Anna Dickinson Speeches & Writings File Speech File "Jeanne D'arc," 18841
1
1. Jeanne, daughter of Louis Austin
2. Philip the Long.
8.
3. Destroyed by the Commune
12.
4. I can see the little earnest face, 
listening to the tired, and sun browned 
men. I can see her eyes dilate, her
lips quiver, her throat swell,
her heart beat till she lays her
hand upon it to still its pain.
I can see the blood rise in crimson
tides of Maidenly Shame, as
these men repeat the Country
proverb, that "France" (her France, 
God's France) has been brought 
to this dire strait "by a woman,"
- the handsome, & wicked,
& dissolute Queen. I can see
the white look of an awful
hope, as she hears  the proverb's
close that 'til a maiden, & a
Maiden from the Marshe of 
Lorraine who will redeem the 
lands."
I can see her as she wanders2
through the  forests, as she sits under
the hedge of her father's garden,
from whence she can behold
naught, save the blue canopy of
the sky, the church spire, & the
far peaks of the mountains, which,
alike, from man & nature, point
to Heaven,- & so sitting, draws the 
delicate thread in & out, her soul
unemployed by the work of her hands;
or, Compassed by the silent & solemn
vastness of nature, watches her
sheep browse, through long, long
days of unbroken calm. She
hears the hum of insects, the song of
birds, the rustle of standing grain,
the low of cattle, the sigh of winds,
the sweep of tempests, - above her
are April's smiles & frowns, Summer's 
glow, Autumns's gold & glory, winter's
snowy & brilliancy of earth & sky.-
through them all her spirit hears
a deeper sound, a voice of pleading
choked with tears, the cry that
came in a vision of the night from
Macedonia to Paul "Come over & help us."
& it thrills her soul as a living man
would be  thrilled by a prayer from the depths
of the tomb.

3.
28.
5. What was the wonderful
secret she revealed to the Dauphin,
"known only to himself & his God"?
Latin authors assert that
she told him that "on All Saints' 
Day, alone, in the chapel of
Loches, he prayed to know if he
were the rightful king,- if not,
that he might be deprived of the 
means of carrying on the war."
First, -he was not at Loches
on that day.
Second,-he was not given to
prayer, of any sort.
Third,- he needed not to 
pray for conditions that already
Compassed him. 
Advancing to his courtiers
he (not, she) stated that the young
girl had communicated to him,
certain secret affairs which 
led him to place in her the 
greatest confidence.
On her trial, she refused to
give any word concerning it. 
To her almoner, she stated that
she said to the King,-
"I tell thee on the part of4.
Messire" (the Lord) "that thou
art the true heir of France, &
Son of the King." (the whole ten
kingdoms were rife with evil 
stories, which she had heard,
& upon which she had her opinion
-- with the rest of the word.)
" & He hath sent me to Conduct
thee to Rheims, in order that thou
mayest be Crowned & anointed,
if such be thy will."
Charles, being no fool, had
a thorough appreciation of the 
value of mystery. 
To the Duke of Alencon,
She said "You are right welcome.
The more princes of the 
blood there are, the more will 
our affair prosper."-----
She recognized, that
God works by means.
To the parliament of
Poitiers which formulated,-
"If the Lord will rescue
France. Men-at-arms are 
unnecessary," She replied
"The men at arms will
fight, & God will give the victory,"
5.
proving that with St. James, she
asked "Can faith save us?"
& knew that "faith without
works, is dead."
Pressed for proofs of her
divine mission she answered
-(is the answer that of blind
fanaticism?)- "I am
not come to Poitiers to perform
miracles. Conduct me to Orleans,
& I will there give you proofs
wherefore I am sent."
This, they "could not find
in their books"  to be orthodox
inspiration. 
To which she,-
"There is more in the book of
God, than in yours. 
Time was judiciously
consumed by this parliament,
till the men who came from
Dunois could return to the beleaguered
city. Spreading her fame
by the way, till the messengers 
from Domremy had brought
glowing accounts of her childhood
-in a word, till the hour had
come, & the time was rife.6
30
6/ And while she there waited
she gave proof, if she had never 
before given it, that she was made 
of the clay out of which is 
fashioned the leaders and rulers of men.
She had at Command 
six thousand men, but they
were not six thousand soldiers. 
They were outlaws, robbers, 
murderers. So read what is 
set forth in the chronicles of the 
time concerning these same men
is to make one shudder away 
from the thought of one's kind.
Into such a mass of humanity 
went this girl, & standing in 
their midst, cried - "Look you 
at France," & they, looking with 
her eyes, saw its dismantled 
cities, its barren fields, its 
burning homesteads, as though 
these had never been seen before, 
& their hearts glowed within 
them as they gazed.
The she said, "It is you, 
you & none other who shall 
save France, who shall

7 
rebuild the old, waste places, 
- shall restore from this desolation." 
- And then hearts were filled 
with courage & hope.
"And you," she went on, 
"What can you do? You, so few 
against the multitude of the 
English?"- & their hearts 
failed them.
"But," she cried, "God is 
on the side of France", & they 
answering the electric tone in 
the only language with which 
they were familiar, that of oaths 
& blasphemy, she called
"Stop! Remember God 
will not fight for you, unless 
you fight for Him."
She preached to them 
a Crusade. She made of them 
Crusaders. She had crusaders 
back in return.
33.
7/ Siege began October 12, 1428.
She entered the city, April 29, 1429. 
Bastilles razed May 8, 1429.
49. 
8/ Talbot & Scales taken prisoners.8.
9/ The trial began Feb 21. 1431. 
She was burned May 30 1431. 
In 1455 the ecclesiastical
courts of Rome & Rouen "rehabilitated" 
their victim & 
in substance, said with 
Tressart,  Secretary of Henry 
of England, "we have burned
 a saint."The property of  1884
Anna Dickenson

The Story of
Jeanne D'arcPhilip 4^th the Templars & Jacques da Molay.
His son Louis 10^th (Hutin) Died 1316.
Louis & Marguerite
Sister of Burganday 
[[left]] & Clemence
John 4
Months
after Justin's death. [[/left]]
Jeanne
On which Philip I (the Long) had himself crowned
1317 Duke of Burgunday 
attempted to claim crown for 
his niece. New King immediately 
assembled
State Generals, & a formal 
decree was published 
declaring that females 
are incapable of inheriting 
the Crown of France. So

[[end page]]
[[new page]]

