"Forward!" cried Joan. "We needed beams to beat in the doors. The

English now furnish us with them. Take up the heaviest of them. Ram the

door. It will give. We shall have those Englishmen even if they are

hidden in the clouds."[78]

Again reanimated by her words, the soldiers obeyed the orders of the

Maid. Despite his wound, Master John directed the operation. An enormous

beam was taken from the debris, raised by twenty men, and plied like a

ram against the door of the church. Suddenly, the French soldiers, who,

standing on the brow of the parapet, overlooked the plain, cried out:

"We are lost! The enemy is coming in large numbers out of the bastille

of St. Pouaire!"

"They are going to take us in the rear!"

"We shall be between these fresh troops and the English entrenched in

the church!"

This move, skilfully foreseen and prepared for by Joan, who had issued

the necessary orders to meet it, was in fact made by the enemy.

"Fear not!" said the martial maid to those near her, who were petrified

by the news, "a reserve troop will sally from the town and cut off the

English. Look not behind, but before you! Fall to bravely! Take the

church!"

Hardly had Joan uttered these words when the precipitate ringing of the

town hall bell was heard, and it was immediately followed by a sally

headed by a cavalry corps. The infantry marched out of the town at the

double quick and in good order, and planted itself in battle array

across the road that led from the bastille of St. Pouaire to that of St.

Loup. Intimidated by the resolute attitude of the reserve corps, which

was commanded by Marshal St. Sever, the English halted, and, giving up

their plan of marching to the assistance of their fellows at St. Loup,

returned to their own entrenchments. Seeing Joan's words thus verified,

her soldiers placed implicit faith in her divine prescience. Feeling

perfectly safe in their rear and fired by their own success, they turned

upon the church with redoubled determination to carry it. Two enormous

beams were now plied by twenty men apiece shattering the iron-studded

door, despite all the arrows of the enemy. The dying and the wounded

were quickly replaced by fresh forces. Joan, intrepid, ever near the

combatants and her banner on high, encouraged them with voice and

gesture while escaping a thousand deaths, thanks to the excellent temper

of her armor. The door finally broke down under the unceasing blows of

the beams, and fell inside the church, but at the same moment, a cannon,

placed within and opposite the door, ready for action, vomited with a

terrible detonation a discharge of stones and scraps of iron upon the

assailants at the gap. Many fell mortally wounded, the rest rushed into

the vast and dark basilica where a new hand-to-hand encounter, stubborn

and murderous, took place. The struggle continued from step to step up

the staircase of the tower to the platform, now stripped of its roof,

and from the summit of which the English were finally hurled into space.

Just as the sun was tinting with its westering rays the placid waters of

the Loire, the standard of Joan was seen floating from the summit of the

church, and the cry of the vanquishers echoed and re-echoed a thousand

times:

"Good luck! Good luck to the Maid!"

The victory won and the intoxication of battle dissipated, the heroine

became again a girl, full of tenderness for the vanquished. Descending

from the belfry of the church whither her bravery had carried her, the

Maid wept[79] at the sight of the steps red with blood and almost

concealed under the corpses. She implored her men to desist from carnage

and to spare the prisoners. Among these were three captains. Hoping

thereby to escape death they had put on some friars' robes that had been

left in a corner of the sacristy and had there lain unnoticed since the

English had taken possession of the Church of St. Loup. The three false

prelates were found hidden in a dark chapel. The vanquishers wished to

massacre them. Joan saved them[80] and, together with others, they were

taken prisoners. The frame barracks and lodgings were put to the flame,

and the vast conflagration, struggling against the first shadows of the

thickening night, threw consternation into the other redoubts of the

English, while it lighted the departure of the French.

When, to the light of torches, Joan re-entered Orleans at the head of

the troops, the belfry of the town hall and all the bells of the

churches were ringing their loudest and merriest; cannon boomed; the

whole town was in transports of joy, hope and enthusiasm. The Maid had

by her first triumph given the "sign" so oft demanded of her that she

was truly the envoy of God. She was received as a liberator by the

people, idolatrous with thankfulness.

Upon her return to the house of Master James Boucher, where she was

whelmed with caresses by his wife and Madeleine, Joan convoked the

captains and said to them: "God has so far supported us, sirs; but we

are only at the beginning of our task; let us finish it quickly. Help

yourselves, and heaven will help you! We must to-morrow at daybreak

profit by the discouragement into which our victory of to-day must have

cast the English. We must bravely return to the attack of the other

redoubts."[81]

The close of this day, so glorious to the martial maid, had a bitter

sorrow in store for her. Even Lahire, Dunois and Xaintrailles, all of

whom were animated with less ill will than the other captains towards

Joan, recoiled before her brave resolution, and taxed her with

foolhardiness. Promptly availing himself of the opportunity, Gaucourt

and the captains who were openly hostile to the Maid caused the council

of war to declare that "In view of the religious solemnity of the

following day, Thursday, the feast of the Ascension, it would be

outrageously impious to go to battle; the council would meet at noon

only to consider what measures should be next taken."[82]

This deplorable decision afforded the English time to recover from the

stupor of their defeat; it also ran the risk of losing the fruits of

Joan's first victory. The blindness, the perfidy or the cowardice of the

captains filled her with indignation. Steeped in sorrow she withdrew to

her own room where, all in tears, she knelt down and implored the advice

of her good saints; and with her eyes still wet with tears that her

friend Madeleine wiped in sadness and surprise, unable to understand the

cause of her friend's grief after so glorious a day, Joan fell asleep,

evoking in thought as a means of solace the passage of the prophecy so

miraculously fulfilled, in which Merlin announced:

"Oh, how much blood do I see! How much blood do I see!

It steams! Its vapor rises, rises like an autumn mist to heaven,

Where the thunder peals and the lightning flashes!--

Across that crimson mist, I see a martial virgin;

White is her steed, white is her armor--

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 enemy's archers!"

CHAPTER VII.

THURSDAY, MAY 5, 1429.

Despite the ingenuousness of her loyal nature, Joan could no longer

doubt the ill will or jealousy of the captains. They hypocritically

invoked the sanctity of the feast of the Ascension merely for the

purpose of paralyzing her movements by calculated inertia. In this

extremity she asked the advice of her mysterious "voices," and these

were now more than ever the echo of her excellent judgment, of her

patriotism and of her military genius. The mysterious "voices" answered:

"These captains, like almost all the nobles who make of war a trade, are

devoured with envy. Their jealous hatred is irritated at you, poor child

of the field, because your genius crushes them. They would prefer to see

the English take possession of Orleans rather than have the siege raised

by your valor. They may perhaps not dare openly to refuse to second you,

fearing to arouse the indignation of their own soldiers, above all of

the bourgeois militiamen and of the people of Orleans. But these

captains will traitorously resist your plans until the day when the

general exasperation will compel them to follow you with their bands of

mercenaries. Accordingly, you can rely for the accomplishment of your

mission of liberation only upon yourself, and upon the councilmen and

the town militia of Orleans. These do not fight out of vainglory or as

a trade; they fight in the defence of their hearths, their families,

their town. These love and respect you. You are their redeeming angel.

Their confidence in you, increased by the victory of yesterday, is

to-day boundless. Lean boldly upon these loyal people; you will triumph

over the envious and the enemy combined; and you will triumph with the

aid of God."

The advice, given to Joan through the intermediary of her good saints,

comforted her. Furthermore she learned in the morning that the capture

of the bastille of St. Loup had an immense result. As that bastille

commanded at once the roads to the Sologne district and to Berry, and

the Loire above Orleans, it had rendered difficult the provisioning and

reinforcing of the town. Learning, however, of the destruction of the

formidable redoubt, the surrounding peasants promptly began to pour into

town with their products as on a market day. Thanks to these fresh

supplies, besides the convoy of the previous day, abundance succeeded

scarcity, and the inhabitants glorified Joan for the happy change of

things. There was another precious result. Numerous well armed bands,

fanaticized by the accounts that they received of the Maid, entered the

town from the side of the Sologne, and offered their help to march

against the English with the urban militia. The heroine immediately

realized that she had a powerful counterpoise to the ill will of the

captains, and was not slow in putting it to use. Accordingly, she

ordered her equerry Daulon to convoke the captains and councilmen for

the hour of noon after high mass, at the house of Master Boucher, and

she pressed upon her host to see that none of the magistrates be absent;

the Maid then requested Madeleine to procure her a dress of one of the

servants of the house and a hooded cloak, took off her male clothes,

donned the attire of her sex, carefully wrapped herself so as to be

discovered of none in the town, went to the banks of the Loire, took a

boat and ordered the boatman to cross the river and land at a good

distance from the bastille of St. John-le-Blanc situated on the opposite

bank and face to face with the still smoldering debris of the bastille

of St. Loup.

Joan disembarked and proceeded, according to her custom, to examine the

entrenchments that she contemplated assailing. Not far from the bastille

of St. John-le-Blanc rose the Augustinian Convent, composed of massive

buildings that were strongly fortified. Beyond that, the bastille of the

Tournelles, a veritable citadel flanked with high wooden towers, spread

its wings towards the Beauce and Touraine and faced the bridge of

Orleans that had long been cut off by the enemy. Still another

formidable redoubt, that of St. Privé, situated to the left and not far

from the Tournelles completed the besieging works of the English to the

south of the town. The martial maid proposed to carry the four

formidable positions one after the other, after which the English would

be compelled to abandon the other and less important bastilles which

they had raised to the west, these being incapable of resistance after

the destruction of the more important works. Joan long and leisurely

observed the approaches of these works and revolved her plan of attack.

Her woman's clothes aroused no suspicion with the English sentinels.

After she had gathered full information with a quick and intelligent

eye, she returned to her boat and re-entered the house of Master Boucher

so well wrapped in her mantle that she actually escaped the observation

of all eyes. She forthwith resumed her male attire to attend the high

mass, where she again took the communion. The enthusiastic acclamations

that broke out along her route to and from the church proved to her that

she could count with the support of the people of Orleans. She entered

the house of Master James Boucher where the captains and councilmen were

gathered. The council soon went into session, but Joan was not summoned

at the start.

At this session there assisted the magistrates of the town as well as

Xaintrailles, Dunois, Marshals Retz and St. Sever, the Sire of Graville,

Ambroise of Loré, Lahire and other captains. The Sire of Gaucourt

presided in his quality of royal captain.[83] The recent victory of the

Maid, a victory in which several of the captains least hostile to her

had played a secondary role, inspired them all with secret and bitter

envy. They had expected to serve themselves with the young peasant girl

as a passive instrument of their will, to utilize her influence to their

own advantage and to issue their commands through her. It had turned out

otherwise. Forced, especially after the battle of the day before, to

admit that Joan excelled them all in the profession of war, irritated at

the injury done to their military fame, and convinced that the military

successes would be wholly placed to the credit of Joan, the one time

less hostile captains now went wholly though secretly over to her

pronounced enemies, and the following plan of battle was unanimously

adopted for the morrow:

"A feint shall be made against the fortress of the Tournelles in order

to deceive the enemy and cause it to sally out of the redoubts that lie

on the other side of the Loire and hasten to bring help to the

threatened position. The enemy will be readily duped. A few detachments

shall continue skirmishing on the side of the Tournelles. But the royal

troops and the companies of mercenaries will move upon and easily

capture the other bastilles where the English, in their hurry to hasten

to the defence of an important post, will have left but feeble garrisons

behind."[84]

This plan of battle, whether good or bad from the viewpoint of strategy,

concealed an act of cowardly perfidy, an infamous, horrible snare spread

for Joan. Speaking in the name of the councilmen, and answering the Sire

of Gaucourt, who explained the plan that the captains had adopted,

Master James Boucher observed that the Maid should be summoned so as to

submit to her the projects of the council.

The Sire of Gaucourt hastened to object in the name of all the captains,

on the ground that they were not sure the young girl would know how to

keep so delicate a matter secret, and that, seeing the doubt existed,

she should be informed only upon the plan of attack against the

Tournelles, but should not be apprised that the manoeuvre was only a

feint, a ruse of war. Accordingly, during a skirmish commanded by the

Maid in person, the bulk of the army was to carry out the real plan of

battle, on which Joan was to be kept in the dark.[85]

The infernal snare was skilfully planned. The captains relied upon the

Maid's intrepidity, certain that she would march without hesitation at

the head of a small number of soldiers against the formidable

Tournelles, and they did not doubt that in such an assault, as murderous

as it was unequal, she would be either killed or taken, while the

captains, sallying from Orleans at the opposite side and at the head of

the bulk of the troops, would proceed against the other bastilles, that

were expected to be found almost wholly deserted by the English, who

would have hastened to the aid of the defenders of the Tournelles.

Finally, Joan having on the previous day taken an emphatic stand against

the captains' opinion, and maintained that the raising of the siege of

Orleans depended almost wholly upon the capture of the Tournelles, and

that that important work should be forthwith attacked, it was expected

she would imagine her views had been adopted by the council of war after

mature reflection, and that, carried away by her courage, she was

certain to march to her death. Thus the plot concocted long before by

the Sire of La Tremouille, Gaucourt and the Bishop of Chartres was now

to be put into execution.

