Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
JOAN OF ARC
The Warrior Maid
By Lucy Foster Madison
author of "The Peggy Owen Books"
With Illustrations & Decorations by
Frank E Schoonover
The Penn Publishing Company
Philadelphia
1919
COPYRIGHT 1918 BY
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Joan of Arc
[Illustration: THE WARRIOR MAID]
INTRODUCTION
In presenting this story for the young the writer has endeavored to give
a vivid and accurate life of Jeanne D'Arc (Joan of Arc) as simply told as
possible. There has been no pretence toward keeping to the speech of the
Fifteenth Century, which is too archaic to be rendered literally for
young readers, although for the most part the words of the Maid have been
given verbatim.
The name of this wonderful girl has been variously written. In the
Fifteenth Century the name of the beloved disciple was preferred for
children above all others; so we find numerous Jeans and Jeannes. To
render these holy names more in keeping with the helplessness of little
ones the diminutive forms of Jeannot and Jeannette were given them. So
this girl was named Jeannette, or Jehannette in the old spelling, and so
she was called in her native village. By her own account this was changed
to Jeanne when she came into France. The English translation of Jeanne
D'Arc is Joan of Arc; more properly it should be Joanna. Because it seems
more beautiful to her than the others the writer has retained the name of
Jeanne in her narrative.
It is a mooted question which form of the name of Jeanne's father is
correct: D'Arc or Darc. It is the writer's belief that D'Arc was the
original writing, when it would follow that Jacques D'Arc would be James
of the Bow or James Bowman, as he would have been called had he been an
English peasant. For this reason the Maid's surname has been given as
D'Arc; though there are many who claim that Darc is the nearest the
truth.
Acknowledgments are due to the following authorities into the fruit of
whose labours the writer has entered: M. Jules Quicherat, "Condamnation
et Rehabilitation de Jeanne d'Arc"; H. A. Wallon, "Jeanne d'Arc"; M.
Simeon Luce, "Jeanne d'Arc a Domremy"; M. Anatole France, "Jeanne d'Arc";
Jules Michelet, "Jeanne d'Arc"; Monstrelet's "Chronicles"; Andrew Lang,
"The Maid of France"; Lord Ronald Gower, "Joan of Arc"; F. C. Lowell,
"Joan of Arc"; Mark Twain, "Joan of Arc"; Mrs. Oliphant, "Jeanne D'Arc";
Mrs. M. R. Bangs, "Jeanne D'Arc"; Janet Tuckey, "Joan of Arc, the Maid,"
and many others.
The thanks of the writer are also due to the librarians of New York City,
Albany and Glens Falls who kindly aided her in obtaining books and
information. Thanks are also due to the Rev. Matthew Fortier, S. J., Dean
of Fordham University, New York City, for information upon a point for
which search had been vainly made.
That this book may make a little niche for itself among other books upon
the most marvellous girl the world has ever known, is the wish of
THE WRITER.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL 11
II THE KNIGHT'S STORY 23
III THE WAVES OF WAR REACH DOMREMY 35
IV THE AFTERMATH 43
V JEANNE'S VISION 53
VI JEANNE'S HARSH WORDS 62
VII FURTHER VISIONS 71
VIII JEANNE RECEIVES A GIFT AND AN ANNOUNCEMENT 79
IX THE CHARGE IS ACCEPTED 90
X THE FIRST STEP 98
XI A TRYING TIME 108
XII A WORSTED SUITOR 119
XIII FAREWELL TO HOME 131
XIV VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 140
XV STARTING THE GREAT ADVENTURE 155
XVI JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 166
XVII THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 181
XVIII THE WARRIOR MAID 196
XIX THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 214
XX JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 230
XXI A WEEK OF WONDERS 243
XXII THE CULMINATION 263
XXIII THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 285
XXIV JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 308
XXV IN PRISON CELLS 332
XXVI ON TRIAL 346
XXVII FOR HER COUNTRY 374
XXVIII AT DOMREMY 384
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Warrior Maid Frontispiece
The Gooseberry Spring 20
Often they appeared in the little garden 74
"The holy man has been to Rome" 80
There was no smile on his face 142
Far into the night they rode 156
"France and St. Denys!" 234
"Forward! They are ours!" 326
JOAN OF ARC
CHAPTER I
A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL
"_There is a fountain in the forest called
The Fountain of the Fairies. An ancient oak,
The goodliest of the forest, grows beside._"
SOUTHEY. "_Joan of Arc,_" _Book II._
"Who-oo-ee!" The gleeful shout came from the lips of a little girl who
stood, with her hands cupped about her lips, on the edge of a streamlet
which divided the village of Domremy into two parts.
