CHAPTER XVII. HOW THE MAID WAS PERSUADED.
The ceremony was over. The Dauphin stood in our midst a crowned andanointed King. We were back in the great hall of the Archeveche,and the thunders of triumphant applause which had been restrainedwithin the precincts of the sacred edifice now broke forth again,and yet again, in long bursts of cheering, which were echoed fromwithout by the multitudes in the street and great square Place, andcame rolling through the open windows in waves of sound like thebeating of the surf upon the shore.
The King stood upon a raised dais; his chiefest nobles and peersaround him. He was magnificently robed, as became so great anoccasion, and for the first time that I had ever seen, he looked animposing and a dignified figure. Something there was of truekingliness in his aspect. It seemed as though the scene throughwhich he had passed had not been without effect upon his nature,and that something regal had been conveyed to him through thesolemnities which had just taken place.
The Maid was present also; but she had sought to efface herself inthe crowd, and stood thoughtfully apart in an embrasure of thewall, half concealed by the arras, till the sound of her name,proclaimed aloud in a hundred different tones, warned her thatsomething was required of her, and she stepped forward with aquestioning look in her startled eyes, as though just roused fromsome dream.
She had been one of the first to prostrate herself at the new-madeKing's feet when the coronation ceremony was over; and the tearsstreaming down her face had been eloquent testimony of her deepemotion. But she had only breathed a few broken words of devotionand of joy, and had added something in a choked whisper which nonebut he had been able to hear.
"The King calls for the Maid! The King desires speech with theMaid!" such was the word ringing through the hall; and she camequietly forth from her nook, the crowd parting this way and thatbefore her, till she was walking up through a living avenue to theplace where the King was now seated upon a throne-like chair on thedais at the far end of the hall.
As she came towards him the King extended his hand, as though hewould meet her still rather as friend than as subject; but shekneeled down at his feet, and pressing her lips to the extendedhand, she spoke in a voice full of emotion:
"Gentle King, now is the pleasure of God fulfilled towards you. Nowis the will of my Lord accomplished. To Him alone be the praise andglory! It was His will that I should be sent before you to raisethe siege of Orleans, to lead you to this city of Rheims, there toreceive your consecration. Now has He shown to all the world thatyou are the true King--that it is His will you should reign overthis fair realm, that this kingdom of France belongs to you and youalone. My task is now accomplished. His will in me is fulfilled. Goforward, then, noble King--strong in the power of your kingly mightand right, doubting not that He will aid you still; though He willwork with other instruments, with other means, for my task in thisis now accomplished!"
There was a little stir and thrill throughout the hall as thesewords were spoken. Dismay fell upon many, wonder upon all, triumphgleamed from the eyes of a few; but most men looked one at theother in consternation. What did she mean by these words?--thisHeaven-sent Maid to whom we owed so much? Surely she did not thinkto leave us just in the hour of her supreme triumph? How could wehope to lead on the armies to fresh victories, if the soldiers weretold that the Maid would no longer march with them? Who woulddirect us with heavenly counsel, or with that marvellous clearnessof vision which is given only to a few in this sinful world, and tothose only whose hearts are consecrated by a great devotion, and agreat love? She could not mean that! She loved France with anoverwhelming fervour. She was devoted to the service of the King,in whom she had never been able or willing to see wrong. She knewher power with the army; she loved the rough soldiers who followedher unshrinkingly in the teeth of the very fiercest perils, and whowould answer to her least command, when they would obey none othergeneral.
O no, she could not think of deserting France in this her hour ofneed! Much had been done; but much yet remained to do. If she wereto quit her post, there could be no telling what might not follow.The English, cowed and bewildered now, might well pluck up heart ofgrace, and sweep back through the country once owning their sway,driving all foes before them as in the days of old. The victorieswon in these last weeks might soon be swallowed up in fresh defeatand disaster. How could we expect it to be otherwise if thepresence of the Maid were withdrawn?
These and a hundred other questions and conjectures were buzzingthrough the great hall. Wonder and amaze was on every face. TheKing himself looked grave for a moment; but then his smile shoneout carelessly gay and confident. He looked down at the Maid, andthere was tender friendliness in his glance. He spoke nothing toher at the first as to what she had said; he merely asked of her aquestion.
