Chapter VII

The Rescue

Marie of Chafleur had borne her imprisonment with unshaken courage. She was resolved that she would not be forced to take the vow, and though she suffered greatly in her damp, gloomy prison,—she who could still take childish delight in every little flower,—she remained true to her resolution.

The Abbess, who had been so favorably impressed by her when they first met, was still more impressed by her firmness, and gave her permission to visit her. Upon one such occasion the abbess kindly said: “You grieve me, my daughter. Your obstinacy may compel me to adopt severe measures.”

Marie made no reply. She was looking out of the open window at the garden, which was now in full bloom, and was so absorbed with the view that she did not hear the Abbess. Her face was all aglow with excitement, her eyes sparkled, and she gleefully clapped her hands. “Oh, how beautiful, how beautiful!” she cried, approaching nearer to the window. “Oh, if I could but be among those flowers!”

“You are childish,” said the Abbess, without manifesting displeasure, however. “Listen, and pay attention to what I say.”

Marie wiped away her rising tears and looked into the Abbess’s face. “It is not very long ago that you were as young as I,” she said, “and, oh, how beautiful you must have been without that veil! Tell me, have you never enjoyed yourself in the flowery meadows? Have you never chased the pretty butterflies, never listened to the songs of the birds, never breathed the fragrance of the flowers? Oh, tell me.”

“Why do you call up such recollections, child?”

“Oh, yes, I know you have, and so you can understand me when I tell you it is impossible for me to stay within these walls. I must go. Surely, noble lady, you will not keep me here any longer. Oh, open the doors and let me out. I will go on foot and travel through the country all alone until I find my uncle. And even should I not find him, and have to suffer hunger, thirst, cold, and heat, still I should be happy. So once more, noble lady, I implore you to let me go.”

“Child, child, you are asking impossibilities of me.”

“Why impossible?”

“You have no idea of the implicit obedience required of us.”

“But, noble lady, your vows and your discipline only bind you in your relations to the convent life, not to the outer world.”

“You are mistaken, my daughter. We owe unquestioning obedience in all things to our superiors. Whatever they demand of us is right. It is not for us to question or decide.”

“How is that, noble lady? Having dedicated yourself to Heaven, can you blindly follow human dictation?”

“Child, the will of the Church, to which we bow, is the will of Heaven.”

“I do not understand that.”

“That is because you are not in the right spirit to understand it.”

“That may be true, but I am sure of one thing.”

“What is that?”

“That you would not poison me even if you were ordered to do so.”

“Child,” said the astonished Abbess, “what put such a dreadful thought as that in your mind?”

“Because, though unconsciously, you have really begun to do it.”

“You shock me! What do you mean? That I would poison—”

“The poison of the prison atmosphere, noble lady, is just as surely killing me as if it were real poison. So again I implore you to let me go. Do not degrade yourself by becoming a party to the shameful conspiracy which has been planned against me.”

The Abbess might have replied to Marie at more length, but she was too thoroughly convinced of the truth of her words and the injustice which had been practised toward her to do so; and besides this, Marie’s sweetness of nature and childish ways won more and more not only her sympathy but her affection.

“I cannot give you your freedom, my daughter,” she replied, “but I will do all I can for you. You may stay in the garden during the day, but when the Bishop is here you will have to go back to the prison. Perhaps mildness may accomplish more than severity. It is because of this hope, bear in mind, that I make this concession. Now go. Here is the key to the garden.”

Marie fervently kissed her hand and ran off. The Abbess went to the window and thoughtfully watched her. The joyful expression of her face showed that her heart approved what her reason and sense of duty half condemned.

Marie’s life now grew more cheerful, for the Abbess kept her word. She not only allowed her to go daily to the garden, but she admitted her to her confidence. Of course she had not the slightest idea that this would induce her to join the order, but she reasoned that if their relations became intimate she would not suspect any such purpose.

John of Luxemburg all this time was administering affairs as if he were the lawful owner of Marie’s property, and so far ignored all her rights that after deducting the comparatively small sum due to the Bishop, he put the rest of the receipts into his own pocket without further ceremony. It actually seemed as if the two men little by little might yet accomplish their purpose. Though Marie felt very happy when she first set foot in the convent garden and the Abbess treated her so affectionately, yet the roses on her cheeks began to fade, and when she was alone in her narrow prison during the Bishop’s visits her sorrowful sighs showed she was not in her usual cheerful spirits. Even in the garden her joyousness would vanish whenever she came near the high wall which surrounded it. The consciousness that she was a prisoner embittered every joy, and at last even made the garden unenjoyable. In this sad frame of mind the scenes of her childhood seemed to her like bright spots in a lost paradise. As she recalled the happiness of that paradise, the more keenly she realized the injustice which had driven her out of it. During that day when all Rouen was witnessing the awful spectacle in the old market-place, she sat more sorrowful than usual in her prison. Of course she did not know what was going on, for no news from the outer world ever found its way within the convent walls. Whatever the cause may have been, whether her confinement this time had been longer than usual, or whether she had painted the lost happiness of her childhood in too lively colors, she was more unhappy than usual.

