After leaving Gien there was little danger, and at last they safely reached Chinon and put up at an inn. Here, as at Gien, the news of Joan’s arrival spread rapidly, and attracted a great crowd. To satisfy the universal curiosity, she appeared on the balcony and was welcomed with enthusiastic shouts. Her knightly companions promptly waited upon the Dauphin; but they found him greatly discouraged and in a despondent mood because of the news that the Englishman, John Falstaff, had repulsed the French, who tried to prevent him from taking supplies of herring to his countrymen before Orleans. The Dauphin’s disappointment over the “herrings day” defeat, however, would have been short-lived had he not at the same time been overtaken by a calamity which seemed to him even worse, namely, his utter lack of money and the consequent emptiness of his kitchen and cellar. In such a mood Joan’s companions found him. At first he listened to them with indifference and a contemptuous smile, but when they told him the people had recognized the Maiden as a saint, and welcomed her as the rescuer of France, it occurred to him she might be instrumental in relieving his necessitous condition. At last he ordered that she should be admitted. To test the prophetic gift ascribed to her, he received her standing among the nobles of his court, while another person sat on the throne.

Joan recognized him at once, however, and advancing to him, knelt, and greeted him with these words: “God grant you a long and happy life, Dauphin.”[18]

“You are mistaken,” he replied. “Yonder is the King,” pointing to the person on the throne.

“Noble prince,” she answered, “you cannot deceive me. You are the Dauphin.” A murmur of astonishment ran through the hall.

“Sire,” she continued, “if we can be alone I will tell you something that will remove all doubt as to my mission.”[19]

The Dauphin conducted her to the adjacent oratory, and there, according to the tradition, she revealed things to him which he was certain none could know but God and himself. He was so sure of this that at the close of the interview he exclaimed: “I am convinced of your divine commission, but my councillors must also be convinced.”

“Very well, sire,” she replied. “Summon the three most learned and experienced to meet me in the morning, and I will give them a sign.” Her wish was gratified. The three selected were the Archbishop of Rheims, Charles of Bourbon, and De la Tremouille, the King’s minister. They first required her to give her history, and then they asked for the sign. Joan went back to the oratory. Then, according to tradition, the heavenly ones appeared, and with them an angel in long white raiment. The latter carried a brilliant crown and slowly advanced into the audience-room.

“Sire,” said the angel, “trust this maiden whom Heaven sends to you. Give her at once as many soldiers as you can raise. As a sign that you shall be crowned at Rheims, Heaven sends you this token.” Thereupon the angel handed the crown to the Archbishop, went out as he had entered, and disappeared through the ceiling of the oratory. So says the tradition.

The three councillors were not yet fully satisfied, however. They suggested that Joan should be examined by the learned theologians of the University of Poitiers.[20] When they also asked her for a sign, she replied: “Give me soldiers and you shall have signs enough.” They finally reported that she was trustworthy, and that the King ought to accept her service. The Dauphin’s council promptly decided to raise as many troops as possible, place the Maiden in command of them, and send her with a convoy of supplies to Orleans. In these few days popular sentiment had changed rapidly, cheerful self-sacrifice and enthusiastic eagerness for action took the place of discouragement and dissension. Knights and their men at arms offered their services, and wealthy burghers sacrificed their treasures for the cause of the country. The Dauphin at last was also in a cheerful frame of mind, for his treasury was filling up and he could once more take some pleasure in living. He was also in a position now to be of service to the Maiden. He presented her with a general’s outfit,—a master of horse, two pages, two heralds, and a chaplain.

About this time the Duc d’Alençon[21] returned from English captivity. He noticed with great delight that every one was eager to follow the Maiden into battle. He immediately mortgaged his property, purchased war equipment, and accepted the duty of preparing the convoy of supplies. Joan met with an affectionate welcome from his wife, who had come to Blois, where the preparations were going on.

The twenty-sixth of April, 1429, was fixed as the day of departure. Joan had previously sent her herald Guienne with a letter to the Duke of Bedford[22], which she had dictated to her chaplain. It ran thus:

“[Jesus, Maria]

“King of England, account to the Queen of Heaven for the blood you have shed. Surrender to the Maiden the keys of all the good towns you have captured. She offers you peace in the name of God if you make reparation and honestly return what you have taken. If you fail to do this she will everywhere attack your troops and drive them out of the country. And you, archers and soldiers before Orleans, go quietly back to your own country, or protect yourselves against the Maiden. France has not been given by Holy Mary’s Son to you, but to the true heir, King Charles, who will enter Paris in good company. You shall see who has the better right, God or you, De la Pole, Count of Suffolk, Talbot and Thomas, who have taken the field for the Duke of Bedford, the so-called regent of the Kingdom of France for the King of England. If you do not leave the city of Orleans peacefully, Duke of Bedford, you will force the French to achieve the most glorious exploit ever known in Christendom.

