“Patience, patience, Jeanne,” spoke the King soothingly. “We will go, we promise you, but not just now. You are wounded too, we hear, and sadly need the rest. So have patience for a little, we beseech you.”
So Jeanne was forced to curb her eagerness while the King dawdled away the precious days in idle pleasure. She had spoken truly: the time was ripe for action. Charles had but to mount and ride and all was his at a blow. Had he but gone straight to Reims, after Orléans, and thence on to Paris, every city would have opened its gates to him. So obviously was this the thing he ought to do that, supposing it would be done, the Duke of Bedford left Paris and shut himself up in the strong castle of Vincennes, dreading an uprising among the people. Then next he wholly withdrew to Rouen, for he had no force of men to guard the walls of Paris. But through the influence of La Trémouille, Regnault de Chartres, the Archbishop of Reims, and Raoul de Gaucourt, the former governor of Orléans, the golden opportunity was lost.
It was no part of the policy of these men to allow the King to shake off his indolence, and from this time forth they set themselves to thwart the peasant Maid who so amazingly upset their plans and schemes. It was never English or Burgundians whom Jeanne had to fear the most. They were open enemies, and with a good company of men-at-arms she could overcome them. It was the constant efforts of these foes at Court that undermined her influence and neutralized any advantage that she might gain.
The campaign of Orléans had been allowed. La Trémouille was willing that the city should be relieved, if it could be done 246 without danger to his power, but the completeness of the girl’s victory had aroused his opponents, and there was a dangerous current of French patriotism awakening which, unless subdued, meant the overthrow of himself and his party. It was said of him truthfully that he had “a foot both in the Burgundy and French camps,” and the present state of France suited him admirably. So Jeanne found herself opposed by these wretched politicians in her plans for the redemption of her country. Her true friends were the gallant captains of the armed companies that accompanied her on the campaigns, and the simple people who believed that she had a mission from Heaven, and was inspired by saints and angels.
Thus, longing for the dash of action that would drive the enemy from the land, Jeanne was thrown into the frivolity of the Court instead. A fortnight was spent by Charles in lengthy debates with his Counsellors, and in a round of pleasures; then he removed to Loches, some thirty miles from Tours, where there was a grim fortress better suited to his humours than a city. Being a part of his household, Jeanne went also.
In every place that she entered the people crowded about her horse, and tried to kiss her shoes or her hands. The Abbot, Robert le Macon, one of those who had examined her at Poictiers, reproved her sharply for allowing these manifestations, and told her that it was making the people idolatrous.
“In truth,” answered Jeanne, smiling at him, “I should not know how to guard myself from these things, unless God guarded me. They love me because I have never done them any unkindness, but helped them as I could.”
Charles tried by means of rich gifts to make the maiden content 247 to remain in idleness, and so to cease from importuning him to set forth for his anointing. But, though Jeanne delighted in pretty clothes and presents, as was natural in a young girl, she never for one moment lost sight of her mission. Nor did she abstain from entreating the Dauphin to go to Reims. And now Alençon and Dunois, her good friends, came to the Court, and added their pleas to hers that he should set forth for the crowning, but Charles did not discover the hurry to save his kingdom that they did.
Greatly distressed by the waiting, one day Jeanne’s patience reached its limit. Knowing that the King was in Council with Sir Christopher d’Harcourt, Gerard Machet, his confessor, Robert le Macon and Dunois, she went boldly to the door of the Council Chamber, and knocked. Being admitted she went at once to the monarch, and threw herself at his feet, clasping his knees.
“Noble Dauphin, you hold so many and such long Councils,” she cried. “Rather come to Reims and receive your worthy crown.”
“Does your Counsel tell you to say this?” asked d’Harcourt, the Bishop of Castres.
“Yes,” replied Jeanne. “The Voices urge this chiefly.”
“Will you not tell us in the presence of the King the nature of this Counsel?”
Jeanne blushed and hesitated before replying. Then she said:
“I understand what it is that you wish to know, and I will gladly satisfy you.”
“Jeanne,” said Charles kindly, “it would be very good if you 248 could do what they ask in the presence of those here; but are you sure that you are willing to speak about it?”
“Yes, sire,” she answered simply. Then she turned to them, and spoke with visible emotion.
“When I am vexed to find myself disbelieved in the things I say from God, I retire by myself and pray to God, complaining and asking of Him why I am not listened to. And when I have finished my prayer I hear a Voice saying: ‘Daughter of God, on, on! I will help thee. On!’ And when I hear the Voice I have great joy. I would that I could always feel thus.”
The maiden’s face shone as she spoke, “lifting her eyes to Heaven, and she was in marvellous ecstasy,” so that the men who heard her were dazzled, and sat speechless looking on. Then all in a moment there came a change. Jeanne’s features worked, and she was overcome by emotion. She turned toward the King beseechingly, and cried brokenly:
“The time is so short. Oh, use it, use it, sire. I shall last such a little while: only a year and little more. Oh, sire, ’tis such a little time to work for France.”
Charles was deeply moved, as were also those with him.
“Dear Maid,” he said, “I will go whenever you––” Robert le Macon interposed softly:
“When the roads are clear between here and Reims. Your Majesty. It would not be wise to risk your person on an uncertainty.”
“Let me clear the road, noble Dauphin,” exclaimed the maiden quickly. “I beseech you, out of your grace to grant me leave to do it.”