“My God! My God!” she moaned, “hast Thou utterly forsaken me? What crime have I committed that calls for such a frightful expiation? If I am guiltless why should godless men triumph? And you, my uncle! Is it because you are dead that your help is so long delayed? Oh! you brave one, who all alone confronted those robbers in the forest! Why wait you so long? Have you been mistaken? Am I not the one for whom you dared so much? Oh, be quiet, foolish heart, lest I persuade myself I really am that one.”

She gradually regained her composure, smiled through her tears, and lost herself in fancies of another kind. At last, scared by her own thoughts, she resumed: “O thou Blessed Virgin, protect him! Keep him far away from here. Those against whom he would contend single-handed are too strong for him. Protect him.”

As she spoke the last words there was a slight noise at the door. “They are coming to let me out,” she said to herself; “the Bishop has gone.” She wiped away her tears and stepped forward. The door opened, but it was a man’s figure that she saw in the dim light, not the sister keeper.

“Is it you, Marie of Chafleur?” the stranger whispered, for he could see nothing in the prison.

“My God! what is it? Who are you?” said the terrified girl in a low voice.

“Be quiet,” whispered the stranger. “If you are Marie of Chafleur, take this bundle. It contains a page’s dress. Hasten! I will watch outside.”

The poor girl trembled like an aspen leaf, but she took the bundle. She stood for a few seconds as if dazed, but quickly made her decision and stepped back into the prison. It was some time before she could make the change of costume, for her trembling hands were not as deft as usual, but at last she went out into the passage in her disguise.

“Give me all your clothes,” whispered the stranger, “for if they are left here they will betray you.”

Marie fetched them to him, and after making a bundle of them exactly like the one he had brought, he took the trembling girl by the hand and led her to the church door. Then he listened. All was still. “Softly, softly,” he murmured as they left the church.

Who can picture Marie’s glad surprise as she looked by daylight into the face of her protector for whose safety she had just before invoked the Virgin? There was little time for sentiment, however, for scarcely had Jean closed the door when they heard voices and steps in the street. He drew Marie down quickly, and they knelt together as if engaged in their devotions, while he listened intently to every sound near the entrance; but the steps they had heard were those of passers-by. Jean whispered, “I believe we have succeeded. Let us thank the Holy Virgin and Saint Ursula.” With tremulous voices they murmured their gratitude, and then Jean said in a low tone: “Do you feel strong enough, noble lady, to go on alone?”

“Oh, I will be as strong as a man when away, far away from here,” she answered.

“I will take the lead,” said Jean. “Follow me at some little distance, so no one shall suspect we are acquainted with each other. The whole city is in commotion and crowded with strangers on account of the execution. They will not pay much attention to us. Do not look around much, lest some one may recognize you. Keep your eyes downcast, and they will think you have been overcome by the dreadful spectacle. In this way we may pass through the gate like the other strangers on their way home, and after that the Holy Virgin will help us the rest of the way.”

Jean arose and left the church, and Marie followed his instructions. Everything turned out as Jean had said. The two met many groups standing on the walks or passing along the streets, and at last safely got through the gate. Marie could scarcely restrain her exultation, but Jean went calmly on, hurrying to the forest as fast as she could follow him. Marie’s joy increased as she felt sure that she was rescued, for she could not believe that a trace had been left which would reveal the manner of her escape. She looked around, and finding that no one was following them, she gave expression to her happiness.

“My noble rescuer,” she said, “I cannot longer keep silence and conduct myself like a Capuchin. It is inconsistent with my costume, you know. I must exult; I must shout, or I shall die right here before you—”

“Not yet,” said Jean, without turning round. “It is not the time for shouting, still less for dying. We are not safe yet, though the most difficult part of our undertaking has been accomplished. Your exultation would be noticed from the city, and then there would be much curiosity among the pages to find out who it was that was so greatly pleased over the horrible spectacle. During the next few days they will move heaven and earth to catch the fugitive. Then some one will be certain to remember the exulting page of to-day.”

Jean’s advice made such an impression upon Marie that she restrained herself; but when she found herself within the shelter of the forest and Jean waiting for her, she could no longer keep still. She flew rather than ran over the green carpet. Her feelings overcame her when for the first time she found herself in Nature’s majestic temple and felt its subtle and mysterious magic. She fell upon her knees and poured out a very passion of gratitude to Heaven. She thanked the Virgin for the happiness of which she had been so long deprived, for her rescue, and especially for the protection which had been given to her rescuer. Then she turned to Jean, and her tearful eyes betrayed the emotions of her heart.

