Part 2

Had Charles the Dauphin been the man that Jeanne d'Arc would have had him be, the history of the Maid of France would have been a different one. But even his thrill at being aided to claim his throne, was not strong enough to fire him with the proper spirit, and he continued to waste long days in idle ease, while Jeanne was fretting her heart out waiting for him to decide to let her start to raise the siege of Orléans. But delay she must, and she whiled away the tedious days by practising with crossbow and sword in the meadows near Chinon, and although she refused to wear a woman's dress until she had accomplished her mission, yet she was both graceful and beautiful in her knight's costume, which she now wore in place of the simple page's suit in which she had ridden to Chinon, and many admiring eyes watched her as she rode up and down in the green meadows, alert and graceful in every movement. And although he was wasting precious moments in deciding whether to allow her to raise the siege of Orléans or not, the Dauphin spoke often and intimately with her, as with a friend to whom he was deeply attached, and Jeanne was treated with all possible deference both by those of high and low degree. The young Duc d'Alençon, a noble and loyal courtier, was so deeply won by her sweetness and charm that his wife invited her to spend a few days at their home, the Abbey of St. Florent les-Saumur, while waiting for the decision of the Dauphin. That little visit was a bright spot in the long dark story of the Maid's fulfilment of her mission, for there, with those whose every word and act spoke of kindred ideals and lofty aims, the Maid unbent to the level of care-free normal girlhood, and ever after that there was a close comradeship between the Duc and Jeanne.

At last the Dauphin came to a decision. To Poitiers, Jeanne must go, and there be examined by the French Parliament, and by the most learned men in the kingdom, to prove that she was capable of achieving that which she wished to attempt. When Jeanne heard this she cried out impatiently, "To Poitiers? In God's name I know I shall have my hands full, but the saints will aid me. Let us be off!" which showed that the Maid, for all her saintliness had also a very normal human degree of impatience to do as she had planned, and who can blame her?

To Poitiers she went, and there as everywhere the people loved her for her goodness, her enthusiasm for the rescue of France, and for her unassuming piety. For long weary weeks, she was cross-examined by the cleverest men who could be found for the task, but ever her keen wit was able to bring her safely through the quagmires and pitfalls they laid for her to fall into; then at last it was announced that "in consideration of the great necessity and peril of Orléans, the King would make use of her help, and she should go in honourable fashion to the aid of Orléans."

So back again to Chinon went Jeanne, overflowing with eagerness and hope, looking, it is said, like a handsome, enthusiastic boy in her page's suit, full of the joy of living, happy in the thought of hard work ahead, then on at last she went, with her escort of both soldiers and cavalry officers, to the accomplishing of her second duty. By the King's orders she was dressed this time in a suit of fine steel armour which was well suited to the lithe grace of her slim young figure, and over her armour she wore a "hûque" as the slashed coats worn by knights were called. She had her pick of a horse from the royal stables, and even he was decked with a steel headpiece and a high peaked saddle. Jeanne, de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy, her faithful followers, were also fitted with special armour, which was very costly and handsome.

The sword Jeanne carried was one which had been found under the altar of the church of St. Catherine of Fierbois, around which many legends of miracles clustered, but to Jeanne it was at best only a weapon, and she said she should never make use of it. Her great white standard was the thing she loved, and even when she was in the thick of the battle, she always carried it, with its painted figure of God throned on clouds holding the world in his hands, while kneeling angels on either side presented lilies, and above were the words, "Jhesus, Maria." On the other side of the banner was a shield with the arms of France, supported by two angels. She had also a smaller banner with a white dove on azure ground, holding in his beak a scroll with the words, "In the name of the King of Heaven."

With her great white banner floating high in the carrying wind, her sword scabbard of cloth-of-gold, glittering in the sunlight, and the armour of her men-at-arms gleaming in its new splendour, the Maid set out for Orléans, preceded by a company of priests singing the _Veni Creator_ as they marched.

Jeanne's plan of entry into Orléans was a very simple one. She desired to march right in under the great forts defending the besieged city, to flout the enemy, and cheer the desperate citizens by her daring. But the captains of her army, although they had sworn to obey her every command, were seasoned veterans in the art of war, and had no intention of carrying out any plan of campaign laid out by a girl of seventeen, so they wilfully disregarded her plan, and by so doing delayed their entry into the city for weary hours, and in the end were obliged to enter in the very way planned by their young Commander. When at last, at night, attended by troops of torch bearers, Jeanne went into Orléans sitting proudly erect on her great white horse, and the people of the city saw first the Maid who had come to their relief, they could but wonder at sight of her girlish figure, in its shining armour, and the radiant young face carried inspiration and comfort to their wearied hearts. So eager were they to touch her or her horse that in crowding near, a torch touched her banner, and set it on fire, but wheeling around lightly, she crushed out the flame, as though she had long been an expert in such deeds. Then she and her company went to the Cathedral of St. Croix to return thanks for having entered the city, and afterwards were lodged for the night at the house of the Duc's treasurer, where Jeanne shared the room of her host's nine-year-old daughter and slept as sweetly and soundly as the child herself.