“There still remain the strong places on the Loire which will have to be broken up,” remarked the King dubiously.
“They can be broken up. Then you can march.”
“Well, you have our permission to do it, Jeanne,” said the monarch, half laughing. “Never was there such an indefatigable little soldier!”
“When may I begin, sire?” Jeanne’s delight was plainly evident. The delay was over; action might begin. No wonder she rejoiced.
“As soon as you please,” Charles told her graciously.
Joyously the girl left the room, and began immediately the task of gathering the army together; the army that had been forced to disband through the inertia of its King. A tide of popular enthusiasm arose as soon as it became known that the English towns on the Loire were to be attacked, and from all quarters came men eager to fight, with or without pay; beginning again to hope for their country and aroused by the Maid’s exploits before Orléans. Selles, a town of Berri, about fifteen miles from Loches and about fifty miles south of Orléans, was chosen for the recruiting camp.
Thither, among other nobles, came one day the two young Counts de Laval: Guy and his brother André, who could not rest until they had seen Jeanne. Their father had been slain at Agincourt, and they had been brought up by their mother, who had defended their castles against the English, and by their grandmother, in her youth the wife of the great constable, Bertrand Du Gueselin, who had done great deeds for France. Full of boyish enthusiasm for the Maid, they wrote home to their mothers, telling them of Jeanne:
“She seems a creature wholly divine, whether to see or hear. Monday at vespers she left Selles to go to Romorantin, three leagues in advance of the army, the Marshal of Boussac and a great many soldiers and common people being with her. I saw her get on horseback, armed all in white, except her head, with a little battle-axe in her hand, riding a great black courser, which was very restive at the door of her lodgings, and would not let her mount. So she said, ‘Lead him to the cross,’ which was in front of the church near by, in the road. There she mounted without his budging, just as if he had been tied. And she turned to the church door and called in her sweet woman’s voice: ‘You priests and churchmen, make processions and prayers to God.’ She then set out on the road, calling, ‘Forward! Forward!’ with her little battle-axe in her hand, and her banner carried by a page. Her brothers went with her, all armed in white.”
At Romorantin Jeanne and Alençon, who had been given the command under the Maid, were joined by Dunois and other captains, and together they entered Orléans on the Ninth of June. The people received her with joy, and set about supplying her impoverished army with supplies and artillery, making their gifts directly to the Maid whose courage and wisdom they had cause to know. They were grateful for their deliverance, but to make that deliverance secure the Loire must be cleared of the strongholds that menaced it. The first point of attack was Jargeau, which lay above Orléans on the south bank of the Loire, about ten miles. It was connected with the north bank by a bridge, which was the only bridge across the river between Orléans and Gien, and was held 251 for the English by the Earl of Suffolk, one of the commanders before Orléans, who had retreated into this place after the raising of the siege. Ten miles below Orléans lay Meung, which also had a fortified bridge, and six miles below Meung was Beaugency, with a bridge also fortified. Both these places were held by the English, Talbot being in Beaugency, and Lord Scales, his lieutenant, being in Meung. The next bridge across the river was at Blois, which was French, so that the English could cross either above or below Orléans into the Dauphin’s provinces. By bringing large reinforcements into these places the siege of Orléans could be renewed at any time by the English. It was the part of wisdom to clear them of the enemy.
As has been said, the first point of attack was Jargeau, for the reason that news was brought that Sir John Fastolf was proceeding toward it with reinforcements, and it was Jeanne’s plan to attack it before he could reach it. It was a strong place. After Jeanne left Orléans Dunois had stormed it unsuccessfully for three hours, and Suffolk had strengthened its defences. Its garrison was experienced in all the arts of war.
On the eleventh of June the advance was begun on the town, and on the way the associate commanders were seized with hesitation, using many arguments to get the Maid to postpone the attack. To which she replied:
“Success is certain. If I were not assured of this from God, I would rather herd sheep than put myself in so great jeopardy.”
The men of Orléans were in the van, and, encouraged by the marvellous success of the month before, rushed to the attack 252 without waiting for the men-at-arms or the artillery, and tried to storm the place. The garrison easily beat them off, and charged upon them, driving them back to the main body. Then Jeanne rode forward, standard in hand, and led the men-at-arms to the rescue. The English in turn were driven back, the French occupied the environs to the very ditch, and passing the night there, after the Maid had summoned Suffolk to yield peaceably to the Dauphin.
The next morning the artillery was placed and Alençon wondered audibly at Jeanne’s expertness in laying the guns.
“Where got you such skill in military matters, Jeanne?” he exclaimed. “Who taught you where to set those guns? You go to work as though you were a captain of twenty or thirty years’ experience.”
“It is my Lord who tells me,” answered Jeanne, regarding him with reverent look in her large grave eyes. “When I see a place I know at once where the artillery should be placed.”
At which the young duke’s wonder grew; for he knew that she had never seen ordnance until at Orléans the month before. While the captains were planning the mode of attack word came that the Earl of Suffolk was parleying with La Hire, offering to surrender if not relieved within fifteen days, no doubt believing that Fastolf would arrive with reinforcements before that time.
“Tell them that they may leave in their tunics, without arms or armour,” cried Jeanne. “Otherwise the place will be stormed at once.”