She was a slight little maiden, of some twelve summers, and as she
gave the call she danced about in the warm sunshine as though unable to
keep still from the mere joy of being. Her hair was very dark and
very abundant. Her eyes were wonderful for their blueness and the
steadfastness of their gaze. Her face, though comely, was remarkable not
so much for its beauty as for the happiness of its expression. She stood
still listening for a moment after sending forth her call, and then, as
the Sabbath quiet remained unbroken, she sent forth the cry again in a
clear, sweet voice that penetrated into the farthest reaches of the
village:
"Who-oo-ee!"
This time the shout was caught up instantly, and answered by many voices.
The village wakened suddenly into life, as there poured forth from the
cottages a goodly number of boys and girls who came running toward the
little maid eagerly. She shook a finger at them reprovingly.
"Oh, but you are late," she cried. "Here it is ten of the clock, and we
were to start at nine. The day will be half gone before we get to the
Tree. I was afraid that you had gone off without me."
"Gone without you, Jeanne D'Arc," exclaimed one of the girls. "Why, we
couldn't have any sport without you. I had to wait for my mother to fix
my basket--that is the reason that I was late."
"And I! And I!" chimed several other children in a chorus.
"Why didn't you pack them yourselves?" demanded Jeanne, who seemed to be
a leader among them. "I did mine, and Jean's and Pierrelot's too."
"But where are the boys?" asked a lad. "They are not here."
"They ran back to get more nuts," answered the little girl. "Jean said
that we must be sure to have plenty. There! They are coming now. Let's
get into line, and be ready to start as soon as they get here."
Gleefully the children formed a line, and then took up their march toward
the great wood which stretched in primeval abundance half a league to the
westward of Domremy.
In all France there was not a more delicate, tranquil landscape than that
of this broad valley of the Meuse, which extended in unbroken reaches
between low hills, softly undulating, crowned with oaks, maples and
birches. The trees were leafless now, and there were still ridges of snow
to be seen among the hills, but already there were monitions of Spring in
the air. The buds were swelling, springing grass carpeted the fields, and
there was no longer ice in the river, which rippled its apple-green
waters in the sunshine.
Along the valley the banks of the Meuse were dotted with many hamlets,
villages and towns, and among them was Domremy, which nestled upon its
western side in the county of Champagne. It was the greyest of the grey
hamlets in this borderland. It consisted of a castle, a monastery, and a
score of cottages which were grouped about a small church, but it was
well favoured by Nature in that the meadow lands which lay around it were
rich and fertile beyond those of most villages, and the vineyards which
covered the southern slopes of the hills were famous all over the
countryside.
It was the first fine day of March, 1424, and "Laetare Sunday." "Laetare
Sunday" the fourth Sunday in Lent was called, because during the mass of
the day was chanted the passage beginning, "Laetare, Jerusalem"; but the
children called it "The Day of the Fountains," for upon this day the
annual "Well Dressing" of the Spring which lay at the edge of the forest
was observed, and the Fairy Tree was decorated. In short, upon this day
the children of the valley held high festival.
So, merrily they marched toward the wood; the boys carrying baskets of
lunch, for they were to picnic, and the girls bearing garlands that were
to be used for the decoration. It was a joyous party, for it was Spring;
and all young things rejoice in Spring. There was a sweetness of leaf
mold in the air that came to the senses with the penetrating quality of
incense. A tender mist lay on the hills, and over all spread the radiant
sky. The happy children laughed, and sang, and jested as they went, for
the mild air animated them with a gentle intoxication.
