The ceremony was over. The Dauphin stood in our midst a crowned and
anointed King. We were back in the great hall of the Archeveche,
and the thunders of triumphant applause which had been restrained
within the precincts of the sacred edifice now broke forth again,
and yet again, in long bursts of cheering, which were echoed from
without by the multitudes in the street and great square Place, and
came rolling through the open windows in waves of sound like the
beating of the surf upon the shore.
The King stood upon a raised dais; his chiefest nobles and peers
around him. He was magnificently robed, as became so great an
occasion, and for the first time that I had ever seen, he looked an
imposing and a dignified figure. Something there was of true
kingliness in his aspect. It seemed as though the scene through
which he had passed had not been without effect upon his nature,
and that something regal had been conveyed to him through the
solemnities which had just taken place.
The Maid was present also; but she had sought to efface herself in
the crowd, and stood thoughtfully apart in an embrasure of the
wall, half concealed by the arras, till the sound of her name,
proclaimed aloud in a hundred different tones, warned her that
something was required of her, and she stepped forward with a
questioning look in her startled eyes, as though just roused from
some dream.
She had been one of the first to prostrate herself at the new-made
King's feet when the coronation ceremony was over; and the tears
streaming down her face had been eloquent testimony of her deep
emotion. But she had only breathed a few broken words of devotion
and of joy, and had added something in a choked whisper which none
but he had been able to hear.
"The King calls for the Maid! The King desires speech with the
Maid!" such was the word ringing through the hall; and she came
quietly forth from her nook, the crowd parting this way and that
before her, till she was walking up through a living avenue to the
place where the King was now seated upon a throne-like chair on the
dais at the far end of the hall.
As she came towards him the King extended his hand, as though he
would meet her still rather as friend than as subject; but she
kneeled down at his feet, and pressing her lips to the extended
hand, she spoke in a voice full of emotion:
"Gentle King, now is the pleasure of God fulfilled towards you. Now
is the will of my Lord accomplished. To Him alone be the praise and
glory! It was His will that I should be sent before you to raise
the siege of Orleans, to lead you to this city of Rheims, there to
receive your consecration. Now has He shown to all the world that
you are the true King--that it is His will you should reign over
this fair realm, that this kingdom of France belongs to you and you
alone. My task is now accomplished. His will in me is fulfilled. Go
forward, then, noble King--strong in the power of your kingly might
and right, doubting not that He will aid you still; though He will
work with other instruments, with other means, for my task in this
is now accomplished!"
There was a little stir and thrill throughout the hall as these
words were spoken. Dismay fell upon many, wonder upon all, triumph
gleamed from the eyes of a few; but most men looked one at the
other in consternation. What did she mean by these words?--this
Heaven-sent Maid to whom we owed so much? Surely she did not think
to leave us just in the hour of her supreme triumph? How could we
hope to lead on the armies to fresh victories, if the soldiers were
told that the Maid would no longer march with them? Who would
direct us with heavenly counsel, or with that marvellous clearness
of vision which is given only to a few in this sinful world, and to
those only whose hearts are consecrated by a great devotion, and a
great love? She could not mean that! She loved France with an
overwhelming fervour. She was devoted to the service of the King,
in whom she had never been able or willing to see wrong. She knew
her power with the army; she loved the rough soldiers who followed
her unshrinkingly in the teeth of the very fiercest perils, and who
would answer to her least command, when they would obey none other
general.
O no, she could not think of deserting France in this her hour of
need! Much had been done; but much yet remained to do. If she were
to quit her post, there could be no telling what might not follow.
The English, cowed and bewildered now, might well pluck up heart of
grace, and sweep back through the country once owning their sway,
driving all foes before them as in the days of old. The victories
won in these last weeks might soon be swallowed up in fresh defeat
and disaster. How could we expect it to be otherwise if the
presence of the Maid were withdrawn?
These and a hundred other questions and conjectures were buzzing
through the great hall. Wonder and amaze was on every face. The
King himself looked grave for a moment; but then his smile shone
out carelessly gay and confident. He looked down at the Maid, and
there was tender friendliness in his glance. He spoke nothing to
her at the first as to what she had said; he merely asked of her a
question.
"My Chevaliere, my guardian angel, tell me this, I pray. You have
done all these great things for me; what am I to do in return for
you?"
