The women trembled and wept as they looked at the girl, so fair in her young loveliness, and feared for her the perils of the journey. One of them cried:
“How can you set forth on such a journey when there are men-at-arms on every hand?”
But Jeanne turned a happy face toward them, and answered out of the serene peace of her heart:
“I do not fear men-at-arms. My way has been made plain before me. If there be men-at-arms my Lord God will make a way for me to go to my Lord Dauphin. For this I was born.”
Sire Robert also was present, and as he gazed at the bright face of the maiden his grim old heart was touched.
“Swear,” he said, making Jean de Metz kneel before him. “Swear that you will deliver this maiden whom I have confided to your care safely and surely to the King.”
And De Metz answered solemnly:
“I swear.”
And so from each and every man the Governor took the oath. Then belting his own sword about the girl’s slender waist, he said:
“Go! and come of it what may.”
And off into the mists that enveloped the meadows of the Meuse rode the little company down the road into France.
“Madame Margaret did not come to France until seven years later. The six thousand men never did come. Jeanne did.”––Andrew Lang.
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“The character of Joan of Arc is unique. It can be Mark Twain. Preface––“Personal Recollections |
And so began this strange ride; the strangest that was ever made. There were a thousand perils to be encountered: great rivers to be crossed; great forests infested by wolves to be traversed; trackless spaces of a country, half of which was hostile––full of every danger of war, to be covered.
Jeanne had been told many times of the risks of the journey; but, happy in the knowledge that she was at last on her way to the Dauphin, no peril, no danger seemed formidable. She had no fear of marauding bands, nor did she feel anxiety concerning 156 the conduct of her companions. A great peace filled her soul. She had begun her work. How it was all to end for her she neither foresaw nor asked; she only knew what she had to do. So light hearted did she appear that Bertrand de Poulengy wondered at it. Jeanne noticed him regarding her curiously.
“What is it, messire?” she asked.
“It will be a hard, tiresome ride, Pucelle.”
“I know, messire.”
“To sit in the saddle long hours is most fatiguing. Have you been accustomed to riding?”
“No, messire. I never rode at all until I came to Vaucouleurs.”
“You did not? I can hardly believe that, Pucelle.” He gave a glance of frank admiration at the slight, erect figure sitting her horse so martially. “You ride as though born to the saddle, which is well, for the journey will tax your endurance to the utmost. We stop to-night at the Abbey of Saint Urbain for rest and refreshment, but to-morrow and thereafter we shall be obliged to rest in the open fields. We must avoid the frequented roads and the cities held by the English, therefore we can not go to the inns. There will be many dangers.”
“What do you fear, messire?”
“That we shall never reach Chinon,” he answered gloomily. “The hazards are too great. I thought that the Captain would give us more of an escort, but we be but seven all told. Of what avail would such a small number be against an attacking force of freebooters?”
FAR INTO THE NIGHT THEY RODE
But Jeanne turned a smiling face toward him; a face as blithe and bright as that of a fair youth.
“Have no fear,” she said, with calm confidence. “My brothers in Paradise will watch over us.”
“Will you really do what you say?” he questioned.
“I will do what I am commanded to do, messire. My brethren in Paradise tell me what I have to do. It is now four years since my brethren in Paradise and Messire told me that I must go forth to war to deliver the realm of France.”
But Poulengy, De Metz, and their companions had not the maiden’s confidence. Now that the irrevocable step was taken and they were actually embarked upon this wild adventure the chill of reflection was upon them. Was the girl really an inspired prophetess, or a witch? If the former, all would be well with them should they reach Chinon in safety; if the latter, they were liable to come to the gallows for bringing a witch to court. So many doubts and misgivings assailed them as they rode forward.
Far into the night they rode, stopping at length at the Abbey of Saint Urbain on the right bank of the Marne for rest. From time immemorial the Abbey had been a place of refuge, and it gave them a cordial welcome. Jeanne was glad to lay her wearied body upon the rude cot in the house set apart for the use of strangers, but she was up early next morning, and attended conventual mass; then she and her companions took horse again. Crossing the Marne by the bridge opposite Saint Urbain they pressed on towards France.
