One stormy November evening the castle guards heard a scream which was audible even above the howling of the gale. They rushed to the spot and found Joan in the moat. She had thrown herself from her window, but she had failed in her purpose. She was not dead. The event made the avaricious master of the castle fearful that he might lose his reward entirely, for how could he give security that this desperate maiden, in spite of the utmost watchfulness, might not carry out her purpose yet?
A few weeks later the rabble of Rouen stood before an iron cage suspended from a tower. Derisive epithets and cruel insults passed from lip to lip and were greeted with indecent laughter. In a corner of the cage sat a cowering figure bound with fetters. Her face could not be seen, for her head was bowed in anguish. One of the mob thrust his lance toward her to make her look up. He was successful. She slowly raised her head, and the crowd looked upon eyes full of sorrow, eyes full of purity and beauty,—the eyes of Joan. The Duke of Luxemburg had completed his infamous bargain. He had delivered her to the English.
Jean Renault sat in a tavern at Chinon, abstractedly gazing out over the flowery fields which were visible from his windows. It was a day in May, 1431, and the time and the scene painfully reminded him this was the third spring since the incidents in the forest and the Ursuline church. He was not a dreamer, however, but a man of quick and resolute action. It was the thought that he had been prevented from accomplishing the purpose upon which his heart was set that made him gloomy and abstracted. A heavy step interrupted his reverie.
“Ha! the villain,” exclaimed La Hire, as he entered, almost beside himself with rage. “The sordid, venal wretch! The dishonorable scoundrel, who would sell that noble one for contemptible gold! But just let him wait! I am searching for him and I am on his track!”
“Noble sir,” interrupted Jean, “of whom speak you?”
“Of whom am I speaking? Of whom else than Luxemburg? That—”
“Ah! of him! I too was thinking of him.”
“I can well believe it, my boy,” for although Jean was now a knight, La Hire continued to call him “my boy.” “I cannot sleep because of it. Shame and disgrace upon him.”
“I wish we had been at Compiègne. Then we should have had a chance to meet him.”
“Yes, yes, to meet him—but the poor Maiden!”
“Yes, the poor Maiden! I was also thinking of her.”
“She languishes in a gloomy prison.”
“Yes, in a gloomy prison.”
“Her delicate limbs are loaded with fetters.”
“Yes, loaded with fetters!”
“Condemned to bread and water, like a felon.”
“Condemned to bread and water!”
“She, the rescuer of France!”
“Of whom speak you, noble sir?”
“Of whom do I speak? Saint George, of whom else than Joan?”
“Of Joan? I thought it was of—”
“Ah, you were thinking of Marie! The poor child! May God’s vengeance overtake Luxemburg!”
“And what about Joan?”
“Do you not know? Why, of course you do not, for I have not told you. He has given her up, sold her to the English, the villain!”
“Who has?” cried the astonished Jean.
“The Duke of Luxemburg.”
“God help her! And the King?”
“Pah! the King! He doesn’t care.”
“Oh, the shame!”
“Oh, the disgrace!”
“But by what legal authority have they put Joan in prison?”
“By what legal authority? Ask the priests who have condemned her.”
“The priests!”
“The vengeful English have given her to the Holy Inquisition. The Bishop of Beauvais conducted the proceedings, and she has been sentenced to life imprisonment for heresy.”
“To life imprisonment! But how could they convict her of heresy?”
“They did not convict her. That simple child refuted every charge made against her by her sensible and devout replies to the questions they asked her. They condemned her upon the charge of having intercourse with evil spirits.”
“Shameful, it is shameful!” cried Jean, springing up in a rage.
“Yes, horrible!”
“Farewell, noble sir.”
“What? Whither go you?”
“To Rouen. You must let me go. I shall not ask the King.”
“But what will you do in Rouen?”
“Summon help if it be possible. Rescue Joan even if it should cost my life.”
“Would that I could go with you! But I could be of no service. You will not accomplish your purpose, my boy. They have not only selected a special tower for her prison, but they have securely bound her with chains fastened to a post that cannot be reached by you. And there are two guards constantly on the watch outside and three inside the prison.”
“But even that, noble sir, does not discourage me. It only makes me the more eager to be off; and there is something else that urges me on to Rouen.”
“Well, God go with you, my boy. But I warn you to be careful. I wish I could go also. I would ask you to wait until I can be there, but it would not be right. You have waited too long already.”
On the next day Jean rode to Rouen in the disguise of a peasant. While going through the recovered districts he rode as fast as the strength of his horse would permit, following the same circuitous route which he took on his first journey. On the last stretch he made a still wider detour, which brought him into his own neighborhood, where he met peasants of his acquaintance, as he had expected. He left his horse with them and pursued his way on foot to Rouen. That city, as well as its vicinity, was in the hands of the enemy, and was so strongly garrisoned that little but English was heard on the streets,—a fact which caused Jean much misgiving. His appearance, however, did not excite attention, for intercourse between city and country had gradually been restored, and the peasants were freely bringing in their products for the market.
