Jeanne D'Arc: her life and death / Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret), 1828-1897

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Title: Jeanne d'Arc
       Her Life And Death

Author: Mrs.(Margaret) Oliphant

Release Date: March 28, 2006 [EBook #2553]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEANNE D'ARC ***




Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers





JEANNE D'ARC, HER LIFE AND DEATH


by Mrs. Oliphant


Author of "Makers of Florence," "Makers of Venice," etc.




TO

COUSIN ANNIE (MRS. HARRY COGHILL)

THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED IN LOVE OF OUR COMMON HEROINE AND IN REMEMBRANCE
OF LONG AND FAITHFUL AFFECTION AND FRIENDSHIP


     PREPARER'S NOTE

     The original book for this text was published as a volume in a
     series "Heroes of the Nations," edited by Evelyn Abbot, M.H.,
     Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford, and published by G.P. Putnam's
     Sons _The Knickerbocker Press_ in 1896. The title material
     includes the note:

     FACTA DUCIS VIVENT, OPEROSAQUE
     GLORIA RERUM--OVID, IN LIVIAM, 265.
     THE HERO'S DEEDS AND HARD-WON
     FAME SHALL LIVE.



CONTENTS:

CHAPTER I -- FRANCE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 1412-1423.

CHAPTER II -- DOMREMY AND VAUCOULEURS. 1424-1429.

CHAPTER III -- BEFORE THE KING. FEB.-APRIL, 1429.

CHAPTER IV -- THE RELIEF OF ORLEANS. MAY 1-8, 1429.

CHAPTER V -- THE CAMPAIGN OF THE LOIRE. JUNE, JULY, 1429.

CHAPTER VI -- THE CORONATION. JULY 17, 1429.

CHAPTER VII -- THE SECOND PERIOD. 1429-1430.

CHAPTER VIII -- DEFEAT AND DISCOURAGEMENT. AUTUMN, 1429.

CHAPTER IX -- COMPIEGNE. 1430.

CHAPTER X -- THE CAPTIVE. MAY, 1430-JAN., 1431.

CHAPTER XI -- THE JUDGES. 1431.

CHAPTER XII -- BEFORE THE TRIAL. LENT, 1431.

CHAPTER XIII -- THE PUBLIC EXAMINATION. FEBRUARY, 1431.

CHAPTER XIV --THE EXAMINATION IN PRISON. LENT, 1431.

CHAPTER XV -- RE-EXAMINATION. MARCH-MAY, 1431.

CHAPTER XVI -- THE ABJURATION. MAY 24, 1431.

CHAPTER XVIII -- THE SACRIFICE. MAY 31, 1431.

CHAPTER XVIII -- AFTER.




JEANNE D'ARC



CHAPTER I -- FRANCE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 1412-1423.

It is no small effort for the mind, even of the most well-informed, how
much more of those whose exact knowledge is not great (which is the
case with most readers, and alas! with most writers also), to transport
itself out of this nineteenth century which we know so thoroughly, and
which has trained us in all our present habits and modes of thought,
into the fifteenth, four hundred years back in time, and worlds apart
in every custom and action of life. What is there indeed the same in
the two ages? Nothing but the man and the woman, the living agents in
spheres so different; nothing but love and grief, the affections and
the sufferings by which humanity is ruled and of which it is capable.
Everything else is changed: the customs of life, and its methods, and
even its motives, the ruling principles of its continuance. Peace and
mutual consideration, the policy which even in its selfish developments
is so far good that it enables men to live together, making existence
possible,--scarcely existed in those days. The highest ideal was that of
war, war no doubt sometimes for good ends, to redress wrongs, to avenge
injuries, to make crooked things straight--but yet always war, implying
a state of affairs in which the last thing that men thought of was
the golden rule, and the highest attainment to be looked for was the
position of a protector, doer of justice, deliverer of the oppressed.
Our aim now that no one should be oppressed, that every man should
have justice as by the order of nature, was a thing unthought of. What
individual help did feebly for the sufferer then, the laws do for us
now, without fear or favour: which is a much greater thing to say
than that the organisation of modern life, the mechanical helps, the
comforts, the easements of the modern world, had no existence in those
days. We are often told that the poorest peasant in our own time has
aids to existence that had not been dreamt of for princes in the Middle
Ages. Thirty years ago the world was mostly of opinion that the balance
was entirely on our side, and that in everything we were so much better
off than our fathers, that comparison was impossible. Since then there
have been many revolutions of opinion, and we think it is now the
general conclusion of wise men, that one period has little to boast
itself of against another, that one form of civilisation replaces
another without improving upon it, at least to the extent which appears
on the surface. But yet the general prevalence of peace, interrupted
only by occasional wars, even when we recognise a certain large
and terrible utility in war itself, must always make a difference
incalculable between the condition of the nations now, and then.

It is difficult, indeed, to imagine any concatenation of affairs which
could reduce a country now to the condition in which France was in the
beginning of the fifteenth century. A strong and splendid kingdom, to
which in early ages one great man had given the force and supremacy of
a united nation, had fallen into a disintegration which seems almost
incredible when regarded in the light of that warm flame of nationality
which now illumines, almost above all others, the French nation. But
Frenchmen were not Frenchmen, they were Burgundians, Armagnacs, Bretons,
Provencaux five hundred years ago. The interests of one part of the
kingdom were not those of the other. Unity had no existence. Princes of
the same family were more furious enemies to each other, at the head of
their respective fiefs and provinces, than the traditional foes of their
race; and instead of meeting an invader with a united force of patriotic
resistance, one or more of these subordinate rulers was sure to side
with the invader and to execute greater atrocities against his own flesh
and blood than anything the alien could do.

When Charles VII. of France began, nominally, his reign, his uncles and
cousins, his nearest kinsmen, were as determinedly his opponents, as was
Henry V. of England, whose frank object was to take the crown from his
head. The country was torn in pieces with different causes and cries.
The English were but little farther off from the Parisian than was the
Burgundian, and the English king was only a trifle less French than
were the members of the royal family of France. These circumstances are
little taken into consideration in face of the general history, in which
a careless reader sees nothing but the two nations pitted against each
other as they might be now, the French united in one strong and distinct
nationality, the three kingdoms of Great Britain all welded into one.
In the beginning of the fifteenth century the Scots fought on the French
side, against their intimate enemy of England, and if there had been any
unity in Ireland, the Irish would have done the same. The advantages
and disadvantages of subdivision were in full play. The Scots fought
furiously against the English--and when the latter won, as was usually
the case, the Scots contingent, whatever bounty might be shown to the
French, was always exterminated. On the other side the Burgundians, the
Armagnacs, and Royalists met each other almost more fiercely than the
latter encountered the English. Each country was convulsed by struggles
of its own, and fiercely sought its kindred foes in the ranks of its
more honest and natural enemy.

When we add to these strange circumstances the facts that the French
King, Charles VI., was mad, and incapable of any real share either in
the internal government of his country or in resistance to its invader:
that his only son, the Dauphin, was no more than a foolish boy, led by
incompetent councillors, and even of doubtful legitimacy, regarded with
hesitation and uncertainty by many, everybody being willing to believe
the worst of his mother, especially after the treaty of Troyes in which
she virtually gave him up: that the King's brothers or cousins at the
head of their respective fiefs were all seeking their own advantage, and
that some of them, especially the Duke of Burgundy, had cruel wrongs
to avenge: it will be more easily understood that France had reached a
period of depression and apparent despair which no principle of national
elasticity or new spring of national impulse was present to amend. The
extraordinary aspect of whole districts in so strong and populous a
country, which disowned the native monarch, and of towns and castles
innumerable which were held by the native nobility in the name of
a foreign king, could scarcely have been possible under other
circumstances. Everything was out of joint. It is said to be
characteristic of the nation that it is unable to play publicly (as
we say) a losing game; but it is equally characteristic of the race
to forget its humiliations as if they had never been, and to come out
intact when the fortune of war changes, more French than ever, almost
unabashed and wholly uninjured, by the catastrophe which had seemed
fatal.

If we had any right to theorise on such a subject--which is a thing the
French themselves above all other men love to do,--we should be disposed
to say, that wars and revolutions, legislation and politics, are things
which go on over the head of France, so to speak--boilings on the
surface, with which the great personality of the nation if such a word
may be used, has little to do, and cares but little for; while she
herself, the great race, neither giddy nor fickle, but unusually
obstinate, tenacious, and sober, narrow even in the unwavering pursuit
of a certain kind of well-being congenial to her--goes steadily on,
less susceptible to temporary humiliation than many peoples much less
excitable on the surface, and always coming back into sight when the
commotion is over, acquisitive, money-making, profit-loving, uninjured
in any essential particular by the most terrific of convulsions. This of
course is to be said more or less of every country, the strain of
common life being always, thank God, too strong for every temporary
commotion--but it is true in a special way of France:--witness the
extraordinary manner in which in our own time, and under our own eyes,
that wonderful country righted herself after the tremendous misfortunes
of the Franco-German war, in which for a moment not only her prestige,
her honour, but her money and credit seemed to be lost.

It seems rather a paradox to point attention to the extraordinary
tenacity of this basis of French character, the steady prudence and
solidity which in the end always triumph over the light heart and light
head, the excitability and often rash and dangerous _elan_, which are
popularly supposed to be the chief distinguishing features of France--at
the very moment of beginning such a fairy tale, such a wonderful
embodiment of the visionary and ideal, as is the story of Jeanne d'Arc.
To call it a fairy tale is, however, disrespectful: it is an angelic
revelation, a vision made into flesh and blood, the dream of a woman's
fancy, more ethereal, more impossible than that of any man--even a
poet:--for the man, even in his most uncontrolled imaginations, carries
with him a certain practical limitation of what can be--whereas
the woman at her highest is absolute, and disregards all bounds of
possibility. The Maid of Orleans, the Virgin of France, is the sole
being of her kind who has ever attained full expression in this world.
She can neither be classified, as her countrymen love to classify, nor
traced to any system of evolution as we all attempt to do nowadays. She
is the impossible verified and attained. She is the thing in every race,
in every form of humanity, which the dreaming girl, the visionary maid,
held in at every turn by innumerable restrictions, her feet bound, her
actions restrained, not only by outward force, but by the law of her
nature, more effectual still,--has desired to be. That voiceless poet,
to whom what can be is nothing, but only what should be if miracle could
be attained to fulfil her trance and rapture of desire--is held by no
conditions, modified by no circumstances; and miracle is all around her,
the most credible, the most real of powers, the very air she breathers.
Jeanne of France is the very flower of this passion of the imagination.
She is altogether impossible from beginning to end of her, inexplicable,
alone, with neither rival nor even second in the one sole ineffable
path: yet all true as one of the oaks in her wood, as one of the flowers
in her garden, simple, actual, made of the flesh and blood which are
common to us all.

And she is all the more real because it is France, impure, the country
of light loves and immodest passions, where all that is sensual comes to
the surface, and the courtesan is the queen of ignoble fancy, that has
brought forth this most perfect embodiment of purity among the nations.
This is of itself one of those miracles which captivate the mind and
charm the imagination, the living paradox in which the soul delights.
How did she come out of that stolid peasant race, out of that distracted
and ignoble age, out of riot and license and the fierce thirst for gain,
and failure of every noble faculty? Who can tell? By the grace of God,
by the inspiration of heaven, the only origins in which the student of
nature, which is over nature, can put any trust. No evolution, no system
of development, can explain Jeanne. There is but one of her and no more
in all the astonished world.

With the permission of the reader I will retain her natural and
beautiful name. To translate it into Joan seems quite unnecessary.
Though she is the finest emblem to the world in general of that noble,
fearless, and spotless Virginity which is one of the finest inspirations
of the mediaeval mind, yet she is inherently French, though France
scarcely was in her time: and national, though as yet there were rather
the elements of a nation than any indivisible People in that great
country. Was not she herself one of the strongest and purest threads
of gold to draw that broken race together and bind it irrevocably,
beneficially, into one?

It is curious that it should have been from the farthest edge of French
territory that this national deliverer came. It is a commonplace that
a Borderer should be a more hot partisan of his own country against the
other from which but a line divides him in fact, and scarcely so much
in race--than the calmer inhabitant of the midland country who knows no
such press of constant antagonism; and Jeanne is another example of this
well known fact. It is even a question still languidly discussed whether
Jeanne and her family were actually on one side of the line or the
other. "Il faut opter," says M. Blaze de Bury, one of her latest
biographers, as if the peasant household of 1412 had inhabited an
Alsatian cottage in 1872. When the line is drawn so closely, it is
difficult to determine, but Jeanne herself does not ever seem to have
entertained a moment's doubt on the subject, and she after all is the
best authority. Perhaps Villon was thinking more of his rhyme than of
absolute fact when he spoke of "Jeanne la bonne Lorraine." She was born
on the 5th of January, 1412, in the village of Domremy, on the banks
of the Meuse, one of those little grey hamlets, with its little church
tower, and remains of a little chateau on the soft elevation of a mound
not sufficient for the name of hill--which are scattered everywhere
through those level countries, like places which have never been built,
which have grown out of the soil, of undecipherable antiquity--perhaps,
one feels, only a hundred, perhaps a thousand years old--yet always
inhabitable in all the ages, with the same names lingering about, the
same surroundings, the same mild rural occupations, simple plenty and
bare want mingling together with as little difference of level as exists
in the sweeping lines of the landscape round.