They were in more dangerous ground now, so they proceeded more stealthily. Bertrand de Poulengy and Jean de Metz, 158 being hardened campaigners and accustomed to such expeditions, knew the by-ways, and were acquainted with the means necessary to travel quietly. Sometimes the days were sunlit, and the nights moonlit; at other times, there was rain, or sleet, or snow, but whatever the weather they rode and rode. Jeanne was always cheerful, always confident, always good-humoured. The King’s messenger, Colet de Vienne, Sire Bertrand and Jean de Metz were hot-headed, hot-hearted soldiers of fortune, neither over-scrupulous nor over-pious, but they learned to regard the young girl in their charge with reverence and awe. It was a feeling that strangely combined chivalry and religion. She was so devout, so clean-spirited, that there was nothing to be done but to believe in her goodness, her purity, and her faith. If they did not altogether believe in her visions they believed that she believed, and they came to think of her as nothing less than a saint.
“Truly, Bertrand, she comes from God,” declared De Metz one day upon his return from a town where he had gone in search of food. The party dared not enter the place for fear of detection. The news was broadcast over the country that the inspired Maid of Vaucouleurs was proceeding to the King under escort, and the knights feared an encounter with some band of the enemy. “She has not much money; that I know, yet she gave me alms to give to the poor. And this she does whenever we draw near to a town.”
“She is a saint,” avowed De Poulengy. “I think she must be inspired in very truth, Jean; else how is it that she stands the journey as she does? A little wearied she may be when we 159 stop for rest, but do you note that she starts onward as blithely and gayly as though we had but just set forth?”
“Ay! I have noticed it. ’Tis as though she received manna from Heaven for her recuperation. Through many wild marches I have been, yet this one hath been the most trying. I fear ambuscades, Bertrand, and I would not have harm come to the Maid. I would rather lose life itself than have aught befall her.”
“And I, Jean. But I fear that all of our company do not agree with us. I overheard some words that Richard the Archer had with our two varlets this morning which shows their mind in manner most alarming. They also have noted the marvellous way in which the Maid has withstood the fatigues of the journey, and they declare that a mere maiden could not bear them as she does. In truth, they deem her a witch. We must be on our guard against them lest they try some trick against her.”
“The vile caitiffs! Can they not see that she is one of God’s saints?” exclaimed De Metz wrathfully. “I will go to them. I––”
“Nay, Jean; restrain yourself,” counselled the older man laying his hand lightly on the other’s arm. “Be not too severe in your judgment ’gainst the varlets. Time was, and not so long since, when we too were in doubt concerning the maiden. They may intend no harm, but I deemed it the part of wisdom to put you on guard. Let us say nothing, but watch and wait.”
“You are right, Bertrand.” De Metz spoke more quietly. “They may intend no harm, but ’tis well to be on guard. If 160 they should attempt anything––” He paused, touching his sword significantly.
Poulengy nodded, and the two returned to the camp. As they made night marches they rested by day. For this day they had selected for camp a cove that lay between two shoulders of the winding hills on the banks of a swollen stream. Though a cold rain was falling there was no fire for fear of the enemy. The leafless boughs did little to ward off the rain, and there was not much comfort in the chill woods, so the party ate in silence the cold bread and meat which De Metz had obtained in the town. They but waited for the darkness that they might take to horse again. Richard the bowman was sentinel, and after the comfortless meal they all lay down on the wet ground to get what rest they could. They were aroused by a wild shout from the Archer, who rushed among them, crying:
“The English! The English are upon us!”
Instantly the two knights and the King’s messenger were upon their feet, and drawing their swords, threw themselves quickly before Jeanne. She alone was undisturbed, and merely rose to a sitting posture as the men breathlessly awaited the approach of the enemy. The knights’ servants, Jean de Honecourt and Julien, made as though about to flee when Jeanne spoke in her grave, sweet voice:
“Do not flee. I tell you in God’s name, they will not harm you.”
At this Richard the bowman, seeing that she was not afraid, burst out laughing. With a bound Jean de Metz had reached him, and had him by the throat.
“Varlet,” he cried, shaking the fellow angrily. “Know you 161 not that there are perils enough about us without giving a false alarm? That loud outcry of yours may bring the enemy upon us. I am minded to fling you into that water.”
“I but did it to scare the witch,” muttered Richard sullenly, eyeing the swollen stream with whitening face. The water was dismally cold, and very deep at this point. “I meant no harm.”
