by Eugène Sue
Duke of Burgundy, I pray you and implore you, as humbly as I can implore, do no longer wage war against the holy kingdom of France! Do promptly order your men, who still hold several fortresses in the kingdom, to withdraw. The King of France is ready to accord you peace, without detriment to his honor! I notify you in the name of God that you will win no battle against the loyal French, none. So, then, do no longer wage war against us. Believe me, whatever the number of soldiers may be that you take to field, they will accomplish nothing. And it would be a great pity still to shed so much blood in fresh battles.
May God protect you and give us all peace!
Written at Rheims, before the consecration of King Charles, on the seventeenth day of July, 1429.
Joan.
This letter, to which, being unable to write, the warrior maid attached her “cross in God,” as was her custom, was sent by a herald to Philip of Burgundy. Thereupon, putting on her white armor, mounting her fine white charger, and with her casque on her head, her sword at her side and her standard in her hand, the Maid rode on the right side of Charles VII at the head of the captains and splendidly accoutred courtiers to the ancient Cathedral of Rheims. The procession marched through a vast concourse of people who saw in the consecration of the King the end of the foreigner’s rule and the termination of the misfortunes of France. The ceremony was performed with all the pomp of the Catholic Church. By the light of thousands of wax candles, across the clouds from gold censers, in front of the high altar that was resplendent with candles and where Charles VII knelt down, the Bishop of Rheims consecrated him King to the ringing of bells, the sounding of trumpets and the booming of cannon.
A witness to the imposing spectacle, the young peasant girl of Domremy stood in the choir of the basilica; pensively as she leaned on the staff of her standard, her recollections wandered four years back. A tear dropped from her eyes in memory of her god-mother Sybille, and the passage of Merlin’s prophecy, now fulfilled, recurred to her mind:
“For the martial maid the steed and the armor!
But for whom the royal crown?
The angel with wings of azure holds it in his hands.
The blood has ceased to run in torrents,
The thunder to peal, the lightning to flash. —
I see a serene sky; the banners float;
The clarions sound; the bells ring.
Cries of joy! Chants of victory!
The martial virgin receives the royal crown
From the hands of the angel of light; a man,
Wearing a long mantle of ermine
Is crowned by the warrior virgin. —
“It matters little what may happen —
What must be, shall be.
Gaul, lost by a woman,
Is saved by a virgin
From the borders of Lorraine and a forest of oaks!—”
PART IV. ROUEN; OR, THE MYSTERY OF THE PASSION OF JOAN DARC
CHAPTER I.
BISHOP AND CANON.
IN THESE MY days, so-called “mysteries” — dialogued recitals between men and women who figure as historic personages — are frequently written and performed. These “mysteries” are imitations of the dramatic works of antiquity, such as were also the so-called “plays” of the Thirteenth Century, of which my ancestor Mylio the Trouvere left a sample behind. Therefore, I, Jocelyn the Champion, who write this chronicle of Joan Darc, have decided to conclude it in the form of these “mysteries,” now so much in vogue. I shall therein trace the “Passion” of the plebeian heroine — for Joan, like Christ, also underwent her “Passion,” crowned with martyrdom.
