JEANNE COMES TO HER KING
"_Be not dismayed, for succor is at hand:
A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege.
And drive the English forth the bounds of France._"
SHAKESPEARE. _Henry Sixth, First Part._
The King lay at Chinon, just six leagues from Fierbois, and Jeanne
decided to write to him, asking permission to come to the town, for
neither of the knights dared go further without his consent. Accordingly
Sire Bertrand procured a scribe, and the maiden dictated the following
letter:
"Gentle Dauphin,--I have ridden a hundred and fifty leagues to
bring you aid from Messire, the King of Heaven. I have much
good news for you, and would beg that out of your grace you
will allow me to tell it to you in person. Though I have never
seen you, yet I should know you in any disguise among a
thousand. May God give you long life.
"JEANNE THE MAID."
Colet de Vienne, the King's messenger, took the missive, and at once set
forth at speed for Chinon. A day at least must pass before the answer
could come back, so Jeanne availed herself of the privilege of hearing
mass in the village church dedicated to Saint Catherine, one of her daily
visitors.
It was the most famous sanctuary of the Saint, for here she received
multitudes of pilgrims and worked great miracles. Her worship was warlike
and national, and dated back to the beginning of French history. Jeanne
lingered lovingly in the chapel, hearing three masses, and listening with
delight to the stories of the miracles.
The next day, having received permission to proceed to Chinon, they
mounted and faced toward the town, and the maiden's heart beat fast. She
was going to the King at last. That which she had dreamed for four years
was being realized. She was going to the King, and her heart sang for
joy.
The nearer the company drew to Chinon they saw with amazement that the
country became poorer, for the Court and the men-at-arms had stripped it
bare. For this reason the Dauphin could seldom abide long at one place,
for he was so much better known than trusted that the very cord-wainer
would not let him march off in a new pair of boots without seeing his
money. There was a song which said that he even greased his old clouted
shoon to make them last as long as he might. There were many stories told
about his extravagance and consequent poverty. It was a poor prince to
whom Jeanne was going.
It had been a long journey, as De Poulengy had said it would be, so that
it was the eleventh day after leaving Vaucouleurs that they entered
Chinon. It was March sixth, the fourth Sunday in Lent, and therefore
Laetare Sunday. In far off Domremy the boys and the girls, the youths and
the maidens would be going to the Fairy Tree and the Gooseberry Spring
for the "Well Dressing." They would eat their hard boiled eggs with the
rolls their mothers had kneaded. Pierre would go and possibly Jean,
though he was older than she. The country would be grey and leafless
there; here there were already monitions of Spring. So Jeanne mused, but
she did not let her thoughts wander long to her far off home and friends,
for she was at last in Chinon, where the Dauphin abode.
The town was built upon a meadow beside the river Vienne, and was
compactly walled. Behind it rose a high perpendicular ledge on which the
castle stood, the finest in the realm of France. Behind its proud walls
there breathed that King to whom she had been impelled to come by a
miraculous love. Jeanne looked up at it with longing glance, but she must
wait until permission was accorded before ascending the steeps which led
to it, so, with a sigh, she turned her attention to the town.
Through narrow lanes of overhanging houses crowded to the hill beneath
the castle buttresses they went, stopping at length at an inn near the
castle kept by a woman of good repute. It was Lent, so the spits were
idle, for at that time no one in Christendom neglected the church's
injunction concerning the fasts and abstinences of Holy Lent. So fasting
Jeanne retired to the chamber assigned her, and spent the next two days
in prayer while she waited to hear from the Dauphin.
Then the messenger, Colet de Vienne, came with the command that the two
knights should come to the castle so that they might be questioned
concerning the maiden. He said that the King had read the letter of Sire
Robert, but would know more before admitting her to audience. Sire
Bertrand heard the command with anger.
"Colet, is this in truth the King's desire, or hath he been influenced to
it by George la Tremouille? There be those who say that the Favorite
cares for naught that is for the good of France, but is all for terms
with Burgundy."
"'Tis not for me to say that Charles is not master of his Court, Sire
Bertrand," replied the messenger warily. "Still, it might be admitted
that La Tremouille does not care to have an inspired Maid appear who will
arouse the King from his indolence. And the King hath other advisers of
the Royal Council also who wish to know more of the damsel before she
approaches him. 'Tis on their advice that he has sent for you."
"But he hath the letter vouching for her from the Captain of Vaucouleurs,"
exclaimed De Poulengy, with heat. "There will be delay, and yonder lies
Orleans waiting the coming of the Maid; for by my faith! I do believe
that she can raise the siege. Ay! and Jean here believes likewise. 'Tis
our opinion that she hath been divinely commissioned so to do."
"Then why fret about telling the King what ye believe?" asked Colet. "He
questioned me, and I spoke freely concerning her goodness, and the safety
with which we had made the journey."
