THE WEEK OF VICTORIES
On June 11th, as we have seen, Joan rode forth on her new errand. Beside
food and ammunition, grateful Orleans furnished artillery for the
expedition. Five sloops, manned by forty boatmen, brought heavy guns and
field pieces down the river, while "twenty-four horses were needed to
drag the chariot of the huge gun of position, resembling Mons Meg, now
in Edinburgh Castle."[54]
Ropes and scaling-ladders, too, were provided; these were easily
carried. Thus equipped, the troop marched bravely on, halting only when
a short march from the town of Jargeau. The town apparently awaited them
with little concern. Its walls were strong, its fosse deep and filled
with water. Inside was the Earl of Suffolk with six hundred men, an
ample number for defence. He was probably watching at this moment from
the church tower, but he made no sign.
A discussion rose among the leaders of the advancing troop. Should they
storm the fortress, or proceed by slower methods?
Joan was for the assault. "Success is certain," she said. "If I had not
assurance of this from God, I would rather herd sheep than put myself in
so great jeopardy."
She started on, and the others followed. Now a gate opened in the wall:
a band of English rode out, and attacking the French skirmishers, drove
them back. Thereupon the Maid seized the standard, rallied her men,
repulsed the sally, and took possession of the suburbs of the town. So
far, so good! Next morning the guns opened fire on both sides, and
banged away merrily for some time, one of those from Orleans, _La
Bergère_, demolishing one of the towers in the wall. Here seemed to be a
practicable breach ready for the storming. A council was hastily called.
The Maid, Alençon, Dunois, Xaintrailles--where was La Hire? Someone had
heard that La Hire was at the moment holding a parley with the English
commander. Sent for in haste (and in some heat, be it said; "I and the
other leaders were ill content with La Hire!" says Alençon), he appeared
with the tidings that Suffolk offered to surrender if no relief came
within fifteen days.
Joan had summoned the enemy the night before, and was quite clear in her
mind. If the English would depart in their tunics, without arms or
armor, they might do so; otherwise the town should be stormed. The other
leaders decided that the English might take their horses as well as
doublets. Sir John Fastolf was coming from Paris, and it would be well
to be off with the old foe before they were on with the new.
Suffolk, naturally enough, refused these terms. The French heralds
sounded the assault.
"Forward, gentle Duke!" cried the Maid. "To the assault!"
Alençon hesitated. Was the breach definitely practicable?
"Doubt not!" cried the Maid. "It is the hour that God has chosen. The
good Lord helps those who help themselves. Ah! gentle Duke," she added,
with the pretty touch of raillery that was all her own; "are you afraid?
Do you not know that I promised your wife to bring you back safe and
sound, better than when you left?"
She had her way; the ladders were placed, the French swarmed to the
assault, while on both sides the cannon thundered defiance. Watching
with Alençon near the breach, Joan suddenly cried, "Stand aside! that
gun--" and she pointed toward a certain cannon on the wall--"will slay
you!" The Duke stepped aside. A few minutes later the Sieur de Lude,
standing on the same spot, was killed by a shot from the gun she had
indicated.
This time the Maid could not give warning; she was rushing into the
breach, the faithful Duke at her side. Seeing this, Suffolk called out,
begging to speak with Alençon; but it was too late. Alençon was already
following his leader up a scaling-ladder.
No easy task, climbing a long ladder (for Jargeau walls were high), in
plate armor, carrying a heavy standard; but so the Maid went. Part way
up a stone struck her, tearing the standard and crushing in the light
helmet she wore. She fell, but was up again in an instant.
"On, friends, on! God has judged them. Be of good courage; within an
hour they are ours!"
It did not need an hour. In an instant, it seemed to Alençon, the city
was taken, its commander captured, its defenders fleeing in disorder.
Over a thousand men were slain in the pursuit; Joan and Alençon returned
in triumph to Orleans, and once more the town went mad over its glorious
Pucelle.
