This silenced Frère Seguin for the moment, but Jeanne went on to sketch her programme to him and to the rest of the assembly. It was a programme whose insolence took their breath away (ils estoient grandement ébahis). She made four cardinal points: the English would be destroyed after Orleans had been relieved and freed of their presence; the Dauphin would be crowned at Reims; Paris would be restored to its allegiance; and the Duke of Orleans would return to France out of captivity.fn9
Thinking to catch her out, Guillaume Aymerie said to her, ‘You say your voices tell you that God wishes to free the people of France from their present calamities. But if He wishes to free them, it is not necessary to have an army.’ ‘En nom Dieu,’ Jeanne said again, ‘les gens d’armes batailleront et Dieu donnera victoire.’fn10
The superb audacity of such announcements was not without its effect upon that assembly of learned men. They must, indeed, have been astonished on hearing themselves addressed in such confident terms by the boyish figure sitting on the bench, alone and unadvised, before them. Far from being hesitant, alarmed, or overawed, as in their pomp and solemnity they might have expected, it was evidently with difficulty that she restrained her impatience or remembered her manners just enough to prevent her from being actually rude – a child and an unlettered person confronting many doctors in theology under the presidency of so great a lord of the Church as the Archbishop of Reims himself. It was a good preparation for confronting a very differently minded assembly of learned men, under the presidency of another lord of the Church, the Bishop of Beauvais.
Frère Seguin, our only first-hand authority for what happened at Poitiers, omits to tell us anything about the deliberations which finally induced them to change their minds; he bounces us straight into the fact that they had done so: ‘We decided that, in view of the imminent necessity and of the danger of Orleans, the King might allow the girl to help him and might send her to Orleans.’fn11 This slightly patronising phrase is corrected by another chronicler who was obviously founding his remarks on the evidence of Frère Seguin. According to this other chronicler, the things which she told them seemed very strange (les choses dictes par ladicte Jeanne leur sembloient bien estranges). So strange did these things seem, that the court of enquiry eventually came to the decision that the Dauphin might be recommended to put his trust in her.fn12
II
But, before that could happen, there were still other delays. They were still not certain of her. From Poitiers she was sent to Tours and to Blois – another maddening delay while precious time was being lost. What Jeanne wanted, and wanted urgently, was to go to the relief of Orleans. She wanted to get down to business; she wanted to be given an army; she had no wish whatsoever to be delayed by archbishops, bishops, doctors in theology, or by women appointed to examine her to find out whether she was a boy or a girl; and, if a girl, a virgin or not. The ladies at Chinon had already been deputed to determine her sex. Now, at Tours, the Queen of Sicily, the Dauphin’s mother-in-law, in person, was put in charge of this second examination, with other ladies, and they reported their findings in the crude phraseology of their age.fn13 They attested to the indubitable fact of her virginity. The coarse frankness of their report shocks us. It cannot fail to shock us when we consider the modesty that Jeanne consistently observed in her personal behaviour, as we are specifically assured by those who had every opportunity to watch her in her daily life. It cannot fail to shock us if we take it in terms of twentieth-century fastidiousness. Taken in those terms, we can feel nothing but a horrified sympathy for the girl exposed to so indelicate and repeated an examination. Yet perhaps we go wrong over this. Perhaps Jeanne did not resent the examination of the women so much as we might expect her to resent it. Perhaps we ought to bear more presently in mind that we are trying to reconstruct the mentality of people living in the fifteenth century, not in the twentieth. We most certainly ought to remember that the question of virginity was a vital question, since if she were a virgin the Devil could have no possible dealings with her. The examinations were thus no gratuitous insult. Perhaps we ought also to remember that Jeanne had been accustomed from her earliest years to the crudest facts of life, and, therefore, was not so readily offended as we might imagine when those facts of life were applied in practice to the factual truths of her own body. She probably took these unpleasant tests in her stride. She was probably less offended by them than we might imagine. Yet, at the same time, how is it