"My Chevaliere, my guardian angel, tell me this, I pray. You havedone all these great things for me; what am I to do in return foryou?"
She raised her eyes towards him, and the light sprang intothem--that beautiful, fearless light which shone there when she ledher soldiers into battle.
"Go forward fearlessly, noble King. Go forward in the power of youranointing; and fear nothing. That is all I ask of you. Do that, andyou will give to me my heart's desire."
"We will talk of that later, Jeanne," he answered, "I have manythings to speak upon that matter yet. But today I would ask you ofsomething different. You have done great things for me; it is notfitting that you should refuse to receive something at my hands.This day I sit a King upon my father's throne. Ask of me some giftand grace for yourself--I your King and your friend demand it ofyou!"
It was spoken in a right kingly and gracious fashion, and we allheld our breath to listen for the answer the Maid should give. Wehad known her so long and so well, and we had learned how littleshe desired for herself, how hard it was to induce her to expressany wish for her own gratification. She was gentle and gracious inher acceptance of the gifts received from friends who had furnishedher from the beginning with such things as were needful for heraltered life; but she had ever retained her simplicity of thoughtand habit; and though often living in the midst of luxury andextravagance, she was never touched by those vices herself. And nowshe was bidden to ask a boon; and she must needs do it, or thedispleasure of the King would light upon her.
He had raised her to her feet by this time, and she stood beforehim, a slim boy-like figure in her white point-device dress, hercheeks a little flushed, her slender fingers tightly entwined, thebreath coming and going through her parted lips.
"Gentle King," she answered, and her low full voice thrilledthrough the hall to its farthermost end in the deep hush which hadfallen upon it, "there is one grace and gift that I would rightgladly ask of you. Here in this city of Rheims are assembled a fewof mine own people from Domremy; my father, my uncle, and with themsome others whom I have known and loved from childhood. I would askthis thing of you, noble King. Give me at your royal pleasure adeed, duly signed and sealed by your royal hand, exempting thevillage of Domremy, where I was born, from all taxes such as arelevied elsewhere throughout the realm. Let me have this deed togive to those who have come to see me here, and thus when I returnwith them to my beloved childhood's home, I shall be witness to thejoy and gladness which such a kingly boon will convey. Grant methis--only this, gentle King, and you will grant me all my heartdesires!"
The King spoke aside a few words to one of those who stood abouthim, and this person silently bowed and quitted the hail; then heturned once more to the Maid, standing before him still with ahappy and almost childlike smile playing over her lips.
"The thing shall be done, Jeanne," he said; "and it shall be doneright soon. The first deed to which I set my hand as King shall bethe one which shall for ever exempt Domremy from all taxation. Youshall give it to your father this very day, to take home with himwhen he goes. But as for those other words of yours--what did youmean by them? How can you witness the joy of a distant village,when you will be leading forward the armies of France to fre
shvictories?"
He gazed searchingly into her face as he spoke; and she looked backat him with a sudden shrinking in her beautiful eyes.
"Sire," she faltered--and anything like uncertainty in that voicewas something new to us--"of what victories do you speak? I havedone my part. I have accomplished that which my Lord has set me todo. My task ends here. My mission has been fulfilled. I have nocommand from Him to go forward. I pray you let me return home to mymother and my friends."
"Nay, Jeanne, your friends are here," spoke the King gravely, "andyour country is your mother. Would you neglect to hear her cry toyou in the hour of her need? Her voice it was that called you forthfrom your obscurity; she calls you yet. Will you cease to hear andto obey?"
The trouble and perplexity deepened in the eyes of the Maid.
"My voices have not bidden me to go forward," she faltered.
"Have they bidden you to go back--to do no more for France?"
"No," she answered, throwing back her head, her eyes kindling onceagain with ardour; "they have not bidden me return, or I would havedone it without wavering. They tell me nothing, save to be of agood heart and courage. They promise to be with me--my saints, whomI love. But they give me no commands. I see not the path before me,as I have seen it hitherto. That is why I say, let me go home. Mywork is done; I have no mission more. Shall I take upon me thatwhich my Lord puts not upon me--whether it be honour or toil orpain?"