“Written on Tuesday in Passion Week.”

This letter, however, never was answered. The herald did not come back.

On the day appointed the expedition set out from Blois. At its head was a procession of priests singing hymns, Joan’s chaplain leading them with his banner. Next followed the leaders, Duc d’Alençon, Marshal de Retz, Admiral de Coulent, De la Maison, Laval, Potou de Saintrailles, Count Dunois and La Hire, in whose retinue was Jean Renault. Then came two hundred horsemen, and a long train of wagons loaded with supplies brought up the rear. Joan in full armor, wearing a shining helmet which covered her closely cropped locks, and carrying a sword whose hilt and scabbard were ornamented with lilies, rode among the leaders. Upon one side of her banner, which was thickly sprinkled with lilies, was a picture of the Saviour with the orb in His hand and an angel on either side of Him; on the other, the inscription, “Jesus, Maria.”[23] Her demeanor was serious and dignified, serene confidence shone in her beaming eyes. Her only regrets were the profanity of the soldiers and La Hire’s loud prayer every morning and evening: “Dear God! do for La Hire as he would do for Thee if he were the dear God and Thou wert La Hire.”

On the third day they were before Orleans, but the city was on the other side of the Loire, and there was no bridge. They occupied a redoubt on their side of the river, which the English had abandoned because it was of no use to them. At this juncture the Bastard of Orleans,[24] commander of the city, came in a barge to meet them. By his advice they went two leagues farther up the river and made a halt near Castle Chécy, where they found a French garrison. Count Dunois agreed to send a fleet for the transportation of the supplies, but at three in the afternoon it had not come. The sky was overcast, thunder growled in the distance, and the waves of the Loire were lashed by fierce winds. The courage of the soldiers began to waver.

“When this storm subsides,” said the Duc d’Alençon, “the English vessels will be here instead of ours, and then all will be lost.”

“Ah, you forget,” said the Maiden, “that I promised you in the name of God we should enter Orleans successfully.”

“H’m! it does not look as if you could keep your promise,” replied the Duke.

“Have a little patience,” said Joan, as she closely scanned the sky. “Before a quarter of an hour passes the wind will change.” She retired a little distance to pray, but hardly had she knelt before a favoring wind sprung up and the vessels which had been detained by the storm arrived.

“Now what do you think of that, Jean?” said La Hire, as they began loading the supplies.

“I think, noble sir,” replied the youth, “that the Maiden in her pastoral life has had ample opportunity to observe the wind and weather, and is therefore able to predict changes like these.”

“Oho! Then she is an impostor!”

“Why so, noble sir?”

“Do you not understand? Does she not make people believe that the winds change in answer to her prayers?”

“Oh no, certainly not. She does not pray on account of the wind. She prays because prayer is a necessity to her, because of the impelling forces of her nature, and because she feels happy in communing with Heaven. Her special prayer is for strength and help from on high for her great work, which is beginning this very hour.”

“H’m! But she deceives the multitude by it, just the same.”

“She does only what she must do. Does the sun lave itself every evening in the sea just because the people believe it does?”

“I am not criticising you, my young friend, but one minute you deny the supernatural in the manifestations of the Maiden, and in the next you extol her to the very skies.”

“What are wonders anyway, noble sir? What the blind multitude regards as a wonder easily resolves itself into harmony with nature to the reflective person, and what the multitude passes by without observing at all is a wonder to the intelligent thinker.”

“Explain yourself more clearly.”

“As to the first point, the Maiden herself is a sufficient illustration. Do not these people recognize a wonder in this change of wind, while you see nothing at all extraordinary in it? As to the other point there are a thousand illustrations. The sky with its stars, the flowers of the field, the worm in the dust,—all these are wonders of creation which the multitude scarcely notices, but which are marvellous to the observant thinker.”

“And this Maiden?”

