Joan of Arc

"Joan," said the bluff Constable, "I was told that you meant to attack me. I know not whether you come from God or not; if you are from God, I fear you not at all, for God knows my good will; if you are from the devil, I fear you still less."

"Ah, fair Constable," said the Maid. "You have not come for my sake, but you are welcome!"

So all was well that ended well. The threatening breach was closed, and over it the allied forces rode on to meet the English.

These too had had their troubles. Talbot and Fastolf had met at Janville and held a council, but could not be of one mind. Fastolf, a cautious man, was for delay. Their men, he said, were disheartened by recent events; the French were in full flush of triumph with the send of victory behind them; best for themselves to stand fast, and keep such strongholds as were still theirs, leaving Beaugency to its fate.

This discreet plan little suited John Talbot. Give way, without battle, to a girl? Not he! though he had only his proper escort and such as elected to follow him, yet, he vowed, with the aid of God and St. George he would fight the French.

The weaker man yielded, albeit protesting to the last moment; the old lion marshaled his troops, and on June 18th at Patay, between Orleans and Châteaudun, rode out to battle.

It was evening of the 17th when the French, arrayed in order of battle on a little hill, "une petite montagnette," saw their enemy advancing across a wide plain. Beholding them Joan the Maid cried to those beside her, "They are ours! if they were hung from the clouds above me, we must have them!"

On came the valiant English, and ranged themselves in battle array at the foot of the little hill. Talbot knew well that the others had the advantage of position. Behoved him to break the line which stood so firm above him. He sent two heralds to say that "there were three knights who would fight the French if they would come down."

The French replied, "The hour is late: go to your rest for this day. To-morrow, if it be the good pleasure of God and Our Lady, we shall meet at closer quarters!"

The English did not follow this advice, but fell back on Meung, and spent the night in battering the bridge-head towers which the French had taken and were holding. Next morning they would assault and re-take the towers, then march to the relief of Beaugency.

Morning found them collecting doors and other things to shelter them during the storming of the forts; when a pursuivant came in hot haste from Beaugency, announcing that the French had taken town and fort and were now on their way to find the English generals.

Hereupon the said English generals dropped the doors and other things, departed from Meung, and took the road to Paris, marching in good order across the wide wooded plain of the Beauce. Behind them, but well out of sight, pricked the advancing French.

What followed reads more like a child's game than a life and death struggle of brave men. The French were seeking the English, but had no idea of their whereabouts. The Maid, being appealed to, said confidently, "Ride boldly on! You will have good guidance."

To Alençon, who asked her privately what they should do, she replied, "Have good spurs!"

"How? Are we then to turn our backs?"

"Not so! but there will be need to ride boldly; we shall give a good account of the English, and shall need good spurs to follow them."

On the morning of June 18th Joan said, "To-day the gentle king shall have the greatest victory he has yet had."

For some reason – probably because they wished to keep her in a place of safety, fearing ambuscades in this unknown country – Joan did not lead the advance this day. An enemy might lurk behind any clump of oak or beech; they would not risk their precious Maid in so precarious an adventure.

This was not to the Maid's taste; she was very angry, we are told, for she loved to lead the vanguard: however it chanced, La Hire was the fortunate gallant who rode forward, with eighty men of his company, "mounted on the flower of chargers," to find the English and report when found. Briefly, a scouting party.

"So they rode on and they rode on," till at last they saw on their right the spires of Lignerolles, on their left those of Patay, two little cities of the plain, thick set in woods. This was all they saw, for the English, though directly in front of them, were close hidden in thickets and behind hedges.

Talbot himself led the van. Coming to a lane between two tall hedges he dismounted, and, mindful it may be of the moment at Agincourt selected five hundred skilled archers, and proceeded to instal them behind the hedges, declaring that he would hold the pass till his main and rear guard came up.

"When from the meadow by,Like a storm suddenly,The English archeryStruck the French horses,"

"But another thing befell him!" says the old chronicle.

On came La Hire and his eighty cavaliers, dashing across the open, crashing through the woods, who so merry as they?

Now these woods held other living things beside English archers. At the sound of crackling and rending branches, up sprang a noble stag, startled from his noonday rest, and fled through the forest as if the hounds were at his heels. So fleeing, the frightened creature rushed full into the main body of the English, hurrying to join Talbot. An Englishman is an Englishman, the world over. They did not know the French were near, but I am not sure that it would have made any difference if they had. Clear, loud, and triumphant, every man of them raised the "view halloo," as good sportsmen should. La Hire heard, and checked his horse instantly; sent back a message to Alençon and the Maid, the one word "Found!" formed his eighty in order of battle, and charged with such fury down Talbot's lane that the English archers were cut to pieces before they could loose a shaft.

Fastolf now came rushing up to join Talbot, but finding himself too late, drew rein, and suffered himself to be led – somewhat ignominiously, it was thought – from the field; "making the greatest dole that ever man made."

Well might he lament. The battle of Patay was followed by a massacre of the English, which the Maid was powerless to prevent. The French had suffered too long; the iron had entered too deep into their souls. As the world stood then, they would have been more or less than human to have held their hand from the slaughter. It seemed probable that Joan did not see all of the butchery, but she saw more than enough. "She was most pitiful," says the page d'Aulon, "at the sight of so great a slaughter. A Frenchman was leading some English prisoners; he struck one of them on the head; the man fell senseless. Joan sprang from her saddle and held the Englishman's head in her lap, comforting him; and he was shriven."52

Talbot was taken by Xaintrailles, and led by him before Alençon, the Maid and de Richemont.

"You did not look for this in the morning, Lord Talbot!" said Alençon, who had been a prisoner in England.

"It is the fortune of war!" said the old lion; and no other word of his is recorded.

The Week of Victories was over, and once more Joan returned to her Orleans, to joy-bells and masses, adoring crowds and friendly hearthstones. This time she found a present awaiting her at the house of Père Boucher, a present at once quaint and pathetic.

Fourteen years had passed since Agincourt was lost and won, and Charles of Orleans was still a prisoner in England, still writing poetry like his fellow-prisoner and poet, James I. of Scotland. He had heard of the grievous peril of his city, and of its glorious rescue by the wonder-working Maid. He would fain show his gratitude in some seemly and appropriate way. Therefore, "considering the good and agreeable service of the Pucelle against the English, ancient enemies of the King and himself," he ordered the treasurer (of Orleans) to offer in his name to the young heroine a suit – of armor? – By no means! a costume of state, "vêtement d'apparat," such as gentlewomen wore. The colors of his house were to be used; "a robe of fine scarlet cloth, with a tunic (huque) of dark green stuff." "A tailor of renown" was charged with the making of the costume; the items of expense have been preserved.

Two ells of scarlet cloth cost eight gold crowns; the lining, two crowns more. One ell of green stuff, two crowns. For making a robe and huque, with trimming of white satin, sendal, and other stuff, one crown. Total, thirteen gold crowns, equal to about twenty dollars of our money. Not an extravagant present, you say, in return for a royal city. But Joan had looked for no reward, and Charles gave what he could. Be sure that the Maid was well pleased with her costume of state; I cannot repeat too often that she was seventeen, and fair as a white rose. She may even have worn it – who knows? during those few days of rest, after Patay, at Père Boucher's. She loved pretty clothes. One can fancy the astonishment of Alençon, coming clanking in his armor to take counsel with his fellow-commander, to find her blushing rose-like in scarlet and green. It is a pretty picture. Those were the days of the hennin, but I cannot think that the Maid ever, even for a moment, crowned her short dark locks with that most hideous invention of fashion. We all know it in pictures; the single or double-horned headdress (I know not which is uglier!) often reaching monstrous proportions, with which the fashionable women of that day were infatuated. The single hennin was often two or three feet in height; the double one perhaps nearly as wide.

In the first year of the siege of Orleans one Friar Thomas preached a crusade against the extravagance of women's dress, and especially against the hennin. "He was so vehement against them," says Monstrelêt, "that no woman thus dressed dared to appear in his presence, for he was accustomed when he saw any with such dresses, to excite the little boys to torment and plague them. He ordered the boys to shout after them, 'Au hennin! au hennin!' even when the ladies were departed from him, and from hearing his invectives; and the boys pursuing them endeavored to pull down these monstrous head-dresses, so that the ladies were forced to seek shelter in places of safety. These cries caused many tumults between those who raised them and the servants of the ladies. For a time the ladies were ashamed, and came to mass in close caps, 'such as those of nuns.' But this reform lasted not, for like as snails, when anyone passes them, draw in their horns, and when all danger seems over, put them forth again – so these ladies, shortly after the preacher had quitted their country, forgetful of his doctrine and abuse, began to resume their former colossal head-dresses, and wore them even higher than before."

A terrible fellow, this Friar Thomas. Monstrelêt further tells us that "at sermons he divided women from men by a cord, having observed some sly doings between them while he was preaching."

Sometimes, after an eloquent sermon on the pains of hell and damnation, he would summon his hearers to bring him all games and toys; all hennins and other abominations of dress; and having a fire ready burning, would throw these vanities in and make an end of them for that time.

Here is a long digression about hennins; as I say, I do not believe Joan ever put one on her head; nor did Friar Thomas, so far as I know, ever come to Orleans.

CHAPTER XIII

RHEIMS

Things began to look worse and worse for La Trémoïlle. "By reason of Joan the Maid," says the old chronicle, "so many folks came from all parts unto the king for to serve him at their own charges, that La Trémoïlle and others of the council were full wroth thereat, through anxiety for their own persons."

That figure of a united France, which shone so bright and gracious before the eyes of the Maid, was to La Trémoïlle and his minions a spectre of doom. They put forth all their forces of inertia and procrastination – mighty forces indeed when skilfully handled – and spun their cobwebs of intrigue close and closer about the foolish Dauphin.

Rejoicing Orleans thought her prince would come to share her triumph, and through her gates would ride forth to that coronation which was to consummate and render stable the glorious victories of the past weeks. They adorned their streets, hung out their richest tapestries for the royal visitor; but Charles was visiting La Trémoïlle at the latter's castle of Sully, and made no movement. Joan waited a day or two, and then took horse and rode to Sully. She had no time to waste, however it might be with others. Earnestly and reverently she besought Charles to make no more delay, but ride with her at once to Rheims for his coronation.

Charles regretted the severity of the Maid's labors; was very pleased at the victories; thought she ought to take a holiday; shortly, no one knows why, left Sully and went to Châteauneuf, fifteen miles down the river. Joan followed him, and again made her prayer. She wept as she knelt before him. The cruel toil, the bloodshed and the glory – was all to be for naught? The days were flying, every day bringing her nearer the end. The Dauphin, moved by her tears, bade her dry her eyes, all would be well.

But while Charles dawdled and La Trémoïlle shuffled his cards and spun his webs, France was rising. The news of Orleans and Patay flew on the wings of the wind, birds of the air carried it.

In La Rochelle the bells were rung; Te Deum was sung; bonfires blazed, and every child was given a cake to run and shout "Noël!" before the triumphal procession. The name of the Maid was on every lip, every heart beat high for her. Knowing this, as she must have known it, small wonder that she chafed and wept at the delay.

She rode to Gien, where long and weary councils were held, and ten more precious days wasted. Here people came flocking from all parts of the realm, to join her standard, for love of her and of France. The royal treasury was empty; no matter for that! Gentlemen who were too poor to equip themselves properly came armed with bows and arrows, with hunting knives, with anything that could cut or pierce. One gallant soldier, "Bueil, one of the French leaders," stole linen from the drying-lines of a neighboring castle to make himself decent to appear at court.

"Each one of them," says the old chronicle, "had firm belief that through Joan much good would come to the land of France, and so they longed greatly to serve her, and learned of her deeds as if they were God's own."

Miracle and portent sprang up to aid the cause. In Poitou knights in blazing armor were seen riding down the sky, and it was clear that they threatened ruin to the Duke of Brittany, who still favored the English.

The joints of the favorite were loosened, and his knees smote together; yet at this time none dared speak openly against him, though all knew that it was he who blocked the way. But for him, men said, the French might now be strong enough to sweep the English finally and completely from their soil.

John of Bedford, in Paris, trying his best to rule France, since that was the task that had been set him, wrote to his young master in England:

"All things here prospered for you till the time of the siege of Orleans, undertaken by whose advice God only knows. Since the death of my cousin of Salisbury, whom God absolve, who fell by the hand of God, as it seemeth, your people, who were assembled in great number at this siege, have received a terrible check. This has been caused in part, as we trow, by the confidence our enemies have in a disciple and limb of the devil, called Pucelle, that used false enchantments and sorcery. The which stroke and discomfiture has not only lessened the number of your people here, but also sunk the courage of the remainder in a wonderful manner, and encouraged your enemies to assemble themselves forthwith in great numbers."53

The enemies of England were not all encouraged. There were others besides La Trémoïlle at the councils of Gien who advised against the ride to Rheims. The way was long, and thick set with strong places garrisoned by English and Burgundians. There would be great danger for the Dauphin and all concerned.

"I know all that, and care nothing for it!" cried the Maid; and in desperation she rode out of the town and bivouacked in the open fields, her faithful comrades about her.

Deep as was her distress, her determination never wavered. She wrote to the people of Tournai, who had been faithful throughout to the Dauphin's cause, "Loyal Frenchmen, I pray and require you to be ready to come to the coronation of the gentle King Charles at Rheims, where we shall shortly be, and to come and meet us so soon as ye shall learn of our approach."

This was on June 25th; on the 29th, La Trémoïlle and the Dauphin yielded reluctantly enough to the irresistible force of public enthusiasm. The Maid had already started. The stage was set for the coronation; there was really no help for it.

So off they set for Rheims, Dauphin, favorite, court and all, following the Maid of Domrémy.

It was no holiday procession. As had been foreseen, there were obstacles, and plenty of them. Auxerre would not open its gates; sent, it was said, a bribe of two thousand crowns to save itself from assault; but sent also food (at a price!) to the advancing army.

Troyes, a little farther on, had sworn allegiance to England and Burgundy. Coronation at Rheims? The Trojans knew nothing about it. They had a garrison, English and Burgundian, five or six thousand good stout men; they snapped their fingers at Maid and Dauphin; would not hear of admitting them. Had not Brother Richard, the Cordelier friar, warned them against this Maid, saying that she was, or might be, a female Antichrist? Had he not bidden them sow beans in vast quantities in case of emergency?

Here were the beans, whole fields of them, in evidence! here was also Brother Richard himself, breathing forth fire and fury. Presently the holy brother, who seems to have been a second edition of Father Thomas, preaching repentance and practicing the destruction of vanities, came forth to exorcise the Maid; threw holy water at her, and made the sign of the cross. Joan laughed her pleasant, merry laugh; bade him take courage and come forward. She would not fly away, she assured him. Whereupon, at nearer view of the supposed sorceress and limb of evil, Brother Richard suffered a sudden change of heart; perceived that here was a thing divine; plumped down on his knees to do homage: but the good Maid knelt too, humbly, in token that she was "of like passions" with himself. Soon the pair were good friends, and the friar hurried back to the city and declared that the Maid was of God, and could if she wished fly over the walls.

Troyes heard, but kept its gates shut. Anxious council was held in the Dauphin's camp; La Trémoïlle advised retreat; had he not said all along, etc., etc.

The archbishop of Rheims, chancellor of France and a tool of La Trémoïlle, drew lurid pictures of the strength of Troyes and the contumaciousness of its people. They never would yield; the supplies of the army were running low. Best retire while they could do so with safety. The councillors were called on in turn for their opinion; some advised retreating, some passing by the obstinate town in hope of faring better elsewhere; hardly one favored an attack on the city.

When the turn came of Robert de Maçon, sometime chancellor (of Charles VI.), he said bluntly, "This march was begun not because we were rich in money or strong in men, but because Joan the Maid said it was the will of God. Let the Maid be summoned, and let the Council hear what she has to say on the matter!"

Joan was sent for, and was told the sense of the meeting; the lions in the path; the necessity of retreat.

To the Archbishop, who addressed her, she made no reply, but turned to her prince.

"Do you believe all this, gentle Dauphin?" she asked.

Charles was not sure, perhaps, what La Trémoïlle would allow him to believe. He made cautious answer; if the Maid had anything profitable and reasonable to say, she would be trusted.

"Good Dauphin," said the Maid in her clear thrilling voice, "command your people to advance to the siege, and waste no more time in councils; in God's name, before three days pass I will bring you into Troyes, by favor or force or valor, and false Burgundy shall be greatly amazed."

Even the Archbishop seems to have been impressed by these words.

"Joan," he said, "we could wait for six days were we sure of having the town, but can we be sure?"

"Have no doubt of it!" replied the Maid. Thereupon she mounted her horse and rode through the camp, banner in hand, exhorting, encouraging, ordering preparations for the assault.

Following the example of the English at Meung, she collected doors, tables, screens, to shelter the advance, bundles of fagots to fill in the ditches.

"Immediately," says Dunois (quorum pars magna, we may well believe), "she crossed the river with the royal army and pitched tents close by the wall, laboring with a diligence that not two or three most experienced and renowned captains could have shown."

All night she worked, never pausing for an hour. When morning broke, the burgesses of Troyes, looking over their battlements, saw an army in storming array; saw in the very front a slender figure in white armor, waving on her men.

"To the assault!" cried the Maid; and made a sign to fill the ditch with fagots. At the sight the hearts of the men of Troyes turned to water. They sent their Bishop to make terms, and the city opened its gates to the Dauphin and the Maid.

Four days later the Bishop of Chalôns appeared with the keys of his city, which the little Army of Triumph entered July 14th. At Chalôns Joan found several men of Domrémy, who had come from the village to see the glory of their own Maid. To one of them, her godfather, she gave a red cap – or some say a robe – that she had worn; she was full of kindly and neighborly words; told one of them who had been Burgundian in his sympathies that she feared nothing but treachery. About this time she said to the king, in Alençon's hearing, "Make good use of my time! I shall hardly last longer than a year."

Two days after this, halting at Sept-Saule, the Dauphin received a deputation from Rheims. The holy city had been strongly Anglo-Burgundian till now; had vowed unshakable loyalty to John of Bedford and Philip of Burgundy. But this was while Troyes still held out; Troyes, which had "sworn on the precious body of Jesus Christ to resist to the death." Now, Troyes had submitted, and her people wrote to those of Rheims begging them to do likewise, assuring them that the Dauphin was everything that was lovely and of good report; moreover, "une belle personne!" Their own Archbishop wrote too, charging them to make submission to their lawful prince. What was a holy city to do?

"Bow thy head meekly, O Sicambrian! adore – " was St. Remy speaking again in the person of this peasant maid? Must the city of Clovis bow like him, taking on new vows and forswearing old?

There seemed no help for it. Accordingly the deputation was sent, inviting Charles to enter his loyal city of Rheims; and people began to make ready for the coronation.

Rheims; Durocortorum of the Romans; an important town in the days of Caesar, faithful to him and to his followers, and receiving special favors in recognition of its fidelity.

The Vandals captured it in 406, and slew St. Nicasus; later, Attila and his Huns visited it with fire and sword. Later still, as we know, it saw the baptism of Clovis, and became the Holy City of France, where all her kings would fain be crowned. Did not men say that the phial of oil used in that kingly baptism by St. Rémy, and still preserved in his abbey, was brought to him by a white dove, straight from heaven? Accordingly the kings were crowned there, from Philip Augustus in 1180 to Charles X. in 1824.

Now, on the seventeenth day of July, 1429, Charles of Valois, seventh of that name, was to receive his solemn sacring, and to become king of France de jure, if not yet de facto. The ceremony began at nine in the morning.

"A right fair thing it was," wrote Pierre de Beauvais to the queen, "to see that fair mystery, for it was as solemn and as well adorned with all things thereto pertaining, as if it had been ordered a year before."54

First, a company of knights and nobles in full armor, headed by the Maréchal de Boursac, rode out to meet the Abbot of St. Rémy, who came from his abbey bringing the holy phial (ampoule). Then they all rode into the cathedral, and alighted at the choir-gate. There met them Charles the Dauphin, and presently received his consecration at the hands of the Archbishop, and was anointed and crowned king of France. The people shouted "Noël!" and blessed God for the auspicious day.