"Yes, Jeanne, you shall take that upon you which your country callsupon you to take, which your King puts upon you, which even yoursaints demand of you, though perchance with no such insistence asbefore, since that is no longer needed. Can you think that the mindof the Lord has changed towards me and towards France? Yet you mustknow as well as I and my Generals do, that without you to lead themagainst the foe, the soldiers will waver and tremble, and perchanceturn their backs upon our enemies once more. You they will followto a man; but will they follow others when they know that you havedeserted them? You tell me to go forward and be of good courage.How can I do this if you turn back, and take with you the hearts ofmy men?"
"Sire, I know not that such would be the case," spoke the Maidgravely. "You stand amongst them now as their crowned and anointedKing. What need have they of other leader? They have followed meheretofore, waiting for you; but now--"
"Now they will want you more than ever, since you have ever ledthem to victory!" cried the King; and raising his voice and lookingabout him, especially to those generals and officers of his staffwho had seen so much of the recent events of the campaign, he criedout:
"What say you, gentlemen? What is our chance to drive away theEnglish and become masters of this realm if the MAID OF ORLEANStake herself away from us, and the soldiers no longer see herstandard floating before them, or hear her voice cheering them tothe battle?"
Some of those present looked sullenly on the ground, unwilling toown that the Maid was a power greater than any other which could bebrought into the field; but there were numbers of other and greatermen, who had never denied her her meed of praise, though they hadthwarted her at times in the council room; and these with oneaccord declared that should the Maid betake herself back toDomremy, leaving the army to its fate, they would not answer forthe effect which this desertion would have, but would, in fact,almost expect the melting away of the great body of the trainedsoldiers and recruits who had fought with her, and had come toregard her presence with them as the essential to a perfectvictory.
But we were destined to have a greater testimony than this, for awhisper of what was passing within the great hall had now filteredforth into the streets, and all in a moment we were aware of amighty tumult and hubbub without, a clamour of voices louder andmore insistent than those which had hailed the King a short timebefore, and the words which seemed to form themselves out of theclamour and gradually grow into the burden of the people's cry wasthe repeated and vehement shout, "THE MAID OF ORLEANS! THE MAID OFORLEANS! We will fight if the Maid goes with us--without her we beall dead men!"
They came and told us what the crowd of soldiers in the street wasshouting; they begged that the Maid would show herself at somewindow, and promise that she would remain with the army. Indeed,there was almost a danger of riot and disaster if something werenot done to quell the excitement of the soldiery and the populace;and at this news the Maid suddenly drew her slender, droopingfigure to its full height, and looked long and steadfastly at theKing.
"Sire," she said, "I give myself to you and to France. My Lordknows that I seek in this to do His will, though differently fromheretofore. You will be disappointed. Many will misjudge me. Therewill be sorrow and anguish of heart as well as triumph and joy. Butif my country calls, I go forth gladly to meet her cry--even thoughI go to my death!"
I do not know how many heard her last words; for they were drownedin the roar of joyful applause which followed her declaration. TheKing gave her his hand, and led her forth upon a balcony, where thegreat concourse in the street below could see them; and by signs hemade them understand that she would continue with him as one of hisCommanders-in-Chief; and in hearing this the city well nigh wentmad with joy; bonfires blazed and bells pealed madly; and the cryheard in the streets was less "Long live the King!" than that otherfrantic shout, "THE MAID OF ORLEANS! THE MAID OF ORLEANS!"
But the Maid returned to her apartments with a strange look uponher face; and she held out her hand to me as one who would fain askhelp and sympathy of a trusted comrade, as I am proud to think Iwas regarded at that time by her.
"The King's word has prevailed, O my friend," she said, "but Iwould that I were sure it will be for the best!"
"How can it be otherwise than for the best?" I answered as I heldher hand in mine, and looked searchingly into her fair, grave face."Will not your Lord help you yet? Do not all men trust in you? Willnot the soldiers fight for and with you? And are you not sure inyour heart that the cause of the French King will yet triumph?"
Her eyes were misty with unshed tears as she made reply:
"I know that my Lord will not desert me; and I trust I may serveHim yet, and the King whom I love. I know that all will be well--atthe last--for this fair realm of France. But I have no commissiondirect from my Lord as I have had hitherto. My voices yet speakgentle and kindly words. I trow that my saints will watch over me,and that they will give me strength to strive and to overcome. Formyself I fear not--I am ready to die for my King and my country ifthat be the will of God. Only the shadow lies athwart my path,where until today all was brightness and sunshine. It would havebeen so sweet to go home to my mother, to see the Fairy Tree, andthe old familiar faces, and listen once more to the Angelus bell! Ihad thought that I should by this have earned my rest. I had notthought that with so many to serve him, the King would have hadfurther use for me."
