PARIS
Charles of Valois was king of France. The first of Joan's appointed
tasks was fulfilled, and with clear faith and resolve she turned to the
second. The English must be driven from the soil of France. To this end,
the word was "Paris!" and on Paris, might the Maid have her way, the
king's conquering army should march forthwith.
She and Alençon had thought to set out the day after the coronation; but
on the very day of the ceremony, July 17th, came to Rheims an embassy
from Philip Duke of Burgundy, asking for a truce.
Joan greatly desired peace with Burgundy, knowing that there could be no
lasting victory without it. She had written to the Duke a month before
this, but had received no reply; now, on July 17th, she wrote again in
her simple direct fashion.
"High and mighty prince, duke of Burgundy, I, Joan the Maid, in the
name of the King of Heaven, my rightful and sovereign Lord, bid you and
the king of France make a good, firm peace, which shall endure. Do each
of you pardon the other, heartily and wholly, as loyal Christians
should, and, if you like to fight, go against the Saracens. Prince of
Burgundy, I pray and beseech and beg you as humbly as I may, that you
war no more on the holy kingdom of France, but at once cause your people
who are in any places and fortresses of this holy kingdom to withdraw;
and as for the gentle king of France, he is ready to make peace with you
if you are willing, saving his honor; and I bid you know, in the name of
the King of Heaven, my rightful and sovereign Lord, for your well-being
and your honor and on your life, that you will never gain a battle
against loyal Frenchmen; and that all who war in the holy kingdom of
France war against King Jesus, King of Heaven and all the earth, my
rightful and sovereign Lord. With folded hands I pray and beg you to
fight no battle and wage no war against us, neither you, your soldiers,
nor your people, for whatever number of soldiers you bring against us,
know of a surety that they shall gain nothing, but it will be a great
pity to see the great battle and the blood which will flow from those
who come there against us. Three weeks ago I wrote and sent you good
letters by a herald, bidding you to the king's consecration, which takes
place to-day, Sunday, the seventeenth of this present month of July, in
the city of Rheims, but I have had no answer, and have heard no news of
the herald. To God I commend you, and may He keep you, if it please Him,
and I pray God to bring about a good peace."[60]
The very day after came the Burgundian envoys, with peace on their lips.
Joan could not know that a few days before, while she and Charles were
before Troyes, Philip of Burgundy had entered Paris in person, and
standing beside John of Bedford had proclaimed his wrongs, telling again
the oft-told tale of his father's murder, and calling on the people of
Paris to swear allegiance to himself and Bedford. Having done this, he
dispatched his embassy to beguile Charles into a truce, which should
give him and the English time to make further preparations.
Charles was always ready to be beguiled. For the moment, however, the
tide of triumph and devotion was too strong for him. He was carried
hither and thither by it; to the abbey of St. Macoul, where he "touched"
for the King's Evil; to Soissons, the keys of which had been sent him in
due submission. Everywhere he was received with joyful acclamations;
everywhere the Maid rode before him, in the knight's or page's dress
which she affected when not in armor, trunks and short coat of rich
materials, well furred. What had become of the scarlet and green Orleans
costume we do not know; in any case she could not have worn it on
horseback.
The way lay clear before them to Paris, only sixty miles distant. One
might think that even Charles VII. might have heard the Brazen Head of
the fable speak loud and clear: "_Time is!_"
But Charles was listening to the men of Burgundy, and dawdling, which
after all was the occupation he loved best. He spent four or five
precious days at Soissons, then dawdled across the Marne to Château
Thierry, where six hundred years later Yankee boys were to defend
gloriously that soil of France which he betrayed and insulted. At
Château Thierry he at least did one thing. On the last day of July "in
favor and at the request of our beloved Joan the Maid, considering the
great, high, notable and profitable service which she has rendered and
doth daily render us in the recovery of our kingdom," the king declared
the villages of Domrémy and Greux free from taxes forever. Through
nearly three hundred years the tax-gatherer's book bore these words,
written against the names of these two villages: "_Nothing; for the
Maid_." In the reign of Louis XV. this freedom, with many others, came
to an end.