But De Metz, enraged by the word “witch,” lifted him bodily, preparatory to carrying out his threat, when Jeanne’s soft tones arrested him:
“Do not so, my friend,” she said sweetly. “The jest was ill timed, ’tis true; but still it was but a jest. He could neither frighten nor harm me. None can do that until I have fulfilled my mission. Let him go.”
“You hear?” De Metz let the man slide slowly to his feet. “But that she pleads for thee thou shouldst drink deep of that water. See to it that thy acts are better, else it shall go hard with thee. Ay! or whoever attempts tricks, be they jest or earnest.”
He glared at the retainers so fiercely that they shrank from his gaze. There was no further attempt to frighten the maiden during the rest of the journey, and it was noted that she had no more devoted servitor than Richard the bowman.
On they rode, and still on. Through gloomy woods, by threatened highways, and over swollen rivers the seven made their way. The enemy’s country was passed in time without mishap of any kind, and then on the morning of the tenth day out from Vaucouleurs they came to Gien on the River Loire. It held for the Dauphin, and Jeanne rejoiced for now, being 162 in friendly territory, she could go to mass. She had felt neither fear nor anxiety during the march, but she had been distressed that she could not attend mass, which she was accustomed to doing every day. Being on God’s errand she wished constantly to ask His help.
“If we could, we should do well to hear mass,” she had repeated wistfully each day; but when the knights told her that it was too dangerous she had not insisted.
Gien was about forty miles above Orléans, and their danger was now almost over. Both Jeanne and the knights talked freely of her errand, and the news spread far and wide that a Maid was come from the borders of Lorraine to raise the siege of Orléans and lead the Dauphin to Reims to be crowned. Everywhere the people were excited over the tidings. In spite of the blockade men often slipped into Orléans, and messengers from Gien soon bore the story into the besieged city. It raised a great hope there, and its commander, the Count of Dunois, at once sent two of his officers to Chinon, whither he knew that the Maid was bound, to ask the King to send her to them soon.
The news that Jeanne learned concerning Orléans was most disquieting. The Battle of Herrings, fought at Rouvray, had been a most disastrous defeat for the garrison, and had brought both citizens and soldiers to despair. No time should be lost in going to the help of the leaguered city, so, after a short rest, Jeanne rode forward across the sandy Sologne and the flat country of Touraine.
The anxiety of Poulengy and Metz had taken a different turn. Believe in the maiden as they might they could not but wonder what reception they would meet at Court. Charles 163 and his counsellors might think it all a fool’s errand, and the knights would be the laughing stock of their comrades. As they had become accustomed to doing they told these misgivings to Jeanne.
“Do not be afraid. You will see how graciously the fair Dauphin will look upon us when we get to Chinon,” she assured them confidently.
They were now in a country holding for the Dauphin, and naturally it would be supposed that it was friendly territory; this, however, was not the case. Indeed, it was after the passage of the Loire that they were exposed to the greatest danger. Far and wide the tidings had flown that a girl was coming toward the King with wonderful proffers of aid from Heaven and the Holy Saints. There were people about the King to whom such news was not welcome. Here also in the King’s country were freebooters who, when they pillaged travellers, asked not whether they were Armagnacs or Burgundians, and such men would not scruple to waylay the girl at a word from those about the King. So it happened that certain men-at-arms of the French party lay in ambush awaiting the appearance of Jeanne’s little company to surprise them. It was the intention to capture the maiden, cast her into a pit, and keep her there under a great stone trap door, in the hope that the King who had sent for her would give a large sum for her rescue. But of all this neither Jeanne nor her escort knew until long afterward.
Being in the Dauphin’s territory Jeanne rode fearlessly in front of the little company while the knights, who lacked her confidence, followed close behind, keeping a keen watch the 164 while, for they were passing through a deep wood, and both Bertrand and De Metz were aware of the character of the miscreants who infested it. Suddenly, from out of the inner wood, there burst a party of men who with wild yells dashed forward and surrounded them. There was a clash of steel as the knights met the onset, when high above the noise of swords sounded Jeanne’s voice, clear and bell-like:
“Hold! Let not French blood be spilled by Frenchmen while the English wait us at Orléans. Forbear, friends! ’Tis not God’s will that you should slay each other.”
Involuntarily the men of both parties stayed their uplifted hands. The leader of the attacking band bent a searching, curious glance upon the maiden, which she met calmly and tranquilly. There was something winning and persuasive and convincing in her manner; something so pure and unearthly in her look that presently the man’s eyes dropped, and he hastily crossed himself.