The terms were refused by Suffolk, and immediately the cannon began their work. One of the towers of the town was 253 destroyed, and the sharpshooters of the French picked off some of the garrison with their culverins. The English too used their artillery with telling effect. As Jeanne and Alençon stood watching the bombardment, she cried out to him suddenly, recalling the promise she had made his wife to bring him back safe.
“Change your position. That gun will kill you!” pointing to a gun on the walls. Alençon stepped aside quickly, and a few moments later a gentleman was killed on that very spot.
Soon Jeanne urged an assault on the walls, which Alençon believed to be premature. He thought that the artillery should continue the bombardment before the attack should be made, and was therefore reluctant to follow. As the trumpets sounded the assault, and he did not advance, Jeanne turned upon him quickly:
“Why do you hesitate?” she asked. “Doubt not! When it pleases God the hour is prepared. God helps those who help themselves.” As he still hesitated she added: “Ah, gentle duke, are you afraid? Do you not know that I promised your wife to bring you back safe and sound?” Thereupon they both rushed to the attack.
As the body of the men rushed into the fosse to plant the scaling ladders Suffolk tried to parley, but it was now too late. The English resistance was effective and stubborn, so that for several hours the struggle went on with Jeanne in the thick of it. The ditch was bridged and, banner in hand, the Maid started up one of the scaling ladders as at the Tourelles and tried to mount the wall. One of the garrison threw down a stone which crashed through the banner, struck on the light 254 helmet that she wore, and stretched her stunned to the ground. For a moment only she lay, and then springing to her feet unhurt, she cried:
“Friends, friends, on! On! Our Lord has condemned the English. They are ours! Have good courage.”
The French had learned that cry. They knew that victory awaited them, and swarmed over the walls in a rush that carried all before them. Suffolk retreated toward the bridge, hoping to escape across it into the Beauce, but the French followed him too closely. One of his brothers and many of the garrison were slain, but he and all who were left alive were captured. As Suffolk was surrounded a knight cried:
“Yield thee, Suffolk! Yield thee, rescue or no rescue!”
“I will yield to none but the most valiant woman in the world,” answered Suffolk proudly. And he would give his sword to none other than Jeanne herself.
So Jargeau was taken.
The town even to the churches was sacked, and Jeanne found herself powerless to prevent the sacrilege, but she profited by the experience. Some of the prisoners had been butchered because their captors had quarreled over the right to ransom them, so that it was deemed best to send the other captives down to Orléans by boat during the night. This was another lesson that Jeanne took to heart.
Alençon and Jeanne returned in triumph to Orléans, where the burghers gave them a royal welcome, making them many presents. Among Jeanne’s were a hucque and a rich robe of the Orléans colors, green and crimson. In the old times the green had been bright and clear, but it had darkened after the 255 murder of Duke Louis by Jean Sans Peur of Burgundy, and since Agincourt was almost black. The hucque was of green, and the robe, or overcoat, was of crimson “cramoisy” lined with white satin and embroidered with the device of Orléans, the nettle.
With Meung and Beaugency still left to attack Jeanne felt the necessity of immediate action. Sir John Fastolf was at that very time at Janville, only twenty-five miles’ distant from Jargeau; since that town had fallen he would press forward to Talbot’s assistance. The Maid permitted but one day of rest in Orléans.
“Now we must go to see the English at Meung,” she told Alençon. “We will march to-morrow after dinner. Give orders to that effect.”
Meung, as has been said, was the nearest fortified town to Orléans down the river, being distant some ten miles. Its bridge was a mile upstream from the town, and well fortified. It was attacked the afternoon of the next day, as Jeanne had desired, and fell easily. Placing a French garrison in the bridge towers the Maid with her forces camped for the night in the fields and next morning passed on down the river to Beaugency. These towns with their castles and towers were very conspicuous on the flat plain of the Loire; and bodies of men were easily seen by the watchmen on the walls. As soon, therefore, as the English saw the French approaching they did not try to defend the town, but retired into the castle, leaving men ambushed in houses and sheds to surprise the French. They were under command of Matthew Gough, a brave Welshman, for Talbot, having no force sufficient to meet the enemy 256 in the field, left Beaugency and rode off with a small company to Janville to hasten the coming of Fastolf. As the French marched into the town the men hidden in the houses fell upon them, but with losses upon both sides were driven into the castle. Jeanne placed the guns, and battered the castle until evening, when news came that was disturbing; for the Constable of France was advancing with a force of men and wished to join her.
The Comte de Richemont, Constable of France, was a great nobleman and a famous leader, but at the present time was in disgrace with the King and exiled from Court, largely through the machinations of La Trémouille and his party. He had wished to assist in raising the siege of Orléans, but the King had forbidden it, and consequently his approach caused both Alençon and Jeanne disquietude.
He was no friend of Jeanne’s, believing it to be a disgrace to France that her armies should be led and victories gained by a woman, probably a witch, a creature unworthy to stand before armed men. The Constable could hardly be blamed for holding this opinion of the Maid; excepting those who came in personal contact with her such belief was general. The captains and soldiers reverenced her, holding that she was truly sent of God; the simple people had no doubt of it. The English believed firmly that she was a witch. The Regent Bedford in his report to England concerning the failure of the siege of Orléans said that it was caused by “false enchantments and witchcraft of a Maid.” Richemont was a sworn enemy to all such.