Despite their mistrust of the captains, the councilmen failed to scent

the trap laid for the Maid. She was introduced, and Gaucourt informed

her of the decision of the council omitting, however, to say that the

attack upon the Tournelles was only to be a feint. Gifted with rare good

sense and sagacity, the Maid had too many proofs of the constant

opposition that until then all her plans had met from the captains not

to be astonished at seeing them suddenly adopt a plan that they had so

loudly condemned the day before. Suspecting a snare, she listened

silently to Gaucourt while pensively pacing up and down the hall. When

he ended she stopped walking, fixed her frank and beautiful eyes upon

the traitor and said boldly:

"Seigneur Gaucourt, do not hide from me anything of what has been

decided. I have known and shall know how to keep other secrets than

yours."[86]

These words, through which the Maid's mistrust of the captains plainly

peeped, confused them. They looked at each other dumbfounded and

uneasy. Dunois, the least depraved of all, felt the pangs of remorse and

could not decide to remain an accomplice in the execrable scheme of

betrayal. Still, not wholly daring to uncover it, he answered:

"Joan, do not get angry. You can not be told everything at once. You

have been made acquainted with the first part of our plan of battle. I

must now add that the attack upon the Tournelles is to be a feint, and

while the English come to the help of their fellows and cross the Loire,

we shall attack in good earnest their bastilles over in the Sologne,

which they will have left almost empty of defenders."

Despite the belated explanation, the heroine no longer doubted the

perfidy of the captains. She nevertheless concealed her indignation, and

with the full power of her military superiority she declared to them

point blank and with her rustic frankness that the council's plan of

battle was detestable--worse yet, shameful. Did not the plan resolve

itself into a ruse of war that was not merely cowardly, but fatal in its

consequences? Was it not necessary, by keeping the soldiers continually

on their mettle by daring, if need be vast exploits, to restore the

confidence of the defenders of the town who had been so long beaten? Was

it not necessary to convince them that nothing could resist their

daring? "Now, then," the martial maid proceeded to argue, "granted that

this pitiful feint succeeds, what a wretched victory! To march upon an

enemy whom one knows is not there, and thanks to the excess of numbers

crush a handful of men! To thus expose the vanquishers to a cowardly

triumph, at a time when the hour has struck for heroic resolutions! A

hundred times preferable would be a heroic defeat! And, finally, always

granting the success of the ruse, what would have been destroyed? A few

defenceless redoubts of no farther importance since the capture of the

strong and large redoubt of St. Loup, which alone cut off the town's

communication with the Sologne and Berry. Assuredly the plan is

worthless, it is at all points bad and inopportune."

After thus summarizing and disposing of the captains' plans, the Maid

continued:

"On the contrary, we should not to-morrow _feign_, but really and boldly

_attack_ the Tournelles, by crossing the Loire a little above St.

John-le-Blanc, the first redoubt to take, then marching against the

fortified Convent of the Augustinians, and finally upon the Tournelles.

These positions being taken, the English, no longer in condition to keep

themselves a single day longer in the other bastilles, will find

themselves forced to raise the siege."

This, Joan declared, was her plan of battle, and nothing in the world

could turn her from her resolution, her "voices" having inspired her by

order of God. She was accordingly determined, she declared, in case the

captains opposed her project, to carry it to a successful finish despite

them, demanding only the aid of the councilmen and the militia of the

good town of Orleans, whom the Lord would take under his protection,

because they would indeed be defending the town, France and the King

against the English. Finally she would on that very day order the

militia to stand ready for the next day at dawn, and, followed or not by

the captains and their bands, she would march straight upon the enemy.

Laid down in a firm voice and fully approved by the councilmen, Joan's

project aroused the most violent objections on the part of the captains;

they declared it to be as hazardous as impracticable. The Sire of

Gaucourt summed up the views of his accomplices, crying with scornful

haughtiness: "The council of captains having taken a decision, it will

be upheld, and they will oppose _with force_, if necessary, any attempt

on the part of the soldiers of Orleans to make an attack on the

morrow.[87] Such is the council's will."

"_Your_ council has decided, say you?" replied Joan with serene

assurance; "_my_ council has also decided--it is God's. I shall obey Him

despite you!"[88]

Saying this, the Maid left the room, wounded to the quick by the obvious

perfidy of the captains. Firmly resolved to put an end to so many fatal

delays, and in accord with the councilmen to demand the safety of their

town only from the bravery of her own citizens if need be, Joan

immediately turned her attention to the preparations for the morrow's

attack, and commissioned the councilmen to gather a large number of

barges for the transport of the soldiers, at whose head she was to

attack the English at early dawn from the side of the Tournelles.

CHAPTER VIII.

FRIDAY, MAY 6, 1429.

Early in the morning the Sire of Gaucourt, with a squad of soldiers and

mercenaries, took possession of the Bourgogne Gate, through which Joan

had to pass to reach the river bank and effect the embarkation of the

troops. Gaucourt ordered the soldiers, whom he planted under the arch,

to allow none to leave the town, and to use their arms against anyone

who tried to violate their orders. Stepping back a few paces, wrapping

himself closely in his cloak, and listening from time to time for what

was happening in town, the traitor waited.

Dawn soon appeared; its early glimmer lighted the horizon and set off

the outlines of the crenelated Bourgogne Gate. A distant noise presently

attracted the attention of Gaucourt; it increased and drew near; and

soon he distinguished the muffled tread of many feet and the rattling of

arms. He then repeated his orders to his soldiers and withdrew into the

shadow of the vault that united the two towers at this entrance to the

town. A few minutes later a compact column, marching in good order and

composed of the urban militia and surrounding peasants, who had entered

Orleans after the capture of the bastille of St. Loup, turned into the

street that led to the Bourgogne Gate. Master John and about twelve

other citizen cannoniers marched in the front ranks, dragging a cart on

which were two portable culverins, christened by Master John "Jeannette"

and "Jeanneton" in honor of his countrywoman; another cart, also

hand-drawn, contained the munitions for the two pieces of artillery. The

martial maid rode at the head of the column, escorted by several armed

councilmen who had previously taken part in the defence of the town. One

of these, intending to hasten the egress of the troops, quickened his

horse's pace, and advanced toward the gate to have it opened. A sergeant

in his cups seized the bridle of the councilman's horse and cried

roughly:

"There is no passage here. It is forbidden to leave the town! Such are

our orders!"

"The town gates are opened or closed by orders of the councilmen. I am a

councilman. You must obey."

"I have my orders," replied the mercenary drawing his sword; "back, or I

cut you to pieces!"

"You miserable drunken fellow! Do you dare to threaten a magistrate!"

"I only know my captain, and since you are trying to pass despite my

orders, here is for you!" saying which he made a thrust at the

councilman. The sword glided over the magistrate's armor, and the

soldier cried out: "This way, my men!"

About twenty soldiers rushed to the spot from under the gate. The squad

of drunken men had surrounded and were hooting at and threatening the

magistrate when Joan, her equerry Daulon, her page, and the other

councilmen who, together with her, formed the head of the column,

reached the scene of the wrangle. At the same moment the Sire of

Gaucourt appeared. He was in a towering rage, made a sign to his

soldiers to draw back, and himself stepped towards the heroine whom he

insolently addressed:

"Joan, the council of war pronounced itself yesterday against your

proposed plan for to-day. You shall not leave the town--"[89]

"You are a bad man!" cried the Maid indignantly. "I shall pass whether

you will it or not. The men of Orleans will follow me--and we shall

vanquish the English again as we have done before."[90]

The Maid's defiant answer to the impudent and imprudent words of the

royal captain were heard by Master John and his cannoniers, and were

repeated down the column from rank to rank of the militiamen, producing

such exasperation against Gaucourt that from all parts the furious cries

were heard:

"Death to the traitor! Cut the captain to pieces!"

"He dares to oppose the Maid's passage!"

"Death to the traitor! Death to his soldiers! They are worse than the

English!"

In the midst of these cries, Master John and his cannoniers, together

with a mass of armed citizens, fell upon Gaucourt and his mercenaries

and drubbed them soundly with the handles of their pikes; not content

with having almost killed the captain and his band, the more enraged of

the militiamen insisted upon hanging them. With much difficulty, Joan

and the councilmen obtained mercy for Gaucourt and his crew. On a later

occasion he admitted that he had never before been as near death as on

that day.

The Bourgogne Gate was opened, and the troops proceeded on their march

towards the river whose waters began to glisten in the rays of the

rising sun. Joan had several times the day before insisted with the

councilmen to see that about twenty barges, capable of containing each

from fifty to sixty men be safely moored and ready at daybreak for the

embarkation of the troops. Never forgetful of any precautionary measure,

fifty soldiers were to remain on guard during the night on board of the

flotilla in order to defend it, if need be, against a "coup de main" of

the English. The councilmen themselves superintended the execution of

the Maid's orders. Nevertheless, seeing that her mistrust of the

captains gained ground, especially after her last experience with

Gaucourt, Joan wished to make sure that her transports were ready. She

put the spurs to her horse and took the lead of the column toward the

river bank which a high hill intercepted from her sight. What was the

martial Maid's stupor at the sight before her! Only five or six barges

and a few boats lay ready. She rode her horse almost to the saddle into

the Loire to question an old skipper who sat aft on one of the lighters.

From him she learned that towards midnight a captain had requisitioned

most of the lighters for the royal army. The wind being favorable, the

captain said he had orders to ascend the Loire with the flotilla as far

as Blois in order to take reinforcements. Several master skippers, the

one who spoke to Joan among them, had answered that they would not budge

from their anchorage without counter-orders from the councilmen; but the

captain threatened the skippers with bodily injury if they refused to

obey. The majority yielded to the intimidation in the belief that the

purpose was really to bring reinforcements from Blois, and spread their

sails to the wind. There only remained six barges and a few boats.

This new machination of the captains wounded the Maid's heart without,

however, abating her courage, or disturbing her presence of mind. With

the number of barges that she had counted upon, her troops were to be

landed in two or three trips; it would now require eight or ten.

Precious time would thus be lost. Observing the movement from the tops

of their redoubts, and taking cognizance of the small number of barges

at her disposal, the English might attempt a sally and repel the descent

upon them by hastening to the opposite river bank before all the troops

had time to form in line of battle. Joan appreciated the extreme peril

of the situation; but so far from being discouraged thereby, only felt

that a stronger demand was made upon her audacity, calmness and

foresight. Full of faith in her mission, she repeated her favorite

saying--_Help yourself and heaven will help you!_

The sun was rising behind the wooded banks of the Loire and the curtain

of poplars that shaded its shore when the first ranks of the militia

arrived upon the scene. Their disappointment was profound at the sight

of the small number of barges that awaited them. But leaving them no

time to reflect, Joan said:

"Let the bravest follow me! The others will come after!"

A race ensued as to who was to be the first upon the barges so as to be

considered the bravest by the heroine. She left her horse with a valet,

and threw herself into one of the boats accompanied only by her equerry,

her page and an oarsman; she had herself rowed several times around the

barges to see that they were not overloaded. The militiamen vied with

one another to be ranked among the most intrepid. The barges being

finally full, their sails were spread, and the wind being favorable,

blowing in the direction of the left bank, they moved swiftly, preceded

by several boats in which were the councilmen, Master John and several

of his cannoniers, the rest of whom were on board the barges with the

two culverins Jeannette and Jeanneton. The first of the vanguard boats

carried Joan cased in her white armor that now glistened in the sun.

Standing erect and motionless in the prow of the light skiff, and

leaning on the staff of her standard that fluttered in the morning

breeze, the outlines of the martial maid stood off against the azure sky

like the country's protecting angel.

Hardly had the boat reached the opposite bank when Joan leaped ashore

and drew up her men in order of battle as fast as they disembarked.

Master John and his cannoniers landed the two culverins from the barges,

and these then returned and returned again bringing over the rest of the

army from the right bank of the Loire. The work of transportation

consumed over an hour, an hour of indescribable impatience and anxiety

to the heroine. She feared at every moment to see the English issue from

their entrenchments to rush at the small number that she at first landed

with. But her fears were idle. The heroic capture of the bastille of St.

Loup, that two days before had fallen into the hands of the French,

spread consternation among the ranks of the English. Imputing her

prowess to witchcraft, they dared not assail her in the open, and

tremblingly awaited her under shelter of their own works. This evidence

of timidity augured well for the happy issue of Joan's undertaking, nor

was she slow to perceive and draw courage from it. When the last phalanx

was successfully landed, Joan, now at the head of two thousand

militiamen and peasants, marched straight upon the bastille of St.

John-le-Blanc, that was similarly fortified to the bastille of St. Loup.

To the end of protecting the descent of the assailants in the enclosing

moat, Master John planted Jeannette and Jeanneton on the outer edge of

the embankment and trained their muzzles at the parapet of the redoubt,

whose own cannon and other engines began to pour their projectiles upon

the French. Thanks, however, to the cannonier's marksmanship most of the

English engines were speedily silenced. The assault was accordingly less

murderous to the assailants. The Maid and her troop speedily crossed the

moat, leaving a large number of their own dead and wounded behind; they

rushed up and climbed the opposite escarpment, arrived at the palisade

and forced it; and in an incredibly short time the white standard was

seen floating from the boulevard of the entrenchment. The resistance of

the English was at first desperate, but speedily yielding to a panic,

they fled pell mell, crossed the Loire at a ford and retreated in utter

disorder to the little neighboring island of St. Aignan.