“Pass on,” he said, and at a sign his fellows fell back, and the seven rode on in safety.
Sire Bertrand leaned over to Jean de Metz and spoke in an awed tone:
“Saw you that, Jean? Those rascals could do naught after she cried out. Truly the child is sent from God.”
“She is in very truth, Bertrand, but it needed not this to prove it. Witness how we have come these many leagues though threatened with dire perils without hap of any kind. ’Tis nothing short of miraculous.”
But Jeanne heard them wondering, and smiled at them.
“Marvel not,” she said. “God clears the way for me. I was born for this.”
And so they came to the green slopes of Fierbois, from which place they would proceed to Chinon, where the King lay.
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“Be not dismayed, for succor is at hand: 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 168 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 Trémouille? 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 Trémouille 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 Orléans 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? 170 ’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 Orléans, 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 171 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 173 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 Orléans; 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 Vendôme, 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 Vendôme 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 château, where the audience was to be held. Jeanne, being ahead with the Count de Vendôme, 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 177 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 Trémouille, 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 Vendôme 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 Orléans. 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 Orléans.”
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 Orléans; 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 Orléans.”
“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.
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“To pray, we do not say with the lips, but to pray with M. Siméon Luce. “Jeanne d’Arc à Domremy.” |
The next day, as Jeanne sat with the two knights discussing the audience of the evening before, here came the Sire de Gaucourt, former commander of Orléans. “Pucelle,” he said, bowing low before the Maid, “I come to you by order of the King, whose desire it is that you should leave this mean place and come to dwell in the Tower of Coudray, which is more proper lodging for you, and nearer to him. The friends who are with you shall accompany you, if such be your desire.”
“It is in truth my desire,” spoke the maiden quickly with an affectionate glance at Poulengy and Metz. “True and 182 faithful friends have they proven themselves. Without their aid I could not have come to the King. They believed in me even before Sire Robert did. And they shall go with me to Orléans, if they wish.”
“We do wish,” came from the knights simultaneously. “To Orléans, or to any place that promises fighting for France.”
“Would that we were now bound for Orléans,” sighed Jeanne as the four set forth for the castle.
Up the steep approach to the castle they wended their way once more. And now, being daylight, it was seen that the long mass of embattled walls, of keeps, towers, turrets, curtains, ramparts, and watch-towers were three castles separated one from the other by dyke, barrier, postern, and portcullis. Arriving on the ridge of hill Sire de Gaucourt led them past the long line of machicolated battlements of the Middle Château where the King dwelt, and across the bridge of the inner moat. A curtain of stone connected a high tower on the moat bank with another battlemented tower built into the buttressed cliff wall. There was an archway in the curtain at the end of the bridge, through which they passed to the Tower of Coudray.
Ascending a stairway they paused at its top, for here the lieutenant of the tower, Guillaume Bellier, the King’s Major Domo, waited to greet them.
“You are to lodge with my own family, Pucelle,” he said, making Jeanne a deep obeisance. “My wife comes now to bear you to your chamber for rest and refreshment.”
As he spoke a pleasant faced woman came forward from an adjoining room, and greeted the maiden warmly. She showed plainly her surprise at Jeanne’s attire, but seemed charmed by 183 her youth and beauty. Sire Bertrand gave a sigh of satisfaction as he saw the maiden depart in the lady’s company, and remarked to De Metz in a low tone:
“Glad am I to see the Maid in such good hands as those of Madame Bellier. She is a devout woman, and the two will take much pleasure in each other’s company. It hath gone to my heart to see such a mere girl without any of her own sex near her.”
“Yes; but she hath angel visitors to bring her comfort and solace, Bertrand, the like of which no other maid had ever before. I believe her in very truth to be a messenger from the blessed Saints that love France. Still, with you, I am glad that Madame Bellier hath her in her care.”
Jeanne’s chambers were in the upper story of the tower, and Lieutenant Bellier sent her for a servant one of his own pages, Louis de Coutes, sometimes called Mugot, who came from an old warrior family which had been in service of the house of Orléans for a century. Her two knights with their servants had chambers just beneath hers.