The life was calm in so humble a corner which offered nothing to
the invader or marauder of the time, but yet was so much within the
universal conditions of war that the next-door neighbour, so to speak,
the adjacent village of Maxey, held for the Burgundian and English
alliance, while little Domremy was for the King. And once at least when
Jeanne was a girl at home, the family were startled in their quiet by
the swoop of an armed party of Burgundians, and had to gather up
babies and what portable property they might have, and flee across the
frontier, where the good Lorrainers received and sheltered them, till
they could go back to their village, sacked and pillaged and devastated
in the meantime by the passing storm. Thus even in their humility and
inoffensiveness the Domremy villagers knew what war and its miseries
were, and the recollection would no doubt be vivid among the children,
of that half terrible, half exhilarating adventure, the fright and
excitement of personal participation in the troubles, of which, night
and day, from one quarter or another, they must have heard.

Domremy had originally belonged(1) to the Abbey of St. Remy at
Rheims--the ancient church of which, in its great antiquity, is still an
interest and a wonder even in comparison with the amazing splendour of
the cathedral of that place, so rich and ornate, which draws the eyes of
the visitor to itself, and its greater associations. It is possible that
this ancient connection with Rheims may have brought the great ceremony
for which it is ever memorable, the consecration of the kings of France,
more distinctly before the musing vision of the village girl; but I
doubt whether such chance associations are ever much to be relied upon.
The village was on the high-road to Germany; it must have been therefore
in the way of news, and of many rumours of what was going on in the
centres of national life, more than many towns of importance. Feudal
bands, a rustic Seigneur with his little troop, going out for their
forty days' service, or returning home after it, must have passed along
the banks of the lazy Meuse many days during the fighting season, and
indeed throughout the year, for garrison duty would be as necessary in
winter as in summer; or a wandering pair of friars who had seen strange
sights must have passed with their wallets from the neighbouring
convents, collecting the day's provision, and leaving news and
gossip behind, such as flowed to these monastic hostelries from all
quarters--tales of battles, and anecdotes of the Court, and dreadful
stories of English atrocities, to stir the village and rouse ever
generous sentiment and stirring of national indignation. They are said
by Michelet to have been no man's vassals, these outlying hamlets of
Champagne; the men were not called upon to follow their lord's banner
at a day's notice, as were the sons of other villages. There is no
appearance even of a lord at all upon this piece of Church land, which
was, we are told, directly held under the King, and would only therefore
be touched by a general levy _en masse_--not even perhaps by that,
so far off were they, and so near the frontier, where a reluctant
man-at-arms could without difficulty make his escape, as the unwilling
conscript sometimes does now.

There would seem to have been no one of more importance in Domremy than
Jacques d'Arc himself and his wife, respectable peasants, with a little
money, a considerable rural property in flocks and herds and pastures,
and a good reputation among their kind. He had three sons working with
their father in the peaceful routine of the fields; and two daughters,
of whom some authorities indicate Jeanne as the younger, and some as the
elder. The cottage interior, however, appears more clearly to us than
the outward aspect of the family life. The daughters were not, like the
children of poorer peasants, brought up to the rude outdoor labours
of the little farm. Painters have represented Jeanne as keeping her
father's sheep, and even the early witnesses say the same; but it is
contradicted by herself, who ought to know best--(except in taking her
turn to herd them into a place of safety on an alarm). If she followed
the flocks to the fields, it must have been, she says, in her childhood,
and she has no recollection of it. Hers was a more sheltered and safer
lot. The girls were brought up by their mother indoors in all the
labours of housewifery, but also in the delicate art of needlework,
so much more exquisite in those days than now. Perhaps Isabeau, the
mistress of the house, was of convent training, perhaps some ancient
privilege in respect to the manufacture of ornaments for the altar, and
church vestments, was still retained by the tenants of what had been
Church lands. At all events this, and other kindred works of the needle,
seems to have been the chief occupation to which Jeanne was brought up.

The education of this humble house seems to have come entirely from the
mother. It was natural that the children should not know A from B, as
Jeanne afterward said; but no one did, probably, in the village nor even
on much higher levels than that occupied by the family of Jacques d'Arc.
But the children at their mother's knee learned the Credo, they
learned the simple universal prayers which are common to the wisest and
simplest, which no great savant or poet could improve, and no child fail
to understand: "Our Father, which art in Heaven," and that "Hail, Mary,
full of grace," which the world in that day put next. These were the
alphabet of life to the little Champagnards in their rough woollen
frocks and clattering sabots; and when the house had been set in
order,--a house not without comfort, with its big wooden presses full of
linen, and the _pot au feu_ hung over the cheerful fire,--came the
real work, perhaps embroideries for the Church, perhaps only good stout
shirts made of flax spun by their own hands for the father and the boys,
and the fine distinctive coif of the village for the women. "Asked if
she had learned any art or trade, said: Yes, that her mother had taught
her to sew and spin, and so well, that she did not think any woman in
Rouen could teach her anything." When the lady in the ballad makes her
conditions with the peasant woman who is to bring up her boy, her "gay
goss hawk," and have him trained in the use of sword and lance, she
undertakes to teach the "turtle-doo," the woman child substituted for
him, "to lay gold with her hand." No doubt Isabeau's child learned
this difficult and dainty art, and how to do the beautiful and delicate
embroidery which fills the treasuries of the old churches.

And while they sat by the table in the window, with their shining silks
and gold thread, the mother made the quiet hours go by with tale and
legend--of the saints first of all--and stories from Scripture, quaintly
interpreted into the costume and manners of their own time, as one
may still hear them in the primitive corners of Italy: mingled with
incidents of the war, of the wounded man tended in the village, and the
victors all flushed with triumph, and the defeated with trailing arms
and bowed heads, riding for their lives: perhaps little epics and
tragedies of the young knight riding by to do his devoir with his
handful of followers all spruce and gay, and the battered and diminished
remnant that would come back. And then the Black Burgundians, the
horrible English ogres, whose names would make the children shudder! No
_God-den_(2) had got so far as Domremy; there was no personal knowledge
to soften the picture of the invader. He was unspeakable as the Turk to
the imagination of the French peasant, diabolical as every invader is.

This was the earliest training of the little maid before whom so strange
and so great a fortune lay. _Autre personne que sadite mere ne lui
apprint_--any lore whatsoever; and she so little--yet everything that
was wanted--her prayers, her belief, the happiness of serving God, and
also man; for when any one was sick in the village, either a little
child with the measles, or a wounded soldier from the wars, Isabeau's
modest child--no doubt the mother too--was always ready to help. It
must have been a family _de bien_, in the simple phrase of the country,
helpful, serviceable, with charity and aid for all. An honest labourer,
who came to speak for Jeanne at the second trial, held long after her
death, gave his incontestable evidence to this. "I was then a child," he
said, "and it was she who nursed me in my illness." They were all more
or less devout in those days, when faith was without question, and the
routine of church ceremonial was followed as a matter of course; but few
so much as Jeanne, whose chief pleasure it was to say her prayers in the
little dark church, where perhaps in the morning sunshine, as she made
her early devotions, there would blaze out upon her from a window, a
Holy Michael in shining armour, transfixing the dragon with his spear,
or a St. Margaret dominating the same emblem of evil with her cross in
her hand. So, at least, the historians conjecture, anxious to find out
some reason for her visions; and there is nothing in the suggestion
which is unpleasing. The little country church was in the gift of St.
Remy, and some benefactor of the rural cure might well have given
a painted window to make glad the hearts of the simple people. St.
Margaret was no warrior-saint, but she overcame the dragon with her
cross, and was thus a kind of sister spirit to the great archangel.

Sitting much of her time at or outside the cottage door with her
needlework, in itself an occupation so apt to encourage musing and
dreams, the bells were one of Jeanne's great pleasures. We know a
traveller, of the calmest English temperament and sobriety of Protestant
fancy, to whom the midday Angelus always brings, he says, a touching
reminder--which he never neglects wherever he may be--to uncover the
head and lift up the heart; how much more the devout peasant girl softly
startled in the midst of her dreaming by that call to prayer. She was so
fond of those bells that she bribed the careless bell-ringer with simple
presents to be more attentive to his duty. From the garden where she sat
with her work, the cloudy foliage of the _bois de chene_, the oak
wood, where were legends of fairies and a magic well, to which her
imagination, better inspired, seems to have given no great heed, filled
up the prospect on one side. At a later period, her accusers attempted
to make out that she had been a devotee of these nameless woodland
spirits, but in vain. No doubt she was one of the procession on the holy
day once a year, when the cure of the parish went out through the wood
to the Fairies' Well to say his mass, and exorcise what evil enchantment
might be there. But Jeanne's imagination was not of the kind to require
such stimulus. The saints were enough for her; and indeed they supplied
to a great extent the fairy tales of the age, though it was not of love
and fame and living happy ever after, but of sacrifice and suffering and
valorous martyrdom that their glory was made up.

We hear of the woods, the fields, the cottages, the little church and
its bells, the garden where she sat and sewed, the mother's stories,
the morning mass, in this quiet preface of the little maiden's life; but
nothing of the highroad with its wayfarers, the convoys of provisions
for the war, the fighting men that were coming and going. Yet these,
too, must have filled a large part in the village life, and it
is evident that a strong impression of the pity of it all, of the
distraction of the country and all the cruelties and miseries of which
she could not but hear, must have early begun to work in Jeanne's being,
and that while she kept silence the fire burned in her heart. The love
of God, and that love of country which has nothing to say to political
patriotism but translates itself in an ardent longing and desire to do
"some excelling thing" for the benefit and glory of that country, and
to heal its wounds--were the two principles of her life. We have not the
slightest indication how much or how little of this latter sentiment was
shared by the simple community about her; unless from the fact that
the Domremy children fought with those of Maxey, their disaffected
neighbours, to the occasional effusion of blood. We do not know even
of any volunteer from the village, or enthusiasm for the King.(3) The
district was voiceless, the little clusters of cottages fully occupied
in getting their own bread, and probably like most other village
societies, disposed to treat any military impulse among their sons as
mere vagabondism and love of adventure and idleness.

Nothing, so far as anyone knows, came near the most unlikely volunteer
of all, to lead her thoughts to that art of war of which she knew
nothing, and of which her little experience could only have shown her
the horrors and miseries, the sufferings of wounded fugitives and the
ruin of sacked houses. Of all people in the world, the little daughter
of a peasant was the last who could have been expected to respond to the
appeal of the wretched country. She had three brothers who might have
served the King, and there was no doubt many a stout clodhopper
about, of that kind which in every country is the fittest material for
fighting, and "food for powder." But to none of these did the call come.
Every detail goes to increase the profound impression of peacefulness
which fills the atmosphere--the slow river floating by, the roofs
clustered together, the church bells tinkling their continual summons,
the girl with her work at the cottage door in the shadow of the apple
trees. To pack the little knapsack of a brother or a lover, and to
convoy him weeping a little way on his road to the army, coming back to
the silent church to pray there, with the soft natural tears which the
uses of common life must soon dry--that is all that imagination could
have demanded of Jeanne. She was even too young for any interposition
of the lover, too undeveloped, the French historians tell us with their
astonishing frankness, to the end of her short life, to have been moved
by any such thought. She might have poured forth a song, a prayer, a
rude but sweet lament for her country, out of the still bosom of that
rustic existence. Such things have been, the trouble of the age forcing
an utterance from the very depths of its inarticulate life. But it was
not for this that Jeanne d'Arc was born.

     (1) Mr. Andrew Lang informs me that the real proprietor was
     a certain "Dame d'Orgevillier." "On Jeanne's side of the
     burn," he adds, with a picturesque touch of realism, "the
     people were probably _free_ as attached to the Royal
     Chatellenie of Vancouleurs, as described below."

     (2) This was probably not the God-dam of later French, a
     reflection of the supposed prevalent English oath, but most
     likely merely the God-den or good-day, the common
     salutation.

     (3) Domremy was split, Mr. Lang says, by the burn, and
     Jeanne's side were probably King's men. We have it on her
     own word that there was but one Burgundian in the village,
     but that might mean on her side.