[[underlined]] 1 [[/underlined]]
[[line]]
Among the names, to which 
mortals have decreed Immortality
is that of Jeanne D'arc.
with reason
Consider, the time, in which she
lived. The needs of her days. The
work she wrought, the life she
lived; the death she died.
First of all France
In 1316 an infant girl, (Joan
daughter of Louis Hutin) was the
rightful heir to the French Crown,
Her uncle (Philip the Long) who should
have been her actual, as he was her
legal protector, had her thrust to
one side. Had himself crowned by
the power of the sword.
The people, believing in that
day as in many a day since,
that right, is made by might, accepted
this verdict. A law
of which Germany, was the 
birthplace and heathenism, the
date was summoned, to the 
support of this robbery.
The affair was settled.give color to the usurpation,
 the lawyers cited law of 
barbarous Salians that 
provided that Salic land
(ie. - the allodial property
of her tribe
should not descend to
females.
He died in
1322 left a daughter
& his brother took her 
place Charles 4th (le Bel),
and Charles His thrice
married died without
male issue in 1328, 
leaving his Queen
Jeanne d'Evreux enceinte.
If prince -- all right.
If princess -- Council
of Peers to assemble &
declare so.
His sister Isabella,
wife of Edward 2nd &
mother of Edward 3rd.
Edward 3rd King 
of England his nephew.
Princess Jeanne

2

But, mark you, legitimacy sacrificed
in the person of a young
girl, left the door wide, for manly
usurpations, & illegitimate claims.
Edward the 3rd of England, was 
quick to see his opportunity--
thrust his hand through this
loophole, to grasp at the French
crown.
From this, entered a war,
of 120 years. A war, extending
through the reigns of five English
and five French kings,
during which, the great realm
of France, was twice lost &
twice re-won, by Frenchmen.
A war that began by denying
right, to a woman, was ended 
by a woman. A war, the
outcome of which was the sacrifice
of legitimacy in the person of a 
young girl, was closed, victory
gained, peace established by
another young girl.
Thus, the whirligig of Time
brings in his revenge. Thus, by
a species of Divine adjustment
(which we do not now comprehendMarried to Count of
Evreux up whom a son
&
His first cousin Philip
of Valois grandson of
Philip V
so passed Crown from
Hugh Capet to Valois.

3
hend the scales of  justice held in
the hands of God swing down
even at last.
this war went on with
varying measures of success, but
always of success / to the English
with varying measures of defeat
but always of defeat to the French,
till at last in 1427, Bedford, the
then English regent, wrote to his
master, Henry of England, "I am
about putting in practice a scheme
which, if successful, will ultimate
in the destruction of
France as an independent power,
will reduce it as a vassal to
your crown."
What was this scheme?
England was in possession
of the entire of the Northern
provinces of Gaule with the
exception of a few insignificant
fortresses. Charles, still
held the centre, with a portion
of the Southern provinces of
his own domain. Orleans
was his larger stronghold, &
was in such position, that4

whoso held it had an open door
through which he could
pass to the possessions of England
-those in the north-
or to the possessions of France, [Charles]
those in the Centre and South.
Bedford, desiring to go
to the South of France, saw
that it was necessary, ere
advancing, than this key 
of Orleans in his keeping.
To this end, he massed
a great army, over against
the City, Liberty thru thousands
as Hume, the historian of
England asserts. [?]&
[?], that, as the French
chroniclers maintain, he
summoned from posts of
far off duty, his chiefest
generals to head this army,
He scattered money like rain
through the ranks.
As for France, it did 
what it could.
It threw into this
city, a few of its scattered &
marauding bands - its5
excuses for an army, / the people
already famishing, stripped
themselves a little more closely / &
fed,  a little more narrowly / that
these defenders, might have supplies
for brief months - or weeks at least, /  
Its young nobles / flung themselves into
the city, with the determination, to
save it /or,/  to die.
"Dim is the rumor of a common fight /
where host meets host / & many homes
are sunk.
But if a single combat [?] speaks
This contest, by valor of the
peculiarity of the position of Orleans
by valor of the magnitude of the
issues at stake, by valor of the
combatants, had all in the interest
& blow of a duel & by all the intensity of a
duel, to the death. A duel wherein
France & England were the principals
while all Europe looked on.
Here, was the last stand to
be taken for French nationality &
it was taken nobly. Orleans
comprehended that if she fell, she
dragged down with her, her king &
her country, & she said, / nothing6
shall subdue me.
But there be limits
to human endurance & by & by,
Orleans stretched out meagre 
& trembling hands crying for
help to the King. The
King was packing his belongings &
making his preparations to flee
from his country, turning his
back upon the subjects people
who were dying for him that he
might save his own worthless
life. To the army, & the army
was broken with bands of robbers
its motto being "each man for
himself." To the people, to France,
but what could France do. France,
whole highways were deserted,
whole fields were barren, whole
cities were desolate & whole 
villages had ceased? High & low,
rich & poor, master & servant, 
noble & serf were alike, helpless to
aid or save their country in
this, its hour of direst need &
utmost extremity. The end
of all, seemed near.
Suddenly, through this
darkness a light shone, suddenly, 
there went sounding7
down, through this sorrow, &
gloom, & despair a voice
that cried, "I am come from
God to save you." And all
the people said "Amen! for
vain is the help of man."
The people, never begin to
pray till they are afraid to 
hope.
This voice, that brought 
comfort to the fainting hearts
of men, was a woman's voice,
that of a girl, young & beautiful
& unselfish & wise, with that
wisdom, which through all
age entering into holy
souls, has made them prophits
& friends of God.
In all history there
is no character, whose course
can be more readily & easily
traced, than that of this
young girl.
Over four hundred
authentic histories have
been written of her. Her
enemies, who by their process
of condemnation, in 1431,



8
thought to consign her to eternal
infamy, have thereby built her
enduring monument. They
summoned witnesses from
all parts of the empire, from
the greatest noble to the lowest
peasant, to testify concerning 
her & and this testimony, sworn
& proven, lies tonight among
the State papers of France, for
whoso to examine that has
need or desire. Thus when
one speaks of her & her work, one
does not speak of a myth, of a
legend, of a tale that is told.
One does not say perhaps it was
this, maybe it was that, perchance
it was another, one
swiftly says - so, it was.
She was born in the
little village of Domremy, in
Lorraine, & which was then,
as it has been full often since,
swept by contending armies
in the year 1411.
Her parents were
peasants, poor, but with the
independence that always9
come from actual ownership
of the soil.