This rough and bloody attack consumed only two hours. Without allowing

her men a moment's rest, Joan ordered the barracks of the bastille to be

set on fire, to the end of utterly ruining the works, and also signaling

her new victory to the good people of Orleans. A short respite was

taken, and the combatants, exalted and exhilarated with their triumph,

followed the martial maid to the attack of the Augustinian Convent,

still more strongly entrenched. This position had to be first carried,

in order to undertake the siege of the Tournelles, itself a veritable

fortress raised at the entrance of the town bridge. Thanks to the

protection that her friends deemed divine, Joan had not until then been

wounded, although ever at the head of her forces. But to offset this,

her losses were serious. Despite the considerable reduction of her

forces, she turned her back upon the burning redoubt of St.

John-le-Blanc and marched to the attack of the Augustinians, which was

defended by a garrison of over two thousand men, reinforced by about a

thousand more from the Tournelles. Thanks to this reinforcement, instead

of awaiting the enemy under shelter of the fortifications of the

convent, the English decided to risk a decisive stroke and deliver

battle in the open field, reliant upon the advantage of their own

numbers and upon the aid afforded by the redoubt of St. Privé, whose

garrison sallied forth to take the French in the rear. Joan had about

fourteen hundred men under her command; before her stood over three

thousand, and her right flank was threatened by another considerable

force.

At the sight of the numerical superiority of the enemy, who advanced in

a compact mass, cased in iron, with the red standard of St. George

floating in the air, the martial maid collected herself, crossed her

arms over her cuirassed bosom, and raised her inspired eyes to heaven.

Suddenly she believed she heard the mysterious voice of her two good

saints murmuring in her ear: "March, daughter of God! Attack the enemy

boldly! Whatever their numbers, you shall vanquish!"

For the first time the Maid drew her sword, used it to point at the foe,

turned towards her own troops and cried in tones that stirred their

bosoms:

"Be brave! Forward! God is with us!"

The words, accompanied with a heroic gesture, the sublime expression of

her beautiful countenance, all contributed to drag the soldiers at her

heels. The hearts of all burned with the fires of intensest patriotism.

Her men were no longer themselves; they were she! The wills of all

seemed concentrated in one single will! The souls of all were merged

into one! At that supreme moment the militiamen attained that superb

contempt for death that transported our ancestors the Gauls when, half

naked, they rushed upon the iron-cased and serried ranks of the Roman

legions, throwing these into a panic and breaking through them by the

very force of their foolhardiness. Thus it was with the intrepid attack

of the Gallic virgin on this day. So far from yielding to numbers, as

the English had hoped she would, she fell upon them at the head of her

troop. Stupefied, terrified by such audacity, the English ranks wavered

and opened despite all the orders, threats, imprecations and desperate

efforts to the contrary by their captains. A large breach was opened in

the center of the enemy's line. Their success added fuel to the

exaltation of the men of Orleans, and raised them to a delirium of

heroism. They made havoc with their swords, pikes and maces among the

English ranks. The breach widened amid floods of blood. The white

standard of the Maid advanced--the red standard of St. George retreated.

The arms of the English soldiers seemed paralyzed and struck but

uncertain blows. Only a few of the French were wounded or killed; on the

side of the English, however, the blood ran in torrents. Suffolk, who

conducted himself gallantly, cried out, showing to his bewildered and

panic stricken men his own sword dyed red:

"Look at this blood, you miserable cowards! Do you still deem these

varlets to be invulnerable? Will you allow yourselves to be vanquished

by a female cowherd? If she be a witch, let us capture her, by God, and

burn her--the charm will end! But to capture her you must fight or die

like soldiers of old England!"

This energetic language, the example of their chiefs, the impression,

slowly asserting itself, of the vast numerical inferiority of the

French, and the bray of the trumpets of the garrison of St. Privé that

was hastening to the rescue, gradually revived the courage of the

English. Shame and rage at their threatened defeat presently changed

their panic into a furious exaltation. They closed ranks and took the

offensive. Despite all the prodigies of valor on the part of their

adversaries, they, in turn, now forced them to retreat in disorder. In

the midst of the maddening struggle Joan would certainly have been

killed but for the devotion of Master John and some twenty other

determined men. With their bodies they made a rampart around her,

determined to preserve her life that was so dear to them all. The ground

was defended inch by inch. Every moment the handful of men grew thinner.

Ten of them, fighting to her left, were scattered and crushed by the

opposing numbers. During the movement of retreat Joan was driven despite

herself towards the Loire, and already a few distracted men were heard

crying:

"To the barges! Save himself who can! To the barges! The battle is

lost!"

The triumphant English pursued the Maid with jeers and their accustomed

insults. They pushed forward, crying:

"Strumpet!" "Cowherd!" "Thief!"

"We shall now capture and burn you, witch!"

The panic had now completely seized the ranks of the French. They no

longer fought but fled wildly towards the Loire. In vain did the Maid

seek to rally them. Suddenly and obedient to an inspiration of her

genius, instead of resisting the current that was carrying her away, she

outran it and overtook the swiftest fleers, waving her standard. These

followed and rallied around her and thus naturally and perforce order

was gradually restored. During this move, the jeers, imprecations and

insults of the English, hurled at the Maid, redoubled in volume,

especially when they saw the skippers, witnessing the French defeat,

share the general panic, raise the sails of their barges, the only means

of retreat for the French, and push off from the shore out of fear of

being boarded by the vanquishers. The latter, now certain of the success

of the day, even disdained to hasten the rout of the fleeing French,

who, crowded against the Loire, were sure to be drowned or taken--Joan

first of all. The bulk of the English troops halted to shout three

cheers of triumph, a few companies advanced unsupported and with mocking

slowness to make the assured capture.

"Come, now, Joan! Come!" cried the English captains from a distance.

"Come now, strumpet, surrender! You shall be burned! That's your fate!"

The presumptuous confidence of the enemy afforded the heroine the

necessary time to re-form her lines.

"Prisoners or drowned!" she said to them, pointing to the receding

barges. "One more effort--and by the order of God we shall vanquish, as

we have vanquished twice before! Let us first attack this English

vanguard that boasts to have us in its clutches! Be brave! Forward!"

And turning about she rushed upon the enemy.

"Be brave! Forward! Forward!" repeated Master John and the most

determined townsmen of Orleans, following the Maid.

"Be brave! Forward!" echoed all the others. "Let us exterminate the

English!"

The scene that ensued was no longer one of courage, or of heroism; it

was a superhuman frenzy that transported the handful of French and added

tenfold strength to their arms. The enemy's companies, that had been

detached from the main body and sent forward to make a capture deemed

unquestionable, were stupefied at the offensive move, and unable to

resist the superhuman shock of despair and patriotism. Driven in

disorder, the sword in their flanks, towards the main body, they

overthrew its front ranks and spread disorder and confusion in the

English army.

The superstitious fears of the English, fears that they had once before

succumbed to, now gained new empire over them that seemed justified by

the unheard-of audacity of a body of men, once in full flight, suddenly

returning to the attack with intrepidity. The front ranks of the English

being broken through, the general panic spread all the quicker seeing

that, in sharing it, those who stood away from the center of action were

wholly in the dark as to the cause of the sudden rout. The English

soldiers struck at and trampled one another; the orders of their

captains were lost in the frightful tumult; their efforts were powerless

to conjure away the defeat. The cry of the first soldiers to flee: "The

witch has let loose her fiends upon us!" was carried from mouth to

mouth. Finally, and as if to overfill the measure, the English of the

bastille of St. Privé, upon arriving to the aid of their fellows, saw

the barges, that had shortly left the near shore, now returning from the

opposite side filled with fresh French soldiers. The French captains had

been compelled by the exasperation of the inhabitants of Orleans to

decide to co-operate with the Maid,[91] and they had marched out and

reached the river bank just as the barges arrived on that side. At the

sight of the re-inforcements, the corps from St. Privé hastened back to

its own encampment, while the rest of the panic-stricken English ran to

their respective bastilles for shelter behind the entrenchments of the

redoubts of the Augustinians and the Tournelles. When the fresh French

contingent brought by Marshal St. Sever and other captains disembarked,

the martial maid was preparing to attack the Convent of the

Augustinians, determined not to allow the enemy time to recover from

their panic. Now supported by the reinforcements, Joan threw herself

upon the convent, but at the moment when, in the lead of all she set

foot upon a narrow passage leading to the palisade that she was to

attack, she uttered a piercing cry. The teeth of a man trap had closed

above her ankle; it penetrated her jambards and her skin and even

reached the bone. It was an English "ruse of war," into which the Maid

had put her foot.[92]

The pain was so keen that Joan, exhausted from the fatigues of the day,

fainted away, and fell in the arms of her equerry Daulon. When she

recovered consciousness, the day was nearing its end; the bastille of

the Augustinians had been carried and its defenders were either dead or

prisoners. The heroine had been transported to the lodgings of one of

the English captains who had been killed in the combat. When Joan

returned to consciousness, her equerry wished to remove the armor from

her wounded limb and bathe the wound, but blushing at the exposure of

even her foot to the surrounding soldiers, Joan obstinately refused all

attention, and bestowed all her thought to the best use to be made of

the capture of the Augustinian Convent. She forbade that it be set on

fire, and ordered it to be held during the night by a strong garrison,

that should lead the next day in a determined attack upon the

Tournelles. After issuing these and other necessary orders with

remarkable military sagacity, the warrior maid had herself conveyed to

Orleans in a boat, feeling unable to walk by reason of the pain of her

wound. The Augustinian Convent rose almost on the river's edge. Daulon,

Master John and a few other cannoniers carried Joan to the river on a

stretcher improvised out of the shafts of lances and placed her in a

boat. Her page and equerry accompanied her, and she was rowed over to

Orleans where she arrived at night. Modestly desiring to escape

observation in her transit through the town to the house of her host,

especially seeing that all the windows in the houses were illuminated,

Joan asked Daulon to spread her cloak over her on the stretcher. Thus,

although unseen of all, Joan was the witness of the delirious joy

inspired by her last triumph. The town was in gala, hope radiated from

all countenances. In two days, the Maid had destroyed or carried three

of the most redoubtable fortifications of the English, and set free a

large number of prisoners. More than eight hundred of these were found

in the Augustinian Convent. By virtue of the confidence that she

inspired, there was no doubt entertained on the success of the morrow's

assault--the Tournelles would be taken, and, agreeable to the promise

she had made in the name of God, the enemy would raise the siege.

Concealed under the cloak that covered her, the Maid was transported to

the house of James Boucher. Informed of the victory by the wild cheers

of the people, but full of anxiety for the heroine, his wife and

daughter were at first thrown into terror seeing her carried on a

stretcher. But the Maid soon calmed them, promising that with their help

she would soon be restored. Assisted by the two she went up to her room,

and there submitted to the tender nursing at which her modesty could

take no offence. Madeleine and her mother, like most women of the time,

were versed in the tending of wounds. They applied oil, balm and lint to

the heroine's hurt after removing her armor, which, much to their alarm,

they saw was indented in more than twenty places with sabre blows and

lance thrusts. A large number of contusions, discolored and painful, the

results of so many strokes, fortunately deadened by her cuirass and arm

protectors, marked the body of Joan, who now only felt the reaction of

her exertion during the warmly contested battle. She took a little

nourishment, performed her evening devotions, thanked God and her saints

for having sustained her during the bloody struggle, and implored their

aid for the battle of the morrow. The warrior maid was about to compose

herself for recuperative sleep, when Master Boucher requested admission

to Joan upon an important and urgent matter. She quickly threw one of

Madeleine's robes over herself in order to receive her host's visit and

was struck by the signs of indignation and anger depicted on his face as

he entered. His first words on entering were:

"What impudence! I can hardly believe it possible! Whom do you think I

come from this minute, Joan? The Sire of Gaucourt," and answering an

interrogating gesture of the heroine, her host proceeded: "Would you

believe the man has forgotten the rude lesson of this morning? Would you

believe that at his instigation the captains, assembled this evening

after supper, decided that--_in view of the small number of the

mercenary troops in town, the council opposes a battle for the morrow,

and declares that the people should be satisfied with the successes they

have so far won ... and until the arrival of reinforcements no further

measures shall be taken against the English_.[93] I was commissioned to

inform you of this decision on the spot and demand your submission--"

"It is nothing short of treason!" broke in Dame Boucher, who although

ignorant of arms, nevertheless perceived the baseness of the act. "What,

remain locked up within our walls, on the eve of the last triumph that

is to free our town!"

"I spoke in that sense to the Sire of Gaucourt," replied James Boucher,

"and I consented to communicate to Joan the decision of the captains,

but declared at the same time that I was positive she would refuse to

obey, and that in that case she should not lack the support of the

councilmen and the good people of Orleans."

"You have answered, sir, as I myself would have answered," said the

warrior maid with a smile of deep sorrow at this further evidence of the

captains' perfidy. "Be at ease. Your brave militiamen occupy to-night

the Augustinian Convent. I shall join them to-morrow at daybreak to lead

them to the assault, and with God's help and their courage we shall

carry the Tournelles. As to the captains' ill will, I have a sovereign

means to thwart it. It is for that reason that I requested you to have

me escorted to-morrow to the sound of the town's trumpets. Good night,

sir; have faith and courage. The good town of Orleans will be set free.

God so orders it."

