A WORSTED SUITOR
"_Whatsoever thing confronted her, whatsoever problem
encountered her, whatsoever manners became her in
novel situations, she understood in a moment. She solved
the problem, she assumed the manners, she spoke and
acted as the need of the moment required._"
ANDREW LANG, "_The Maid of France._"
So the days sped. Presently rumours of another and more startling nature
ran through the valley. Interest in Jeanne D'Arc, her mission, and
Colin's wooing paled before the news. It was noised that Antoine de
Vergy, Governor of Champagne, had received a commission from the Duke of
Bedford, Regent of France for Henry VI, to furnish forth men-at-arms for
the purpose of bringing the castellany of Vaucouleurs into subjection to
the English. The greatest alarm prevailed when the report was confirmed,
that the Governor had in truth set forth. On the march, as was his
custom, Antoine de Vergy laid waste all the villages of the loyal little
wedge of territory with fire and sword. Domremy with its adjoining
village of Greux lay in the southern part of the castellany, between Bar
and Champagne, and was therefore directly in the line of attack.
Threatened again with a disaster with which they were only too well
acquainted the folk of the two villages met in solemn conclave to
determine what was to be done.
Men, women and children were in the assembly that had gathered before the
little church to discuss the situation; their pale faces showing plainly
that they realized to the full the calamity that menaced them. Life,
liberty and property were all at stake, for everything would be swept
away by the ravaging Antoine. The very imminence of the danger rendered
them calm, but it was the calmness of despair. Resistance to the force
that was with Antoine was out of the question, so what could they do?
"And why not retire to the Castle of the Island, my children?" queried
Messire Guillaume Frontey, Cure of Domremy. "Surely, it hath proved a
good refuge in other times of need. Is it not a secure stronghold?"
"We fear not, father," responded a peasant. "Sire Antoine boasts that we
can not hold it against him, as he knows of a secret passage whereby he
can obtain entrance when he so chooses. We have made search for the
passageway, but we cannot find it; though it is known to exist, for there
be some in the village who have heard of it. Against others we can hold
the castle; against him we fear to try."
"Then may Our Lady preserve ye, my children," exclaimed the priest
solemnly. "What can be done?"
"This," cried Jacques D'Arc, suddenly elbowing his way through the people
until he stood by the Cure's side in full view of every one. "This,
father, and friends: let us, as we fear to try the castle, gather our
furniture in carts; then, driving our cattle and sheep before us, go to
Neufchateau which, being a town of Lorraine, will not be attacked. As you
know, though it be a Burgundian belonging, its sympathies are with the
Armagnacs."
"That's it, Jacques!" "Well said!" came from the villagers in a chorus of
approval. "When shall we go?"
"Better to-day than to-morrow, friends," shouted Jacques. "Better now
than later. We know not when they will be upon us."
There were cries of, "Right, Jacques!" followed by a hasty dispersal of
the people to gather up their goods and cattle. A scene of disorder and
confusion ensued as men and boys ran to the fields for the flocks and
herds, which were quickly driven into the highroad, and women and girls
stripped their linen chests and cupboards, and hurriedly piled their
furnishings into ox carts.
Isabeau was weeping as she worked, for she might find the cottage burned
and the village devastated upon her return. She had always known war. Her
mother and her mother's mother had known it. For ninety-one years it had
raged, and the end was not yet. France was a wreck, a ruin, a desolation.
Throughout the land there was nothing but pillage, robbery, murder, cruel
tyranny, the burning of churches and abbeys, and the perpetration of
horrible crimes. Seeing her grief Jeanne went to her mother, and put her
arms about her.
"Be not so sorrowful, mother," she said. "Before many years are sped the
war will have come to an end. And this is the last time that you will
have to flee from the cottage."
Isabeau brushed away her tears and looked at her daughter steadily. "Why
do you speak so, Jeanne?" she asked. "It is as though you knew."
"Yes, mother; I know. It will be as I say. And now let's get the rest of
the furniture in the cart. Father grows impatient."
Curiously enough, Isabeau was comforted. She dried her eyes and gave way
to grief no more. Jacques came in and seeing Jeanne so helpful, bringing
order out of the chaos about her, spoke gently to her in quite his old
tender manner. So that Jeanne's heart was lighter than it had been since
her return from Bury le Petit. The animals were in the highroad, the ox
carts were drawn up behind them laden with the belongings of the
villagers, the women and children stood ready, waiting for the word of
departure to be given, to take up the line of march to Neufchateau, when
they were thrown into the greatest confusion by the advent of a
man-at-arms who rode among them at speed, crying:
"March! March while there is time. Vaucouleurs is attacked, and Sire
Antoine hath started a body of men this way."
He was gone before the startled villagers had time to question him. For a
time the greatest excitement prevailed, but something like order was
restored at length, and with lingering, despairing looks at the homes
they were abandoning the village folk started toward Neufchateau, their
market town, lying five miles to the southward of Domremy. The day was
excessively warm, and wearily the village folk followed the road through
fields of wheat and rye, up the vine clad hills to the town. There were
many of them, and their chattels were numerous, but the citizens received
them cordially and lodged them as best they could.