“She is a wonder in both ways, and therein lies her extraordinary power. She is believed to be a prophetess who has direct communication with Heaven. The people regard her as an actually divine wonder, because of her purity of heart, her celestial confidence, her unsullied patriotism, and her spiritual illumination. Indeed, noble sir, the Maiden is a wonderful gift of Heaven to stricken France.”

“Then you also believe in her success apart from her divine commission?”

“I do not dispute her divine commission. She is executing it because the divine voice in her own heart has charged her with that duty. Do I believe in her success? Look at these people! How their eyes are fixed upon this Maiden! At her command of ‘forward’ they would plunge into the Loire and follow her, believing that its waters would bear them up. Will you not yourself, noble sir, although you do not believe in her divine commission, gladly draw your sword when the lily banner waves before you? If the spirit which Joan has roused in our little band is animating all France, how can we do otherwise than expect success?”

“You are right, my young friend,” said La Hire, extending his hand. “I thank your gallant father in his grave for the training he gave you. Yes, yes, it must be so,—when religious or political enthusiasms fire a people, great results always follow. In this case it is a joint enthusiasm. The victory will be ours, and we shall thank the Maiden for it. I will not again grieve her with my prayers. When it is prayer time I will go so far off that she cannot hear me. But one thing more, Jean. Have you heard anything about Marie?”

“Alas! noble sir, I have not. As you well know, I have not ceased making inquiries, but as in your case, the turmoil of war has prevented me from obtaining personal information.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I cannot tell you how that poor child’s situation troubles me. I have waited from week to week for an opportunity to speak a few words to this lord of Luxemburg and his bishop”—and his grip of his sword indicated what kind of words he had in mind. “But let us hope,” he resumed, “that the Maiden whom we serve may open the way to Marie’s release. First, we must send the English to the devil. After that nothing shall prevent me from finding Marie, and”—casting a significant glance at Jean—“I know who will stand by me.”

“To the end of the world, noble sir,” cried the youth, his flashing eyes showing that the words came from his heart.

“Good, good, I am sure of it; but it is time that we were off.” He pointed to the last of the vessels, which was held for the troops. Soon they came to the line of the English intrenchments, which stretched around the city.

“Well,” growled La Hire, “these English gentlemen do not like to show themselves, and yet it would be an easy matter to break these nutshells. I wonder if they have run away.”

“They are there, and can see us,” said Jean. “They are lying behind the walls, but they have no ordnance to use against us.”

It turned out as Jean said. The English made no assault, and the little flotilla reached the city unharmed. There was unbounded enthusiasm when the Maiden appeared with her banner at the gates. The people would have carried her in their arms had not the commander of the city forestalled them by having a horse in readiness for her. She mounted and rode in triumph to the cathedral, where a Te Deum was sung, the first which had been heard for a long time within its walls. Then she was escorted to the house of Jacques Boucher, treasurer of the Duke of Orleans, where she was to lodge. Now for the first time she put off her armor, drank a cup of wine diluted with water, and then withdrew with the wife and daughters of her host to her chamber. There was lively commotion in the streets until far into the night. All anxiety disappeared on that 29th of April, 1429. An old chronicle relates that the people and the soldiers believed an angel had come down from heaven to them. To the same extent that their despair had vanished and given place to joyous enthusiasm, courage waned in the English camp. Most of those brave soldiers, particularly the spearsmen and archers, believed the Maiden was either a messenger from heaven or from hell, either a saint or a mighty magician. Their leaders inveighed bitterly against the Dauphin because he employed unknightly weapons, weapons of hell.

On the next day Joan urged an immediate attack, but at a council of the most experienced leaders it was decided to wait at least for the arrival of the next contingent of troops from Blois. They did not altogether believe in Joan’s divine commission, but they thought it best to take advantage of the popular enthusiasm which she had aroused. Count Dunois returned to Blois to hasten reinforcements forward, and on the fourth day his banner was seen on the left bank of the Loire. His route led directly past the English encampment. Joan could no longer remain inactive. “We must go out and meet them and fetch them in,” she cried, at the same time mounting her steed, seizing her little battle-axe and banner, and riding to the gate. The knights shook their heads. No one was eager to rush directly into the jaws of the lion, for it did not seem possible that any one would come back if the English came out and attacked them.