The first scene is placed in a hall of the palace of the Archbishop of Rouen, an ancient building where, eight centuries and more ago, King Charles the Simple married his daughter Ghisèle to old Rolf, and relinquished one of his best provinces to the Northman pirates. These bandits later invaded the country of England under William the Conqueror and there raised the breed of English captains who for so many years have been ravaging and enslaving Gaul. Normandy thus became a province of England. The Duke of Bedford, Regent, occupies Rouen. The archbishop’s palace of the town serves as the residence of Peter Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, sold, body and soul, mitre and crosier, to the English party. The month of February, 1431, approaches its end. Daintily wadded in a robe of violet silk, Peter Cauchon is seated in an arm-chair near an open fire-place whence both heat and light radiate into the sumptuously furnished apartment. Cheerful reflections play upon the Oriental rug on the floor and the painted and gilded roof-beams overhead. A table, covered with parchment scrolls, and placed near the sculptured chimney, is lighted by a candelabrum of massive silver furnished with burning wax candles. A chair, vacant at the moment, and on the back of which lies a black furred cloak, faces on the other side of the table the seat occupied by the Bishop. Peter Cauchon’s face, at once striking and repulsive, betokens a mixture of audacity, wile and extraordinary stubbornness. His small light blue eyes, that sparkle with craftiness and occasionally glisten with ferocity, almost disappear under the folds of his fat red cheeks and heavy eyebrows, grey like his hair that is almost wholly covered under his violet skull cap. His forehead is furrowed with purplish veins. His flat nose, bored with large and hairy nostrils, helps to set off the singular prominence of his chin and jaws. When he laughs, his cruel laughter exposes two broken rows of uneven and yellowish teeth. At times he leans over the table, reads a parchment covered with a fine and close writing and rubs his hirsute hands with manifest pleasure; other times he looks impatiently towards the door as if he would hasten with his wishes the return of some absent personage. The door finally opens and another prelate appears. He is a canon of the name of Nicolas Loyseleur. His face is long and worn; his eyes are covered like a reptile’s. His red eyelids are stripped of their lashes. A colorless fissure barely indicates the location of his lips whose smile bears the imprint of hypocrisy. It is at once the face of a hypocrite and a gallows-bird.
Bishop Peter Cauchon (half rising and with deep interest)— “What news? What news? Good or bad?”
Canon Loyseleur— “The messenger sent by Captain Morris left the Maid in the prison of Breville.”
Bishop Cauchon— “What is the man’s errand?”
Canon Loyseleur— “He came by orders of Captain Morris to request the Earl of Warwick to have the dungeon of the old tower prepared to receive Joan Darc, who is to arrive at Rouen under a strong escort to-morrow morning at the latest.”
Bishop Cauchon— “Did Captain Morris follow my instructions accurately?”
Canon Loyseleur— “From point to point, monseigneur. The captive travels in a closed litter, with irons on her feet and hands. When a town has to be crossed, the said Joan is gagged. No one has been able to approach her. The guards of the escort informed all inquirers that they were taking to Rouen an old witch who throttled little children to accomplish her evil deeds.”
Bishop Cauchon (laughing)— “And the good people forthwith crossed themselves and gave the litter a wide berth? Stupid plebs!”
Canon Loyseleur— “It was just as you say. That notwithstanding, at Dieppe, the exasperation of the mob at what they really took for a witch became so violent that the people sought to tear her from our hands and trample her to death.”
Bishop Cauchon— “The idiots! What would have been left for us?”
Canon Loyseleur— “This incident excepted, the journey went smooth. No one along the route thought for a moment that the prisoner was Joan the Maid.”
Bishop Cauchon— “That was of the highest importance. The girl’s renown is such in Gaul at present, even in the provinces that are subject to our English friends, that if it had been learned that she was being taken in chains, the town and country plebs would have been greatly agitated, they might even have taken the she-devil away from her keepers. Well, at any rate, we got her now!”
Canon Loyseleur (pointing to the parchments)— “Shall we now proceed with the reading of the condensed acts
of the Maid?”
Bishop Cauchon (taking up a parchment on which he has made a large number of notes)— “Yes; these facts and acts are to be the basis of the process. While you, canon, read, I shall mark down the acts upon which the said Joan is to be particularly interrogated. This report, which my brother in God the Bishop of Chartres secretly sent me by orders of the Sire of La Tremouille, is very full and accurate. It is attributed to one Percival of Cagny, equerry of the Duke of Alençon and a partisan of the Maid, or to be more accurate, he does her justice. The justice done to her in the report does not trouble me. Her acts have been witnessed by such a large number of people, that it would be tactless to deny or alter the truth on that head, all the more seeing that the very acts carry with them their own condemnation. Where did we break off in our reading?”
Canon Loyseleur— “At the departure from Rheims after the consecration.”
Bishop Cauchon— “Continue.” (He dips his pen in the ink-horn and makes ready to take notes.)