Jacques conducted his family at once to the inn kept by a worthy woman,
La Rousse by name, whom he knew. The move from Domremy had been made none
too soon, for Antoine de Vergy's men swept into the village but a few
hours after the departure of its inhabitants, and both Domremy and Greux
were laid waste.
To Jeanne the days that followed were tranquil and the happiest that she
had known for a long time. As in Domremy she drove her father's beasts to
the fields, and kept his flocks. She also helped La Rousse about the
household duties, greatly to the good dame's satisfaction, and when she
was not helping her hostess, or tending the cattle she passed all her
time in church.
During the first few days of the stay in the market town Jeanne saw Colin
frequently, but greatly to her relief he forbore to press his attentions
upon her. Then she saw him no longer, and rejoiced thereat. Her
thanksgiving was of short duration.
Dinner was over in the common room of the inn one day, and the
guests--not numerous as it chanced--had broken up into groups; some
lingering at the board where they had eaten, others clustering at small
tables scattered about the rush strewn room. The great chamber, with its
dusky walls and blackened beams would have looked gloomy enough on a
dark day, but the heat and bright sunshine of midsummer made it seem cool
and restful.
In the nook formed by the outer angle of the huge projecting chimney, and
so somewhat in the shadow, sat Jeanne waiting for the guests to leave the
board that she might clear away the dinner. Her father and a man with
whom he was conversing were the last ones to rise, and at once the girl
came forward to begin her task. As she did so there came the sound of a
dagger hilt beating upon the outside door at the further end of the room.
Before Jeanne could reach it to open it the heavy door swung open quickly
as though thrust inward by a strong hasty hand, and there entered a man
garbed in priest's raiment. Reverent always in her attitude toward
priests the maiden bowed low before him.
"Is it your pleasure to have dinner, messire?" she asked when she had
risen from her obeisance.
"In due time, my child," he replied. "But first, I would speak with a
pucelle who is here. One Jeanne, daughter of Jacques D'Arc."
"I am she," spoke the maiden in astonishment. "What would you of me,
messire?"
At this juncture Isabeau, accompanied by La Rousse, entered the room. The
latter hastened forward to welcome the newcomer when she paused, arrested
by his words:
"I come from the Bishop of Toul, Judge of the Ecclesiastical Court having
jurisdiction over Domremy and Greux. He cites thee, Jeanne, daughter of
Jacques D'Arc, to appear before him to show cause why thou dost not
fulfill thy plighted troth to Colin de Greux."
Throughout the long chamber there was a stir and murmur at the words, for
Jeanne had become liked and esteemed by the guests, who had heard
something of Colin's wooing. La Rousse went to her in quick sympathy, for
the girl stood dumbfounded.
So this was what Colin had been about in his absence? And her parents?
Were they too concerned in the matter? She turned and looked at them
searchingly. Isabeau could not meet her daughter's eyes, but Jacques met
her glance steadily. Long father and daughter gazed into each other's
eyes; Jeanne, with sorrowful reproach; Jacques with grim determination.
Then slowly the girl turned again to the priest.
"When does messire, the bishop, wish to see me?" she asked.
"The second day from now, pucelle. If upon that day cause is not shown
why thy pledge to Colin should not be kept the judge will deem that the
troth stands, and that thy faith will be redeemed at once."
Jeanne inclined her head deeply in acknowledgment, and started to leave
the room. Isabeau ran to her.
"It is for thy good, little one. Now will you be ever near us. And Colin
will make a kind husband."
So spake Isabeau, but Jeanne made no reply. As she passed through the
door she heard her mother say:
"She is as good as married, Jacques. She is too shy, too gentle to
protest against it. She will do whatever the bishop decides without
question."
"Be not too sure of that," spoke La Rousse before Jacques could reply.
"These gentle maids have a way of turning at times, and Jeanne doth not
lack spirit."
"She hath ever been obedient, and will be now," said Jacques confidently.
"Save for this wild fancy of going to the Dauphin she hath ever been most
dutiful."
"Sometimes the gentlest maid will turn if pressed too hard," repeated La
Rousse.
And this was exactly what was happening. Jeanne was filled with sorrow
that her parents should uphold Colin in trying to force her into an
unwelcome marriage. For a brief time despair gripped her, for it was
foreign to her nature and training to protest against those in authority
over her, and should the judge sustain Colin it would mean the end of her
mission. And then her soul rose up against it.
"I will not be forced into this marriage," she decided suddenly. "I will
go to Toul, and tell messire, the bishop, the truth of the matter. I will
go."
"Go, Daughter of God, and fear naught," came the sweet tones of "Her
Voices." "Fear naught, for we will aid thee."
Before the morning broke Jeanne rose to prepare for her journey. She knew
that at this time the great gates of the archway leading into the
courtyard of the inn would be closed, but there was a door, a small one
used privately by La Rousse, that opened directly into the street. It was
at the back of the inn, and unobserved Jeanne reached it, and passed out.