"You are right," uttered De Poulengy. "Why fret indeed? 'Tis only
because it seems to me that were I King I would seize upon anything that
held a hope for so distressed a kingdom."
"'Tis what frets us all, Bertrand," said Jean de Metz. "That is, all who
care for the King and France. Know you not that La Hire, the fiercest
soldier of the Armagnacs, says, 'Never was a king who lost his kingdom so
gay as Charles?' But lead on, Colet. 'Tis the King's command, and we must
go to him. Perchance good may come from it after all."
"That it may. And know for your comfort, both, that deputies from
Orleans, having heard of the Maid, are here in Chinon praying that the
King may not refuse the aid, but will send the Maid to them at once."
"Now that is good," ejaculated Sire Bertrand. "I can go with better grace
now. Come, Jean."
Seldom has a king lived who deserved greater contempt than Charles
Seventh. Lazy, idle, luxurious, and cowardly, he was the puppet of his
worst courtiers. Most of the money that he could raise was spent in
voluptuous living or given to favorites. But at that time however
contemptible a king might be, his personality was important to his
kingdom. So that Charles Seventh was France to his people; the image and
sacred symbol of France.
In his favor it may be said that he was very devout, and his piety was
sincere. He was generous to others,--and to himself. He was "well
languaged and full of pity for the poor." From time to time he would seem
to be moved by the thought that, despite his helplessness and inability
to do anything, he was still the man who ought to do all. But he was
weak, a slave to his favorites, blind to their defects; ready to suffer
anything from them. It was small wonder then that De Poulengy dreaded the
King's advisers. He and De Metz returned soon to the inn to report to
Jeanne the result of the interview.
"'Tis pity that the King is not the only person who governs the realm,"
spoke Sire Bertrand with disgusted weariness. "But no! the whole Royal
Council must give consent ere he can admit you to an audience,
Pucelle. There are certain of the counsellors who advise against seeing
you, declaring that your mission is a hoax. Some say that you are a
witch, and for Charles to receive a witch into his presence would
endanger his person, and greatly discredit his majesty. There are
still others who favor seeing you; and Yolande, Queen of Sicily and the
king's mother-in-law, declares openly that since Sire Robert sent
letters introducing you, which you carried through many leagues of
hostile provinces, fording many rivers in manner most marvellous so that
you might come to him, the King ought at least to hear you. By my
faith, Yolande is the best adviser and the best soldier that the King
has. So there the matter rests; but he ought to see you."
"Which he will, messire. Have no doubt of that. He will hear and see me
soon."
"Yes; in time, Pucelle. But ere that time comes certain priests and
clerks, experts in discerning good spirits from bad, are to examine you.
They follow us, do they not, Jean?"
De Metz nodded. "If I mistake not they come now," he said.
"In God's name, why do they not set me about my work?" exclaimed Jeanne
impatiently.
Almost immediately steps were heard without the chamber, and the hostess
of the inn entered, bowing low before several imposing ecclesiastics and
their clerks.
Jeanne rose, and courtesied; standing in reverent attitude during the
entire interview. The visitors showed their astonishment plainly in
finding that the renowned Maid of Vaucouleurs was such a mere girl. The
senior bishop acted as spokesman for all.
"Are you the maid concerning whom letters have come to the King from
Vaucouleurs?"
Jeanne bowed her head in assent.
"And you in truth made that long perilous journey to speak with the
King?"
"Yes, messire."
"You seem o'er young for such a fatiguing march. You are, I should judge,
not over sixteen?"
"Seventeen, messire."
"Have you, as 'tis said, a message for the King?"
"Yes, messire," returned the maiden briefly.
"Tell it to us. We in turn will bear it to the King."
Jeanne drew herself up at this, and stood regarding them calmly.
"I cannot, messire," she said at length. "It is for the gentle Dauphin
alone to hear. To him, and to none other, will I tell it."
"Maiden," said the senior bishop earnestly, "the King hath many
counsellors who are wise and learned men. It is their opinion that he
ought not to see you until he learns the nature of your mission. If you
in truth have aught that is good for him to hear, it were best to tell
it us. That is, if you desire admission to his presence."
"Is not the Dauphin master of his presence? Is it not his to say who
shall, or who shall not be admitted to him?" demanded the maiden in such
open eyed wonder that the prelate looked confused.
"Certainly," he said hastily. "But he sends certain of his friends to see
if those who seek admission are worthy to enter his presence. Be advised,
my child, and tell us why you wish to see him."
For a long moment Jeanne stood looking at him as though she saw him not;
then suddenly her face became transfigured with joy, for the Light shone
beside her, and she bowed her head. The Voice that she waited for came
instantly:
"Tell of thy mission, Daughter of God," it said. "But of that which
concerns the Dauphin speak not. Rise, and answer boldly. We will aid
thee."