She raised her eyes towards him, and the light sprang into
them--that beautiful, fearless light which shone there when she led
her soldiers into battle.
"Go forward fearlessly, noble King. Go forward in the power of your
anointing; and fear nothing. That is all I ask of you. Do that, and
you will give to me my heart's desire."
"We will talk of that later, Jeanne," he answered, "I have many
things to speak upon that matter yet. But today I would ask you of
something different. You have done great things for me; it is not
fitting that you should refuse to receive something at my hands.
This day I sit a King upon my father's throne. Ask of me some gift
and grace for yourself--I your King and your friend demand it of
you!"
It was spoken in a right kingly and gracious fashion, and we all
held our breath to listen for the answer the Maid should give. We
had known her so long and so well, and we had learned how little
she desired for herself, how hard it was to induce her to express
any wish for her own gratification. She was gentle and gracious in
her acceptance of the gifts received from friends who had furnished
her from the beginning with such things as were needful for her
altered life; but she had ever retained her simplicity of thought
and habit; and though often living in the midst of luxury and
extravagance, she was never touched by those vices herself. And now
she was bidden to ask a boon; and she must needs do it, or the
displeasure of the King would light upon her.
He had raised her to her feet by this time, and she stood before
him, a slim boy-like figure in her white point-device dress, her
cheeks a little flushed, her slender fingers tightly entwined, the
breath coming and going through her parted lips.
"Gentle King," she answered, and her low full voice thrilled
through the hall to its farthermost end in the deep hush which had
fallen upon it, "there is one grace and gift that I would right
gladly ask of you. Here in this city of Rheims are assembled a few
of mine own people from Domremy; my father, my uncle, and with them
some others whom I have known and loved from childhood. I would ask
this thing of you, noble King. Give me at your royal pleasure a
deed, duly signed and sealed by your royal hand, exempting the
village of Domremy, where I was born, from all taxes such as are
levied elsewhere throughout the realm. Let me have this deed to
give to those who have come to see me here, and thus when I return
with them to my beloved childhood's home, I shall be witness to the
joy and gladness which such a kingly boon will convey. Grant me
this--only this, gentle King, and you will grant me all my heart
desires!"
The King spoke aside a few words to one of those who stood about
him, and this person silently bowed and quitted the hail; then he
turned once more to the Maid, standing before him still with a
happy and almost childlike smile playing over her lips.
"The thing shall be done, Jeanne," he said; "and it shall be done
right soon. The first deed to which I set my hand as King shall be
the one which shall for ever exempt Domremy from all taxation. You
shall give it to your father this very day, to take home with him
when he goes. But as for those other words of yours--what did you
mean by them? How can you witness the joy of a distant village,
when you will be leading forward the armies of France to fresh
victories?"
He gazed searchingly into her face as he spoke; and she looked back
at him with a sudden shrinking in her beautiful eyes.
"Sire," she faltered--and anything like uncertainty in that voice
was something new to us--"of what victories do you speak? I have
done my part. I have accomplished that which my Lord has set me to
do. My task ends here. My mission has been fulfilled. I have no
command from Him to go forward. I pray you let me return home to my
mother and my friends."
"Nay, Jeanne, your friends are here," spoke the King gravely, "and
your country is your mother. Would you neglect to hear her cry to
you in the hour of her need? Her voice it was that called you forth
from your obscurity; she calls you yet. Will you cease to hear and
to obey?"
The trouble and perplexity deepened in the eyes of the Maid.
"My voices have not bidden me to go forward," she faltered.
"Have they bidden you to go back--to do no more for France?"
"No," she answered, throwing back her head, her eyes kindling once
again with ardour; "they have not bidden me return, or I would have
done it without wavering. They tell me nothing, save to be of a
good heart and courage. They promise to be with me--my saints, whom
I love. But they give me no commands. I see not the path before me,
as I have seen it hitherto. That is why I say, let me go home. My
work is done; I have no mission more. Shall I take upon me that
which my Lord puts not upon me--whether it be honour or toil or
pain?"
"Yes, Jeanne, you shall take that upon you which your country calls
upon you to take, which your King puts upon you, which even your
saints demand of you, though perchance with no such insistence as
before, since that is no longer needed. Can you think that the mind
of the Lord has changed towards me and towards France? Yet you must
know as well as I and my Generals do, that without you to lead them
against the foe, the soldiers will waver and tremble, and perchance
turn their backs upon our enemies once more. You they will follow
to a man; but will they follow others when they know that you have
deserted them? You tell me to go forward and be of good courage.