And the little maid called Jeanne D'Arc was the blithest of them all.
Hither and thither she darted, lightly as thistle down, seeming literally
to bubble over with happiness. All at once she stooped, and plucked a
long blade of grass, holding it up for inspection.
"See, Mengette," she cried addressing a girl near her. "How long the
grass is! And how warm the sun is! Oh, is not God good to give us so fine
day for our pleasure?"
"He is good; yes," assented the girl addressed as Mengette. Then as the
little maid darted away she turned to the girl by her side: "Jeanne is so
religious," she commented with a shrug of her shoulders. "She cannot even
play without speaking of God. I wish that she were not so good. And you
wish it too, do you not, Hauviette?"
"Wish that Jeanne D'Arc would not be so good?" exclaimed Hauviette, who
was a staunch friend of Jeanne's. "Why, she would not be Jeanne D'Arc if
she were not good."
"I do not mean for her not to be good exactly," demurred the first girl.
"I meant that I wished she were not so pious."
"Mengette, if the Cure should hear you," breathed the second girl in
shocked tones. "He would make you say many Ave Maries."
"And who is to tell him what I say?" demanded Mengette, an expression of
anxiety flitting across her face.
"Not I, Mengette, but I fear some of the others hearing such words may
speak of them to the good Cure."
"But the others speak as I do," protested Mengette. "There is not one of
them who does not think that Jeanne D'Arc is too pious."
"Attend," cried one of the lads at this moment using the peasant's
expression to attract attention. "Let's see who shall be first to reach
the tree. He who does so shall hang the first wreath."
A gleeful shout went up at the words, and there followed a quick dash for
the tree, which began before the speaker had made an end of what he was
saying. Among the others Jeanne D'Arc threw up her head, laughing
merrily, and darted forward. So fleet and light of foot was she that she
soon distanced her companions. Easily could she have gained the goal had
there not come a cry from Mengette, who at this instant stumbled and fell
prone upon the grass. Like a flash Jeanne turned, and, seeing that
Mengette had risen, and was standing bent over as though in pain, ran
back to her.
"Are you hurt, Mengette?" she asked anxiously. "'Tis pity that you fell.
Where is the pain?"
"In my knee," sobbed Mengette. "And now I shall have to lag behind; for
walk fast I cannot. Do you run on, Jeanne. You were like to win the race,
so fleet of foot were you. In truth, it seemed as though you were flying.
Myself, I will reach the tree when I can."
"Nenni," replied Jeanne, using the strong peasant negative. "I will walk
with you. 'Tis not far now, but the way would seem long to you should you
traverse it alone when in pain. There! lean on me."
With a sigh of relief that she was not to be left by herself Mengette
leaned heavily on the arm of her friend, though the latter was younger
and smaller than she. She thought naught of this. It seemed natural to
her playmates to lean upon Jeanne D'Arc. So, slowly, with much groaning
on Mengette's part, the two friends came presently to the Fairy Tree,
where the rest of the party were already assembled.
On the border of the Bois Chesnu (the woods of oaks), stood an ancient
beech tree overhanging the highroad. "In Spring," said the peasants of
the valley, "the tree is as fair as lily flowers, the leaves and branches
sweep the ground." It had many names, but was usually spoken of as
l'Arbre-des-Fees. Once upon a time, when the lords and ladies of
Bourlemont dwelt at the castle which stood before the village, it had
been called "The Ladies' Tree." For then the high born dames and their
cavaliers feasted and danced about it with each renewal of Spring. But
the castle had long been deserted, so the children had come to claim the
tree for their own.
They called it The Fairy Tree, because it was believed that in the olden
time the fairies used it for a trysting place. So now, with bursts of
song and laughter, the girls hung their garlands upon its ancient
branches, then joining hands the lads and the lassies formed a ring, and
circled around the tree, singing gayly.