She might well have rested after this, one would think, but no! Two days
later, she said to d'Alençon, "To-morrow, after dinner, I wish to pay a
visit to the English at Meung. Give orders to the company to march at
that hour!"[55]
They marched, came to Meung, took the bridge-head (a strong
fortification) by assault, and placed a garrison there, but made no
attempt to enter the city. This was a visit, not a capture. They slept
in the fields, and next morning were on the march again. Beaugency, the
next town, saw them coming, and the English garrison promptly evacuated
the town, retiring into the castle, but leaving various parties in
ambush here and there in sheds and outbuildings, to surprise the
invaders.
The invaders refused to be surprised; planted their cannon, and began a
bombardment in regular form. But that evening a singular complication
arose. Word came to the two young commanders that Arthur of Richemont,
Constable of France, was close at hand, with a large body of troops. Now
Charles, or rather La Trémoïlle, was at daggers drawn with Richemont,
and Alençon had received a royal mandate forbidding him to have any
dealings with the Constable, who happened to be his own uncle. Here was
a quandary! Alençon was loyal to the core; how could he disobey his
sovereign? On the other hand he had no quarrel with his uncle, and the
latter's help would be invaluable. They slept on their doubts and fears,
an anxious and foreboding sleep. In the morning word came that the
English army was advancing under Talbot and Fastolf. This was the
precipitating drop in the cup of trembling. "To arms!" cried the
soldiers; and Alençon and the Maid mounted their horses and rode to
meet De Richemont.
The Constable also had received a royal mandate. He was forbidden to
advance, on pain of high displeasure; if he did so, he would be
attacked. Neither the Dauphin nor his followers would have anything to
do with him. Richemont, who knew that this message came in reality from
La Trémoïlle, about whom he cared nothing at all, continued to advance;
and on the 16th day of June came upon Alençon and the Maid riding to
meet him with Dunois, La Hire, and the rest.
"Joan," said the bluff Constable, "I was told that you meant to attack
me. I know not whether you come from God or not; if you are from God, I
fear you not at all, for God knows my good will; if you are from the
devil, I fear you still less."
"Ah, fair Constable," said the Maid. "You have not come for my sake, but
you are welcome!"
So all was well that ended well. The threatening breach was closed, and
over it the allied forces rode on to meet the English.
These too had had their troubles. Talbot and Fastolf had met at
Janville and held a council, but could not be of one mind. Fastolf, a
cautious man, was for delay. Their men, he said, were disheartened by
recent events; the French were in full flush of triumph with the send of
victory behind them; best for themselves to stand fast, and keep such
strongholds as were still theirs, leaving Beaugency to its fate.
This discreet plan little suited John Talbot. Give way, without battle,
to a girl? Not he! though he had only his proper escort and such as
elected to follow him, yet, he vowed, with the aid of God and St. George
he would fight the French.
The weaker man yielded, albeit protesting to the last moment; the old
lion marshaled his troops, and on June 18th at Patay, between Orleans
and Châteaudun, rode out to battle.
It was evening of the 17th when the French, arrayed in order of battle
on a little hill, "_une petite montagnette_," saw their enemy advancing
across a wide plain. Beholding them Joan the Maid cried to those beside
her, "They are ours! if they were hung from the clouds above me, we must
have them!"
On came the valiant English, and ranged themselves in battle array at
the foot of the little hill. Talbot knew well that the others had the
advantage of position. Behoved him to break the line which stood so firm
above him. He sent two heralds to say that "there were three knights who
would fight the French if they would come down."
The French replied, "The hour is late: go to your rest for this day.
To-morrow, if it be the good pleasure of God and Our Lady, we shall meet
at closer quarters!"
The English did not follow this advice, but fell back on Meung, and
spent the night in battering the bridge-head towers which the French had
taken and were holding. Next morning they would assault and re-take the
towers, then march to the relief of Beaugency.
