Joan of Arc, the Warrior Maid

by Lucy Foster Madison

Farewell to Home

“I am by birth a shepherd’s daughter, My wit untrained in any kind of art. Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleased To shine on my contemptible estate: ... God’s mother deigned to appear to me; And, in a vision full of majesty, Willed me to leave my base vocation, And free my country from calamity.” Shakespeare, First Part, “Henry Sixth.”

To Jeanne’s surprise she was welcomed warmly. Certain of the Domremy people who had been Colin’s witnesses preceded her into Neufchâteau, and by the time she arrived all the village folk were cognizant of what had occurred. A reaction in her favor had set in; for, not only had she conducted her case without any aid whatsoever, but the bishop had commended her, and had spoken sharply to Colin, who now became the laughing stock of his neighbors. All the world loves 132 a lover, but it has only contempt for the suitor who brings ridicule upon either himself or his beloved.

Isabeau folded her daughter in her arms, holding her close to her heart and shuddering at the thought of the perilous journey the child had made rather than submit to an unwelcome marriage; while Jacques, moved out of his usual taciturnity, spoke to her with something of pride in his tones. For the first time it occurred to these good people that their daughter differed from other village maidens, and therefore required dissimilar treatment. More than once Jeanne found her parents regarding her with curious, puzzled looks, as though they wondered if she were in very truth their daughter.

La Rousse openly rejoiced at the outcome of the affair, and wished the maiden to remain with her indefinitely. But to this neither Jeanne or her parents would consent. And, after a fortnight’s stay, the family returned to Domremy.

Antoine de Vergy had done the work of despoliation thoroughly. Incensed because the villeins had fled with their cattle and belongings, thereby depriving him of booty and ransom which he could not exact from the chief men of the village by reason of their flight, he had ravaged and burned with more than his usual fury. The crops were entirely destroyed; the monastery, once as proud as a fortress with its square watchman’s tower, was now nothing but a heap of blackened ruins; the church also was burned, so that the Domremy folk must needs go to the church at Greux to hear mass; and but few cottages were left standing. But the people had their flocks and herds, and their house furnishings; then too it was summer; so, bravely, with the patience engendered by long suffering 133 they set to work once more to rebuild, rethatch, and repair their homes. As before, they lived in the castle while the work went on.

A veritable reign of terror was in all the region about. The misery and discomfort were inconceivable; yet somehow life went on. So the Summer waned, and with the first days of Autumn came the dire intelligence that Orléans, the strong independent old city sometimes called the key of the Loire, was besieged by the English. Should it fall France could not be saved.

The English acted badly in laying siege to the town of Orléans, for it belonged to Duke Charles, who had been a prisoner in their hands since the battle of Agincourt. Having possession of his body they ought to have respected his property, as was the custom. This conduct was regarded as unprecedented treachery, and Domremy buzzed with talk as pilgrims related tales of what was occurring. The English had built, it was said, fortified towers around the city, the very heart of France; and entrenched themselves there in great strength. The Tourelles were taken already, and the city was so invested that its inhabitants were starving.

“Such a thing is unheard of,” declared Jacques in the privacy of the cottage. “It is a deed unknown among the very Saracens. Who could guess that lords and knights of the Christian faith, holding captive the gentle Duke of Orléans, would besiege his own city? The leaguer is a great villainy.”

“The leaguer is a great villainy.” Jeanne repeated the words to herself, for the tidings of the siege were of the saddest to her. Her attachment to all the Royal House was strong, 134 and especially so to the captive poet. Sorrowfully she sought comfort from her “Voices” who loved the Land of the Lilies.