 Chapter 24 The Hundred Years' War Charles VII and Joan of Arc, 1422 to 1462, Part III Charles no longer hesitated. Joan was treated, according to her own expression in her letter to the English, as a war chief. There were assigned to her a squire, a page, two heralds, a chaplain, brother Pasquerel, of the Order of the Hermit Brotherhood of St. Augustine, barlots, and serving-folk. A complete suit of armour was made to fit her. Her two guides, John of Metz and Bertrand of Polingy, had not quitted her, and the King continued them in her train. Her sword he wished to be supplied by himself. She asked for one marked with five crosses. It would be found, she said, behind the altar in the chapel of St. Catherine de Fierre-Boy, where she had halted on her arrival at Chinon. And there indeed it was found. She had a white banner made, studded with lilies, bearing the representation of God seated upon the clouds, and holding in his hand the globe of the world. Above there were the words Jesu Maria, and below were two angels, on their knees in adoration. Joan was fond of her sword, as she said two years afterwards at her trial, but she was forty times more fond of her banner, which was, in her eyes, the sign of her commission and the Pledge of Victory. On the completion of the preparation she demanded the immediate departure of the expedition. Orléans was crying for succour. De Neuil was sending messenger after messenger, and Joan was in a greater hurry than anybody else. More than a month elapsed before her anxieties were satisfied. During this interval we find Charles VII and Joan of Arc at Chateau-Harrot, at Portier, at Tour, at Florent-les-Somers, at Chinon, and at Bloy, going to and fro through all that country to push forward the expedition resolved upon and to remove the obstacles it encountered. Through a haze of vague indications a glimpse is caught of the struggle which was commencing between the partisans and the adversaries of Joan, and in favour of or in opposition to the impulse she was communicating to the War of Nationality. Charles VII's mother-in-law, Yolande of Aragon, Queen of Sicily, and the young Duke of Alencon, whose father had been killed at the Battle of Agincourt, were at the head of Joan's partisans. Yolande gave money and took a great deal of trouble in order to promote the expedition, which was to go and succour Orléans. The Duke of Alencon, hardly twenty years of age, was the only one amongst the princes of the House of Valois who had given Joan a kind reception on her arrival, and who, together with the brave La Hire, said that he would follow her with or so ever she pleased to lead him. Joan in her gratitude called him the Handsome Duke, and exhibited towards him amity and confidence. But side by side with these friends she had an adversary in the King's favourite, George de la Tramoy, an ambitious courtier, jealous of anyone who seemed within the range of the King's favour, and opposed to a vigorous prosecution of the War, since it hampered him in the policy he wished to keep up toward the Duke of Burgundy. To the ill will of La Tramoy was added that of the majority of courtiers enlisted in the following of the powerful favourite, and that of warriors irritated at the importance acquired at their expense by a rustic and fantastic little adventurous. Here was the source of the enmities and intrigues which stood in the way of all Joan's demands, rendered her successes more tardy, difficult, and incomplete, and were one day to cost her more dearly still. At the end of about five weeks the expedition was in readiness. It was a heavy convoy of revictualment, protected by a body of ten or twelve thousand men, commanded by Marshal de Boussac, and numbering amongst them Zuntrai and Lahire. The march began on the 27th of April, 1429. Joan had caused the removal of all women of bad character, and had recommended her comrades to confess. She took the communion in the open air before their eyes, and a company of priests, headed by her chaplain, Pasquerel, led the way whilst chanting sacred hymns. Great was the surprise amongst the men at arms. Many had words of mockery on their lips. It was the time when the hire used to say, if God were a soldier he would turn robber. Nevertheless, respect got the better of habit. The most honourable were really touched. The corsists considered themselves bound to show restraint. On the 29th of April they arrived before Orléans. But in consequence of the road they had followed the Loire was between the army and the town. The expeditionary corps had to be split in two. The troops were obliged to go and feel for the bridge of Bloy in order to cross the river, and Joan was vexed and surprised. De Noy, arrived from Orléans in a little boat, urged her to enter the town that same evening. Are you the bastard of Orléans, as she, when he accosted her? Yes, and I am rejoiced that you're coming. Was it you who gave counsel for making me come hither by this side of the river, and not the direct way, over Yonder, where Talbot and the English were? Yes, such was the opinion of the wisest captains. In the name of God, the counsel of my Lord is wiser than yours. You thought to deceive me, and you have deceived yourselves, for I am bringing you the best sucker that ever had night, or town, or city, and that is the goodwill of God, and sucker from the King of Heaven. Not assuredly for love of me it is from God only that it precedes. It was a great trial for Joan to separate from her comrades, so well-prepared, penitent, and well-disposed in their company, said she, I should not fear the whole power of the English. She was afraid that disorder might set in amongst the troops, and that they might break up, instead of fulfilling her mission. De Noy was urgent for her to go herself at once into Orléans, with such portion of the convoy as boats might be able to transport thither without delay. Orléans, said he, would count it for not, if they received the victuals without the maid. Joan decided to go. The captains of her division promised to rejoin her at Orléans. She left them her chaplain, Pasquerel, the priests who accompanied him, and the banner around which she was accustomed to muster them. And she herself, with De Noy, La Hire, and two hundred men-at-arms, crossed the river at the same time with a part of the supplies. The same day at eight p.m. she entered the city on horseback, completely armed, preceded by her own banner, and having beside her De Noy, and beside her the captains of the garrisons of several of the most distinguished burgesses of Orléans who had gone out to meet her. The population, one and all, rushed thronging round her, carrying torches, and greeting her arrival, with joy as great as if they had seen God come down amongst them. They felt, says the Journal of the Siege, all of them reconverted, and, as it were, dispossaged by the divine virtue which they had been told existed in this simple maid. In their anxiety to approach her, to touch her, one of their lighted torches set fire to her banner. Joan disengaged herself with her horse as cleverly as it could have been done by the most skillful horseman, and herself extinguished the flame. The crowd attended her to the church whether she desired to go first of all to render thanks to God, and then to the house of John Boucher, the Duke of Orléans' treasurer, where she was received together with her two brothers and the two gentlemen who had been her guides from Valcaleur. The treasurer's wife was one of the most virtuous city dames in Orléans, and from this night forth her daughter Charlotte had Joan for her bed-fellow. A splendid supper had been prepared for her, but she would merely dip some slices of bread and wine and water. Neither her enthusiasm nor her success, the two greatest tempters to pride in mankind, made any change in her modesty and simplicity. The very day after her arrival she would have liked to go and attack the English in their best deals, within which they kept themselves shut up. La Hire was pretty much of her opinion, but De Noy and the captains of the garrison thought they ought to await the coming of the troops which had gone to cross the Loire Blois, and the supports which several French garrisons in the neighborhood had received orders to forward to Orléans. Joan insisted. Syre de Gamache, one of the officers present, could not contain himself. "'Since ear is given,' said he, to the advice of a wench of low degree, rather than to that of a knight like me, I will not bandy more words. When the time comes it shall be my sword that will speak. I shall fall, perhaps, but the king and my own honor demand it. Henceforth I give up my banner and am nothing more than a poor Asquire. I prefer to have for a master a nobleman rather than a girl who has here to forbind, perhaps I know not what." He furled his banner and handed it to De Noy. De Noy, as sensible as he was brave, would not give heed either to the collar of Gamache or to the insistence of Joan. And, thanks to his intervention, they were reconciled on being induced to think better, respectively, of giving up the banner and ordering an immediate attack. De Noy went to Blois to hurry the movements of the division which had repaired thither, and his presence there was highly necessary, since Joan's enemies, especially the Chancellor Renault, were nearly carrying a decision that no such reinforcement should be sent to Orléans. De Noy frustrated this purpose, and led back to Orléans, by way of abuse, the troops concentrated at Blois. On the Fourth of May, as soon as it was known that he was coming, Joan, La Hire, and the principal leaders of the city, as well as the garrison, went to meet him, and re-entered Orléans with him and his troops, passing between the Bastilles of the English, who made not even an attempt to oppose them. That is the sorceress Yonder, said some of the besiegers. Others asked if it were quite so clear that her power did not come to her from on high, and their commander, the Earl of Suffolk, himself, perhaps uncertain, did not like to risk it. Doubt produced terror and terror in activity. The convoy from Blois entered Orléans, preceded by brother Pasquerel and the priests. Joan, whilst she was awaiting it, sent the English captains of fresh summons to withdraw conformably with the letter which she had already addressed to them from Blois, and the principal clauses of which were just now quoted here. They replied with coarse insults, calling her strumpet and cow-girl, and threatening to burn her when they caught her. She was very much moved by their insults, in so much as to weep. But calling God to witness her innocence, she found herself comforted, and expressed it by saying, I have had news from my lord. The English had detained the first heralds she had sent them, and when she would have sent them a second to demand his comrade back he was afraid. In the name of God, said Joan, they will do no harm, nor to thee, nor to him. Thou shalt tell Talbot to arm, and I, too, will arm. Let him show himself in front of the city. If he can take me, let him burn me. If I discomfort him, let him raise the siege, and let the English get them gone to their own country. The second herald appeared to be far from reassured. But Denoi charged him to say that the English prisoners should answer for what was done to the heralds from the maid. The two heralds were sent back. Joan made up her mind to iterate in person to the English the warnings she had given them in her letter. She mounted upon one of the bastions of Orléans, opposite the English Bastille called Tornel, and there, at the top of her voice, she repeated her counsel to them to be gone. Else, woe and shame would come upon them. The commandant of the Bastille, Sir William Gladstale, called by Joan and the French chronicers Gussiettes, answered with the usual insults, telling her to go back and mind her cows, and alluding to the French's miscreants. You lie, cried Joan, and in spite of you shall soon you depart hence. Many of your people shall be slain, but as for you, you shall not see it. Denoi, the very day of his return to Orléans, after dinner, went to call upon Joan, and told her that he had heard on his way that Sir John Falstaff, the same who on the twelfth of the previous February had beaten the French in the herring affair, was about to arrive with reinforcements and supplies for the besiegers. Bastard, Bastard, said Joan, in the name of God I command thee, as soon as thou shalt know of this Pascot's coming, to have me warned of it. For should he pass without my knowing of it, I promise thee that I will have thy head cut off. Denoi assured her that she should be warned. Joan was tired with the day's excitement. She threw herself upon her bed to sleep, but unsuccessfully. All at once she said to Sardelon, her Esquire, my counsel doth tell me to go against the English, but I know not whether against their Bastilles or against this Pascot. I must arm. Her Esquire was beginning to arm her when she heard it shouted in the street that the enemy were at that moment doing great damage to the French. My God, said she, the blood of our people is running on the ground. Why was I not awakened sooner? Ah, it is ill-done. My arms, my arms, my horse! Leaving behind her Esquire, who was not yet armed, she went down. Her page was playing at the door. Ah, naughty boy, said she, not to come and tell me that the blood of France was being shed. Come, quick, my horse! It was brought to her. She bade them hand down to her by the window her banner, which she had left behind, and without any further waiting she departed and went to the burgundy gate, whence the noise seemed to come. Seeing on her way one of the townsmen passing who was being carried off wounded, she said, Alas! I never see a Frenchman's blood, but my hair stands up upon my head. It was some of the Orléanese themselves who, without consulting their chiefs, had made a sorty and attacked the Bastilles Saint-Loup, the strongest held by the English on this side. The French had been repulsed and were falling back in flight when Joan came up, and soon after her denoy and a throng of