
explained with a military precision that stupefied even the captains who
envied Joan, was unanimously adopted. It was agreed that the troops were
to set off at daybreak.
CHAPTER VI.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 4, 1429.
Feeling certain of battling on the morrow, Joan slept on Tuesday night
the peaceful sleep of a child, while Madeleine, on the contrary,
remained almost constantly awake, tossed about by painful uneasiness,
and thinking with no little alarm that her companion was to deliver a
murderous battle in the early morning. Joan awoke at dawn, made her
morning prayer, invoked her good saints, and was assisted by Madeleine
in putting on her armor. A touching and charming picture! One of the two
girls, delicate and blonde, raising with difficulty the pieces of the
iron armor that she helped her virile and dark complexioned friend to
case herself in, and rendering the service with a degree of inexperience
that caused herself to smile through the tears that she did her best to
repress and that welled up at the thought of the near dangers that
threatened the martial maid.
"You must excuse me, Joan, I am more in the habit of lacing my linen
gorget than a gorget of iron," said Madeleine, "but with time I shall be
able, I hope, to arm you as quickly as could your equerry. To arm you!
Good God! I can not pronounce the dreadful word without weeping! Is it
quite certain that you are to lead an assault this morning?"
"Yes; and if it please God, Madeleine, we shall drive hence these
English who have caused so much damage to your good town of Orleans and
to the poor people of France!"
The Maid said this as she strapped the jambards over her buckskin hose
whose waistband outlined her supple and robust shape. Her shoulders and
bosom were then almost exposed. She hastened to button up her chemise,
while blushing with chaste embarrassment although she was in the
presence of a girl of her own age; but such was Joan's modesty, that on
a similar occasion she would have blushed before her own mother! Putting
on a slightly padded skin jacket that the friction with her armor had
already begun to blacken, she cased her breast in her iron corselet,
that Madeleine strapped on as well as she could.
"May this cuirass protect you, Joan, against the enemy's swords! Alack!
To have a young girl fight! To have her face such dangers!"
"Oh, dear Madeleine, before leaving Vaucouleurs, I said to the Sire of
Baudricourt, the seigneur who helped me to reach the Dauphin of France:
'I would prefer to remain and sew and spin near my mother; but I must
fulfil the orders of the Lord.'"
"What dangers you have run, my dear Joan, and still are to run in the
fulfilment of your mission!"
"Danger troubles me little; I place myself in the hands of God. What
troubles me is the slowness I encounter in having my services availed
of. These delays are fatal to Gaul--because it seems to me that my days
are numbered."[70]
The martial maid pronounced these last words with so sweet a melancholy
that Madeleine's tears started to flow afresh. Placing back upon a table
the casque that she was about to place upon her friend's head, she
threw herself into her arms without uttering a word, and embraced her,
sobbing, as she would have embraced her sister at the supreme hour of an
eternal farewell. Dame Boucher entered at that moment precipitately and
said:
"Joan, Joan, the Sire of Villars and Jamet of Tilloy, two councilmen,
are downstairs in the hall. They wish to speak with you immediately.
Your page has just led up your horse. It seems that something unexpected
has happened."
"Adieu, till we meet again, my dear Madeleine," said Joan to the weeping
girl. "Be comforted. My saints and the Lord will protect me, if not
against wounds, at least against death until I shall have carried out
the mission that they have laid upon me;" and hastily taking up her
casque, her sword and the small baton that she habitually carried in her
hand, the Maid descended quickly into the large hall.
"Joan," said the Councilman Jamet of Tilloy, an honest and brave
townsman, "everything was ready, agreeable to yesterday's decision, to
attack the bastille of St. Loup this morning. But before dawn a
messenger ran in to announce to us the approach of a large convoy of
provisions and munitions of war that the people of Blois, Tours and
Angers send us, under the command of Marshal St. Sever, by way of the
Sologne. The escort of the convoy is not strong enough to pass without
danger under the bastille of St. Loup, which commands the only available
wagon road. The English may sally from their redoubt and attack the
train which the town has been impatiently expecting. The captains, who
are assembled in council at this hour, are debating the point whether it
is better to attack the bastille of St. Loup or to go forward to meet
Marshal St. Sever, who is waiting for reinforcements before resuming his
march."