The maiden raised her head, and said gently:
"I have leave from 'My Voices,' messire, to tell you that I have two
commands laid upon me by the King of Heaven. One, to raise the siege of
Orleans; the other, to lead the Dauphin to Reims that he may be crowned
and anointed there."
The bishops heard her with amazement. They had not seen the Light,
nor heard the Voice, but they saw that the maiden had received a
communication of some kind, either from inward communion, or some
celestial visitor. The senior bishop's tones showed his wonder.
"Those are marvellous commands, my child. What sign can you give us that
you can perform them?"
"I have not come to give signs," cried Jeanne, her impatience flaring
forth at this. "Give me men-at-arms, and let me show the work I am
appointed to do."
"Then will you relate how the commands were given to you?" questioned the
bishop.
Briefly, because Jeanne never liked to talk much of her visions, the
maiden told something concerning the matter. The whole of it she did not
tell. Then followed questions pertaining to her manner of life, her
devotion, her habits about taking the sacraments of communion and
confession, and so on. To all of these she made answer freely, with such
modest mien that the ecclesiastics finally withdrew, charmed by her
simplicity and earnestness.
And now the delay was ended; for, as evening fell, there came the Count
de Vendome, a gracious nobleman richly attired, to escort her to the
King. De Poulengy and De Metz rejoiced that there would be no further
delay. Being personal attendants of Jeanne's they were to accompany her
to the castle. Count de Vendome eyed the simple page attire of the maiden
soberly. She was clad like the varlet of some lord of no great estate, in
black cap with a little silver brooch, a grey doublet, and black and grey
hose, trussed up with many points; the sword that Robert de Baudricourt
had given her hung by her side. At first sight she might well have passed
for a boy, she was so slender and carried herself so erectly. There was
admiration in the nobleman's glance as he surveyed her gracious figure,
but his words were grave:
"Will you attend the audience in that garb, Pucelle?" he asked.
And Jeanne, remembering how De Metz with a like expression of countenance
had asked a similar question when she wore her woman's dress, laughed
cheerily.
"This and none other, messire. For in this garb shall I do that which is
commanded."
So led by the nobleman and followed by the two knights the maiden started
for the castle. Up a broad winding path they wended their way to the
rocky ridge of hill along which the great walls of the castle,
interrupted and strengthened by huge towers, stretched. It was old and
great and strong, having been builded when the Romans were lords of the
land, and was a favorite seat of English kings before it passed into the
hands of the French. From the high drawbridge above the moat, which was
twenty feet deep, there was a wide prospect over the town and the valley
of the Vienne. Soldiers idled and diced just within the gate, though the
dice were scarce discernible in the fast falling darkness. They ceased
the play as Jeanne and her attendants came upon the drawbridge, and a
murmur ran from lip to lip, for by this time all in Chinon knew of her.
"La Pucelle! La Pucelle! The inspired Maid from Vaucouleurs comes to see
the King."
At this soldiers and sentinels turned to gaze curiously at the girl.
Suddenly one started from among his fellows, and came very close to her,
peering impudently into her face.
"By all the saints, 'tis a pretty wench!" he cried. "May God send more
such witches to Chinon. I--"
But angrily Jean de Metz swept him out of the way.
"Jarnedieu!" cried the soldier wrathfully, using the common oath of his
class.
"Oh, dost thou jarnedieu?" cried Jeanne mournfully. "Thou who art so near
death?"
Like one turned to stone the man stood, and then, as some of his comrades
began to gibe at him, he came to himself and turned upon them in a rage.
"Think you that I heed what a mad woman says?" he shouted. "Nay; I defy
her and her prophecies." With this he uttered a loud laugh, and leaned
back heavily against the low wooden pales of the bridge's side, which
were crazy and old. There was a crash; and down and down he whirled. The
deep waters of the moat closed over him.
The soldiers looked grave and affrighted, and turned awed looks upon the
maiden and her companions, who were just ascending the broad steps which
gave entrance to the great hall of the King's chateau, where the audience
was to be held. Jeanne, being ahead with the Count de Vendome, had not
seen what had occurred, but she turned as the crash of the wooden pales
sounded.
"What hath happened?" she questioned.
"Naught," cried De Metz hastily, fearing that should he tell her it would
disturb her calm, and he was timorous concerning the ordeal before the
Maid. "The King should keep his bridge in better repair, for but now some
of its wooden palings snapped in two."
So without knowing that her prophecy had been fulfilled so soon the
maiden passed on into the great hall. The audience chamber was crowded
with curious courtiers and the royal guard, and the place shone with the
lustre of fifty flambeaux. At the end of the vaulted room was a chimney
of white stone in which a noble fire blazed, reflected by the polished
oak boards of the floor.