possible to refrain from picturing to oneself the effect upon a lowly girl, so intimately examined by no less a person than a queen? Jeanne’s situation at this time (March–April 1429) was surely one of the most extraordinary. She had succeeded in forcing herself into the presence of her King. She had succeeded in impressing her personality on him to such an extent that he had appointed a court to enquire into her credentials, and had set such high-born ladies to enquire so indiscreetly into her private morals. Jeanne could scarcely have been blamed had she lost her head; she could scarcely have been blamed had she allowed her head to be turned. She allowed neither of these things to happen. She admitted to Pierre de Versailles that, without God’s help, she would not have known how to protect herself against such idolatry as was manifested by the populace catching at her horse’s legs in order to kiss her feet and hands.fn14 She kept straight to her appointed path. She had made her way to the Dauphin; had told him what she intended to do; had submitted herself to the enquiry of the doctors at Poitiers; had submitted herself also to the more personal enquiry of the women at Tours. Morally and physically she had allowed herself to be thoroughly tested. She had accepted everything which could be asked of her with all the patience at her command. And she was winning. Messages asking for help kept on arriving from Orleans; the people of Poitiers were clamantly on her side; the group of her friends was increasing daily, with the addition of powerful recruits. The Duke of Alençon was firmly her beau duc. The famous Bastard of Orleans had been taking so deep an interest in her for some time past as to send two gentlemen to Chinon to make enquiries about her.fn15 It is quite clear that she made a profound impression on all who came into contact with her. It is equally clear that she made an impression on people even before she came into personal contact with them. Otherwise, why should the Bastard of Orleans have troubled to send his two gentlemen to Chinon to make enquiries about the virgin of Domrcmy when she was only on her way to Chinon, and had, in fact, got no further than Gien? Why should the population of Orleans have assembled, as they did, to hear the report of the two gentlemen? She had accomplished nothing. She had not even achieved the honour of an audience with the Dauphin. How can we explain the Bastard’s interest in her at so early a stage in her career? What reports had reached him? We cannot tell. We can assume only that Jeanne’s personality had aroused curiosity before she had any actual deeds to her credit. Her reputation ran ahead of her, as is the case with some people. It is an inexplicable quality, but Jeanne certainly possessed it.
And now, at last, she was seeing daylight; the obstacles were clearing away; things were really beginning to move. Preparations were made for her to join the army. She was given a regular household; Louis de Contes was now definitely made over to her as her page, with another boy called Raymond; the faithful Jean d’Aulon, ‘the most honest man in the French army,’ according to the Bastard, was detailed for her service by the Dauphin’s orders; she was given two heralds and two servants; her brother Pierre, and possibly also her brother Jean, came from Domremy to join her – which must surely have struck her as an odd twist of fortune when she remembered her rather surreptitious and disgraced departure from her father’s house. She had played the supreme truant then; now she was in the position to receive her brother as a prince receives a suppliant. And, what must have seemed more important to her than all the rest, she was given Jean Paquerel as her own confessor. They brought him to her at the house of Jean Dupuy, where she was lodging in Tours, saying ‘Jeanne, we are bringing you this good father, whom you will grow to love as you know him bet
ter.’fn16 The days were over when she found difficulty in hearing Mass as often as she wished; she now could, and often did, hear it more than once a day, and confessed as often as the desire seized her. Moreover, again by the Dauphin’s orders, she was given a complete equipment of armour, banners, and a horse. Most significant of all, she was allowed to despatch a letter to the English. That letter had been dictated at Poitiers, and constitutes one of the most arrogant incidents in the whole of her arrogant career.
III
It started with her losing her patience with her examiners. ‘I cannot tell A from B,’ she had said to them, ‘but God has sent me to raise the siege of Orleans and to get the Dauphin crowned at Reims. Have you paper and ink? Write! I will dictate to you.’fn17 She then obliged them to take down the letter at her dictation. It is dated Tuesday in Holy Week, i.e. March 22nd, 1429.
