I did not forget my desire to see this maiden of Domremy, nor did
Bertrand, I trow, forget the promise, albeit some days passed by
ere we put our plan into action.
Bad news kept coming in to the little loyal township of
Vaucouleurs. There was no manner of doubt but that the English
Regent, Bedford, was resolved to lose no more time, but seek to put
beneath his iron heel the whole of the realm of France. Gascony had
been English so long that the people could remember nothing
different than the rule of the Roy Outremer--as of old they called
him. Now all France north of the Loire owned the same sway, and as
all men know, the Duke of Burgundy was ally to the English, and
hated the Dauphin with a deadly hatred, for the murder of his
father--for which no man can justly blame him. True, his love for
the English had cooled manifestly since that affair of Duke
Humphrey of Gloucester and Jacquelaine of Brabant, in which as was
natural, he took the part of his brother; but although the Duke of
Bedford was highly indignant with Duke Humphrey, and gave him no
manner of support in his rash expedition, yet the Duke of Burgundy
resented upon the English what had been done, and although it did
not drive him into the arms of the Dauphin, whom he hated worse, it
loosened the bond between him and our foes, and we had hoped it
might bring about a better state of things for our party. Yet
alas!--this seemed as far as ever from being so; and the Burgundian
soldiers still ravaged along our borders, and it seemed ofttimes as
though we little loyal community of the Duchy of Bar would be
swallowed up altogether betwixt the two encroaching foes. So our
hearts were often heavy and our faces grave with fear.
I noted in the manner of the Governor, whose guest I had now
become, a great gravity, which in old days had not been there; for
Robert de Baudricourt, as I remembered him, had ever been a man of
merry mood, with a great laugh, a ready jest, and that sort of
rough, bluff courage that makes light of trouble and peril.
Now, however, we often saw him sunk in some deep reverie, his chin
upon his hand, his eyes gazing full into the blaze of the leaping
fire of logs, which always flamed upon the hearth in the great
hall, where the most part of his time was spent. He would go
hunting or hawking by day, or ride hither and thither through the
town, looking into matters there, or sit to listen to the affairs
of the citizens or soldiers as they were brought before him; and at
such times his manner would be much as it had ever been of
yore--quick, almost rough, yet not unkindly--whilst the shrewd
justice he always meted out won the respect of the people, and made
him a favourite in the town.
But when the evening fell, and the day's work was done, and after
supper we sat in the hall, with the dogs slumbering around us,
talking of any news which might have come in, either of raids by
the roving Burgundians, or the advance of the English towards
Orleans, then these darker moods would fall upon him; and once when
he had sat for well-nigh an hour without moving, his brow drawn and
furrowed, and his eyes seemingly sunk deeper in his head, Bertrand
leaned towards me and whispered in mine ear:
"He is thinking of the Maid of Domremy!"
De Baudricourt could not have heard the words, yet when he spoke a
brief while later, it almost seemed as though he might have done
so.
"Nephew," he said, lifting his head abruptly and gazing across at
us, "tell me again the words of that prophecy of Merlin's, spoken
long, long ago, of which men whisper in these days, and of which
you did speak to me awhile back."
"Marry, good mine uncle, the prophecy runs thus," answered
Bertrand, rising and crossing over towards the great fire before
which his kinsman sat, "'That France should be destroyed by the
wiles of a woman, and saved and redeemed by a maiden.'"
The bushy brows met in a fierce scowl over the burning eyes; his
words came in a great burst of indignation and scorn.
"Ay, truly--he spake truly--the wise man--the wizard! A woman to be
the ruin of the kingdom! Ay, verily, and has it not been so? Who
but that wicked Queen Isabeau is at the bottom of the disgraceful
Treaty of Troyes, wherein France sold herself into the hands of the
English? Did she not repudiate her own son? Did not her hatred burn
so fiercely against him that she was ready to tarnish her own good
fame and declare him illegitimate, rather than that he should
succeed his father as King of France? Did she not give her daughter
to the English King in wedlock, that their child might reign over
this fair realm? Truly has the kingdom been destroyed by the wiles
of a woman! But I vow it will take more than the strength of any
maiden to save and redeem it from the woes beneath which it lies
crushed!"
"In sooth it doth seem so," answered Bertrand with grave and
earnest countenance, "but yet with the good God nothing is
impossible. Hath He not said before this that He doth take of the
mean and humble to confound the great of the earth? Did not the
three hundred with Gideon overcome the hosts of the Moabites? Did
not the cake of barley bread overturn the tent and the camp of the
foe?"