Veteran soldiers of the wars were there; counsellors, like the favorite
La Tremouille, prelates, like the Archbishop of Reims, and trains of fair
ladies with fine raiment and gay manners; all gathered to see the
sorceress. A throng of men and women in velvet and cloth of gold, in
crimson and azure such as she had never seen. A brilliant mob of vivid
colors; a company of the noblest lords and ladies of France, their finery
glowing in the flaring flames of many torches. The fans of the ladies
fluttered; their high head-dresses, or hennins, towered above the head
coverings of the men; a thousand unfamiliar hues and forms combined to
dazzle the eyes and disturb the composure of a peasant girl.
But Jeanne was neither disturbed nor dazzled. Eagerly she looked to see
the King. She did not care for the courtiers gazing so intently at
her--some with amusement, some smiling, some sneering, the most of them
sceptical, but all of them gazing at her with open curiosity; with
surprise at her page's attire, her man-at-arms shoes, and above all at
her hair which, cut round like a page's, flowed softly about her face. At
this time no woman, of whatever rank, showed the hair. It was worn
covered always in obedience to Saint Paul's command. Jeanne saw the
amusement, and wonder, and scepticism on the faces around her; saw but
heeded them not; moving forward the while with her eyes fixed ever on the
figure seated on the throne. Suddenly she stopped short with a stifled
exclamation. The Count de Vendome touched her arm gently.
"Kneel," he whispered. "The King is before you."
But Jeanne did not respond. She looked at him who was seated upon the
throne, but made no obeisance. Instead she knitted her brows in
thoughtful manner, then turned deliberately round and glanced searchingly
about among the courtiers. A low murmur of astonishment ran through the
room as all at once she moved quickly toward a group of courtiers, and
pushing them aside knelt before a soberly clad young man hiding behind
them.
"God give you good life, gentle Dauphin," she said.
"But it is not I that am the King," said he with smiling lips. "Yonder he
sits upon the throne."
"In God's name, gentle Dauphin, say not so," she said. "It is you and no
other." Then rising from her knees she continued: "Fair Dauphin, I am
Jeanne the Maid. I am sent to you by the King of Heaven to tell you that
you shall be anointed and crowned at Reims, and shall be lieutenant of
the King of Heaven, who is King of France."
Charles's face grew grave as he heard the words. The little masquerade
planned for the amusement of the courtiers had failed; the jest was over.
Solemnly he spoke:
"How know you this, Maid?"
"My Voices have told me. I have come to lead you to your anointing, but
first I must raise the siege of Orleans. This, fair Dauphin, I can do if
you will but give me men-at-arms. Out of your grace, I beg you to send me
at once to Orleans."
Touched by her perfect sincerity, her intense earnestness, her good
faith, the King gazed musingly at her, and then asked:
"How shall I know that you can do this, Maid? What sign can you give?"
"My sign shall be the raising of the siege of Orleans; but, gentle
Dauphin, I have another sign which is to be told to you alone."
"Then tell it to me," he said, drawing her into a window recess out of
ear shot of the courtiers.
"Gentle Dauphin, when you prayed this morning in your oratory there was a
great pain in your heart."
"True;" nodded Charles.
"And you made a prayer there. Fair Dauphin, did you tell to any one the
prayer that you made?"
"No," he answered gravely. "I did not. 'Tis a prayer that concerns none
but myself."
Then quickly, earnestly, passionately, Jeanne spoke, addressing him
familiarly as an inspired prophetess:
"Did you not pray that if you were the true heir of France, and that if
justly the kingdom were yours, that God might be pleased to guard and
defend you? But that if you were not descended from the royal House of
France God would grant you escape from imprisonment or death by
permitting you to go into the land of Scotland or Spain, that you might
find refuge there?"
Charles's face grew blank with amazement.
"I did pray that, exactly," he admitted. "In my heart alone, without
pronouncing the words. Speak on, Maiden. Is there aught from your
heavenly visitors that would answer that prayer?"
"There is, gentle Dauphin. Know then, to ease thy heart, that I tell thee
from Messire, that thou art the true heir of France, and son of the
King."
She made the strange statement so authoritatively, so impressively that
the monarch's countenance grew radiant. Those watching the pair wondered
at the change, but none knew until long afterward what it was that the
maiden had told him. Now he took Jeanne's hand and bowed over it.
"I believe in you, Maid," he said. "Though all should doubt yet do I
believe. You shall have your men-at-arms, and go to Orleans."
"Now God be praised," exclaimed the maiden joyfully. "May he send you
long life, oh fair and gentle Dauphin. Give me the men soon, I pray you,
that I may be about my work."
"You shall have your wish," he said gently; and with this he led her back
to the gaping courtiers.