‘Jhesus Maria. King of England, and you, Duke of Bedford, calling yourself Regent of France; William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk; John Lord Talbot, and you, Thomas Lord Scales, calling yourselves lieutenants of the said Bedford … deliver the keys of all the good towns you have taken and violated in France to the Maid (Pucelle) who has been sent by God the King of Heaven.… Go away, for God’s sake, back to your own country; otherwise, await news of the Maid, who will soon visit you to your great detriment’ (Alès vous en, en vos pais, de par Dieu, et se ainssi ne le faictes, attendé les nouvelles de la Pucelie qui vous ira veoir briefment à vostre bien grant domaige).fn18
After this truly Elizabethan opening – save that even Elizabeth would scarcely have called a fellow-sovereign to account in such terms – Jeanne introduced a somewhat more kindly note. She appealed to the Duke of Bedford not to oblige her to destroy him (Duc de Bethfort, la Pucelle vous prie et vous requiert que vous ne vous faictes pas destruire). If only he would be reasonable, she said, the French might possibly give proof of the noblest act ever performed for the sake of Christianityfn19 (Se vous faictes rayson, y pouverra venir lieu que les Francois feront le plus biau fait que oncques fut fait pour la crestienté). ‘But,’ she added immediately, ‘if you refuse, remember the great detriment which will overtake you.’ (Se ainssi ne le faictes, de voz bien grans doumaiges vous souviegne briefment.) She was willing, in other words, to give him his chance, and also to give the French their chance of exhibiting a truly Christian spirit, but if he would not accept the offer, then let him look out for himself.
Some confusion exists as to the immediate fate of this letter. Some authorities, both ancient and modem, take it for granted that it was despatched from Blois before Jeanne started for Orleans, and that it was in the hands of the English before she ever arrived at Orleans at all. Others declare that it was not presented until the day after her entry into the town; implying, in other words, that she carried it there with her. It seems to me that the evidence is in favour of the latter views, principally because that evidence is derived from contemporary witnesses, whereas the evidence in favour of the letter having been despatched from Blois is derived from chronicles only more or less contemporary, whose accuracy is in any case erratic and suspect. An alternative explanation of the confusion, which, so far as I know, has never been suggested, is that there may have been two copies of the letter, one of which was despatched from Blois to the Duke of Bedford in person and the other carried to Orleans by Jeanne, to be delivered straight into the hands of Lord Talbot, the English commander at Orleans. We know for certain that a definite summons was delivered to Talbot by Jeanne’s heralds the day after she had reached Orleans. But had a similar communication been despatched previously to the Duke of Bedford? The letter which we possess constitutes, after all, an appeal to Bedford exhorting him to leave France, without any specific reference to the siege of Orleans, except to require an answer in that city (et faites reponse, se vous voulés faire paix, en la cité d’Orléans). Now, Jeanne knew perfectly well that Talbot, not Bedford, was in command at Orleans: why, therefore, should she have addressed her demands to Bedford if the letter was really meant for Talbot? On the other hand, it must be admitted that the letter was superscribed: To the Duke of Bedford, so-called Regent of the Kingdom of France, or to his lieutenants before the city of Orleans. It could therefore be equally logically argued that she did not mind very much whether the letter came into Bedford’s hands, or into Talbot’s.fn20
I offer the suggestion for what it is worth, and entirely without documentary backing. But let us for a moment suppose that the original letter did reach Bedford. How would it have struck him? In his way a fine and intelligent man, he was not of the type to whom such a letter was likely to appeal. Being an Englishman, he could scarcely have done otherwise than put it down as the most outrageous piece of impertinence. As, indeed, it was. Being an Englishman, he could not have failed to overlook certain factors with which he had not reckoned. The English, apart from their poetry, are not an imaginative race: in the region of practical politics they are apt to rely on strength rather than on imagination, a system which works ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Jeanne was the hundredth time. The Duke of Bedford could not have accepted the threat that Jeanne was bringing against him. How could he have been expected to accept it? Who was this Jehanne, this Pucelle whom the credulous French were proposing to pit against him? Solid English sense could say nothing but ‘Rubbish.’