"Yet how could it be otherwise, my General, when the soldiers willfollow you alone?--when all look to you as their champion and theirfriend?"
"Nay, but I have enemies too," she answered sadly, "and I know thatthey will work me ill--greater ill in the future than they have hadpower to do heretofore, when I was watched over and guarded for thetask that was set me. That task is now accomplished. Can I look toreceive the same protection as before? The Lord may have otherinstruments prepared to carry on His work of deliverance. I doubtnot that He will use me yet, and that I shall never be forsaken;but my time will not be long. I shall only last a year. Let theKing use me for all that I am worth!--after that he must look forothers to aid him!"
I could not bear to hear her speak so. I would have broken in withprotestations and denials; but something in the look upon her facesilenced me. My heart sank strangely within me, for had I notlearned to know how truly the Maid did read that which the futurehid from our eyes? I could only seek to believe that in this shemight be mistaken, since she herself did say how that things weresomething different with her now.
She seemed to read the thoughts that crowded my brain; for shelooked into my face with her tender, far-seeing smi
le.
"You are sad, my kind friend, my faithful knight, and sometimesmine own heart is sad also. But yet why should we fear? I know thatI have enemies, and I know that they will have more power to hurtme in the times that are coming, than has been permitted hitherto,yet--"
With an uncontrollable impulse I flung myself at her feet.
"O my General--O my dear lady--speak not such things--it breaks myheart. Or if, indeed, the peril be so great, then let all else go,and bid your father to take you back to Domremy with him. There, atleast, you will be safe and happy!"
Her eyes were deep with the intensity of her emotion.
"It may not be," she said with grave gentleness and decision. "Ihad hoped it for myself, but it may not be. My word is pledged. MyKing has commanded. I, too, must learn, in my measure, the lessonof obedience, even unto death!"
Her hands were clasped; her eyes were lifted heavenwards. A shaftof light from the sinking sun struck in through the coloured windowbehind her, and fell across her face with an indescribable glory. Iwas still upon my knees and I could not rise, for it seemed to meas though at that moment another Presence than that of the Maid waswith us in the room. My limbs shook. My heart seemed to melt withinme; and yet it was not fear which possessed me, but a mysteriousrapture the like of which I can in no wise fathom.
How long it lasted I know not. The light had faded when I rose tomy feet and met her wonderful gaze. She spoke just a few words.
"Now you know what help is given us in our hours of need. Myfaithful knight need never mourn or weep for me; for that help andcomfort will never be withheld. Of this I have the promise clearand steadfast!"
I was with her when she went to see her father. It was dark, andthe old man sat with his brother-in-law, Durand Laxart--he who hadhelped her to her first interview with De Baudricourt--in one ofthe best rooms of the inn. Since it had been known that these menwere the kinsfolk of the Maid, everything of the best had been putat their disposal by the desire of the citizens, and horses hadbeen provided for them for their return to Domremy. For the city ofRheims was filled with joy at that which had been accomplished, andthe Maid was the hero of the hour.
But I could see that there was a cloud upon the old man's face--thefather's; and he did not rise as his daughter entered--she beforewhom nobles had learnt to bend, and who sat at the Council of theKing. His sombre eyes dwelt upon her with a strange expression intheir depths. His rugged face was hard; his knotted hands wereclosely locked together.
The Maid gazed at him for a moment, a world of tender emotions inher eyes; and then she quickly crossed the room and threw herselfat his feet.
"My father! My father! My father!"
The cry seemed to come from her heart, and I saw the old man's facequiver and twitch; but he did not touch or embrace her.
"It is the dress he cannot bear," whispered Laxart distressfully tome, "it is as gall and wormwood to him to see his daughter go aboutin the garb of a man."
The Maid's face was raised in tender entreaty; she had hold of herfather's hands by now. She was covering them with kisses.
"O my father, have you no word for me? Have you not yet forgivenyour little Jeanne? I have but obeyed our Blessed Lord and His holySaints. And see how they have helped and blessed and guided me! Omy father, can you doubt that I was sent of them for this work? Howthen could I refuse to do it?"