"How far is the convoy from here, sir?" asked Joan.
"About two leagues. It can not choose but pass under the bastille of St.
Loup. There is where the danger lies."
After a moment's reflection, Joan answered with composure:
"Let us first of all see to the provisions and munitions of war. We can
not fight without victuals. Let us help the convoy to enter the town
this morning; we shall immediately after attack and take the bastille
with the help of God."
The Maid's advice seemed wise. She mounted her horse, and accompanied by
the Sire of Villars rode to the town hall, whither the Councilman Jamet
of Tilloy preceded her in haste while ordering the militia to be called
to arms under its captains of tens and of forties and giving the
Bourgogne Gate as the rendezvous. On this occasion the captains yielded
without a contest to the will of Joan, who was strongly seconded by the
councilmen. She marched out of the Bourgogne Gate at the head of two
thousand men, who, loudly clamoring for battle, and impatient to wipe
out their previous defeats, were fired by the sight of the martial maid,
who gracefully rode her white charger with her banner in her hand. At a
little distance from the bastille of St. Loup, a veritable fortress that
held a garrison of over three thousand men, Joan took the command of the
vanguard which was to clear the path for the column. Whether it was a
superstitious terror caused by the presence of the Maid, whom they
recognized from a distance by her white armor and standard, or whether
they were merely reserving their strength to sally forth and attack the
convoy itself, the English remained behind their entrenchments and
limited themselves to shooting a few almost inoffensive volleys of
arrows and artillery balls at the Orleans column. The obvious timidity
of an enemy who was usually so daring increased the confidence of the
French. They soon left the bastille behind them and met near St.
Laurent, an advance post that covered the convoy. At the sight of the
reinforcement from Orleans, that reached them without hindrance from the
English in their bastille, the escort of the convoy attributed the
successful operation to the influence of the Maid, and felt in turn
elated. Himself struck by the successful move, that was due to the
promptness of Joan's manoeuvre, Marshal St. Sever still feared, and not
without good reason, that the enemy's purpose was to allow the French to
pass out freely in order all the more effectively to fall upon them on
their return, hampered as they would then be by the large train of carts
and cattle that the convoy had to escort. The Marshal was undecided what
to do.
"Forward and resolutely!" replied Joan. "Our bold front will impress the
English; if they come out of their redoubt we shall fight them; if they
do not come out, we shall soon be in Orleans with the convoy. After that
we shall immediately return and attack the bastille, and we shall
conquer with the aid of God. Have confidence, Marshal!"
These words, pronounced in a firm voice, overheard by some of the
soldiers, repeated by them and carried from rank to rank raised the
troop's enthusiasm. The march to Orleans was struck with the carts and
cattle in the center, and Joan leading the van with a strong vanguard
determined to sustain the first shock of the enemy. But the latter did
not show himself. It was later learned from several English prisoners
that their captains, aware of the decisive effect for good or evil that
the first battle with the Maid would have upon the temper of their
troops, and realizing that their courage had begun to waver at the
marvelous accounts that reached them about her, had determined not to be
drawn into a battle until conditions should render triumph certain.
Hence their inaction at the passage of the convoy, which, without
striking a blow, entered Orleans to the unutterable delight of the
people and the militiamen. The people were carried away with a fanatic
zeal at the successful stroke of the Maid. Wishing to turn their
enthusiasm to immediate account, Joan proposed to turn about on the spot
and attack the bastille of St. Loup. The captains argued that their men
should first have time to eat, and promised to notify her when they
should be ready for the assault. Joan yielded to these protestations,
returned to the house of James Boucher, fed, as was her custom, on a
little bread dipped in wine and water, had her cuirass unbuckled, and
threw herself upon her bed, where, thus, half armed, she fell asleep.