“Now,” shouted La Hire, “no one shall say that La Hire has been outdone in courage by a woman. Forward,” he commanded, galloping after the Maiden, and followed by his little band. Count Dunois had halted some distance away, evidently awaiting help from the city. As soon as he saw the banners of the Maiden and La Hire he moved forward along the first line of intrenchments. The two forces soon met and advanced towards the city along the very front of the English camp, but such was the Englishmen’s fear of the Maiden that not one of them ventured out. No one even hurled a missile. They looked on quietly, as the little band passed their lines and safely reached the city. As further reinforcements were on their way, it was decided on the following day to attack Fort Saint Loup.

Early in the morning, while Joan, wearied by her exertions on the day before, was still sleeping, some of the captains sallied out with their troops and made a furious assault upon the fort. The English, seeing only their customary assailants, fell upon them, and after a hard struggle beat them back. At that instant the Maiden, bearing her lily banner, rode to the Burgundian gate. “Halt!” she shouted to the fugitives. “Look you, the Maiden whom God sent to you is here. Follow me to victory.” At once she plunged into the thick of battle. Her presence acted like magic on both sides. The French impetuously followed her, Daulon, Master of horse, La Hire, and two other knights, leading the first charge. The English wavered.

“Why do you hesitate?” cried Guerard, their leader. “Shame and confusion to any one who fears this country girl! Drive her back to her village and her father’s cows.”

His appeal was unheeded. The soldiers stood for a moment staring at the banner in the hand of “the witch,” and then, as if at the word of command, rushed in a panic for the protecting walls of the fort. “On, my brave ones, forward to the battle and victory,” cried Joan, as she furiously galloped after the fugitives.

“Now, soldiers of France!” said La Hire, “she is doing more than her share. On, my children! Shall we let this brave one do all the work alone?” He spurred his steed, but his heavy battle horse could not overtake the Maiden’s light courser. The next instant a single knight of La Hire’s troop flew after her, and in a few seconds his sword was waving at her side. It was Jean Renault. Enthusiasm such as he had never felt before had seized him. He was oblivious to all sense of danger. Scarcely was the last Englishman through the fortress gate before the Maiden and Jean rushed through also. The astonished English soldiers saw the lily banner in their very midst. Before they had recovered from the deadly fear it inspired, it was flying on the wall. The French poured through the gate, and victory was soon complete. Those who resisted were cut down, and the rest were taken prisoners. Some of the fugitives had fled to the tower of the church within the walls, but these unfortunates were either killed upon the steps, or hurled themselves from the windows. A more fortunate remnant came out of the sacristy, where they had arrayed themselves in the robes of the priests. These were greeted with jibes and laughter as they begged of the Maiden to be made prisoners. Amid the peals of bells and the triumphal shouts of the people, the Maiden entered the city at the head of her soldiers.

Three days after this—a festival day intervening—the leaders decided to make a feint upon the right bank, covering an attack upon the left. As Orleans lies upon the right bank of the Loire, the commander of the city kept a large number of boats for crossing. In the midst of the stream, but somewhat nearer the left bank, is an island which the English had not occupied. The French landed upon this island, Joan and La Hire, with his troop, in the lead. The boats were fastened together and thus made a bridge to the left bank, over which they advanced for an attack upon the first fort, Le Blanc. It would have been easy for the English to stop the passage, but they did not attempt it. After setting Fort Le Blanc on fire they fell back upon Fort Saint Augustine.

Joan followed them, and planted her banner half an arrowshot’s distance from the wall. Suddenly there was a shout, “The English are coming from Fort St. Rivi.” The little band retreated to the Loire, all save fifteen, La Hire and Jean among the latter. These fell back a little distance, so as not to expose themselves needlessly to the enemy’s assault, seeing which the English plucked up courage and attacked them, shouting loudly.

“Follow me,” cried Joan, waving her banner and advancing upon the English. The fifteen did not hesitate, rash as the undertaking seemed. They pressed forward, cutting their way through. When those who had retreated to the river saw this they came to their assistance, and in a few minutes the English were driven back into the fort. Joan rushed on until she reached the palisades, dashed through a breach which Daulon had made, and planted her banner on the wall. The French rapidly came up, captured the fort, and burned it. It may well be imagined this fresh victory was hailed with delight in the city. The bells again pealed as the soldiers entered, but their reception was a quiet one as compared with the enthusiastic homage which the Maiden received on her way to her lodgings.