And now that the King had taken her under his charge people flocked to see her. Churchmen came to test her orthodoxy; Captains to ask her about her knowledge of war; and all the lords and ladies to question her concerning her mission, for it was dull at Chinon, and a witch was worth looking at any day. Jeanne was impatient to be about her work, but she answered them all so aptly, and was so gentle and simple, that all who met her grew to believe in her.
Many too were curious concerning the oak wood, asking if the Bois Chesnu were not in her country, for every one now 184 recalled Merlin’s prophecy, and was impressed by it. Every day the King had her brought to him. He was weak and timorous, but her simple faith impressed him, as it impressed all who saw her, and her entire trust in him gave him some courage and self-reliance. He wished to give the Maid men-at-arms at once, as he had promised, but the Royal Council over-ruled him. The Counsellors acknowledged that it was not unusual for princes to have the counsel of devout women; that women in whom was the voice of God were not to be scorned; that even the kings of England were no less ready than the kings of France to heed the words of saintly men and women; still, it behooved him to proceed carefully in the matter, lest he should be charged with helping himself by witchcraft.
In the Middle Ages it was the custom for saints to speak with kings and for kings to listen to them, but sorcery was the unpardonable sin. Therefore, it was the opinion of the Royal Council that, before giving the maiden the men-at-arms for which she asked, she should be subjected to a more searching examination than any that had yet been made. And while the talk waged pro and con the fame of Jeanne grew and filled all mouths. She fired the zeal of the captains who came to see her, and shamed them into some hope of saving France; she charmed the ladies of the Court by her modesty; while the common people told wonderful stories of her piety, exploits and adventures. To bring this about in the short time that she had been in Chinon was no mean achievement for a girl of seventeen, but Jeanne, believing God to be the author of the whole work, wondered only that any one should hesitate for a moment to trust His messenger.
One day she attended mass in the royal chapel, as was her 185 daily custom, and when her devotions were finished she rose to find the King and a young nobleman standing beside her. Jeanne courtesied to the monarch, whereupon he said:
“We have brought our cousin, the Duke of Alençon, to see you, Jeanne. He hath great interest in the house of Orléans, having married the daughter of Duke Charles.”
“He is welcome,” spoke Jeanne simply. “The more of the blood royal there are here the better.”
“So we believe,” said the King, smiling. “It is our pleasure that you dine with us to-day, that our cousin may learn more of your mission.”
Again Jeanne bowed low, charming Alençon by her courtly manners. Then she and the Duke followed the King to the dining hall. La Trémouille, the King’s favorite, was present also. Barrel-like in appearance, a toper, and a usurer, loaning money to the King and the nobles at high interest, La Trémouille was a most important personage at Court. Dismissing the rest of the courtiers the King sat down at the table with the other three, the peasant maid not at all disturbed by being the guest of royalty. Yet but one short month agone she had been the guest of the humble Catherine le Royer, the wheelwright’s wife.
But Jeanne did not think of this. Her thoughts were for the Dauphin, and she was filled with the desire that he should govern wisely and well the realm which he held in trust from God. So she talked seriously to him, asking him to amend his life, and live after God’s will. He was to be clement, and to be a good lord to rich and poor, friend and enemy. If he would be all this the King of Heaven would do for him what 186 he had done for his ancestors, and would restore him to his former estate.
And gazing into the bright, eager young face, flushed with courage and glowing with celestial ardor the King was thrilled, and longed to do kingly deeds and to be worthy of the blood of Louis, his saintly ancestor. After the dinner the four went to the meadows by the river, where Jeanne guided her horse and wielded her lance with so much skill that both the King and the Duke marvelled.
“’Tis but an indifferent steed you ride, Pucelle,” spoke Alençon, for Jeanne was still using the horse that De Baudricourt had bought for her. “I will send you another that shall bear you more worthily.”
The very next day he presented her with a magnificent black charger which Jeanne rode thereafter. It was the beginning of a warm friendship between the two. He became one of the maiden’s most enthusiastic supporters, and Jeanne grew fond of him not only because he was son-in-law to the Duke of Orléans, but because the English had done him wrong, and he had a good will to fight. Jeanne measured men by that standard. She had a wholesome, hearty contempt for men who skulked at Court and spent their time in idle pleasure while France lay under the heel of the invader. Alençon had but just returned to his home after being held captive by the English for three years. It was told of him that his captors had proposed to give him back his liberty and his goods if he would join their party, but he rejected the offer. He was young like her, and Jeanne thought that like her he must be sincere and noble.