Then the stern face seemed to melt with a repressed tenderness, andthe father bent and touched the girl's brow with his lips. Sheuttered a little cry of joy, and would have flung herself into hisarms; but he held her a little off, his hands upon her shoulders,and he looked into her face searchingly.
"That may have been well done, my daughter; I will not say, I willnot judge. But your task is now accomplished--your own lips havesaid it; and yet you still are to march with the King's army, I amtold. You love better the clash of arms, the glory of victory, thecompanionship of soldiers and courtiers to the simple duties whichawait you at home, and the protection of your mother's love. Thatis not well. That is what no modest maiden should choose. I hadhoped and believed that I should take my daughter home with me. Butshe has chosen otherwise. Do I not well to be angry?"
The Maid's face was buried in her hands. She would have buried itin her father's breast, but he would not have it so.
I could have wept tears myself at the sight of her sorrow. I sawhow utterly impossible it would be to make this sturdy peasantunderstand the difficulty of the Maid's position, and the claimsupon her great abilities, her mysterious influence upon thesoldiers. The worthy prud'homme would look upon this as rather adishonour and disgrace than a gift from Heaven.
The words I longed to speak died away upon my tongue. I felt thatto speak them would be a waste of breath. Moreover, I was here as aspectator, not as a partaker in this scene. I held the document,signed and sealed by the King, which I was prepared to read to thevisitors from Domremy. That was to be my share in this interview--notto interpose betwixt father and child.
For a few moments there was deep silence in the room; then the Maidtook her hands from her face, and she was calm and tranquil onceagain. She possessed herself of one of her father's reluctanthands.
"My father, I know that this thing is hard for you to understand.It may be that my brothers could explain it better than I, had youpatience to hear them. But this I say, that I long with anunspeakable desire to return home with you, for I know that thepath I must tread will darken about me, and that the end will besad and bitter. And yet I may not choose for myself. My Kingcommands. My country calls. I must needs listen to those voices.Oh, forgive me that I may not follow yours, nor the yearnings ofmine own heart!"
The old man dropped her hand and turned away. He spoke no word; Ithink perchance his heart was touched by the tone of the Maid'svoice, by the appealing look in her beautiful eyes. But he wouldnot betray any sign of weakness. He turned away and leant his browupon the hand with which he had grasped the high-carved ledge ofthe panelled shelf beside him. The Maid glanced at him, her lipsquivering; and she spoke again in a brighter tone.
"And yet, my father, though you may not take me back with you, youshall not go away empty-handed. I have that to send home with youwhich shall, I trust, rejoice the hearts of all Domremy; and if youfind it hard to forgive that which your child has been called uponto do, yet methinks there will be others to bless her name and prayfor her, when they learn that which she has been able toaccomplish."
Then she made a little sign to me, and I stepped forward with theparchment, signed and sealed, and held it towards the Maid'sfather. He turned to look at me, and his eyes widened in wonder andsome uneasiness; for the sight of so great a deed filled him andhis kinsman with a vague alarm.
"What is it?" he asked, turning full round, and I made answer:
"A deed signed by the King, exempting Domremy from all taxation,henceforward and for ever, by right of the great and notableservices rendered to the realm by one born and brought upthere--Jeanne d'Arc, now better known as THE MAID OF ORLEANS."
The two men exchanged wondering glances, and over Laxart's facethere dawned a smile of intense joy and wonder.
"Nay, but this is a wonderful thing--a miracle--the like of whichwas never heard or known before! I pray you, noble knight, let mecall hither those of our kinsfolk and acquaintance from Domremy ashave accompanied us hither, that they may hear and understand thismarvellous grace which hath been done us!"
I was glad enough that all should come and hear that which I readto them from the great document, explaining every phrase that washard of comprehension. It was good to see how all faces glowed andkindled, and how the people crowded about the Maid with words ofgratitude and blessing.
Only the father stood a little apart, sorrowful and stern. And yetI am sure that his heart, though grieved, was not altogetherhardened against his child; for when at the last, with tears in hereyes (all other farewells being said), she knelt at his feetbegging his blessing and forgiveness, he laid his hand upon herhead for a moment, a
nd let her embrace his knees with her arms.