“I have no words with which to thank you, gallant knight,” said she.

“Oh, my noble lady,” replied Jean, “if you only knew how happy it has made me to have brought you thus far, you would think me recompensed even too richly. But let us first think of the joy this will bring to the noble La Hire.”

“What!” exclaimed Marie, “are you taking me to La Hire?”

“Yes! But let us hurry on, so that we may get out of the English district before the news of your flight is spread abroad.”

They went on again, and shortly met the peasants with whom Jean had left his horse. He bought another for Marie, and they rode off together. Once more he safely travelled the dangerous road, and on the next day they had passed the last city occupied by the English. They met with no difficulties during the rest of the journey, and after changing their costumes at the lodgings in Chinon, Jean took Marie to La Hire’s apartment.

La Hire was not aware of their arrival at the inn. He was greatly excited, for he had just heard the news of Joan’s death. Aroused to the highest pitch of fury, he had cursed her enemies, then flung himself into a chair, and seriously debated whether he should not break his sword rather than serve such a King longer. He was of too noble a nature, however, to come to such a decision. There were enemies of the fatherland yet to fight, and he had some other duties to accomplish. He had just made his decision, when he heard a well-known voice behind him.

“Here, noble sir, is Marie of Chafleur.”

The knight sprang up. Words cannot describe his joy. He stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed upon her.

“What!” he exclaimed at last, “is this charming girl the little Marie, my sister’s child?” He opened wide his arms, and she flew to his embrace. He kissed her hair, and lovingly stroked her cheeks.

“My poor child,” he gently said, “how you must have suffered!” Marie only answered with a sigh.

“You shall tell me all about it some other time. Be quiet now, my daughter. From now on no one shall harm a hair of your head. And this Luxemburg! By Saint George, he shall make reparation to me for every tear you have shed.”

He resumed his seat, and then turned to Jean.

“Come to my heart, my son. I knew that you were as brave and determined and valiant as any one, but I did not believe you would bring this child back. I am anxious to know how you did it, but just now I am too full under my doublet to listen. I believe there are tears running down my beard. I don’t know when that ever happened before. It must be because this is a real heart’s joy you have given me, my boy. Yes, yes, you and poor Joan have both shown what resolute purpose can do when it is persisted in to the end. Children,” he exclaimed to both of them, “you have made me young again. The end will be fine. Just now I determined to fight the English still longer, and I know,” with a look at Jean, “who will be with me. But that is not the end I mean. That is only the common duty. I know a finer end than that.” He looked with joyous eyes from Jean to Marie, and from Marie to Jean. “Yes, a finer end than that, and by Saint George I will accomplish it.”

The valiant knight did accomplish it. Just two years from that day he stood on the steps of a lordly castle, happier perhaps than he had ever been before in his life, and watched a carriage which was coming toward the castle amid the enthusiastic shouts of the peasants. In this carriage the lawful owner of the castle was making his entrance to take possession, for the English had been driven out of that whole region.

The master of the castle was Jean Renault, and by his side sat his happy spouse, Marie of Chafleur.

Appendix

It is impossible to compile a chronological statement of all the events in the life of Joan of Arc, as many of the dates are uncertain and some are unknown, but those given below are measurably accurate.

1411 Born at Domremy, France. 1422 Henry VI. of England proclaimed King of France. 1428 The Voices bid Joan to crown the Dauphin and raise the siege of Orleans. 1429 Joan goes to the Dauphin and recognizes him as the disguised king; is placed in command of the Army; enters Orleans, April 29, and forces the English to raise the siege, May 8; subsequently captures Jargeau, Beaugency, and other cities, and overwhelmingly defeats the English at Patay; leads the Dauphin to Rheims, and assists at his coronation; is ennobled, Dec. 29. 1430 Joan is taken prisoner at Compiègne, May 24. 1431 Joan is sold to the English and delivered by them to the Inquisition, Jan. 3; at her first trial is declared guilty of heresy and sorcery and sentenced to imprisonment for life; at her second trial upon charges of “heresy, relapse, apostasy, and idolatry” is sentenced to be burned at the stake; her death, May 30. 1456 Sentence revoked by the Pope. 1904 Preliminary steps toward canonization of Joan taken at Rome.

Footnotes

[1]Neufchâteau and Domremy are both in the department of Vosges, France. The former is a town with about 4000 population; the latter, a village, famous as the birthplace of Joan of Arc.