10
For herself, she lived a life
chiefly out of doors, that was
simple, strong, vigorous, active,
wholesome.
Beyond this, friend
& foe, oet & historian alike,
tell us of her goodness, her
kindness, her charity, her
seriousness & earnestness, 
amounting to sadness.
So kind was she (as they
tell us) as to take the bread
from her mouth to give to
some hungry traveller who
came to her father's door. As
to get off her little bed at night
to sleep upon the floor, that
some weary wayfarer might
have rest for a few hours. As
to give all of her scanty childish
store with the work of her 
hands, to the poor the sick &
the suffering of the village.
So pious was she (with the
purity of her day and generation)
as not to be content to seek
the church only at stated
intervals, but, upon sunny11
morning, or twilight evening or
high noon she could be found
alike, prostrate at altar or
shrine.
"She," said her old
priest "was the only one in the
village who never missed confession
& who had never anything
to confess."
So serious & sad & thoughtful
was she as to provoke the
wonder of her elders (with whom
alone she would associate) for
when she went abroad with
her young companions under
the fire arch of the skies, while
they played she walked by herself
in silent meditation & when
they laughed she prayed.
Not only this, but the village
in which she lived, was one to
add to this habit of mind &
seriousness, of thought. It was
a village, a little village it 
is true, but it was situated
at the crossing of two high
roads, & these roads, the vastly 
travelled ones, between the
kingdoms of France & the
kingdoms of Germany.12
There whoso journeyed _ knight
soldier, pilgrim, beggar, peasant,
priest _ everybody, 
came that way, travelling
newspapers, bringing with
them stories of the great
contest raging outside, - a 
contest, wherein, they were 
all profoundly interested -
stories of which grew sadder
& sadder (as the years went
on) to those who loved the
cause, of the rightful king.
Among these listeners,
I venture to assert, none, gave
such an ear, such a heart
of [?], as that of this young
girl. Through all of her
after life, at the head of her
army, disputing with learned
doctors, dictating terms of
peace to nations, crowning
a king - through it all she
showed plainly that her sentiment
for France was not merely
a sentiment, Her feeling was
not simply feeling, it was a 
divine passion of patriotism.13
Her patriotism was her
religion, Her religion
was her life.
How, then, must these 
stories of the sorrow, the wrongs,
the want, the anguish of
France have affected one
who believed her country to be
a portion, & the favored
portion of the Kingdom of
God? Who regarded her 
King but as the [?]
of the Most High, upon earth?
How?
I can see the little earnest
face listening to the
tired and sun-browned
men. I can see her eyes dilate,
her lips quiver, her
throat swell, her heart
beat till she lays her hand
upon it to still its pain.
I can see the blood rise
in crimson tides of maidenly
shame as these men
repeat the Country proverb
that France, her France, God's

14
France has been brought to this
sore straight "by a woman."
The handsome, & wicked, &
dissolute Queen. I can see
the white look of an awful
hope as she hears the proverb's 
close - that "tis a maiden
-& a maiden from the
marsh of Lorraine, who will
redeem the land."
I can see her as she 
wanders through the forests,
as she sits under the hedge 
of her father's garden from
whence she can behold naught
save the blue canopy of the
sky, the church spire, & the
far peaks of the mountains
which alike from man & 
nature point to Heaven -&
so sitting draws the delicate
thread in & out, her soul
unemployed by the work of her
hands, or, confessed by the
silent and solemn vastness of
nature watch her sheep
browse through long, long
days of unbroken calm.15
She hears the hum of insects,
the song of birds,
the rustle of standing
grain, the low of cattle,
the sigh of winds, the
sweep of tempests. Above
her are April's smiles &
frowns, Summer's glow,
Autumn's gold & glory,
winter's snows and brilliancy
of earth & sky. Through
them all her spirit hears
a deeper sound, -- a
voice of pleading choked
with tears. The cry that
came in a vision of the
night from Macedonia
to Paul --"Come over &
help us." -- And it thrilled
her soul, as a living
man would be thrilled
by a prayer from the 
depths of the tomb.
Manifestly, they
made her lose her life
to find it, again,
She so loved France;



16
She so sorrowed in its sorrow. 
She so longed to live for it, to
suffer for it, to die for it at
need, that by & by this one supreme
thought took absolute possession
of her being. Things
small, things petty, things
base, things that are for self
& self alone or nearly touching
self; the life of today, the what
to eat, the wherewithal to be
clothed, --the roof to shelter us
--matters that interest one &
all of us -- good friends, by & by
such matters as these, were
crushed to death in her, by a 
mightier than they, & from
their grave, her soul plunged
to depths, & rose to heights
where it found God.
Hume tells us that her
undisciplined mind, grappling
with difficulties that
were beyond its comprehension
mistook the ravings of passion
for divine inspiration.
Schiller, --whose tragedy
is full of the most exquisite17
poetical conceits, but,
which as history, is romance
pure & simple, from
end to end-- Schiller
represents her as a non-descript
in creation, a 
being, neither angel, nor
human.
Shakespeare, trails
his great genius in the
filth of a national
prejudice & daubs out
of it, the picture of a
rude, coarse, vulgar,
disgusting charlatan.
Michelet & Lamartine,
speak of her, as Frenchmen 
almost invariably
speak of women: with
the outward courtesy that
veils inward contempt,
And Miss Catharine
Beecher, who wrote a 
somewhat exhaustive &
exhausting article
upon her discovered
that these voices & visions
of which we have heard,



Voltaire's infamy is past
& perfect &18
so much were the results of
disease; a distempered
condition, of the body, affecting
the organs of sight & sound.
For myself I believe in
these visions, but I believe
they were but the reflex of
her own soul.
I believe she was
called to her work, not by
voices, by signs, by wonders
in the air. No, I believe
she was called just as you
& I are called to service, I know
full well that every soul
that ever yet was sent into
the world, had its work
appointed of God & its (voice
of conscience) impelling
voice to drive it on.
She had goodness, in
an age of infidelity. She
had genius, in a time
of commonplace. Above
all she had faith. She
believed in France. In her
King. In Heaven's interposition
in behalf of its


19
own; --and this goodness,
this genius, above all this
faith made her the fit
leader & helper of a faithless
king, a shattered army, a
dispirited & heart broken
people.
Meanwhile, (or so)
the needs of France grew
& grew & her desire to
serve France kept pace with
its needs.
By & by, she could
keep silence no longer.
One night, when
she stopped her father's
neighbor, a poor laboring
man, as he was returning
from his toil, & putting
her hand upon his arm &
said:
"I tell thee, there is one
standing [living] right here within
sound of our voices & who
within the year will
raise the siege of Orleans
& see that the Dauphin 
is crowned king. What20
hast thou to say to that?"
Manifestly the girl
wanted to take the thought
out of herself, mark its
effect upon another.
As for this other, he
was an ignorant, superstitious
kindly fellow living
in the midst of ignorance
& superstition, & it by no means
astounded him, & took
it in good part.
She, gaining courage
thereby, went her way to
her father & mother, & no
longer said "It is a girl,"
but "I myself will do this
thing."
And the good commonplace
father & mother 
did just about what good
commonplace fathers &
mothers would have done
in all ages since then.
Her mother, blinded her
eye, & wore her knees, with
tears & with prayers, &
the father said: --