The French generals were divided over the advisability of receiving him. He was own uncle to Alençon, and the latter 257 had no personal quarrel with him, but the King’s command was that Richemont should not be received should he come with his force. Alençon, therefore, declared that he would withdraw should the Constable’s aid be accepted. It was an embarrassing moment. Jeanne herself did not regard his coming with much pleasure, but it was not her way to reject any champion of France. So, as just at this time news was received of the advance of the English under Talbot and Fastolf, she persuaded Alençon that they ought to accept the proffered aid gladly.
“He is French, my gentle duke,” she said. “And Frenchmen ought to lay aside private quarrels for France. In God’s name, then let us welcome him.”
In the end this wise counsel prevailed, and both Jeanne and Duc Alençon rode forth to meet the Constable.
“Jeanne,” said Richemont, as the maiden alighted from her horse to greet him, “they tell me that you are against me. I know not whether you come from God––or elsewhere. If from God, I do not fear you, for He knows my good will; if from the Devil, I fear you still less.”
“Brave Constable,” returned the maiden, smiling, “you are not here by any will of mine; but since you are here you are welcome.”
They then mounted and rode back to Beaugency. Immediately they were obliged to make ready for battle, for Talbot and Fastolf had come up with their forces, and rested at a spot between Meung and Beaugency, distant about a league from each town. The French army took up a strong position on a hill in front of Beaugency, covering the siege of the castle and 258 the town. Night was coming on, but the English formed in line of battle, and waited for the French to begin the attack. From their excellent position the French watched the enemy’s preparations, but made no move to fight. Becoming impatient the English sent two heralds, saying that three English knights would fight any who would come down into the plain. Jeanne declined the challenge.
“Go to your rest to-day,” she sent back word. “It is late enough. To-morrow, if it please God and Our Lady, we shall see you at closer quarters.”
Later, scouts reported to Jeanne and the French captains that the English were withdrawing from their position in the plain, and were headed northward.
“They are going to Meung,” cried the Maid joyfully. “They will occupy the town, and try to take the bridge, thinking to come down on the other side of the river, and so relieve the garrison here at Beaugency in that way. But Beaugency will surrender as soon as it hears the news that Talbot has gone.”
Which proved to be the case. Matthew Gough, upon learning that the English army had retreated, felt that his case was hopeless. He had seen that Alençon was reinforced by the Constable, and believed that Talbot had left him to his fate. Therefore, at midnight he capitulated on easy terms. His men with their horses and armour, and goods to the value of a silver mark, were allowed to march away, on the condition that they were not to fight against the Dauphin for ten days; he himself was held as hostage.
At dawn the French were up and away to Meung, where they found that Talbot had indeed been battering the bridge held by 259 the French all night long, but the bridge held. On receipt of the news that Gough had surrendered Talbot and Fastolf with all the united forces of the English set off across the wooded plain of Beauce, as the country north of the Loire was called, for Paris.
The French were uncertain what to do. An encounter in the open field, an open hand-to-hand battle between the French and the English, had heretofore resulted in victory for the English. Such a thing as the French holding their own and attaining victory over the enemy had never been known. They would rather avoid an engagement than risk such a disaster. To arrive at an understanding Alençon assembled the captains for a Council of war. He turned to Jeanne first.
“What shall be done now?” he asked.
“Have good spurs,” she told him.
“What?” he cried astonished. “Are we to turn our backs?”
“Nenni,” answered she, laughing. “The English will not defend themselves, and you will need good spurs to follow them.”
There was a murmur at these words; a murmur of confidence for the prophecy put heart into men who had been wont to fly instead of pursue. Eagerly now they prepared to follow the retreating English. La Hire and Dunois with a company of eighty men, mounted on the best horses, rode in advance, and the main body of the army came more slowly. Jeanne preferred going with the vanguard, but the leaders feared that they might run into an ambush, and would not permit the risk. Jeanne was angry over this. She liked the thick of the fight, and chafed at following, but it was well that she remained 260 with the main body, for the men needed encouragement.
It was a long ride and a dangerous one. The wide plain was covered by a dense growth of underbrush and trees, and there was danger of an ambush. Not an Englishman was visible. Cautiously the French made their way, and some of the captains began to show signs of uneasiness. Jeanne encouraged them constantly.
“In God’s name we must fight them; if they were hung in the clouds we should have them, for God has sent them to us that we might punish them.” And again:
“Fear naught. This day the gentle Dauphin shall have the greatest victory he has ever won; my Counsel have told me that they are ours.”
The pursuit continued until near Patay, a town standing midway between Meung and Rouvray, where Fastolf had won the Battle of Herrings in February. La Hire and his scouts were scouring the country to get trace of the English, but without success. All at once they roused a stag as they rode, and, startled, the animal bounded away before them, disappearing into some bushes which grew as a hedge by the roadside. Instantly there came a shout from English voices––a cheer of delight as the creature plunged among them, and, not suspecting that the French van was so near, they began to fire upon it.
La Hire drew rein, and sent back a messenger to the main army to hurry forward. Then with a shout he and his company spurred forward, and charged the English before they had time to form, or to set up their usual defenses.