men-and-arms who had been warned of the danger. The fugitives returned to the assault. The battle was renewed with ardor. The Bastille of Saint-Loup, notwithstanding energetic resistance on the part of the English who manned it, was taken, and all its defenders were put to the sword before Talbot and the main body of the besiegers could come up to their assistance. Joan showed sorrow that so many people should have died unconfessed, and she herself was the means of saving some who had disguised themselves as priests and gowns which they had taken from the church of Saint-Loup. Great was the joy in Orléan, and the enthusiasm for Joan was more lively than ever. Her voices had warned her, they said, and apprised her that there was a battle, and then she had found by herself alone, without any guide, the way to the burgundy gate. Men-and-arms and burgesses all demanded that the attack upon the English Bastilles should be resumed, but the next day, the fifth of May, was Ascension Day. Joan advocated Lion's repose on this holy festival, and the general feeling was in accord with her own. She recommended her comrades to fulfill their religious duties, and she herself received the communion. The chiefs of the besieged resolved to begin on the morrow a combined attack upon the English Bastilles which surrounded the palace, but Joan was not in their councils. Tell me what you have resolved, she said to them, I can keep this and greater secrets. De Noy made her acquainted with the plan adopted, of which she fully approved, and on the morrow, the sixth of May, a fierce struggle began again all around Orléan. For two days the Bastilles erected by the besiegers against the place were repeatedly attacked by the besieged. On the first day Joan was slightly wounded in the foot. Some disagreement arose between her and Syre de Gaucourt, Governor of Orléan, as to continuing the struggle, and Jean Boucher, her host, tried to keep her back the second day. Stay and dine with us, said he, to eat that shad which has just been brought. Keep it for supper, said Joan. I will come back this evening and bring you some god-dams, Englishmen, or other to eat his share. And she sallied forth, eager to return to the assault. On arriving at the burgundy gate she found it closed, the Governor would not allow any sortie thereby to attack on that side. Ah, naughty man, said Joan, you are wrong. Whether you will or no, our men at arms shall go and win on this day as they have already won. The gate was forced, and men at arms and burgesses rushed out from all quarters to attack the Bastilles of Tournel, the strongest of the English works. It was ten o'clock in the morning. The passive and active powers of both parties were concentrated on this point, and for a moment the French appeared weary in downcast. Joan took a scaling ladder, set it against the rampart, and was the first to mount. There came an arrow and struck her between neck and shoulder, and she fell. Sire de Gamache, who had but lately displayed so much temper towards her, found her where she lay. Take my horse, said he, and bear no malice, I was wrong, I had formed a false idea of you. Yes, said Joan, and bear no malice, I never saw a more accomplished knight. She was taken away and had her armor removed. The arrow, it is said, stood out almost half a foot behind. There was an instant of faintness and tears, but she prayed and felt her strength renewed, and pulled out the arrow with her own hand. Someone proposed to her to charm the wound by means of cabalistic words. But I would rather die, said she, than so sin against the will of God. I know full well that I must die some day, but I know nor where nor when nor how. If without sin my wound may be healed, I am right willing. Addressing of oil and lard was applied to the wound, and she retired apart into a vineyard and was continually in prayer. Fatigue and discouragement were overcoming the French, and the captains ordered the retreat to be sounded. Joan begged annoyed to wait a while. My God, said she, we shall soon be inside. Give your people a little rest, eat, and drink. She resumed her arms and remounted her horse. Her banner floated in the air. The French took fresh courage. The English, who thought Joan half-dead, were seized with surprise and fear, and one of their principal leaders, Sir William Gladesdale, made up his mind to abandon the outwork which he had hitherto so well kept, and retire within the best deal itself. Joan perceived his movement. Yield thee, she shouted to him from afar. Yield thee to the King of Heaven. Ah, glaciities, thou hast basely insulted me, that I have great pity on the souls of thee and thine. The Englishman continued his retreat. Whilst he was passing over the drawbridge which reached from the outwork to the best deal, a shot from the side of Orléans broke down the bridge. Gladesdale fell into the water and was drowned, together with many of his comrades. The French got into the best deal without any fresh fighting, and Joan re-entered Orléans amidst the joy and acclamations of the people. The bells rang all through the night, and the tedium was chanted. The day of combat was about to be succeeded by the day of deliverance. End of Chapter 24 Part 3 Chapter 24 Part 4 of Volume 3 of a popular history of France from the earliest times. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Volume 3 of a popular history of France from the earliest times by Francois Guiseaux, translated by Robert Black. Chapter 24 The Hundred Years' War Charles VII and Joan of Arc 1422-1462 Part 4 On the morrow, the 8th of May, 1429, at daybreak, the English leaders drew up their troops close to the very moats of the city, and seemed to offer battle to the French. Many of the Orlia and these leaders would have liked to accept this challenge, but Joan got up from her bed, where she was resting because of her wound, put on a light suit of armor, and ran to the city gates. For the love and honor of Holy Sunday, said she to the assembled warriors, do not be the first to attack, and make them no demand. It is God's goodwill and pleasure that they be allowed to get them gone if they be minded to go away. If they attack you, defend yourselves boldly, you will be the masters. She caused an altar to be raised, thanksgivings were sung and mass was celebrated. See, said Joan, are the English turning to you their faces or verily their backs. They had commenced their retreat in good order with standards flying. Let them go. My Lord willeth not that there be any fighting to-day, you shall have them another time. The good words spoken by Joan were not so preventative, but that many men set off to pursue the English, and cut off stragglers and baggage. Their best deals were found to be full of victual and munitions, and they had abandoned their sick in many of their prisoners. The siege of Orléans was raised. The day but one after this deliverance, Joan set out to go and rejoin the king and prosecute her work at his side. She fell in with him on the thirteenth of May, at tour, moved forward to meet him, with her banner in her hand and her head uncovered, and bending down over her charger's neck made him a deep obeisance. Charles took off his cap, held out his hand to her, and, as it seemed to many, says a contemporary chronicler, he would feign have kissed her for the joy that he felt. But the king's joy was not enough for Joan. She urged him to march with her against the enemies who were flying, so to speak, from themselves, and to start without delay for Rem, where he would be crowned. I shall hardly last more than a year, said she. We must think about working right well this year, for there is much to do. Hesitation was natural to Charles, even in the hour of victory. His favourite, Latremois, and his Chancellor, the Archbishop of Rem, opposed Joan's entreaties with all the objections that could be devised under the inspiration of their ill will. There were neither troops nor money in hand for so great a journey, and council after council was held for the purpose of doing nothing. Joan, in her impatience, went one day to Loach, without previous notice, and tapped softly at the door of the king's privy chamber. Chambre de retrait. He bade her enter. She fell upon her knees, saying, Gentle Dauphin, hold not so many and such long councils, but rather come to Rem, and there assume your crown. I am much pricked to take you thither. Joan, said the Bishop of Costris, Christopher Darkor, the Prince-Confessor, cannot you tell the king what pricketh you? Ah, I see, replied Joan, with some embarrassment. Well, I will tell you. I had sent me to prayer, according to my want, and I was making complaint, for that you would not believe what I said. Then the voice came and said unto me, Go, go, my daughter, I will be a help to thee. Go. When this voice comes to me, I feel marvelously rejoiced. I would that it might endure for ever. She was eager and overcome. Joan and her voices were not alone in urging the king to shake off his doubts and his indolence. In church and court and army, allies were not wanting to the pious and valiant maid. In a written document dated the fourteenth of May, six days after the siege of Orleans was raised, the most Christian doctor of the age, as Gerson was called, sifted the question whether it were possible, whether it were a duty to believe in the maid. Even if which God forbid said he, she should be mistaken in her hope and ours. It would not necessarily follow that what she does comes of the evil spirit and not of God. But that rather our ingratitude was to blame. Let the party which hath a just cause take care how, by incredulity or injustice, it rendereth useless the divine sucker so miraculously manifested. For God, without any change of counsel, changes the upshot according to desserts. Great lords and simple gentlemen, old and young warriors, were eager to go and join Joan for the salvation of the king and of France. The constable de Richemont, banished from the court through the jealous hatred of George Latremoy, made a pressing application there, followed by a body of men at arms, and when the king refused to see him, he resolved, though continuing in disgrace, to take an active part in the war. The young Duke of Allen Combe, who had been a prisoner with the English since the Battle of Agincourt, hurried on the payment of his ransom in order to accompany Joan as Lieutenant-General of the king in the little army which was forming. His wife, the Duchess, was in grief about it. We have just spent great sums, said she, in buying him back from the English. If he would take my advice he would stay at home. Madam, said Joan, I will bring him back to you safe and sound, nay, even in better contentment than at present. Be not afraid. And on this promise the Duchess took heart. To Goose Glen's widow, Joan de Laval, was still living, and she had two grandsons, Guy and Andrew de Laval, who were amongst the most zealous of those taking service in the army destined to march on Wren. The king, to all appearance, desired to keep them near his person. God forbid that I should do so, wrote Guy de Laval on the eighth of June, 1429, to those most dreadful dames, his grandmother and his mother. My brother says, as also my lord the Duke d'Alencombe, that a good riddance of bad rubbish would be he who should stay at home. And he describes his first interview with the maid as follows. The king had sent for her to come and meet him at Cell en Barrie. Some say that it was for my sake in order that I might see her. She gave right good cheer, a kind reception, to my brother and myself, and after we had dismounted at Cell I went to see her in her quarters. She ordered wine and told me that she would soon have me drinking some at Paris. It seems a thing divine to look on her and listen to her. I saw her mount on horseback, armed all in white armor save her head, and with a little axe in her hand, on a great black charger, which at the door of her quarters was very restive and would not let her mount. Then said she, lead him to the cross, which was in front of the neighboring church on the road. There she mounted him without his moving, and as if he were tied up. And turning towards the door of the church, which was very nigh at hand, she said, in quite a womanly voice, You priests and churchmen, make procession and prayers to God. Then she resumed her road, saying, Push forward, push forward. She told me that three days before my arrival she had sent you, dear grandmother, a little golden ring, but that it was a very small matter, and she would have liked to send you something better, having regard to your estimation. It was amidst this burst of patriotism, and with all these valiant comrades, that Joan recommends the campaign on the 10th of June, 1429, quite resolved to bring the king to Rome. To complete the deliverance of Orléans, an attack was begun upon the neighboring places, Jargo, Myang, and Oshunsi. Before Jargo, on the 12th of June, although it was Sunday, Joan had the trumpet sounded for the assault. The Duke of Alencón thought it was too soon. Ah, said Joan, be not doubtful, it is the hour pleasing to God, work ye, and God will work. And she added, Familiarly, art thou a fear, gentle Duke? Knowest thou not that I have promised thy wife to take thee back safe and sound? The assault began, and Joan soon had the occasion to keep her promise. The Duke of Alencón was watching the assault from an exposed spot, and Joan remarked a piece pointed at this spot. Get you hence, said she to the Duke, yonder is a piece which will slay you. The Duke moved, and a moment afterwards, Sire Deleuude was killed at the self-same place by a shot from the said piece. Jargo was taken. Before Oshunsi a serious incident took place. The constable, Derishma, came up with a force of twelve hundred men. When he was crossing to Laudan, Charles VII, swayed as ever by the jealous Latramoy, had word sent to him to withdraw, and that if he advanced he would be attacked. What I am doing in the matter, said the constable, is for the good of the king and the realm. If anybody comes to attack me, we shall see. When he had