Her mind being full of the events of the morning, the Maid dreamed that
the troops were marching without her against the enemy. The painful
impression of the dream woke her up, and no sooner awake than she
bounded out of bed at the distant noise that reached her of detonating
artillery. Her dream had not deceived her.[71] They had begun to attack
the redoubt. The Sire of Gaucourt, who had been commissioned to notify
the Maid, had left her in ignorance. She ran to the window, saw her
little page Imerguet holding his own horse by the bridle and talking at
the door with Dame Boucher and her daughter. Neither the equerry nor the
page of Joan had been informed of the sally.[72] But not aware of that,
the martial maid leaned out of the window and addressed Imerguet in a
reproachful tone:
"Oh, bad boy! They are attacking the entrenchments without me, and you
did not come to tell me that French blood was flowing![73] Madeleine,
come quick, I beg you, to help me put on my cuirass! Alack! We are
losing time."
Madeleine and her mother quickly ascended to Joan's room. She was helped
on with her armor, descended to the street and leaped upon the horse of
her page. At that moment it occurred to her that she had forgotten her
banner near her bed where she always placed it. She said to Imerguet:
"Run up quick for my standard! It is in the room. Hand it to me through
the window in order to lose less time."[74]
The page hastened to obey, while Dame Boucher and her daughter paid
their adieus to the Maid. The latter raised herself upon her stirrups,
took the standard that Imerguet lowered to her from the window above,
and plunging her spurs into the flanks of her horse, the warrior maid
waved with her hand a last good-bye to Madeleine, and departed with such
swiftness that the sparks flew from the pavement under the iron shoes of
her steed.[75]
By concealing the hour of the assault from Joan, the Sire of Gaucourt
had planned to keep her away and thus to injure her in the opinion of
the soldiers, who would impute to cowardice her absence at the hour of
danger. Planted at the Bourgogne Gate at the head of the reserves,
Gaucourt saw with surprise and anger Joan approaching at a gallop, cased
in her white armor and her white standard in her hand. She passed the
traitor like an apparition, and soon disappeared from his sight in a
cloud of dust raised by the rapid gait of her horse, that she drove
with free reins down the Sologne road, while with pangs of despair she
heard the detonations of the artillery increase in frequency. In the
measure that she drew near the field of battle, the cries of the
soldiers, the clash of arms, the formidable noise of battle reached her
ear more distinctly. Finally the bastille of St. Loup hove in sight. It
intercepted the Sologne road, dominating the Loire river, and was built
at the foot of an old church that in itself was a powerful
fortification. The church formed a second redoubt within the first,
whose parapets were at that moment half concealed by the smoke of the
cannons. Their fire redoubled, the last ranks of the French were
descending almost perpendicularly into a deep moat, the first defense of
the entrenchment, when, leaving her steaming horse, Joan rushed forward,
her banner in her hands, to join the combatants who at that moment,
instead of proceeding forward down into the moat were turning about and
climbing out again crying:
"The bastille is impregnable!"
"The English are full of the devil!"
"The Maid is not with us!"
"God has forsaken us!"
The captains had calculated upon the enthusiasm produced by the heroine
to lead the troops to the assault with the promise that she was soon to
join them. Relying upon the promise the first rush of the assailants,
who consisted mainly of Orleans militiamen, bourgeois and artisans, was
intrepid. But the English, not seeing the Maid among the French,
considered them deprived of a support that many of themselves looked
upon as supernatural; the enemy's courage revived and they repelled the
otherwise overpowering attack. The revulsion was instantaneous. A panic
seized the front ranks of the assailants and the swiftest in the night
were seeking to regain the home side of the moat when Joan appeared
running towards them, with eyes full of inspiration and her face glowing
with martial ardor. The fleers stopped; they imagined themselves
strengthened by a superhuman power; the shame of defeat mounted to their
cheeks; they blushed at the thought of fleeing under the eyes of the
beautiful young girl, who, waving her banner, rushed to the moat crying
in a ringing voice:
"Stand firm! Follow me! Ours is the battle by order of God! Victory to
Gaul!"[76]
Carried away by the magic of the bravery and beauty of the heroine, the
fleers fell in line behind her to the cry of:
"Good luck to Joan!"
"Joan is with us!"