James Boucher withdrew, followed by his wife. Madeleine alone remained

with the warrior maid. The latter, before taking to her bed, and

yielding to a vague presentiment, requested her companion, to whom she

frankly avowed her utter ignorance of reading and writing, to write to

her mother, Isabelle Darc, a letter that she proceeded to dictate--a

simple, touching, respectful letter that revealed at every word her love

for her family and the tender recollection of the happy days that she

spent in Domremy. In that missive Joan did not forget even her village

girl friend, nor the good old sexton who, to oblige her, when she was

still little and loved so passionately to listen to the sound of the

bells, purposely prolonged the morning chimes or the chimes of the

Angelus. This missive, that bore the stamp of serious, religious and

tender sentiment, breathed a vague presentiment concerning her chances

of safety at the murderous battle contemplated for the morrow.

Madeleine, who more than once, while writing the letter, had dried her

tears, was struck by these apprehensions and asked her with a trembling

voice:

"Oh, Joan, do you apprehend misfortune to yourself?"

"The will of God be done, dear Madeleine. I do not know why, but it

seems to me I shall be wounded to-morrow again.[94] Oh, I was right! It

was a mistake to delay employing me so long. I am not to live long!"

Joan then relapsed into silence and presently added: "May God protect

you, dear friend; I am going to sleep. I feel very tired and I must be

on my feet to-morrow before dawn."

CHAPTER IX.

SATURDAY, MAY 7, 1429.

Before daybreak Joan re-armed herself with the help of Madeleine. The

wound in her foot pained her severely. Although the distance was short

from Orleans to the Convent of the Augustinians she asked for her horse.

After tenderly embracing her companion, Madeleine helped her descend to

the ground floor. There they found James Boucher, his wife and a female

friend named Colette, the wife of the registrar Millet. All three had

risen early to bid the warrior maid godspeed. Sadness overspread the

faces of all at the thought of the fresh dangers that the heroine was

about to brave, but the latter reassured her friends as well as she

could, and pressed upon James Boucher the necessity of causing it to be

proclaimed throughout the city that, in order to insure a successful

issue to the assault on the Tournelles the fort should be attacked by

the captains from the side of the bridge the instant that she began the

attack from the side of the Augustinian Convent. Thus pressed upon by

popular clamor, the captains would be forced to recede from their

treasonable decision of the previous evening. Will they, nill they, they

would co-operate with her. Joan had just given these last instructions

to her host, when a fisherman stopped at the door to offer for sale to

Dame Boucher an enormous river shad that he had just caught in the

Loire. In order not to leave her hosts under a sad impression, Joan said

mirthfully to James Boucher:

"Do buy this shad and keep it for this evening. I shall return by the

Orleans bridge after we have carried the Tournelles and I shall bring an

English prisoner along to help us finish up the fish."[95]

Saying this Joan mounted her horse and preceded by her page, her equerry

and the town trumpeters, who at her orders blew the reveille and the

call to arms, she crossed the whole city and rode towards the Bourgogne

Gate where she was to be joined by Master John the cannonier, the

representative of the carpenters named Champeaux, and the representative

of the fishermen, named Poitevin, both of them intelligent and resolute

men.

By traversing the town from one end to the other to the sound of

trumpets, it was the Maid's purpose to call the townsmen up and out, and

to announce to them that she was about to start on the assault; and thus

to compel the captains to choose between seconding her in a combat upon

which the final deliverance of Orleans depended, or else covering

themselves with overwhelming shame and exposing themselves to be killed

by an indignant people. Upon arriving at the Bourgogne Gate Joan found

Master John together with Champeaux and Poitevin. She ordered the former

to gather all the necessary workmen and quickly construct a drop-bridge

to be thrown over the arches where the English had cut the bridge for

the purpose of isolating the Tournelles from the boulevard of the town

and thus turning the Loire into a natural moat for their fortification.

The communication being thus re-established it would enable the captains

who remained in town to advance with their men to the very foot of the

fortress and assail it. The placing of the bridge and the eruption of

the soldiers from that side were to be announced by the town belfry. At

that signal Joan was to commence the assault from her side. The

carpenter promised that all would be ready in two hours. The equerry

Daulon was sent by Joan to inform the captains of her dispositions.

Nevertheless, preparing against the contingency of the captains' failing

to comply, she ordered Poitevin to fill two large barges with tarred and

pitched fagots, and in case no attack was made by way of the improvised

bridge, Poitevin, assisted by some other intrepid skippers, was to drive

the burning barges against the Tournelles and fasten them there against

the lower framework of the English fortress. The English were thus to be

hemmed in between a conflagration and the lances and pikes of the

French.

Obedient to the instructions he had received from Joan the previous

evening, Master John carried during the night a large number of scaling

ladders to the Augustinian Convent for the attack from that side;

moreover, assisted by his two sturdy friends, Champeaux and Poitevin,

and their workmen, he had established two pontoon bridges, one from the

right bank of the Loire to the small island of St. Aignan, the second

from that island to a path on the left bank of the river and almost

opposite the ruins of the bastille of St. John-le-Blanc. By opening this

path to the foot soldiers, to the cavalry and to the artillery, the Maid

facilitated the passage of the troops and cannons of Master John, both

of which could thus be easily brought to bear upon the Tournelles; if

occasion should arise, the bridge alone offered a safe means of retreat.

Joan was about to step upon the pontoon bridge when she was joined by

Dunois and Lahire. Yielding to the point of honor, no less than to the

public outcry of the townspeople, who were notified of the departure of

Joan to the assault, the two captains came at the head of their

companies of troops to take part in the battle. Commander Gireme,

Marshal St. Sever and other captains were, according to the Maid's

orders, to attack the Tournelles from the side of the bridge. At a

signal from the belfry the attack of the fortress was to commence upon

both sides. Followed by Lahire and Dunois, the heroine arrived before

the Augustinian Convent. Formed in battle line since early morning, the

militiamen awaited impatiently the order to march upon the enemy. Loud

were the cheers with which they received the Maid. While waiting for the

signal for the general assault, she desired to inspect more closely the

outer fortifications of the Tournelles, and she approached the fortress

which she found protected by a wide moat on the other side of which rose

a palisaded embankment, and beyond and above that a rampart equipped

with artillery and flanked with frame turrets. The works presented a

formidable appearance. Already the pieces of artillery of longest range

were showering their projectiles at Master John and his cannoniers, who

were training their cannons against the rampart to the end of knocking a

breach through for the assault. Unconcerned at the bullets that at times

buried themselves in the ground at the feet of her horse, the warrior

maid attentively watched the work of Master John, and with a visual

precision that threw the old cannonier into confusion and wonder, she

pointed out to him more correct positions for several of his pieces.

Master John recognized the justice of her opinion and followed her

instructions. Suddenly the peals of the belfry reached the ears of

Joan's troops. It was to be the signal for the general attack, but it

turned out otherwise. Instead of beginning the action from their side,

the captains wasted time with false manoeuvres, and left Joan to engage

the English alone, in the hope that the latter, not being compelled to

divide their forces as Joan had counted that they would, might easily

crush her. Ignorant of this fresh act of treason on the part of the

captains, the Maid gave Master John orders to open fire upon the

ramparts in order to protect the descent of the troops into the moat.

The cannons roared. At their sound, and unable to support the idea of

remaining nailed to her horse instead of taking an active part in this

decisive combat, the warrior maid, despite the smarting wound of the

previous day, jumped to the ground, and soon forgot the stinging pain in

the effervescence of the struggle. Her standard in her hand, she marched

to the assault.

The English were commanded by their most illustrious captains--Lord

Talbot, the Earl of Suffolk, Gladescal and many more. Violent at their

recent defeats, these warriors were bent upon wiping out the stain on

their arms. This supreme day would decide the fate of Orleans, perchance

also of the English domination of Gaul. It was necessary for the English

to restore by a brilliant victory the drooping courage of their troops.

The captains gathered their best men, veterans of scores of battles,

reminded them of their past victories, pricked their national pride,

fired their military ardor, and succeeded once more in overcoming the

terror that the Maid filled them with. The French met with a furious

and dogged resistance. Three times they mounted to the assault, here

through the breach, yonder by means of their scaling ladders. Three

times they were repelled and their ladders thrown down with all who were

climbing them. A hailstorm of balls, bolts and arrows showered down upon

the French. The bottom of the moat was covered with the dead and dying.

The breach having been opened, Master John hastened to join the Maid and

reached her side at the moment when she rushed at a ladder that her

intrepid followers raised for the fourth time at the foot of one of the

turrets. Master John followed the Maid. She had mounted several rungs

when she was struck at the juncture of her gorget and cuirass by a

"vireton," a long and sharp steel arrow, that was ejected with such

force from a ballista that, piercing her armor, it entered near her

right breast and partly issued under her shoulder.[96]

Thrown back by the force of the projectile, the Maid fell into the arms

of the cannonier who followed close behind her, and who, with the aid of

a few militiamen, carried her fainting beyond the moat. There they laid

her on the grass near a tree that protected her from the enemy's fire.

She felt, she said, as if she were dying, but still retaining her full

presence of mind she deplored the slowness of the captains, who, not

having attacked the Tournelles from the side of the town, endangered by

their treason an otherwise certain victory. Informed of the wound

received by Joan, her equerry Daulon hastened to her and realizing the

seriousness of her condition informed her that in order to avoid being

choked by the flowing blood, her cuirass had to be instantly unfastened

and the dart extracted. At these words, Joan's pale face turned purple.

Her modesty revolted at the thought of exposing her shoulder and bosom

to the eyes of the men who surrounded her; and so painful was the

thought that her tears--touching tears, not drawn by the physical pain

that she was suffering from, welled up to her eyes and rolled down her

cheeks.[97]

Master John, who also had considerable experience in wounds, confirmed

the equerry's opinion--to allow the dart to remain longer in the wound

was to expose the heroine's precious life. Indeed, feeling more and more

suffocated, Joan believed her last hour had struck, still she did not

wish as yet to die. Her mission was not yet fulfilled. She invoked her

saints, gathered strength from the mental prayer and mustered up the

necessary resolution to submit to a necessity that cruelly wounded her

modesty. Before, however, allowing her wound to be attended, Joan

ordered the assault to be suspended in order to give the troops some

rest. She ordered Dunois, who ran to her, together with Lahire and

Xaintrailles, to send one of their orderlies into Orleans on the spot,

in order to ascertain the cause of the fatal inaction of the other

chiefs, and to enjoin them to commence the attack from the side of the

town within an hour, or else to order the barges with combustibles to be

set on fire and pushed against the Tournelles. Again the belfry was to

give the signal for a general attack. The trumpets sounded a retreat

amidst the triumphant cheers of the English, who were intoxicated with

their first triumph. Thanks, however, to the exaltation that the heroine

had produced in her soldiers, they clamored to be allowed to return to

the assault. A cordon of sentinels, placed at a little distance from the

tree at whose base Joan had been laid, kept back the alarmed, trembling

and desolate crowd of soldiers. Blushing with confusion, the warrior

maid allowed her equerry to unfasten her cuirass, and with a steady hand

herself extracted the dart from her breast, emitting, however, in doing

so, a piercing cry of pain. Dunois and the other captains wished to have

her transported to Orleans, where, said they, she would receive the best

of care, and they proposed to adjourn the battle for the next day. Joan

opposed both propositions, and maintained that, even then, if the

captains would support her from the side of Orleans, success was

certain.

"Let our people take some food," she said to Dunois; "we shall return to

the assault; the Tournelles will be ours!"[98]

Once the dart was extracted from the wound, the warrior maid allowed

herself to be tended. The mental tortures that she underwent at the

moment by far exceeded her physical pain. When, her cuirass and padded

jacket having been taken off, she felt her linen shirt, wet with blood

and the sole cover on her shoulder and breast, respectfully removed by

her equerry, a shudder ran through Joan's body and she involuntarily

closed her eyes. She seemed to wish to close her eyes to the looks that

she feared might be cast at her. But so sacred was the nation's virgin

to all the troops that not even the shadow of an improper thought

stained the purity of the pious offices of any of the men who saw the

beautiful warrior maid thus semi-nude.[99]

Like all other professional equerries, Daulon was expert in surgery. He

carried about him, in a leather case suspended from his shoulder, lint,

bandages and a bottle of balm. With these he tended the wound which he

pronounced so serious that he considered it highly imprudent for Joan to

return to the combat. But on that point she remained inflexible. So

great was the relief she speedily experienced, that she said she hardly

felt the wound. Tightly laced, her armor would keep the bandage in

position. All she wanted was a few mouthfuls of water to slake her

burning thirst. Master John ran to a nearby streamlet, filled up full a

pouch that was half full of wine and returned with it to the Maid. She

drank and felt better, rose, put on her armor and took a few steps to

test her strength. Her celestial face, grown pale with the loss of

blood, speedily recovered its serene and resolute expression. She

requested those near her to step aside for a moment, whereupon she knelt

down near the old oak tree, joined her hands, prayed, thanked her good

saints for having delivered her from a mortal danger, and besought them

further to sustain and protect her. Immediately she heard the mysterious

voices murmur in her ear:

"Go, daughter of God. Courage! Combat with your wonted audacity. Heaven

will give you victory. By you Gaul will be delivered."

Inspired anew the heroine rose, put on her casque, seized her banner

that had been placed against the tree, and cried out aloud:

"Now, to the assault! Ours will the Tournelles be, by the order of God!