Now Talbot had been marching in three bodies. First, the advance guard; then his artillery; then his battle corps a good 261 way in the rear. When he was within a league of Patay some of his scouts reported that a large body of the French was advancing toward him. Seeing that he could not escape without some fighting he posted his advance guard with the wagons and artillery behind some strong hedges which would cover their front from the French cavalry. He himself with five hundred archers halted in a place where the road through which the French must pass was bordered on both sides by a hedge. Here he stood waiting for the enemy, waiting too for his main body of troops under Sir John Fastolf to join the train, when the advent of the stag discovered his presence to the French.
The English archers were thrown into wildest confusion and disorder by the suddenness of the onslaught. Slashing and slaying, the French cut them down, pressing onward toward the advance guard of the English with the wagons and artillery. Sir John began to gallop toward the advance guard, but to the latter he seemed to be fleeing before the enemy. Panic seized them, and leaving the provisions and guns the troops broke and fled, utterly demoralized, on the road toward Patay. Talbot himself fought with desperation and rage, to be thus overcome a second time by a girl whom he believed to be a pernicious witch, but was finally taken prisoner by Poton Zaintrailles, while his men fled and were killed in their flight. Fastolf turned back to the field, hoping to die there or be captured, but his escort dragged him off, and at length he too rode off toward Paris. His men were cut down at the will of the victors.
The Battle of Patay was won.
But it was a bloody field, for slaughter of fugitives who were 262 not valuable followed. Jeanne had never seen such a massacre, and “she had great compassion on the victims.” Meeting a Frenchman who was brutally using a prisoner she flung herself from her horse, indignant that he should be subjected to such treatment, and seating herself beside him lifted his bleeding head upon her lap. Sending for a priest that he might have the last comforts of religion she comforted him with womanly tenderness until he died.
Jeanne wanted the English out of France. She fought them that she might achieve that end. She had steeled herself to the necessity of war, but pity was always enthroned in her heart. A wounded enemy appealed to her tenderness as much as one of her own countrymen would have done.
And so ended a great week of wonders. Between June eleventh and eighteenth the Maid had delivered three strong towns from the English, and routed them in open field. All the Loire and the waterway was now in the power of France. But it was not Alençon, nor Dunois, nor the French generals who had secured the victories. It was the dauntless girl, the peasant maid in whom was more of the divine than human––she who after a scarce month of war bore herself like the “most skilled captain in the world who all his life has been trained to war”[12]––this girl of seventeen who bade fair to be the best soldier of them all.
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“Along this square she moved, sweet Joan of Arc,–– Maria Lowell. |
The next day, which was Sunday, Jeanne and her men returned to Orléans in triumph, and were “nobly received.” The streets were crowded with people who were wild with joy at sight of the Maid, and who gave her a tempestuous welcome. They formed processions and went to the churches, where “they thanked God and the Virgin Mary and the Blessed Saints of Paradise for the mercy and honor which Our Lord had shown to the King and to them all, and saying that without the Maid such marvels could not have been done.”
To all parts of France the news of the victory of Patay was carried with incredible quickness, and everywhere the loyal towns celebrated the event by singing Te Deums, by processions 264 and prayers, by bonfires and by bell ringings. But the tidings that brought such rejoicing to the hearts of the French, caused consternation among the partisans of Burgundy and England. On Tuesday when Sir John Fastolf and other fugitives brought the story of the disaster of Patay into Paris, there was a riot, and many believed that the victorious French were coming at once to attack the city. Had this been true the town must have fallen, for the English troops were thoroughly demoralized. Rank and file were filled with superstitious terror of the Armagnac Witch, and the Duke of Bedford was at the end of his resources.
In Orléans the exultation was greatest, for Jeanne was counted their Maid, and the people expected that their King would come to greet her and start for his crowning from that city. Consequently the burghers decorated the streets and prepared to give him royal welcome, but he did not come. He was at Sully being entertained by La Trémouille, frittering away his time in pleasure while a girl fought his battles for him. Jeanne, therefore, after a few days of rest left Orléans to join him and to urge his instant departure for Reims. She met him at St. Bénoit-sur-Loire on his way to Châteauneuf. Charles was exceedingly gracious, showering her with praise.
“Wonderfully you have wrought, Jeanne,” he said. “Greatly have you earned our gratitude. What guerdon shall be yours for these amazing labors?”
“Sire, that you will start at once for Reims to be crowned is all that I desire.”
“We will go, dear Maid. We promise you, but now you must rest. Greatly have you endeared yourself to us, and 265 above all we desire your welfare. Therefore, rest from these labors to please your King.”
Now Jeanne had just taken three fortified towns, and had cut a great army to pieces. In smaller towns and fortresses the citizens had risen and driven their English garrisons out of the gates upon receipt of the news of Patay, so the golden lilies floated over the cleared country of the Beauce nearly to Paris. She had done all this that the Dauphin might safely march to Reims. She had been told that if the Loire were cleared the march would be begun, and now he wished further delay. It was too much for the girl, who longed so ardently to complete her mission, for she knew that her time was short, and she burst into tears.
“Jeanne, ma mie, what is it?” asked the monarch, disturbed by her emotion.
“Ah, gentle Dauphin,” she said brokenly, “you are not King until the sacred oil shall anoint you. Doubt no longer, but come to your sacring. The whole realm shall be yours when you are consecrated.”
“We will go, beloved Maid, and that right soon. But you? Is there not some gift or boon that you wish other than this?”