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’After being consecrated, the King remained at Rheims until the following Thursday. He left Rheims bound for the Abbey of St. Marcoul where he took supper and slept over night. The keys of Laon were there brought to him. On Saturday, July 23, 1429, the King went to dine and sleep at Soissons. He was very well received, the Maid having preceded him and harangued the people at the barrier of the town, conjuring them to renounce the English party and become again French. Her words were received with enthusiasm. Several women who were about to go to child bed, or whose children had not yet been baptized, prayed the Maid to choose their baptismal names, which, said they, would be to them a pledge of divine protection—’”
Bishop Cauchon (writing rapidly)— “This must be noted — very important — excellent! Excellentissime!”
Canon Loyseleur (continuing to read)—”’On Friday, July 29, the King presented himself before Chateau-Thierry. The Maid ordered the banners to be unfurled, spoke to the people, and the town opened its gates. The King remained there until the following Monday, August 1. That day he slept at Montmirail in Brie. On Tuesday, August 2, the King made his entry into Provins, where he was received no less well than in the other towns. He remained there until Friday the 5th. On Sunday, the 7th of August, he slept at Coulommiers; on Wednesday, the 10th, at Ferté-Milon; on Thursday at Crespy in Valois; on Friday, the 12th, in Lagny-le-sec. In this town a woman in tears pressed through the crowd that surrounded the Maid and implored her to come to a little dying child, whom, the mother said, the Maid could with one word recall to life. In her naïve admiration for the Maid, the poor mother attributed to her divine powers comparable to those of Jesus of Nazareth—’”
Bishop Cauchon (writing with ghoulish glee)— “I would not sell that fact for a hundred gold sous! (Inflating his wide and hairy nostrils) Oh! What a delectable smell of fagots and roast flesh I begin to scent. Proceed, canon. The process is taking shape.”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’On Saturday, August 13, being instructed by her forerunners that the enemy was only at a little distance, the Maid, with her wonted promptness, drew up the army in order of battle in the plain of Dammartin-in-Gouelle, assigned his post to each, and issued her orders with the consummate skill of a captain. But frightened at the attitude of the royal army the English did not dare to give battle, although much stronger in numbers—’”
Bishop Cauchon (in a hollow voice)— “Oh, in order to save the honor of our friends from the other side of the water, it will be absolutely necessary to attribute their cowardice to Joan’s witchery.”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’Sunday, August 14, 1429, the Maid, the Duke of Alençon, the Count of Vendome and other captains, accompanied by six or seven thousand soldiers, encamped near Montepilloy, two leagues from Senlis. The Duke of Bedford with eight or nine thousand soldiers defended the approaches of Senlis. They were posted half a league in front of the town, having before them the little River of Nonette and to their right a village of the name of Notre Dame de la Victoire. Both sides skirmished. When night fell both retired to their camps to the great displeasure of the Maid, who, contrary to the opinion of the King and his captains, wished to enter into a general engagement. The English profited by the delay. They threw up earthworks during the night, dug moats and set up palisades, and utilized even their carts to cover themselves. At break of day, and despite the opposition of the captains, the Maid marched at the head of a few determined companies that always obeyed her and pushed up to the foot of the enemy’s entrenchments. Arrived there she learned that the English had decamped over night, given up Senlis, and withdrawn to Paris, the earthworks they had thrown up being intended merely to delay their pursuit—’”
Bishop Cauchon— “Witchcraft! Devil’s work! The girl is possessed!”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’On Wednesday, August 17, the keys of Compiegne were brought to the King, and on Thursday he made his entry into the town amidst the acclamations of the people who cried frantically: “Blessings on the daughter of God!”—’”
Bishop Cauchon (writing)—”’Daughter of God!’ You have rather imprudent fanatics among your admirers, my little girl!”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’When the King left Crespy, he ordered Marshals Boussac and Retz to summon the inhabitants of Senlis to surrender. They answered that they would surrender, not to the King, but to the Maid, whom they considered sent by God and to be a sister of the angels-’”
