leading to the kindest and most honorable treatment of her from both
prelates and nobles. But it was not a chivalric admiration; she did not
belong to a noble family, nor did she defend an institution. She was
regarded as a second Deborah, commissioned to deliver a people. Nor
could a saint have done her work. Bernard could kindle a crusade by his
eloquence, but he could not have delivered Orleans; it required some one
who could excite idolatrous homage. Only a woman, in that age, was
likely to be deified by the people,--some immaculate virgin. Our remote
German ancestors had in their native forests a peculiar reverence for
woman. The priestesses of Germanic forests had often incited to battle.
Their warnings or encouragements were regarded as voices from Heaven.
Perhaps the deification and worship of the Virgin Mary--so hearty and
poetical in the Middle Ages--may have indirectly aided the mission of
the Maid of Orleans. The common people saw one of their own order arise
and do marvellous things, bringing kings and nobles to her cause. How
could she thus triumph over all the inequalities of feudalism unless
divinely commissioned? How could she work what seemed to be almost
miracles if she had not a supernatural power to assist her? Like the
_regina angelorum_, she was _virgo castissima_. And if she was unlike
common mortals, perhaps an inspired woman, what she promised would be
fulfilled. In consequence of such a feeling an unbounded enthusiasm was
excited among the people. They were ready to do her bidding, whether
reasonable or unreasonable to them, for there was a sacred mystery
about her,--a reverence that extorted obedience. Worldly-wise statesmen
and prelates had not this unbounded admiration, although they doubtless
regarded her as a moral phenomenon which they could not understand. Her
advice seemed to set aside all human prudence. Nothing seemed more rash
or unreasonable than to undertake the conquest of so many fortified
cities with such feeble means. It was one thing to animate starving
troops to a desperate effort for their deliverance; it was another to
assault fortified cities held by the powerful forces which had nearly
completed the conquest of France.
The King came to meet the Maid at Tours, and would have bestowed upon
her royal honors, for she had rendered a great service. But it was not
honors she wanted. She seemed to be indifferent to all personal rewards,
and even praises. She wanted only one thing,--an immediate march to
Rheims. She even pleaded like a sensible general. She entreated Charles
to avail himself of the panic which the raising of the siege of Orleans
had produced, before the English could recover from it and bring
reinforcements. But the royal council hesitated. It would imperil the
King's person to march through a country guarded by hostile troops; and
even if he could reach Rheims, it would be more difficult to take the
city than to defend Orleans. The King had no money to pay for an army.
The enterprise was not only hazardous but impossible, the royal
counsellors argued. But to this earnest and impassioned woman, seeing
only one point, there was no such thing as impossibility. The thing
_must_ be done. The council gave reasons; she brushed them away as
cobwebs. What is impossible for God to do? Then they asked her if she
heard the voices. She answered, Yes; that she had prayed in secret,
complaining of unbelief, and that the voice came to her, which said,
"Daughter of God, go on, go on! I will be thy help!" Her whole face
glowed and shone like the face of an angel.
The King, half persuaded, agreed to go to Rheims, but not until the
English had been driven from the Loire. An army was assembled under the
command of the Duke of Alençon, with orders to do nothing without the
Maid's advice. Joan went to Selles to prepare for the campaign, and
rejoined the army mounted on a black charger, while a page carried her
furled banner. The first success was against Jargeau, a strongly
fortified town, where she was wounded; but she was up in a moment, and
the place was carried, and Joan and Alençon returned in triumph to
Orleans. They then advanced against Baugé, another strong place, not
merely defended by the late besiegers of Orleans, but a powerful army
under Sir John Falstaff and Talbot was advancing to relieve it. Yet
Baugé capitulated, the English being panic-stricken, before the city
could be relieved. Then the French and English forces encountered each
other in the open field: victory sided with the French; and Falstaff
himself fled, with the loss of three thousand men. The whole district
then turned against the English, who retreated towards Paris; while a
boundless enthusiasm animated the whole French army.