How can I do this if you turn back, and take with you the hearts of
my men?"
"Sire, I know not that such would be the case," spoke the Maid
gravely. "You stand amongst them now as their crowned and anointed
King. What need have they of other leader? They have followed me
heretofore, waiting for you; but now--"
"Now they will want you more than ever, since you have ever led
them to victory!" cried the King; and raising his voice and looking
about him, especially to those generals and officers of his staff
who had seen so much of the recent events of the campaign, he cried
out:
"What say you, gentlemen? What is our chance to drive away the
English and become masters of this realm if the MAID OF ORLEANS
take herself away from us, and the soldiers no longer see her
standard floating before them, or hear her voice cheering them to
the battle?"
Some of those present looked sullenly on the ground, unwilling to
own that the Maid was a power greater than any other which could be
brought into the field; but there were numbers of other and greater
men, who had never denied her her meed of praise, though they had
thwarted her at times in the council room; and these with one
accord declared that should the Maid betake herself back to
Domremy, leaving the army to its fate, they would not answer for
the effect which this desertion would have, but would, in fact,
almost expect the melting away of the great body of the trained
soldiers and recruits who had fought with her, and had come to
regard her presence with them as the essential to a perfect
victory.
But we were destined to have a greater testimony than this, for a
whisper of what was passing within the great hall had now filtered
forth into the streets, and all in a moment we were aware of a
mighty tumult and hubbub without, a clamour of voices louder and
more insistent than those which had hailed the King a short time
before, and the words which seemed to form themselves out of the
clamour and gradually grow into the burden of the people's cry was
the repeated and vehement shout, "THE MAID OF ORLEANS! THE MAID OF
ORLEANS! We will fight if the Maid goes with us--without her we be
all dead men!"
They came and told us what the crowd of soldiers in the street was
shouting; they begged that the Maid would show herself at some
window, and promise that she would remain with the army. Indeed,
there was almost a danger of riot and disaster if something were
not done to quell the excitement of the soldiery and the populace;
and at this news the Maid suddenly drew her slender, drooping
figure to its full height, and looked long and steadfastly at the
King.
"Sire," she said, "I give myself to you and to France. My Lord
knows that I seek in this to do His will, though differently from
heretofore. You will be disappointed. Many will misjudge me. There
will be sorrow and anguish of heart as well as triumph and joy. But
if my country calls, I go forth gladly to meet her cry--even though
I go to my death!"
I do not know how many heard her last words; for they were drowned
in the roar of joyful applause which followed her declaration. The
King gave her his hand, and led her forth upon a balcony, where the
great concourse in the street below could see them; and by signs he
made them understand that she would continue with him as one of his
Commanders-in-Chief; and in hearing this the city well nigh went
mad with joy; bonfires blazed and bells pealed madly; and the cry
heard in the streets was less "Long live the King!" than that other
frantic shout, "THE MAID OF ORLEANS! THE MAID OF ORLEANS!"
But the Maid returned to her apartments with a strange look upon
her face; and she held out her hand to me as one who would fain ask
help and sympathy of a trusted comrade, as I am proud to think I
was regarded at that time by her.
"The King's word has prevailed, O my friend," she said, "but I
would that I were sure it will be for the best!"
"How can it be otherwise than for the best?" I answered as I held
her hand in mine, and looked searchingly into her fair, grave face.
"Will not your Lord help you yet? Do not all men trust in you? Will
not the soldiers fight for and with you? And are you not sure in
your heart that the cause of the French King will yet triumph?"
Her eyes were misty with unshed tears as she made reply:
"I know that my Lord will not desert me; and I trust I may serve
Him yet, and the King whom I love. I know that all will be well--at
the last--for this fair realm of France. But I have no commission
direct from my Lord as I have had hitherto. My voices yet speak
gentle and kindly words. I trow that my saints will watch over me,
and that they will give me strength to strive and to overcome. For
myself I fear not--I am ready to die for my King and my country if
that be the will of God. Only the shadow lies athwart my path,
where until today all was brightness and sunshine. It would have
been so sweet to go home to my mother, to see the Fairy Tree, and
the old familiar faces, and listen once more to the Angelus bell! I
had thought that I should by this have earned my rest. I had not
thought that with so many to serve him, the King would have had
further use for me."
"Yet how could it be otherwise, my General, when the soldiers will
follow you alone?--when all look to you as their champion and their
friend?"
"Nay, but I have enemies too," she answered sadly, "and I know that
they will work me ill--greater ill in the future than they have had
power to do heretofore, when I was watched over and guarded for the
task that was set me. That task is now accomplished. Can I look to
receive the same protection as before? The Lord may have other
instruments prepared to carry on His work of deliverance. I doubt
not that He will use me yet, and that I shall never be forsaken;
but my time will not be long. I shall only last a year. Let the
King use me for all that I am worth!--after that he must look for
others to aid him!"
I could not bear to hear her speak so. I would have broken in with
protestations and denials; but something in the look upon her face
silenced me. My heart sank strangely within me, for had I not
learned to know how truly the Maid did read that which the future
hid from our eyes? I could only seek to believe that in this she
might be mistaken, since she herself did say how that things were
something different with her now.
She seemed to read the thoughts that crowded my brain; for she
looked into my face with her tender, far-seeing smile.
"You are sad, my kind friend, my faithful knight, and sometimes
mine own heart is sad also. But yet why should we fear? I know that
I have enemies, and I know that they will have more power to hurt
me in the times that are coming, than has been permitted hitherto,
yet--"
With an uncontrollable impulse I flung myself at her feet.
"O my General--O my dear lady--speak not such things--it breaks my
heart. Or if, indeed, the peril be so great, then let all else go,
and bid your father to take you back to Domremy with him. There, at
least, you will be safe and happy!"
Her eyes were deep with the intensity of her emotion.
"It may not be," she said with grave gentleness and decision. "I
had hoped it for myself, but it may not be. My word is pledged. My
King has commanded. I, too, must learn, in my measure, the lesson
of obedience, even unto death!"
Her hands were clasped; her eyes were lifted heavenwards. A shaft
of light from the sinking sun struck in through the coloured window
behind her, and fell across her face with an indescribable glory. I
was still upon my knees and I could not rise, for it seemed to me
as though at that moment another Presence than that of the Maid was
with us in the room. My limbs shook. My heart seemed to melt within
me; and yet it was not fear which possessed me, but a mysterious
rapture the like of which I can in no wise fathom.
How long it lasted I know not. The light had faded when I rose to
my feet and met her wonderful gaze. She spoke just a few words.
"Now you know what help is given us in our hours of need. My
faithful knight need never mourn or weep for me; for that help and
comfort will never be withheld. Of this I have the promise clear
and steadfast!"
I was with her when she went to see her father. It was dark, and
the old man sat with his brother-in-law, Durand Laxart--he who had
helped her to her first interview with De Baudricourt--in one of
the best rooms of the inn. Since it had been known that these men
were the kinsfolk of the Maid, everything of the best had been put
at their disposal by the desire of the citizens, and horses had
been provided for them for their return to Domremy. For the city of
Rheims was filled with joy at that which had been accomplished, and
the Maid was the hero of the hour.
But I could see that there was a cloud upon the old man's face--the
father's; and he did not rise as his daughter entered--she before
whom nobles had learnt to bend, and who sat at the Council of the
King. His sombre eyes dwelt upon her with a strange expression in
their depths. His rugged face was hard; his knotted hands were
closely locked together.
The Maid gazed at him for a moment, a world of tender emotions in
her eyes; and then she quickly crossed the room and threw herself
at his feet.
"My father! My father! My father!"
The cry seemed to come from her heart, and I saw the old man's face
quiver and twitch; but he did not touch or embrace her.
"It is the dress he cannot bear," whispered Laxart distressfully to
me, "it is as gall and wormwood to him to see his daughter go about
in the garb of a man."
The Maid's face was raised in tender entreaty; she had hold of her
father's hands by now. She was covering them with kisses.
"O my father, have you no word for me? Have you not yet forgiven
your little Jeanne? I have but obeyed our Blessed Lord and His holy
Saints. And see how they have helped and blessed and guided me! O
my father, can you doubt that I was sent of them for this work? How
then could I refuse to do it?"
Then the stern face seemed to melt with a repressed tenderness, and
the father bent and touched the girl's brow with his lips. She
uttered a little cry of joy, and would have flung herself into his
arms; but he held her a little off, his hands upon her shoulders,
and he looked into her face searchingly.