It was a pretty sight: pastoral and innocent,--one that would have
delighted the heart of a Corot. The singing children dancing about the
tree, the red homespun frocks of the girls and the blue smocks of the
boys making pleasing bits of color against the dark forest stretching
behind them, and the distant village nestled on the banks of the
apple-green river. Perhaps the festival was a survival of paganism;
perchance a remnant of the tree worship of the ancient Celts interwoven
with a traditional holiday; but the Church recognized it. On Ascension
Eve the priest came there, and chanted the Gospel of Saint John to
exorcise the spirits, so that neither fairies nor anything evil could
harm the little ones of his flock.
After the ceremony of hanging the wreaths was completed a cloth was
spread upon the grass, and the contents of the lunch baskets placed
thereon. There were nuts, hard boiled eggs, and little rolls of a curious
form, which the housewives had kneaded on purpose. In the midst of the
preparations there came the clamor of bells drifting from the linked
villages of Domremy and Greux, chiming the midday angelus.
Instantly little Jeanne, who was among the girls busied about the lunch
arose and, turning toward the church of her own village, joined her
palms, bending her forehead to them. Mengette, who had taken no part in
getting the lunch ready because of her lamed knee, and who sat in the
shade of the beech upon the grass, leaned over and poked Pierre, one of
Jeanne's brothers, in the side.
"Do as your sister does, Pierrelot," she cried, pointing toward the
reverent little maiden.
"Myself, I am not so devout," he made answer. "Neither Jean, Jacquemin,
nor I feel as Jeanne does, but such things are to her liking. My mother
grieves that I am so slack in the matter. But Jeanne loves the church.
She is a good sister."
"And a good friend also, Pierrelot," nodded the girl emphatically,
remembering how Jeanne had come back to her while the rest of the party
had gone on. "She might have been first at the tree, and so have won the
right to hang her wreath first. Instead, she came back to help me."
"Jeanne," called Hauviette suddenly, as the angelus ceased to chime, and
the devout little maid turned again toward her companions, "do you not
wish that we could have our 'Well dressing' upon Thursday instead of
'Laetare Sunday'? 'Tis said that then the fairies hold their tryst."
"Pouf!" ejaculated Pierre, or Pierrelot, as he was usually called. "You
would not find them an you did come. There are no fairies now. My
godfather Jean says that there have been no fairies at Domremy for twenty
or thirty years. So what would be the use of coming here Thursday?"
"But my godmother says that one of the lords of the castle became a
fairy's knight, and kept his tryst with her here under this very tree at
eventide; so there must be fairies," spoke Hauviette with timid
persistency. "What do you think, Jeanne?"
"They come no more," replied the little maid gravely. "Godmother Beatrix
and the Cure both say that they do not. They came in the olden time, but
for their sins they come no longer."
"Perchance they hold their meetings further back in the wood," suggested
another girl. "That may be the reason that they are not seen."
"I shall see," cried one of the boys rising, and starting toward the
forest that extended its dark reaches behind them. "If there be fairies
there, I, Colin, shall find them."
"Do not go, Colin," exclaimed Jeanne in alarm. "You know that there is
danger both from wolves and wild boars."
Few dared enter the wood, so thick it was, and the wolves it harbored
were the terror of the countryside. So greatly were they feared, and such
was the desire to be rid of the menace, that there was a reward given by
the mayors of the villages for every head of a wolf, or a wolf cub,
brought to them. So now a protesting chorus arose from the children as
Colin, with a scornful "Pouf!" threw his shoulders back, and swaggered
into the wood.
"'Tis time for the 'Well dressing,'" declared Jean, another one of
Jeanne's brothers. "Let Colin look for the fairies if he will. Let us go
to the Spring. 'Tis what we came for."
"And so say I," chimed in another boy.