Though Joan was wounded in the foot during the battle and passed a restless night, she was again on horseback early in the morning. She rode to the Burgundian Gate with a little band, and ordered it to be opened. The keeper would not obey, saying that the leaders had decided not to give battle that day, and had ordered the gate to be kept closed. When Joan insisted a tumult arose. The people demanded it should be opened, and at last opened it by force. With joyful acclamations the crowd followed their inspired leader to the river. The boats which had been used the day before were lying there, and served this time to carry her across. Joan held her horse by the bridle and let it swim after her, and thus the left bank was reached. A shout of joy from the French who had garrisoned the captured fort welcomed the lily banner. They came out to meet her, and Joan placed herself at their head. “Forward, my brave ones,” she cried. “The victory to-day also will be ours.” An enthusiastic shout was the reply as they impetuously rushed on to assault Fort Tournelles.

This fort, the strongest bulwark of the English, was close to the river, a drawbridge furnishing the only approach to it. On the land side it was surrounded by a high wall, which had to be passed before reaching the fort itself. Its garrison was the very flower of the English warriors, led by the experienced Glasdale. An assault by a mere handful of troops without ordnance or storming appliances seemed to the English the height of madness.

In the meantime the number of the assailants continually increased, for when the leaders in Orleans witnessed the courageous dash of the Maiden they realized that they must support her. One after another La Hire, Dunois the Bastard of Orleans, De Retz, Gaucourt, Gamache, Graville, Tintey, Villars, Chailly, Couraze, D’Illiers, Thermes, Gontaut, Eulant, Saintrailles, and others appeared upon the scene. By ten o’clock the assault was general. The French hurled long spears. The English brandished leaden maces and iron battle-axes and hurled beams, stones, boiling oil, and molten lead upon the heads of the assailants. After three hours of furious fighting the French fell back.

“Courage,” cried Joan, whose banner was always in the front. “Courage in God’s name. The victory is ours.” She rushed to a ladder and ascended. “Surrender!” she shouted to the English, “or you will be massacred.” The reply was an arrow, which pierced her shoulder so that it protruded five inches out of her back. She gave a cry of pain and came down to the trenches. The English rushed upon her furiously, but a hand was stretched out to her at once. A heavy battle-axe struck her protector down. It was the brave Gamache who had come to her rescue. In a trice other heroes were on the spot, and the English fell back. They bore the maiden tenderly away and took off her armor. She looked up with tearful eyes, but they were fixed upon heaven, as was her wont.

“How is it going, Count Dunois?” she asked.

“We have ordered a retreat,” he replied, whereupon she partly sprang up, seized the arrow with both hands, and pulled it out. “Let there be no retreating,” she urged. “Quick, my armor.” In a few minutes she mounted her steed and galloped through the flying ranks. “Halt!” she pleaded. “Have courage, in God’s name. In half an hour the English will be in our hands.”

The effect of her heroic resolution was wonderful. The soldiers turned back with cheers. Daulon grasped the lily banner and carried it to the wall. Joan hastened forward and again led the assault. The terror of the English at the reappearance of the Maiden cannot be described. They had believed her dead. They were certain now that she was in league with Satan. They dropped their weapons and fled, and fear lent wings to their flight. Loud cries of horror from the water side completed the disasters of the day. An attack had been made upon the drawbridge. Glasdale had hastened there to protect the weak point. A shot fired by Daulon shattered the pier, and the bridge with all its defenders fell with a crash into the Loire. Glasdale, weighed down by his heavy armor, was drowned. It was this disaster which had caused the outcries. The day ended in a tragedy for the English. “Save yourselves as you can,” was the signal for flight. The fort was taken.

In Orleans the bells rang welcome to the troops. They rang the whole night long in celebration of the victory. The churches were thronged, and from thousands of grateful hearts rose the Te Deum laudamus to heaven. The next morning dense smoke ascended from the English camp. Suffolk and Talbot had abandoned the siege, set fire to their camp, and retreated with the remnant of their army.

Thus in nine days Joan accomplished the first part of her mission.

