And crown thee in the rescued walls of Rheims.
All is accomplished. I have here this day
Fulfilled my mission, and anointed thee
King over this great nation.”
Seven years have sped by, and the scene shifts to the ancient cathedral of Rheims. A great concourse of nobles in glittering armour with pennons and banners fills the nave. Trumpets are sounding, and outside the crowd raises cheer upon cheer. The sun streams in through the painted windows, casting rainbow hues on the exultant throng. Ten thousand candles are burning, and the smoke of incense is ascending. At the high altar, clad in the ermine robe of state, kneels the Dauphin of France. An archbishop, wearing his mitre and the splendid robes of his high office, places the crown upon the prince’s head, and anoints him with the sacred oil out of the ancient flask which the priests say came straight from heaven. The Dauphin is king in very deed, and a great shout of joy echoes and re-echoes from the vaulted roof. And now all eyes turn to the striking figure by the side of the newly-made king. You see a noble maiden, clad in knightly armour, and holding a drawn sword in one hand and a white banner in the other. She kneels at her prince’s feet, and tears of joy fall from her eyes as she greets him “King” for the first time. “Now,” she says, “is the will of God fulfilled.”
Who is this maiden, and why holds she such an honoured place amidst this noble throng? Let the old chroniclers relate her story. It is one of the most wondrous ever told. What Wallace did for Scotland this maid has done for France.
In the year 1429 there was a young girl living in Domremy, a village in the east of France. She was named Joan, and was the daughter of James Darc and Isobel, his wife. Joan was but a country maid that was wont to herd the cattle by day and sew and spin in the evening. She was a strong, handsome girl, nobly formed, with dark hair and lustrous eyes. About her thirteenth year she grew silent and dreamy, and loved to steal away from her companions to the village church, where she knelt for hours together in silent prayer. One day she was standing in her father’s garden when she heard a Voice, and saw a great light. The Voice bade her be diligent in work and prayer, for God had chosen her to save France. She replied that she was but a poor girl who could not ride, or lead soldiers in the wars; but the Voice spoke to her again and again, telling her that she must go. The saints appeared to her, too, and they gave her the same message, and added words of counsel and warning. The Visions and the Voices were with her night and day, and at length she felt that she must do their bidding.
Truly her land was in a piteous condition at the time. King Harry of England was dead, and so was the old French king, his father-in-law, and the English baby born at Windsor had been crowned King of France. His uncle, the Duke of Bedford, the famous Talbot, and many another knight of renown, were leading English armies to and fro, besieging towns, burning villages, and filling the land with slaughter. Woeful tales of death, plunder, and famine found their way to the quiet little village of Domremy, and Joan’s heart was filled with grief at the miseries of her beloved France. The Scots had come to the help of their old friends, the French, and though they managed to win a great victory, they were badly beaten at Verneuil, where the field was dyed with Scottish blood.
As for the Dauphin, the rightful King of France, he only held the country south of the Loire, and did not hold even that securely. His strongest fortress was the city of Orleans, which was even now closely besieged by the English. To make matters worse, the Dauphin was a man of no spirit and enterprise. He was half-hearted in his own cause, and, indeed, was not fully assured that he was the son of the late king, and therefore lawfully entitled to the crown. It is said that he had prayed secretly that a sign might be given to him to prove that he was the rightful heir, and that hitherto no sign had been vouchsafed. He had very little hope of beating the English, for, like the rest of his countrymen, he had lost heart and deemed his foes unconquerable. A handful of English archers by their very presence could send five hundred Frenchmen flying in terror to the woods.
By this time the Voices and the Visions had so wrought upon the Maid that she left home without taking leave of her father and mother (not that she did not hold them in honour and respect, but lest they should hinder her intent), and went to Vaucouleurs hoping for an audience with Robert de Baudricourt, the commander of the town. Now, her uncle lived in the town, and to him she betook herself, and told him how the saints and angels had urged her on her mission, and how the Voices had said, “Daughter of God, go on! We will be with you.” The uncle listened and believed, and led her to the captain, who laughed at her, and bade her uncle chastise her for a foolish maiden.