Morning found them collecting doors and other things to shelter them
during the storming of the forts; when a pursuivant came in hot haste
from Beaugency, announcing that the French had taken town and fort and
were now on their way to find the English generals.
Hereupon the said English generals dropped the doors and other things,
departed from Meung, and took the road to Paris, marching in good order
across the wide wooded plain of the Beauce. Behind them, but well out of
sight, pricked the advancing French.
What followed reads more like a child's game than a life and death
struggle of brave men. The French were seeking the English, but had no
idea of their whereabouts. The Maid, being appealed to, said
confidently, "Ride boldly on! You will have good guidance."
To Alençon, who asked her privately what they should do, she replied,
"Have good spurs!"
"How? Are we then to turn our backs?"
"Not so! but there will be need to ride boldly; we shall give a good
account of the English, and shall need good spurs to follow them."
On the morning of June 18th Joan said, "To-day the gentle king shall
have the greatest victory he has yet had."
For some reason--probably because they wished to keep her in a place of
safety, fearing ambuscades in this unknown country--Joan did not lead
the advance this day. An enemy might lurk behind any clump of oak or
beech; they would not risk their precious Maid in so precarious an
adventure.
This was not to the Maid's taste; she was very angry, we are told, for
she loved to lead the vanguard: however it chanced, La Hire was the
fortunate gallant who rode forward, with eighty men of his company,
"mounted on the flower of chargers," to find the English and report when
found. Briefly, a scouting party.
"So they rode on and they rode on," till at last they saw on their right
the spires of Lignerolles, on their left those of Patay, two little
cities of the plain, thick set in woods. This was all they saw, for the
English, though directly in front of them, were close hidden in thickets
and behind hedges.
Talbot himself led the van. Coming to a lane between two tall hedges he
dismounted, and, mindful it may be of the moment at Agincourt
"When from the meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,
The English archery
Struck the French horses,"
selected five hundred skilled archers, and proceeded to instal them
behind the hedges, declaring that he would hold the pass till his main
and rear guard came up.
"But another thing befell him!" says the old chronicle.
On came La Hire and his eighty cavaliers, dashing across the open,
crashing through the woods, who so merry as they?
Now these woods held other living things beside English archers. At the
sound of crackling and rending branches, up sprang a noble stag,
startled from his noonday rest, and fled through the forest as if the
hounds were at his heels. So fleeing, the frightened creature rushed
full into the main body of the English, hurrying to join Talbot. An
Englishman is an Englishman, the world over. They did not know the
French were near, but I am not sure that it would have made any
difference if they had. Clear, loud, and triumphant, every man of them
raised the "view halloo," as good sportsmen should. La Hire heard, and
checked his horse instantly; sent back a message to Alençon and the
Maid, the one word "_Found!_" formed his eighty in order of battle, and
charged with such fury down Talbot's lane that the English archers were
cut to pieces before they could loose a shaft.
Fastolf now came rushing up to join Talbot, but finding himself too
late, drew rein, and suffered himself to be led--somewhat ignominiously,
it was thought--from the field; "making the greatest dole that ever man
made."
Well might he lament. The battle of Patay was followed by a massacre of
the English, which the Maid was powerless to prevent. The French had
suffered too long; the iron had entered too deep into their souls. As
the world stood then, they would have been more or less than human to
have held their hand from the slaughter. It seemed probable that Joan
did not see all of the butchery, but she saw more than enough. "She was
most pitiful," says the page d'Aulon, "at the sight of so great a
slaughter. A Frenchman was leading some English prisoners; he struck one
of them on the head; the man fell senseless. Joan sprang from her saddle
and held the Englishman's head in her lap, comforting him; and he was
shriven."[56]
Talbot was taken by Xaintrailles, and led by him before Alençon, the
Maid and de Richemont.
"You did not look for this in the morning, Lord Talbot!" said Alençon,
who had been a prisoner in England.
"It is the fortune of war!" said the old lion; and no other word of his
is recorded.
