JEANNE D'ARC: THE MAID OF FRANCE

THE peaceful little French village of Domrémy lies in the valley of the
river Meuse, at the south of the duchy of Bar, and there five hundred
years ago was born the wonderful "Maid of France," as she was called;
she who at an age when other girls were entirely occupied with simple
diversions or matters of household importance was dreaming great dreams,
planning that vast military campaign which was to enroll her among the
idols of the French nation as well as among heroes of history.

On the parish register of an old chapel in the village of her birth can
still be seen the record of the baptism of Jeanette or Jeanne d'Arc, on
the sixth of January, 1412, and although her father, Jacques d'Arc, was
a man of considerable wealth and importance in the small community of
Domrémy, yet even so neither he nor any of the nine god-parents of the
child--a number befitting her father's social position--could forecast
that the child, then being christened, was so to serve her country, her
king, and her God, that through her heroic deeds alone the name of
Jacques d'Arc and of little Domrémy were to attain a world-wide fame.

At the time of Jeanne's birth the Hundred Years' War between England and
France was nearing its end. Victorious England was in possession of
practically all of France north of the river Loire, while France,
defeated and broken in spirit, had completely lost confidence in her own
power of conquest and Charles, the Dauphin, rightful heir to the throne
of France, had been obliged to flee for his life to the provinces south
of the Loire. This was the result of opposition to his claim on the part
of his mother, Isabeau, who had always hated the Dauphin, and who, in
her Treaty of Troyes, set aside her son's rights to the throne, and
married his sister Catherine to the King of England, thus securing to
their children that succession to the throne which was the lawful right
of the Dauphin.

France was indeed in the throes of a great crisis, and every remote
duchy or tiny village heard rumours of the vast struggle going on in
their well loved land, but still the party who were loyal to the Dauphin
looked confidently for the day when he should be crowned at Rheims,
where French kings for a thousand years had taken oath, although still
the opposing party was growing in power and possessions.

Quiet little Domrémy lying folded in the embrace of its peaceful valley
was thrilled by the tales of chance pilgrims passing through the
village, who, stopping for a drink of water or a bite of food, would
recount to eager listeners the current saying that, "France, lost by a
woman,--and that woman, Isabeau, mother of the Dauphin,--should be saved
by a maid who would come with arms and armour from an ancient wood."

Now, towering high above little Domrémy stretches a great forest called
the Ancient Wood, and to the village folk there was in all France no
other Ancient Wood than this, and so when they heard the travellers'
tales they whispered to one another in hushed voices and with
awe-stricken faces that the Wonderful Maid of Prophecy was to come from
their own midst, but who was she, where was she, and to whom would she
reveal herself?

Many of these queries came to the ears of children busy near their
elders, while they spun and talked, and as Jeanne d'Arc, now grown into
a bright intelligent young girl, listened to the prophecy and the
questions, all else became of no importance except the plight of France
and the restoring of the Dauphin to his rightful inheritance. But to her
elders or companions she gave no evidence of this absorption, seeming
entirely occupied with her out of door tasks such as tending her
father's sheep, helping to harvest grain, or to plough the fields, or at
other times with her mother indoors, weaving and spinning,--for there
was plenty of work in both house and field to keep all the children
busy.

In leisure hours Jeanne played and danced and sang as merrily as the
other children, who gathered often around the big oak tree in the
Ancient Wood, called the "Fairies' Tree," which was the subject of many
a song and legend. But although she was as merry and light-hearted as
her other friends, yet she was more truly pious, for she loved to go to
mass and to hear the church bells echo through the quiet valley, and
often when her comrades were frolicking around the "Fairies' Tree" she
would steal off to place an offering on the altar of Our Lady of
Domrémy. And too, her piety took a practical form as well, and when in
later years every act of hers was treasured up and repeated, those who
had known her in her early girlhood had many tales to tell of her sweet
help in times of sickness. It is said she was so gentle that birds ate
from her hand, and so brave that not the smallest animal was lost when
she guarded the flock.

"Her mother taught her all her store of learning; the Creed and Ave and
Pater Noster, spinning and sewing and household craft, while wood and
meadow, forest flowers and rushes by the river, bells summoning the soul
to think of God and the beloved saints from their altars, all had a
message for that responsive heart."

She herself has said, "I learned well to believe, and have been brought
up well and duly to do what a good child ought to do."