“Sire, forgive the Comte de Richemont, and receive him again at Court, I beseech you. Great aid did he give us at Beaugency, and at Patay. For the sake of France, Sire, grant this favor.”
But Charles shook his head. At this moment Alençon and Dunois drew near and added their pleas to Jeanne’s that the Constable should be forgiven, but the King was obdurate. So Richemont, who had helped to administer the greatest blow to 266 English domination that had ever been given, was rejected once more. He had remained at Beaugency to await the result of the embassies, and had even sent two of his own gentlemen to La Trémouille to plead that he might be allowed to serve the King in the state of the country. But all his overtures were refused, so he withdrew to his own estates, and Charles lost a good soldier.
And Jeanne, to her amazement, for she had given every sign required of her, found herself opposed by almost incredible difficulties. The King was plainly reluctant to act, and seemed averse to taking a decided step of any kind. From every point of view the march to Reims and the accomplishment of the great object of her mission was the wisest and most practicable thing to do. But there were delays and parleyings. Had the maiden not been sustained by her Voices and her duty to her country she would have been discouraged.
But all France was rousing, and was beginning to call upon the King in no uncertain tones. It was said that the Maid would lead the Dauphin to his crowning if she were allowed; that after the deeds she had wrought she should be given the opportunity. La Trémouille recognized a dangerous note in the general talk, and a Council of War was held in which it was decided to risk an advance. Gien was chosen as the base for the army, and Jeanne went to Orléans to bring up the troops and munitions that were left in that city.
“Sound the trumpet, and mount,” she said to Alençon on the twenty-fourth of June. “It is time to go to the noble Charles and start him on his way to be consecrated.”
Which was easier said than done. There were many of the 267 Councillors who wished to besiege La Charité and other small towns on the upper Loire, which would have profited nothing; still others were for a bold move into Normandy to attack the English at Rouen, where they were strongest. But Jeanne insisted that the Dauphin should march to Reims. Her Voices had told her to take him there to be crowned that the people might know that he was the true King, and to the maiden, sublime in her faith, that was the thing to do.
It was objected that there were many cities and walled towns and strongholds well guarded by English and Burgundians in the way, but she answered:
“I know it well, and all that I hold as naught.”
Worn out finally by the futile arguments and the wasting of so much precious time, when all hope lay in a quick advance against the enemy before Bedford could bring over new troops from England, Jeanne left the Court, and went to her army which lay in the fields near Gien. There was comfort there, for the soldiers declared that they would go wherever she wished to lead them. There were princes of the blood among the men; great lords, and knights, and squires of high and low degree. They had come from all parts of loyal France bringing their companies, eager to serve, for the “great hope of the good that should come to the country through Jeanne, and they earnestly desired to serve under her, and to learn her deeds, as if the matter were God’s doings.” There was little or no pay for the men, but enthusiasm took the place of money. Jeanne’s exploits had made her a personage, and not only France but all Europe was rife with curiosity concerning her, and her deeds. Many were attracted to the army by her fame, and it was said, 268 though not openly, for no man was bold enough to speak against La Trémouille at this time, that if the Favorite would permit it an army large enough to drive every Englishman out of France could be raised.
On Monday, the twenty-seventh of June, Jeanne crossed the River Loire with part of the army, and on Wednesday the King and his Councillors reluctantly followed her. The march upon Reims had at last begun.
Fifty miles to the eastward of Gien was the town of Auxerre. It was under Burgundian allegiance, and if it admitted the Dauphin, had good reason to fear Burgundy. So its gates were closed upon the approach of the King and his army. Jeanne and the captains wished to attack it at once, but the town sold food to the troops and sent bribes to La Trémouille to exempt it from assault. The bribes were accepted, though a mere military demonstration would have opened its gates, and the army passed on, the town giving some sort of a promise to submit if Troyes, and Châlons, and Reims should acknowledge the King. Other smaller strongholds on the road yielded upon being summoned, and presently Charles and his army were before Troyes.
It was the capital of Champagne, about forty miles to the northeast of Auxerre. The whole province was greatly excited by the advance of the royal forces, and those who held for the English were much alarmed. The cities were not sure of each other, and each feared to be either the last or the first to open its gates to the King.
So, during the march toward it, Troyes sent letters to Reims 269 saying that it had heard that the latter would submit to the Dauphin, but that its own citizens would do nothing of the sort, but would uphold the cause of King Henry and the Duke of Bedford even to the death inclusive.
Now Troyes had reasons for taking this bold stand. It was the place where the treaty which had given France to England had been signed; where the French princess, Catherine, was married to Henry Fifth of England, and where the Dauphin was disinherited by his mother. The burghers had arrayed themselves with the Burgundians and the English after the treaty, and feared now that if Charles were admitted to their city he would wreak vengeance upon them.
Charles stopped at Saint Phal, within fifteen miles of Troyes, from which place both he and Jeanne sent the burghers letters. The King demanded that they should render the obedience they owed him, and he would make no difficulty about things past for which they might fear that he should take vengeance; that was not his will, but that they should govern themselves toward their sovereign as they ought, and he would forget all and hold them in good grace.
Jeanne’s letter was to the people, in which she summoned them to their allegiance in the name of the Sovereign Lord of all. They must recognize their rightful Lord who was moving on Paris by way of Reims, with the aid of King Jesus, she said. If they did not yield the Dauphin none the less would enter the city.