Then followed fifteen days of hard fighting, for the enemy manfully resisted the onslaught of Jeanne's army, but at last, the English, vanquished, were obliged to retreat, telling marvellous tales of the Maid who was less than an angel, more than a soldier, and only a girl who had done this thing.

The attack on the city had begun at six in the morning and lasted for thirteen hours, and was indeed a marvellous assault on both sides. A hundred times the English mounted the walls, and a hundred times were thrown back into the moat, and the Maid with her floating banner, was everywhere at once, encouraging her men with the ringing cry, "Fear not. The place is yours!" Then she received a wound in her shoulder above the breast, and at the first flash of severe pain, like any other girl, she shivered with fear, and hot tears came, while they carried her off the field and dressed the wound. After that she was obliged to entrust her standard to a faithful man, but she still inspired and comforted her army from the position to which she had been carried, and as the sounds of battle deepened, above the tumult rang out her clear voice of ringing command,--then came victory and the retreat of the enemy. Orléans was delivered from the hands of the English. France still held "the key to the Loire," and the Maid of France had gained one of the fifteen battles of the world.

The bells of Orléans rang out victoriously, while all the citizens in all the churches chanted _Te Deums_ and sang praises of the wonderful Maid who had saved France.

In all the records of history no other girl ever reached such a height of glory as did Jeanne that day, and yet instead of revelling in the praise showered on her, and in her popularity, when the battle was over, she went to bed and to sleep like a tired child, and when the people saw how exhausted she was, they stood guard over the house where she slept, and would allow no traffic to disturb her rest. And from that day to this, the eighth of May has ever been "Jeanne d'Arc's Day" in Orléans.

Jeanne had now fulfilled her second task. She had raised the siege of Orléans. Now for the third. Forward to the Dauphin's crowning at Rheims,--forward to the anointing of the rightful Sovereign of France!--that was her one thought and cry. But the Dauphin himself was in no such hurry to save his kingdom, now that the distress of the moment had been allayed. However, he met the Maid at Tours soon afterwards, and not only sang her praises for what she had done, but also acting on an impulse, his eyes lit with sudden fire, suddenly rose, and raising his sword aloft, brought it down slowly on Jeanne's shoulder, saying, that in so doing he joined her, her family, her kin and her descendants to the nobility of France, adding "Rise, Jeanne d'Arc, now and henceforth surnamed DU LIS, in grateful acknowledgment of the good blow you have struck for the lilies of France, and they and the royal crown and your own victorious sword shall be grouped in your escutcheon, and be and remain the symbol of your high nobility for ever."

Great indeed was this honour, with all that it meant to the family of Jeanne, and she received it with fitting appreciation, but it was not what she craved; yet still the King loitered and lingered in his château, giving heed to the arguments of his counsellors,--who for reasons of their own, desired to thwart the plans of the Maid--rather than to her whose Voices told her that the Dauphin should set out at once for Rheims, while the French army was still hot with the enthusiasm of victory. At last seeing it was useless to wait any longer, Jeanne and her men were obliged to press on without any definite news of when or where they would be joined by the Dauphin, and three days later, after raising the siege of Orléans, her army took Jargeau, a town twelve miles from Orléans, and then marched back to Orléans to be received as conquering heroes.

D'Alençon was given six casks of wine, the Maid four, and the town council ordered a robe and hûque for Jeanne of green and crimson, the Orléans colours. Her hûque was of green satin, and embroidered with the Orléans emblem,--the nettle,--and doubtless this offering was acceptable to the girl who with all her qualities of generalship never lost her feminine liking for pretty clothes.

By the taking of Jargeau the southern sweep of the Loire for fifty miles was wiped clear of English fortresses, but the enemy still held Beaugency and Meung, a few miles downstream, and to their capture Jeanne and her forces now set out. Then with a still greater prize in view, they marched on towards Pâtay, a town between Meung and Rouvray, where they found the forces of the English massed, in consequence of which Jeanne called together her men for a council of war.

"What is to be done now?" asked d'Alençon, with deep concern.

"Have all of you good spurs?" she cried.

"How is that? Shall we run away?"

"Nay, in the name of God--after them! It is the English who will not defend themselves and shall be beaten. You must have good spurs to follow them. Our victory is certain," she exclaimed and added with that quick vision which was always the inspiration of her forces, "The gentle King shall have to-day the greatest victory he has ever had!"