CHAPTER II -- DOMREMY AND VAUCOULEURS. 1424-1429.

In the year 1424, the year in which, after the battle of Agincourt,
France was delivered over to Henry V., an extraordinary event occurred
in the life of this little French peasant. We have not the same horror
of that treaty, naturally, as have the French. Henry V. is a favourite
of our history, probably not so much for his own merit as because of
that master-magician, Shakespeare, who of his supreme good pleasure, in
the exercise of that voluntary preference, which even God himself seems
to show to some men, has made of that monarch one of the best beloved of
our hearts. Dear to us as he is, in Eastcheap as at Agincourt, and
more in the former than the latter, even our sense of the disgraceful
character of that bargain, _le traite infame_ of Troyes, by which Queen
Isabeau betrayed her son, and gave her daughter and her country to the
invader, is softened a little by our high estimation of the hero. But
this is simple national prejudice; regarded from the French side, or
even by the impartial judgment of general humanity, it was an infamous
treaty, and one which might well make the blood boil in French veins.

We look at it at present, however, through the atmosphere of the
nineteenth century, when France is all French, and when the royal house
of England has no longer any French connection. If George III., much
more George II., on the basis of his kingdom of Hanover, had attempted
to make himself master of a large portion of Germany, the situation
would have been more like that of Henry V. in France than anything we
can think of now. It is true the kings of England were no longer dukes
of Normandy--but they had been so within the memory of man: and that
noble duchy was a hereditary appanage of the family of the Conqueror;
while to other portions of France they had the link of temporary
possession and inheritance through French wives and mothers; added to
which is the fact that Jean sans Peur of Burgundy, thirsting to avenge
his father's blood upon the Dauphin, would have been probably a more
dangerous usurper than Henry, and that the actual sovereign, the
unfortunate, mad Charles VI., was in no condition to maintain his own
rights.

There is little evidence, however, that this treaty, or anything so
distinct in detail, had made much impression on the outlying borders of
France. What was known there, was only that the English were victorious,
that the rightful King of France was still uncrowned and unacknowledged,
and that the country was oppressed and humiliated under the foot of the
invader. The fact that the new King was not yet the Lord's anointed, and
had never received the seal of God, as it were, to his commission, was
a fact which struck the imagination of the village as of much more
importance than many greater things--being at once more visible and
matter-of-fact, and of more mystical and spiritual efficacy than any
other circumstance in the dreadful tale.

Jeanne was in the garden as usual, seated, as we should say in Scotland,
at "her seam," not quite thirteen, a child in all the innocence of
infancy, yet full of dreams, confused no doubt and vague, with those
impulses and wonderings--impatient of trouble, yearning to give
help--which tremble on the chaos of a young soul like the first
lightening of dawn upon the earth. It was summer, and afternoon, the
time of dreams. It would be easy in the employment of legitimate fancy
to heighten the picturesqueness of that quiet scene--the little girl
with her favourite bells, the birds picking up the crumbs of brown
bread at her feet. She was thinking of nothing, most likely, in a vague
suspense of musing, the wonder of youth, the awakening of thought, as
yet come to little definite in her child's heart--looking up from her
work to note some passing change of the sky, a something in the air
which was new to her. All at once between her and the church there shone
a light on the right hand, unlike anything she had ever seen before; and
out of it came a voice equally unknown and wonderful. What did the voice
say? Only the simplest words, words fit for a child, no maxim or mandate
above her faculties--"_Jeanne, sois bonne et sage enfant; va souvent
a l'eglise._" Jeanne, be good! What more could an archangel, what
less could the peasant mother within doors, say? The little girl was
frightened, but soon composed herself. The voice could be nothing
but sacred and blessed which spoke thus. It would not appear that she
mentioned it to anyone. It is such a secret as a child, in that wavering
between the real and unreal, the world not realised of childhood, would
keep, in mingled shyness and awe, uncertain, rapt in the atmosphere of
vision, within her own heart.

It is curious how often this wonderful scene has been repeated in
France, never connected with so high a mission, but yet embracing the
same circumstances, the same situation, the same semi-angelic nature of
the woman-child. The little Bernadette of Lourdes is almost of our own
day; she, too is one who puts the scorner to silence. What her visions
and her voices were, who can say? The last historian of them is not
a man credulous of good or moved towards the ideal; yet he is silent,
except in a wondering impression of the sacred and the true, before the
little Bearnaise in her sabots; and, notwithstanding the many sordid
results that have followed and all that sad machinery of expected
miracle through which even, repulsive as it must always be, a something
breaks forth from time to time which no man can define and account
for except in ways more incredible than miracle--so is the rest of the
world. Why has this logical, sceptical, doubting country, so able to
quench with an epigram, or blow away with a breath of ridicule the
finest vision--become the special sphere and birthplace of these
spotless infant-saints? This is one of the wonders which nobody attempts
to account for. Yet Bernadette is as Jeanne, though there are more than
four hundred years between.

After what intervals the vision returned we are not told, nor in what
circumstances. It seems to have come chiefly out-of-doors, in the
silence and freedom of the fields or garden. Presently the heavenly
radiance shaped itself into some semblance of forms and figures, one
of which, clearer than the others, was like a man, but with wings and
a crown on his head and the air "_d'un vrai prud' homme_"; a noble
apparition before whom at first the little maid trembled, but whose
majestic, honest regard soon gave her confidence. He bade her once more
to be good, and that God would help her; then he told her the sad
story of her own suffering country, _la pitie qui estoit au royaume de
France_. Was it the pity of heaven that the archangel reported to the
little trembling girl, or only that which woke with the word in her own
childish soul? He has chosen the small things of this world to confound
the great. Jeanne's young heart was full of pity already, and of
yearning over the helpless mother-country which had no champion to stand
for her. "She had great doubts at first whether it was St. Michael, but
afterwards when he had instructed her and shown her many things, she
believed firmly that it was he."

It was this warrior-angel who opened the matter to her, and disclosed
her mission. "Jeanne," he said, "you must go to the help of the King of
France; and it is you who shall give him back his kingdom." Like a still
greater Maid, trembling, casting in her mind what this might mean, she
replied, confused, as if that simple detail were all: "Messire, I am
only a poor girl; I cannot ride or lead armed men." The vision took
no notice of this plea. He became minute in his directions, indicating
exactly what she was to do. "Go to Messire de Baudricourt, captain of
Vaucouleurs, and he will take you to the King. St. Catherine and
St. Margaret will come and help you." Jeanne was overwhelmed by this
exactness, by the sensation of receiving direct orders. She cried,
weeping and helpless, terrified to the bottom of her soul--What was she
that she should do this? a little girl, able to guide nothing but her
needle or her distaff, to lend her simple aid in nursing a sick child.
But behind all her fright and hesitation, her heart was filled with the
emotion thus suggested to her--the immeasurable _pitie que estoit au
royaume de France_. Her heart became heavy with this burden. By degrees
it came about that she could think of nothing else; and her little
life was confused by expectations and recollections of the celestial
visitant, who might arrive upon her at any moment, in the midst perhaps
of some innocent play, or when she sat sewing in the garden before her
father's humble door.

After a while the _vrai prud' homme_ came seldom; other figures more
like herself, soft forms of women, white and shining, with golden
circlets and ornaments, appeared to her in the great halo of the light;
they bowed their heads, naming themselves, as to a sister spirit,
Catherine, and the other Margaret. Their voices were sweet and soft
with a sound that made you weep. They were both martyrs, encouraging and
strengthening the little martyr that was to be. "A lady is there in the
heavens who loves thee": Virgil could not say more to rouse the flagging
strength of Dante. When these gentle figures disappeared, the little
maid wept in an anguish of tenderness, longing if only they would take
her with them. It is curious that though she describes in this vague
rapture the appearance of her visitors, it is always as "_mes voix_"
that she names them--the sight must always have been more imperfect than
the message. Their outlines and their lovely faces might shine uncertain
in the excess of light; but the words were always plain. The pity for
France that was in their hearts spread itself into the silent rural
atmosphere, touching every sensitive chord in the nature of little
Jeanne. It was as if her mother lay dying there before her eyes.

Curious to think how little anyone could have suspected such meetings as
these, in the cottage hard by, where the weary ploughmen from the fields
would come clamping in for their meal, and Dame Isabeau would call
to the child, even sharply perhaps now and then, to leave that
all-absorbing needlework and come in and help, as Martha called Mary
fourteen hundred years before; and where the priest, mumbling his mass
of a cold morning in the little church, would smile indulgent on the
faithful little worshipper when it was done, sure of seeing Jeanne there
whoever might be absent. She was a shy girl, blushing and drooping her
head when a stranger spoke to her, red and shame-faced when they laughed
at her in the village as a _devote_ before her time; but with nothing
else to blush about in all her simple record.

Neither to her parents, nor to the cure when she made her confession,
does she seem to have communicated these strange experiences, though
they had lasted for some time before she felt impelled to act upon
them, and could keep silence no longer. She was but thirteen when the
revelations began and she was seventeen when at last she set forth to
fulfil her mission. She had no guidance from her voices, she herself
says, as to whether she should tell or not tell what had been
communicated to her; and no doubt was kept back by her shyness, and by
the dreamy confusion of childhood between the real and unreal. One
would have thought that a life in which these visions were of constant
recurrence would have been rapt altogether out of wholesome use and
wont, and all practical service. But this does not seem for a moment to
have been the case. Jeanne was no hysterical girl, living with her head
in a mist, abstracted from the world. She had all the enthusiasms even
of youthful friendship, other girls surrounding her with the intimacy of
the village, paying her visits, staying all night, sharing her room and
her bed. She was ready to be sent for by any poor woman that needed help
or nursing, she was always industrious at her needle; one would love
to know if perhaps in the _Tresor_ at Rheims there was some stole or
maniple with flowers on it, wrought by her hands. But the _Tresor_ at
Rheims is nowadays rather vulgar if truth must be told, and the bottles
and vases for the consecration of Charles X., that _pauvre sire_, are
more thought of than relics of an earlier age.

At length, however, one does not know how, the secret of her double life
came out. No doubt long brooding over these voices, long intercourse
with such celestial visitors, and the mission continually pressed upon
her--meaningless to the child at first, a thing only to shed terrified
tears over and wonder at--ripened her intelligence so that she came at
last to perceive that it was practicable, a thing to be done, a
charge to be obeyed. She had this before her, as a girl in ordinary
circumstances has the new developments of life to think of, and how
to be a wife and mother. And the news brought by every passer-by would
prove doubly interesting, doubly important to Jeanne, in her daily
growing comprehension of what she was called upon to do. As she felt the
current more and more catching her feet, sweeping her on, overcoming all
resistance in her own mind, she must have been more and more anxious to
know what was going on in the distracted world, more and more touched by
that great pity which had awakened her soul. And all these reports were
of a nature to increase that pity till it became overwhelming. The
tales she would hear of the English must have been tales of cruelty
and horror; not so many years ago what tales did not we hear of German
ferocity in the French villages, perhaps not true at all, yet making
their impression always; and it was more probable in that age that every
such story should be true. Then the compassion which no one can help
feeling for a young man deprived of his rights, his inheritance taken
from him, his very life in danger, threatened by the stranger and
usurper, was deepened in every particular by the fact that it was the
King, the very impersonation of France, appointed by God as the head of
the country, who was in danger. Everything that Jeanne heard would help
to swell the stream.

Thus she must have come step by step--this extraordinary, impossible
suggestion once sown in her dreaming soul--to perceive a kind of
miraculous reasonableness in it, to see its necessity, and how
everything pointed towards such a deliverance. It would have seemed
natural to believe that the prophecies of the countryside which promised
a virgin from an oak grove, a maiden from Lorraine, to deliver France,
might have affected her mind, did we not have it from her own voice
that she had never heard that prophecy(1); but the word of the blessed
Michael, so often repeated, was more than an old wife's tale; and the
child's alarm would seem to have died away as she came to her full
growth. And Jeanne was no ethereal spirit lost in visions, but a
robust and capable peasant girl, fearing little, and full of sense and
determination, as well as of an inspiration so far above the level of
the crowd. We hear with wonder afterwards that she had the making of a
great general in her untutored female soul,--which is perhaps the most
wonderful thing in her career,--and saw with the eye of an experienced
and able soldier, as even Dunois did not always see it, the fit order
of an attack, the best arrangement of the forces at her command. This I
honestly avow is to me the most incredible point in the story. I am not
disturbed by the apparition of the saints; there is in them an ineffable
appropriateness and fitness against which the imagination, at least,
has not a word to say. The wonder is not, to the natural mind, that such
interpositions of heaven come, but that they come so seldom. But that
Jacques d'Arc's daughter, the little girl over her sewing, whose only
fault was that she went to church too often, should have the genius of a
soldier, is too bewildering for words to say. A poet, yes, an inspiring
influence leading on to miraculous victory; but a general, skilful
with the rude artillery of the time, divining the better way in
strategy,--this is a wonder beyond the reach of our faculties; yet
according to Alencon, Dunois, and other military authorities, it was
true.