Soldiers and leaders now were equally eager for the march to Rheims; yet
the King ingloriously held back, and the coronation seemed to be as
distant as ever. But Joan with unexampled persistency insisted on an
immediate advance, and the King reluctantly set out for Rheims with
twelve thousand men. The first great impediment was the important city
of Troyes, which was well garrisoned. After five days were spent before
it, and famine began to be felt in the camp, the military leaders wished
to raise the siege and return to the south. The Maid implored them to
persevere, promising the capture of the city within three days. "We
would wait six," said the Archbishop of Rheims, the chancellor and chief
adviser of the King, "if we were certain we could take it." Joan mounted
her horse, made preparations for the assault, cheered the soldiers,
working far into the night; and the next day the city surrendered, and
Charles, attended by Joan and his nobles, triumphantly entered the city.
The prestige of the Maid carried the day. The English soldiers dared
not contend with one who seemed to be a favorite of Heaven. They had
heard of Orleans and Jargeau. Chalons followed the example of Troyes.
Then Rheims, when the English learned of the surrender of Troyes and
Chalons, made no resistance; and in less than a month after the march
had begun, the King entered the city, and was immediately crowned by the
Archbishop, Joan standing by his side holding her sacred banner. This
coronation was a matter of great political importance. Charles had a
rival in the youthful King of England. The succession was disputed.
Whoever should first be crowned in the city where the ancient kings were
consecrated was likely to be acknowledged by the nation.
The mission of Joan was now accomplished. She had done what she
promised, amid incredible difficulties. And now, kneeling before her
anointed sovereign, she said, "Gracious King, now is fulfilled the
pleasure of God!" And as she spoke she wept. She had given a king to
France; and she had given France to her king. Not by might, not by power
had she done this, but by the Spirit of the Lord. She asked no other
reward for her magnificent service than that her native village should
be forever exempt from taxation. Feeling that the work for which she was
raised up was done, she would willingly have retired to the seclusion of
her mountain home, but the leaders of France, seeing how much she was
adored by the people, were not disposed to part with so great an
instrument of success.
And Joan, too, entered with zeal upon those military movements which
were to drive away forever the English from the soil of France. Her
career had thus far been one of success and boundless enthusiasm; but
now the tide turned, and her subsequent life was one of signal failure.
Her only strength was in the voices which had bidden her to deliver
Orleans and to crown the King. She had no genius for war. Though still
brave and dauntless, though still preserving her innocence and her
piety, she now made mistakes. She was also thwarted in her plans. She
became, perhaps, self-assured and self-confident, and assumed
prerogatives that only belonged to the King and his ministers, which had
the effect of alienating them. They never secretly admired her, nor
fully trusted her. Charles made a truce with the great Duke of Burgundy,
who was in alliance with the English. Joan vehemently denounced the
truce, and urged immediate and uncompromising action; but timidity, or
policy, or political intrigues, defeated her counsels. The King wished
to regain Paris by negotiation; all his movements were dilatory. At last
his forces approached the capital, and occupied St. Denis. It was
determined to attack the city. One corps was led by Joan; but in the
attack she was wounded, and her troops, in spite of her, were forced to
retreat. Notwithstanding the retreat and her wound, however, she
persevered, though now all to no purpose. The King himself retired, and
the attack became a failure. Still Joan desired to march upon Paris for
a renewed attack; but the King would not hear of it, and she was sent
with troops badly equipped to besiege La Charité, where she again
failed. For four weary months she remained inactive. She grew desperate;
the voices neither encouraged nor discouraged her. She was now full of
sad forebodings, yet her activity continued. She repaired to Compiègne,
a city already besieged by the enemy, which she wished to relieve. In a
sortie she was outnumbered, and was defeated and taken prisoner by John
of Luxemburg, a vassal of the Duke of Burgundy.
The news of this capture produced great exhilaration among the English
and Burgundians. Had a great victory been won, the effect could not have
been greater. It broke the spell. The Maid was human, like other women;
and her late successes were attributed not to her inspiration, but to
demoniacal enchantments. She was looked upon as a witch or as a
sorceress, and was now guarded with especial care for fear of a rescue,
and sent to a strong castle belonging to John of Luxemburg. In Paris, on
receipt of the news, the Duke of Bedford caused _Te Deums_ to be sung
in all the churches, and the University and the Vicar of the Inquisition
demanded of the Duke of Burgundy that she should be delivered to
ecclesiastical justice.