The letters were received at Troyes on the morning of the fifth of July, and copies were at once sent to Reims with assurances 270 that the city would hold out to the death, and begging the men of Reims to send at once to Burgundy and Bedford for assistance.
The royal army meantime camped before the walls for several days, hoping that the town would surrender. There were a few sallies which resulted in nothing of importance. The burghers held off, expecting the same terms would be given them that were granted Auxerre. After nearly a week the supplies of the besiegers began to get low. The Dauphin could not provision his troops at Troyes, and Gien, his base of supplies, was thirty leagues away. He could not pass on to Reims and leave the town in his rear, for so strongly garrisoned a place would be a menace, and the state of the army was becoming seriously grave. So Charles called a Council to consider what were best to be done, but Jeanne was not asked to attend.
Regnault Chartres, Archbishop of Reims, was for retreating, and a number of Councillors were against assaulting the city. One after another they gave their opinions, some arguing that if they did not retreat it would be best to leave the hostile fortress in their rear and press on towards Reims. When it came the turn of Robert le Macon, the old Chancellor of Charles VI, he said that the march had been undertaken in reliance neither upon the number of their troops nor upon the richness of their treasury, but because the Maid advised them that such was the will of God. He suggested, therefore, that she be called to the Council. At this moment Jeanne, becoming impatient over the long debate, knocked at the door. She was at once admitted, and the Archbishop of Reims took it upon himself to explain:
“Jeanne,” said he, “the King and his Council are in great perplexity to know what they shall do.”
“Shall I be believed if I speak?” asked the maiden, who was learning from experience that even messages from Heaven may be set aside by the will of man.
“I can not tell,” replied the King, to whom she addressed herself; “though if you say things that are reasonable and profitable I shall certainly believe you.”
“Shall I be believed?” she asked again.
“Yes,” said the King, “according as you speak.”
“Noble Dauphin, order your people to assault the city of Troyes, and hold no more of these Councils; for in God’s name, before three days I will bring you into Troyes, by favor or force, and false Burgundy shall be greatly amazed.”
“Jeanne,” said the Chancellor, “we might well wait if you could do that in six days.”
“Doubt it not,” spoke Jeanne, addressing the Dauphin only. “You shall be master of the place, not in six days but to-morrow.”
The Council broke up, and Jeanne began at once to make preparations for storming the place. The whole army was set to work during the night, nobles and men-at-arms alike, to collect any kind of material, faggots, palings, tables, even doors and windows––anything that could be used to shelter the men, mount the guns, and fill up the fosse. She worked hard all night, and the unusual commotion gave notice to the townsfolk that something out of the ordinary was being done, and they retired to the churches to pray. In the morning they saw that arrangements had been made to assault the place, and heard 272 the Maid’s voice order the attack to begin. At this great fear of her came upon them, and they had no heart to man battlement or tower. Whereupon the Bishop of the town and the citizens threw the gates open and made submission without firing a shot, sending a committee to Charles to treat for terms of peace. The King received the envoys graciously, and guaranteed all the rights of Troyes, promising that the garrison might depart with their arms and goods, providing the town were given up to him.
Jeanne of course was obliged to acquiesce in the terms that her King made, but she was suspicious of the good faith of the Burgundian garrison, and so stationed herself at the gate to see them march out. She had been up all night “laboring with a diligence that not two or three most experienced and renowned captains could have shown,”[13] and she was weary, but she would not retire to her tent until she knew how the garrison complied with the conditions. Her suspicions proved to be well founded.
After a time the English and Burgundian soldiers came marching through the gates with their horses and armour, and their property,––property which proved to be French prisoners. There they walked, a band of men previously taken, each one representing so much money in ransom. The poor fellows cast appealing, piteous glances at their victorious fellow countrymen as they passed. Jeanne uttered an exclamation, and stopped the march.
“In God’s name,” she cried, “they shall not have them.”
But some of the captains explained to her that under the 273 terms of the capitulation the prisoners were property, and the soldiers were justified in taking them away, though it had not occurred to the King or his Councillors that any such thing would happen when the terms were given. But the Maid would not hear of letting the Frenchmen be carried away.
“They shall not have them,” she said again. “The thing would be monstrous. I will see the Dauphin.”
Which she did at once, and to such good purpose that the monarch was obliged to ransom the men from their captors, paying for each one a reasonable sum. French prisoners had been too plentiful in the wars to be worth much.
Troyes was full of doubt, terror and ill-will toward the Maid, and Jeanne felt it plainly when she entered the town to prepare for the reception of the King. At Orléans, at Blois, at Tours, at Gien, at all other places where she had been the people thronged about her with enthusiasm. Here they regarded her as a sorceress, and sent a certain Friar Richard to confront her. Friar Richard was a Franciscan who had created a great stir in Paris and Champagne by preaching fervid, emotional sermons, warning people of the coming of Anti-Christ, and urging them to forsake their sins, and to prepare for eternity. As he drew near to the Maid, he crossed himself devoutly, making the sign of the cross in the air, and sprinkling holy water before him to exorcise the evil spirit in the girl. Brother Richard was devout, but he wasn’t going to run any risk. Jeanne laughed gayly. She had become accustomed to being thought possessed.
“Come on boldly,” she cried. “I shall not fly away.”