These clamors, which announced the presence of the Maid, redoubled the
energy of the intrepid ones who still held the middle of the moat,
although they were being decimated by the stones, the bullets and the
arrows hurled at them from the top of the boulevard of the redoubt.
Joan, nimble, supple and strong, and supporting herself from time to
time upon the shoulders of those who surrounded her, descended into the
moat with them, crying:
"To the assault! Let's march bravely! God is with us! Victory to Gaul!"
The ranks opened before the heroine and closed behind her. Her bravery
carried away the most timidly disposed. Arrived at the foot of the slope
that had to be climbed under a shower of projectiles in order to reach a
palisaded trench that protected the boulevard, Joan perceived Master
John. Neither he nor the other sturdy cannoniers of Orleans had
retreated an inch since the assault began. They were just making ready
to climb out of the ditch on the enemy's side.
"Helloa, my good countryman," Joan called out cheerfully to the
cannonier; "let us climb up there quick; the redoubt is ours!"
And supporting herself upon the staff of her standard in order to scale
the steep slope, the Maid soon was several steps in the lead of the
front ranks of the assailants. Inspired by her example, these soon
reached the summit of the slope. Many fell dead or wounded by the shower
of balls and bolts near the heroine. She was the first to set foot upon
the narrow strip surrounding the moat and beyond which rose the
palisaded entrenchment. Turning to those who followed her, Joan cried:
"To the palisade! To the palisade! Courage! The English are beaten! I
tell you so by order of God!"[77]
Master John and his men hewed down the posts with their axes; a breach
was effected; the flood of the assailants rushed through the gap like a
torrent through a sluice; and a furious hand-to-hand encounter was
joined between the French and the English.
"Forward!" cried Joan keeping her sword in its scabbard and merely
waving her banner; "heaven protects us! Forward!"
"We shall see whether heaven protects you, accursed witch!" cried an
English captain, whereat he dealt a furious blow with his sabre upon the
head of the Maid. Her casque protected her. Immediately another blow
from a heavy iron mace fell upon her right shoulder. Dazed by these
repeated strokes, she staggered for a moment; Master John supported her
while two of his cannoniers threw themselves before her to protect her
with their bodies. The shock was quickly overcome. Joan recovered
herself, stood daring and erect, and rushed into action with redoubled
spirit. The enthusiasm of the warrior maiden was irresistible; the
boulevard was soon heaped with the dead of both sides. Driven back, the
English again succumbed to the superstitious terror that the Maid
inspired them with and they sought safety behind the numerous frame
buildings that served as barracks to the garrison of the bastille and as
lodgings for the officers. The struggle continued with unabated fury,
without mercy or pity, through the causeways that separated the vast
frame structures. Each lodging of the captains, each barrack, became a
redoubt that had to be carried. Fired by the presence of the Maid, the
French attacked and carried them one after the other. The English who
survived the fury of the first assault defended the ground inch by inch
and succeeded in retreating in good order into the church that crowned
the boulevard--a church with thick walls, surmounted by a belfry.
Entrenched in this last fort, whose doors they barricaded from within,
the English archers riddled their assailants with arrows, shot through
the narrow windows, while other English soldiers, posted on the platform
of the belfry, rolled down heavy stones, placed there in advance, upon
the heads of the French. Gathered in a mass near the portico of the
church, and entirely exposed, the French were being crushed and
decimated by the invisible enemy, not an arrow or stone of whom was
lost. The Maid noticed that her men began to waver. Banner in hand she
rushed forward:
"Victory to Gaul! Break in the door! Let us boldly enter the church. It
is ours by the order of God!"
Master John, together with several determined men, attacked with
hatchets the iron studded door, while a shower of arrows, shot through a
narrow slit in an adjoining building, rained upon the cannonier and his
companions. Their efforts were vain. Many of Master John's aides fell
beside him, his own arm was pierced by a shaft. The English who
entrenched themselves in the tower of the church, sawed off the
framework of the roofing, and with the aid of levers, threw it down upon
their assailants. The avalanche of stones, lead, slates and beams
despatched all those upon whom it fell. A panic now threatened.