The remarkable thing connected with the capture of the Maid was that so
little effort was made to rescue her. She had rendered to Charles an
inestimable service, and yet he seems to have deserted her; neither he
nor his courtiers appeared to regret her captivity,--probably because
they were jealous of her. Gratitude was not one of the virtues of feudal
kings. What sympathy could feudal barons have with a low-born peasant
girl? They had used her; but when she could be useful no longer, they
forgot her. Out of sight she was out of mind; and if remembered at all,
she was regarded as one who could no longer provoke jealousy. Jealousy
is a devouring passion, especially among nobles. The generals of Charles
VII. could not bear to have it said that the rescue of France was
effected, not by their abilities, but by the inspired enthusiasm of a
peasant girl. She had scorned intrigues and baseness, and these marked
all the great actors on the stage of history in that age. So they said
it was a judgment of Heaven upon her because she would not hear counsel.
"No offer for her ransom, no threats of vengeance came from beyond the
Loire." But the English, who had suffered most from the loss of Orleans,
were eager to get possession of her person, and were willing even to
pay extravagant rewards for her delivery into their hands. They had
their vengeance to gratify. They also wished it to appear that Charles
VII. was aided by the Devil; that his cause was not the true one; that
Henry VI. was the true sovereign of France. The more they could throw
discredit and obloquy upon the Maid of Orleans, the better their cause
would seem. It was not as a prisoner of war that the English wanted her,
but as a victim, whose sorceries could only be punished by death. But
they could not try her and condemn her until they could get possession
of her; and they could not get possession of her unless they bought her.
The needy John of Luxemburg sold her to the English for ten thousand
livres, and the Duke of Burgundy received political favors.
The agent employed by the English in this nefarious business was
Couchon, the Bishop of Beauvais, who had been driven out of his city by
Joan,--an able and learned man, who aspired to the archbishopric of
Rouen. He set to work to inflame the University of Paris and the
Inquisition against her. The Duke of Bedford did not venture to bring
his prize to Paris, but determined to try her in Rouen; and the trial
was intrusted to the Bishop of Beauvais, who conducted it after the
forms of the Inquisition. It was simply a trial for heresy.
Joan tried for heresy! On that ground there was never a more innocent
person tried by the Inquisition. Her whole life was notoriously
virtuous. She had been obedient to the Church; she had advanced no
doctrines which were not orthodox. She was too ignorant to be a heretic;
she had accepted whatever her spiritual teacher had taught her; in fact,
she was a Catholic saint. She lived in the ecstasies of religious faith
like a Saint Theresa. She spent her time in prayer and religious
exercises; she regularly confessed, and partook of the sacraments of the
Church. She did not even have a single sceptical doubt; she simply
affirmed that she obeyed voices that came from God.
Nothing could be more cruel than the treatment of this heroic girl, and
all under the forms of ecclesiastical courts. It was the diabolical
design of her enemies to make it appear that she had acted under the
influence of the Devil; that she was a heretic and a sorceress. Nothing
could be more forlorn than her condition. No efforts had been made to
ransom her. She was alone, and unsupported by friends, having not a
single friendly counsellor. She was carried to the castle of Rouen and
put in an iron cage, and chained to its bars; she was guarded by brutal
soldiers, was mocked by those who came to see her, and finally was
summoned before her judges predetermined on her death. They went through
the forms of trial, hoping to extort from the Maid some damaging
confessions, or to entangle her with their sophistical and artful
questions. Nothing perhaps on our earth has ever been done more
diabolically than under the forms of ecclesiastical law; nothing can be
more atrocious than the hypocrisies and acts of inquisitors. The judges
of Joan extorted from her that she had revelations, but she refused to
reveal what these had been. She was asked whether she was in a state of
grace. If she said she was not, she would be condemned as an outcast
from divine favor; if she said she was, she would be condemned for
spiritual pride. All such traps were set for this innocent girl. But she
acquitted herself wonderfully well, and showed extraordinary good sense.
She warded off their cunning and puerile questions. They tried every
means to entrap her. They asked her in what shape Saint Michael had
appeared to her; whether or no he was naked; whether he had hair;
whether she understood the feelings of those who had once kissed her
feet; whether she had not cursed God in her attempt to escape at
Beauvoir; whether it was for her merit that God sent His angel; whether
God hated the English; whether her victory was founded on her banner or
on herself; when had she learned to ride a horse.