Jean’s first move was to the church of Saint Ursula. There, at the place by the wall which was so familiar to him, he fell upon his knees, but he could not pray. He could hear his heart beating as he listened; but when he found that he was listening in vain and that there was no sign of life on the other side of the wall, he became more composed, and prayed fervently to Heaven for help. Upon his return to his lodgings he passed himself off for one of the curious crowd which was pouring in from near and far to see “the witch.”
“You have come here to little purpose, good friend,” said his host, “and yet there are some sights which will repay you. You can see the cage in which the prisoner was fastened, and the tower in which she is still confined.”
“Is no one allowed to enter the tower? I would be satisfied if I could see her even from a distance.”
“Why, what are you thinking of? No one should be allowed to see her, for she has intercourse with evil spirits! How easy it would be for one of those spirits to assume the appearance of a peasant and join a crowd of curious people, just as if it were one of them! Now the prison door opens! Hush! the spirit gets in there! and ps-t—they are gone. Do you see? That is the way with witches.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh, yes! My grandmother, blessed—”
At this instant the loquacious host was called out. When he returned he had forgotten his story in his eagerness to make an announcement to his guest.
“You are a very lucky man,” he said, beaming with delight.
“How so?” replied Jean.
“Why, look you! I thought I was too when I heard the news. I am perfectly delighted that you did not lodge with that pitiful fellow, Loup. Between ourselves, I can’t endure that man. He has recently—but I will tell you about that another time. What was I saying? Oh, yes! Look, there comes my cousin, the dear, good woman! You cannot imagine how pious she is. His reverence, the Bishop, could tell you. Why, he has even taken her confessions many a time himself!”
“Yes, but what does all this mean?”
“Why, it means good news. I have stolen away to tell you, for it is still a secret, and my cousin has promised his reverence not to breathe a word of it to any one, and she first told Charlotte—”
“But what is this secret?”
“Well, what do you think? The witch has actually had intercourse with evil spirits in the prison!”
“Ah! How do you know that?”
“How? My cousin could tell you exactly. Let me see, how was it? Oh, yes; I have it. The witch had promised to renounce all her hellish practices and wear women’s clothes. So they were brought into the prison; but notwithstanding that she was found the next morning with men’s clothes on again. There you have it.”
“But why do you conclude from that that she has intercourse with evil spirits?”
“Why? Do you still doubt? Holy Ursula! his reverence says so. My cousin, the good woman, she could tell you all about it; but she has gone just now to mass.”
“But you were going to tell me some good news.”
“Oh, yes; I had nearly forgotten it. It is this. As the witch has resumed her intercourse with the evil spirits, she will have to be tried again.”
“Well, of what interest is that to me?”
“Of what interest is it to you? Holy Ursula! Is it not of the greatest interest to you that you have not come here in vain? When they sentence the witch again, she will stand upon a high platform, as she did the first time, and you will see her just as easily as you see me now.”
“So! That is nice. But when will it be?”
“I do not know, little friend. But, ps-t, my cousin will find out all about it from his reverence.”
“Is the Bishop here?”
“Not yet; but if he does not come to-day, he will be here in the morning.”
“Well, surely, I arrived here at just the right time.”
“Did I not tell you so? I am so glad you are not stopping with that disagreeable Loup, for he could not have told you a word about this matter.”
“Of course not. He has not such a pious cousin who confesses to his reverence himself. But can I go now and see the tower and the cage?”
“Certainly, little friend; but listen. If you should meet that Loup, do not greet him, do not even look at him, for they say he has an evil eye—he might bewitch you.”
“I will keep it in mind.”
To his great disappointment Jean found the tower so well guarded that he could not be of the slightest assistance to Joan. He decided to withdraw and await events before forming any plans, and in the meantime make inquiries about Marie. While on his way back he heard from passers-by that the Bishop was momentarily expected, and that he would pass that way. As he did not wish unnecessarily to expose himself to the prelate’s gaze, he entered the Ursuline church. It was empty. He went to the usual spot, and scarcely had he placed his ear to the wall before he clearly heard a sob, which seemed to come through the stone. Trembling with excitement, he listened all the more intently, but in vain. All was silent. Had he or had he not been deceived? All at once it seemed to him as if it were the voice of the girl in the carriage which he met in the forest, and that she could be no other than Marie of Chafleur. He quickly made his plans. As he stood leaning against a door, near which he had been kneeling apparently engaged in devotion, he pressed a piece of wax against the lock, went at once to a locksmith’s in an out of the way street, and said his master wished a key made from the impression.
The next evening, when all Rouen was out to see the young King Henry of England make his entrance, Jean again found the church empty. He tried his key and it opened the door. He emerged into a long, dark passage-way which skirted the wall. If he was right in his calculations, he would find the prison between this passage and the church. He felt along the wall, for he could see nothing. He was right. There was a door near the corner. It must lead to the prison out of which had come the sound of sobbing. With trembling hand he took another impression, groped his way back, closed the door in the church wall, and departed. The next day he obtained the second key. He now forsook the church for a time and devoted his attention exclusively to the fate of Joan. The strangest reports were circulated about her; but they were so incredible and withal so dreadful, that he paid little attention to them. What pained him the most was the certainty that he could do nothing to help her.