And too, her spirit responded throbbingly to the beauty and the mystery
and the wonder of that life which is unseen, as well as to all tales of
heroic deeds, and as she brooded on the sorrows of the Dauphin and of
her beloved France, her nature became more and more quick to receive
impressions which had no place in her routine of life, even though at
that time with great practical bravery she was helping the villagers
resist the invasions of bands of marauders. Then came a day when her
life was for ever set apart from her companions. With them she had been
running races in the meadow on this side of the Ancient Wood.

Fleet-footed and victorious, she flung herself down to rest a moment
when a boy's voice whispered in her ear, "Go home. Your mother wants
you."

True to her habit of obedience, Jeanne rose at once, and leaving the
merry company walked back through the valley to her home. But it was no
command from her mother which had come to her, and no boy's voice that
had spoken. In these simple words she tells the story: She says, "I was
thirteen at that time. It was mid-day in the Summer, when I heard the
Voice first. It was a Voice from God for my help and guidance and that
first time I heard it I was much afraid. I heard it to the right toward
the Church. It seemed to come from lips I should reverence."

Then with solemn awe she told of the great Vision which suddenly shone
before her while an unearthly light flamed all around her, and in its
dazzling radiance she saw St. Michael, Captain of the Hosts of Heaven
and many lesser angels. So overwhelming was the Vision and the radiance,
that she stood transfixed, lifting adoring eyes. Having been taught that
the true office of St. Michael was to bring holy counsel and revelations
to men, she listened submissively to his words. She was to be good and
obedient, to go often to Church, and to be guided in all her future acts
by the advice of St. Margaret and St. Catherine who had been chosen to
be her counsellors. Then before the Vision faded, came a message so
tremendous in its command, of such vast responsibility that it is small
wonder if the little peasant maid lifted imploring hands, crying out for
deliverance from this duty, until at last, white and spent, she sank on
her knees with clasped hands, praying that this might not come to be
true--that it might not be she who had been chosen by God to go to the
help of the Dauphin--to lead the armies of France to victory.

And yet even as she prayed she knew that it _was_ true,--that God had
chosen her for a great work, that it was she, the peasant of Domrémy,
who alone could restore her country and her king to their former
greatness--and that she would carry out the divine command.

For nearly four long years after Jeanne first saw her Vision, she
remained at home, and was as lovable, helpful and more truly pious than
ever. Often St. Margaret and St. Catherine appeared to her, and ever
they commanded her to fulfil her great destiny as the Maid who was to
save France, and ever her conviction that she was to carry out their
commands grew within her, as she heard the voice more and more clearly,
crying, "You must go, Jeanne the Maid; daughter of God, you must go!"

At that time the enemy was closing in on all the French strongholds;
even the inhabitants of little Domrémy, began to tremble at the repeated
invasions of marauding soldiers, and the time had come to declare war
against a foe which threatened to so completely wipe out France's
heritage of honour.

Jeanne had heard the Voice. She was now aflame with desire to obey its
summons to duty, and to achieve this she knew that three things must be
accomplished. First of all she must go to Robert de Baudricourt, a
Captain of the King at Vaucouleurs, and ask him for an escort to take
her to the Dauphin, then she must lead the Dauphin to his crowning at
Rheims. A strange idea to be conceived by a young peasant girl, still in
her early teens, and it is not to be wondered that in the fulfilment of
such a destiny, Jeanne's sincerity of purpose was both sneered at and
discredited by unbelievers in her heavenly vision.

By the help of a cousin, Durand Laxart, she was able to obtain audience
with Robert Baudricourt; in the presence of one of his knights, Bertrand
de Poulengy, who was completely won by this girl, so tall and beautiful
and stately in her youthful beauty, as, pale with emotion, she went
swiftly up to Baudricourt, saying:

"I have come to you in behalf of my Lord, in order that you shall bid
the Dauphin stand firm and not risk battle with his enemies, for my Lord
himself shall give him succour before Mid-Lent," and she added, "The
Kingdom does not belong to the Dauphin, but to my Lord who wishes him to
be made King. In spite of his enemies he must reign, and _I_ shall lead
him to his consecration."

Strange words these, to fall from the lips of a young girl. For a moment
Baudricourt sat staring at her, wide-eyed, then he asked:

"Who is your Lord?"

"He is the King of Heaven."