The judges framed seventy accusations against her, mostly frivolous, and
some unjust,--to the effect that she had received no religious training;
that she had worn mandrake; that she dressed in man's attire; that she
had bewitched her banner and her ring; that she believed her apparitions
were saints and angels; that she had blasphemed; and other charges
equally absurd. Under her rigid trials she fell sick; but they restored
her, reserving her for a more cruel fate. All the accusations and
replies were sent to Paris, and the learned doctors decreed, under
English influence, that Joan was a heretic and a sorceress.
After another series of insulting questions, she was taken to the
market-place of Rouen to receive sentence, and then returned to her
gloomy prison, where they mercifully allowed her to confess and receive
the sacrament. She was then taken in a cart, under guard of eight
hundred soldiers, to the place of execution; rudely dragged to the
funeral pile, fastened to a stake, and fire set to the faggots. She
expired, exclaiming, "Jesus, Jesus! My voices, my voices!"
Thus was sacrificed one of the purest and noblest women in the whole
history of the world,--a woman who had been instrumental in delivering
her country, but without receiving either honor or gratitude from those
for whom she had fought and conquered. She died a martyr to the cause of
patriotism,--not for religion, but for her country. She died among
enemies, unsupported by friends or by those whom she had so greatly
benefited, and with as few religious consolations as it was possible to
give. Never was there greater cruelty and injustice inflicted on an
innocent and noble woman. The utmost ingenuity of vindictive priests
never extorted from her a word which criminated her, though they
subjected her to inquisitorial examinations for days and weeks. Burned
as an infidel, her last words recognized the Saviour in whom she
believed; burned as a witch, she never confessed to anything but the
voices of God. Her heroism, even at the stake, should have called out
pity and admiration; but her tormentors were insensible to both. She was
burned really from vengeance, because she had turned the tide of
conquest. "The Jews," says Michelet, "never exhibited the rage against
Jesus that the English did against the Pucelle," in whom purity,
sweetness, and heroic goodness dwelt. Never was her life stained by a
single cruel act. In the midst of her torments she did not reproach her
tormentors. In the midst of her victories she wept for the souls of
those who were killed; and while she incited others to combat, she
herself did not use her sword. In man's attire she showed a woman's
soul. Pity and gentleness were as marked as courage and self-confidence.
It is one of the most insolvable questions in history why so little
effort was made by the French to save the Maid's life. It is strange
that the University of Paris should have decided against her, after she
had rendered such transcendent services. Why should the priests of that
age have treated her as a witch, when she showed all the traits of an
angel? Why should not the most unquestioning faith have preserved her
from the charge of heresy? Alas! she was only a peasant girl, and the
great could not bear to feel that the country had been saved by a
peasant. Even chivalry, which worshipped women, did not come to Joan's
aid. How great must have been feudal distinctions when such a heroic
woman was left to perish! How deep the ingratitude of the King and his
court, to have made no effort to save her!
Joan made one mistake: after the coronation of Charles VII. she should
have retired from the field of war, for her work was done. Such a
transcendent heroism could not have sunk into obscurity. But this was
not to be; she was to die as a martyr to her cause.
After her death the English carried on war with new spirit for a time,
and Henry VI. of England was crowned in Paris, at Notre Dame. He was
crowned, however, by an English, not by a French prelate. None of the
great French nobles even were present. The coronation was a failure.
Gradually all France was won over to the side of Charles. He was a
contemptible monarch, but he was the legitimate King of France. All
classes desired peace; all parties were weary of war. The Treaty of
Arras, in 1435, restored peace between Charles and Philip of Burgundy;
and in the same year the Duke of Bedford died. In 1436 Charles took
possession of Paris. In 1445 Henry VI. married Margaret of Anjou, a
kinswoman of Charles VII. In 1448 Charles invaded Normandy, and expelled
the English from the duchy which for four hundred years had belonged to
the kings of England. Soon after Guienne fell. In 1453 Calais alone
remained to England, after a war of one hundred years.