As Charles loitered about the neighborhood, as contemptible a figure as
History can show in all her ample page, the delighted people still
flocked from neighboring towns and villages to do homage to him and the
Maid. Joan loved these plain country folk with their joyous greetings.
"What good devout people these are!" she exclaimed one day, as she rode
between Dunois and the archbishop of Rheims. "Never have I seen any
people who so greatly rejoiced over the coming of a king so noble. When
I come to die, I would well that it might be in these parts."
"Joan," said the archbishop, "is it known to you when you will die, and
at what place?"
Dunois, who rode at her bridle rein, reports her answer.
"Where it shall please God! Of the hour and the place I know no more
than you. I have done that which my Lord commanded me, to deliver
Orleans and have the gentle king crowned. Would that it might please God
my Creator to suffer me to depart at this time and lay down my arms, and
go to serve my father and mother in keeping their sheep, with my sisters
and brothers, who would be right glad to see me."
_And all the people shall say Amen!_
Was the good Maid beginning to have glimpses of the clay feet of her
idol? If so, she gave no sign. Her loyalty never wavered for an instant,
but she was bewildered--how should she not have been?--at the result of
her shining deeds. She had laid a kingdom at Charles's feet; he let it
lie there, and drifted from place to place, dragging her with him. On
August 5th she wrote a pathetic letter to the people of Rheims, doing
her poor best to reassure them, who saw their new crowned king
apparently deserting them.
"Dear and good friends," she says, "good and loyal Frenchmen, the Maid
sends you her greetings"; and goes on to assure them that she will never
abandon them while she lives. "True it is that the King has made a
fifteen days' truce with the Duke of Burgundy, who is to give up to him
the town of Paris on the fifteenth day. Although the truce is made, I am
not content, and am not certain that I will keep it. If I do, it will be
merely for the sake of the King's honor, and in case they do not deceive
the blood royal, for, I will keep the King's army together and in
readiness, at the end of the fifteen days, if peace is not made."[61]
Finally she bade the people trust her, and be of good heart--striving,
poor soul, to lift their hearts, while her own was sinking daily--and to
warn her if traitors should be found among them.
John of Bedford, one may think, was no less puzzled than the Maid. He
too saw the kingdom at those loitering, shambling feet; but he was not
the man to wait the pleasure of the shambler. He sent to England for
five thousand stout men-at-arms, and established them in Paris. One
division of this army bore a standard, in the centre of which appeared a
distaff filled with cotton, with a half-filled spindle hanging to it.
The field was set with empty spindles, and inscribed with the legend:
"Now, fair one, come!"
At the same time Bedford sent a letter to Charles from Montereau,
beginning, "You formerly self-styled Dauphin, and now calling yourself
King," charging him with receiving help from an abandoned and dissolute
woman, wearing men's apparel, and an apostate and seditious Friar;
"both, according to Holy Scripture, things abominable to God." The duke
begged the king to have pity on the unhappy people of France, and to
meet him at some convenient place, where terms of peace might be
discussed. It should be a true peace, not like that once made by Charles
at this very Montereau, just before he treacherously slew the duke of
Burgundy. Finally, Bedford challenged Charles to single combat (for
which probably no man in France, unless it were La Trémoïlle, had less
stomach) and appealed to the Almighty, who then as now was claimed as
bosom friend by all would-be autocrats. Having dispatched this letter,
which he hoped would sting Charles into action of some sort, John of
Bedford went back to Paris, and set his army in battle array before the
closed gates of the city.
Ever since the relief of Orleans, the English had not ceased to assure
Joan as occasion served, that whenever and wherever they could lay hands
on her they would burn her. The Maid was only too eager to give them
their chance.