joined the army before Oshunsi, the Duke of Alencón was much troubled. The king's orders were precise, and Joan herself hesitated. But news came that Talbot and the English were approaching. Now, said Joan, we must think no more of anything but helping one another. She rode forward to meet the constable and saluted him courteously. Joan said he, I was told that you meant to attack me. I know not whether you come from God or not. If you are from God I fear you not at all, for God knows my good will. If you are from the devil I fear you still less. He remained, and bogeycy was taken. The English army came up. Sir John Falstaff had joined Talbot. Some disquietude showed itself amongst the French, so roughly handled for some time past in pitch battles. Ah, fair constable, said Joan to Richemont, you are not come by my orders, but you are right welcome. The Duke of Alencón consulted Joan as to what was to be done. It will be well to have horses, was suggested by those about her. She asked her neighbors, have you good spurs? Ha! cried they, must we fly then? No, surely, replied Joan, but there will be need to ride boldly. We shall give a good account of the English and our spurs will service famously in pursuing them. The battle began on the eighteenth of June at Pate between Orléans and Chateau d'Or. By Joan's advice the French attacked. In the name of God said she we must fight. Though the English were suspended from the clouds we should have them, for God hath sent us to punish them. The gentle king shall have today the greatest victory he has ever had. My counsel hath told me they are ours. The English lost heart in their turn. The battle was short and the victory brilliant. Lord Talbot and the most part of the English captains remained prisoners. Lord Talbot, said the Duke of Alencón to him, this is not what you expected this morning. It is the fortune of war, answered Talbot, with the cool dignity of an old warrior. Joan's immediate return to Orléans was a triumph, but even triumph has its embarrassments and perils. She demanded the speedy march of the army upon Rem that the king might be crowned there without delay, but objections were raised on all sides, the objections of the timid and those of the jealous. By reason of Joan the maid, says a contemporary chronicler, so many folks came from all parts unto the king for to serve him at their own expense, that Latremois and the others of the council were much roth there at, through anxiety for their own persons. Joan, impatient and irritated at so much hesitation and intrigue, took upon herself to act as if the decision belonged to her. On the twenty-fifth of June she wrote to the inhabitants of Tornay, Loyal Frenchman, I do pray and require you to be all ready to come to the coronation of the gentle king Charles at Rem, where we shall shortly be, and to come and meet us when ye shall learn that we are approaching. Two days afterwards on the twenty-seventh of June she left Jien, where the court was, and went to take up her quarters in the open country with the troops. There was nothing for it but to follow her. On the twenty-ninth of June the king, the court, including Latremois, and the army, about twelve thousand strong, set out on the march for Rem. Other obstacles were encountered on the road. In most of the towns the inhabitants, even the royalists, feared to compromise themselves by openly pronouncing against the English and the Duke of Burgundy. Those of Auxerre demanded a truce, offering provisions and promising to do as those of Troy, Chalon, and Rem should do. At Troy the difficulty was greater still. There was in it a garrison of five or six hundred English and Burgundians, who had the burgesses under their thumbs. All attempts at accommodation failed. There was great perplexity in the royal camp. There were neither provisions enough for a long stay before Troy, nor batteries and siege trains to carry it by force. There was talk of turning back. One of the king's councillors, Robert LeMecal, proposed that Joan should be summoned to the council. It was at her instance that the expedition had been undertaken. She had great influence amongst the army and the populace. The idea ought not to be given up without consulting her. Whilst he was speaking Joan came knocking at the door. She was told to come in, and the Chancellor, the Archbishop of Rem, put the question to her. Joan, turning to the king, asked him if he would believe her. Speak, said the king, if you say what is reasonable and tends to profit readily will you be believed. Gentle King of France, said Joan, if you be willing to abide here before your town of Troy it shall be at your disposal within two days, by love or by force, make no doubt of it. Joan replied the Chancellor, whoever could be certain of having it within six days might well wait for it, but say you true. Joan repeated her assertion, and it was decided to wait. Joan mounted her horse, and with her banner in her hand she went through the camp, giving orders everywhere to prepare for the assault. She had her own tent pitched close to the ditch, doing more, says a contemporary, than two of the ableist captains would have done. On the next day, July 10, all was ready. Joan had the façades thrown into the ditches, and was shouting out assault, when the inhabitants of Troy, Burgesses, and Men at Arms came demanding permission to capitulate. The conditions were easy. The inhabitants obtained for themselves and their property such guarantees as they desired, and the strangers were allowed to go out with what belonged to them. On the morrow, July 11, the king entered Troy with all his captains, and at his side the maid carrying her banner. All the difficulties of the journey were surmounted. On the fifteenth of July the bishop of Jolome brought the keys of his town to the king, who took up his quarters there. Joan found there four or five of her own villagers, who had hastened up to see the young girl of Dom Remy in all her glory. She received them with a satisfaction in which familiarity was blended with gravity. To one of them, her godfather, she gave a red cap which she had worn. To another, who had been a Burgundian, she said, I fear but one thing, treachery. In the Duke Dallon Cohn's present she repeated to the king, make good use of my time, for I shall hardly last longer than a year. On the sixteenth of July King Charles entered Rem, and the ceremony of his coronation was fixed for the morrow. It was solemn and emotional, as are all old national traditions which recur after forced suspension. Joan rode between Dinoy and the archbishop of Rem, Chancellor of France. The air resounded with the Tadeum sung with all their hearts by clergy and crowd. In God's name, said Joan to Dinoy, here is a good people and a devout. When I die I should much like it to be in these parts. Joan, inquired Dinoy, know you when you will die and in what place? I know not, said she, for I am at the will of God. Then she added, I have accomplished that which my Lord commended me, to raise the siege of Orléans and to have the gentle king crowned. I would like it well if it should please him to send me back to my father and mother, to keep their sheep and their cattle, and do that which was my want. When the said lords, says the chronicler and eyewitness, heard these words of Joan, who with eyes towards heaven gave thanks to God, they the more believed that it was somewhat sent from God and not otherwise. Even contemporaries have given much discussion to the question of whether Joan of Arc, according to her first ideas, had really limited her design to the raising of the siege of Orléans and the coronation of Charles VII at Rem. She had said so herself several times, just as she had to Dinoy at Rem on the 17th of July, 1429, but she sometimes also spoke of more vast and varied projects, as, for instance, driving the English completely out of France and withdrawing from his long captivity Charles, Duke of Orléans. He had been a prisoner in London ever since the Battle of Agincourt, and was popular in his day, as he has continued to be in French history, on the double ground of having been the father of Louis XII, and one of the most charming poets in the ancient literature of France. The Duke D'Alencône, who was so high in the regard of Joan, attributed to her more expressly this quadruple design. She said, according to him, that she had four duties, to get rid of the English, to have the king anointed in crown, to deliver Duke Charles of Orléans, and to raise the siege laid by the English to Orléans. One is inclined to believe that Joan's language to Dinoy at Rem in the hour of Charles VII's coronation more accurately expressed her first idea. The other two notions occurred to her naturally in proportion as her hopes as well as her power kept growing greater with success. But however lofty and daring her soul may have been, she had a simple and not at all a fantastic mind. She may have foreseen the complete expulsion of the English, and may have desired the deliverance of the Duke of Orléans, without having in the first instance premeditated anything more than she said to Dinoy during the king's coronation at Rem, which was looked upon by her as the triumph of the national cause. CHAPTER XXIV THE HUNDRED YEAR Charles VII and Joan of Arc. 1422-1462, Part V. However that may be, when Orléans was relieved, and Charles VII crowned, the situation, posture, and part of Joan underwent a change. She no longer manifested the same confidence in herself and her designs. She no longer exercised over those in whose midst she lived the same authority. She continued to carry on war, but at haphazard, sometimes with and sometimes without success, just like Lehiar and Dinoy, never discouraged, never satisfied, and never looking upon herself as triumphant. After the coronation her advice was to march at once upon Paris, in order to take up a fixed position in it, as being the political center of the realm of which Rem was the religious. Nothing of the sort was done. Charles and Lutramoye once more began their course of hesitation, transgression, and changes of tactics and residence without doing anything of a public and decisive character. They negotiated with the Duke of Burgundy in the hope of detaching him from the English cause, and they even concluded with him a secret, local, and temporary truce. From the 20th of July to the 23rd of August, Joan followed the king whithersoever he went, to Chateau de Chéri, to Sennlis, to Blois, to Provence, and to Campagne, as devoted as ever, but without having her former power. She was still active, but not from inspiration, and to obey her voices, simply to promote the royal policy. She wrote the Duke of Burgundy, a letter full of dignity and patriotism, which had no more effect than the negotiations of Lutramoye. During this fruitless labor amongst the French, the Duke of Bedford sent for five thousand men from England, who came and settled themselves at Paris. One division of this army had a white standard, in the middle of which was depicted a distaff full of cotton. A half-filled spindle was hanging to the distaff, and on the field studded with empty spindles bore this inscription. Now, fair one, come! Insult to Joan was accompanied by redoubled war against France. Joan, saddened and wearied by the position of things, attempted to escape from it by a bold stroke. On the twenty-third of August fourteen-twenty-nine, she set out from Campagne with the Duke d'Alencombe and a fair company of men-at-arms, and suddenly went and occupied Saint-Denis with the view of attacking Paris. Charles VII felt himself obliged to quit Campagne likewise, and went greatly against the grains, as a contemporary chronicler, as far as into the town of Sennlis. The attack on Paris began bigrously. Joan, with the Duke d'Alencombe, pitched her camp at La Chappelle. Charles took up as a boat in the Abbey of Saint-Denis. The municipal corporation of Paris received letters with the arms of the Duke d'Alencombe, which called upon them to recognize the king's authority, and promised a general amnesty. The assault was delivered on the eighth of September. Joan was severely wounded, but she insisted upon remaining where she was. Night came, and the troops had not entered the breach which had been opened in the morning. Joan was still calling out to persevere. The Duke d'Alencombe himself begged her but in vain to retire. Lutremoy gave orders to retreat, and some nights came up, set Joan on horse back, and led her back against her will to La Chappelle. By my Martin, staff of command, said she, the place would have been taken. One hope still remained. In concert with the Duke d'Alencombe she had caused a flying bridge to be thrown across the Seine opposite Saint-Denis. The next day but one she sent her vanguard in this direction. She intended to return thereby to the siege, but by the king's order the bridge had been cut adrift. Saint-Denis fell once more into the hands of the English. Before leaving, Joan left there, on the tomb of Saint-Denis, her complete suit of armor and a sword she had lately obtained possession of, at the Saint-Honor gate of Paris, as a trophy of war. From the thirteenth of September, 1429, to the twenty-fourth of May, 1430, she continued to lead the same life of efforts ever equally valiant and equally ineffectual. She failed in an attempt upon Lémyre, charite sur le noir, undertaken, for all that appears, with the sole design of recovering an important town in the possession of the enemy. The English evacuated Paris and left the keeping of it to the Duke of Burgundy, no doubt to test his fidelity. On the thirteenth of April, 1430, at the expiration of the truce he concluded, Philip the Good resumed hostilities against Charles VII. Joan of Arc once more plunged into them with her wanted zeal. Ile de France and Picardy became the theater of war. Campania was regarded as the gate of the road between these two provinces, and the Duke of Burgundy attached much importance to holding the key of it. The authority of Charles VII was recognized there, and a young knight of Campania, William de Flavie, held