We have little means of finding out how it was that Jeanne's long
musings came at last to a point at which they could be hidden no longer,
nor what it was which induced her at last to select the confidant she
did. No doubt she must have been considering and weighing the matter for
a long time before she fixed upon the man who was her relation, yet
did not belong to Domremy, and was safer than a townsman for the
extraordinary revelations she had to make. One of her neighbours, her
gossip, Gerard of Epinal, to whose child she was godmother, had perhaps
at one moment seemed to her a likely helper. But he belonged to the
opposite party. "If you were not a Burgundian," she said to him once,
"there is something I might tell you." The honest fellow took this to
mean that she had some thought of marriage, the most likely and natural
supposition. It was at this moment, when her heart was burning with
her great secret, the voices urging her on day by day, and her power of
self-constraint almost at an end, that Providence sent Durand Laxart,
her uncle by marriage, to Domremy on some family visit. She would seem
to have taken advantage of the opportunity with eagerness, asking him
privately to take her home with him, and to explain to her father and
mother that he wanted her to take care of his wife. No doubt the girl,
devoured with so many thoughts, would have the air of requiring "a
change" as we say, and that the mother would be very ready to accept for
her an invitation which might bring back the brightness to her child.
Laxart was a peasant like the rest, a _prud' homme_ well thought of
among his people. He lived in Burey le Petit, near to Vaucouleurs, the
chief place of the district, and Jeanne already knew that it was to the
captain of Vaucouleurs that she was to address herself. Thus she secured
her object in the simplest and most natural way.

Yet the reader cannot but hold his breath at the thought of what that
amazing revelation must have been to the homely, rustic soul, her
companion, communicated as they went along the common road in the common
daylight. "She said to the witness that she must go to France to the
Dauphin, to make him to be crowned King." It must have been as if a
thunderbolt had fallen at his feet when the girl whom he had known in
every development of her little life, thus suddenly disclosed to him her
secret purpose and determination. All her simple excellence the good
man knew, and that she was no fantastic chatterer, but truly _une bonne
douce fille_, bold in nothing but kindness, with nothing to blush for
but the fault of going too often to church. "Did you never hear that
France should be made desolate by a woman and restored by a maid?" she
said; and this would seem to have been an unanswerable argument. He had,
henceforth, nothing to do but to promote her purpose as best he could in
every way.

It would not seem at all unlikely to this good man that the Archangel
Michael, if Jeanne's revelation to him went so far, should have named
Robert de Baudricourt, the chief of the district, captain of the town
and its forces, the principal personage in all the neighbourhood, as
the person to whom Jeanne's purpose was to be revealed, but rather a
guarantee of St. Michael himself, familiar with good society; and the
Seigneur must have been more or less in good intelligence with his
people, not too alarming to be referred to, even on so insignificant
a subject as the vagaries of a country girl--though these by this
time must have begun to seem something more than vagaries to the
half-convinced peasant. And it was no doubt a great relief to his mind
thus to put the decision of the question into the hands of a man better
informed than himself. Laxart proceeded to Vaucouleurs upon his mission,
shyly yet with confidence. He would seem to have had a preliminary
interview with Baudricourt before introducing Jeanne. The stammering
countryman, the bluff, rustic noble and soldier, cheerfully
contemptuous, receiving, with a loud laugh into all the echoes, the
extraordinary demand that he should send a little girl from Domremy
to the King, to deliver France, come before us like a picture in the
countryman's simple words. Robert de Baudricourt would scarcely hear the
story out. "Box her ears," he said, "and send her home to her mother."
The little fool! What did she know of the English, those brutal,
downright fighters, against whom no _elan_ was sufficient, who stood
their ground and set up vulgar posts around their lines, instead
of trusting to the rush of sudden valour, and the tactics of the
tournament! She deliver France! On a much smaller argument and to put
down a less ambition, the half serious, half amused adviser has bidden
a young fanatic's ears to be boxed on many an unimportant occasion,
and has often been justified in so doing. There would be a half hour of
gaiety after poor Laxart, crestfallen, had got his dismissal. The
good man must have turned back to Jeanne, where she waited for him in
courtyard or antechamber, with a heavy heart. No boxing of ears was
possible to him. The mere thought of it was blasphemy. This was on
Ascension Day the 13 May, 1428.

Jeanne, however, was not discouraged by M. de Baudricourt's joke, and
her interview with him changed his views completely. She appears indeed
from the moment of setting out from her father's house to have taken a
new attitude. These great personages of the country before whom all the
peasants trembled, were nothing to this village maid, except, perhaps,
instruments in the hand of God to speed her on her way if they could see
their privileges--if not, to be swept out of it like straws by the wind.
It had no doubt been hard for her to leave her father's house; but after
that disruption what did anything matter? And she had gone through five
years of gradual training of which no one knew. The tears and terror,
the plea, "I am a poor girl; I cannot even ride," of her first childlike
alarm had given place to a profound acquaintance with the voices and
their meaning. They were now her familiar friends guiding her at every
step; and what was the commonplace burly Seigneur, with his roar of
laughter, to Jeanne? She went to her audience with none of the alarm
of the peasant. A certain young man of Baudricourt's suite, Bertrand de
Poulengy, another young D'Artagnan seeking his fortune, was present
in the hall and witnessed the scene. The joke would seem to have been
exhausted by the time Jeanne appeared, or her perfect gravity and
simplicity, and beautiful manners--so unlike her rustic dress and
village coif--imposed upon the Seigneur and his little court. This is
how the story is told, twenty-five years after, by the witness, then an
elderly knight, recalling the story of his youth.

"She said that she came to Robert on the part of her Lord, that he
should send to the Dauphin, and tell him to hold out, and have no fear,
for the Lord would send him succour before the middle of Lent. She also
said that France did not belong to the Dauphin but to her Lord; but her
Lord willed that the Dauphin should be its King, and hold it in command,
and that in spite of his enemies she herself would conduct him to be
consecrated. Robert then asked her who was this Lord? She answered, 'The
King of Heaven.' This being done (the witness adds) she returned to her
father's house with her uncle, Durand Laxart of Burey le Petit."

This brief and sudden preface to her career passed over and had no
immediate effect; indeed but for Bertrand we should have been unable
to separate it from the confused narrative to which all these witnesses
brought what recollection they had, often without sequence or order,
Durand himself taking no notice of any interval between this first
visit to Vaucouleurs and the final one.(2) The episode of Ascension Day
appears like the formal _sommation_ of French law, made as a matter of
form before the appellant takes action on his own responsibility; but
Baudricourt had probably more to do with it than appears to be at all
certain from the after evidence. One of the persons present, at all
events, young Poulengy above mentioned, bore it in mind and pondered it
in his heart.

Meantime, Jeanne returned home--the strangest home-going,--for by this
time her mission and her aspirations could no longer be hid, and rumour
must have carried the news almost as quickly as any modern telegraph,
to startle all the echoes of the village, heretofore unaware of any
difference between Jeanne and her companions save the greater goodness
to which everybody bears testimony. No doubt, it must have reached
Jacques d'Arc's cottage even before she came back with the kind Durand,
a changed creature, already the consecrated Maid of France, La Pucelle,
apart from all others. The French peasant is a hard man, more fierce in
his terror of the unconventional, of having his domestic affairs exposed
to the public eye, or his family disgraced by an exhibition of anything
unusual either in act or feeling, than almost any other class of beings.
And it is evident that he took his daughter's intention according to the
coarsest interpretation, as a wild desire for adventure and intention
of joining herself to the roving troopers, the soldiers always hated and
dreaded in rural life. He suddenly appears in the narrative in a fever
of apprehension, with no imaginative alarm or anxiety about his girl,
but the fiercest suspicion of her, and dread of disgrace to ensue. We do
not know what passed when she returned, further than that her father had
a dream, no doubt after the first astounding explanation of the purpose
that had so long been ripening in her mind. He dreamed that he saw her
surrounded by armed men, in the midst of the troopers, the most evident
and natural interpretation of her purpose, for who could divine that
she meant to be their leader and general, on a level not with the common
men-at-arms, but of princes and nobles? In the morning he told his dream
to his wife and also to his sons. "If I could think that the thing would
happen that I dreamed, I would wish that she should be drowned; and
if you would not do it, I should do it with my own hands." The reader
remembers with a shudder the Meuse flowing at the foot of the garden,
while the fierce peasant, mad with fear lest shame should be coming to
his family, clenched his strong fist and made this outcry of dismay.

No doubt his wife smoothed the matter over as well as she could, and,
whatever alarms were in her own mind, hastily thought of a feminine
expedient to mend matters, and persuaded the angry father that to
substitute other dreams for these would be an easier way. Isabeau most
probably knew the village lad who would fain have had her child, so good
a housewife, so industrious a workwoman, and always so friendly and so
helpful, for his wife. At all events there was such a one, too willing
to exert himself, not discouraged by any refusal, who could be egged
up to the very strong point of appearing before the bishop at Toul and
swearing that Jeanne had been promised to him from her childhood. So
timid a girl, they all thought, so devout a Catholic, would simply obey
the bishop's decision and would not be bold enough even to remonstrate,
though it is curious that with the spectacle of her grave determination
before them, and sorrowful sense of that necessity of her mission
which had steeled her to dispense with their consent, they should have
expected such an expedient to arrest her steps. The affair, we must
suppose, had gone through all the more usual stages of entreaty on the
lover's part, and persuasion on that of the parents, before such an
attempt was finally made. But the shy Jeanne had by this time attained
that courage of desperation which is not inconsistent with the most
gentle nature; and without saying anything to anyone, she too went to
Toul, appeared before the bishop, and easily freed herself from the
pretended engagement, though whether with any reference to her very
different destination we are not told.(3)

These proceedings, however, and the father's dreams and the
remonstrances of the mother, must have made troubled days in the
cottage, and scenes of wrath and contradiction, hard to bear. The winter
passed distracted by these contentions, and it is difficult to imagine
how Jeanne could have borne this had it not been that the period of her
outset had already been indicated, and that it was only in the middle of
Lent that her succour was to reach the King. The village, no doubt, was
almost as much distracted as her father's house to hear of these strange
discussions and of the incredible purpose of the _bonne douce fille_,
whose qualities everybody knew and about whom there was nothing
eccentric, nothing unnatural, but only simple goodness, to distinguish
her above her neighbours. In the meantime her voices called her
continually to her work. They set her free from the ordinary yoke of
obedience, always so strong in the mind of a French girl. The dreadful
step of abandoning her home, not to be thought of under any other
circumstances, was more and more urgently pressed upon her. Could it
indeed be saints and angels who ordained a step which was outside of all
the habits and first duties of nature? But we have no reason to believe
that this nineteenth-century doubt of her visitors, and of whether their
mandates were right, entered into the mind of a girl who was of her own
period and not of ours. She went on steadfastly, certain of her mission
now, and inaccessible either to remonstrance or appeal.

It was towards the beginning of Lent, as Poulengy tells us, that the
decision was made, and she left home finally, to go "to France" as is
always said. But it seems to have been in January that she set out once
more for Vaucouleurs, accompanied by her uncle, who took her to the
house of some humble folk they knew, a carter and his wife, where they
lodged. Jeanne wore her peasant dress of heavy red homespun, her rude
heavy shoes, her village coif. She never made any pretence of ladyhood
or superiority to her class, but was always equal to the finest society
in which she found herself, by dint of that simple good faith, sense,
and seriousness, without excitement or exaggeration, and radiant purity
and straightforwardness which were apparent to all seeing eyes. By
this time all the little world about knew something of her purpose and
followed her every step with wonder and quickly rising curiosity: and no
doubt the whole town was astir, women gazing at their doors, all on her
side from the first moment, the men half interested, half insolent, as
she went once more to the chateau to make her personal appeal. Simple as
she was, the _bonne douce fille_ was not intimidated by the guard at the
gates, the lounging soldiers, the no doubt impudent glances flung at
her by these rude companions. She was inaccessible to alarms of that
kind--which, perhaps, is one of the greatest safeguards against them
even in more ordinary cases. We find little record of her second
interview with Baudricourt. The _Journal du Siege d'Orleans_ and the
_Chronique de la Pucelle_ both mention it as if it had been one of
several, which may well have been the case, as she was for three weeks
in Vaucouleurs. It is almost impossible to arrange the incidents of this
interval between her arrival there and her final departure for Chinon on
the 23d February, during which time she made a pilgrimage to a shrine
of St. Nicolas and also a visit to the Duke of Lorraine. It is clear,
however, that she must have repeated her demand with such stress and
urgency that the Captain of Vaucouleurs was a much perplexed man. It was
a very natural idea then, and in accordance with every sentiment of
the time that he should suspect this wonderful girl, who would not be
daunted, of being a witch and capable of bringing an evil fate on all
who crossed her. All thought of boxing her ears must ere this have
departed from his mind. He hastened to consult the cure, which was
the most reasonable thing to do. The cure was as much puzzled as the
Captain. The Church, it must be said, if always ready to take advantage
afterwards of such revelations, has always been timid, even sceptical
about them at first. The wisdom of the rulers, secular and ecclesiastic,
suggested only one thing to do, which was to exorcise, and perhaps to
overawe and frighten, the young visionary. They paid a joint and solemn
visit to the carter's house, where no doubt their entrance together was
spied by many eager eyes; and there the priest solemnly taking out his
stole invested himself in his priestly robes and exorcised the evil
spirits, bidding them come out of the girl if they were her inspiration.
There seems a certain absurdity in this sudden assault upon the evil
one, taking him as it were by surprise: but it was not ridiculous to
any of the performers, though Jeanne no doubt looked on with serene and
smiling eyes. She remarked afterwards to her hostess, that the cure had
done wrong, as he had already heard her in confession.

Outside, the populace were in no uncertainty at all as to her mission.
A little mob hung about the door to see her come and go, chiefly to
church, with her good hostess in attendance, as was right and seemly,
and a crowd streaming after them who perhaps of their own accord might
have neglected mass, but who would not, if they could help it, lose a
look at the new wonder. One day a young gentleman of the neighbourhood
was passing by, and amused by the commotion, came through the crowd to
have a word with the peasant lass. "What are you doing here, _ma mie_?"
the young man said. "Is the King to be driven out of the kingdom, and
are we all to be made English?" There is a tone of banter in the speech,
but he had already heard of the Maid from his friend, Bertrand, and had
been affected by the other's enthusiasm. "Robert de Baudricourt will
have none of me or my words," she replied, "nevertheless before Mid-Lent
I must be with the King, if I should wear my feet up to my knees;
for nobody in the world, be it king, duke, or the King of Scotland's
daughter, can save the kingdom of France except me alone: though I would
rather spin beside my poor mother, and this is not my work: but I must
go and do it, because my Lord so wills it." "And who is your Seigneur?"
he asked. "God," said the girl. The young man was moved, he too, by that
wind which bloweth where it listeth. He stretched out his hands through
the gaping crowd and took hers, holding them between his own, to give
her his pledge: and so swore by his faith, her hands in his hands, that
he himself would conduct her to the King. "When will you go?" he said.
"Rather to-day than to-morrow," answered the messenger of God.

This was the second convert of La Pucelle. The peasant _bonhomme_ first,
the noble gentleman after him; not to say all the women wherever she
went, the gazing, weeping, admiring crowd which now followed her steps,
and watched every opening of the door which concealed her from their
eyes. The young gentleman was Jean de Novelonpont, "surnamed Jean de
Metz": and so moved was he by the fervour of the girl, and by her strong
sense of the necessity of immediate operations, that he proceeded at
once to make preparations for the journey. They would seem to have
discussed the dress she ought to wear, and Jeanne decided for many
obvious reasons to adopt the costume of a man--or rather boy. She must,
one would imagine have been tall, for no remark is ever made on this
subject, as if her dress had dwarfed her, which is generally the case
when a woman assumes the habit of a man: and probably with her peasant
birth and training, she was, though slim, strongly made and well knit,
besides being at the age when the difference between boy and girl is
sometimes but little noticeable.

In the meantime Baudricourt had not been idle. He must have been moved
by the sight of Jeanne, at least to perceive a certain gravity in the
business for which he was not prepared; and her composure under the
cure's exorcism would naturally deepen the effect which her own manners
and aspect had upon all who were free of prejudice. Another singular
event, too, added weight to her character and demand. One day after
her return from Lorraine, February 12th, 1429, she intimated to all her
surroundings and specially to Baudricourt, that the King had suffered a
defeat near Orleans, which made it still more necessary that she should
be at once conducted to him. It was found when there was time for the
news to come, that this defeat, the Battle of the Herrings, so-called,
had happened as she said, at the exact time; and such a strange fact
added much to the growing enthusiasm and excitement. Baudricourt is said
by Michelet to have sent off a secret express to the Court to ask what
he should do; but of this there seems to be no direct evidence, though
likelihood enough. The Court at Chinon contained a strong feminine
element, behind the scenes. And it might be found that there were uses
for the enthusiast, even if she did not turn out to be inspired. No
doubt there were many comings and goings at this period which can only
be traced confusedly through the depositions of Jeanne's companions
twenty-five years after. She had at least two interviews with
Baudricourt before the exorcism of the cure and his consequent change
of procedure towards her. Then, escorted by her uncle Laxart, and
apparently by Jean de Metz, she had made a pilgrimage to a shrine of St.
Nicolas, as already mentioned, on which occasion, being near Nancy, she
was sent for by the Duke of Lorraine, then lying ill at his castle
in that city, who had a fancy to consult the young prophetess,
sorceress--who could tell what she was?--on the subject apparently
of his illness. He was the son of Queen Yolande of Anjou, who was
mother-in-law to Charles VII., and it would no doubt be thought of some
importance to secure his good opinion. Jeanne gave the exalted
patient no light on the subject of his health, but only the (probably
unpleasing) advice to flee from the wrath of God and to be reconciled
with his wife, from whom he was separated. He too, however, was moved by
the sight of her and her straightforward, undeviating purpose. He gave
her four francs, Durand tells us,--not much of a present,--which she
gave to her uncle, and which helped to buy her outfit. Probably he made
a good report of her to his mother, for shortly after her return to
Vaucouleurs (I again follow Michelet who ought to be well informed)
a messenger from Chinon arrived to take her to the King.(4) In the
councils of that troubled Court, perhaps, the idea of a prodigy and
miraculous leader, though she was nothing but a peasant girl, would
be not without attraction, a thing to conjure withal, so far as the
multitude were concerned.

Anyhow from any point of view, in the hopeless condition of affairs, it
was expedient that nothing which gave promise of help, either real or
visionary, should lightly be rejected. There was much anxiety no
doubt in the careless Court still dancing and singing in the midst
of calamity, but the reception of the ambitious peasant would form an
exciting incident at least, if nothing more important and notable.

Thus the whole anxious world of France stirred round that youthful
figure in the little frontier town, repeating with many an alteration
and exaggeration the sayings of Jeanne, and those popular superstitions
about the Maid from Lorraine which might be so naturally applied to her.
It would seem, indeed, that she had herself attached some importance to
this prophecy, for both her uncle Laxart and her hostess at Vaucouleurs
report that she asked them if they had heard it: which question
"stupefied" the latter, whose mind evidently jumped at once to the
conviction that the prophecy was fulfilled. Not in Domremy itself,
however, were these things considered with the same awe-stricken and
admiring faith. Nothing had softened the mood of Jacques d'Arc. It was
a shame to the village _prud' homme_ to think of his daughter away from
all the protection of home, living among men, encountering the young
Seigneurs who cared for no maiden's reputation, hearing the soldiers'
rude talk, exposed to their insults, or worse still to their kindness.
Probably even now he thought of her as surrounded by troopers and
men-at-arms, instead of the princes and peers with whom henceforth
Jeanne's lot was to be cast; but in the former case there would
have perhaps been less to fear than in the latter. Anyhow, Jeanne's
communications with her family were more painful to her than had been
the jeers of Baudricourt or the exorcism of the cure. They sent her
angry orders to come back, threats of parental curses and abandonment.
We may hope that the mother, grieved and helpless, had little to do with
this persecution. The woman who had nourished her children upon saintly
legend and Scripture story could scarcely have been hard upon the child,
of whom she, better than any, knew the perfect purity and steadfast
resolution. One of the little household at least, revolted by the stern
father's fury, perhaps secretly encouraged by the mother, broke away and
joined his sister at a later period. But we hear, during her lifetime,
little or nothing of Pierre.

Much time, however, was passed in these preliminaries. The final
start was not made till the 23d February, 1429, when the permission
is supposed to have come by the hands of Colet de Vienne, the King's
messenger, who attended by a single archer, was to be her escort. It
is possible that he had no mission to this effect, but he certainly
did escort her to Chinon. The whole town gathered before the house of
Baudricourt to see her depart. Baudricourt, however, does not seem to
have provided any guard for her. Jean de Metz, who had so chivalrously
pledged himself to her service, with his friend De Poulengy,
equally ready for adventure, each with his servant, formed her sole
protectors.(5) Jean de Metz had already sent her the clothes of one of
his retainers, with the light breastplate and partial armour that suited
it; and the townspeople had subscribed to buy her a further outfit, and
a horse which seems to have cost sixteen francs--not so small a sum in
those days as now. Laxart declares himself to have been responsible for
this outlay, though the money was afterwards paid by Baudricourt, who
gave Jeanne a sword, which some of her historians consider a very poor
gift: none, however, of her equipments would seem to have been costly.
The little party set out thus, with a sanction of authority, from the
Captain's gate, the two gentlemen and the King's messenger at the head
of the party with their attendants, and the Maid in the midst. "Go: and
let what will happen," was the parting salutation of Baudricourt. The
gazers outside set up a cry when the decisive moment came, and someone,
struck with the feeble force which was all the safeguard she had for her
long journey through an agitated country--perhaps a woman in the sudden
passion of misgiving which often follows enthusiasm,--called out to
Jeanne with an astonished outcry to ask how she could dare to go by such
a dangerous road. "It was for that I was born," answered the fearless
Maid. The last thing she had done had been to write a letter to her
parents, asking their pardon if she obeyed a higher command than theirs,
and bidding them farewell.

The French historians, with that amazement which they always show when
they find a man behaving like a gentleman towards a woman confided to
his honour, all pause with deep-drawn breath to note that the awe of
Jeanne's absolute purity preserved her from any unseemly overture, or
even evil thought, on the part of her companions. We need not take
up even the shadow of so grave a censure upon Frenchmen in general,
although in the far distance of the fifteenth century. The two young
men, thus starting upon a dangerous adventure, pledged by their honour
to protect and convey her safely to the King's presence, were noble and
generous cavaliers, and we may well believe had no evil thoughts. They
were not, however, without an occasional chill of reflection when
once they had taken the irrevocable step of setting out upon this wild
errand. They travelled by night to escape the danger of meeting bands of
Burgundians or English on the way, and sometimes had to ford a river to
avoid the town, where they would have found a bridge. Sometimes, too,
they had many doubts, Bertrand says, perhaps as to their reception at
Chinon, perhaps even whether their mission might not expose them to the
ridicule of their kind, if not to unknown dangers of magic and contact
with the Evil One, should this wonderful girl turn out no inspired
virgin but a pretender or sorceress. Jean de Metz informs us that she
bade them not to fear, that she had been sent to do what she was now
doing; that her brothers in paradise would tell her how to act, and that
for the last four or five years her brothers in paradise and her God had
told her that she must go to the war to save the kingdom of France. This
phrase must have struck his ear, as he thus repeats it. Her brothers in
paradise! She had not apparently talked of them to anyone as yet, but
now no one could hinder her more, and she felt herself free to speak.
A great calm seems to have been in her soul. She had at last begun her
work. How it was all to end for her she neither foresaw nor asked;
she knew only what she had to do. When they ventured into a town she
insisted on stopping to hear mass, bidding them fear nothing. "God
clears the way for me," she said; "I was born for this," and so
proceeded safe, though threatened with many dangers. There is something
that breathes of supreme satisfaction and content in her repetition of
those words.

     (1) She was, however, acquainted with the simpler byword,
     that France should be destroyed by a woman and afterwards
     redeemed by a virgin, which she quoted to several persons on
     her first setting out.

     (2) I have to thank Mr. Andrew Lang for making the course of
     these events quite clear to myself.

     (3) Mr. Andrew Lang thinks that this appearance at Toul was
     made after she had finally left Domremy, and when she was
     already accompanied by the escort which was to attend her to
     Chinon.

     (4) Mr. Andrew Lang will not hear of this. He thinks the man
     was a mere King's messenger with news, probably charged with
     the melancholy tidings of the loss at Rouvray (Battle of the
     Herrings): and that the fact he did accompany Jeanne and her
     little part was entirely accidental.

     (5) Her brother Pierre is said by some to have been of the
     party. _La Chronique de la Pucelle_ says two of her
     brothers. Mr. Andrew Lang, however, tells us that Pierre did
     not join his sister's party till much later--in the
     beginning of June: and this is the statement of Jean de
     Metz. But Quicherat is also of opinion that they both fought
     in the relief of Orleans.



CHAPTER III -- BEFORE THE KING. FEB.-APRIL, 1429.

Jeanne and her little party were eleven days on the road, but do not
seem to have encountered any special peril. They lodged sometimes in the
security of a convent, sometimes in a village hostel, pursuing the long
and tedious way across the great levels of midland France, which has
so few features of beauty except in the picturesque towns with their
castles and churches, which the escort avoided. At length they paused
in the village of Fierbois not far from Chinon where the Court was, in
order to announce their arrival and ask for an audience, which was not
immediately accorded. Charles held his Court with incredible gaiety and
folly, in the midst of almost every disaster that could overtake a king,
in the castle of Chinon on the banks of the Vienne. The situation and
aspect of this noble building, now in ruins, is wonderfully like that
of Windsor Castle. The great walls, interrupted and strengthened by
huge towers, stretch along a low ridge of rocky hill, with the swift and
clear river, a little broader and swifter than the Thames, flowing at
its foot. The red and high-pitched roofs of the houses clustered between
the castle hill and the stream, give a point of resemblance the more.
The large and ample dwelling, defensible, but with no thought of any
need of defence, a midland castle surrounded by many a level league of
wealthy country, which no hostile force should ever have power to get
through, must have looked like the home of a well-established royalty.
There was no sound or sight of war within its splendid enclosure.
Noble lords and gentlemen crowded the corridors; trains of gay ladies,
attendant upon two queens, filled the castle with fine dresses and gay
voices. There had been but lately a dreadful and indeed shameful defeat,
inflicted by a mere English convoy of provisions upon a large force of
French and Scottish soldiers, the former led by such men as Dunois, La
Hire, Xaintrailles, etc., the latter by the Constable of Scotland, John
Stuart--which defeat might well have been enough to subdue every sound
of revelry: yet Charles's Court was ringing with music and pleasantry,
as if peace had reigned around.

It may be believed that there were many doubts and questions how to
receive this peasant from the fields, which prevented an immediate
reply to her demand for an audience. From the first, de la Tremoille,
Charles's Prime Minister and chief adviser, was strongly against any
encouragement of the visionary, or dealings with the supernatural; but
there would no doubt be others, hoping if not for a miraculous maid,
yet at least for a passing wonder, who might kindle enthusiasm in the
country and rouse the ignorant with hopes of a special blessing from
Heaven. The gayer and younger portion of the Court probably expected
a little amusement, above all, a new butt for their wit, or perhaps a
soothsayer to tell their fortunes and promise good things to come. They
had not very much to amuse them, though they made the best of it. The
joys of Paris were very far off; they were all but imprisoned in this
dull province of Touraine; nobody knew at what moment they might be
forced to leave even that refuge. For the moment here was a new event,
a little stir of interest, something to pass an hour. Jeanne had to wait
two days in Chinon before she was granted an audience, but considering
the carelessness of the Court and the absence of any patron that was but
a brief delay.

The chamber of audience is now in ruins. A wild rose with long, arching,
thorny branches and pale flowers, straggles over the greensward where
once the floor was trod by so many gay figures. From the broken wall you
look sheer down upon the shining river; one great chimney, which at
that season must have been still the most pleasant centre of the large,
draughty hall, shows at the end of the room, with a curious suggestion
of warmth and light which makes ruin more conspicuous. The room must
have been on the ground floor almost level with the soil towards the
interior of the castle, but raised to the height of the cliffs outside.
It was evening, an evening of March, and fifty torches lighted up the
ample room; many noble personages, almost as great as kings, and clothed
in the bewildering splendour of the time, and more than three hundred
cavaliers of the best names in France filled it to overflowing. The
peasant girl from Domremy in the hose and doublet of a servant, a
little travel-worn after her tedious journey, was led in by one of those
splendid seigneurs, dazzled with the grandeur she had never seen before,
looking about her in wonder to see which was the King--while Charles,
perhaps with boyish pleasure in the mystification, perhaps with a little
half-conviction stealing over him that there might be something more in
it, stood among the smiling crowd.

The young stranger looked round upon all those amused, light-minded,
sceptical faces, and without a moment's hesitation went forward and
knelt down before him. "Gentil Dauphin," she said, "God give you good
life." "But it is not I that am the King; there is the King," said
Charles. "Gentil Prince, it is you and no other," she said; then rising
from her knee: "Gentil Dauphin, I am Jeanne the Maid. I am sent to you
by the King of Heaven to tell you that you shall be consecrated and
crowned at Rheims, and shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who
is King of France." The little masquerade had failed, the jest was over.
There would be little more laughing among the courtiers, when they saw
the face of Charles grow grave. He took the new-comer aside, perhaps to
that deep recess of the window where in the darkening night the glimmer
of the clear, flowing river, the great vault of sky would still be
visible dimly, outside the circle of the blazing interior with all its
smoky lights.

Charles VII. of France was, like many of his predecessors, a _pauvre
Sire_ enough. He had thought more of his amusements than of the troubles
of his country; but a wild and senseless gaiety will sometimes spring
from despair as well as from lightness of heart; and after all, the
dread responsibility, the sense that in all his helplessness and
inability to do anything he was still the man who ought to do all, would
seem to have moved him from time to time. A secret doubt in his heart,
divulged to no man, had added bitterness to the conviction of his own
weakness. Was he indeed the heir of France? Had he any right to that
sustaining confidence which would have borne up his heart in the midst
of every discouragement? His very mother had given him up and set him
aside. He was described as the so-called Dauphin in treaties signed by
Charles and Isabeau his parents. If anyone knew, she knew; and was it
possible that more powerful even than the English, more cruel than the
Burgundians, this stain of illegitimacy was upon him, making all effort
vain? There is no telling where the sensitive point is in any man's
heart, and little worthy as was this King, the story we are here told
has a thrill of truth in it. It is reported by a certain Sala, who
declares that he had it from the lips of Charles's favourite and close
follower, the Seigneur de Boisi, a courtier who, after the curious
custom of the time, shared even the bed of his master. This was confided
to Boisi by the King in the deepest confidence, in the silence of the
wakeful night:

"This was in the time of the good King Charles, when he knew not what
step to take, and did nothing but think how to redeem his life: for as
I have told you he was surrounded by enemies on all sides. The King in
this extreme thought, went in one morning to his oratory all alone; and
there he made a prayer to our Lord, in his heart, without pronouncing
any words, in which he asked of Him devoutly that if he were indeed the
true heir, descended from the royal House of France, and that justly the
kingdom was his, that He would be pleased to guard and defend him, or
at the worst to give him grace to escape into Spain or Scotland, whose
people, from all antiquity, were brothers-in-arms, friends and allies of
the kings of France, and that he might find a refuge there."

Perhaps there is some excuse for a young man's endeavour to forget
himself in folly or even in dissipation when his secret thoughts are so
despairing as these.

It was soon after this melancholy moment that the arrival of Jeanne
took place. The King led her aside, touched as all were, by her look of
perfect sincerity and good faith; but it is she herself, not Charles,
who repeats what she said to him. "I have to tell you," said the young
messenger of God, "on the part of my Lord (_Messire_) that you are the
true heir of France and the son of the King; He has sent me to
conduct you to Rheims that you may receive your consecration and
your crown,"--perhaps here, Jeanne caught some look which she did not
understand in his eyes, for she adds with, one cannot but think a touch
of sternness--"if you will."

Was it a direct message from God in answer to his prayer, uttered within
his own heart, without words, so that no one could have guessed that
secret? At least it would appear that Charles thought so: for how should
this peasant maid know the secret fear that had gnawed at his heart?
"When thou wast in the garden under the fig-tree I saw thee." Great
was the difference between the Israelite without guile and the troubled
young man, with whose fate the career of a great nation was entangled;
but it is not difficult to imagine what the effect must have been on
the mind of Charles when he was met by this strange, authoritative
statement, uttered like all that Jeanne said, _de la part de Dieu_.

The impression thus made, however, was on Charles alone, and he was
surrounded by councillors, so much the more pedantic and punctilious as
they were incapable, and placed amidst pressing necessities with which
in themselves they had no power to cope. It may easily be allowed, also,
that to risk any hopes still belonging to the hapless young King on the
word of a peasant girl was in itself, according to every law of reason,
madness and folly. She would seem to have had the women on her side
always and at every point. The Church did not stir, or else was hostile;
the commanders and military men about, regarded with scornful disgust
the idea that an enterprise which they considered hopeless should be
confided to an ignorant woman--all with perfect reason we are obliged to
allow. Probably it was to gain time--yet without losing the aid of such
a stimulus to the superstitious among the masses--and to retard any rash
undertaking--that it was proposed to subject Jeanne to an examination
of doctors and learned men touching her faith and the character of
her visions, which all this time had been of continual recurrence, yet
charged with no further revelation, no mystic creed, but only with the
one simple, constantly repeated command.

Accordingly, after some preliminary handling by half a dozen bishops,
Jeanne was taken to Poitiers--where the university and the local
parliament, all the learning, law, and ecclesiastical wisdom which were
on the side of the King, were assembled--to undergo this investigation.
It is curious that the entire history of this wildest and strangest of
all visionary occurrences is to be found in a series of processes at
law, each part recorded and certified under oath; but so it is. The
village maid was placed at the bar, before a number of acute legists,
ecclesiastics, and statesmen, to submit her to a not-too-benevolent
cross-examination. Several of these men were still alive at the time
of the Rehabilitation and gave their recollections of this examination,
though its formal records have not been preserved. A Dominican monk,
Aymer, one of an order she loved, addressed her gravely with the
severity with which that institution is always credited. "You say that
God will deliver France; if He has so determined, He has no need of
men-at-arms." "Ah!" cried the girl, with perhaps a note of irritation
in her voice, "the men must fight; it is God who gives the victory." To
another discomfited Brother, Jeanne, exasperated, answered with a little
roughness, showing that our Maid, though gentle as a child to all gentle
souls, was no piece of subdued perfection, but a woman of the fields,
and lately much in the company of rough-spoken men. He was of Limoges, a
certain Brother Seguin, "_bien aigre homme_," and disposed apparently
to weaken the trial by questions without importance: he asked her what
language her celestial visitors spoke? "Better than yours," answered the
peasant girl. He could not have been, as we say in Scotland, altogether
"an ill man," for he acknowledged that he spoke the patois of his
district, and therefore that the blow was fair. But perhaps for
the moment he was irritated too. He asked her, a question equally
unnecessary, "do you believe in God?" to which with more and more
impatience she made a similar answer: "Better than you do." There was
nothing to be made of one so well able to defend herself. "Words are
all very well," said the monk, "but God would not have us believe
you, unless you show us some sign." To this Jeanne made an answer more
dignified, though still showing signs of exasperation, "I have not come
to Poitiers to give signs," she said; "but take me to Orleans--I will
then show the signs I am sent to show. Give me as small a band as you
please, but let me go."

The situation of Orleans was at the time a desperate one. It was
besieged by a strong army of English, who had built a succession of
towers round the city, from which to assail it, after the manner of the
times. The town lies in the midst of the plain of the Loire, with not
so much as a hillock to offer any advantage to the besiegers. Therefore
these great works were necessary in face of a very strenuous resistance,
and the possibility of provisioning the besieged, which their river
secured. The English from their high towers kept up a disastrous
fire, which, though their artillery was of the rudest kind, did great
execution. The siege was conducted by eminent generals. The works
were of themselves great fortifications, the assailants numerous, and
strengthened by the prestige of almost unbroken success; there seemed
no human hope of the deliverance of the town unless by an overwhelming
army, which the King's party did not possess, or by some wonderful and
utterly unexpected event. Jeanne had always declared the destruction
of the English and the relief of Orleans to be the first step in her
mission.

Besides the formal and official examination of her faith and character,
held at Poitiers, private inquests of all kinds were made concerning
of the claims of the miraculous maid. She was visited by every curious
person, man or woman, in the neighbourhood, and plied with endless
questions, so that her simple personal story, and that of her
revelations--_mes voix_, as she called them--became familiarly known
from her own report, to the whole country round about. The women pressed
a question specially interesting--for no doubt, many a good mother half
convinced otherwise, shook her head at Jeanne's costume--Why she wore
the dress of a man? for which the Maid gave very good reasons: in the
first place because it was the only dress for fighting, which, though so
far from her desires or from the habits of her life, was henceforward to
be her work; and also because in her strange circumstances,
constrained as she was to live among men, she considered it safest
for herself--statements which evidently convinced the minds of the
questioners. It was, no doubt, good policy to make her thus widely and
generally known, and the result was a daily growing enthusiasm for her
and belief in her, in all classes. The result of the formal process was
that the doctors could find nothing against her, and they reluctantly
allowed that the King might lawfully take what advantage he could of her
offered services.