"I cry, 'Go against the English!'" she exclaimed.
At last, after endless "to-ing and fro-ing," Joan and Alençon took
matters into their own hands, and started for Paris, leaving the king to
follow as he might. On August 14th they encountered Bedford at
Montépilloy, strongly intrenched, in an excellent position. The French
advanced to within two bowshots, and boldly defied him to battle. But
Bedford had no idea of giving them battle; forbade any general
sortie--but, on the French knights' advancing to the very walls,
shouting defiance--allowed a little genteel skirmishing here and there.
The Maid herself, when she saw that the foe would not come out, "rode to
the front, standard in hand and smote the English palisade." Nothing
came of it, except a few more skirmishes. Next day the French retreated,
thinking to draw their enemy out in pursuit; whereupon the wily Bedford
turned about and went back to Paris, "having faced without disaster a
superior French force, having encouraged his own troops, and shaken the
popular faith in Joan."[62]
Finding the English gone, Joan, Alençon, and Charles went to Compiègne,
which had recently sent in its submission, as had Beauvais and Senlis.
Compiègne received its precious king with apparent enthusiasm. With
these three towns secure, Joan's spirit rose again for a moment. Now, at
last, the way lay open. Forward to Paris, while time still was!
Charles found Compiègne a pleasant place, and saw no hurry; was busy,
moreover, coquetting again with Burgundy.
"The Maid was in grief," says the chronicle, "for the King's long
tarrying at Compiègne; and it seemed he was content, as was his wont,
with such grace as God had granted him, and would seek no further
adventure."
Once more the Maid set out with her faithful army, this time really for
Paris, halting not till she reached St. Denis. No sooner was her back
turned than Charles and La Trémoïlle concluded a general truce, to begin
at once, August 28th, and to last till Christmas. The English might
benefit by it whenever they wished; while it lasted, no more cities
might submit to Charles, however much they might wish to do so. The
Peace Party had triumphed for the moment.
Meanwhile the Maid was at the gates of Paris; with the king's
permission, let us remember!
He allowed her to attack the city, practically at the same moment when
he agreed to recognize Burgundy as holding it against her. Who shall
read this riddle? The "Campaign of Dupes," as it has been called, has
puzzled historians from that day to this. For us, it is perhaps enough
to remember the inheritance of this wretched mortal, child of a mad
father and a bad mother. He had already signed the pact with Burgundy
when Alençon, after repeated efforts, finally succeeded in dislodging
him from his perch at Senlis, and dragged him as far as St. Denis. Here
he would be safe, and his near presence would hearten the troops. So
thought Joan and Alençon, and so it proved for the moment. There was
great rejoicing. "She will put the king in Paris," people said, "if he
will let her!" and the men of Orleans and Patay rode about and about the
city, examining the fortifications, seeking the best place for an
assault, and sending inflammatory messages to their friends inside the
walls, those who had once thrilled to the cry of "Armagnac!" and who
were now ready to rally to the white standard of the Maid.
September 8th was the Festival of the birth of St. Mary the Virgin. As a
rule, Joan did not like to fight on holy days; but the captains were
eager to attack, her Voices did not forbid, her military instinct bade
her strike. At eight in the morning, she, with old de Gaucourt and
Gilles de Rais, advanced against the gate of St. Honoré, while Alençon
with the reserve forces remained on guard in case of a possible sortie.
There are many accounts of this attack. A curious one is that of the
_Bourgeois de Paris_, whose _Journal_ throws so vivid a light on these
wild times. The Bourgeois was an ardent Burgundian, and had no good to
say of anything connected with the Armagnacs or their successors.