Whether Bedford ever got the letter or not, the siege of Orleans was not raised, nor did the English obediently pack up to retire to their own country.
IV
Jeanne, however, had by now got the management of affairs entirely into her own hands. What she said, went. The most remarkable change had taken place during the six weeks which had elapsed since her arrival at Chinon. She had been doubtfully received; treated with perhaps understandable caution; now, six weeks later, she had got the whole thing under her control. She had, in some extraordinary way, become the hope of France; a shrunken France. That shrunken France acclaimed her; wanted her; armed her; mounted her; and unfurled her flags above her boyish head. She had definitely ceased to be Jeanette from Domremy, and had become officially Jeanne la Pucelle, the hope, the saviour. The hour had come when she could impose her will. She accepted the armour and the banners; the sword she declined, having ideas of her own. She knew exactly which sword she wanted, and would have none other. They must go and fetch it for her. They would find it, she said, buried in the ground behind the altar in the church of Saint Catherine at Fierbois. This puzzled everybody, for no one had ever heard of the existence of this sword, but such was their belief in Jeanne by now that an armourer was sent from Tours, with a letter from Jeanne addressed to the priests of Saint Catherine asking them to be good enough to find the sword and to send it. To everybody’s astonishment it all fell out as she had predicted. The sword was indeed there, engraved with five crosses; it was very rusty, but, as soon as the church people started to clean it, the rust fell off it with unusual readiness. Here was a miracle indeed, and Jeanne’s prestige increased a hundredfold. The church people at Fierbois were so much impressed that they gave her a sheath for the sword, and so did the people of Tours, so that she had two sheaths, one of crimson velvet and the other of cloth of gold, but she herself caused yet a third sheath to be made, of stout serviceable leather.fn21
The story is undoubtedly a strange one, even if we discount the miraculous disappearance of the rust, and is scarcely covered by the suggestion that she might have heard of the sword when she passed through Fierbois on her way to Chinon. For if Jeanne had been told about it by one of the church people at Fierbois, why had others not heard of it also? And why did she have to write to the church people, describing so exactly where it would be found? All she need have said was, ‘Please dig up the sword you told me about, and send it to me.’ Her own explanation, of course, was her usual one: her voices had told her where it lay. The sceptical suggestion that Jeanne had hidden the sword there herself may be dismissed: it in no way accords with anything that we know of her character. I confess that I fail to see h
ow the story can rationally be explained. At any rate, Jeanne’s contemporaries made no attempt to explain it rationally, and legends grew up around the sword, including one to the effect that it had originally been used by Charles Martel against the Saracens at Poitiers in 732.fn22 Jeanne’s judges, later on, made no attempt to explain it rationally either: it was far too convenient an additional proof that she was, in very fact, a witch.
V
Altogether, the equipment assembled for her at Tours, picturesque, becoming, and romantic though it was, was destined to lead her into very serious trouble. The armour, apart from the fact that she had no business to wear men’s clothes, was safe enough: they could find nothing to say against her armour, except to ask searching questions as to why she had offered it to Saint Denis – was it, they suggested, because she wanted it to be worshipped? – but the white standard fringed with silk was found reprehensible in the extreme. Blasphemy and sacrilege had quite obviously been intended. Why, otherwise, should she have caused a representation of the world, supported by two angels, with a portrait of Our Lord and the words Jhesus Maria, to be painted upon it? She did not improve matters by replying that Our Lord had commanded her to do so, through the medium of Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret. Her instructions had been very precise, both as to the symbols and as to the colours. Why, they asked, had she not included the light which accompanied her saints and voices when they appeared to her? That, she said, patiently, had not been commanded. They badgered her further. Which did she love most, they asked, her standard or her sword? Her standard, she said, forty times better – although previously she had admitted that she loved her sword, because it had been found in the church of Saint Catherine, whom she loved. Why did she carry her standard, they asked, when she went into battle? She gave the very simple answer that it was in order to avoid killing anybody with her own hands. She had never, she added, killed any man.fn23
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