To arms! Be brave! Forward, victory to Gaul!"[100]

The cry was repeated from mouth to mouth with a tremor of impatient

bravery. The quick peals from the belfry rent the air. The detonations

of the artillery resounded from the side of the town, announcing the

execution of the Maid's orders, however tardy. The Tournelles was

assailed by the captains from the bridge at the moment when the Maid

marched to the attack of the fortress in front. The happy plan redoubled

the already exalted ardor of the assailants under the Maid. Led by her

they resumed the assault with irresistible impetus. After a stubborn and

bloody struggle that lasted until night the Tournelles was carried. As

on the previous day, the sinking rays of the sun cast the gleam of their

ruddy aureola upon the folds of Joan Darc's standard, planted by herself

upon the battlements of the fortress. The enemy was vanquished again.

Gladescal, who had so outrageously insulted Joan, was killed during the

combat, as also the Seigneurs of Moulin and Pommiers and the Bailiff of

Trente, together with a great number of English noblemen. Almost all

their men who were not killed were made prisoners, the rest were either

burned or drowned in the attempt to flee when the assailants were upon

them. They sought to escape by the improvised bridge under which

Poitevin let his burning barges float. The bridge took fire and broke

under the feet of the fleeing soldiers who thus perished either in the

flames or the river.

As Joan had calculated, the garrisons of the other bastilles, to the

number of from eight to ten thousand men, decamped in haste during the

very first night that followed the capture of the Tournelles. They left

in terror and consternation. At break of the next day, the warrior maid

mounted her horse, assembled the town militiamen and a few companies of

the captains' troops and marched out to offer battle to the English whom

they supposed to be still there. But these were gone, they were beating

a precipitate retreat towards Meung and Beaugency, fortified places held

by the English.

On that day, Sunday, May 8, 1429, Joan re-entered Orleans at the head

of the troops, and attended noon mass at the Church of St. Croix in the

midst of an immense concourse of people, delirious with joy and

gratitude to the warrior maid--the redeeming angel of Orleans.

Such was the "Week of Joan Darc." In eight days and with three battles

she caused the raising of the siege that had lasted nearly a year. The

deed achieved by the peasant girl of Domremy dealt a mortal blow to the

rule of England in Gaul.

But not yet was Joan's secret martyrdom at an end; it increased from day

to day with her glory. Charles VII, that poltroon and ingrate prince,

unnerved and plunged in ignoble effeminacy, was yet to cause the

shepherdess of Domremy to undergo all the tortures and all the

disappointments that a soul inflamed with patriotism can not choose but

undergo when it has devoted itself to a prince whose baseness is equal

to his selfishness and cowardice.

CHAPTER X.

THE KING CROWNED.

Immediately upon the raising of the siege of Orleans, Joan hastened to

the Castle of Loches. The fame of her triumphs ran ahead heralding her

approach. The gates of the palace flew open before her. She was told the

King was closeted in his private cabinet with his council. Thither Joan

walked resolutely, knocked at the door and intrepidly addressed Charles

VII:

"Sire, pray do not hold such long conferences with these seigneurs. The

siege of Orleans is raised. The good town is now restored to you. You

must now march boldly to Rheims and be consecrated. The consecration

will crown you King of France in the eyes of the French. The English

will then be impotent against you."

The sound sense and political acumen of Joan traced to Charles VII in

these few words the only path that wisdom dictated. His consecration at

Rheims, a divine attestation of his contested rights, would impart in

the eyes of the ignorant and credulous mass a powerful prestige to a

royalty thus reconstituted, rehabilitated, rejuvenated and breaking

forth in renewed splendor. The step was moreover a bold challenge flung

at the English, whose King claimed also to be King of France, and the

challenge had the proper threatening ring coming swiftly upon the

victory of Orleans. But Joan had counted without the pusillanimity of a

prince who doted on his idleness, who was jealous of his pleasures, who

hated the bare thought of physical exertion, and who considered only his

personal comfort. In order to be consecrated at Rheims he would have to

mount on horseback and place himself at the head of the army. It would

be necessary to confront considerable danger seeing that from Orleans to

Rheims the whole country still was in the hands of the English.

"Go to Rheims! Why, the project is insane, criminal!" cried La

Tremouille and the Bishop of Chartres. "Does it not endanger the life,

at least the health of the King?"

And the sorry King joined his council:

"I, risk myself out of my Castles of Loches and Chinon! And do so when

the English still are in possession of Meung, Beaugency, Jargeau and

other strongholds on the frontier of Touraine! Why, at the first step

that I take out of my retreat they will gobble me up!" and to himself he

cursed his luck and wished the possessed Maid to the devil, seeing her

more interested than himself in the honor of the crown.

Disappointed and grieved Joan hardly repressed her indignation. The

brave Maid answered that if Charles's departure for Rheims only depended

upon the capture of the strongholds held in Touraine by the English, she

would capture these fortresses and drive the enemy so far, so very far

that they could not then inspire the King with the slightest fear.[101]

She then appointed Gien for their rendezvous, implored the King to meet

her there in a week, and promised him that he would then be able to

undertake the journey to Rheims without danger. The Maid forthwith left

the court and rejoined the army.

On the 12th of June, 1429, Joan took the fortified town of Meung; on the

17th of the same month she captured Jargeau, and the next day Beaugency.

In all these assaults the Maid displayed the same bravery, the same

military genius that distinguished her at the siege of Orleans. At the

capture of Jargeau she came near being killed. This second series of

triumphs was crowned by the battle of Patay, where all the English

forces were assembled under the command of Warwick and their most

illustrious captains, most of whom were taken prisoner. At this bloody

and hotly contested battle Joan showed herself the peer of the most

famous captains by the boldness of her manoeuvres, the quickness of her

eye, the use that she put the artillery to, by the enthusiasm that she

knew how to fire her soldiers with, and by her imperturbable good

nature. Just before the battle she said to the Duke of Alençon with a

cheerfulness and terseness worthy of the best passages of antiquity:

"Gallant sir, are your spurs good?"

"What?" asked the Duke in surprise. "Spurs? To flee?"

"No, sir--to pursue!" was the answer.[102]

Indeed, after their defeat, the enemy was pursued at the point of the

lance for over three leagues. But these victories were won by the

warrior maid not over the English merely, they were won also over the

ill will of most of the French captains, whose envy of her increased in

the same measure as her triumph. Accordingly she no longer doubted their

secret animosity, and a vague presentiment told her she would be

eventually betrayed by them to the enemy. The foreboding did not affect

her conduct. Long before had she made a sacrifice of her life.

Considering that these last triumphs must have finally put an end to

Charles's hesitancy, Joan returned to him, and said:

"Sire, Meung, Beaugency, Jargeau have all been carried by assault, is

that enough? The English have been defeated in pitched battle at Patay,

is that enough? Talbot, Warwick, Suffolk, are either captured or forced

to flee, is that enough? Would you still hesitate to follow me to Rheims

and be consecrated King by the command of God?"

The royal coward did not now hesitate, he declined point blank. The

English had been driven out of Touraine, but still they held the

provinces that had to be crossed in order to reach Rheims.

Joan was unable to overcome her disgust. No longer expecting anything

from the coward, she was of a mind to give him up to his fate. In

despair she took off her armor, left the court, and communicating her

designs to none, she took to the woods where she wandered the whole day

intending to return to Domremy. Towards evening, and noticing that she

had lost her way, she asked for hospitality at a poor peasant house of

Touraine.[103] Unarmed and in her male attire, Joan looked like a young

page. She was received as such by the good people who gladly gave her

shelter, treated her at their best and made room for her at their

hearth. Joan sat down. The peaceful aspect of the rustic home recalled

to her mind the happy days of her childhood spent in Domremy. The sweet

recollections of the paternal home drew involuntary tears. Struck by her

sadness, her hosts questioned her with timid and respectful interest.

"How can you cry in such happy days as these," they asked naïvely, "in

these days of the deliverance of Gaul? They are happy days, especially

for us peasants! For us who are now at last delivered from the English

by the grace of the Lord and the bravery of Joan the Maid, our redeeming

angel!"

In the enthusiasm of their gratitude, the peasant hosts showed the

tenderly touched warrior maid a bit of parchment fastened to the wall

above the hearth. On the parchment the name of "Joan" was inscribed,

surmounted with a cross. In default of the image of their beloved

liberatrix, these poor people had inscribed her name and thus gave token

of the sincere reverence that they rendered the heroine. The questions

were innumerable that they plied their young guest with regarding Joan.

Perhaps he had seen her, seen that holy maid, the new Our Lady of the

peasants who had suffered so grievously at the hands of the English

before she drove them away. The questions were tantamount to a choir of

benedictions mixed with passionate adoration of the Maid. More and more

touched by these words, Joan began to reproach herself severely for her

momentary weakness. To abandon Charles VII to his fate was to abandon

France; it was above all to expose these poor peasants, the humble and

industrious race of which she was herself born, to fall back under the

yoke of the stranger; it was to re-deliver the poor wretches to all the

horrors of a war which it was her mission to put an end to. These

thoughts re-invigorated her; they inspired her with the resolve to

struggle onward for the accomplishment of her projects, to struggle

doggedly even against the King, against his councilors, against the

captains who pursued her with their hatred and whom she perhaps stood in

greater fear of than of the English. The latter fought in arms in the

open; the former labored in the dark, and plotted treason. Absorbed in

these meditations, Joan threw herself upon a bed of fresh cut grass, the

only couch that her hosts could offer her. She invoked the support and

the advice of her saints, and their dear voices speedily whispered in

her ear:

"Go, daughter of God; no weakness; fulfil your mission; heaven will not

forsake you!"

Early the next morning, the heroine left her hosts, who remained in

ignorance that their humble roof had sheltered the country's savior.

Resolved to conceal from the King the contempt she entertained for him

and to see in him only an instrument for the welfare of Gaul, Joan

returned to court. The Maid's disappearance had caused alarm, alarm

among those whose every wish was for the termination of the English

domination. Joan's project--the King's consecration at Rheims--spread

abroad by the councilors in the hope of giving the widest publicity to

its absurdity, met, on the contrary, with a large number of supporters,

all of whom were impressed with the political grandeur and the audacity,

withal, of the idea. The Maid's return was looked upon as providential,

and so powerful did the popular outcry wax that the craven monarch

finally resigned himself to the idea of departing at the head of his

troops that were constantly swelling in numbers, thanks to the fame of

the Maid. The march to Rheims was decided on and undertaken.

The journey to the royal town displayed the genius of the heroine from a

side not before dreamed of. Matchlessly energetic and intrepid in her

desperate combats with the foreign enemy of Gaul, she now showed herself

endowed with an inexpressible power of persuasion. She undertook and

succeeded in inducing the towns of the English or Burgundian party to

become French again and to open their gates to Charles VII, from whom

she had obtained, not without much trouble, a written promise of

absolute amnesty for the dissidents. Without drawing her sword, Joan

reconquered for the King all the fortified places on the route to

Rheims. The heroine found in her soul, in her aversion to civil war, in

her patriotism, such treasures of naïve eloquence that, coupled with her

fame, her words penetrated the spirits of all, unarmed all hands, and

won over all hearts to the cause of the miserable prince whom she

protected, whom she covered with the splendor of her own plebeian glory,

and whom she caused the people to love by speaking in his name.

Upon the arrival of the royal army before a fortified town, Joan would

approach the barriers alone, her standard in her hand. She swore to God

she did not wish to shed French blood; she besought and implored those

who heard her to renounce the English domination that was so disgraceful

and so fatal to the country, to recognize the sovereignty of Charles

VII, if not out of loyalty to him at least out of hatred for the

foreigner, out of love for the motherland that for so many years had

bled and been dishonored by an atrocious yoke. The heroine's beauty, her

emotion, her sweet and vibrant voice, the immense stir made by her

victories, the irresistible charm of the virginal and martial being, all

combined to operate prodigies. The old Gallic blood, cold for so long a

time, boiled again in the veins of even the least valorous at the cry of

national deliverance uttered by the maid of seventeen, whose sword was

fleshed in the victory of so many battles. The barriers of the towns

fell down at her voice.

Amazed and above all delighted at not having to incur danger, the royal

coward made his triumphant entry into the good towns that acclaimed the

Maid. One day, however, he had a great fright. A strong English garrison

occupied the town of Troyes, whose councilmen were bitter partisans of

Burgundy. The gates were barricaded, the ramparts manned, and the

cannons opened fire upon the royal vanguard. Charles already spoke of

plying his spurs, but was with difficulty restrained by Joan, who

advanced unescorted towards the barrier and requested a parley with the

councilmen. The English captains answered her with insults accompanied

with a shower of missiles. The soldier who bore the heroine's banner was

killed at her side. A few townsmen of Troyes belonging to the French

party, who happened to be on the ramparts and heard Joan's request for a

parley, spread the news among the townsmen, most of whom were tired and

dissatisfied with the foreign rule, but were held under by the obstinate

Burgundian councilmen. A great and increasing agitation manifested

itself in the town. A few English companies attempted a sally against

the royal vanguard commanded by Joan and were beaten back. Encouraged by

the defeat, the French party within the walls gathered courage and ran

to arms. Their numbers proved unexpectedly large. The Burgundian

councilmen were overthrown, a new set of municipal magistrates was set

up and they immediately took measures against the English who entrenched

themselves in a fort that dominated the town. Frightened at the

threatening attitude of the people, the English evacuated the citadel

over night and drew away. The new councilmen asked for a parley with

Joan, and in their turn they experienced the irresistible charm of her

beauty, her mildness and her eloquence. Assured by her that none of the

inhabitants would be troubled on the score of past acts, the magistrates

placed the keys of the town in the hands of Joan, who took them to the

King, and he thus resumed possession of one of the most important towns

of his empire.