"Go your way, my girl, if needs must be. Your mother will ever prayfor you, and I trust the Lord whom you serve will not leave you,though His ways are too hard of understanding for me."
That was all she could win from him; but her heart was comforted, Ithink; for as she reached her lodging and turned at the door of herroom to thank me in the gracious way she never forgot, for suchpoor services as I had rendered, she said in a soft and happyvoice:
"I think that in his heart my father hath forgiven me!"
CHAPTER XVIII. HOW I LAST SAW THE MAID.
I had thought, when I started, to tell the whole tale of theAngelic Maid and all the things which she accomplished, and allthat we who companied with her did and saw, both of success and offailure. But now my brain and my pen alike refuse the task. I mustneeds shorten it. I think my heart would well nigh break a secondtime, if I were to seek to tell all that terrible tale which theworld knows so well by now.
Ah me! Ah me!--what a world is this wherein we live, in which suchthings can be! I wake sometimes even yet in the night, a cold sweatupon my limbs, my heart beating to suffocation, a terror as ofgreat darkness enfolding my spirit.
And is it wonderful that it should be so? Can any man pass throughsuch experiences as mine, and not receive a wound which time cannever wholly heal? And though great things have of late been done,and the Pope and his Court have swept away all such stain and taintas men sought to fasten upon the pure nature of the wonderful andmiraculous Maid, we who lived through those awful days, and heardand saw the things which happened at that time, can never forgetthem, and (God pardon me if I sin in this) never forgive. There aremen, some living still, and some passed to their last account, whomI would doom to the nethermost hell for their deeds in the days ofwhich I must now write--though my words will be so few. And (withhorror and shame be it spoken) many of these men were consecratedservants of the Holy Church, whose very office made the evil oftheir deeds to stand out in blacker hues.
It is easy for us to seek to fasten the blame of all upon theEnglish, who in the end accomplished the hideous task; but at leastthe English were the foes against whom she had fought, and they hadthe right to hold her as an adversary whose death was necessary fortheir success; and had the English had their way she would have mether end quickly, and without all that long-drawn-out agony andmockery of a trial, every step and process of which was an outrageupon the laws of God and of man. No, it was Frenchmen who doomedher to this--Frenchmen and priests. The University of Paris, theofficers of the Inquisition, the Bishops of the realm. These it waswho formed that hideous Court, whose judgments have now been setaside with contumely and loathing. These it was who after endlessformalities, against which even some of themselves were forced inhonour to protest, played so base and infamous a part--culminatingin that so-called "Abjuration," as false as those who plotted forit--capped by their own infamous trick to render even that"Abjuration" null and void, that she might be given up into thehands of those who were thirsting for her life!
Oh, how can I write of it? How can I think of it? There be timesyet when Bertrand, and Guy de Laval, and I, talking together ofthose days, feel our hearts swell, and the blood course wildly inour veins, and truly I do marvel sometimes how it was that we andothers were held back from committing some desperate crime torevenge those horrid deeds, wrought by men who in blasphemousmockery called themselves the servants and consecrated priests ofGod.
But hold! I must not let my pen run away too fast with me! I amleaping to the end, before the end has come. But, as I say, I haveno heart to write of all those weary months of wearing inactivity,wherein the spirit of the Maid chafed like that of a caged eagle,whilst the counsellors of the King--her bitter foes--had his ear,and held him back from following the course which her spirit andher knowledge alike advocated.
And yet we made none so bad a start.
"We must march upon Paris next," spoke the Maid at the firstCouncil of War held in Rheims after the coronation of the King; andLa Hire and the soldiers applauded the bold resolve, whilst LaTremouille and other timid and treacherous spirits sought ever tohold him back.
I often thought of the words spoken by the Maid to those friends ofhers from Domremy, when she bid them farewell on the evening ofwhich I have just written.
"Are you not afraid, Jeanne," they asked, "of going into battle, ofliving so strange a life, of being the companion of the great menof the earth?"
And she, looking at them with those big grave eyes of hers, hadmade answer thus:
"I fear nothing but treachery."
I wondered when she spoke what treachery she was to meet with; butsoon it became all too apparent. The King's ministers weretreacherously negotiating with false Burgundy, some say with theRegent Bedford himself. They cared not to save France. They caredonly to keep out of harm's way--to avoid all peril and danger, andto thwart the Maid, whose patriotism and lofty courage was such afoil to their pusillanimity and cowardice.