the command there as a lieutenant of Latramoy, who had got himself appointed captain of the town. Latramoy attempted a treat with the Duke of Burgundy for the session of Campania, but the inhabitants were strenuously opposed to it. They were, they said, the king's most humble subjects, and they desired to serve him with body and substance, but as for trusting themselves to the Lord Duke of Burgundy, they could not do it. They were resolved to suffer destruction, themselves and their wives and children, rather than be exposed to the tender mercies of the said Duke. Meanwhile, Joan of Arc, after several warlike expeditions in the neighborhood, re-entered Campania and was received there with a popular expressin of satisfaction. She was presented, says a local chronicler, with three hogs' heads of wine, a present which was large and exceedingly costly and which showed the estimate formed of this maiden's worth. Joan manifested the profound distrust with which she was inspired of the Duke of Burgundy. There is no peace possible with him, she said, save at the point of the lands. She had quarters at the house of the king's attorney, LeBoucher, and shared the bed of his wife, Mary. She often made the said Mary rise from her bed to go and warn the said attorney to be on his guard against several acts of Burgundian treachery. At this period again she said she was often warned by her voices of what must happen to her. She expected to be taken prisoner before St. John's or Midsomer Day, June 24. On what day and hour she did not know. She had received no instructions as to sorties from the place, but she had constantly been told that she would be taken, and she was distrustful of the captains who were in command there. She was, nevertheless, not the less bold in enterprising. On the 20th of May, 1430, the Duke of Burgundy came and laid siege to Campania. Joan was away on an expedition to Crepe in Velois, with a small band of three or four hundred brave comrades. On the 24th of May, the eve of ascension day, she learned that Campania was besieged, and she resolved to re-enter it. She was reminded that her force was a very weak one to cut its way through the besiegers' camp. By my Martin said she, we are enough, I will go see my friends in Campania. She arrived about daybreak without hindrance and penetrated into the town, and repaired immediately to the Paris Church of St. John to perform her devotions on the eve of so great a festival. Many persons, attracted by her presence, and amongst others, from a hundred to six score children, throng to the church. After hearing mass and herself taking the communion, Joan said to those who surrounded her, My children and dear friends, I notify you that I am sold and betrayed, and that I shall shortly be delivered over to death. I beseech you, pray God for me. When evening came, she was not the less eager to take part in a sortee with her usual comrades, and a troop of about five hundred men. William de Flavie, commandant of the place, got ready some boats on the oise to assist the return of the troops. All the town gates were closed to save the bridge gate. The sortee was unsuccessful. Being severely repulsed and all but hemmed in, the majority of the soldiers shouted to Joan, Try to quickly regain the town or we are lost. Silence, said Joan, it only rests with you to throw the enemy into confusion. Think only of striking at them. Her words and her bravery were in vain. The infantry flung themselves into the boats and regained the town, and Joan and her brave comrades covered their retreat. The Burgundians were coming up en masse upon Campania, and Flavie gave orders to pull up the drawbridge and let down the portcullis. Joan and some of her following lingered outside, still fighting. She wore a rich surcoat and a red sash, and all the efforts of the Burgundians were directed against her. Twenty men thronged round her horse, and a pick-hard archer, a tough fellow and mighty sour, seized her by her dress and flung her on the ground. All, at once, called on her to surrender. Yield you to me, said one of them, pledge your faith to me, I am a gentleman. It was an archer of the Bastard of Wandawn, one of the lieutenants of John of Luxembourg, Count of Ligny. I have pledged my faith to one other than you, said Joan, and to him I will keep my oath. The archer took her and conducted her to Count John, whose prisoner she became. Was she betrayed and delivered up as she had predicted? Did William de Flavie purposely have the drawbridge raised and the portcullis lowered before she could get back into Campania? He was suspected of it at the time, and many historians have endorsed the suspicion. But there is nothing to prove it. The La Tramoye, Prime Minister of Charles VII, and Reginald de Chartres, Archbishop of Rem, had an antipathy to Joan of Arc, and did all they could, on every occasion, to compromise her and destroy her influence, and that they were glad to see her a prisoner, is as certain as anything can be. On announcing her captured to the inhabitants of Rem, the Archbishop said, she would not listen to counsel and did everything according to her pleasure. But there is a long distance between such expressions and a premeditated plot to deliver to the enemy the young heroine who had just raised the siege of Orleans and brought the king to be crowned at Rem. History must not, without proof, impute crimes so odious and so shameful to even the most depraved of men. However that may be, Joan remained for six months the prisoner of John of Luxembourg, who, to make his possession of her secure, sent her, under good escort, successively to his two castles of Bolleux and Beauvoir, one in the Vermandoy and the other in the Cambreses. Twice, in July and in October 1430, Joan attempted unsuccessfully to escape. The second time she carried despair and hardyhood so far as to throw herself down from the platform of her prison. She was picked up, cruelly bruised, but without any fracture or wound of importance. Her fame, her youth, her virtue, her courage, made her, even in her prison and in the very family of her custodian, two warm and powerful friends. John of Luxembourg had with him his wife, Joan of Bethune, and his aunt, Joan of Luxembourg, godmother of Charles VII. They both of them took a tender interest in the prisoner, and they often went to see her, and left nothing undone to mitigate the annoyances of a prison. One thing only shocked them about her, her man's clothes. They offered her, as Joan herself said, when questioned upon this subject at a later period during her trial, a woman's dress, or stuff to make it to her liking, and requested her to wear it, but she answered that she had not leave from our Lord, and that it was not yet time for it. John of Luxembourg's aunt was full of years and reverenced as a saint. Hearing that the English were tempting her nephew by the offer of a sum of money to give up his prisoner to them, she conjured him in her will, dated September XIV, 1330, not to sully by such an act the honor of his name. But Count John was neither rich nor scrupulous, and pretexts were not wanting to aid his cupidity and his weakness. Joan had been taken at Campania on the 23rd of May, in the evening, and the news arrived in Paris on the 25th of May in the morning. On the morrow, the 26th, the registrar of the university, in the name and under the seal of the Inquisition of France, wrote a citation to the Duke of Burgundy, to the end that the maids should be delivered up to appear before the set inquisitor, and to respond to the good counsel, favor, and aid of the good doctors and masters of the University of Paris. Peter Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, had been the prime mover in this step. Some weeks later, on the 14th of July, seeing that no reply arrived from the Duke of Burgundy, he caused a renewal of the same demands to be made on the part of the university in more urgent terms, and he added in his own name that Joan, having been taken at Campania in his own diocese, belonged to him as judge spiritual. He further asserted that, according to the law, usage and custom of France, every prisoner of war, even were at King, Dauphin, or other Prince, might be redeemed in the name of the King of England in consideration of an indemnity of ten thousand levers granted to the capturer. Nothing was more opposed to the common law of nations and to the feudal spirit, often grasping but noble at bottom. For four months still, John of Luxembourg hesitated, but his aunt, Joan, died at Bologna on the 13th of November, and Joan of Arc had no longer near him this powerful intercessor. The King of England transmitted to the keeping of his coffers at Rouen in gold coin English money, the sum of ten thousand levers. John of Luxembourg yielded to the temptation. On the 21st of November, 1430, Joan of Arc was handed over to the King of England, and the same day the University of Paris, through its rector, Hebert, besought that sovereign as King of France, to order that this woman be brought to their city for to be shortly placed in the hands of the Justice of the Church, that is, of our honoured Lord, the Bishop and Count of Beauvais, and also of the ordained Inquisitor in France, in order that her trial may be conducted officially and securely. It was not to Paris but to Rouen, the real capital of the English in France, that Joan was taken. She arrived there on the 23rd of December, 1430. On the 3rd of January, 1431, an order from Henry VI, King of England, placed her in the hands of the Bishop of Beauvais, Peter Cauchon. Some days afterwards Count John of Luxembourg, accompanied by his brother, the English Chancellor, by his Esquire, and by two English lords, Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, and Humphrey, Earl of Stafford, the King of England's Constable in France, entered the prison. Had John of Luxembourg come out of sheer curiosity, or to relieve himself of certain scruples by offering Joan a chance for her life? Joan said he, I am come hither to put you to ransom, and to treat for the price of your deliverance, only give us your promise here to know more bare arms against us. In God's name, answered Joan, are you making amok of me, Captain? Ransom me. You have neither the will nor the power. No, you have neither. The Count persisted. I know well, said Joan, that these English will put me to death. But were they a hundred thousand more God-dems than have already been in France, they shall never have the kingdom. At this patriotic burst on the heroine's part, the Earl of Stafford half drew his dagger from the sheath as if to strike Joan, but the Earl of Warwick held him back. The visitors went out from the prison and handed over Joan to the judges. The court of Rouen was promptly formed, but not without opposition and difficulty. Though Joan had lost some whatever greatness and importance by going beyond her main object, and by showing recklessness, unattended by success, on small occasions, she still remained the true, heroic representative of the feelings and wishes of the nation. When she was removed from Beauvoir to Rouen, all the places at which she stopped were like so many luminous points for the illustration of her popularity. At Eris, a scot showed her a portrait of her which he wore, an outward sign of the devoted worship of her leges. At Amiens, the Chancellor of the Cathedral gave her audience at confession and administered to her the Eucharist. At Abbeville, ladies of distinction went five leagues to pay her a visit. They were glad to have had the happiness of seeing her so firm and resigned to the will of our Lord. They wished her all the favors of heaven, and then wept affectionately on taking leave of her. Joan, touched by their sympathy and open-heartedness, said, Ah, what good people this is! What to God I might be so happy when my days are ended, as to be buried in these parts. Volume 3 of a Popular History of France from the earliest times by François Guiseau, translated by Robert Black. Chapter 24 The Hundred Years' War Charles VII and Joan of Arc. 1422-1462 Part 6 When the Bishop of Beauvais, installed at Rouen, set about forming his court of justice, the majority of the members he appointed amongst the clergy or the University of Paris, obeyed his summons without hesitation. Some few would have refused, but their wishes were overruled. The Abbot of Umage, Nicholas de Hoopville, maintained that the trial was not legal. The Bishop of Beauvais, he said, belonged to the party which declared itself hostile to the maid. And, besides, he made himself judge in a case already decided by his Metropolitan, the Archbishop of Rem, of whom Beauvais was holding and who had approved of Joan's conduct. The Bishop summoned before him the recalcitrant who refused to appear, saying that he was under no official jurisdiction but that of Rouen. He was arrested and thrown into prison by order of the Bishop, whose authority he denied. There was some talk of banishing him, and even of throwing him into the river, but the influence of his brethren saved him. The sub-inquisitor himself allowed the trial in which he was to be one of the judges to begin without him. And he only put in an appearance at that express order of the Inquisitor General, and on a confidential hint that he would be in danger of his life if he persisted in his refusal. The court being thus constituted, Joan, after it had been put in possession of the evidence already collected, was cited on the 20th of February, 1431, to appear on the morrow, the 21st, before her judges assembled in the chapel of Rouen Castle. The trial lasted from the 21st of February to the 30th of May, 1431. The court held forty sittings, mostly in the chapel of the castle, some in Joan's very prison. On her arrival there she had been put in an iron cage. Afterward she was kept no longer in the cage, but in a dark room in a tower of the castle, wearing irons upon her feet, fastened by a chain to a large piece of wood, and guarded night and day by four or five soldiers of low grade. She complained of being thus chained, but the bishop told her that her former