The King's march continued triumphal unto Rheims, thanks to the

marvelous influence of Joan. At Chalons a delightful surprise was in

store for the heroine's heart. She there met four peasants of Domremy.

Informed by public rumor that Joan was to traverse Champagne, they

boldly started out to see her at her passage. Among them was Urbain, the

one-time general of the boys' army, that owed its famous victory over

the boys of Maxey to Jeannette's bravery. These and many other memories

of the village were exchanged between the heroine and the companions of

her youth. During the conversation that they had a few words of sinister

augury escaped from Joan's lips. Urbain had ingenuously asked her how

she had the strength and the courage to face all the dangers of battle.

A painful smile played around her lips, she remained pensive for a

moment, and then as if moved by the presentiment of the evil days that

were approaching for her through the machinations of the captains, she

answered Urbain:

"I fear nothing--except--TREASON!"[104]

Poor girl of Domremy! Her apprehensions did not deceive her. But before

climbing her Calvary to its summit, and there experiencing her

martyrdom, she was first to accomplish the sacred mission that she had

assumed--deal a fatal blow to English rule in Gaul by awakening the

national spirit that had lain in a stupor for over fifty years, and

having Charles VII consecrated King at Rheims. It was not the man,

contemptible in her eyes, that Joan wished to consecrate in the face of

the world; it was the living incarnation of France in the person of the

sovereign, an incarnation visible to the eyes of the people.

The warrior maid fulfilled her promise. Charles VII was led to Rheims.

He arrived there on July 16, 1429, thirty-five days after the siege of

Orleans was raised--the signal for the long series of English routs that

followed and that culminated with the breakdown of English rule. At

Rheims Joan conceived the noble thought of putting an end to the civil

strife--the furious strife that had raged between the Burgundians and

the Armagnacs, and that for so many years had desolated and exhausted

the land, and delivered it over to the foreigner. On the day of the

consecration of Charles VII she dictated the following beautiful and

touching letter addressed to the Duke of Burgundy, the chief of the

party that bore his name:

HIGH AND REDOUBTABLE PRINCE, DUKE OF BURGUNDY:--I, Joan, call upon

you, by orders of the King of heaven, my sovereign Lord, to make a

good, firm and sincere peace with the King of France, a peace that

shall last long. Pardon one another with a full heart and entirely,

as all loyal Christians should. If you take pleasure in war, war

against the Saracens.

Duke of Burgundy, I pray you and implore you, as humbly as I can

implore, do no longer wage war against the holy kingdom of France!

Do promptly order your men, who still hold several fortresses in

the kingdom, to withdraw. The King of France is ready to accord you

peace, without detriment to his honor! I notify you in the name of

God that you will win no battle against the loyal French, none. So,

then, do no longer wage war against us. Believe me, whatever the

number of soldiers may be that you take to field, they will

accomplish nothing. And it would be a great pity still to shed so

much blood in fresh battles.

May God protect you and give us all peace!

Written at Rheims, before the consecration of King Charles, on the

seventeenth day of July, 1429.

JOAN.[105]

This letter, to which, being unable to write, the warrior maid attached

her "cross in God," as was her custom, was sent by a herald to Philip of

Burgundy. Thereupon, putting on her white armor, mounting her fine white

charger, and with her casque on her head, her sword at her side and her

standard in her hand, the Maid rode on the right side of Charles VII at

the head of the captains and splendidly accoutred courtiers to the

ancient Cathedral of Rheims. The procession marched through a vast

concourse of people who saw in the consecration of the King the end of

the foreigner's rule and the termination of the misfortunes of France.

The ceremony was performed with all the pomp of the Catholic Church. By

the light of thousands of wax candles, across the clouds from gold

censers, in front of the high altar that was resplendent with candles

and where Charles VII knelt down, the Bishop of Rheims consecrated him

King to the ringing of bells, the sounding of trumpets and the booming

of cannon.

A witness to the imposing spectacle, the young peasant girl of Domremy

stood in the choir of the basilica; pensively as she leaned on the staff

of her standard, her recollections wandered four years back. A tear

dropped from her eyes in memory of her god-mother Sybille, and the

passage of Merlin's prophecy, now fulfilled, recurred to her mind:

"For the martial maid the steed and the armor!

But for whom the royal crown?

The angel with wings of azure holds it in his hands.

The blood has ceased to run in torrents,

The thunder to peal, the lightning to flash.--

I see a serene sky; the banners float;

The clarions sound; the bells ring.

Cries of joy! Chants of victory!

The martial virgin receives the royal crown

From the hands of the angel of light; a man,

Wearing a long mantle of ermine

Is crowned by the warrior virgin.--

"It matters little what may happen--

What must be, shall be.

Gaul, lost by a woman,

Is saved by a virgin

From the borders of Lorraine and a forest of oaks!--"

PART IV.

ROUEN; OR, THE MYSTERY OF THE PASSION OF JOAN DARC

CHAPTER I.

BISHOP AND CANON.

In these my days, so-called "mysteries"--dialogued recitals between men

and women who figure as historic personages--are frequently written and

performed. These "mysteries" are imitations of the dramatic works of

antiquity, such as were also the so-called "plays" of the Thirteenth

Century, of which my ancestor Mylio the Trouvere left a sample behind.

Therefore, I, Jocelyn the Champion, who write this chronicle of Joan

Darc, have decided to conclude it in the form of these "mysteries," now

so much in vogue. I shall therein trace the "Passion" of the plebeian

heroine--for Joan, like Christ, also underwent her "Passion," crowned

with martyrdom.

* * * * *

The first scene is placed in a hall of the palace of the Archbishop of

Rouen, an ancient building where, eight centuries and more ago, King

Charles the Simple married his daughter Ghisèle to old Rolf, and

relinquished one of his best provinces to the Northman pirates. These

bandits later invaded the country of England under William the Conqueror

and there raised the breed of English captains who for so many years

have been ravaging and enslaving Gaul. Normandy thus became a province

of England. The Duke of Bedford, Regent, occupies Rouen. The

archbishop's palace of the town serves as the residence of Peter

Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, sold, body and soul, mitre and crosier, to

the English party. The month of February, 1431, approaches its end.

Daintily wadded in a robe of violet silk, Peter Cauchon is seated in an

arm-chair near an open fire-place whence both heat and light radiate

into the sumptuously furnished apartment. Cheerful reflections play upon

the Oriental rug on the floor and the painted and gilded roof-beams

overhead. A table, covered with parchment scrolls, and placed near the

sculptured chimney, is lighted by a candelabrum of massive silver

furnished with burning wax candles. A chair, vacant at the moment, and

on the back of which lies a black furred cloak, faces on the other side

of the table the seat occupied by the Bishop. Peter Cauchon's face, at

once striking and repulsive, betokens a mixture of audacity, wile and

extraordinary stubbornness. His small light blue eyes, that sparkle with

craftiness and occasionally glisten with ferocity, almost disappear

under the folds of his fat red cheeks and heavy eyebrows, grey like his

hair that is almost wholly covered under his violet skull cap. His

forehead is furrowed with purplish veins. His flat nose, bored with

large and hairy nostrils, helps to set off the singular prominence of

his chin and jaws. When he laughs, his cruel laughter exposes two broken

rows of uneven and yellowish teeth. At times he leans over the table,

reads a parchment covered with a fine and close writing and rubs his

hirsute hands with manifest pleasure; other times he looks impatiently

towards the door as if he would hasten with his wishes the return of

some absent personage. The door finally opens and another prelate

appears. He is a canon of the name of Nicolas Loyseleur. His face is

long and worn; his eyes are covered like a reptile's. His red eyelids

are stripped of their lashes. A colorless fissure barely indicates the

location of his lips whose smile bears the imprint of hypocrisy. It is

at once the face of a hypocrite and a gallows-bird.

BISHOP PETER CAUCHON (half rising and with deep interest)--"What news?

What news? Good or bad?"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"The messenger sent by Captain Morris left the Maid in

the prison of Breville."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"What is the man's errand?"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"He came by orders of Captain Morris to request the

Earl of Warwick to have the dungeon of the old tower prepared to receive

Joan Darc, who is to arrive at Rouen under a strong escort to-morrow

morning at the latest."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Did Captain Morris follow my instructions accurately?"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"From point to point, monseigneur. The captive travels

in a closed litter, with irons on her feet and hands. When a town has to

be crossed, the said Joan is gagged. No one has been able to approach

her. The guards of the escort informed all inquirers that they were

taking to Rouen an old witch who throttled little children to accomplish

her evil deeds."

BISHOP CAUCHON (laughing)--"And the good people forthwith crossed

themselves and gave the litter a wide berth? Stupid plebs!"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"It was just as you say. That notwithstanding, at

Dieppe, the exasperation of the mob at what they really took for a witch

became so violent that the people sought to tear her from our hands and

trample her to death."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"The idiots! What would have been left for us?"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"This incident excepted, the journey went smooth. No

one along the route thought for a moment that the prisoner was Joan the

Maid."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"That was of the highest importance. The girl's renown

is such in Gaul at present, even in the provinces that are subject to

our English friends, that if it had been learned that she was being

taken in chains, the town and country plebs would have been greatly

agitated, they might even have taken the she-devil away from her

keepers. Well, at any rate, we got her now!"

CANON LOYSELEUR (pointing to the parchments)--"Shall we now proceed with

the reading of the condensed acts of the Maid?"

BISHOP CAUCHON (taking up a parchment on which he has made a large

number of notes)--"Yes; these facts and acts are to be the basis of the

process. While you, canon, read, I shall mark down the acts upon which

the said Joan is to be particularly interrogated. This report, which my

brother in God the Bishop of Chartres secretly sent me by orders of the

Sire of La Tremouille, is very full and accurate. It is attributed to

one Percival of Cagny, equerry of the Duke of Alençon[106] and a

partisan of the Maid, or to be more accurate, he does her justice. The

justice done to her in the report does not trouble me. Her acts have

been witnessed by such a large number of people, that it would be

tactless to deny or alter the truth on that head, all the more seeing

that the very acts carry with them their own condemnation. Where did we

break off in our reading?"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"At the departure from Rheims after the consecration."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Continue." (He dips his pen in the ink-horn and makes

ready to take notes.)

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'After being consecrated, the King remained

at Rheims until the following Thursday. He left Rheims bound for the

Abbey of St. Marcoul where he took supper and slept over night. The keys

of Laon were there brought to him. On Saturday, July 23, 1429, the King

went to dine and sleep at Soissons. He was very well received, the Maid

having preceded him and harangued the people at the barrier of the town,

conjuring them to renounce the English party and become again French.

Her words were received with enthusiasm. Several women who were about to

go to child bed, or whose children had not yet been baptized, prayed the

Maid to choose their baptismal names, which, said they, would be to them

a pledge of divine protection--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (writing rapidly)--"This must be noted--very

important--excellent! _Excellentissime!_"

CANON LOYSELEUR (continuing to read)--"'On Friday, July 29, the King

presented himself before Chateau-Thierry. The Maid ordered the banners

to be unfurled, spoke to the people, and the town opened its gates. The

King remained there until the following Monday, August 1. That day he

slept at Montmirail in Brie. On Tuesday, August 2, the King made his

entry into Provins, where he was received no less well than in the other

towns. He remained there until Friday the 5th. On Sunday, the 7th of

August, he slept at Coulommiers; on Wednesday, the 10th, at Ferté-Milon;

on Thursday at Crespy in Valois; on Friday, the 12th, in Lagny-le-sec.

In this town a woman in tears pressed through the crowd that surrounded

the Maid and implored her to come to a little dying child, whom, the

mother said, the Maid could with one word recall to life. In her naïve

admiration for the Maid, the poor mother attributed to her divine powers

comparable to those of Jesus of Nazareth--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (writing with ghoulish glee)--"I would not sell that fact

for a hundred gold sous! (Inflating his wide and hairy nostrils) Oh!

What a delectable smell of fagots and roast flesh I begin to scent.

Proceed, canon. The process is taking shape."

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'On Saturday, August 13, being instructed by

her forerunners that the enemy was only at a little distance, the Maid,

with her wonted promptness, drew up the army in order of battle in the

plain of Dammartin-in-Gouelle, assigned his post to each, and issued her

orders with the consummate skill of a captain. But frightened at the

attitude of the royal army the English did not dare to give battle,

although much stronger in numbers--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (in a hollow voice)--"Oh, in order to save the honor of

our friends from the other side of the water, it will be absolutely

necessary to attribute their cowardice to Joan's witchery."

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'Sunday, August 14, 1429, the Maid, the Duke

of Alençon, the Count of Vendome and other captains, accompanied by six

or seven thousand soldiers, encamped near Montepilloy, two leagues from

Senlis. The Duke of Bedford with eight or nine thousand soldiers

defended the approaches of Senlis. They were posted half a league in

front of the town, having before them the little River of Nonette and to

their right a village of the name of Notre Dame de la Victoire. Both

sides skirmished. When night fell both retired to their camps to the

great displeasure of the Maid, who, contrary to the opinion of the King

and his captains, wished to enter into a general engagement. The English

profited by the delay. They threw up earthworks during the night, dug

moats and set up palisades, and utilized even their carts to cover

themselves. At break of day, and despite the opposition of the captains,

the Maid marched at the head of a few determined companies that always

obeyed her and pushed up to the foot of the enemy's entrenchments.

Arrived there she learned that the English had decamped over night,

given up Senlis, and withdrawn to Paris, the earthworks they had thrown

up being intended merely to delay their pursuit--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Witchcraft! Devil's work! The girl is possessed!"

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'On Wednesday, August 17, the keys of

Compiegne were brought to the King, and on Thursday he made his entry

into the town amidst the acclamations of the people who cried

frantically: "Blessings on the daughter of God!"--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (writing)--"'Daughter of God!' You have rather imprudent

fanatics among your admirers, my little girl!"

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'When the King left Crespy, he ordered

Marshals Boussac and Retz to summon the inhabitants of Senlis to

surrender. They answered that they would surrender, not to the King, but

to the Maid, whom they considered sent by God and to be a sister of the

angels-'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (writing)--"'Sister of the angels!' 'Sent by God!' Well,

the scamps will have contributed their fagots to the pyre."

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'Much to the annoyance of the Maid, the King

wished to stop at Senlis instead of pushing forward. He seemed satisfied

with the success he had so far had, and to wish for nothing more. His

council was of his opinion; the Maid, however, held that it would be

enough for the King to show himself before Paris for the town to open

its gates to its sovereign. "Fear not," Joan said to the King; "I shall

speak so sweetly to the Parisians that they will prefer to become French

again rather than to remain English"--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON--"What an impudence on the part of the she cowherd. She

is certain of everything. Well, she shall pay dearly for her infernal

vanity!"

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'On Tuesday, August 23, despite the

opposition of the King and his council, the Maid left Compiegne together

with the Duke of Alençon, leaving the prince behind with the bulk of the

army. The following Friday, August 26, without striking a blow, the Maid

entered St Denis, which declared itself royalist. At this news, the King

decided, not without considerable hesitation to proceed to that town,

where he arrived in safety. The King's council now opposed the Maid more

doggedly than ever before. Joan, however, affirmed that if she was

listened to she would render the Parisians to the King by the command of

God, and without shedding a drop of blood--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (in a rage)--"The execrable hypocrite! To hear her speak

she is all honey--and yet at her homicidal voice the French have been

turned into the butchers of the English! (writing) We must not forget

above all to designate her as a furious monster of carnage."

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'Learning of the capture of Senlis and of

the Maid's march upon Paris, the Duke of Bedford reinforced his

garrison, and took vigorous measures against those of the Armagnac or

royalist party who wished to surrender the town. The Duke picked out

only Englishmen and bitter Burgundians to guard the gates, men who were

expected to be able to resist the charm of the Maid's sweet words.

Several times she advanced alone on horseback near the barriers of the

town, imploring all those who were French like herself no longer to

tolerate the rule of the English, who had inflicted so much damage upon

the poor people of France. But the men of the Burgundian party and the

English answered her with insults and threatened to fire at her although

she came for a parley. She would then return weeping over the

hard-heartedness or the blindness of men, who, although French, wished

to remain English. This notwithstanding, she every day heard "her

voices" assure her that Gaul would not be saved until all the English

were driven from her soil, or were exterminated--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (writing)--"Again 'her voices.' Let us note that

important fact. It is capital in the framing of the process."

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'Seeing that the King continued to refuse to

draw nearer to Paris and to present himself before the gates, as the

Maid desired, she declared to the Duke of Alençon, who placed great

confidence in her, that St. Marguerite and St. Catherine, having again

appeared before her, ordered her to demand of the King that he put forth

all his efforts to regain the good town of Paris by coming in person

and by promises of his clemency and a general amnesty--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (writing)--"Again St. Marguerite and St. Catherine. Let

us jot down the fact. It is no less capital than the one about the

'voices.' Ah, you double-dyed witch! You see visions! Apparitions!

(laughing) You will have to roast for it, my daughter!"

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'Yielding to the wishes of the Maid, the

Duke of Alençon returned to the King, who promised him that on August 27

he would proceed to Chapelle-St. Denis and march from there to Paris.

But he did not keep his promise. The Duke of Alençon returned to him on

Monday, September 5. Thanks to the pressure that he exercised, after

long hesitating and against the advice of his council, the King came to

Chapelle-St. Denis on September 7 to the great joy of the Maid.

Everybody in the army said: "The Maid will restore Paris to the King, if

he but consents to show himself before the gates." On Thursday, the 8th

of September, the Duke of Alençon together with a few captains whom the

Maid carried away with her persuasion, started from Chapelle-St. Denis

towards eight in the morning with flying colors but leaving behind the

King, who did not wish to accompany them. The Maid advanced toward the

St. Honoré Gate, which was defended by a body of English soldiers,

because, said she, she had a horror of seeing Frenchmen fighting

Frenchmen. She took her standard in her hand and boldly leaped at the

head of all into the moat, near the swine market. The assault was long

and bloody; the English defended themselves bravely; the Maid was

wounded by an arrow that ran through her thigh; she fell, but in falling

cried out that the attack had to be kept up with all the greater vigor.

But despite her feeble efforts, the Sire of Gaucourt and others carried

her to a place of safety seeing that she was losing much blood. She was

placed on a cart and taken back to Chapelle-St Denis--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (writing)--"Let us underscore once more the bloodthirsty

nature of the she-devil, who against the advice of all insists upon

fighting. We must emphasize her thirst for carnage. She recommends the

extermination of the English."

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'On Monday, September 12, and still hardly

able to keep herself in the saddle, the Maid wished to ride out towards

St. Denis in order to assure herself that a bridge over the Seine, the

construction of which she had ordered in order to facilitate the passage

of the troops, had been properly built. The bridge had been built, but

was afterwards cut by orders of the King, who had decided to make no

further attempts against Paris. On Tuesday, the 13th of September, 1429,

and with the advice of his council, the King left St. Denis after

dinner, intending to retreat towards the Loire. In despair at the King's

departure the Maid wept bitterly, and carried away by the first impulse

of her grief she decided to renounce his service. She took off her armor

and deposited it _ex voto_ before the statue of Our Lady in the basilica

of St. Denis--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON (rubs his hands and writes)--"Excellent! Very excellent!

Idolatry! Sacrilege! In her infernal pride, she offers her armor to the

adoration of the simple-minded!"

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'In her despair, the Maid wished to return

to her own country of Lorraine, to her family, and forever renounce war.

But the King ordered her to follow him to Gien, where, said he, he

would need her services. They arrived in that town on September 29. The

Maid offered the Duke of Alençon to aid him in reconquering his duchy of

Normandy. The Duke communicated the project to the King. He refused his

consent. He wished to keep the Maid near him in Touraine to defend the

province in case the English should return to attack it. The Maid took

several fortified towns in the neighborhood of Charité-on-the-Loire and

then laid siege to that place. But as the royal council sent neither

provisions nor money to the Maid for the soldiers, she was, much to her

sorrow, forced to give up the attack, and on March 7, 1430, she went to

the Castle of Sully, the property of the Sire of La Tremouille, where

the King was sojourning. The Maid expressed in the presence of the

prince her unqualified indignation against the royal councilors and the

captains, and bitterly reproached them with traitorously putting

obstacles in the way of the complete recovery of the realm. Fully aware

of the uselessness of her further services to the King, but still hoping

to serve France, she left Charles VII forever, and without taking leave

of him she departed under the pretext of exercising outside of the

castle a company of determined men attached to her fortunes. She went

with them to Crespy in Valois. There she was soon called for by the Sire

of Flavy who wished her aid in Compiegne, a town that the Duke of

Burgundy and the Count of Arundel had jointly besieged. The Maid was not

a little perplexed what to do in the matter. She was not ignorant of the

proverbial perfidy and ferocity of the Sire of Flavy. But the

inhabitants of the place that he commanded had, at the time of her first

visit to the town, received Joan with so much affection, that,

overcoming her apprehensions, she decided to go to the aid of the good

people. On the 23rd of May, 1430, Joan departed from Crespy at the head

of her company, two or three hundred men strong. Thanks to the darkness

and to the skilful precautions in which she wrapped her nocturnal march,

her troops passed unperceived between the Burgundian and English camps

and entered Compiegne with her before daylight. She immediately went to

mass in the parish church of St. James. It was barely day, but a large

number of the inhabitants had learned of the arrival of their

emancipatrix and went to church to see her. After mass, Joan retired

near one of the pillars of the nave, and addressing herself to several

of the people who were gathered there together with their children, all

anxious to see her, she said to them in sad accents: "My friends, I have

been sold and betrayed, I shall soon be taken and put to death--my

voices have for some time been warning me of the contemplated

treason"--'"

BISHOP CAUCHON--"What a lucky thing it was for us that Joan did not

hearken to these presentiments! The she-devil so often escaped the

snares vainly laid for her by the captains, whose vindictive jealousy so

well served our purposes and the purposes of the Sires of La Tremouille

and of Gaucourt and of my companion in God, the Bishop of Chartres!"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"Indeed, the emissary whom Monseigneur the Bishop of

Chartres sent here secretly and whom I visited in your name, informed me

that it was in concert with the Sire of La Tremouille that the Sire of

Flavy invited the Maid to Compiegne, meaning to deliver her to the

English."

BISHOP CAUCHON (laughing)--"I shall give Flavy, whenever he wishes it,

full absolution for all his crimes in return for the capture of Joan.

Proceed, canon. I shall presently tell you more fully what my projects

are."

CANON LOYSELEUR (reading)--"'When it was full daylight the Maid made

preparations for a vigorous sally. The town of Compiegne is situated on

the left bank of the Oise. On the right bank is a wide meadow about a

quarter of a league in length and bounded by crags on the side of

Picardy. This low meadow, which often is under water, is crossed by a

road that starts at Compiegne and ends at the foot of the hill that

bounds the horizon on that side of the town. Three villages border on

the meadow: Margny, at the extreme end of the road; Clairoy about

three-fourths of a league up the river at the confluence of the Aronde

and the Oise; and Venette about half a league below on the road to Pont

St. Maxence. The Burgundians had a camp at Margny and one at Clairoy.

The English occupied Venette. The defences of Compiegne consisted of a

redoubt raised at the head of the bridge and the boulevards. The redoubt

was zigzagged and strongly palisaded. The Maid's plan of attack was

first to carry the village of Margny, then that of Clairoy, and,

mistress of the two positions, to await in the valley of the Aronde the

troops of the Duke of Burgundy, who, so soon as he heard the noise of

the action, would not fail to hasten to the help of the English.

Foreseeing the movement and wishing to keep her retreat free, the Maid

demanded of the Sire of Flavy to charge himself with keeping the Duke of

Burgundy in check, should he turn into the valley before the capture of

Margny and Clairoy, and also to keep a reserve of troops on the front

and the flanks of the redoubt, ready to cover her retreat. Furthermore,

covered barges, placed on the Oise, were to stand ready to receive the

footmen in case of a reverse. Having given these orders, the Maid,

despite her sinister forebodings, hastened to mount her horse, and, at

the head of her company, marched straight upon the village of Margny,

which, although vigorously defended, she swiftly carried. The English

encamped at Clairoy rushed to the defence of their allies and were

thrown back; but they thrice returned to the attack with maddening fury.

This battle was fought in the low meadow and was dragging along. The

Duke of Burgundy was not long in entering the valley of the Aronde with

his men and he reached the jetty. It was in order to guard against such

a move that Joan had charged Flavy to keep the Burgundians in check. Her

order was not executed. The Burgundians entered the valley by the road.

At the sight of these hostile reinforcements, some cowards or traitors

cried: "Run for your lives! Run to the barges!" The Maid's auxiliary

troops, commanded by Flavy's lieutenants, broke ranks and rushed to the

barges that lay at the river's bank, leaving Joan and her small band to

sustain alone the shock of the combined English and Burgundian forces.

She sustained it bravely, and assailed by fresh presentiments at the

sight of the rout of her auxiliaries, whose captains had failed to

execute her orders, she decided to die rather than fall alive into the

hands of the English. She drew her sword and rushed temerariously upon

an enemy a hundred times more numerous than the handful of heroes who

stood by her. After prodigies of valor, and seeing the battle lost, the

latter wished to save the Maid's life at the cost of their own. Two of

them seized her horse by the bit, and despite her prayers, despite even

her resistance, sought to force her back to the city while their

companions were to allow themselves to be cut down to the last man in

order to cover her retreat. Already were they near a drawbridge, thrown

over a moat that separated the redoubt from the road, when the bridge

was raised by orders of the Sire of Flavy. Thus vilely betrayed and

delivered to the enemy, the Maid and her soldiers fell upon the surging

foe with the fury of despair. Struck by several simultaneous blows, Joan

was thrown from her horse and was immediately surrounded by a mass of

English and Burgundians who disputed with each other the possession of

the glorious capture. Joan remained in the power of an archer, who was a

banneret of the Bastard of Vendome, an equerry, a native of the county

of Artois and lieutenant of Sire John of Luxembourg of the Burgundian

party. Pinioned on the field of battle, the Maid was tied fast to a

horse and taken to the Castle of Beaurevoir, belonging to the Sire of

Luxembourg, the sovereign of the Bastard of Vendome, whose archer had

made the capture. After remaining some time a prisoner in the castle,

Joan learned that the Sire of Luxembourg had sold her as a prisoner of

war to the English Regent for the sum of ten thousand gold sous. Despair

seized her at the thought of being delivered to the English, and whether

she hoped to escape, or whether she meant to put an end to her life, she

threw herself out of one of the towers of the Castle of Beaurevoir. But

the fall did not prove fatal. Picked up unconscious and severely hurt,

Joan was thrown into a dungeon and soon thereupon was surrendered to the

English captain who was commissioned to deliver to the Sire of

Luxembourg the ten thousand gold sous--the price agreed upon for the

blood of the Maid. She was taken under a strong escort to the Castle of

Dugy near St. Riquier. Thus was Joan the Maid betrayed and sold, to the

deep sorrow of the loyal French.'" (The canon lays down on the table the

chronicle that he has just read to the end.)