At last a tardy justice was done to the memory of her who had turned the
tide of conquest. The King, ungrateful as he had been, now ennobled her
family and their descendants, even in the female line, and bestowed upon
them pensions and offices. In 1452, twenty years after the martyrdom,
the Pope commissioned the Archbishop of Rheims and two other prelates,
aided by an inquisitor, to inquire into the trial of Joan of Arc. They
met in Notre Dame. Messengers were sent into the country where she was
born, to inquire into her history; and all testified--priests and
peasants--to the moral beauty of her character, to her innocent and
blameless life, her heroism in battle, and her good sense in counsel.
And the decision of the prelates was that her visions came from God;
that the purity of her motives and the good she did to her country
justified her in leaving her parents and wearing a man's dress. They
pronounced the trial at Rouen to have been polluted with wrong and
calumny, and freed her name from every shadow of disgrace. The people of
Orleans instituted an annual religious festival to her honor. The Duke
of Orleans gave a grant of land to her brothers, who were ennobled. The
people of Rouen raised a stone cross to her memory in the market-place
where she was burned. In later times, the Duchess of Orleans, wife of
the son and heir of Louis Philippe, modelled with her own hands an
exquisite statue of Joan of Arc. But the most beautiful and impressive
tribute which has ever been paid to her name and memory was a _fête_ of
three days' continuance, in 1856, on the anniversary of the deliverance
of Orleans, when the celebrated Bishop Dupanloup pronounced one of the
most eloquent eulogies ever offered to the memory of a heroine or
benefactor. That ancient city never saw so brilliant a spectacle as that
which took place in honor of its immortal deliverer, who was executed so
cruelly under the superintendence of a Christian bishop,--one of those
iniquities in the name of justice which have so often been perpetrated
on this earth. It was a powerful nation which killed her, and one
equally powerful which abandoned her.
But the martyrdom of Joan of Arc is an additional confirmation of the
truth that it is only by self-sacrifice that great deliverances have
been effected. Nothing in the moral government of God is more mysterious
than the fate which usually falls to the lot of great benefactors. To us
it seems sad and unjust; and nothing can reconcile us to the same but
the rewards of a future and higher life. And yet amid the flames there
arise the voices which save nations. Joan of Arc bequeathed to her
country, especially to the common people, some great lessons; namely,
not to despair amid great national calamities; to believe in God as the
true deliverer from impending miseries, who, however, works through
natural causes, demanding personal heroism as well as faith. There was
great grandeur in that peasant girl,--in her exalted faith at Domremy,
in her heroism at Orleans, in her triumph at Rheims, in her trial and
martyrdom at Rouen. But unless she had suffered, nothing would have
remained of this grandeur in the eyes of posterity. The injustice and
meanness with which she was treated have created a lasting sympathy for
her in the hearts of her nation. She was great because she died for her
country, serene and uncomplaining amid injustice, cruelty, and
ingratitude,--the injustice of an ecclesiastical court presided over by
a learned bishop; the cruelty of the English generals and nobles; the
ingratitude of her own sovereign, who made no effort to redeem her. She
was sold by one potentate to another as if she were merchandise,--as if
she were a slave. And those graces and illuminations which under other
circumstances would have exalted her into a catholic saint, like an
Elizabeth of Hungary or a Catherine of Sienna, were turned against her,
by diabolical executioners, as a proof of heresy and sorcery. We repeat
again, never was enacted on this earth a greater injustice. Never did a
martyr perish with more triumphant trust in the God whose aid she had so
uniformly invoked. And it was this triumphant Christian faith as she
ascended the funeral pyre which has consecrated the visions and the
voices under whose inspiration the Maid led a despairing nation to
victory and a glorious future.
AUTHORITIES.
Monstrelets' Chronicles; Cousinot's Chronique de la Pucelle; Histoire et
Discours du Siège, published by the city of Orleans in 1576; Sismondi's
Histoire des Français; De Barante's Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne;
Michelet and Henri Martin's Histories of France; Vallet de Viriville's
Histoire de Charles VII.; Henri Wallon; Janet Tuckey's Life of Joan of
Arc, published by Putnam, 1880.
SAINT THERESA.
* * * * *
A. D. 1515-1582.
RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM.