In Domremy they found that the enemy had ruined everything. Their cattle
were safe, for they had been driven to Neufchateau, but when Joan looked
from her father's garden to the church, she saw nothing but a heap of
smoking ruins. She had to go to say her prayers now at the church of
Greux. These things only made her feel more deeply the sorrows of her
country. The time was drawing near when she had prophesied that the
Dauphin was to receive help from heaven--namely, in the Lent of 1429. On
that year the season was held more than commonly sacred, for Good Friday
and the Annunciation fell on the same day. So, early in January, 1429,
Joan the Maid turned her back on Domremy, which she was never to see
again. Her cousin Lassois came and asked leave for Joan to visit him
again; she said good-bye to her father and mother, and to her friend
Mengette, but to her dearest friend Hauvette she did not even say
good-bye, for she could not bear it. She went to her cousin's house at
Burey, and there she stayed for six weeks, hearing bad news of the
siege of Orleans by the English. Meanwhile, Robert de Baudricourt, in
Vaucouleurs, was not easy in his mind, for he was likely to lose the
protection of Rene of Anjou, the Duc de Bar, who was on the point of
joining the English. Thus Robert may have been more inclined to listen
to Joan than when he bade her cousin box her ears and take her back to
her father. A squire named Jean de Nouillompont met Joan one day.
'Well, my lass,' said he, 'is our king to be driven from France, and are
we all to become English?'
'I have come here,' said Joan, 'to bid Robert de Baudricourt lead me to
the king, but he will not listen to me. And yet to the king I must go,
even if I walk my legs down to the knees; for none in all the
world--king, nor duke, nor the King of Scotland's daughter--can save
France, but myself only. _Certes_, I would rather stay and spin with my
poor mother, for to fight is not my calling; but I must go and I must
fight, for so my Lord will have it.'
'And who is your Lord?' said Jean de Nouillompont.
'He is God,' said the Maiden.
'Then, so help me God, I shall take you to the king,' said Jean, putting
her hands in his. 'When do we start?'
'To-day is better than to-morrow,' said the Maid.
Joan was now staying in Vaucouleurs with Catherine le Royer. One day, as
she and Catherine were sitting at their spinning-wheels, who should come
in but Robert de Baudricourt with the _cure_ of the town. Robert had
fancied that perhaps Joan was a witch! He told the priest to perform
some rite of the Church over her, so that if she were a witch she would
be obliged to run away. But when the words were spoken, Joan threw
herself at the knees of the priest, saying, 'Sir, this is ill done of
you, for you have heard my confession and know that I am not a witch.'
Robert was now half disposed to send her to the king and let her take
her chance. But days dragged on, and when Joan was not working she would
be on her knees in the crypt or underground chapel of the Chapel Royal
in Vaucouleurs. Twenty-seven years later a chorister boy told how he
often saw her praying there for France. Now people began to hear of
Joan, and the Duke of Lorraine asked her to visit him at Nancy, where
she bade him lead a better life. He is said to have given her a horse
and some money. On February 12 the story goes that she went to Robert de
Baudricourt.
'You delay too long,' she said. 'On this very day, at Orleans, the
gentle Dauphin has lost a battle.'
[Illustration: 'Sir, this is ill done of you']
This was, in fact, the Battle of Herrings, so called because the English
defeated and cut off a French and Scottish force which attacked them as
they were bringing herrings into camp for provisions in Lent. If this
tale is true, Joan cannot have known of the battle by any common means;
but though it is vouched for by the king's secretary, Joan has told us
nothing about it herself.[8]
[Illustration: JOAN RIDES TO CHINON]
Now the people of Vaucouleurs bought clothes for Joan to wear on her
journey to the Dauphin. They were such clothes as men wear--doublet,
hose, surcoat, boots, and spurs--and Robert de Baudricourt gave Joan a
sword.
In the end this man's dress, which henceforth she always wore, proved
the ruin of Joan. Her enemies, the English and false French, made it one
of their chief charges against her that she dressed, as they chose to
say, immodestly. It is not very clear how she came to wear men's
garments. Jean de Nouillompont, her first friend, asked her if she would
go to the king (a ten days' journey on horseback) dressed as she was, in
her red frock. She answered 'that she would gladly have a man's dress,'
which he says that he provided. Her reason was that she would have to be
living alone among men-at-arms, and she thought that it was more modest
to wear armour like the rest. Also her favourite saint, St. Margaret,
had done this once when in danger. St. Marina had worn a monk's clothes
when obliged to live in a monastery. The same thing is told of St.
Eugenia.[9] Besides, in all the romances of chivalry, and the favourite
poems of knights and ladies, we find fair maidens fighting in arms like
men, or travelling dressed as pages, and nobody ever thought the worse
of them. Therefore this foolish charge of the English against Joan the
Maid was a mere piece of cruel hypocrisy.