BISHOP CAUCHON (with ferocious joy)--"And I shall add what that royalist

chronicler could not know, to wit, that taken from the Castle of Dugy to

that of Crotoy, the Maid was there embarked upon the Somme, on which she

sailed as far as St. Valery. She was thence conveyed to the Castle of

Eu, thence to Dieppe, and from Dieppe hither to Rouen, where she is to

arrive this very night or to-morrow morning. So, then, the she-devil is

in our hands! And, now, canon, I must make a very serious revelation to

you. It is in your power to render a signal service to our friends from

across the water, to the Cardinal of Winchester, to the Duke of Bedford

the Regent, and to the whole English government. The remuneration will

exceed your hopes, I swear that to you! As true as the archbishopric of

Rouen has been promised to me by the Regent of England if Joan is duly

brought to the pyre and burned, you will be royally rewarded."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"What must I do, monseigneur? I am ready to obey you."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Before answering you, and although I am from experience

acquainted with the keenness of your mind and the subtlety of your

resources, I must succinctly and clearly inform you of the reason and

object of the process that we are to start to-morrow against the said

Joan."

CANON LOYSELEUR (impassively)--"I listen attentively."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"First of all let us sum up the situation in a few words

and _ab ovo_.[107] Two years ago the whole of France was on the point of

falling into the hands of the English and would have so fallen but for

the help that the Maid brought Charles VII. In the teeth of that prince,

in the teeth of the Sire of La Tremouille, in the teeth of the captains,

the she-devil forced the siege of Orleans to be raised, won a number of

other and no less brilliant victories, and finally had the King

consecrated at Rheims--an act of incalculable importance in the eyes of

the people, with whom the divine consecration is tantamount to sovereign

power. Thus a large number of towns, that until then remained in the

hands of the English, opened their gates to Charles VII upon his return

from Rheims. Everywhere the national spirit awoke at the voice of the

Maid, and the foreign rule, that had been accepted for over half a

century, suddenly seemed unsupportable. On the other hand, and parallel

with all this, the prodigious successes of Joan have spread

consternation and terror in the ranks of the English army. Matters have

reached such a pass in this line that the government in London has seen

itself compelled to issue two decrees, whose titles are (the Bishop

takes up two parchments from the table and reads:) 'A Decree against the

Captains and Soldiers Who Refuse to Pass into France out of Fear of the

Witcheries of the Maid,'[108] and, 'A Decree against Fugitives from the

Army out of Fear of the Witcheries of the Maid.'[109] I shall do even

better. I shall confidentially read to you a significant passage from a

letter addressed by our Regent the Duke of Bedford, to the council of

the King of England, Henry VI. Now listen, canon, and ponder. (The

Bishop reads:) 'We succeeded in everything until the siege of Orleans.

Since then the hand of God has struck our army with severe blows. The

principal cause of the unfortunate turn of affairs is, as I think, the

fatal opinion and fatal fear that our soldiers entertain for a disciple

of the devil, a hound from hell, named "The Maid," who has used

enchantments and witchery, and thereby caused us discomfitures that have

not only greatly diminished the number of our soldiers, but have

wondrously depressed the courage of those that are left us.'[110] (The

Bishop places the parchment back upon the table, and turns again to the

other prelate who continues impassive.) The charm of half a century of

victories is broken, and the enthusiasm of the masses is now on the

ascendant. If Charles VII were not the incarnation of indolence and

cowardice; if by promising to the Sire of La Tremouille the sovereignty

of Poitou and other great advantages to the Bishop of Chartres and to

Gaucourt, the Regent had not secured for his side the secret support of

these powerful dignitaries; finally, if the Maid had not been captured

at Compiegne--France would have become French again! The labors of more

than fifty years' struggles would be lost, and Henry VI would no longer

hold the two most beautiful crowns in the world! But we must not indulge

in delusions. Henry VI is King of France in name only. The provinces

that he still holds in the heart of Gaul are about to slip from his

hands. The victories of the she-devil, have awakened the sense of

patriotism, that slumbered so long. Everywhere hope springs up. The

people feel ashamed of what they call the foreign yoke, and they curse

it. The continued rule of England in this country is gravely

compromised. Now, then, to those of us who have become English, such a

thing spells ruin, exile or the gallows, the moment the French party has

vanquished. Such is the true state of things. If Charles VII triumphs we

are all lost."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"Indeed, monseigneur, I was convinced myself of the

truth of what you say when I had my last secret interview with the

emissary of the Sire of La Tremouille. The seigneur, although he is the

supreme councilor of Charles VII, is in the secret recesses of his soul

as English as ourselves, and as desirous as we of seeing his master

vanquished. He indulges in no illusions on the progress of the malady."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"As the malady exists, we must endeavor to cure it by

ascertaining its cause. Now, then, what is the cause?"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"Joan! The bedeviled Maid--a veritable limb of Satan."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"We then understand each other. Now, then, the Sire of

Flavy, having at the instigation of the Sire of La Tremouille drawn the

Maid to Compiegne under the pretext of requesting her assistance in

behalf of the good people of the town, pushed the fighting maid forward

and then had the drawbridge raised behind her, so that, to make a long

story short, she is taken. It is now for us to draw the largest possible

advantage from our capture, for which we paid ten thousand shining gold

sous to John of Luxembourg. Now let us sum up. The English soldiers are

convinced that as long as Joan lives they will be beaten by the French.

If this continues, the rule of England in Gaul will crumble down to

nothing, and we will be buried under the ruins. In order to protect

ourselves against such a misfortune, what is to be done? Restore

confidence to the English by freeing them from their bogie--Joan!

Accordingly, Joan must die. The Maid must be burned alive."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"Logic so orders. She must be tried, sentenced and

burned."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Certes. _Logice_, she must be roasted; but right there

a serious difficulty arises. It is this: The English captains, proud and

imbued with the principles of chivalry, would have considered it an act

of cowardice simply and merely to kill a prisoner who had vanquished

them by the force of military genius. They feared that if they had Joan

killed in her prison they would incur the contempt of all who carry

spurs and swords. In view of that, the Cardinal of Winchester and myself

held to them the following language: 'You, captains, can not order the

death of a warrior who has fallen into your hands by the accidents of

war. But the Church can. More than that, the Church must, at the first

call of the Holy Inquisition, proceed against a witch, an invoker of

demons, must convict her of sorcery and heresy, and deliver her to the

secular arm, which will then burn her, roast her to the greater glory of

God.'"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"It is the right of the Church, our holy mother."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"And she will exercise the right. Then, as soon as the

Maid shall be delivered to the executioner as a witch, the terror of the

English soldiers will vanish, they will pick up courage, and the power

of the English rule in Gaul, now tottering to its fall, will be

reaffirmed. The Sire of La Tremouille continues to serve us in the hope

of obtaining Poitou for his domain; the English army will reconquer all

that it has recently lost, and will invade the remaining provinces;

completely dispossessed and although consecrated at Rheims, Charles VII

will go to live in London, like the good King John II, his great

grandfather did; he will forget all about his kingdom of France; we will

have nothing more to fear; and the archepiscopal see of Rouen will be

mine. The question being thus clearly understood, the point now is, to

have Joan roasted, in other words to have her convicted of heresy."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"It all depends upon that, monseigneur. We shall

conduct the matter according to your wishes."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Yes, all, absolutely everything, depends upon that.

Now, let us look into the chances of the process that we are to

institute against her. The first obstacle is this: A direct appeal of

Charles VII to the Pope. That prince may possibly request the Holy

Father to use his omnipotent influence against the Inquisition's

pursuing its trial of the Maid for heresy. It is to her that Charles

owes his crown. Before the consecration at Rheims he was quasi

uncrowned. The most common gratitude, the least human regard would

dictate the measure to him, even if he were certain of failing. But we

know what the gratitude of kings amounts to."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"I received a formal assurance at my interview with the

emissary of the Sire of La Tremouille and the Bishop of Chartres that

such an application on the part of Charles VII will not be made. The

process of heresy will be allowed to take its course peacefully.

Besides, the Bishop of Chartres is commissioned to notify the notables

of Rheims of the capture of the Maid, and to foreshadow the fate that

awaits her. He expressed himself in the following terms which his

emissary transmitted to me and which I wrote down. They are these: (he

reads) 'The Bishop of Chartres hereby notifies the people of Rheims that

the Maid has been captured before Compiegne, as a result of her

disinclination to listen to any counsel, and wishing to act only at her

own pleasure.' The Bishop adds: 'As to the rumor that is rife that the

English will put the Maid to death, God has so willed it because she set

herself up in pride, wore male attire, and did not obey the orders of

God.'[111] So you see, monseigneur, after such a letter, written by a

bishop, a member of the royal council, we may rest assured that Charles

VII will neither directly nor indirectly attempt anything with the Holy

Father in the matter of the process. She is dropped and renounced by the

King."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Furthermore, we have the certainty that Charles VII and

his council are secretly as desirous as ourselves of having Joan burned.

Accordingly, they will not intervene with the secular, seeing that they

will not do so with the clerical, power. For the last six months the

Maid has been dragged from prison to prison, and have Charles VII or his

council made a shadow of a move with the King of England in favor of the

prisoner? Could he not demand her either under bail or in exchange for

English prisoners? Idle attempts, perhaps; but they would at least have

been a sign of that self-respect that ingrates always feel it necessary

to display."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"Nevertheless, monseigneur, allow me to put you a

question. Joan was taken on May 24 of last year, 1430. Since then she

has been a prisoner. Why this delay in starting the process? Why not

taken, sentenced and executed?"

BISHOP CAUCHON--"I shall answer your question, and you will see that I

was not to blame. The news of Joan's capture reached us on the morning

of May 25. The very next day, the registrar of Paris, acting under my

orders, addressed in the name and under the seal of the Inquisitor of

France a summons to Monseigneur the Duke of Burgundy, who is the

suzerain of John of Luxembourg, one of whose equerries was the captor of

the Maid. The summons was to the effect that the said Joan be

surrendered to the jurisdiction of the said Inquisitor, to the end that

she may answer, in the words of the good formula 'to the good council,

favor and aid of the good doctors and masters of the University of

Paris.'"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"But, monseigneur, four or five months passed before

the summons of the Inquisitor received an answer. The preliminaries of

the process might have been shortened, and the Maid delivered to the

executioner before this."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Do you not know that the decisions of the University of

Paris--an ecclesiastical body, that, however, has a hand in

politics--have a powerful influence not only upon the majority of the

higher clergy which upholds the English rule, but also upon the bishops

who have remained faithful to the royalist party? Now, then, did not the

latter, yielding to popular clamor, declare through the medium of the

clerics gathered at Poitiers two years ago for the purpose of

interrogating Joan, that 'she is neither a heretic nor a witch, and

Charles VII may without endangering his salvation, avail himself of the

aid that she brought him'? Very well, then. That opinion found

partisans, even in the bosom of the University of Paris, which is an

enlightened body and little inclined to believe in witches. The

University was at first recalcitrant to my project of itself undertaking

the process of heresy against Joan. It took me a long time, many

negotiations and not a little money, to convince the objectors that from

a political point of view it was of the highest importance to seem to

believe in the witchery of Joan, and thus to deliver her to the flames,

without which her influence would continue to assert itself, despite her

captivity, and that such an influence, disastrous to the English,

beneficent to the French, might, as it came very near doing, make

Charles VII master of Paris. What would then happen? The University

would be shorn of its power, its members would be proscribed and

stripped of their privileges. In order to escape such a danger, it was

imperative to break the instrument that threatened it, in other words,

have Joan burned as a witch. (Laughing) It is a fact, we must always go

back to the fagot. The pyre is our supreme argument."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"And finally, monseigneur, did the University start the

process?"

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Yes; but that was only a slight success. The opposition

that I had to overcome with many of the members of the University caused

me to fear for the issue if it depended wholly upon them. I wished to

have the process started by the University, and then continued before an

ecclesiastical tribunal devoted to myself. After sedulous endeavors to

reach the desired end I hit upon the right means. It is quite ingenious

and worthy of us, whose mission it is to lead men by the nose. You may

judge for yourself. Where was the Maid captured?"

CANON LOYSELEUR--"In Compiegne."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"To what diocese does Compiegne belong? Follow my

reasoning closely."

CANON LOYSELEUR--"To the diocese of Beauvais."