Jeanne was then brought back to Chinon, where she was lodged in one of
the great towers still standing, though no special room is pointed
out as hers. And there she was subjected to another process, more
penetrating still than the interrogations of the graver tribunals. The
Queens and their ladies and all the women of the Court took her in hand.
They inquired into her history in every subtle and intimate feminine
way, testing her innocence and purity; and once more she came out
triumphant. The final judgment was given as follows: "After hearing all
these reports, the King taking into consideration the great goodness
that was in the Maid, and that she declared herself to be sent by
God, it was by the said Seigneur and his council determined that from
henceforward he should make use of her for his wars, since it was for
this that she was sent."

It was now necessary to equip Jeanne for her service. She had a
_maison_, an _etat majeur_, or staff, formed for her, the chief of
which, Jean d'Aulon, already distinguished and worthy of such a trust
never left her thenceforward until the end of her active career. Her
chaplain, Jean Pasquerel, also followed her fortunes faithfully. Charles
would have given her a sword to replace the probably indifferent weapon
given her by Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs; but Jeanne knew where to find
the sword destined for her. She gave orders that someone should be sent
to Fierbois, the village at which she had paused on her way to Chinon,
to fetch a sword which would be found there buried behind the high altar
of the church of St. Catherine. To make this as little miraculous as
possible, we are told by some historians that it was common for knights
to be buried with their arms, and that Jeanne, in her visit to this
church, where she heard three masses in succession to make up for the
absence of constant religious services on her journey--had probably
seen some tomb or other token that such an interment had taken place.
However, as we are compelled to receive the far greater miracle of
Jeanne herself and her work, without explanation, it is foolish to take
the trouble to attempt any explanation of so small a matter as this. The
sword in fact was found, by the clergy of the church, and was by them
cleaned and polished and put in a scabbard of crimson velvet, scattered
over with fleur-de-lys in gold, for her use. Her standard, which she
considered of the greatest importance was made apparently at Tours. It
was of white linen, fringed with silk and embroidered with a figure of
the Saviour holding a globe in His hands, while an angel knelt at either
side in adoration. Jhesus' Maria was inscribed at the foot. A repetition
of this banner, which must have been re-copied from age to age is to be
seen now at Tours. Having indicated the exact device to be emblazoned
upon the banner, as dictated to her by her saints,--Margaret and
Catherine--Jeanne announced her intention of carrying it herself, a
somewhat surprising office for one who was to act as a general. But it
was the command of her heavenly guides. "Take the standard on the part
of God, and carry it boldly," they had said. She had, besides, a
simple, half-childish intention of her own in this, which she explained
shame-faced--she had no wish to use her sword though she loved it, and
would kill no man. The banner was a more safe occupation, and saved her
from all possibility of blood-shedding; it must however, have required
the robust arm of a peasant to sustain the heavy weight.

It will show how long a time all these examinations and preparations had
taken when we read that Jeanne set out from Blois, where she had passed
some time in military preparations, only on the 27th day of April;
nearly two whole months had thus been taken up in testing her truth, and
arranging details, trifling and unnecessary in her eyes:--a period which
had been passed in great anxiety by the people of Orleans, with the huge
bastilles of the English--three of which were named Paris, Rouen, and
London--towering round them, their provisions often intercepted, all
the business of life come to a standstill, and the overwhelming
responsibility upon them of being almost the last barrier between the
invader and the final subjugation of France. It is strange to add that,
judging by ordinary rules, the garrison of Orleans ought to have been
quite sufficient in itself in numbers and science of war, to have beaten
and dispersed the English force which had thus succeeded in shutting
them in; there were many notable captains among them, with Dunois,
known as the Bastard of Orleans, one of the most celebrated and brave
of French generals, at their head. Dunois was in no way inferior to the
generals of the English army; he was popular, beloved by the people and
soldiers alike, and though illegitimate, of the House of Orleans, one of
the native seigneurs of the place. The wonder is how he and his officers
permitted the building of these towers, and the shutting in of the town
which they were quite strong enough to protect. But it was a losing game
which they were playing, a part which does not suit the genius of the
nation; and the superstition in favour of the English who had won so
many battles with all the disadvantages on their side,--cutting the
finest armies to pieces--was strong upon the imagination of the time. It
seemed a fate which no valour or skill upon the side of the French could
avert. Dunois, himself an unlikely person, one would have thought, to
yield the honour of the fight to a woman, seems to have perceived
that without a strong counter-motive, not within the range of ordinary
methods, the situation was beyond hope.

Accordingly, on the 27th or 28th of April, Jeanne set out at the head of
her little army, accompanied by a great number of generals and captains.
She had been equipped by the Queen of Sicily (with a touch of that keen
sense of decorative effect which belonged to the age) in white armour
inlaid with silver--all shining like her own St. Michael himself, a
radiance of whiteness and glory under the sun--armed _de toutes pieces
sauve la teste_, her uncovered head rising in full relief from the
dazzling breastplate and gorget. This is the description given of her by
an eye-witness a little later. The country is flat as the palm of one's
hand. The white armour must have flashed back the sun for miles and
miles of the level road, to the eyes which from the height of any
neighbouring tower watched the party setting out. It is all fertile now,
the richest plain, and even then, corn and wine must have been in full
bourgeon, the great fresh greenness of the big leaves coming out upon
such low stumps of vine as were left in the soil; but the devastated
country was in those days covered with a wild growth like the _macchia_
of Italian wilds, which half hid the movements of the expedition. They
went by the Loire to Tours, where Jeanne had been assigned a dwelling of
her own, with the estate of a general; and from thence to Blois, where
they had to wait for some days while the convoy of provisions, which
they were to convey to Orleans, was being prepared. And there Jeanne
fulfilled one of the preliminary duties of her mission. She had informed
her examiners at Poitiers that she had been commanded to write to the
English generals before attacking them, appealing to them _de la part de
Dieu_, to give up their conquests, and leave France to the French.
The letter which we quote would seem to have been dictated by her at
Poitiers, probably to the confessor who now formed part of her suite and
who attended her wherever she went:

JHESUS MARIA.

King of England, and you Duke of Bedford calling yourself Regent of
France, you, William de la Poule, Comte de Sulford, John, Lord of
Talbot, and you Thomas, Lord of Scales, who call yourself lieutenants
of the said Bedford, listen to the King of Heaven: Give back to the Maid
who is here sent on the part of God the King of Heaven, the keys of all
the good towns which you have taken by violence in His France. She is
ready to make peace if you will hear reason and be just towards France
and pay for what you have taken. And you archers, brothers-in-arms,
gentles and others who are before the town of Orleans, go in peace on
the part of God; if you do not so you will soon have news of the Maid
who will see you shortly to your great damage. King of England, if you
do not this, I am captain in this war, and in whatsoever place in France
I find your people I will make them go away. I am sent here on the part
of God the King of Heaven to push you all forth of France. If you obey I
will be merciful. And be not strong in your own opinion, for you do not
hold the kingdom from God the Son of the Holy Mary, but it is held by
Charles the true heir, for God, the King of Heaven so wills, and it is
revealed by the Maid who shall enter Paris in good company. If you will
not believe this news on the part of God and the Maid, in whatever place
you may find yourselves we shall make our way there, and make so great
a commotion as has not been in France for a thousand years, if you will
not hear reason. And believe this, that the King of Heaven will send
more strength to the Maid than you can bring against her in all your
assaults, to her and to her good men-at-arms. You, Duke of Bedford, the
Maid prays and requires you to destroy no more. If you act according to
reason you may still come in her company where the French shall do the
greatest work that has ever been done for Christianity. Answer then if
you will still continue against the city of Orleans. If you do so
you will soon recall it to yourself by great misfortunes. Written the
Saturday of Holy Week (22 March, 1429).(1)

Jeanne had by this time made a wonderful moral revolution in her little
army; most likely she had not been in the least aware what an army was,
until this moment; but frank and fearless, she had penetrated into
every corner, and it was not in her to permit those abuses at which an
ordinary captain has to smile. The pernicious and shameful crowd of camp
followers fled before her like shadows before the day. She stopped the
big oaths and unthinking blasphemies which were so common, so that La
Hire, one of the chief captains, a rough and ready Gascon, was reduced
to swear by his _baton_, no more sacred name being permitted to him.
Perhaps this was the origin of the harmless swearing which abounds in
France, meaning probably just as much and as little as bigger oaths in
careless mouths; but no doubt the soldiers' language was very unfit for
gentle ears. Jeanne moved among the wondering ranks, all radiant in her
silver armour and with her virginal undaunted countenance, exhorting all
those rude and noisy brothers to take thought of their duties here, and
of the other life that awaited them. She would stop the march of the
army that a conscience-stricken soldier might make his confession, and
desired the priests to hear it if necessary without ceremony, or church,
under the first tree. Her tender heart was such that she shrank from any
man's death, and her hair rose up on her head, as she said, at the sight
of French blood shed--although her mission was to shed it on all sides
for a great end. But the one thing she could not bear was that
either Frenchmen or Englishmen should die unconfessed, "unhouseled,
disappointed, unannealed." The army went along attended by songs of
choristers and masses of priests, the grave and solemn music of the
Church accompanied strangely by the fanfares and bugle notes. What a
strange procession to pass along the great Loire in its spring fulness,
the raised banners and crosses, and that dazzling white figure, all
effulgence, reflected in the wayward, quick flowing stream!

La Hire, who is like a figure out of Dumas, and indeed did service as
a model to that delightful romancer, had come from Orleans to escort
Jeanne upon her way, and Dunois met her as she approached the town.
There could not be found more unlikely companions than these two, to
conduct to a great battle the country maid who was to carry the honours
of the day from them both, and make men fight like heroes, who under
them did nothing but run away. The candour and true courage of such
leaders in circumstances so extraordinary, are beyond praise, for it was
an offence both to their pride and skill in their profession, had she
been anything less than the messenger of God which she claimed to
be; and these rude soldiers were not men to be easily moved by devout
imaginations. There would seem, however, even in the case of the greater
of the two, to have arisen a strange friendship and mutual understanding
between the famous man of war and the peasant girl. Jeanne, always
straightforward and simple, speaks to him, not with the downcast eyes of
her humility, but as an equal, as if the great Dunois had been a _prud'
homme_ of her own degree. There is no appearance indeed that the Maid
allowed herself to be overborne now by any shyness or undue humility.
She speaks loudly, so as to be heard by those fighting men, taking
something of their own brief and decisive tone, often even impatient, as
one who would not be put aside either by cunning or force.

Her meeting with Dunois makes this at once evident. She had been
deceived in the manner of her approach to Orleans, her companions, among
whom there were several field-marshals and distinguished leaders, taking
advantage of her ignorance of the place to lead her by the opposite bank
of the river instead of that on which the English towers were built,
which she desired to attack at once. This was the beginning of a long
series of deceits and hostile combinations, by which at every step
of her way she was met and retarded; but it turned, as these devices
generally did, to the discomfiture of the adverse captains. She crossed
the river at Checy above Orleans, to meet Dunois who had come so far to
meet her. It will be seen by the conversation which she held with him
on his first appearance, how completely Jeanne had learnt to assert
herself, and how much she had overcome any fear of man. "Are you the
Bastard of Orleans?" she said. "I am; and glad of your coming," he
replied. "Is it you who have had me led to this side of the river and
not to the bank on which Talbot is and his English?" He answered that
he and the wisest of the leaders had thought it the best and safest
way. "The counsel of God, our Lord, is more sure and more powerful than
yours," she replied. The expedition, as a matter of fact, had to turn
back, and to lose precious time, there being, it is to be presumed,
no means of transporting so large a force across the river. The large
convoy of provisions which Jeanne brought was embarked in boats while
the majority of the army returned to Blois, in order to cross by the
bridge.

Jeanne, however, having freely expressed her opinion, adapted herself to
the circumstances, though extremely averse to separate herself from her
soldiers, good men who had confessed and prepared their souls for every
emergency. She finally consented, however, to ride on with Dunois and La
Hire. The wind was against the convoy, so that the heavy boats, deeply
laden with beeves and corn, had a dangerous and slow voyage before them.
"Have patience," cried Jeanne; "by the help of God all will go well";
and immediately the wind changed, to the astonishment and joy of all,
and the boats arrived in safety "in spite of the English, who offered no
hindrance whatever," as she had predicted. The little party made their
way along the bank, and in the twilight of the April evening, about
eight o'clock, entered Orleans. The Deliverer, it need not be said, was
hailed with joy indescribable. She was on a white horse, and carried,
Dunois says, the banner in her hand, though it was carried before her
when she entered the town. The white figure in the midst of those darkly
gleaming mailed men, would in itself throw a certain glory through the
dimness of the night, as she passed the gates and came into view by the
blaze of all the torches, and the lights in the windows, over the dark
swarming crowds of the citizens. Her white banner waving, her white
armour shining, it was little wonder that the throng that filled the
streets received the Maid "as if they had seen God descending among
them." "And they had good reason," says the Chronicle, "for they had
suffered many disturbances, labours, and pains, and, what is worse,
great doubt whether they ever should be delivered. But now all were
comforted, as if the siege were over, by the divine strength that was in
this simple Maid whom they regarded most affectionately, men, women, and
little children. There was a marvellous press around her to touch her
or the horse on which she rode, so much so that one of the torchbearers
approached too near and set fire to her pennon; upon which she touched
her horse with her spurs, and turning him cleverly, extinguished the
flame, as if she had long followed the wars."