"That may have been well done, my daughter; I will not say, I will
not judge. But your task is now accomplished--your own lips have
said it; and yet you still are to march with the King's army, I am
told. You love better the clash of arms, the glory of victory, the
companionship of soldiers and courtiers to the simple duties which
await you at home, and the protection of your mother's love. That
is not well. That is what no modest maiden should choose. I had
hoped and believed that I should take my daughter home with me. But
she has chosen otherwise. Do I not well to be angry?"
The Maid's face was buried in her hands. She would have buried it
in her father's breast, but he would not have it so.
I could have wept tears myself at the sight of her sorrow. I saw
how utterly impossible it would be to make this sturdy peasant
understand the difficulty of the Maid's position, and the claims
upon her great abilities, her mysterious influence upon the
soldiers. The worthy prud'homme would look upon this as rather a
dishonour and disgrace than a gift from Heaven.
The words I longed to speak died away upon my tongue. I felt that
to speak them would be a waste of breath. Moreover, I was here as a
spectator, not as a partaker in this scene. I held the document,
signed and sealed by the King, which I was prepared to read to the
visitors from Domremy. That was to be my share in this interview--not
to interpose betwixt father and child.
For a few moments there was deep silence in the room; then the Maid
took her hands from her face, and she was calm and tranquil once
again. She possessed herself of one of her father's reluctant
hands.
"My father, I know that this thing is hard for you to understand.
It may be that my brothers could explain it better than I, had you
patience to hear them. But this I say, that I long with an
unspeakable desire to return home with you, for I know that the
path I must tread will darken about me, and that the end will be
sad and bitter. And yet I may not choose for myself. My King
commands. My country calls. I must needs listen to those voices.
Oh, forgive me that I may not follow yours, nor the yearnings of
mine own heart!"
The old man dropped her hand and turned away. He spoke no word; I
think perchance his heart was touched by the tone of the Maid's
voice, by the appealing look in her beautiful eyes. But he would
not betray any sign of weakness. He turned away and leant his brow
upon the hand with which he had grasped the high-carved ledge of
the panelled shelf beside him. The Maid glanced at him, her lips
quivering; and she spoke again in a brighter tone.
"And yet, my father, though you may not take me back with you, you
shall not go away empty-handed. I have that to send home with you
which shall, I trust, rejoice the hearts of all Domremy; and if you
find it hard to forgive that which your child has been called upon
to do, yet methinks there will be others to bless her name and pray
for her, when they learn that which she has been able to
accomplish."
Then she made a little sign to me, and I stepped forward with the
parchment, signed and sealed, and held it towards the Maid's
father. He turned to look at me, and his eyes widened in wonder and
some uneasiness; for the sight of so great a deed filled him and
his kinsman with a vague alarm.
"What is it?" he asked, turning full round, and I made answer:
"A deed signed by the King, exempting Domremy from all taxation,
henceforward and for ever, by right of the great and notable
services rendered to the realm by one born and brought up
there--Jeanne d'Arc, now better known as THE MAID OF ORLEANS."
The two men exchanged wondering glances, and over Laxart's face
there dawned a smile of intense joy and wonder.
"Nay, but this is a wonderful thing--a miracle--the like of which
was never heard or known before! I pray you, noble knight, let me
call hither those of our kinsfolk and acquaintance from Domremy as
have accompanied us hither, that they may hear and understand this
marvellous grace which hath been done us!"
I was glad enough that all should come and hear that which I read
to them from the great document, explaining every phrase that was
hard of comprehension. It was good to see how all faces glowed and
kindled, and how the people crowded about the Maid with words of
gratitude and blessing.
Only the father stood a little apart, sorrowful and stern. And yet
I am sure that his heart, though grieved, was not altogether
hardened against his child; for when at the last, with tears in her
eyes (all other farewells being said), she knelt at his feet
begging his blessing and forgiveness, he laid his hand upon her
head for a moment, and let her embrace his knees with her arms.
"Go your way, my girl, if needs must be. Your mother will ever pray
for you, and I trust the Lord whom you serve will not leave you,
though His ways are too hard of understanding for me."
That was all she could win from him; but her heart was comforted, I
think; for as she reached her lodging and turned at the door of her
room to thank me in the gracious way she never forgot, for such
poor services as I had rendered, she said in a soft and happy
voice:
"I think that in his heart my father hath forgiven me!"