The Week of Victories was over, and once more Joan returned to her
Orleans, to joy-bells and masses, adoring crowds and friendly
hearthstones. This time she found a present awaiting her at the house of
_Père_ Boucher, a present at once quaint and pathetic.
Fourteen years had passed since Agincourt was lost and won, and Charles
of Orleans was still a prisoner in England, still writing poetry like
his fellow-prisoner and poet, James I. of Scotland. He had heard of the
grievous peril of his city, and of its glorious rescue by the
wonder-working Maid. He would fain show his gratitude in some seemly and
appropriate way. Therefore, "considering the good and agreeable service
of the Pucelle against the English, ancient enemies of the King and
himself," he ordered the treasurer (of Orleans) to offer in his name to
the young heroine a suit--of armor?--By no means! a costume of state,
"_vêtement d'apparat_," such as gentlewomen wore. The colors of his
house were to be used; "a robe of fine scarlet cloth, with a tunic
(_huque_) of dark green stuff." "A tailor of renown" was charged with
the making of the costume; the items of expense have been preserved.
Two ells of scarlet cloth cost eight gold crowns; the lining, two crowns
more. One ell of green stuff, two crowns. For making a robe and _huque_,
with trimming of white satin, sendal, and other stuff, one crown. Total,
thirteen gold crowns, equal to about twenty dollars of our money. Not an
extravagant present, you say, in return for a royal city. But Joan had
looked for no reward, and Charles gave what he could. Be sure that the
Maid was well pleased with her costume of state; I cannot repeat too
often that she was seventeen, and fair as a white rose. She may even
have worn it--who knows? during those few days of rest, after Patay, at
Père Boucher's. She loved pretty clothes. One can fancy the astonishment
of Alençon, coming clanking in his armor to take counsel with his
fellow-commander, to find her blushing rose-like in scarlet and green.
It is a pretty picture. Those were the days of the hennin, but I cannot
think that the Maid ever, even for a moment, crowned her short dark
locks with that most hideous invention of fashion. We all know it in
pictures; the single or double-horned headdress (I know not which is
uglier!) often reaching monstrous proportions, with which the
fashionable women of that day were infatuated. The single hennin was
often two or three feet in height; the double one perhaps nearly as
wide.
In the first year of the siege of Orleans one Friar Thomas preached a
crusade against the extravagance of women's dress, and especially
against the hennin. "He was so vehement against them," says Monstrelêt,
"that no woman thus dressed dared to appear in his presence, for he was
accustomed when he saw any with such dresses, to excite the little boys
to torment and plague them. He ordered the boys to shout after them,
'_Au hennin! au hennin!_' even when the ladies were departed from him,
and from hearing his invectives; and the boys pursuing them endeavored
to pull down these monstrous head-dresses, so that the ladies were
forced to seek shelter in places of safety. These cries caused many
tumults between those who raised them and the servants of the ladies.
For a time the ladies were ashamed, and came to mass in close caps,
'such as those of nuns.' But this reform lasted not, for like as snails,
when anyone passes them, draw in their horns, and when all danger seems
over, put them forth again--so these ladies, shortly after the preacher
had quitted their country, forgetful of his doctrine and abuse, began to
resume their former colossal head-dresses, and wore them even higher
than before."
A terrible fellow, this Friar Thomas. Monstrelêt further tells us that
"at sermons he divided women from men by a cord, having observed some
sly doings between them while he was preaching."
Sometimes, after an eloquent sermon on the pains of hell and damnation,
he would summon his hearers to bring him all games and toys; all hennins
and other abominations of dress; and having a fire ready burning, would
throw these vanities in and make an end of them for that time.
Here is a long digression about hennins; as I say, I do not believe Joan
ever put one on her head; nor did Friar Thomas, so far as I know, ever
come to Orleans.
FOOTNOTES:
[54] Lang, p. 138.
[55] A. Lang, p. 141.
[56] Translated by Andrew Lang.