There could have been nothing she resembled so much as St. Michael, the
warrior-angel, who, as all the world knew, was her chief counsellor and
guide, and who, no doubt, blazed, a familiar figure, from some window in
the cathedral to which this his living picture rode without a pause, to
give thanks to God before she thought of refreshment or rest. She spoke
to the people who surrounded her on every side as she went on through
the tumultuous streets, bidding them be of good courage and that if they
had faith they should escape from all their troubles. And it was only
after she had said her prayers and rendered her thanksgiving, that
she returned to the house selected for her--the house of an important
personage, Jacques Boucher, treasurer to the Duke of Orleans, not like
the humble places where she had formerly lodged. The houses of that age
were beautiful, airy and light, with much graceful ornament and solid
comfort, the arched and vaulted Gothic beginning to give place to those
models of domestic architecture which followed the Renaissance, with
their ample windows and pleasant space and breadth. There the table was
spread with a joyous meal in honour of this wonderful guest, to which,
let us hope, Dunois and La Hire and the rest did full justice. But
Jeanne was indifferent to the feast. She mixed with water the wine
poured for her into a silver cup, and dipped her bread in it, five
or six small slices. The visionary peasant girl cared for none of the
dainty meats. And then she retired to the comfort of a peaceful chamber,
where the little daughter of the house shared her bed: strange return
to the days when Hauvette and Mengette in Domremy lay by her side and
talked as girls love to do, through half the silent night. Perhaps
little Charlotte, too, lay awake with awe to wonder at that other young
head on the pillow, a little while ago shut into the silver helmet, and
shining like the archangel's. The _etat majeur_, the Chevalier d'Aulon,
Jean de Metz, and Bertrand de Poulengy, who had never left her, first
friends and most faithful, and her brother Pierre d'Arc, were lodged in
the same house. It was the last night of April, 1429.

     (1) The dates must of course be reckoned by the old style.--
     This letter was dispatched from Tours, during her pause
     there.



CHAPTER IV -- THE RELIEF OF ORLEANS. MAY 1-8, 1429.

Next morning there was a council of war among the many leaders now
collected within the town. It was the eager desire of Jeanne that an
assault should be made at once, in all the enthusiasm of the moment,
upon the English towers, without waiting even for the arrival of the
little army which she had preceded. But the captains of the defence who
had borne the heat and burden of the day, and who might naturally
enough be irritated by the enthusiasm with which this stranger had been
received, were of a different opinion. I quote here a story, for which
I am told there is no foundation whatever, touching a personage who
probably never existed, so that the reader may take it as he pleases,
with indulgence for the writer's weakness, or indignation at her
credulity. It seems to me, however, to express very naturally a
sentiment which must have existed among the many captains who had been
fighting unsuccessfully for months in defence of the beleaguered city.
A certain Guillaume de Gamache felt himself insulted above all by the
suggestion. "What," he cried, "is the advice of this hussy from the
fields (_une peronnelle de bas lieu_) to be taken against that of a
knight and captain! I will fold up my banner and become again a simple
soldier. I would rather have a nobleman for my master than a woman whom
nobody knows."

Dunois, who was too wise to weaken the forces at his command by such a
quarrel, is said to have done his best to reconcile and soothe the angry
captain. This, however, if it was true, was only a mild instance of the
perpetual opposition which the Maid encountered from the very beginning
of her career and wherever she went. Notwithstanding her victories, she
remained through all her career a _peronnelle_ to these men of war (with
the noble exception, of course, of Alencon, Dunois, Xaintrailles, La
Hire, and others). They were sore and wounded by her appearance and her
claims. If they could cheat her, balk her designs, steal a march in any
way, they did so, from first to last, always excepting the few who were
faithful to her. Dunois could afford to be magnanimous, but the lesser
men were jealous, envious, embittered. A _peronnelle_, a woman nobody
knew! And they themselves were belted knights, experienced soldiers, of
the best blood of France. It was not unnatural; but this atmosphere
of hate, malice, and mortification forms the background of the picture
wherever the Maid moves in her whiteness, illuminating to us the whole
scene. The English hated her lustily as their enemy and a witch, casting
spells and enchantments so that the strength was sucked out of a man's
arm and the courage from his heart: but the Frenchmen, all but those
who were devoted to her, regarded her with an ungenerous opposition, the
hate of men shamed and mortified by every triumph she achieved.

Jeanne was angry, too, and disappointed, more than she had been by all
discouragements before. She had believed, perhaps, that once in the
field these oppositions would be over, and that her mission would be
rapidly accomplished. But she neither rebelled nor complained. What
she did was to occupy herself about what she felt to be her business,
without reference to any commander. She sent out two heralds,(1) who
were attached to her staff, and therefore at her personal disposal, to
summon once more Talbot and Glasdale (Classidas, as the French called
him) _de la part de Dieu_ to evacuate their towers and return home. It
would seem that in her miraculous soul she had a visionary hope that
this appeal might be successful. What so noble, what so Christian, as
that the one nation should give up, of free-will, its attempt upon the
freedom and rights of another, if once the duty were put simply before
it--and both together joining hands, march off, as she had already
suggested, to do the noblest deed that had ever yet been done for
Christianity? That same evening she rode forth with her little train;
and placing herself on the town end of the bridge (which had been broken
in the middle), as near as the breach would permit to the bastille, or
fort of the Tourelles, which was built across the further end of
the bridge, on the left side of the Loire--called out to the enemy,
summoning them once more to withdraw while there was time. She was
overwhelmed, as might have been expected, with a storm of abusive shouts
and evil words, Classidas and his captains hurrying to the walls to
carry on the fierce exchange of abuse. To be called dairy-maid and
_peronnelle_ was a light matter, but some of the terms used were so
cruel that, according to some accounts, she betrayed her womanhood by
tears, not prepared apparently for the use of such foul weapons against
her. The _Journal du Siege_ declares, however, that she was "aucunement
yree" (angry), but answered that they lied, and rode back to the city.

The next Sunday, the 1st of May, Dunois, alarmed by the delay of his
main body, set out for Blois to meet them, and we are told that Jeanne
accompanied him to the special point of danger, where the English from
their fortifications might have stopped his progress, and took up a
position there, along with La Hire, between the expedition and the
enemy. But in the towers not a man budged, not a shot was fired. It was
again a miracle, and she had predicted it. The party of Dunois marched
on in safety, and Jeanne returned to Orleans, once more receiving on
the breeze some words of abuse from the defenders of those battlements,
which sent forth no more dangerous missile, and replying again with
her summons, "_Retournez de la par Dieu a Angleterre._" The townsfolk
watched her coming and going with an excitement impossible to describe;
they walked by the side of her charger to the cathedral, which was
the end of every progress; they talked to her, all speaking together,
pressing upon her--and she to them, bidding them to have no fear.
"Messire has sent me," she said again and again. She went out again,
Wednesday, 4th May, on the return of Dunois, to meet the army, with the
same result, that they entered quietly, the English not firing a shot.

On this same day, in the afternoon, after the early dinner, there
happened a wonderful scene. Jeanne, it appeared, had fallen asleep after
her meal, no doubt tired with the expedition of the morning, and her
chief attendant, D'Aulon, who had accompanied Dunois to fetch the troops
from Blois, being weary after his journey, had also stretched himself
on a couch to rest. They were all tired, the entry of the troops
having been early in the morning, a fact of which the angry captains of
Orleans, who had not shared in that expedition, took advantage to make
a secret sortie unknown to the new chiefs. All at once the Maid awoke in
agitation and alarm. Her "voices" had awakened her from her sleep. "My
council tell me to go against the English," she cried; "but if to assail
their towers or to meet Fastolfe I cannot tell." As she came to the full
command of her faculties her trouble grew. "The blood of our soldiers is
flowing," she said; "why did they not tell me? My arms, my arms!" Then
she rushed down stairs to find her page amusing himself in the tranquil
afternoon, and called to him for her horse. All was quiet, and no doubt
her attendants thought her mad: but D'Aulon, who knew better than to
contradict his mistress, armed her rapidly, and Luis, the page, brought
her horse to the door. By this time there began to rise a distant rumour
and outcry, at which they all pricked their ears. As Jeanne put her foot
in the stirrup she perceived that her standard was wanting, and called
to the page, Louis de Contes, above, to hand it to her out of the
window. Then with the heavy flag-staff in her hand she set spurs to her
horse, her attendants one by one clattering after her, and dashed onward
"so that the fire flashed from the pavement under the horse's feet."

Jeanne's presentiment was well-founded. There had been a private
expedition against the English fort of St. Loup carried out quietly to
steal a march upon her--Gamache, possibly, or other malcontents of his
temper, in the hope perhaps of making use of her prestige to gain a
victory without her presence. But it had happened with this sally as
with many others which had been made from Orleans; and when Jeanne
appeared outside the gate which she and the rest of the followers
after her had almost forced--coming down upon them at full gallop, her
standard streaming, her white armour in a blaze of reflection, she met
the fugitives flying back towards the shelter of the town. She does not
seem to have paused or to have deigned to address a word to them, though
the troop of soldiers and citizens who had snatched arms and flung
themselves after her, arrested and turned them back. Straight to the
foot of the tower she went, Dunois startled in his turn, thundering
after her. It is not for a woman to describe, any more than it was for a
woman to execute such a feat of war. It is said that she put herself at
the head of the citizens, Dunois at the head of the soldiers. One moment
of pity and horror and heart-sickness Jeanne had felt when she met
several wounded men who were being carried towards the town. She had
never seen French blood shed before, and the dreadful thought that
they might die unconfessed, overwhelmed her soul; but this was but an
incident of her breathless gallop to the encounter. To isolate the tower
which was attacked was the first necessity, and then the conflict was
furious--the English discouraged, but fighting desperately against
a mysterious force which overwhelmed them, at the same time that it
redoubled the ardour of every Frenchman. Lord Talbot sent forth parties
from the other forts to help their companions, but these were met in the
midst by the rest of the army arriving from Orleans, which stopped
their course. It was not till evening, "the hour of Vespers," that the
bastille was finally taken, with great slaughter, the Orleanists giving
little quarter. During these dreadful hours the Maid was everywhere
visible with her standard, the most marked figure, shouting to her men,
weeping for the others, not fighting herself so far as we hear, but
always in the front of the battle. When she went back to Orleans
triumphant, she led a band of prisoners with her, keeping a wary eye
upon them that they might not come to harm.

The next day, May 5th, was the Feast of the Ascension, and it was spent
by Jeanne in rest and in prayer. But the other leaders were not so
devout. They held a crowded and anxious council of war, taking care that
no news of it should reach the ears of the Maid. When, however, they had
decided upon the course to pursue they sent for her, and intimated to
her their decision to attack only the smaller forts, which she heard
with great impatience, not sitting down, but walking about the room in
disappointment and anger. It is difficult(2) for the present writer to
follow the plans of this council or to understand in what way Jeanne
felt herself contradicted and set aside. However it was, the fact seems
certain that their plan failed at first, the English having themselves
abandoned one of the smaller forts on the right side of the river and
concentrated their forces in the greater ones of Les Augustins and
Les Tourelles on the left bank. For all this, reference to the map is
necessary, which will make it quite clear. It was Classidas, as he
is called, Glasdale, the most furious enemy of France, and one of the
bravest of the English captains who held the former, and for a moment
succeeded in repulsing the attack. The fortune of war seemed about to
turn back to its former current, and the French fell back on the boats
which had brought them to the scene of action, carrying the Maid with
them in their retreat. But she perceived how critical the moment was,
and reining up her horse from the bank, down which she was being forced
by the crowd, turned back again, closely followed by La Hire, and at
once, no doubt, by the stouter hearts who only wanted a leader--and
charging the English, who had regained their courage as the white
armour of the witch disappeared, and were in full career after the
fugitives--drove them back to their fortifications, which they gained
with a rush, leaving the ground strewn with the wounded and dying.