So that though she led us to the very walls of Paris, and wouldhave taken the whole city without a doubt, had she been permitted,though the Duc d'Alencon, now her devoted adherent, went down uponhis very knees to beg of the King to fear nothing, but trust all toher genius, her judgment; he could not prevail, and orders weresent forth to break down the bridge that she had built for thestorming party to pass over, and that the army should fall backwith their task undone!
Oh, the folly, the ingratitude, the baseness of it all! How well doI remember the face of the Maid, as she said:
"The King's word must be obeyed; but truly it will take him sevenyears--ah, and twenty years now--to accomplish that which I woulddo for him in less than twenty days!"
Think of it--you who have seen what followed. Was Paris in theKing's hands in less than seven years? Were the English driven fromFrance in less than twenty?
She was wounded, too; and had been forcibly carried away from thefield of battle; but it was against her own will. She would havefought through thick and thin, had the King's commands notprevailed; and even then she begged to be left with a band ofsoldiers at St. Denis.
"My voices tell me to remain here," she said; but alas! her voiceswere regarded no longer by the King, whose foolish head andcowardly heart were under other influences than that of the Maid,to whom he had promised so much such a short while since.
And so his word prevailed, and we were perforce obliged to retreatfrom those walls we had so confidently desired to storm. And therein the church of St. Denis, where she had knelt so many hours inprayer and supplication, the Maid left her beautiful silver armour,which had so often flashed its radiant message of triumph to hersoldiers, and with it that broken sword--broken outside the wallsof Paris, and which no skill had sufficed to mend--which had beentaken from St Catherine's Church in Fierbois.
It was not altogether an unwonted act for knights to deposit theirarms in churches, though the custom is dying away, with so manyother relics of chivalry; but there was something very strange andsolemn in this act of the Maid. It was to us a significant sign ofthat which she saw before her. We dared not ask her wherefore shedid it. Something in her sad, gentle face forbade us. But I feltthe tears rising to my eyes as I watched her kneel long in prayerwhen the deed was done, and I heard stifled sobs arising from thatend of the building where some women and children knelt. For theMaid was ever the friend of all such, and never a woman or childwhom she approached, whether she were clad in peasant's homespun orin shining coat of mail, but gave her love and trust and friendshipat sight.
Henceforth the Maid went clothed in a light suit of mail, such asany youthful knight might wear. She never spoke again of her fairwhite armour, or of the sword which had shivered in her hand, nonesave herself knew how or when.
Alas! for the days of glory which had gone before! Why did we keepher with the King's armies, when the monarch's ear was engrossed byadverse counsel, and his heart turned away from her who had beenhis Deliverer in the hour of his greatest nee
d?
Methinks she would even now have returned home, but for thedevotion of the soldiers and the persuasions of the Duc d'Alencon,and of some of the other generals, amongst whom the foremost wereDunois and La Hire. These chafed equally with the Maid at thesupine attitude of the King; and the Duke, his kinsman, spoke outboldly and fearlessly, warning him of the peril he was doing to hiskingdom, and the wrong to the Maid who had served him so faithfullyand well, and to whom he had made such fair promises.
But for the present all such entreaties or warnings fell upon deafears. The time for the King's awakening had not yet come.
Nevertheless, we had our days of glory still, under the banner ofthe Maid, when, after many months of idleness, the springtide againawoke the world, and she sallied forth strong in the assurance ofvictory, whilst fortress after fortress fell before her, as in thedays of yore. Oh, how joyous were our hearts! Now did we believetruly that the tide had turned, and that we were marching on tovictory.
But upon the Maid's face a shadow might often be seen to rest; andonce or twice when I would ask her of it, she replied in a low,sorrowful voice:
"My year is well-nigh ended. Something looms before me. My voiceshave told me to be ready for what is coming. I fear me it will bemy fate to fall into the hands of the foe!"
I would not believe it! Almost I was resolved to plunge mine owndagger into her heart sooner than she should fall into the hand ofthe pitiless English. But woe is me! I was not at her side thatdreadful evening at Compiegne, when this terrible mishap befell. Ihad been stricken down in that horrid death trap, when, hemmed inbetween the ranks of the Burgundians and English, we found ourretreat into the city cut off.