Thus matters stood on that 30th of May of the memorable year 1431. The sun gayly shone that morning, and the birds sang joyously in the trees and among the flowers. The doors of Rouen stood wide open. From far and near the multitude gathered. There was a sea of heads on the sides of the great market-place, and in the streets leading to it, and windows and roof-tops were crowded. In the middle of the square were three high platforms. Two of them, which faced each other, were evidently set apart for those directly concerned in the proceedings. The general interest centred, however, in the third platform, of the use of which there could be no doubt. The flooring rested upon a pile of wood so arranged that the logs made steps, and from the centre of the platform rose a stake to a man’s height. The base of the pile was surrounded with bundles of fagots smeared with resin and pitch.
“Come on, little friend,” said the innkeeper to Jean, as he went up some stairs. “I have a nice place for seeing. I am so glad you did not stop with that miserable Loup—but, holy Ursula! are you ill? Your hand is as cold as ice.”
“I am not feeling very well,” replied Jean, “and I would rather go back again.”
“What! You don’t mean to leave just as the spectacle begins! I will get a little potion for you which my cousin, the good woman—but, holy Ursula! the drums are already rattling. The judges are mounting the great tribunal. Look, there is his reverence. He has the parchment in his hand which contains the sentence. Pay attention. He will read it soon.”
Jean did not hear a word. His eyes were fixed upon a distant spot whence, accompanied by the roll of drums and the shouts of the multitude, a procession was slowly making its way through the crowd.
“Do you see the cart?” said the innkeeper. “Do you see the witch in it? She is sitting by the side of Father Martin. That holy man has been praying by her side all night that the evil spirit may forsake her. Holy Ursula! See how they have bound her! Her hands are fastened, and her feet are in iron rings with a chain between.”
The cart soon reached the square. Joan was led up to the second platform by Father Martin. The Bishop of Beauvais read the sentence amid the profound silence of the multitude:
“In the name of God, Amen.
“We, the Bishop of Beauvais, Master and Vicar of the Inquisition, pronounce sentence. As Joan, commonly called ‘the Maiden,’ has relapsed into heresy and apostasy, she is excommunicated, and herewith given over to the secular power for the infliction of the punishment provided for the heretic.”
Some would have applauded, but they found no encouragement, for Joan had fallen upon her knees and was praying, and when she raised her head her face was as the face of an angel. Many began to realize that she was not a criminal, and loud sobs, indicating the growing change of feeling, were heard here and there. Observing this, the judges hastened their work. An attendant approached her and placed a pointed cap on her head with the words, “Heretic, relapser, apostate, idolatress,” written upon it. He then hurried her down the steps and led her to the pile, at the foot of which the executioner was in waiting.
“Leave me not, Father Martin,” she implored, as the executioner seized her and dragged her up to the platform. The father followed and remained with her as the executioner bound her to the stake and then turned to descend.
“Pray for me, all pray for me,” she cried to the people.
The executioner seized a torch and lit the fagots at the foot of the pile. Swiftly rose the flames.
“For God’s sake, my father,” cried Joan, “take care! Quick, quick, hurry down, but hold the crucifix high before me until I die.”
Martin did as she requested. The Bishop of Beauvais approached.
“Bishop, Bishop,” said Joan, reproachfully, “you are the cause of my death,” and then as she felt the heat, she exclaimed, “O Rouen, I fear you will have to suffer for my death.”
The flames mounted higher. A dense cloud of smoke concealed her, but now and then the wind swept it aside, and the people saw, not a devil’s witch, but a praying angel with marvellously beautiful eyes fixed upon heaven. Suddenly the flames seized her garments. Her last word was “Jesus”—then a piercing death cry, and all was ended.
The flames mounted higher, and the people saw, not a devil’s witch, but a praying angel with eyes fixed upon heaven
The flames mounted higher, and the people saw, not a devil’s witch, but a praying angel with eyes fixed upon heaven
Thus perished the Maid of Orleans, rescuer of France. She died forgotten and forsaken by him for whom she had done all, betrayed through the greed of her own countrymen, accused from motives of revenge by her enemies. She died the most cruel of deaths, and yet was as guileless and pure as when she sat under the Fairy Tree tending her lambs. Joan is a unique figure in the world’s history. A simple peasant maiden, who could neither read nor write, and knew only the Lord’s Prayer, the Credo, and the Ave Maria, she achieved such extraordinary results by her gift of inspiration that her contemporaries and posterity in their efforts to explain them have had to attribute so much of the miraculous to her deeds that some have doubted her very existence.
The old market-place of Rouen now presented another spectacle. “Alas! alas! we have burned a saint,” many said. The crowd remained a long time, as if riveted to the spot, staring at the fire as it consumed the last vestiges of the victim.
The innkeeper himself was so overcome that he forgot all about his companion. When he turned to speak to him, Jean was gone.
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.
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.
[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.
[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.