21
"Then go with the army.
Then march with these
soldiers! Why sooner than 
that I will drown thee, with
these hands".
For her, none of these
things moved her, the great
battle between her love, & her
genius her duty & her affections,
had been fought long
before in the inner depths of
her nature. They might
break her heart. They could 
not sway her purpose, nor
her soul.
From this point on,
it is clear that the girl
marked her path from her
Father's door to the King,
& beyond. And followed 
it step by step.
First of all
how to reach the Dauphin,
whom she would serve.
She thought.  She 
said then --"I will go my
way to the Governor of the
Province & the great man22
of the District, Robert de
Baudricourt. He shall 
hear me & He shall
forward me to the King."
To this end, she
enlisted in her service
her good uncle, Durand
Laxart, who loved her, &
believed in her, & sent 
him on this mission to
the knight.
Fancy the scene! --
A magnificent castle. In
it a man grown grey with
grace; covered, with honorable
orders, a knight. A courtier,
a Scholar. A gentleman,
Into this superb presence,
comes another man, A
peasant, clad in homespun,
wooden shoes on his feet.
His hands, hardened with
toil, and this man says
to this man that he comes
to him as "an ambassador."
An ambassador from
whom? From another peasant?
A child!  A young girl who



23
cannot write her own name nor
read it, after it is written, & 
this girl, this child, this ignorant
peasant says that she will
raise the siege of Orleans, & see
that the Dauphin is crowned
King, that where kings & armies
& potentates and powers have failed,
she will succeed!
Why, across all this dimming
distance of time you &
I can yet imagine the sort of
smile that came to the knight's
face as he said "Go thy way, 
good fellow, box thy neice's ears,
& send her home!"
He went his ways. He
did not box his neice's ears,
nor send her home. He was
blessed to see back of [(beneath)] the
girl's face & the woman's form,
the august soul, that was to
work such results, in the world
& when she said to him
"Take thou me to the Governor"
he took her.
But, the Governor would not
see her & shut the door in her face.24
She/ nothing daunted/
went her way to the house
of the best woman in the
town, --the wife of the blacksmith.
--& there, took up her
abode, waiting the knight's
pleasure.
And while she there
waited/ she talked much, /
- & all her talk was of France.
She shed innumberable
bitter tears/ & all her tears
were for France, she prayed
incessantly & all her
prayers, were for her wretched
king, & his yet more unhappy
 land.
She so talked, she so
wept, she so prayed, that
the people of the villages, &
the country folk round
about, crowded / to see &
hear her,/ & one & all, swept
& swayed by some subtle
power, & magnetism they
could not comprehend, / went
 their way from her presence,/
complaining against the

25
Governor, over in his castle,/ for
witholding / "Divine aid that"
(they said) "should be forwarded
to the King."
They so talked, the
wonder so spread (through
circle, after circle) as finally,
to reach the ears of a young
knight -- (Jean of Metz) - who
rode that way, with his old
squire, to whom, he said--
"Come, my squire, / let us turn
a little out of our path, & go
into this town,/ & see this girl."
Which was done / accordingly.
And it is plain from
the outset what effect the
girl had upon the knight,/ for
there yet / be letters extant /-
simple, sweet, written by manly letters,
[that] the young fellow [wrote]
to his mother & sisters, telling
them of the marvellous girl,/
& of the wonderful effect
(influence) she had upon (over)
whoso approached her.
So, he staid & talked26
with her, about many things,)
& at last, said to her: --
"What is it, thou dost
desire/ Jeanne? What
would'st thou do? What is
all this mystery?"
To which she:--
"I have been sent of God
to this Governor -- Robert de 
Baudricourt, over
yonder in the great castle
--to tell him he must
forward me to the King.
But he will not listen.
He shuts the door in my
face! And yet, I must
reach the dauphin before
Easter Morning/ if I have
to go to him/ upon my knees, 
For neither kings nor
princes, nor the daughter
of the King of Scotland
(who was the ally of France)
"Can in any way aid, or
serve [help] him./ I alone, can
save him,/ for that so my
Lord has ordained."
And you & I can

27
just hear the laugh, that came
from the gay young fellow,
as looking at her & then
at his old squire he asked--
"Thy lord? Who/ is thy
lord, Jeanne?"
"God."
At that, the young knight
& the old squire, stretching
out their mailed hands,
took her young slight palm
into their grasp & swore to
conduct her/ to the king/ or
whithersoever she would.
"When will thou go?"
said they.
"Rather today/ than tomorrow,"
she answered. 
She noticed that when
a man is dying there
is need of dispatch.
"Will thou go in that dress?
"I will be thankful for another."
Nothing should stand
betwixt her & her work. the
woman's dress would
expose her to difficulty,
danger, insult, perchance/28
death, itself.
Meanwhile, the
Governor, moved by all
this, had written to the 
Dauphin. The dauphin,
doubtless swayed by a
variety of emotions, had
sent back word, "forward
her to us." & so all things
conspiring, -- the king, commanding
her presence,
the knight & the squire
swearing to conduct
her, the people believing
in her, she was sent on
her way, & as she was
about riding forth, clad
in complete armor, the
governor, de Baudricourt
himself, going into his
armory, taking a sword
from the wall, putting it
into her hands said--
"Go!/ Go & let come/ what
thou canst accomplish!"
Evidently the knight/
thought it was a very small 
affair, the girl was to do.

29
Why, it was a bold enterprise/
even to begin!
She had to get over one
hundred & fifty (150) leagues of
territory--the old French league
being twice as long as the
present one, & every town,
every village, every fortress
of which was in the hands
of the enemy & the English
& Burgundian forces. She
had to cross eight rivers, &
innumerable streams,
every one of which, was
bridgeless./ She had to go
upon a journey,/ which from
the fatigue, exposure, exhausting
hunger, thirst, cold, would
have taxed the strength of a 
strong man of more than
this./ She had to go, a girl, 
young, beautiful, alone,
with sworn knights &
men-at-arms in a 
day when men held
woman's honor, but as
thistle down to be blown
down the winds. And yet/30
as these same men afterwards
testified/- under
oath,/ though they rode all
day on horses at her side,
& stretched themselves
out to sleep by her side
in the open fields at
night/ no though, ever
came to them concerning
her, other/ than tho' she 
had been an angel.
At last. { in 4 / days }
she reached the town/,
where lived the King.
But the King / had
changed his mind. Would
not see her. He sent her
to an inn, & commissioners
to her. / But she, had
naught to say / to them.
Then / he forwarded
some/ to her old home/ to
inquire into her past
life,/ & impatient,/ ere
these could return,/
sent other commissioners /
to her.
But she replied [answered] to these/