attempts at escape demanded this precaution. It is true, said Joan, as truthful as heroic. I did wish, and I still wish to escape from prison, as is the right of every prisoner. At her examination the bishop required her to take an oath to tell the truth about everything, as to which she should be questioned. I know not what you mean to question me about. Perchance you may ask me things I would not tell you. Touching my revelations, for instance, you might ask me to tell something I have sworn not to tell. Thus I should be perjured, which you ought not to desire. The bishop insisted upon an oath, absolute and without condition. You are too hard on me, said Joan. I do not like to take an oath to tell the truth, save as to matters which concern the faith. The bishop called upon her to swear on pain of being held guilty of the things imputed to her. Go on to something else, said she. And this was the answer she made to all questions which seemed to her to be a violation of her right to be silent. We're eat and hurt at these imperious demands, she one day said, I come on God's business, and I have not to do here. Send me back to God from whom I come. Are you sure you are in God's grace? asked the bishop. If I be not, answered Joan, please God to bring me to it, and if I be, please God to keep me in it. The bishop himself remained unfounded. There is no object in following through all its sittings and all its twistings this odious and shameful trial in which the judges' prejudiced servility and scientific subtly were employed for three months to wear out the courage or overreach the understanding of a young girl of nineteen, who refused at one time to lie, and at another to enter into discussion with them, and made no defence beyond holding her tongue or appealing to God, who had spoken to her and dictated to her that which she had done. In order to force her from her silence or bring her to submit to the church, instead of appealing from it to God, it was proposed to employ the last means of all, torture. On the ninth of May the bishop had Joan brought into the great tower of Ruan Castle. The instruments of torture were displayed before her eyes, and the executioners were ready to fulfil their office. For to bring her back, said the bishop, into the ways of truth, in order to ensure the salvation of her soul and body, so gravely endangered by erroneous inventions. Barely, answered Joan, if you should have to tear me limb from limb and separate soul from body I should not tell you ought else, and if I were to tell you ought else I should afterward still tell you that you had made me tell it by force. The idea of torture was given up. It was resolved to display all the armory of science in order to subdue the mind of this young girl, whose conscience was not to be subjugated. The chapter of Ruan declared that in consequence of her public refusal to submit herself to the decision of the church, as to her deeds and her statements, Joan deserved to be declared a heretic. The University of Paris, to which had been handed in the twelve heads of accusation resulting from Joan's statements and examinations, replied that, if having been charitably admonished she would not make reparation and return to union with the Catholic faith, she must be left to the secular judges to undergo punishment for her crime. Armed with these documents the bishop of Beauvais had Joan brought up, on the twenty-third of May, in a hall adjoining her prison, and after having addressed to her a long exhortation, Joan, said he, if in the dominions of your king, when you were at large in them, a night or any other, born under his rule and allegiance to him, had risen up, saying, I will not obey the king or submit to his officers. Would you not have said that he ought to be condemned? What then will you save yourself? Who were born in the faith of Christ and became by baptism a daughter of the church and spouse of Jesus Christ, if you not obey the officers of Christ, that is, the prelates of the church? Joan listened modestly to this admonition and confined herself to answering, as to my deeds and sayings, what I said of them at the trial I do hold and mean to abide by. Thank you that you are not bound to submit your sayings and deeds to the church militant or to any other than God. The course that I always mentioned in pursuit of the trial I mean to maintain as to that. If I were at the stake and saw the torch lighted and the executioner ready to set fire to the faggots, even if I were in the midst of the flames, I should not say odd else, and I should uphold that which I said of the trial even unto death. According to the laws, ideas, and practices of the time the legal question was decided. Joan, declared heretic and rebellious by the church, was liable to have sentence pronounced against her, but she had persisted in her statements, she had shown no submission. Although she appeared to be quite forgotten, and was quite neglected by the king whose coronation she had affected, by his counselors, and even by the brave warriors at whose side she had fought, the public exhibited a lively interest in her. Accounts of the scenes which took place at her trial were inquired after with curiosity. Amongst the very judges who prosecuted her, many were troubled in spirit, and wished that Joan, by an abjuration of her statements, would herself put them at ease and relieve them from pronouncing against her the most severe penalty. What means were employed to arrive at this end? Did she really, and with full knowledge of what she was about, come round to the abjuration, which there was so much anxiety to obtain from her? It is difficult to solve this historical problem with exactness and certainty. More than once, during the examinations and the conversations which took place at that time between Joan and her judges, she maintained her firm posture and her first statements. One of those who were exhorting her to yield said to her one day, ìThy king is a heretic and a schismatic. Joan could not brook this insult to her king. By my faith, said she, full well dare, I both say and swear that he is the noblest Christian of all Christians, and the truest lover of the faith in the church. Make her hold her tongue, said the usher to the preacher, who was disconcerted at having provoked such language. Another day, when Joan was being urged to submit to the church, there is Embar de la Pierre, a Dominican, who was interested in her, spoke to her about the council, at the same time explaining to her its province in the church. It was the very first time when that of Baal had been convoked. ìAh! said Joan, I would feign surrender and submit myself to the council of Baal. The bishop of Beauvais trembled at the idea of this appeal. Hold your tongue in the devilís name, he said to the monk. Other of the judges, William Erard, asked Joan menacingly, ìWill you abjure those reprobate words and deeds of yours? I leave it to the universal church, whether I ought to abjure or not. That is not enough. You shall abjure it once, or you shall burn.î Joan shuddered. ìI would rather sign than burn,î she said. There was put before her a form of abjuration, whereby, disavowing her revelations and visions from heaven, she confessed her errors in matters of faith, and renounced them humbly. At the bottom of the document she made the mark of a cross. Doubts have arisen as to the genuineness of this long and defused deed in the form in which it has been published in the trial papers. Twenty-four years later, in fourteen fifty-five, during the trial undertaken for the rehabilitation of Joan, several of those who had been present at the trial at which she was condemned, amongst others, the Escher Mousseau and the registrar Tachel, declared that the form of abjuration read out at that time to Joan and signed by her contained only seven or eight lines of big writing. And according to other witnesses of the scene it was an Englishman, John Colotte, secretary of Henry VI, King of England, who as soon as Joan had yielded drew from his sleeve a little paper which he gave her to sign, and dissatisfied with the mark she had made, held her hand and guided it so that she might put down her name, every letter. However, that may be, as soon as Joan's abjuration had thus been obtained, the court issued, on the twenty-fourth of May, fourteen thirty-one, a definitive decree, whereby, after some long and severe strictures in the preamble, it condemned Joan to perpetual imprisonment, with the bread of affliction and the water of affliction, in order that she might deplore the errors and faults she had committed, and relapse into them no more henceforth. The church might be satisfied, but the King of England, his councillors and his officers, were not. It was Joan living, even though a prisoner, that they feared. They were animated towards her by the two ruthless passions of vengeance and fear. When it was known that she would escape with her life, murmurs broke out amongst the crowd of enemies present at the trial. Stones were thrown at the judges. One of the cardinal of Winchester's chaplains, who happened to be close to the Bishop of Beauvais, called him a traitor. You lie, said the Bishop. And the Bishop was right, the chaplain did lie. The Bishop had no intention of betraying his masters. The Earl of Warwick complained to him of the inadequacy of the sentence. Never you mind, my Lord, said one of Peter Cachon's confidants. We will have her up again. After the passing of her sentence, Joan had said to those about her, Come now, you churchmen amongst you, lead me off to your own prisons and let me be no more in the hands of the English. Lead her to where you took her, said the Bishop, and she was conducted to the castle prison. She had been told by some of the judges who went to see her after her sentence that she would have to give up her man's dress and resume her woman's clothing as the church ordained. She was rejoiced there at, forthwith, accordingly, resumed her woman's clothes and had her hair properly cut, which up to that time she used to wear clipped round like a man's. When she was taken back to prison, the man's dress which she had worn was put in a sack in the same room in which she was confined, and she remained in custody at the said place in the hands of five Englishmen, of whom three stood by night in the room and two outside at the door. And he who speaks, John Massot, a priest, the same who in 1431 had been present as usher of the court at the trial in which John was condemned, knows for certain that at night she had her legs ironed in such a sort that she could not stir from the spot. When, the next Sunday morning, which was Trinity Sunday, had come, and she should have got up according to what she herself told him who speaks, she said to her English guards, Uniron me, I will get up. Then one of them took away her woman's clothes, they emptied the sack in which was her man's dress, and pitched the said dress to her saying, Get up then, and they put her woman's clothes in the same sack. And according to what she told me she only clad herself in her man's dress after saying, You know it is forbidden me, I certainly will not take it. Nevertheless they would not allow her any other, in so much that the dispute lasted to the hour of noon. Finally from corporeal necessity, John was constrained to get up and take the dress. The official documents drawn up during the condemnation trial contain quite a different account. On the 28th of May, it is there said, Eight of the judges who had taken part in the sentence, their names are given in the document, paragraph 454, but took themselves to Joan's prison, and seeing her clad in man's dress, which she had but just given up according to our order that she should resume women's clothes, we asked her when and for what cause she had resumed this dress, and who had prevailed on her to do so. Joan answered that it was of her own will, without any constraint from anyone, and because she preferred that dress to women's clothes. To our question as to why she had made this change, she answered that, being surrounded by men, man's dress was more suitable for her than women's. She also said that she had resumed it because there had been made to her, but not kept, a promise that she should go to mass, receive the body of Christ, and be set free from her fetters. She added that if this promise were kept she would be good, and would do what was the will of the church. As we have heard some persons say that she persisted in her errors as to the pretended revelations which she had but lately renounced, we asked whether she had, since Thursday last, heard the voices of St. Catherine and St. Margaret, and she answered yes. To our question as to what the saints had said she answered that God had testified to her by their voices great pity for the great treason she had committed in abjuring for the sake of saving her life, and that by so doing she had damned herself. She said that all she had thus done last Thursday in abjuring her visions and revelations she had done through fear of the stake, and that all her abjuration was contrary to the truth. She added that she did not herself comprehend what was contained in the form of abjuration she had been made to sign, and that she would rather do penance once for all by dying to maintain the truth than remain any longer a prisoner being all the while a treacherous to it. We will not stop to examine whether these two accounts, though very different, are not fundamentally reconcilable, and whether Joan resumed man's dress of her own desire, or was constrained to do so by the soldiers on guard over her, and perhaps to escape from their insults. The important points in the incident are the burst of remorse which Joan felt for her weakness, and her striking retraction of the abjuration which had been wrung from her. So soon as the news was noise to broad her enemies cried, she has relapsed. This was exactly what they had hoped for, when, on learning she had been sentenced only to perpetual imprisonment, they had said, Never you mind, we will have her up again. Farewell, farewell, my lord, said