It was ten leagues from Neufchateau to Toul, and thirty miles was a long
journey for a young girl to undertake alone and on foot. Also the
distance lay back through the district over which Antoine de Vergy's men
had swept with fire and sword. Roving bands of armed men might be
encountered, but Jeanne's gentle nature had attained the courage of
desperation. She feared the marriage more than aught else, and were the
action not protested there would be no evading it. So, upheld by the
knowledge that her saints were with her, and an innocence that was
heroic, she made the journey. In perfect safety she came at last in the
dusk of the evening to Toul in Lorraine, footsore and weary, but with a
heart serene and peaceful.
There were many churches in the old town, and, as was her custom, she at
once sought a chapel and prostrated herself before the image of the
Virgin Mother. Her orisons ended, she went forth in search of food and
lodging. Jeanne being a peasant girl had not the wherewithal to pay her
way, and so could not go to an inn. But when the condition of the land
was such that townspeople themselves might become refugees should their
towns be overcome by an enemy its denizens welcomed wayfarers warmly. So
Jeanne soon found shelter with humble folk, and, as she was never idle
wherever she might be, she gladdened the heart of the dame by helping
about the house and spinning. And the next morning she went to the law
courts.
Colin was already in the chapel, where the bishop was sitting. His
self-satisfied expression gave place to one of surprise at sight of
Jeanne, for he had supposed that she would not appear to contest the
action. There were many of the Domremy people present also, brought
hither as Colin's witnesses.
Colin declared that Jeanne had been betrothed to him since childhood, and
the maiden was much amazed when the villagers affirmed after him that
they knew such an engagement existed. After they had spoken the bishop
turned to the girl kindly and said:
"And where is thy counsel, my child?"
"I have none, messire." Jeanne raised her grave eyes to the kind ones
bent upon her. Eyes that were alight with purity and truthfulness. "I
need none. I have but to speak the truth; have I not?"
"That is all; but--" The judge paused and regarded the slender maiden
attentively. She was unlike a peasant maid, both in bearing and
appearance. Winning and beautiful in the fresh bloom of young maidenhood,
she had not the manner of a maiden who would plight her word, and then
disregard it. "Proceed, advocate," he said suddenly. "Let her take the
oath. Swear, my child, with both hands upon the Gospels, that you will
answer true to the questions that will be asked you."
And kneeling before him Jeanne laid her small hands upon the missal, and
said simply:
"I swear, messire."
Then she answered concerning her name, her country, her parents, her
godfathers and godmothers.
"And now, my child, tell me about this promise of marriage to Colin de
Greux," spoke the bishop.
"Messire, I never promised to marry him," she answered earnestly. "I have
plighted my faith to no man."
"Have you witnesses to prove this?"
"There are my friends and neighbors, messire. They will answer for
this."
The judge leaned forward quickly.
"They have spoken against you, child. Didst not hear them say that they
knew of your engagement to Colin?"
"Yes, messire; but I would question them."
"Say on," he said. "It is your right."
So, one by one, they were recalled to the stand while Jeanne asked of
each three questions:
Had he seen her at any of the dances or merry-makings with Colin?
Had he seen her at church, or any public place with Colin?
Had he ever heard her, Jeanne, speak of being engaged to Colin?
To these questions the witnesses were obliged to answer in the negative.
"Messire, would I not, were I betrothed to this man, go abroad with him
to church, to dances, or to other public places?"
"It would seem so, my child; but, unless there were cause why should he
take this action?"
"I have ever, messire, found my greatest happiness in going to church,
and in prayer. For this reason I have received a command from my Lord,
the King of Heaven, to perform a certain task. In pursuance of that
command I went to Sire Robert de Baudricourt of Vaucouleurs to deliver to
him a message. Because of this journey my parents, who do not believe in
my mission, thought that my senses were wandering, and conceived the idea
that to cure my fancies a marriage would be a good thing.
"Therefore, with their encouragement Colin came. Messire, the first time
that he did so I told him that it was of no use, for marry him I would
not. Neither him nor another. Did I not, Colin?"
She turned to the youth so quickly, asking the question with such
abruptness, gazing steadily at him the while, that Colin, taken unawares,
nodded affirmation unthinkingly. The bishop spoke instantly:
"Colin de Greux," said he with sternness, "this maiden speaks with the
sound of truth. It is our opinion that she hath given no promise.
Therefore, do you make oath again, and say whether it was from this
maiden, or from her parents that you received her faith."
"It was from her parents," confessed the youth sullenly.
"And not from the maid at all?"
"No, messire."
"The girl hath then plighted no faith to you, and action against her is
dismissed. You, young man, and her parents also would do well to let the
marvellous child alone. The damsel is simple, good and pious. Nor do I
find that her wits wander, for without advocate, or witnesses she hath
established her case. Go in peace."
Jeanne thanked him with tears, and with full heart returned to her
abiding place. She had worsted Colin, and set at naught her parents'
wishes by so doing. How would they receive her?
Filled with this thought she trudged the thirty miles back to
Neufchateau.