This was too much for the rough, practical minded Captain. The walls of
the castle rang with his shouts of laughter, and turning to Durand
Laxart, who by this time was crimson with shame for his kinswoman,
Baudricourt with a gesture of dismissal said, "The girl is foolish. Box
her ears and take her home to her father," and there was nothing left
for Jeanne to do but to go back to Domrémy until occasion should favour
her destiny.

In July the valley was again menaced by the Burgundians, and the people
of Domrémy fled for a refuge to a neighbouring city, while in their own
little town there was a veritable reign of terror, and news came that
the English were also besieging the strong old town of Orléans, which
had always been called the "key to the Loire." If this city should fall,
only by a miracle could France be saved, and Jeanne's Voices became more
and more insistent. She must go at once. She must raise the siege of
Orléans, but how?

Again through the aid of Durand Laxart she obtained a second interview
with the rough Captain of Vaucouleurs.

Her assertion was as preposterous as before, but this time Baudricourt
did not laugh, there was something haunting, powerful, in the girl's
mystical manner, and in her dignity of bearing, which puzzled the gruff
Captain, and made him listen, but as he offered her no help, the
interview was fruitless, and she was obliged to return again to the
Laxarts' home, near Vaucouleurs, where while she waited she gave what
help she could in the household, but also went often to church, and
often partook of the Sacrament, praying for help in her mission. Whoever
knew her loved her, and her popularity was so widespread that the people
of Vaucouleurs, with a growing belief in her ability to accomplish what
no one else could for their beloved country, decided to themselves fit
her out for her expedition to the Dauphin, and two knights, De Metz and
Poulengy, who had become deeply attached to Jeanne, vowed to go wherever
she might lead them.

It was not safe for her to travel in a woman's clothes, so she was
provided by the people's gifts, with a close-fitting vest, trunk and
hose of black, a short dark grey cloak and a black cap, and her hair was
cut after the fashion of men's wearing. Sixteen francs bought a horse
for her, and the only bit of her old life she carried with her was a
gold ring which her mother and father had given her.

Before starting, Baudricourt's permission had to be obtained, and again
Jeanne went to him; this time crying out:

"In God's name, you are too slow for me, for this day the gentle Dauphin
has had near Orléans a great loss, and he will suffer greater if you do
not send me soon!"

As before, Baudricourt listened to her, and enjoyed watching the play of
emotions on her changeful face, but he said nothing either to encourage
or to hinder her, and Jeanne knew that without further consent from him
she must now go on her journey.

At once she wrote a letter of farewell to her parents asking their
forgiveness for doing what she knew would be against their wishes, and
telling of the reality of her divine mission as it was revealed to her.

She received no answer to this, but there was no attempt made to hinder
her, and all preparations having been made, on the evening of the
twenty-third of February, before a great crowd of spectators who had
gathered to see her leave Vaucouleurs, the slender, calm figure in the
page's suit stood ready to leave behind all a young girl should have of
loving protection, for the sake of what she conceived to be a sacred
mission.

With her men around her, she mounted her horse, and as she halted for a
moment before starting,--seeing her dignity and graceful bearing, her
men were filled with pride in her,--even Baudricourt himself came down
from the castle, and made the men take an oath to guard her with their
own lives, then gave her a sword and a letter to the Dauphin.

While they stood there ready to start, a man asked Jeanne:

"How can you hope to make such a journey, and escape the enemy?"

Quick and clear Jeanne's answer rang out, "If the enemy are on my road,
I have God with me, who knows how to prepare the way to the Lord
Dauphin. I was born to do this."

Then with a swift signal, the solemn little cavalcade rode out into the
night, while eyes were strained to see the last of the brave Maid, who
conceived it her consecrated duty to go to the aid of the Dauphin, and
her well loved land.

On their way towards Chinon where the weak little Dauphin was holding
his court, rode Jeanne and her six men, and a dangerous way it was,
lying through a country over-run with marauding English and Burgundian
warriors, and Jeanne's men were uneasy at escorting so young and fair a
maid under such dangerous conditions, but Jeanne herself was unconcerned
and fearless as they rode on into the valley of the Loire, noting on
every side the devastation done by war and pillage. For greater safety
they rode mostly by night, often travelling thirty miles in twenty-four
hours,--a pretty severe test of the endurance of a girl of seventeen,
unaccustomed to riding or of leading men-at-arms, but her courage and
enthusiasm never flagged. With their horses' feet wrapped in cloths to
deaden the clatter of hoofs, they went on their way as swiftly as was
possible, and day by day the men's devotion to this Maid who was their
leader grew deeper, as they saw the purity of her character and the
nobility of her purpose.