[2]One of the witnesses at the trial of Joan of Arc said: “There is a tree called by us the ‘Fairy Tree.’ Every year the young girls and youths of Domremy come to walk there on the Lætare Sunday. Jeanne the Maid went there like all the other girls, and did as they did. Though she hung garlands on the boughs of the ‘Fairy Tree,’ she liked better to take them into the parish church and lay them on the altars of Saint Margaret and Saint Catherine.”

[3]The river Meuse flows through France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, a distance of 500 miles, and empties into the North Sea.

[4]Vaucouleurs is a town of about 3000 population. It was from there Joan of Arc started on her expedition to save France.

[5]Bois de Chêne, or Wood of Oaks, is the name of the forest upon the edge of which is Domremy, Joan of Arc’s native village.

[6]Joan of Arc (Jeanne d’Arc or Darc) was born at Domremy, Jan. 6, 1412, and died May 30, 1431. Her father was Jacques d’Arc, and her mother Isabelle Romée, illiterate laborers, but of good repute. She had three brothers,—Jacques, Pierre, and Jean,—and a sister Catharine.

[7]This spring, in the depositions of the witnesses at Joan’s trial, is always called the “Well of the Thorn.”

[8]Charles the Sixth was born at Paris in 1368, and died in 1422. He reigned forty-two years, but became deranged in 1392, and the Duke of Orleans, his brother, gained the ascendancy. It was his Queen, Isabella, who prepared the way for the treaty of Troyes, which was to make Henry the Fifth of England King of France on Charles’s death.

[9]After the derangement of his brother, Louis assumed the regency in opposition to the Duke of Burgundy. He was assassinated by the latter in 1407.

[10]Henry the Sixth was crowned King of France in 1430, but lost all his French possessions except Calais, owing to the successes of Joan of Arc. The Duke of Bedford was his uncle.

[11]Chinon, a town in the department of Indre-et-Loire, France, was a royal residence from the twelfth century to the reign of Henry the Fourth. In its great hall Charles the Seventh first saw Joan of Arc.

[12]La Hire, one of Charles the Seventh’s most distinguished generals, was born about 1390, and died at Montauban in 1443.

[13]One of the ancient governments in Southern France. Toulouse was its capital.

[14]Agnes Sorel was born in Touraine about 1409, and died in 1450.

[15]A town in the department of Nord, France, famous for the manufacture of cambrics, which take their name from it.

[16]Robert of Baudricourt was the governor of Vaucouleurs.

[17]Gien is in the department of Loiret, and thirty-eight miles in a direct line from Orleans. Its principal industry is the manufacture of faience.

[18]Joan called him “Dauphin” because she did not consider him a king until he was crowned.

[19]The doubt which was thrown upon the King’s legitimacy greatly weighed upon his spirits. This doubt Joan removed. Her words to him are thus reported: “On the part of my Lord, I tell thee thou art true heir of France and son of the King, and he sends me to lead thee to Rheims to the end thou may’st receive thy crown and thy coronation if thou wilt.”

[20]Poitiers is the capital of the department of Vienne, and is famous not alone for its university, but for its cathedral and the Temple de St. Jean, the oldest Christian structure in France.

[21]The Duke d’Alençon was a relative of the King, and had been held prisoner by the English for three years. He was released upon the promise of a heavy ransom.

[22]The Duke of Bedford, an English general and statesman, was John Plantagenet, third son of Henry IV, and at this time regent of France. He was conspicuous in the prosecution of Joan of Arc.

[23]Joan of Arc, testifying at her trial, said: “I had a banner of which the field was sprinkled with lilies; the world was painted there, with an angel at each side; it was white, of the white cloth called bocasine; there was written above, I believe, ‘Jhesus, Maria’; it was fringed with silk. Because the Voices had said to me, ‘Take the standard in the name of the King of Heaven,’ I had this figure of God and of two angels done. I did all by their command.”

[24]Count Jean Dunois, called the “Bastard of Orleans,” was born in 1402, and died in 1468. He was the natural son of Louis, Duke of Orleans, and Mariette d’Enghien, and at this time was in command at Orleans.

[25]It was after the victory at Patay that Joan of Arc declared that the English power in France would not recover from the blow in a thousand years.

[26]Tradition says that Clovis and all his successors for nine centuries were anointed with this oil.

[27]Joan’s enemies subsequently reproached her for this, saying it was pride that moved her to take her banner to the ceremony. She only replied that it had shared the pain; it was right it should share the honor.

[28]Compiègne, a town in the department of Oise, forty-five miles northeast of Paris, and famous as a royal residence. Its palace was rebuilt by Louis XV., and fitted up sumptuously by Napoleon I.

LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

_Translated from the German by George P. Upton_

Beethoven Mozart Maid of Orleans William Tell

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