"Ay, if the good God will arise to work miracles again, such things
might be; but how can we look for Him to do so? What manner of man
is the Dauphin of France that he should look for divine
deliverance? 'God helps those who help themselves,' so says the
proverb; but what of those who lie sunk in lethargy or despair, and
seek to drown thought or care in folly and riotous living--heedless
of the ruin of the realm?"
"There is another proverb, good mine uncle, that tells how man's
extremity is God's opportunity," quoth Bertrand thoughtfully; "if
we did judge of God's mercy by man's worthiness to receive the
same, we might well sink in despair. But His power and His goodness
are not limited by our infirmities, and therein alone lies our
hope."
De Baudricourt uttered a sound between a snort and a grunt. I knew
not what he thought of Bertrand's answer; but that brief dialogue
aroused within me afresh the desire I had before expressed to see
the maid, Jeanne of Domremy; and as the sun upon the morrow shone
out bright and clear, after a week of heavy rain storms, we agreed
that no better opportunity could we hope for to ride across to the
little village, and try whether it were possible to obtain speech
with the young girl about whom such interest had been aroused in
some breasts.
We spoke no word to De Baudricourt of our intention. Bertrand knew
from his manner that he was thinking more and more earnestly of
that declaration on the part of the village maiden that her
Lord--the King of Heaven--had revealed to her that she must be sent
to the Dauphin, to help him to drive out the English from his
country, and to place the crown of France upon his head, and that
he, Robert de Baudricourt, was the instrument who would be used to
speed her on her way. Bertrand knew that this thought was weighing
upon the mind of his kinsman, and the more so as the time for the
fulfilment of the prophecy drew nearer.
Autumn had come. Winter was hard at hand; and before Mid-Lent the
promised succour to France was to arrive through the means of this
maiden--this Jeanne d'Arc.
"He is waiting and watching," spoke Bertrand, as we rode through
the forest, the thinning leaves of which allowed the sunlight to
play merrily upon our path. "He says in his heart that if this
thing be of God, the Maid will come again when the time draws near;
but that if it is phantasy, or if she be deluded of the Devil,
perchance his backwardness will put a check upon her ardour, and we
shall hear no more of it. The Abbe Perigord, his Confessor, has
bidden him beware lest it be a snare of the Evil One"--and as he
spoke these words Bertrand crossed himself, and I did the like, for
the forest is an ill place in which to talk of the Devil, as all
men know.
"But for my part, when I think upon her words, and see again the
look of her young face, I cannot believe that she has been thus
deceived; albeit we are told that the Devil can make himself appear
as an angel of light."
This was the puzzle, of course. But surely the Church had power to
discern betwixt the wiles of the Evil One and the finger of God.
There were words and signs which any possessed of the Devil must
needs fly before. I could not think that the Church need fear
deception, even though a village maid might be deceived.
The forest was very beautiful that day, albeit travelling was
something slow, owing to the softness of the ground, and the
swollen condition of the brooks, which often forced us to go round
by the bridges instead of taking the fords; so that we halted a few
miles from Domremy to bait our horses and to appease our own
hunger, for by that time our appetite was sharp set.
It was there, as we sat at table, and talked with mine host, that
we heard somewhat more of this Maid, whom we had started forth in
hopes to see.
Bertrand was known for the kinsman of De Baudricourt and all the
countryside knew well the tale, how that Jeanne d'Arc had gone to
him in the springtide of the year, demanding an escort to the
Dauphin King of France, for whom she had a message from the King of
Heaven, and whom she was to set upon his throne.
"When she came home again, having accomplished nothing," spoke the
innkeeper, leaning his hands upon the table and greatly enjoying
the sound of his own voice, "all the village made great mock of
her! They called her the King's Marshal, the Little Queen, Jeanne
the Prophetess, and I know not what beside. Her father was right
wroth with her. Long ago he had a dream about her, which troubled
him somewhat, as he seemed to see his daughter in the midst of
fighting men, leading them on to battle."
"Did he dream that? Surely that is something strange for the vision
of a village prud'homme anent his little daughter."
"Ay truly, though at the time he thought little of it, but when all
this came to pass he recalled it again; and he smote Jeanne upon
the ear with his open hand, and bid her return to her needle and
her household tasks, and think no more of matters too great for
her. Moreover, he declared that if ever she were to disgrace
herself by mingling with men-at-arms, he would call upon her
brothers to drown her, and if they disobeyed him, he would take and
do it with his own hands!"
"A Spartan father, truly!" murmured Bertrand.
"O ay--but he is a very honest man, is Jacques d'Arc; and he was
very wroth at all the talk about his daughter, and he vowed she
should wed an honest man, as she is now of age to do, and so forget
her dreams and her visions, and take care of her house and her
husband and the children the good God should send them--like other
wedded wives."