And true indeed was her prediction, for the battle of Pâtay was a great victory, and set the seal of assurance on the work commenced at Orléans. The English rout was complete. Their leaders fled and four thousand men were either killed or captured, and as in every battle, Jeanne's flaming courage and enthusiasm spurred her men on to victory, even though because of a wound in her foot she was not able to lead her forces, with her great white banner floating before them as usual. But she was none the less the inspiration of the day, and was also able to show a woman's tender pity and care for those of the enemy who were wounded and in their need of loving ministration turned to the gentle girl as to an angel sent from heaven.

News of the French victories flew like wildfire over all the country. Three fortified towns taken, a great army of the enemy disorganised and put to flight, the whole country almost to the gates of Paris cleared of the enemy in a single brilliant week's campaign, and all through the commands, the inspiration, the invincible courage, the Vision of a slender slip of a girl! It seemed incredible except to those who had been with her through so many crucial tests, who had proved the fibre of her mental, physical and spiritual force, and reverenced her as one truly inspired by God's own voice.

After the capture of Pâtay back again to Orléans went the victorious army, and there were no bounds now to the enthusiasm expressed for the Maid who had done such marvellous things. It was supposed that the Dauphin would surely meet the victors at Orléans, but he was enjoying himself elsewhere, and Jeanne, cruelly impatient, set off to meet him at St. Bênoit, on the Loire, where again she begged him to help in the great work on hand, and again was met with cold inaction, but notwithstanding this, the Maid with her dauntless purpose left the Court, still repeating, "By my staff, I _will_ lead the gentle King Charles and his company safely, and he shall be consecrated at Rheims!" showing that all the human weakness, which she could not have failed to see in the Dauphin, did not deter her in the accomplishing of a purpose which she felt she owed to France.

Across the Loire went the Maid and her men, and then as if impelled by some impulse, on the twenty-ninth of June, the Dauphin suddenly followed her on to Champagne. To Trôyes went the army now, headed by no less formidable personage than the King-to-be and the Maid, and to one homage was paid because of his royal lineage, and to the other honour because of her marvellous achievements and gracious personality. Never once did Jeanne's martial spirit fail, or her belief in her vision weaken: even the Dauphin was a better and stronger man while under the spell of her wonder-working personality, and ever his reverence for her grew, seeing her exquisite personal purity, although surrounded by men and under circumstances which made purity difficult; and her great piety, her more than human achievement and her flaming spirit, gave him food for as much serious thought as he ever devoted to anything.

"Work, and God will work," was Jeanne's motto, and faithfully did she live it out, working for the King as he never would have done either for himself or for anyone else, and on the morning of Saturday, July sixteenth, the Maid and the Dauphin together rode into the city of Jeanne's vision.

At nine o'clock in the morning, on Sunday, July seventeenth, the great cathedral of Rheims was filled to its doors for the crowning of the King. The deep-toned organ and a great choir filled the Cathedral with music as the Abbot entered, carrying a vial of sacred oil for the anointing; then came the Archbishop and his canons, followed by five great lords, stately figures indeed, each carrying his banner, and each riding a richly caparisoned horse. Down the length of the aisle made for them, to the choir they rode, then as the Archbishop dismissed them, each made a deep bow till the plumes of his hat touched his horse's neck, and then each wheeling his steed around, they passed out as they had come.

There was a deep hush through all the vast Cathedral, one could have heard a dropped pin in all that surging mass of people, then came the peals of four silver trumpets. Jeanne, the Maid of France, and Charles the Dauphin, stood framed in the pointed archway of the great west door. Slowly they advanced up the long aisle, the organ pealing its welcome, the people shouting their applause, and behind the two figures came a stately array of royal personages and church dignitaries, and then, standing before the altar, the solemn Coronation ceremony began, while beside the King, during the long prayers and anthems and sermons, stood Jeanne, with her beloved standard in her hand. The King took the oath, was anointed with the sacred oil, then came the bearer of the crown, and kneeling, offered it. For one moment the King hesitated,--was it because of a thought of his unworthiness, or because of the great responsibilities wearing it would impose? At all events, hesitate he did, then he caught Jeanne's eyes, beaming with all the pride and joy of her inspired nature, and Charles took up the crown and placed it on his head, while choir and organ and people made the vast building resound and echo with music and with shouts. Jeanne alone stood as though transfixed, then sinking on her knees she said:

"Now, oh, gentle King, now, is accomplished the will of God, who decreed that I should raise the siege of Orléans, and bring you to the city of Rheims for your consecration, thereby showing that you are the true King, and that to you the realm of France should belong."

And at sight of her, so young and human in her beauty, so inspired in that which she had done, many wept for very enthusiasm, and all hearts honoured her.

With gracious words the King lifted her up, and there before that vast assemblage of nobles he made her the equal of a count in rank, appointed a household and officers for her according to her dignity, and begged her to name some wish which he could fulfil.

Jeanne was on her knees again in a moment at his words, "You have saved the throne, ask what you will."