Chapter V
The Coronation and the Capture

On the left bank of the Loire, a few miles above Orleans, is the little city of Jargeau. At the time of which we write it was surrounded by massive walls, and was considered a strong fortress. After the raising of the siege of Orleans the weakness of their position was so apparent that the Duke of Suffolk, with his brothers, Alexander and John de la Pole, fell back to Jargeau. Within a few weeks the Maid of Orleans, as Joan was now generally called, was before its walls with her principal commanders. Her only desire now was to conduct the King to Rheims for his coronation. Notwithstanding her wounds were not yet healed, she left Orleans with La Hire, Dunois, the Duc d’Alençon, and other officers, went to Tours, where the Dauphin was then stopping, and requested him to follow her at once to Rheims. He was not disposed, however, to grant her request. His kitchen, cellar, and money-chest were once more replenished, and as life was now very enjoyable, he decided that it would be rash to hazard such an undertaking until the way was cleared; for notwithstanding the deliverance of Orleans, the enemy was still holding the district. The leaders also declared that it would be in violation of all the rules of war. They must first open the way, and above all, Jargeau must be captured. Joan was obliged to submit to their decision, and join them.

On the 20th of June—the day was Friday—the army arrived before Jargeau. Learning that Falstaff was on his way from Paris with help for Suffolk, no time was wasted. Preparations for the assault were instantly begun, and on Saturday evening a breach had been made in the wall. Early on Sunday morning Joan, in full armor, entered the tent of d’Alençon, he being in chief command.

“Come, noble Duke,” she cried, “let us make the attack.”

“What,” he replied, “to-day? On Sunday?”

“Why not, noble sir? Obedience is the best service to God.”

“But, Joan, is the breach passable?”

“Undoubtedly. God has given the enemy into our hands.”

“But, in the meantime—”

“There is no meantime, noble sir. What fear you? Have you forgotten that I promised to take you back safe to your wife?”

“Well, let the attack begin.”

“Forward, attack!” cried Joan, as she left the tent, waving her banner. The troops advanced, but the apprehensions of the Duke proved to be well founded. The breach was too high. A ladder must be raised. In the meantime, among the daring ones who had rushed forward, was Jean. “Halt, boy,” shouted La Hire, at the same time pulling him back. “I don’t think your skull is tough enough to resist that fellow’s club.” He pointed to the breach. Jean looked up and saw a giant standing in the opening, wielding a massive club, and laughing with fiendish glee as he dashed everything about him to pieces. “Wait a bit,” said La Hire. “I think your namesake, the gunner, can stop that fellow’s laughing.” He was right. The catapult hurled a rock through the air, the giant flung up his arms, and fell backward from the wall, a great shout accompanying his fall.

Joan rushed up the ladder shouting “Forward, forward, my brave ones,” but a stone felled her to the earth.

“Hurrah!” shouted the English, “the witch is dead.” Their joy was short-lived, however. Fear again seized them, as they not only heard her assuring words to those about her, but saw her prepare to ascend the ladder again.

“All right now, boy,” said La Hire, as Jean again rushed forward. “I am with you this time.” They quickly climbed the ladder, but when Jean reached the top some of the English had been thrown down, and others were flying into the city. Among those who had been hurled down was Alexander de la Pole. When the Duke of Suffolk saw his brother fallen, and the French pouring in, he gave up the fight, and, like the others, turned toward the city.

“Halt! halt! surrender!” a strong voice shouted. Suffolk stopped and looked at his pursuer. He could have vanquished him with little effort, but he did not consider it chivalrous to take advantage of an enemy. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Jean Renault,” was the answer.

“Nobleman?”

“Yes.”

“Knight?”

“No.”

“Kneel down.”

Jean obeyed. The Duke raised his sword, and with the words, “In the name of God and Saint George I dub thee knight,” he dealt him three blows upon the shoulder with the flat of the blade, and then offered him his sword.

Jean arose, pressed the Duke’s hand to his lips, and took his sword, saying, “I do not deserve this honor, my Lord Duke, but I am very proud to receive the sword of the first of England’s heroes.”

“You are right,” said a deep voice behind him; and, as if in benediction, La Hire laid his mailed hand upon his head. “You are right, say I. All the knighthood of France would begrudge you this sword. By Saint George, I am just as happy as if I had seen that sword in the hand of my own son.”

“The noble La Hire’s word,” said the Duke, “is sufficient warrant that my sword will be worthily carried, Sir Jean Renault; there is no stain upon it, guard its purity.” Jean’s feelings overcame him, and he could make no reply.