"And I. And I," came from others. As this seemed to be the desire of all
there was an immediate stir and bustle. The remnants of the lunch were
hastily gathered up, and put in baskets; some of the wreaths were taken
from the tree, and then the line of march was formed. Just as they were
ready to start, however, there came a shrill shout from the forest:
"A wolf! A wolf!" cried the voice of Colin. "Help! Help!"
Stock still stood the frightened children. Again the cry came. At once
there was a stir in the line, and a babel of excited voices broke forth
as Jeanne D'Arc was seen running pell-mell into the forest in the
direction from which the voice of her playmate came.
Colin was standing in the midst of a blackthorn thicket when she reached
him. There was no sign of wolf, or animal of any kind, and he burst into
a peal of laughter as the little girl glanced about in amazement. As the
sound of his mirth reached the waiting children they too, knowing from it
that naught was amiss, ran into the wood. The mischievous boy doubled up,
and rocked to and fro in glee.
"Oh, but you were well fooled," he cried. "Look at Jeanne's face. You
were afraid. All but her, and what could she have done to help me an
there had been a wolf?"
"She could have done all that you deserve to have done, Colin," retorted
Pierre, who was a manly little lad. "Shame upon you for crying out when
there was naught to cry for. 'Twould serve you right should a real wolf
set upon you. Your mother shall know how you sought to frighten us."
"'Twas but in sport," muttered Colin, somewhat crestfallen. He had
thought that the jest would be treated as great fun, and now here they
stood regarding him reproachfully. "'Twas but in sport," he said again,
but there was no answering smile on any of the faces around him. The
matter was of too serious a nature to admit of jesting.
[Illustration: THE GOOSEBERRY SPRING]
For a brief time only did the children stand about the boy, and then with
one accord, though no word was spoken, they formed their line again, and
started for the Spring. Colin followed after shamedfacedly.
At first the march was a silent one, for the incident had thrown a damper
upon their spirits, but soon it was forgotten, and once more their voices
rose in song and mirth. The boys and girls who were at the head of the
party went rapidly, and suddenly caught sight of a streamlet of pure
water springing from a wooded hole in a wooded hill, by the side of a
wooden bench which formed a resting place about the middle of the slope.
The streamlet at first spread into a basin which it had excavated for
itself; and then, falling in a small cascade, flowed across the path
where a carpet of cress had grown, and disappeared in the reeds and
grasses. All about the margin of the Spring were gooseberry bushes
intertwining their branches of greyish green, and these gave it the name
of Gooseberry Spring.
It was believed that the water had miraculous healing powers, so the
children in turn knelt by the side of the basin, and drank deeply of the
limpid water. For one drink from this wonderful Spring, it was said, was
an insurance against fever for a whole year. The garlands which had been
carried from the Fairy Tree were now spread around the "Well," a ring was
formed, and the children danced and sang as they had done about the tree.
The sun was setting before the games were ended, and the rustic festival
was over. Then, tired but happy, the little folk set their faces toward
home.
On the outskirts of the village Jeanne and her brothers met Jacques
D'Arc, their father, who was driving his flocks and herds from the
commune for the night. He was a peasant of sturdy appearance, an upright
man, unusually strict and careful of the behaviour of his children.
Jeanne's firm chin and wistful mouth were inherited from this parent. Now
as they ran to help him in his task he greeted them briefly:
"There is company," he told them. "Your Gossip[1] Beatrix has come,
Jeanne, and two soldiers of France who have escaped from the Burgundians.
By our Lady, this being upon the highroad has its drawbacks! 'Tis getting
so that no day passes without some wayfarer stopping for bite and bed.
The house is overrun."
"But you like it, father," reminded Jeanne, slipping her hand into his.
"For do not the wayfarers bring you news of all that happens beyond the
mountains?"
"That is well enough," admitted Jacques grumblingly. "But even so, no man
likes his house always full. There! let the matter rest. We must hasten
with the cattle. The night grows apace."
"And mother will have need of me to help her," cried Jeanne, quickening
her steps. "With so much company there will be much work to be done."
------
[1] Gossip--A name usually given to godmothers.