"Then has she indeed wedded?" asked Bertrand earnestly.
"Ah, that is another story!" answered our host, wagging his head
and spreading out his hands. "It would take too long were I to tell
you all, messires; but so much will I tell. They did find a man who
had long desired the pretty Jeanne for his wife, and he did
forswear himself and vow that he had been betrothed to Jeanne with
her own free will and consent, and that now he claimed her as his
wife. Jeanne, whose courage is high, though she be so quiet and
modest in her daily life, did vehemently deny the charge, whereupon
the angry father and his friend, the claimant of her hand, did
bring it into the court, and the Maid had to defend herself there
from the accusation of broken faith. But by St. Michael and all his
angels!--how she did confound them all! She asked no help from
lawyers, though one did offer himself to her. She called no
witnesses herself; but she questioned the witnesses brought against
her, and also the man who would fain have become her lord, and out
of their own mouths did she convict them of lying and hypocrisy and
conspiracy, so that she was triumphantly acquitted, and her judges
called her a most wonderful child, and told her mother to be proud
of such a daughter!"
I saw a flush rise to Bertrand's cheek, a flush as of pride and
joy. And indeed, I myself rejoiced to hear the end of the tale; for
it did seem as though this maiden had been persecuted with rancour
and injustice, and that is a thing which no man can quietly endure
to hear or see.
"And how have they of Domremy behaved themselves to her since?" I
asked; and Bertrand listened eagerly for the answer.
"Oh, they have taken her to favour once more; her father has been
kind again; her mother ever loved Jeanne much, for her gentleness
and beauty and helpfulness at home. All the people love her, when
not stirred to mockery by such fine pretensions. If she will remain
quietly at home like a wise and discreet maiden, no one will long
remember against her her foolish words and dreams."
As we rode through the fields and woodlands towards Domremy, the
light began to take the golden hue which it does upon the autumn
afternoon, and upon that day it shone with a wonderful radiance
such as is not uncommon after rain. We were later than we had
meant, but there would be a moon to light us when the sun sank, and
both we and our horses knew the roads well; or we could even sleep,
if we were so minded, at the auberge where we had dined. So we were
in no haste or hurry. We picked our way leisurely towards the
village, and Bertrand told me of the Fairy Well and the Fairy Tree
in the forest hard by, so beloved of the children of Domremy, and
of which so much has been heard of late, though at that time I knew
nothing of any such things.
But fairy lore has ever a charm for me, and I bid him show me these
same things. So we turned a little aside into the forest, and found
ourselves in a lovely glade, where the light shone so soft and
golden, and where the songs of the birds sounded so sweet and
melodious, that I felt as though we were stepping through an
enchanted world, and well could I believe that the fairies danced
around the well, sunk deep in its mossy dell, and fringed about
with ferns and flowers and the shade of drooping trees.
But fairies there were none visible to our eyes, and we moved
softly onwards towards the spreading tree hard by. But ere we
reached it, we both drew rein as by a common impulse, for we had
seen a sight which arrested and held us spellbound, ay, and more
than that, for the wonder and amaze of it fell also upon the horses
we bestrode. For scarcely had we drawn rein, before they both began
to tremble and to sweat, and stood with their forefeet planted,
their necks outstretched, their nostrils distended; uttering short,
gasping, snorting sounds, as a horse will do when overcome by some
terror. But for all this they were as rigid as if they had been
carved in stone.
And now, what did we see? Let me try and tell, so far as my poor
words may avail. Beneath a spreading tree just a stone's throw to
the right of where we stood, and with nothing between to hinder our
view of her, a peasant maiden, dressed in the white coif, red
skirt, and jacket and kerchief of her class, had been bending over
some fine embroidery which she held in her hands. We just caught a
glimpse of her thus before the strange thing happened which caused
us to stop short, as though some power from without restrained us.
Hard by, as I know now, stood the village, shut out from view by
the trees, with its little church, and the homestead of Jacques
d'Arc nestling almost within its shadow. At the moment of which I
speak the bell rang forth for the Angelus, with a full, sweet tone
of silvery melody; and at the very same instant the work dropped
from the girl's hands, and she sank upon her knees. At the first
moment, although instinctively, we reined back our horses and
uncovered our heads, I had no thought but that she was a devout
maiden following the office of the Church out here in the wood. But
as she turned her upraised face a little towards us, I saw upon it
such a look as I have never seen on human countenance before, nor
have ever seen (save upon hers) since. A light seemed to shine
either from it or upon it--how can I tell which?--a light so pure
and heavenly that no words can fully describe it, but which seemed
like the radiance of heaven itself. Her eyes were raised towards
the sky, her lips parted, and through the breathless hush of
silence which had fallen upon the wood, we heard the soft, sweet
tones of her voice.