With sweet simplicity she pleaded, "Oh, gentle King, I ask only that the taxes of Domrémy, now so impoverished by war, be remitted."

On hearing her request, the King seemed momentarily bewildered by so great unselfishness, then he exclaimed:

"She has won a kingdom, and crowned a King, and all she asks and all she will take, is this poor grace, and even this is for others. And it is well. Her act being proportioned to the dignity of one who carries in her head and heart riches which outvalue any King could give and though he gave his all. She shall have her way. Now therefore it is decreed that from this day, Domrémy, natal village of Jeanne d'Arc, Deliverer of France, called the Maid of Orléans, is freed from all taxation for ever."

At this the silver horns blew a long blast, and from that day, for three hundred and sixty years was the little village of Jeanne's birth without taxation, because of her deeds of valour.

On went the ceremony to an imposing finish, when the procession with Jeanne and the King at its head marched out of the Cathedral with all possible pomp and solemnity, and the great day on which Jeanne had fulfilled the third and greatest of those achievements to which her voices had called her, was over. She had led the King to his crowning,--and as the people of Rheims gazed on her in her silver mail, glittering as if in a more than earthly light, carrying the white standard embellished with the emblems of her belief, it seemed as though the Maid in her purity, and her consecration to France was set apart from all other human beings, not less for what she was, than for what she had done--and never was warrior or woman more fitly reverenced.

Jeanne, the peasant maid of Domrémy, led by her vision, had marshalled her forces like a seasoned veteran, and with them had raised the siege of Orléans,--had led the King to his crowning, and yet instead of longing for more conquests, still further glory, in a later conversation with a faithful friend, she only exclaimed:

"Ah, if it might but please God to let me put off this steel raiment, and go back to my father and my mother, and tend my sheep again with my sisters and brothers who would be so glad to see me!"

Only that, poor child, but it could not be. Never again was she to go back to her simple life, but it is said that old Jacques d'Arc and Durand Laxart came to Rheims to gladden the Maid's heart with a sight of their familiar faces, and to see for themselves this child of Jacques's who had won so great renown.

And at that time also, two of her brothers are known to have been in the army, of which she must needs be still the head, as the King gave a shameful example of never commanding it in person. Seeing that she must still be Commander-in-chief; immediately after the Coronation, Jeanne called a council of war, and made a stirring appeal for an immediate march on Paris. This was resisted with most strenuous and wily arguments for delay, to all of which the Maid cried impatiently, "We have but to march--on the instant--and the English strongholds, as you call them, along the way are ours. Paris is ours. France is ours. Give the word, Oh, my King, command your servant!"

Even in the face of her ringing appeal there was more arguing and more resisting, but finally, thrilled by Jeanne's final plea the King rose and drawing his sword, took it by the blade and strode up to Jeanne, delivering the hilt into her hand, saying:

"There, the King surrenders. Carry it to Paris!" And to Paris Jeanne might go, but the tide of success had turned, and although on the fourteenth day of August the French army marched into Compiègne and hauled down the English flag, and on the twenty-sixth camped under the very walls of Paris, yet now the King hung back and was afraid to give his consent to storming the city. Seven long days were wasted, giving the enemy time to make ready to defend their strongholds, and to plan their campaign. Then the French army was allowed to attack, and Jeanne and her men worked and fought like heroes, and Jeanne was everywhere at once, in the lead, as usual with her standard floating high, even while smoke enveloped the army in dense clouds, and missiles fell like rain. She was hurt, but refused to retire, and the battle-light flamed in her eyes as her warrior-spirit thrilled to the deeds of the moment.

"I will take Paris now or never!" she cried, and at last she had to be carried away by force, still insisting that the city would be theirs in the morning, which would have been so, but for the treachery of him for whom Jeanne had given her young strength in such consecrated service. The Maid was defeated by her own King, who because of political reasons declared the campaign ended, and made a truce with the English in which he agreed to leave Paris unmolested and go back again to the Loire.

History offers no more pathetic and yet inspiring sight than Jeanne, broken by the terrible news, still sure that victory would be hers if but allowed to follow her voices--yet checkmated by the royal pawn whose pleasure it was to disband the noble army of heroes who had fought so nobly for the cause of France.

When Jeanne saw the strength of the Dauphin's purpose, she hung up her armour and begged the King to now dismiss her from the army, and allow her to go home, but this he refused to do. The truce he had made did not embrace all France, and he would have need of her inspiring presence and her valuable counsel--in truth it seemed that he and his chief counsellors were afraid of allowing her out of their sight, for fear of what she might achieve without their knowledge.

For some eight months longer, in accord with his desire, Jeanne, still sure of her divine mission to work for France, loyally drifted from place to place with the King and his counsellors, heart-sick and homesick, occupying her many leisure hours with planning vast imaginary sieges and campaigns.