After the capture of Jargeau, Joan rested for a time, meanwhile forwarding reinforcements to Orleans, for more victories must yet be achieved in the district of the Loire. While her fame attracted recruits every day to her banner, the fear of her very name was so overpowering that Meung, Beaugency, Guetin, and other cities surrendered without offering resistance. The English force which came from Paris under Talbot and Falstaff was defeated at Patay, and two of its generals were taken prisoners. The evacuation of Paris was the result of this battle.[25]

Joan returned with the Duc d’Alençon to Orleans, and thence repaired to Gien to see the Dauphin. “Sire,” she said, “the district of the Loire is now clear. Go with me to your coronation at Rheims.”

The Dauphin still hesitated. “The way is even yet dangerous,” he said. “Many castles and cities in Champagne are still in the hands of the enemy. How easy it would be for them to fall upon our rear from Normandy.” His councillors in attendance decided that his fears were well grounded.

“Oh, you saints of heaven,” cried the Maiden, her eyes shining with enthusiasm, “help me to inspire the noble Dauphin with a little of that courage you have given me!” Her prayer was answered at once. The King was moved by her soulful eyes, her steadfast faith, and her lofty inspiration. “Yes, Joan, we will trust you,” he exclaimed. “On to Rheims.”

Orders were sent in all directions. The leaders and their troops quickly assembled, and the march began. Joan led the vanguard. At the mere announcement of her coming the cities of Auxerre, St. Florentin, Chalons, and Sept-Sceaux capitulated. Troyes did not surrender until preparations for assault were made. At Sept-Sceaux, four leagues from Rheims, they rested. Charles then sent three of his principal councillors to San Remy to fetch the holy oil which was kept there.[26] They returned, escorted by a grand procession headed by the Abbot of San Remy, who walked under a canopy, carrying the phial.

From all the towers of Rheims the bells announced the memorable ceremony of July 17, 1429, which completed Joan’s mission. The pealing organ and a majestic hymn of praise welcomed the long coronation procession as it entered the Cathedral of St. Denis. Joan accompanied the King to the vestibule, where the Archbishop of Rheims met him and conducted him to the high altar. The choir was occupied on each side by the commanders and leading dignitaries, knights and lords, squires and attendants, while a vast multitude of people crowded the cathedral to its utmost capacity. Joan stood next to the King, her eyes shining with sacred joy, holding her banner in her left hand and her sword in her right.[27] It was a position which ordinarily only the first marshals of the kingdom were entitled to occupy; but no one questioned her right to it or envied her.

The sacred function began at nine o’clock in the morning and lasted until two o’clock in the afternoon. The opening ceremony was the administering of the oath by the Archbishop, during which Joan, following the old custom, held her sword over the King’s head. Then followed the knighting, for Charles had not yet received this honor, without which he could not ascend the throne. He knelt and the Duc d’Alençon knighted him. The third ceremony was the consecration and anointing with the holy oil, and was performed by the Archbishop. The last act was his coronation by the same prelate. As soon as the royal symbol glittered upon his head the cathedral resounded with the enthusiastic acclamations of the great multitude: “Hail, hail, King Charles the Seventh!” accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets, the roll of drums, and majestic chorales.

Joan was the first to proclaim allegiance to the Crown. She threw herself at the King’s feet, and after kissing his knee, said: “Sire, the will of God is accomplished. You are now the true King of France. My mission is ended. Permit me to return to my home and resume the humble life of the shepherdess.”

“No, Joan,” replied the King, “I cannot spare you. All that I now am is due to you. You must accompany me on the return.”

Joan rose sadly. She felt that in remaining longer she would be disobeying the divine voices which had commissioned her to perform only the two tasks now successfully accomplished. The King rewarded her by granting a patent of nobility to her whole family, whence it is that she is called “Jeanne d’Arc.” Her coat of arms was a blue shield with two gold lilies and a silver sword bearing a golden crown on its point. These distinctions, however, were of little interest to Joan. She grew sadder and sadder, and ardently longed for her home fields and her loved Fairy Tree. This feeling became all the more intense when her brother Pierre arrived; but she rushed joyously into his arms and was somewhat consoled when the King appointed him her page, and she knew that he would never leave her. She took part in many more military operations; but although she entered many cities whose gates opened at the sound of her name, though she was everywhere greeted as a saint and welcomed with enthusiastic acclamations and songs of praise, she no longer felt the early unquestioning faith and the sacred inspiration. An ill-starred movement against Paris, in which she was wounded afresh, confirmed her in the belief that she had exceeded her duty, and that she was no longer under the protection of her saints. She was haunted with gloomy presentiments of death. They pursued her in dreams, and at last she again implored the King to let her go.