the Bishop of Bovet to the Earl of Warwick, whom he met shortly after Jane's retraction. And in his words there was plainly an expression of dissatisfaction, and not a mere phrase of politeness. On the twenty-ninth of May the tribunal met again. Forty judges took part in the deliberation. Joan was unanimously declared a case of relapse, was found guilty, and sided to appear next day, the thirtieth, on the view march to hear sentence pronounced, and then undergo the punishment of the stake. When on the thirtieth of May, in the morning, the Dominican brother Martin Ladvaneu was charged to announce her sentence to Joan, she gave way at first to grief and terror. Alas, she cried, am I to be so horribly and cruelly treated that this, my body, full, pure, and perfect, and never defiled, must today be consumed and reduced to ashes? Ah, I would seven times rather be beheaded than burned. The Bishop of Bovet at this moment came up. Bishop, said Joan, you are the cause of my death. If you had put me in the prisons of the church and in the hands of fit and proper ecclesiastical warders, this had never happened. I appeal from you to the presence of God. One of the doctors who had sat in judgment upon her, Peter Maurice, went to see her, and spoke to her with sympathy. Master Peter, she said to him, where shall I be tonight? Have you not good hope in God? asked the doctor. Oh, yes, she answered. By the grace of God I shall be in paradise. Being left alone with the Dominican, Martin Ladvaneu, she confessed and asked to communicate. The monk applied to the Bishop of Bovet to know what he was to do. Tell Brother Martin was the answer to give her the Eucharist and all she asks for. At nine o'clock, having resumed her woman's dress, Joan was dragged from prison and driven to the View Marsh. From seven to eight hundred soldiers escorted the car and prohibited all approach to it on the part of the crowd, which encumbered the road and the vicinity, but a man forced passage and flung himself towards Joan. It was a canon of Rouen, Nicholas Leuselur, whom the Bishop of Bovet had placed near her, and who had abused the confidence she had shown him. Beside himself with despair he wished to ask pardon of her, but the English soldiers drove him back with a violence and with the epithet of traitor, and but for the intervention of the Earl of Warwick his life would have been in danger. Joan wept and prayed, and the crowd, far off, wept and prayed with her. On arriving at the place she listened in silence to a sermon by one of the doctors of the court, who ended by saying, Joan, go in peace, the church can no longer defend thee, she gives thee over to this secular arm. The layic judges, Raoul Boutelier, Baillie of Rouen, and his lieutenant, Peter Daron, were alone qualified to pronounce sentence of death, but no time was given them. The priest Messot was still continuing his exhortations to Joan, but how now, priest, was the cry from amidst the soldiery, are you going to make a stein here? Away with her, away with her, said the Baillie to the guards, and to the executioner, do thy duty. When she came to the stake Joan knelt down completely absorbed in prayer. She had begged Messot to get her across, and an Englishman present made one out of a little stick, and handed it to the French heroine who took it, kissed it, and laid it on her breast. She begged Brother Ismbard de la Pierre to go and fetch the cross from the church of Saint-Savur, the chief door of which opened on the view-march, and to hold it upright before her eyes till the coming of death. In order, she said, that the cross whereon God hung might, as long as she lived, be continually in her sight, and her wishes were fulfilled. She wept over her country and the spectators as well as over herself. Rouen, Rouen, she cried, is it here that I must die? Will thou be my last resting place? I fear greatly thou wilt have to suffer for my death. It is said that the aged cardinal of Winchester and the bishop of Beauvais himself could not stifle their emotion, and paraventure their tears. The executioner set fire to the faggots. When Joan perceived the flames rising, she urged her confessor, the Dominican brother, Martin Lodvenu, to go down, at the same time asking him to keep holding the cross up high in front of her, that she might never cease to see it. The same monk, when questioned four and twenty years later at the rehabilitation trial, asked to the last sentiments and the last words of Joan, said that to the very latest moment she had affirmed that her voices were heavenly, that they had not deluded her, and that the revelations she had received came from God. When she had ceased to live two of her judges, John Olespie, canon of Rouen, and Peter Maurice, doctor of theology, cried out, would that my soul were where I believed the soul of that woman is? And Tresart, secretary to King Henry VI, sorrowfully, on returning from the place of execution, we are all lost, we have burned a saint. A saint indeed in faith and in destiny. Never was human creature more heroically confident in, and devoted to, inspiration coming from God, a commission received from God. Joan of Arc sought not of all that happened to her and of all she did, nor exploit, nor power, nor glory. It was not her condition, as she used to say, to be a warrior, to get her king crown, and to deliver her country from the foreigner. Everything came to her from on high, and she accepted everything without hesitation, without discussion, without calculation, as we should say in our times. She believed in God and obeyed him. God was not to her an idea, a hope, a flash of human imagination, or a problem of human science. He was the creator of the world, the saviour of mankind through Jesus Christ, the being of beings, ever-present, ever in action, soul-legitimate sovereign of man whom he has made intelligent and free, the real and true God whom we are painfully searching for in our own day, and whom we shall never find again until we cease pretending to do without him, and putting ourselves in his place. Meanwhile, one fact may be mentioned which does honour to our epic and gives us hope for our future. Four centuries have rolled by since Joan of Arc, that modest and heroic servant of God, made a sacrifice of herself for France. For four and twenty years after her death, France and the king appeared to think no more of her. However, in 1455 remorse came upon Charles VII and upon France. Nearly all the provinces, all the towns, were freed from the foreigner, and shame was felt that nothing was said, nothing was done, for the young girl who had saved everything. But Rouen, especially where the sacrifice was completed, a cry for reparation arose. It was timidly demanded from the spiritual power which had sentenced and delivered over Joan as a heretic to the State. Pope Calyxtus III entertained the request preferred, not by the king of France, but in the name of Isabelle Romie, Joan's mother, and her whole family. Regular proceedings were commenced and followed up for the rehabilitation of the martyr, and on the 7th of July 1456, a decree of the court assembled at Rouen quashed the sentence of 1431, together with all its consequences, and ordered a general procession and solemn sermon on Saint-Oen Place and the Vieux-Marche, where the said maid had been cruelly and horribly burned, besides the planting of a cross of honor, Crusus Onestie, on the Vieux-Marche. The judges reserving the official notice to be given of their decision throughout the city's and notable places of the realm. The city of Orléans responded to this appeal by raising on the bridge over the Loire a group in bronze representing Joan of Arc on her knees before Our Lady between two angels. This monument, which was broken during the religious wars of the 16th century and repaired shortly afterwards, was removed in the 18th century, and Joan of Arc then received a fresh insult. The poetry of a cynic was devoted to the task of diverting a licentious public at the expense of the saint whom, three centuries before, fanatical hatred had brought to the stake. In 1792 the Council of the Commune of Orléans, considering that the monument in bronze did not represent the heroine's services, and did not by any sign call to mind the struggle against the English, ordered it to be melted down and cast into cannons, of which one should bear the name of Joan of Arc. It is an hour time that the city of Orléans and its distinguished bishop, Monsigneur Dupin-Loup, have at last paid Joan homage worthy of her, not only by erecting to her a new statue, but by recalling her again to the memory of France with her true features and in her true character. Neither French nor any other history offers a like example of a modest little soul, with a faith so pure and efficacious, resting on divine inspiration and patriotic hope. CHAPTER 24 THE HUNDRED YEARS WAR Charles VII and Joan of Arc, 1422-1462, Part VII During the trial of Joan of Arc the war between France and England, without being discontinued, had been somewhat slack. The curiosity and the passions of men were concentrated upon the scenes at Rouen. After the execution of Joan the war resumed its course, though without any great events. By way of a step toward solution, the Duke of Bedford, in November 1431, escorted to Paris King Henry VI, scarcely ten years old, and had him crowned at Notre-Dame. The ceremony was distinguished for pomp, but not for warmth. The Duke of Burgundy was not present. It was an Englishman, the Cardinal Bishop of Winchester, who anointed the young Englander King of France. The Bishop of Paris complained of it as a violation of his rights. The Parliament, the University, and the municipal body had not even seats reserved at the Royal Banquet. Paris was melancholy, and day by day more deserted by the native inhabitants. Grass was growing in the courtyards of the great mansions. The students were leaving the great school of Paris, to which the Duke of Bedford, at Cain, and Charles VII himself at Portier, were attempting to raise up rivals, and silence reigned in the Latin Quarter. The child king was considered unintelligent and ungraceful and ungracious. When, on the day after Christmas, he started on his way back to Rouen, and from Rouen to England, he did not confer on Paris any of the boons expected, either by releasing prisoners or by putting an end to black males, gables, and wicked imposts. The Burgesses were astonished and grumbled, and the old Queen, Isabelle of Bavaria, who was still living at the hostel of St. Paul, wept it is said for vexation, at seeing from one of her windows her grandson's royal procession go by. Though war was going on all the while, attempts were made to negotiate, and in March 1433 a conference was opened at Sainport, near Corbille. Everybody in France desired peace. Philip the Good himself began to feel the necessity of it. Burgundy was almost as discontented and troubled as Île de France. There was grumbling at Dijon as there was conspiracy at Paris. The English gave fresh cause for national irritation. They showed an inclination to canton themselves in Normandy, and abandoned the other French provinces to the hazards and sufferings of adultery war. Anne of Burgundy, the Duke of Bedford's wife, and Philip the Good's sister, died. The English duke speedily married again without even giving any notice to the French prince. Every family tie between the two persons was broken, and the negotiations as well as the war remained without result. An incident at court caused a change in the situation, and gave the government of Charles a different character. His favourite, George de la Tremoy, had become almost as unpopular amongst the royal family as in the country in general. He could not manage a war, and he frustrated attempts at peace. The Queen of Sicily, Yolande d'Aragon, her daughter, married d'Angus, Queen of France, and her son Louis, Count of Maine, who all three desired peace, set themselves to work to overthrow the favourite. In June 1433, four young lords, one of whom, Sire de Boul, was La Tremoy's own nephew, introduced themselves unexpectedly into his room at the castle of Coudre, near Chinon, where Charles VII was. La Tremoy showed an intention of resisting and received a sword thrust. He was made to resign all his offices, and was sent under strict guard to the castle of Alantressor, the property of his nephew, Sire de Boul. The conspirators had concerted measures with La Tremoy's rival, the Constable de Richemont, Arthur of Brittany, a man distinguished in war who had lately gone to help Joan of Arc, and who was known to be a friend of peace at the same time that he was firmly devoted to the national cause. He was called away from his castle of Parthené, and set at the head of government as well as of the army. Charles VII at first showed anger at his favourite's downfall. He asked if Richemont was present, and was told no, whereupon he seemed to grow calmer. Before long he did more, he became resigned, and continuing all the while to give La Tremoy occasional proofs of his former favour, he fully accepted de Richemont's influence and the new direction which the Constable imposed upon his government. War was continued nearly everywhere, with alternations of success and reverse which deprived none of the parties of hope without giving victory to any. Peace, however, was more and more the general desire. Scarcely had one attempt at pacification failed when another was begun. The Constable de Richemont's return to power led to fresh overtures. He was a statesman as well as a warrior, and his inclinations were known at Dijon and London, as well as at Chinon. The advisors of King Henry VI proposed to open a conference on the 15th of October, 1433, at Calais. They had, they said, a prisoner in England confined there ever since the Battle of Agincourt, Duke Charles of Orléans, who was sincerely desirous of peace, in spite of his family enmity towards the Duke of Burgundy. He was considered a very proper person to promote the negotiations, although he sought in poetry, which was designed to bring luster to his name, a refuge from politics which made his life a burden. He, one day meeting the Duke of Burgundy's two ambassadors at the Earl of Suffolk's, Henry VI's prime minister, went up to them, affectionately took their hands, and when they inquired after his health, said, My body is well, my soul is sick. I am dying with vexation at passing my best days of prisoner, without anyone to think of me. The ambassadors said that people would be indebted to him for the benefit of peace, for he was known to be laboring for it. My Lord of Suffolk, said he, Can I tell you that I never cease to urge it upon the king and his counsel? But I am as useless here as the sword never drawn from the scabbard. I must see my relatives and friends in France. They will not treat, surely, without having consulted with me. If peace depended upon me, though I were doomed to die seven days after swearing it, that would cause me no regret. However, what matters at what I say? I am not mastering anything at all. Next to the two kings, it is the Duke of Burgundy and the Duke of Brittany who have most power. Will you not come and call upon me? he added, pressing the hand of one of the ambassadors. They will see you before they go, said the Earl of Suffolk, in a tone which made it plain that no private conversation would be permitted between them. And indeed, the Earl of Suffolk's barber went alone to wait upon the ambassadors in order to tell them that, if the Duke of Burgundy desired it, the Duke of Orléans would write to him. I will undertake, he added, to bring you his letter. There was evident mistrust, and it was explained to the Burgundian ambassadors by the Earl of Warwick's remark, Your Duke never once came to see our king during his stay in France. The Duke of Bedford used a similar language to them. Why, said he, does my brother the Duke of Burgundy give way to evil imaginings against me? There is not a prince in the world, after my king, whom I esteem so much. The ill-will which seems to exist between us spoils the king's affairs and his own too. Tell him that I am not the less disposed to serve him. In March 1435 the Duke of Burgundy went to Paris, taking with them his third wife Isabella Portugal and a magnificent following. There were seen moreover in his train a hundred wagons laden with artillery, armor, salted provisions, cheeses and wines of Burgundy. There was once more joy in Paris, and the Duke received the most affectionate welcome. The university was represented before him, and made him a great speech on the necessity of peace. Two days afterwards a deputation from the city dames of Paris waited upon the Duchess of Burgundy, and implored her to use her influence for the re-establishment of peace. She answered, My good friends, it is the thing I desire most of all in the world. I pray for it night and day to the Lord our God, for I believe that we all have great need of it, and I know for certain that my Lord and husband has the greatest willingness to give up to that purpose his person and his substance. At the bottom of his soul Duke Philip's decision was already taken. He had but lately discussed the condition of France with the constable de Richemont, and Duke Charles of Bourbon, his brother-in-law, whom he had summoned to Nevers with that design. Being convinced of the necessity for peace, he spoke of it to the King of England's advisors whom he found in Paris, and who dared not show absolute opposition to it. It was agreed that, in the month of July, a general, and more properly speaking, a European conference should meet at Eres, that the legates of Pope Eugenius IV should be invited to it, and that consultations should be held there at as to the means of putting an end to the sufferings of the two kingdoms. Towards the end of July accordingly, whilst the war was being prosecuted with redoubled ardor on both sides at the very gates of Paris, there arrived at Eres the Pope's legates and the ambassadors of the Emperor Sigismund, of the Kings of Castile, Aragon, Portugal, Naples, Sicily, Cyprus, Poland, and Denmark, and of the Dukes of Brittany and Milan. The University of Paris and many of the good towns of France, Flanders, and even Holland had sent their deputies thither. Many bishops were there in person. The Bishop of Liege came thither with a magnificent train, mounted, says the chroniclers, on two hundred white horses. The Duke of Burgundy made his entrance on the thirtieth of July, escorted by three hundred archers wearing his livery. All the lords who happened to be in the city went to meet him at a Liege's distance, except the cardinal legates of the Pope, who confined themselves to sending their people. Two days afterwards arrived the ambassadors of the King of France, having at their head the Duke of Bourbon and the Constable de Richemont, together with several of the greatest French lords, and a retinue of four or five hundred persons. Duke Philip, forewarned of their coming, issued from the city with all the princes and lords who happened to be there. The English alone refused to accompany him, wondering at his showing such a great honour to the ambassadors of their common enemy. Philip went forward a mile to meet his two brothers-in-law, the Duke of Bourbon and the Count de Richemont, embraced them affectionately, and turned back with them to Eris, amidst the joy and acclamations of the populace. Last of all arrived the Duchess of Burgundy, magnificently dressed, and bringing with her her young son, the Count of Charles, who was hereafter to be Charles the Rash. The Duke of Bourbon, the Constable de Richemont, and all the lords were on horseback around her litter, but the English who had gone like the others to meet her were unwilling, on turning back to Eris, to form a part of her retinue with the French. Grand as was the site, it was not superior in grandeur to the event on the eve of accomplishment. The question was whether France should remain a great nation, in full possession of itself and of its independence under a French king, or whether the King of England should, in London and with the title of King of France, have France in his possession and under his government. Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, was called upon to solve this problem of the future, that is to say, to decide upon the fate of his lineage and his country. As soon as the conference was opened, and no matter what attempts were made to veil or adjourn the question, it was put nakedly. The English, instead of peace, began proposing a long truce, and the marriage of Henry the Sixth with the daughter of King Charles. The French ambassadors refused, absolutely, to negotiate on this basis. They desired a definitive peace, and their conditions were that the King and people of England making an end of this situation, so full of clanger for the whole royal house and of the sufferings for the people. Nevertheless the Duke showed strong scruples. The treaty he had sworn to, the promises he had made, threw him into a constant fever of anxiety. He would not have any one able to say that he had in any respect forfeited his honour. He asked for three consultations, one with the Italian doctors connected with the Pope's legates, another with the English doctors, and another with the French doctors. He was granted all three, though they were more calculated to furnish him with arguments, each on their own side, than to dissipate his doubts if he had any real ones. The legates ended by solemnly saying to him, We do conjure you by the bowels of our Lord Jesus Christ and by the authority of our Holy Father, the Pope, of the Holy Council assembled at Bale, and of the Universal Church, to renounce that spirit of vengeance whereby you are moved against King Charles in memory of the late Duke John, your father. Nothing can render you more pleasing in the eyes of God, or further augment your fame in this world. For three days Duke Philip remained still undecided, but he heard that the Duke of Bedford, regent of France, on behalf of the English, who was his brother-in-law, had just died at Rouen, on the 14th of September. He was, besides the late King of England, Henry V, the only Englishman who had received promises from the Duke, and who lived in intimacy with him. Ten days afterwards, on the 21st of September, the Queen, Isabella Bavaria, also died at Paris, and thus another of the principal causes of shame to the French kingship, and misfortune to France, disappeared from the stage of the world. Duke Philip felt himself more free and more at rest in his mind, if not rightfully, at any rate so far as political and worldly experience was concerned. He declared his readiness to accept the proposals which had been communicated to him by the ambassadors of Charles VII, and on the 21st of September 1435 peace was signed at Eras between France and Burgundy, without any care for what England might say or do. There was great and general joy in France. It was peace and national reconciliation as well. Dauphinizers and Burgundians embraced in the streets. The Burgundians were delighted at being able to call themselves Frenchmen. Charles VII convoked the State's general at tour to consecrate this alliance. On his knees upon the bare stone, before the Archbishop of Crete, who had just celebrated mass, the King laid his hands upon the Gospels, and swore the peace, saying that it was his duty to imitate the King of Kings, our Divine Saviour, who had brought peace amongst men. At the Chancellor's order the princes and great lords, one after the other, took the oath. The nobles and the people of the Third Estate swore the peace all together, with cries of, Long live the King, Long live the Duke of Burgundy! With this hand, said Sire Delanoi, I have thrice sworn peace during this war, but I call God to witness that for my part, this time it shall be kept, and that never will I break it, the peace. Charles VII, in his emotion, seized the hands of Duke Philip's ambassadors, saying, For a long while I have languished for this happy day, we must thank God for it, and the todaym was entombed with enthusiasm. Peace was really made amongst Frenchmen, and in spite of many internal difficulties and quarrels, it was not broken as long as Charles VII and Duke Philip the Good were living. But the war with the English went on incessantly. They still possessed several of the finest provinces of France, and the Treaty of Eris, which had weakened them very much on the Continent, had likewise made them very angry. For twenty-six years, from 1435 to 1461, hostilities continued between the two kingdoms, at one time actively and at another slackly, with occasional suspension by truce, but without any formal termination. There is no use in recounting the details of their monotonous and barren history. Governments and people often persist in maintaining their quarrels and inflicting mutual injuries by the instrumentality of events, acts, and actors that deserve nothing but oblivion. There is no intention here of dwelling upon any events or persons, save such as have, for good or for evil, to its glory or sorrow, exercised a considerable influence upon the condition and fortune of the Hundred Years' War, Charles VII and Joan of Arc, 1422 to 1462, Part VIII. The peace of Eris brought back to the service of France and her King the Constable de Richemont, Arthur of Brittany, whom the jealousy of George de la Tramoy and the distrustful indolence of Charles VII had so long kept out of it. By a somewhat rare privilege he was in reality, there is reason to suppose, superior to the name he has left behind him in history, and it is only justice to reproduce here the portrait given of him by one of his contemporaries who observed him closely and knew him well. Never a man of his time, says William Gruett, loved justice more than he, or took more pains to do it according to his ability. Never was Prince more humble, more charitable, more compassionate, more liberal, less avarice, or more open-handed in a good fashion and without prodigality. He was a proper man, chaste and brave as Prince can be, and there was none of his time of better conduct than he in conducting a great battle, or a great siege, and all sorts of approaches in all sorts of ways. Every day, once at least in the four and twenty hours, his conversation was of war, and he took more pleasure in it than in ought else. Above all things he loved men of valor and good renown, and he more than any other loved and supported the people, and freely did good to poor mendicants and others of God's poor. Nearly all the deeds of De Richemont, from the time that he became powerful again, confirmed the truth of this portrait. His first thought and his first labor were to restore Paris to France and to the King. The unhappy city in subjection to the English was the very image of devastation and ruin. The wolves prowled around it by night, and there were in it, says an eye witness, twenty-four thousand houses empty. The Duke of Bedford, in order to get rid of these public tokens of misery, attempted to supply the Parisians with bread and amusements, panum et sersensis, but their very diversions were ghastly and melancholy. In fourteen twenty-five there was painted in the sepulcher of the innocence a picture called the Dance of Death. Death, grinning with fleshless jaws, was represented taking by the hand all the states of the population in their turn, and making them dance. In the Hotel Armagnac, confiscated, as so many others were, from its owner, a show was exhibited to amuse the people. Four blind men, armed with staves, were shut up with a pig in a little paddock. They had to see whether they could kill the said pig, and when they thought they were belaboring it most they were belaboring one another. The constable resolved to put a stop to this deplorable state of things in the capital of France. In April fourteen thirty-three, when he had just ordered for himself apartments at Saint-Denis, he heard that the English had just got in there and plundered the church. He at once gave orders to march. The Burgundians, who made up nearly all his troop, demanded their pay, and would not mount. Richemont gave them