The Story of Joan of Arc by E. M. Wilmot-Buxton

Author:E. M. Wilmot-Buxton [Wilmot-Buxton, E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780486148793
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2012-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

XI

THE SIEGE OF PARIS

September 1429

Renty! Renty! to the King of Heaven!

(Jeanne’s war-cry before Paris)

THE blaze of light that shone upon the coronation scene had faded away. Jeanne, with many tears, had said farewell to her father and uncle, and left the former to return to Domrémy, his unaccustomed mind still ruffled and aghast at the strange sights he had seen in Rheims, but his toil-worn hand grasping very tightly the two tangible proofs, as far as he was concerned, of his daughter’s success. For one was the purse of money that had been given him; and the other was a patent of exemption from all kinds of tax and tribute for the villages of Domrémy and Greuse.

He had seen his young daughter for the last time. When he next heard news of her, news of imprisonment and of trial, Jacques d’Arc remembered his former doubts and fears, and after sullen pondering forbade his weeping wife to name the girl to him from that time forth. The news of her execution seems to have broken his heart, for he died very shortly afterwards.

Meantime, Jeanne had before her the supremely difficult task of rousing a helpless, inert King to follow up the advantage she had won for him, and to advance upon Paris and the cities of the north.

Much time was wasted, and the Maid, in her young impatience, always hated delay. There was a fatal theory in the mind of Charles that if he could but secure the alliance of the Duke of Burgundy all would be well; and Burgundy, probably in contempt of his weakness, was ready enough to dupe him, to make a false truce, to encourage him to delay, that he might the more easily crush him in the end.

Even the Maid, though wary and on her guard against him, was inclined to strain a point to gain the allegiance of the Duke, and the more because, from this time forth, the directions she had received from her Voices began to grow vague and indistinct.

“Fear not, for God will aid you,” was the tenor of their message in these days, which pointed to the presence of some danger, more or less definite, but gave no clear command as to what course to pursue.

On the very day of the Coronation she had written one of her simple, almost boyish, letters to Burgundy. “Jeanne the Maid desires you, in the name of the King of Heaven, her true Lord, to make a long, good, and assured peace with the King of France.... All those who fight against his holy kingdom, fight against the Lord Jesus, King of Heaven, and of the whole world. I pray and beseech you with joined hands, fight not against us any more.”

But it was not the letter of the Maid that brought envoys from the Duke to Rheims, envoys who were laughing in their sleeves as they laid their master’s pretended proposals of peace before the King, and thus gained time to allow Bedford to enter Paris with his army, and Burgundy to pitch his camp in the neighbourhood of Amiens.

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