When they drew near Chinon, Jeanne's men spoke to one another doubtfully
of what kind of a reception they would have. Reaching Auxerre they
rested for a while, then travelled on to Gien, and as they journeyed, a
report went ahead of them, that a young peasant girl called "The Maid"
was on her way, so she said, to raise the siege of Orléans and to lead
the Dauphin to his crowning at Rheims. Even to Orléans the report
spread, and the inhabitants of that besieged city, now despairing of
deliverance, felt a thrill of hope on hearing the report.

Meanwhile Jeanne and her escort of six valiant men had halted near
Chinon, while Jeanne wrote and despatched a letter to the Dauphin, in
which she said that they had ridden one hundred and fifty leagues to
bring him good news, and begged permission to enter his province. Then
the next morning they rode into "the little town of great renown," as
Chinon was called, and Jeanne remained at the Inn until the Dauphin
should decide to receive her.

Now Yolande, the King's mother-in-law, was much interested in what she
had heard of Jeanne, the Maid, and she so influenced the Dauphin, that
De Metz and Poulengy were allowed to have audience with him, and told
what a fine and noble character Jeanne was, and what a beautiful spirit
animated her slender frame, and begged him to see and trust her, saying
that she was surely sent to save France. Their plea made a great
impression on the Dauphin, as was evident two hours later when he sent a
number of clergymen to cross-question her on her so-called divine
mission, and through all the tiresome examination Jeanne bore herself
with proud dignity and answered so clearly and so well that they could
only entertain a profound respect for the girl whom they had expected to
scorn. The result of this examination was that by order of the King,
Jeanne was moved from the Inn to a wing of the Castle, and there the
girl-soldier was treated with every respect by the courtiers, who were
all charmed by her frank simplicity and sweetness of manner. But the
King had not yet consented to give her an audience, and two weary weeks
dragged away in the most tedious of all things,--awaiting the Dauphin's
pleasure,--and Jeanne chafed at the delay.

At last one happy day she was led into the great vaulted audience
chamber of the Castle, where torches flared, and the deep murmur of
voices together with the sea of eager upturned faces, might have made a
less self-contained person than the Maid confused and timid. But not so
with Jeanne, for her thoughts were solely on that mission which she had
travelled so far to accomplish. Her page's suit was in sharp contrast to
the brilliant court costumes worn by the ladies of the Court, but of
that she was unconscious, and advanced calmly through the long line of
torch bearers to within a few feet of the throne,--gave a bewildered
glance at the figure seated before her, in the velvet robes of
royalty--then turned away, and with a cry of joy threw herself at the
feet of a very quietly dressed young man who stood among the ranks of
courtiers, exclaiming, "God of his grace give you long life, O dear and
gentle Dauphin."

Quickly the courtier answered, "You mistake, my child. I am not the
King. There he is," pointing to the throne.

There was a stir and murmur in the crowd, but the Maid did not rise. She
simply looked into his face again, saying:

"No, gracious liege, _you_ are he, and no other," adding with a simple
earnestness, "I am Jeanne, the Maid, sent to you from God to give
succour to the kingdom, and to you. The King of Heaven sends you word by
me that you shall be anointed and crowned in the town of Rheims, and you
shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who is the King of France."

Charles the Dauphin, who in the disguise of a courtier, had attempted to
outwit the peasant girl by placing another on his throne, stood dumb
with wonder at this revelation of her clear vision, and with a touch of
awe, he raised her, and drew her away from the crowd that he might
confer with her alone, while all tendency to jest at the expense of the
Maid and her mission died away, and the crowd were silent with wonder at
the bearing of this peasant girl who said she had come to save France.

No one ever knew what passed between Jeanne and the Dauphin during that
interview, but it is said that he demanded a further proof of her
inspired mission, and in reply she told him the substance of a prayer he
had offered one morning--a prayer known to God alone--and so impressed
by this proof of a more than mortal vision was he, that he at once led
her again down the long audience hall, through the lines of torch
bearers and courtiers, then bending low, kissed her hand, and with
gracious words sent her away under a strong escort of his own guard of
honour, having given his promise to further the cause to which Jeanne
had dedicated her life. And just here let us glance for a moment at the
character of Charles the Dauphin, for whom the girl of Domrémy was
sacrificing so much.