his bond, and the march was begun to Saint-Denis. You know the country, said the constable to Marshall Eale-Adam. Yes, my lord, answer the other, and by my faith, in the position held by the English, you would do nothing to harm or annoy him, though you had ten thousand fighting men. Ah, but we will, replied Richemont. God will help us. Keep pressing forward to support the skirmishers. And he occupied Saint-Denis and drove out the English. The population of Paris, being informed of this success, were greatly moved and encouraged. One brave Burgess of Paris, Michel Lalier, master of the Exchequer, notified to the constable, it is said, that they were ready and quite able to open one of the gates to him, provided that an engagement were entered into in the king's name for a general amnesty and the prevention of all disorder. The constable, on the king's behalf, entered into the required engagement and presented himself the next day, the thirteenth of April, with a picked force before the Saint-Michel gate. The enterprise was discovered. A man posted on the wall made signs to them, with his hat crying out, Go to the other gate, there is no opening this, work is going on for you in the market quarter. The picked force followed the course of the ramparts up to the Saint-Jacques gate. Who goes there, demanded some burgers who had the guard of it, some of the constable's people. He himself came up on his big charger, with satisfaction and courtesy in his mean. Some little time was required for opening the gate. A long ladder was let down, and Marshal E. Adam was the first to mount, and planted on the wall the standard of France. The fastenings of the drawbridge were burst, and when it was let down, the constable made his entry on horseback, riding calmly down Saint Jacques Street, in the midst of a joyous and comforted crowd. My good friends, he said to them, the good king Charles and I on his behalf do thank you a hundred thousand times for yielding up to him so quietly the chief city of his kingdom. If there be amongst you, of whatsoever condition he may be, who hath offended against my lord the king, all is forgiven, in the case both of the absent and the present. Then he caused it to be proclaimed by sound of trumpet throughout the streets, that none of his people should be so bold, on pain of hanging, as to take up quarters in the house of any burger against his will, or to use any reproach whatever, or do the leastest pleasure to any. At side of the public joy the English had retired to the Bastille, where the constable was disposed to besiege them. My lord, said the burgers to him, they will surrender. Do not reject their offer. It is so far a fine thing enough to have thus recovered Paris. Often on the contrary many constables and many marshals have been driven out of it. Take contentedly what God hath granted you. The burger's prediction was not unverified. The English sallied out of the Bastille by the gate which opened on the fields, and went and took boat in the rear of the Louvre. Next day abundance of provisions arrived in Paris, and the gates were open to the country folks. The populace freely manifested their joy at being rid of the English. It was plain to see, was the saying, that they were not in France to remain. Not one of them had been seen to sow a field with corn or build a house. They destroyed their quarters without a thought of repairing them. They had not restored, paraventure, a single fireplace. There was only their regent, the Duke of Bedford, who was fond of building and making poor people work. He would have liked peace. But the nature of those English is to be always at war with their neighbors. And accordingly they all made a bad end. Thank God there have already died in France more than seventy thousand of them. Up to the taking of Paris by the constable the Duke of Burgundy had kept himself in reserve, and had maintained a tacit neutrality towards England. He had merely been making, without noisy demonstration, preparations for an enterprise in which he, as Count of Flanders, was very much interested. The success of Richemont inspired him with a hope, and perhaps with a jealous desire, of showing his power and his patriotism as a Frenchman, by making war in his turn upon the English, from whom he had, by the Treaty of Eris, affected only a Pacific separation. In June fourteen thirty-six he went and besieged Calais. This was attacking England at one of the points she was bent on defending most obstinately. Philip had reckoned on the energetic cooperation of the cities of Flanders, and at the first blush the Flemings did display a strong inclination to support him in his enterprise. When the English they said, Know that my lords of Ghent are on the way to attack them, with all their might, they will not await us. They will leave the city and flee away to England. Neither the Flemings nor Philip had correctly estimated the importance which was attached in London to the possession of Calais. When the Duke of Gloucester, Lord Protector of England, found this possession threatened, he sent a herald to defy the Duke of Burgundy, and declared to him that, if he did not wait for battle beneath the walls of Calais, Humphrey of Gloucester would go after him, even into his own dominions. Tell your lord that he will not need to take so much trouble, and that he will find me here, answered Philip proudly. His pride was overconfident. Whether it were only a people's fickleness or intelligent appreciation of their own commercial interests, in their relations with England, the Flemings grew speedily disgusted with the siege of Calais, complained of the tardiness and arrival of the fleet, which Philip had dispatched thither to close the port against English vessels, and after having suffered several reverses by sorties of the English garrison, they ended by retiring with such precipitation that they abandoned part of their supplies and artillery. Philip, according to the expression of Monsieur Henri Martin, was reduced to covering their retreat with his cavalry, and then he went away sorrowfully to Lille, to advise about the means of defending his Flemish lordships exposed to the reprisals of the English. Thus the fortune of Burgundy was tottering whilst that of France was recovering itself. The Constable's easy occupation of Paris led the majority of the small places in the neighborhood, Saint-Denis, Chevreuse, Marcussis, and Montserie to decide either upon spontaneous surrender or allowing themselves to be taken after no great resistance. Charles VII, on his way through France to Lyon, in Dauphini, Languedoc, Auvergne, and along the Loire, recovered several other towns, for instance Chateau London, Nemours, and Charny. He laid siege in person to Montereau, an important military post with which a recent and sinister reminiscence was connected. A great change now made itself apparent in the king's behavior and disposition. He showed activity and vigilance, and was ready to expose himself without any care for fatigue or danger. On the day of the assault, 10th of October 1437, he went down into the trenches, remained there in water up to his waist, mounted the scaling ladder soared in hand, and was one of the first assailants who penetrated over the top of the walls right into the place. After the surrender of the castle as well as a town of Montereau, he marched on Paris, and made his solemn reentry there on the 12th of November 1437. For the first time since in 1418, Tanagi Dushetel had carried him away, whilst still a child wrapped in his bedclothes. Charles was received and entertained as became a recovered and a victorious king. But he passed only three weeks there, and went away once more, on the 3rd of December, to go and resume at Orléans first, and then at Bourges, the serious cares of government. It is said to have been at this royal entry into Paris that Agnes Sorrel, or Sorot, who was soon to have the name of Queen of Beauty, and to assume in French history an almost glorious, though illegitimate position, appeared with brilliancy in the train of the Queen, Mary of Anjou, to whom the king had appointed her a maid of honor. It is a question whether she did not even then exercise over Charles the 7th that influence, serviceable alike to the honor of the king and of France, which was to inspire Francis I, a century later, with this gallant quatrain. If to win back poor captive France be ought, more honor gentle Agnes is thy weed, than air was due to deeds of virtue wrought, by cloistered nun or pious hermit breed. It is worthwhile, perhaps, to remark that in 1437 Agnes Sorrel was already 27. One of the best informed, most impartial, and most sensible historians of that epoch, James De Clarec, merely says on this subject, King Charles, before he had peace with Duke Philip of Burgundy, led a right holy life and said his canonical hours. But after peace was made with the Duke, though the king continued to serve God, he joined himself unto a young woman who was afterwards called Fair Agnes. The king is gained by ignoring good even when it is found in company with evil, and there is no intention here of disputing the share of influence exercised by Agnes Sorrel upon Charles the 7th's regeneration in politics and war after the Treaty of Heires. Nevertheless, in spite of the king's successes at Montereau and during his passage through central and northern France, the condition of the country was still so bad in 1440, the disorder was so great, and the king so powerless to imply a remedy, that Richement, disconsolate, was tempted to rid and disburden himself from the government of France and between the rivers, Seine and Loire, no doubt, and to go or send to the king for that purpose. But one day the prior of the Carthusians at Paris called on the Constable and found him in his private chapel. What need you, fair father? asked Richement. The prior answered that he wished to speak with my lord the Constable. He did not reply that it was he himself. Pardon me, my lord, said the prior. I did not know you. I wish to speak to you, if you please. Gladly, said Richement. Well, my lord, you yesterday held council and considered about disburdening yourself from the government and office you hold hereabouts. How know you that? Who told you? My lord, I do not know it through any person of your council, and do not put yourself out to learn who told me, for it was one of my brethren. My lord, do not do this thing, and be not troubled, for God will help you. Ah, fair father, how can that be? The king has no mind to aid me or grant me men or money, and the men at arms hate me because I have justice done on them, and they have no mind to obey me. My lord, they will do what you desire, and the king will give you orders to go and lay siege to Mille, and will send you men and money. Ah, fair father, Mille is so strong. How can it be done? The king of England was there for nine months before it. My lord, be not you troubled. You will not be there so long. Keep having good hope in God and he will help you. Be ever humble and grow not proud. You will take Mille ere long. Your men will grow proud. They will then have somewhat to suffer, but you will come out of it to your honor. The good prior was right. Mille was taken, and when the constable went to tell the news at Paris, the king made him great cheer. There was a continuance of war to the north of the Loire, and amidst many alternations of success and reverses the national cause made great way there. Charles resolved, in 1442, to undertake an expedition to the south of the Loire, in Aquitaine, where the English were still dominant, and he was successful. He took from the English Tartus, Saint-Sever, Mermand, Lareu, Blay, and Bourgue-sur-Mer. Their ally, Count John Darmagnac, submitted to the King of France. These successes cost Charles VII the brave Loire, who died at Montauban of his wounds. On returning to Normandy, where he had left De Noy, Charles, in 1443, conducted a prosperous campaign there. The English leaders were getting weary of a war without any definite issue, and they had proposals made to Charles for a truce, accompanied with the demand on the part of their young king, Henry VII, for the hand of a French princess, Margaret of Anjou, daughter of King Reina, who wore the three crowns of Naples, Sicily, and Jerusalem, without possessing any one of the kingdoms. The truce and the marriage were concluded at tour in 1444. Neither of the arrangements was popular in England. The English people, who had only a far-off touch of suffering from the war, considered that their government made too many concessions to France. In France, too, there was some murmuring. The King, it was said, did not press his advantage with sufficient vigor. Everybody was in a hurry to see all aquitaine recovered. But a joy that was boundless and impossible to describe, says Thomas Bazin, the most intelligent of the contemporary historians, spread abroad through the whole population of the Gauls. Having been a prey for so long to incessant terrors and shut up within the walls of their towns like convicts in a prison, they rejoiced like people restored to freedom after a long and bitter slavery. Companies of both sexes were seen going forth into the country and visiting temples or oratories dedicated to the saints, to pay the vows which they had made in their distress. One fact especially was admirable and the work of God himself. Before the truce so violent had been the hatred between the two sides, both men at arms and people, that none, whether soldier or burger, could, without risk to life, go out and pass from one place to another unless under the protection of a safe conduct. But so soon as the truce was proclaimed, everyone went and came at pleasure in full liberty and security, whether in the same district or in districts under divided rule. And even those who, before the proclamation of the truce, seemed to take no pleasure in anything but a savage outpouring of human blood, now took delight in the sweets of peace, and passed the days in holiday making and dancing with enemies, who but lately had been as blood thirsty as themselves.