“What do you fear, Joan?” said the King. “If you are wounded it shall be my care to heal you. If you are captured by the English I will release you, if it costs half my kingdom. You are the guardian angel of France. I cannot let you go.” He placed her in command of his own corps and sent her once more into the tumult of battle.

On the 27th of May Joan appeared with her army before Compiègne,[28] which was occupied by the French but was closely invested by the Duke of Burgundy, who was in alliance with the English. She successfully entered the city, and of course was received with the greatest enthusiasm. Early on the next day she made a sally at the head of six hundred troopers. She wore her usual armor, with a short silver-gilt cape over it, and carried her small battle-axe, sword, and banner.

Philip of Burgundy’s army was composed of experienced troops, and its various divisions were led by Noyelles, John of Luxemburg, and John of Montgomery. Joan swept among them like a whirlwind, carrying everything before her, and for the time throwing them into utter confusion. A cry of terror—“The Maiden, the Maiden”—was raised in the camp, but when Philip of Burgundy appeared with reinforcements the English, recovering from their first surprise and confusion, began to hold their ground. Finding herself confronted by a tenfold increased force, she ordered a retreat. She was the last in the line, and was closely pressed by the enemy, but when the boldest of them came too close she turned upon them and drove them back. In this manner she forced her way successfully to the gate. As there was much crowding and disorder there, she turned once more at the head of her rear guard against her pursuers, and beat them back, thus gaining time for her troopers to get into the city; but when she herself made a dash for the gate she found an English troop barring the way. She slashed right and left and hewed her way through; but, alas! the gate was shut. No one heard her call, no one opened the gate, for it was feared that the English might rush through. Joan turned her horse, hoping to reach open country or find another gate. The enemy, seeing that she rode alone, plucked up courage. She was quickly surrounded, and a desperate fight ensued. An archer stole under her horse, seized her by her velvet cape, and pulled her down. She gathered all her strength for a last effort, but, overcome by superior numbers, sank exhausted upon her knee, and still fought on with her little remaining strength. Longingly she watched the city, but no one came to her rescue. At last she surrendered her sword to Lionel, one of the leaders in the Duke of Luxemburg’s corps.

“The Maiden is captured,” shouted the soldiers. The news flew from place to place and from troop to troop. The English celebrated the event with as much enthusiasm as if they had won a pitched battle. Well might they rejoice, for Joan’s prowess had cost them two-thirds of their French possessions.

The Duke of Bedford, the Earl of Warwick, and the Bishop of Winchester instructed Brother Martin, Vicar General of the Inquisition, to demand the delivery of “the witch” into the hands of the Church. Martin wrote to the Duke of Burgundy as follows:—

“By virtue of the regulations of our order and of the Holy Roman See which give us the authority, we entreat and command, under lawful penalties, that you deliver to us the prisoner, the Maiden Joan, who is suspected of heresy, that she may be proceeded against in the Court of the Holy Inquisition.”

“Both of us know,” said the Duke of Burgundy to John of Luxemburg, “that Joan is not a witch but a noble maiden, and that we are bound to deliver all noble prisoners to our English allies for a consideration of ten thousand pounds. But we also know that the Maiden is an exception, as it is altogether probable that Charles VII will ransom her, for he has promised to do so.” John of Luxemburg was satisfied, as he hoped to get more from the King than from the English. In the meantime he sent Joan to his castle Beaurevoir, where she was affectionately greeted by his wife.

Month after month passed, but nothing was heard from Charles VII. In the luxurious life he was leading he had not time to think of his rescuer, whom he had promised to ransom even if it cost him half his kingdom. For this reason the English were anxious to expedite matters. They instructed Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, in whose diocese Joan had been captured, to request her delivery to him and to conduct her examination. They offered ten thousand pounds to the Duke of Luxemburg, the ransom price of a general, and an annuity of three hundred pounds to Duke Lionel. In the middle of September the Duke of Luxemburg sent word to his wife he could wait no longer, but by her earnest pleading and by her excuse that the Duke of Bedford had not yet sent the money, she secured a further respite for Joan.

Joan burst into tears as she now for the first time realized the actual character of the situation. “Oh, I knew it would be so!” she exclaimed. “They have sold me, but I would rather die than be given into the hands of the English.”