"Les Armenalx," he still calls the royal army; and tells how it appeared
before Paris with "a creature in the form of a woman, whom they called
the Maid." "They came," he said, "about the hour of High Mass, between
eleven and twelve, their Pucelle with them, and great store of chariots,
carts, and horses, all loaded with huge fagots to fill the fosses of
Paris, and began to assault between the gate of St. Honoré and the gate
St. Denis, and the assault was very cruel; and in attacking they said
many ill words to those of Paris. And there was their Pucelle with her
standard on the edge of the fosse crying to those of Paris, 'Yield you
in the name of Jesus, to us, and that quickly, for if you do not yield
before night, we shall enter by force, will you nill you, and all shall
be put to death without mercy.'"
These last words do not ring true; we know that Joan was always for
sparing life when it was possible. Another Anglo-Burgundian, Clément de
Fauquembergen, describes how the people, at news of the attack, fled
from the churches, where they were at prayers, and hid in their cellars;
while the defenders of the city took their stations on the walls and
made valiant defence, giving the assailants back shot for shot, bolt for
bolt.
The first ditch was deep but dry, the second filled with water. Those
watching from the walls saw a slender white-clad figure spring forward
from the French ranks, lance in hand; saw it climb slowly and carefully
down and up the steep sides of the dry ditch, and stand on the brink of
the moat.
"The Maid! the Witch of Armagnac!" the murmur ran like flame along the
walls, and archers and gunners sprang to their posts and took careful
aim at the shining figure.
Serene, unmoved, amid a storm of bullets and arrows, the Maid stood
beside the water, probing its black depth with her lance; calling on her
men to follow her. So she stands for all time, one of the imperishable
pictures.
Another moment, and a bolt from an arblast struck her down. Still, as
she lay bleeding from a wound in the thigh, she ceased not to cheer the
French on to the assault. Let them only fill the ditch, she cried, and
all would be well; the city would be theirs.
It was not to be. The garrison, seeing her fall, redoubled their volleys
of iron and stone; the assailants were weary, twilight was gathering,
and no radiant armor shone through the dusk to light them on. Now it was
night, and all but the Maid knew that the end had come. She, lying
beside the ditch, refusing to be moved, still cried for the charge,
still gave assurance of victory. At last, long after nightfall, Alençon
and de Gaucourt, unable to prevail upon her otherwise, lifted her out of
the fosse, set her on a horse, and rode back to the line.
"_Par mon martin_," she still cried, "the place would have been taken!"
One at least of the Burgundian chroniclers is of her mind. "Had anyone
in the king's command," he says, "been as manly as Joan, Paris would
have been in danger of capture; but none of the others could agree upon
the matter."
Next morning, Friday the ninth, the Maid sent for Alençon and implored
him to sound the trumpets and lead the assault. She would never leave
the spot, she vowed, till the city was taken. Alençon was willing
enough, and some of the captains with him; others demurred. While they
debated the matter, came messengers from the king, with orders for them
to return at once to St. Denis. La Trémoïlle had won, and Paris was
lost.
Sick at heart, the wounded Maid, with faithful Alençon beside her, rode
back, to find Charles busy with plans for retreat. Even Joan must now,
one would think, have realized that all was over; yet the two comrades
made one last gallant effort. The south wall of Paris might be less
strong than that near the gate of St. Honoré. Alençon had already built
a bridge across the Seine near St. Denis; how if they crossed this
bridge with a chosen few and surprised the town?
Early next morning they rode forth on their perilous venture--to find
the bridge destroyed by order of the king.
Now indeed Joan tasted the bitterness of defeat. She spoke no word, but
her action spoke for her. She hung up her armor before the statue of the
Virgin Mother in the cathedral.
Her Voices bade her stay in St. Denis, but for once she must disobey
them, obedience not being in her power. Three days later Charles left
the place, dragging his followers with him. A hasty march back to the
Loire, and on September 21st the king dined at Gien, well out of the way
of English and Burgundians.
"And thus," says the chronicle, "were broken the will of the Maid and
the army of the king."
FOOTNOTES:
[60] Lowell, pp. 161 and 162.
[61] Translated by Andrew Lang.
[62] Lowell, pp. 168 and 169.