Upon this the good man fell upon his knees before her, and 274 the Maid, to show that she was no holier than he, knelt also. They had some conversation together, and thereafter the friar was one of her most devoted adherents.
The day after the surrender Charles entered the city in splendor, and went at once to the cathedral, where he received the oaths of loyalty of the burghers. The day following the troops marched on to Châlons, but met with no resistance. All opposition to the King’s advance had collapsed, and eagerly the towns opened their gates to him. After all, he was French, and it was natural for Frenchmen to turn to their rightful King and believe in him in spite of the English. And so with ever increasing army Charles marched in triumph towards Reims.
Châlons, Troyes, and other places that had made submission wrote to Reims immediately advising that town to do likewise as Charles was a “sweet, gracious, pitiful and compassionate prince, of noble demeanor and high understanding, and had shown clearly and prudently the reasons for which he had come to them.”
Reims laughed the messages to scorn, and vowed to resist to the death. They had recalled the captain of their garrison, who was at Château-Thierry, but they limited his escort to fifty horsemen, for which reason the captain very properly declined to come, saying that he could not attempt to hold the city with fewer than three hundred men. So when Charles reached Sept-Saulx, a fortress within four leagues of Reims, it sent out representatives to him to offer its full and entire obedience, in token of which the envoys presented the King with the keys of the city.
It was finished. The march to Reims, which has been called 275 “The Bloodless March,” was ended. The wonderful and victorious campaign with all its lists of towns taken had lasted but six weeks, almost every day of which was distinguished by some victory. The King and his Councillors had been fearful of the result, but the Maid had carried them through in triumph. Every promise which she had made had been fulfilled. There was nothing now between Charles, the discredited Dauphin of three months agone, and the sacred ceremonial which drew with it every “tradition and assurance of an ancient and lawful throne.” Some time later when the Regent wished to make the same march with young Henry of England to crown him at Reims the Duke of Burgundy advised against the attempt, stating that it was too difficult and perilous to imitate.
On the morning of Saturday, July sixteenth, the Archbishop, Regnault de Chartres, who had been kept out of his city by the Burgundians, entered it to make preparations to receive his royal master. In the afternoon the King, with Jeanne riding by his side, his Councillors, the princes and nobles, the captains, and a great train of soldiers, and citizens of neighboring places entered in state. The streets were thronged with people who cheered lustily at sight of the monarch, crying “Noël! Noël!”[14] but who struggled and shouldered each other in the natural curiosity to catch glimpses of the wonderful Maid with her shining armour and fair sweet face.
The King, the Maid, and the heads of the expedition were to be lodged in the palace of the Archbishop, which was near the great cathedral, but as the procession made its way thither Jeanne uttered a cry of joy; for, gazing at her half fearfully 276 from the crowd were her father, Jacques D’Arc, and her uncle, Durand Lassois. The King turned to her.
“What is it, ma mie?” he asked.
“My father, my dear father, is standing there among the people,” she cried, waving her hand at the two rustics. “And with him stands my uncle, Durand Lassois: he who took me to Vaucouleurs, you remember?”
“I remember, Jeanne. We must see and speak with them both,” said the monarch graciously. “Bring them to us later.”
With another wave of her hand at the two the maiden passed on. In the evening Charles was led to a platform which had been erected before the cathedral, and there, amid the red glare of bonfires, flaming torches, the ringing of bells and the acclaiming shouts of the assembled people he was shown to the multitude by the peers of France, with the traditional proclamation:[15]
“Here is your King whom we, peers of France, crown as King and Sovereign Lord. And if there is a soul here who has any objection to make, let him speak and we will answer him. And to-morrow he shall be consecrated by the grace of the Holy Spirit if you have nothing to say against it.”
But the people shouted, “Noël! Noël! Noël!” in a frenzy of delight, and so this preliminary ceremony was concluded. There was feasting in the palace of the Archbishop that night. But Jeanne slipped away from it all and made her way quickly to the little inn called The Zebra, in front of the cathedral, which was kept by Alice Moreau, a widow, where she would find her father and uncle. To her delight her brothers had 277 come hither also, and when Jeanne entered Jacques was standing with an arm around each, his usually undemonstrative face beaming with gladness, for they had been telling him of Jeanne and her exploits. He started toward her as she came through the door, then stopped suddenly and stood gazing at her with doubt and hesitation, but Jeanne flung herself upon him with the abandonment of a child.
“Father!” she cried. “Dear, dear father! I did not hope for this. Oh! how glad I am to see you.”
Jacques could not utter a word for a moment, but held her close, close as though he would never let her go. When at last he spoke it was with choked and trembling accents.
“And do you forgive me, my little one? All the harshness and severity that I showed you? My child, I did not know, I did not understand––”
Jeanne smiled at him through her tears.
“How could you understand, father? I did not either for a long time. But it is over now. My mission will be ended to-morrow when the Dauphin is crowned. And then I am going back home with you to mother. Dear mother! how is she?”
“Well, Jeanne; but longs for you always.”
“And I for her,” said Jeanne, tearfully. “I shall never leave you again, father. I shall be glad to get back.”
At this Durand interposed:
“You won’t be contented there, Jeanne. Just think how set you were to get away. And now you have done everything you wanted to do. And it was I that helped you to do it.”
“Yes, Uncle Durand; and the King wishes to see you to thank you for it.”