Was it treachery? Was it incapacity upon the part of the leaders ofthe garrison, or what was the reason that no rush from the citybehind took the English in the rear, and effected the rescue of theMaid?
I know not--I have never known--all to me is black mystery. I wasone of those to see the peril first, and with Bertrand and Guy deLaval beside me, to charge furiously upon the advancing foe, cryingaloud to others to close round the Maid and bear her away intosafety, whilst we engaged the enemy and gave them time.
That is all I know. All the rest vanishes in the mists. When thesemists cleared away, Bertrand and I were in the home of Sir Guy,tended by his mother and grandmother--both of whom had seen andloved well the wonderful Maid--and she was in a terrible prison,some said an iron cage, guarded by brutal English soldiers, anddeclared a witch or a sorceress, not fit to live, nor to die asoldier's death, but only to perish at the stake as an outcast fromGod and man.
Months had passed since the battle of Compiegne. Fever had had mefast in its grip all that while, and the news I heard on recoverybrought it all back again. Bertrand and Guy were in little bettercase. We were like pale ghosts of our former selves during thosewinter months, when, hemmed in by snow, we could learn so littlenews from without, and could only eat out our hearts in rage andgrief.
With the spring came the news of the trial at Rouen--the bitterhatred of Bishop Cauchon--the awful consummation he had vowed tobring about.
I know not whether it were folly to hope such a thing, but we threeknights made instantly for the coast and crossed to England, toseek the ear of the young King there, and plead the cause of theMaid before him. I need not say how our mission failed. I care notto recall those sickening days of anxiety and hope deferred, andutter defeat at the last.
Heartbroken and desperate we returned; and made our way to Rouen.The whole city was in confusion. Need I say more? That very day,within an hour, the Maid, the Messenger from God, the Deliverer ofthe King, the Saviour of France, was to die by fire, to perish as aheretic. And the King whom she had saved had not lifted a hand tosave her; the country she had delivered from a crushing disgrace,stood idly by to watch her perish thus!
Oh, the shame!--the treachery!--the horror! Let me not try to writeof it. The King has striven now to make amends; but I wonder how hefeels sometimes when he sees the May sunshine streaming over thefair earth--over that realm which he now rules from sea to sea,when he thinks of the Maid who was led forth in that blaze of gloryto meet her fiery doom.
O God of Heaven look down and judge! How shall I tell of the sightI beheld?
Suddenly I came upon it--mad with my grief, desperate with horrorand despair. I saw the face of the Maid again! I saw her upraisedeyes, and her hands clasped to her breast, holding thereto a roughwooden cross, whilst someone from below held high in the air acrucifix taken from some church and fastened upon a long wand.
The pile on which she stood was so high--so high; they said it wasdone in mercy, that the rising clouds of smoke might choke her erethe flame touched her. She was clad in a long white garment fromhead to foot; her hair had grown and fell about and back from herface in a soft cloud gilded by the sun's rays. Her face wasrapt--smiling--yes, I will swear it--smiling, as a child smiles upinto the face of its father.
There was an awful hush throughout the wide place. Everythingreeled and swam before me; but I saw that face--that serene andsmiling face, wan and pale, but tranquil and glad and triumphant.
Then came the rush of smoke, and the glare of ruddy fire. A stifledcry, like one immense groan rose from below--above in the reek andblaze all was silent. But from out that fire I saw--yes, andanother saw it too (an English soldier, rushing to add a faggot tothe pyre, a token of his hate to the Maid), and it so wrought uponhim that he dropped his burden, fell upon his knees and was like todie of the fear--I saw a white dove rise from the smoke wreaths ofthat ghastly pile, hover a moment, just touched by the glare of thefire, and then dart heavenwards as upon eagle's wings.
Yes, I saw it. To the day of my death will I swear it. I saw whatshe had seen in vision long ago; and upon my heart there fell astrange sense of peace and calm. It had not hurt her--it had beenas she once said. Her saints had been with her to the end. She hadtriumphed. All was well. Called of her Country, she had answerednobly to the call. Her Country had awarded her a fiery death; butin that fiery chariot she had ascended to the Lord, in whom shetrusted, hereafter to receive the crown of glory that fadeth notaway.
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