At best he was the poor imitation of a King. Being the son of a mad
father and a weak mother he inherited such tendencies as made him
utterly unfit to cope with the perils of the time, or to give to the
Maid who had come to his relief such assistance as he should have given.

"Never did a King lose his kingdom so gaily," said one of his soldiers,
and although he was momentarily roused by the Maid's noble courage and
purpose, yet he still found it far easier to loiter through days of ease
in his château, than with prompt resolution to turn to the task in hand.

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.

At last, on the twenty-fourth of May, 1430, with a handful of men, she
was allowed to throw herself into Compiègne, which was being besieged by
the Burgundians, and there after bravely fighting and rallying her men
for a third attack, the English came up behind and fell upon their rear,
and the fleeing men streamed into the boulevard, while last of all came
the Maid, doing deeds of valour beyond the nature of woman, so it is
said, and for the last time, as never again should Jeanne bear arms. Her
men had fled. She was separated from her people; and surrounded, but
still defiant, was seized by her cape, dragged from her horse, and borne
away a prisoner, while after her followed the victors, roaring their mad
joy over the capture of such a prize.

Like wildfire the awful tidings spread. The Maid of Orléans taken by the
English? Jeanne a prisoner? Could such things be?

Alas, yes. The Maid who had delivered France was in the hands of the
enemy, because, at the climax of her victory, when all France was in her
grip, the chance had been lost by the folly of that King whom she had
led to his crowning.

After six months of captivity she was sold, yes sold, for ten thousand
crowns, that royal Maid--sold to John of Luxembourg, the only bidder for
her noble self. Truth which is sometimes stranger than fiction, offers
no parallel to this. Not a single effort was put forth by the King, or
his counsellors, or by any loyal Frenchman to rescue or to ransom
Jeanne. No trouble was taken to redeem the girl who, foe and friend
alike agreed, had saved the day for France, and who was the greatest
soldier of them all, when she was allowed to have her way.

Ten thousand crowns was the price of Jeanne's brave spirit, and her
purchaser doubtless meant to hold on to her until he could make money on
his prisoner, but, oh the shame, the infamy of it, Charles, the King of
France,--led to his crowning day by a Maid's own hand,--offered not one
sou for her ransoming!

To linger on this part of Jeanne's life is torture to others, as it was
to her. In December she was carried to Rouen, the headquarters of the
English army, heavily fettered; was flung into a gloomy prison, from
which she attempted escape, but vainly, and finally was tried as a
sorceress and a heretic, and never a sound of help or deliverance from
the King or the nation.

Her trial was long, and she was exposed to every form of brutality,
thinly veiled under the guise of justice. Day after day her simple heart
was tortured by the questions of learned men, whose aim was to make her
condemn herself, but this they could never do, for every probing
resulted in the same calm statements. Finally one was sent to draw from
her under the seal of the confessional, her sacred confidences, which
were then rudely desecrated. She was found guilty of sacrilege,
profanation, disobedience to the church, pride and idolatry, and her
heavenly visions were said to be illusions of the devil. She was then
tortured by a series of ignominies, insults, threats, and promises
until, bewildered and half crazed by confinement, in agony of mind and
body, she blindly assented to everything they asked her, was sentenced
to perpetual imprisonment, and forced to put on a woman's dress which
she had repeatedly declared she would never do so long as she was thrown
entirely in the company of men. But she was forced to obey the bidding
of her persecutors, and then followed such degradation and insults as
are almost beyond belief, and then, oh the shame of it, she was
condemned to die by burning, on the tenth of May, 1431! Though worn with
suffering and sorrow, she faced this crowning injustice with the
dauntless courage which had ever been hers on the field of battle, and
died with the Cross held high before her eyes and the name of Jesus on
her lips.

The peasant girl of Domrémy, the warrior of Orléans, the King's saviour
at Rheims, the martyr whose death left a great ineffaceable stain on the
honour both of France and of England, twenty-five years later was
cleared of all the charges under which she was put to death, and in our
own time has been canonised by a tardy act of the church of Rome, and
to-day Jeanne d'Arc, Maid of France, nay, Maid of the World stands out
on the pages of history as one inspired by God, and God alone. To her
remains, as Kossuth has said, "the unique distinction of having been the
only person of either sex who ever held supreme command of the military
forces of a nation at the age of seventeen."