"Speak, my Lord--Thy servant heareth!"
It was then that our horses showed the signs of terror of which I
have before spoken. For myself, I saw nothing save the shining face
of the Maid--I knew who it was--there was no need for Bertrand's
breathless whisper--"It is she--herself!"--I knew it in my heart
before.
She knelt there amid the fallen leaves, her face raised, her lips
parted, her eyes shining as surely never human eyes have shone
before. A deep strange hush had fallen over all nature, broken only
by the gentle music of the bell. The ruddy gold light of
approaching sunset bathed all the wood in glory, and the rays fell
upon the kneeling figure, forming a halo of glory round it. But she
did not heed, she did not see. She was as one in a trance,
insensible to outward vision. Once and again her lips moved, but we
heard no word proceed from them, only the rapt look upon her face
increased in intensity, and once I thought (for I could not turn my
gaze away) that I saw the gleam of tears in her eyes.
The bell ceased as we stood thus motionless, and as the last note
vibrated through the still air, a change came over the Maid. Her
head drooped, she hid her face in her hands, and thus she knelt as
one absorbed in an intensity of prayer. Even as this happened, the
peculiar glory of the sunlight seemed to change. It shone still,
but without such wonderful glow, and our horses at the same time
ceased their trembling and their rigid stillness of pose. They
shook their heads and jingled their bits, as though striving to
throw off some terrifying impression.
"Let us withdraw from her sight," whispered Bertrand touching my
arm, and very willingly I acceded to this suggestion, and we
silently pressed into the shadow of some great oaks, which stood
hard by, the trunks of which hid us well from view. It seemed
almost like a species of sacrilege to stand there watching the Maid
at her prayers, and yet I vow, that until the bell ceased we had no
more power to move than our horses. Why we were holden by this
strange spell I know not. I can only speak the truth. We saw
nothing and we heard nothing of any miraculous kind, and yet we
were like men in a dream, bound hand and foot by invisible bonds, a
witness of something unseen to ourselves, which we saw was visible
to another.
Beneath the deep shadow of the oaks we looked back. The Maid had
risen to her feet by this, and was stooping to pick up her fallen
work. That done, she stood awhile in deep thought, her face turned
towards the little church, whence the bell had only just ceased to
sound.
I saw her clearly then--a maiden slim and tall, so slender that the
rather clumsy peasant dress she wore could not give breadth or
awkwardness to her lithe figure. The coif had slipped a little out
of place, and some tresses of waving hair had escaped from beneath
it, tresses that looked dark till the sun touched them, and then
glowed like burnished gold. Her face was pale, with features in no
way marked, but so sweet and serene was the expression of the face,
so wonderful was the depth of the great dark eyes, that one was
lost in admiration of her beauty, albeit unable to define wherein
that beauty lay.
When we started forth, I had meant to try and seek speech with this
Jeanne--this Maid of Domremy--and to ask her of her mission, and
whether she were still believing that she would have power to carry
it out; but this purpose now died within me.
How could I dare question such a being as to her visions? Had I not
seen how she was visited by sound or sight not sensible to those
around her? Had I not in some sort been witness to a miracle? Was
it for us to approach and ask of her what had been thus revealed?
No!--a thousand times no! If the good God had given her a message,
she would know when and where to deliver it. She had spoken before
of her voices. Let them instruct her. Let not men seek to
interfere. And so we remained where we were, hidden in the deep
shadows, whilst Jeanne, with bent head and lingering, graceful
steps, utterly unconscious of the eyes that watched her, went
slowly out of sight along the glade leading towards the village and
her home.
Only when she had disappeared did we venture to move on in her
wake, and so passed by the low-browed house, set in its well-tended
little garden, where the d'Arc family lived. It lay close to the
church, and bore a look of pleasant homelike comfort. We saw Jeanne
bending tenderly over a chair, in which reclined the bent form of a
little crippled sister. We even heard the soft, sweet voice of the
Maid, as she answered some question asked her from within the open
door. Then she lifted the bent form in her arms, and I did note how
strong that slim frame must be, for the burden seemed as nothing to
her as she bore it within the house; and then she disappeared from
view, and we rode onwards together.
"There, my friend," spoke Bertrand at last, "I have kept my
promise, you have seen the Maid."
"Yes," I answered gravely, "I have seen the Maid," and after that
we spoke no word for many a mile.