Bishop Cauchon (writing)—”’Sister of the angels!’ ‘Sent by God!’ Well, the scamps will have contributed their fagots to the pyre.”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’Much to the annoyance of the Maid, the King wished to stop at Senlis instead of pushing forward. He seemed satisfied with the success he had so far had, and to wish for nothing more. His council was of his opinion; the Maid, however, held that it would be enough for the King to show himself before Paris for the town to open its gates to its sovereign. “Fear not,” Joan said to the King; “I shall speak so sweetly to the Parisians that they will prefer to become French again rather than to remain English”—’”
Bishop Cauchon— “What an impudence on the part of the she cowherd. She is certain of everything. Well, she shall pay dearly for her infernal vanity!”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’On Tuesday, August 23, despite the opposition of the King and his council, the Maid left Compiegne together with the Duke of Alençon, leaving the prince behind with the bulk of the army. The following Friday, August 26, without striking a blow, the Maid entered St Denis, which declared itself royalist. At this news, the King decided, not without considerable hesitation to proceed to that town, where he arrived in safety. The King’s council now opposed the Maid more doggedly than ever before. Joan, however, affirmed that if she was listened to she would render the Parisians to the King by the command of God, and without shedding a drop of blood—’”
Bishop Cauchon (in a rage)— “The execrable hypocrite! To hear her speak she is all honey — and yet at her homicidal voice the French have been turned into the butchers of the English! (writing) We must not forget above all to designate her as a furious monster of carnage.”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’Learning of the capture of Senlis and of the Maid’s march upon Paris, the Duke of Bedford reinforced his garrison, and took vigorous measures against those of the Armagnac or royalist party who wished to surrender the town. The Duke picked out only Englishmen and bitter Burgundians to guard the gates, men who were expected to be able to resist the charm of the Maid’s sweet words. Several times she advanced alone on horseback near the barriers of the town, imploring all those who were French like herself no longer to tolerate the rule of the English, who had inflicted so much damage upon the poor people of France. But the men of the Burgundian party and the English answered her with insults and threatened to fire at her although she came for a parley. She would then return weeping over the hard-heartedness or the blindness of men, who, although Fren
ch, wished to remain English. This notwithstanding, she every day heard “her voices” assure her that Gaul would not be saved until all the English were driven from her soil, or were exterminated—’”
Bishop Cauchon (writing)— “Again ‘her voices.’ Let us note that important fact. It is capital in the framing of the process.”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’Seeing that the King continued to refuse to draw nearer to Paris and to present himself before the gates, as the Maid desired, she declared to the Duke of Alençon, who placed great confidence in her, that St. Marguerite and St. Catherine, having again appeared before her, ordered her to demand of the King that he put forth all his efforts to regain the good town of Paris by coming in person and by promises of his clemency and a general amnesty—’”
Bishop Cauchon (writing)— “Again St. Marguerite and St. Catherine. Let us jot down the fact. It is no less capital than the one about the ‘voices.’ Ah, you double-dyed witch! You see visions! Apparitions! (laughing) You will have to roast for it, my daughter!”
Canon Loyseleur (reading)—”’Yielding to the wishes of the Maid, the Duke of Alençon returned to the King, who promised him that on August 27 he would proceed to Chapelle-St. Denis and march from there to Paris. But he did not keep his promise. The Duke of Alençon returned to him on Monday, September 5. Thanks to the pressure that he exercised, after long hesitating and against the advice of his council, the King came to Chapelle-St. Denis on September 7 to the great joy of the Maid. Everybody in the army said: “The Maid will restore Paris to the King, if he but consents to show himself before the gates.” On Thursday, the 8th of September, the Duke of Alençon together with a few captains whom the Maid carried away with her persuasion, started from Chapelle-St. Denis towards eight in the morning with flying colors but leaving behind the King, who did not wish to accompany them. The Maid advanced toward the St. Honoré Gate, which was defended by a body of English soldiers, because, said she, she had a horror of seeing Frenchmen fighting Frenchmen. She took her standard in her hand and boldly leaped at the head of all into the moat, near the swine market. The assault was long and bloody; the English defended themselves bravely; the Maid was wounded by an arrow that ran through her thigh; she fell, but in falling cried out that the attack had to be kept up with all the greater vigor. But despite her feeble efforts, the Sire of Gaucourt and others carried her to a place of safety seeing that she was losing much blood. She was placed on a cart and taken back to Chapelle-St Denis—’”