31
as // to the first: "- / I have
naught, to say to you. / Take
me to the King. I will
answer him.
Till at last 
the King said "We will
receive her./ Let her, come,
in."
And so,/ as the old 
chronicles tell us/ the impoverished
court made itself fine, 
to receive the peasant girl. 
It got out its splendid robes
& its cloth of gold & its magnificent
jewels (packed
for flight!) & arrayed itself
therein. It had fifty
candles twelve feet high,
burning in the room. It
had three hundred knights
in complete armor waiting/
in the anti-chamber./--
And the dauphin said
"If she come of God /
she will recognize us in
disguise", & so put himself
into plain armor32
/to mingle with his court.
"If she come of the
devil--she will pick out
my handsomest courtier,"/
& himself selecting the
knight, /had him dressed
in his own robes,/ placed
his crown upon his head,/
mounted him/ in the 
chair of state/, & had
her summoned, to audience.
And here say those
who will find in this
girl everything/ save,
what she was:-/ a
being of genius, of power
& patriotism, say those/
who will see in her a
mere blind tool in the
hands of Fate--"here be
two incidents in her
career/ that plainly
demonstrate, the truth,
of our theory."
They tell us, as she
was riding across the
drawbridge, to come

33
into the castle, where the
king was waiting to receive
her, a brutal man-at-arms,
struck by the beauty of her
face & the singularity of
her dress, said to a
                 demanded of
comrade:
"Who is that?"
"Jeanne D'Arc"/ was the
answer, "The maid you
know who has come/ to
the help of the king."
And the man with
vulgar oaths & hideous
blasphemy/ made a frightful
threat, against her
womanhood.
They tell us she
paused/ drew bridal
rein,/ turned/ & looked
at the man, /&, in a voice/
thrilling & terrible/ cried
out:--
"Ah, by my God / Thou
blasphemest Him!/ & thou
so near to death!"--/
And in a little while
thereafter, they tell us the34
man, fell into the river &
was drowned!
Need of a miracle here?
Why, so good & so serious
& so earnest a soul, must,
of necessity have uttered
its protest against
blasphemy & indecency,
& so for the rest, Time must
always have seemed
short, & the grave near, 
to one who lived in constant
thoughts of Eternity.
Coming then, into
the presence of the king
& his court she was by
no means, deceived /
by this mock dauphin/
on his throne/. She
knew her rightful lord/,
She knelt at his feet. She
claimed him / as her own.
Again/ need of a
miracle?
Why, she had
lived for four days in
the same town with him
out  {Chinon in Lorraine.)}




35
& all their talk had been of the King
a little town. A town of one
street. Every knight of this
court had been into her
presence. She must have
heard him described/ a 
thousand times.
What was the wonderful
secret she revealed to him,
"known only to himself, &
his God?"
Later authors assert
that she told him
that "On All-Saint's Day,
above, in the chapel
of Loches, he prayed to
know if he were rightful
king, --if not that he
might be deprived of the
means of carrying on the
war."
First,--he was not at
Loches on that day.
Second, --he was not
given to prayer of any sort.
Third, --he needed
not to pray for conditions
that already compassed
him.36
[* Out]
Advancing to his
courtier he, (not she)
stated that the young girl
had communicated
to him certain secret
affairs which led him
to place in her the
greatest confidence.
On her trial she
refused to give any word
concerning it. To her
almoner she stated
that she said to the King,
"I tell thee on the part
of Messire (the Lord) that
thou art the true heir
of France."--
(The whole ten kingdoms
were rife with evil
stories which she had
heard, & about [*upon*] which
she had her opinion
--with the rest of the
world.)
"&  son of the King,
& He hath sent me
to conduct thee, to
Rheims, in order that



37
[*out]
thou mayst be crowned &
anointed, if such be thy will."
Charles, being no fool,
had a thorough appreciation
of the value of mystery.
To the Duke of Alencon
she said--"You are right
welcome. The more princes
of the blood there are, the
more will our affairs prosper."
She recognized that 
God works, by means.
To the parliament
of Poitiers which formulated
"If the Lord will rescue
France men-at-arms are
unnecessary." She replied--
"The men-at-arms
will fight, & God will give
them the victory," proving
that, with St James, she
asked, "Can faith save us?"
& knew, with him, that
"Faith, without works is
dead."
Pressed for proof
of her divine mission
she answered--is38
[*out]
the answer that of blind
fanaticism?
"I am not come to
Poitiers to perform miracles.
Conduct me to Orleans
& I will there give you
proofs wherefore I am 
sent."
This they "could
not find in their books,"
to be orthodox inspiration, 
to which she
There is more in the
book of God than in
yours."
Time was ridiculously
consumed by this parliament
till the men who
came from [Dunirs?] (at
Orleans) could return to
the beleaguered city, spreading
her fame by the way,
till the messengers from
Domremy had brought
glowing accounts of her
childhood. --In a word,
till time was ripe--and
the hour had come!



39
"Is it more decent to do such
things in man's dress," said the archbishop
of Embrun, "since they
must be done along with men."
The Dominican
Seguin "a very sour man"
asked Joan, "What language
the voices spoke to her?"
"Better than yours,"
answered she.
The Friar spoke the
Limousine dialect.
[*out]

For myself, I believe that
from the moment/ she came
into the presence of the King
& the court/ they saw, of
what stuff/ she was made &
for what work she was ready,
but, it was necessary to
prepare the minds of the common
people/ to fight under 
the banner in this last
desperate enterprise, for the
salvation of France.
So they held councils/
& had questions & more
questions a plenty, & her 
answers, full of that rarest 
of all genius, the genius40
of common sense were
scattered broadcast
across the land.
Through this, six
thousand men, from the
midst of the multitudes
who swarmed to the place,/
had enlisted under her
banner./ The people,
finding that a final
effort was to be made
in behalf of Orleans,
gathered of their scanty
remaining store of provisions,
to send to the
starving wretches of the
town
She then, being
first of all/ appointed
commander-in-chief/
of the King's forces/ was
clad, in shining white
armor, a so called
sacred sword put into
one hand, a so called
sacred banner, into the
other,/ & so, with her
army, her escort, her

41
provisions,/ she rode on her
way--the last hope of the 
last stronghold of France.
(In brief) they marched by
day & they marched by
night, through four days & 
nights/ & at last found
themselves at a little village,
a few leagues distant from
Orleans, & there, waited till
the officers of the town could
come out to meet her. On
this side the city/ the English
siege lines were of such
strength/ as to compel her
army to go about, by a long
& circuitous route,/ & so come
into the place, from the 
other side.

          { And while she }
          { there waited she gave}
           { proof, if she had never}
[*out*] { before given it that she}
           { was made of the clay, out}
           { of which is fashioned the}
           {leaders & rulers of men.}
           {She had at command}42
six thousand men, but
they were not six thousand
disciplined soldiers. They
were outlaws, robbers,
murderers. To read
what is set forth in the
chronicles of the [day]time
concerning these same
men is to make one
shudder away from 
the thought of one's 
kind.
Into such a
mass of humanity as
this went this girl, &
standing in their midst
cried:--
"Look you at France!"
& they looking with her
eyes saw its dismantled
cities, its barren fields,
its burning homesteads, 
as tho' these had never 
been seen before -- & 
their hearts glowed
within them as they
gazed.
Then she said:
[*out]



43
"It is you, -- you & none others
who shall save France. Who
shall rebuild the old
waste places; --shall
restore from this desolation."
--And their souls were
filled with courage &
with hope.
"And yet," -- she
went on "what can you
do? You so few, against
the multitude of the
English?--" and
courage & hope failed
them.
"But," she cried,
"God is on the side of
France" --& they answering
[*out]44
out
the electric tone, in the only language with which they were familiar, that, of oaths & blasphemy, she called - "Stop! Remember God will not fight for you, unless you fight for Him!" She preached to them a crusade. She made of them crusaders. She had crusaders unk in return.45
By & by the
officers of the town came
out to meet her./ Her
army, went on its way.
She & her escort, & her
provisions/ came down
the river/ to a little place
just opposite Orleans/ &
wind & tide favoring/
entered unmolested
in.
"How?" say you. "Unmolested?
Where then, 
were the English? Why
did they not prevent?"
She was as well
known in the one
camp, as in the other,--
but with a difference.
The French said:-
"She comes of Heaven."
The English said;--
"She comes of Hell."
The French cried; --
"She is God's special
interposition in our
behalf!"
The English could



46
not accept that theory for
you know God is always/
on our side/ Nevertheless/
the Devil/ is a formidable
adversary/,& they preferred
(wisely enough) staying
behind their entrenchments/
to meeting him/ in the
open field.
And so, coming
into the city at eight o'clock
of the pleasant spring
evening, 1428, what/ did
she bring to it?
A great army,/ to fight
their battles?
No.
A commanding general?/
whose name of itself, would
be a tower of strength in
their midst?
No.
A King to arouse their
enthusiasm?
No.
She brought, two hundred
men-at-arms/ She
brought/ some food, for47
starving mouths, she
brought herself!
But, in that last
bringing she literally
brought "beauty, for ashes
--the oil of joy/ for mourning
& the garment of 
praise for the spirit of
heaviness."
The people,
crowding the housetops,
darkening the 
windows, blocking the
doorways, swarming
in the streets, looking
at this marvellous, beautiful,
inspired face
as it rode by cried:--
"Ah! She is sent indeed,
of Heaven! We 
are saved!"
And the next day
she began active enterprise
in their behalf &
for their salvation, by
calling together a 
council of war/ &
putting before it, her



48
plan of a campaign.
"Her plan of a
campaign!" says someone,
"Why, what did she know
of such matters? It is self
evident that it was the
Generals,/ the officers,/ the
men who understand
these things who planned
the campaign/ & she, by
her youth & sex, enthusiasm
& beauty, merely
inspired, the men to fight."
Let us see if that
statement/ will hold water.
Seige began Oct. 12 1428.
She entered city April 29, 1429.
Bastille raised May 8, 1429
[*out]
The siege of Orleans
had begun in October 1428,
This/ was April 1429.
This, was the same
city/ These the same
officers in command/
This the same army/ This
the same besieging English49
line/ Not an item had
changed / save only/ that
this girl had come into,
the town.
The officers had
had everything their own
way for six months. They
could plan as they pleased
& fight as they pleased.
What had they gained
by it?
They had gained/
precisely six months
of waiting & starvation.
No more. No less.
She then, standing
in their midst, laid 
down her plan of a 
campaign.
Said she;
"I will take our men,
burning with hope at
white heat of enthusiasm
I will weld them
into one compact body,
will bat this down
upon the nearest &
weakest of the enemy's



50
fate. Taking this will
cut their line,/ will inspire
our men to greater deeds./
Will be an entering wedge,
to victory. We will no
longer wait for them to
tire. We will assail."
Why her whole
plan was simply that
that Napoleon put into
practice, centuries later/
through which he made
himself temporary master
of the world. / It was to
take his army, large or
small, make one compact
mass of it, hurl this upon
the frailest point, in the
line of the enemy, & so
breaking it in two,/ severing
its connections, have the
whole thing at his mercy
to be taken in detail.51
of the Emperor, of
the general, of the man
the world says:--
"What august power!/ 
What Commanding
genius!/ Of the woman,
under precisely similar 
conditions, it cries:/
Why, what a lucky 
accident/ it was she 
should happen to hit
upon that plan!"
So she presented
it, & the Governor of the
city,--the Count Dunois
The ablest officer, bravest
soldier, most cultured
scholar, elegant gentleman
of the court of
Charles the 7th-- said
Dunois & such men
as he, as became true
greatness.
"All we have to propose
has come to nothingness.
We have no fresh
plan to offer. Here is a 
new one. We stand



52
to back it, & see what comes
of it.
Said the lesser souls
"It is not to be thought of, for 
an instant!"
They had never
thought of it.
But when the 
council had broken up & the
great men & the great woman
had gone on their way, these
lesser souls/ gathering themselves
together said " Good!
Capital! Tomorrow/ when
she is where she ought to be,
in her own house,/ we will take
her plan/ & the men she has inspired
& will march out & pick
the laurels of this tree of her
planting."
So the next morning
early they took the men, they took
the plan,/ & went their way to
its fulfulment.
They went out swelling
to victory--& they came home again.
She lying upon her
bed, at high noon, asleep, exhausted53
exhausted by the toils of the
past month, was wakened
by the sorrowful tumult in the
street, by voices that cried
under her window, "Awake!
Arouse! The French line has
advanced! Has attacked! Is
defeated! Is in full retreat at
the gates of the city, the enemy
at its heels!"
She heard.--/She wakened./
--She answered.
She sprang from her
bed, she dashed into her 
armor, she fled down the
stairway, she vaulted into
her saddle, & tearing her
banner from the window where
it floated, put spurs to her horse
& rode from the Western gate of
the city (where she had been asleep)
to the Eastern gate, the gate of
Burgundy,--across the whole 
length of the town, ere her
old squire had fairly cased
himself in armor.
Riding, then, among
these scattered, native fugitives



54
she swept around them up & voice
of command, -- & the men
recognized what men always have
& always will recognize to the
end of time--the eye & the voice
of the master soul where it blazes/
& when it speaks.
They gathered about her;
they closed in after her; they followed
her through the gate of the
city to the fort from whence they
had fled a half hour before, & in
brief time, they literally took it by
storm. Five hundred English
men were left dead under their
bloody swords & spears.
So quick, so terrible, so relentless
had been the assault that
the English, in the near forts did 
not venture to the rescue of their
comrades, & even Bedford, the great
English commander, did not care,
as Hume himself confesses. to meet
this girl in the open field, with the
sword.
That, in short, was the
story of that day--& of the next
& the next.55
Through this, the major officers
stood to support her.
The minor ones to oppose her. Till
at last these said--"Enough!/
Let us make an end!"
Thursday--a saint's day--
(She, devout, on her knees in
her own chamber in prayer) these
malcontents gathered themselves 
together in a council,/
from which Dunois had been
excluded, of which she was
supposed to know nothing.
Being so gathered, the 
one suggested one reason,
another, another, a fifth, 
a fifth, a tenth & a tenth for
"Delay", till her army which
was already half way over
the course/ should reach its
destination/& they, with its
assistance/ should accomplish
some/ great thing.
This being done, they
were about breaking up the
council/ when she who was supposed
to know naught of it, came
knocking, knocking at the door/



56
& entering in said to them
"Gentlemen, you have been
at your council,/ I have been at
mine. Believe me/ the councils of
men/ shall come to naught, but,
that of my God/ shall, stand. I
will attack the enemy tomorrow."
So the next morning, when the
sun rose, she rose. She clad
herself in armor & came riding
through the city streets to the city
gates, to find them locked & barred
against her--This keeper/ with
the keys in his hand,--his guard
about him.
"Let me through!" she cried.
"It is against the orders of the
council," he answered,
"Let me though!" she repeated.
"The generals have otherwise decided,"
was the response.
The generals were not there & 
the Council was not there, but 
the army was there, & the people
were there, & when she cried
to them--"Let us go through!"
they went through.
They, battered the gates to atoms.57
They swarmed across the bridge
to attack the last stronghold,
of the enemy, the Tournelles,
two great towers, that lifted
themselves up, over against
the city, connected by a drawbridge.
Here the English (taught [learning]
wisdom through disaster)
had gathered in the men from
the outlying forts, & so massed
them in these two towers, as 
to face them out upon the open
& exposed drawbridge.
Here then they fought
that day as Englishmen know
how to fight, as men who [fight] struggled
not alone for life, but for immortality.
Against this seemingly
impregnable fortress, against
this desperate & heroic foe, the
French line, beat from seven of
the morning till one of the
afternoon--& beat in vain.
She, then, finding her
men were losing heart & hope,
that she could not rally them,

58
flinging her sword to one soldier,
her banner to another, ran &
with her own hands seizing a
ladder, put it against the wall
of the fort & mounted it battle
axe in hand, shouting for
the men to come onward.
The heard! They answered! They
followed! -- But not soon enough.
An archer, taking too sure aim, 
let fly an arrow from the wall,
striking her here in the chest
making a wound, a finger
length broad, the arrow-head
coming out behind.
The girl, fainting, to the
bottom of the trench. Her men
ran, seized her, tore her from
under the very advancing
feet of the foe & carrying her
away to a green & quiet spot,
stood about her, to watch her
die.
But presently life came
back to her, & with life, the
consciousness of intolerable
pain. The tears were wrung from
her eye--but remembering59
herself--herself once more--with
her own hand/ she tore the
arrow from the wound, with
her own hand dressed it, & 
ordered her men to carry her
back to the front, [once more].
But through this the minutes
had grown to hours. The soul
gone, how could the body
fight? The French line was
in full retreat. It thought
her dead.
She looking across
the field, saw that this was
no defeat, saw that it was 
a panic. She recognized 
what military men in all
ages have recognized, that
under the whole shining
surface of the sun, there is
naught so senseless as a panic
in an army.
But, finding she could
not sway the generals to her
mind, with that quickness of
thought that pertains to
genius, & goes to its mark like
the lightning of God, -- she said:--



60
"At least let the men sit down to
suffer. They have had naught
to eat, nor to drink, this day."
Thereby she gained two points:
strength, for the men to fight the
battle she meant to wage, that 
night; time for them sitting
there coolly to see what it was
from which they had fled. What it
was they were to face.
The generals did not fathom
her plan. They were not willing
for the men to fight, They
were more than ready to let them
feed, So they were put down
to their suppers.
Through this she went by
herself, in prayer, & this done,
& that done, she came among 
them once more to find them
refreshed & inspirited, new men.
As to these English, in their
two towers, they expected no second
assault. They thought the day
well and honorably won. They had
flung aside their arms, they
had put off their armor.
They were feasting & revelling,61
& rejoicing themselves, in a 
false security, when the
solitary sentry from the
wall cried--
"Behold!"
And lo, here was seen creeping
up through the gathering
twilight, of the spring evening,
seemingly a new army, &
at its head the woman they
thought dead hours before,
came living, & commanding
the living.
There could be no two results,
to such an assault!
Fighting--struggling--contending--
inch by inch of the
way--the English were forced
out upon the overcrowded
drawbridge.
Here, then, fully exposed,
the French fire cutting through
& through them--the French
arrows whizzing across &
across them, she from where
she stood saw, that the
timbers were cracking, the
bridge giving way, & with



62
a blessed instinct of mercy ran
forward & cried to Glasdale,
the English commander:--
"Surrender! Thou & thy men
& you shall have mercy! You shall
not be put, to the point of the sword!"
And Glasdale who had
promised that if she ever fell
into his hands, he would
burn her as a witch, responded
with brutal oaths & blasphemy
& at the instant, the timbers
burst! The bridge gave way, the 
hundreds on hundreds there
gathered/ sank into the river
beneath, & as Glasdale himself
went down, & the dark waters
closed over his blaspheming head,
She cried for his dying ears, to 
hear--
"Ah, how I pity & pray for
thy soul!"
The other tower was soon taken.
The siege of Orleans was ended.
It had lasted for six months
ere she came to the city. This was
the night of the sixth day after
she entered it.63
The next day was the Sabbath,
She would permit no fighting. 
She compelled the whole
army to stand still, while the
shattered remnant of the
English force marched away.
Monday, while the place
was in the midst of its rejoicing,
she went her way
to the king. At Blois.
[Charles, as Dauphin usually resided at
Berey. Heard of his father's death at
Mehun- Sur-Yevre on 24.Oct.1422. Did
nothing about it till on 27th learned that
Parliament at Paris recognized Henry 6.
On 30th assumed at his castle of M-S-Y.
the title of King & repaired to Bourges to
inaugurate at its cathedral his
reign as Charles 7th.]
She was received,
with all honor. She was
loaded, with gold & with favors.
The dissolute young courtiers for once
in their lives paid respect to genius &
to goodness, but they reconvened
their councils.
One said, "She shall go with me
into Normandy to reconquer my
possessions there."
Another said; "Nay not so



64
selfish fellow./ My castle & lands
in Brittany are greater than thine,
she shall go with me there."
Others said : "She shall go upon
no private enterprise, she shall fight
the battles of the king."
As for the King/ about whom was
the whole ado, he said: "Enough
has been done. Let us sit down,
eat, drink & be merry."
As for her/ she saw the first need
of the king/ was to be king indeed.
The first want of the empire/ was a 
head.
There was a superstition, rife
through all France, from the highest
noble to the lowest peasant/ to
the effect/ that the rightful heir
to the throne/ could nowhere be
properly crowned & anointed/
save in the great cathedral of the
city, of Rheims.
Every French king had there
been crowned, Charles alone excepted.
Charles the 6th had died in 1422.
This was 1428. The dauphin had
not been crowned in the place
appointed since it, with all the
country round it, was in the65
hands of his powerful enemies
--the English & Burgundian
forces.
Grave doubts were
everywhere entertained of the
dauphin's legitimacy; --doubts
that Bedford, the English regent,--
the most astute prince of his time
did his best to intensify./ He had
already sent to England for young
Henry. It was a race/ between the
two./ Whoso/ should first reach this
city of Rheims/ & there be crowned.
Henry of England or Charles of France,/
would be recognized by the great
body of the people/ as their rightful,
head.
The king/ did not know
his own danger./ His knights &
nobles/ were too blind, selfish or
indifferent/ to tell him thereof.
Jeanne d'Arc, a peasant,
comprehended/ the superstitions
of the peasants./ A child of the
people/ understood what would
touch the hearts of the people./ A 
soldier/ knew what would rouse
the courage of soldiers,/ so that,
coming into the presence of the
dauphin, she said: "Sire,



66
if thou wouldst forever sit at
rest,/ this whole question of loyalty
& legitimacy in France.
If thou wouldst bring knight,
soldier, peasant/ as one man to
fight under thy standard,/ go thou
thy way/ as all thy forefather's have
gone, before thee/ to the city of Rheims,/
& there/ be crowned./ The first step
will be half of the journey,/ the very
effort to start will prove/ thou
hast the right to go, & it will bring
thy people to thy support."
The king cried "No! Madness!"
The Court cried "No! Folly!" She
said "Aye!", and when power
speaks, weakness yields. She
carried them, on their way.
And--to sum up in brief that
journey through a hostile country/
She came to fortresses, & took them.
She came to strongly walled & garrisoned
places, & took them. At
Patay she fought the first battle/ in
eight years of ceaseless battles/ wherein
France had stood victorious in
the open field./ Nay, here was not
alone defeated, here was positively
annihilated, the vast power
sent from England years before.67
for the subjugation of the French
Talbot & Scales taken prisoners [*out]
From this point on/ it was/
as she/ had predicted : the march
of her King/ was one triumphal
progress./ The fortresses let down
their drawbridges at his approach/
the towns & the cities/ flung their
keeps & their allegiance at his feet./
The people crowded the roadsides/
shouting at his approach./ The
king, had, literally/ come to his own.
Reaching the City of Rheims
it was to find the gates thrown wide,
the English army marched away. The 
citizens rejoicing to receive them.
And the morning/ Jeanne d'Arc
entered that city, she climbed the
apex of her life, She reached the
summit of her existence.
Every one of us, you, I, my friend,
have had or will have, our day.
from which we date.
This/ was here.
That morning/ she dictated a letter
to Burgundy/ that ultimately brought
peace, between the king, & his
great rebellious subject. She dictated
a letter to Bedford,/ decreeing
terms of settlement that were



68
scoffed at that day/ but in comparatively
brief space of time were
accepted, to the last letter.
Entering the city/ tho' in the procession
were knights & nobles, & 
men with even royal blood in
their veins/ she took precedence,
of them all. She marched
at the right hand of the king. 
In the cathedral where he was
crowned she still held her post
of honor/ at the king's right hand,
her banner in her grasp.
The king, crowned, sent for
her homely, old, peasant uncle/
& delighted to have him sit at the
same table,/ & as the greatest mark
of favor he could show him (in
those days) fed out of the same
dish, with him. He sent for her
peasant father & peasant brothers,/
ennobled  & knighted them. He
loaded her with honors, & with gold.
In every magnificent pageant
of camp & court in all Europe
no figure/ stood as resplendent/ as
that/ of this young girl.
'Twas a dizzy height!--
Did she lose balance, there?69
was it necessary, to place behind
her,/ as behind Caesar (in his triumphs)
a slave/ to whisper "
"Remember,/ thou/ too/, art but human!")
She was a peasant. She was a girl
of eighteen. She had all France at her
feet--, & was the marvel of Europe. What,
was her ambition?
The king, throned & established,/ she
came into his presence, & said:--
"Sire, I have somewhat, to ask of thee."
And the king said--"Speak on."
He would have given her/ verily thehalf 
of his kingdom.
Then, she said:--"I pray
thee, sire, that thou wouldst let me go
back, to my old home./ Thou hast no 
longer need of me, here. The siege of 
Orleans, is raised/ The English army,
is dispersed./ Thou, thyself/ art crowned.
Burgundy, is considering terms of truce,
with thee./ Thy knights & thy nobles are
crowding to thy standard./ What remains
to be done/ can soon be done/ & 
without further aid, of mine./ I pray
thee, then,/ that thou wouldst let me
return,/ that I may enter once more,
under my mother's roof/ that I may
go out,/ as in times past,/ in the open



70
fields/ to find my father's sheep./
Grant me this/ sire/ I beseech of thee, for
I have naught, more/ to ask of thee."
The soldier's work/ was done./ The
patriot's labor/ was ended./ The
woman's heart, cried, for home.
"No!" said the king. "Not to be
thought of!" cried the knights.
"Thou hast gathered this army. Thou
hast inspired it. Thou hast led
[*opened*] it to victory. Stay thou, then with it/
till is accomplished,/ what is so
nearly, done.
She prayed. She entreated.
As a good and loyal subject/ she yielded
to the commands of the king.
But, it was noted that from this time, 
on, a great sadness, fell upon her/ & that
she no longer originated plans./ She
was content, to execute the orders, of others.
Still, she marched & she fought/
wherever/ a forlorn hope was to be led,/
wherever / a desperate encounter was
to be headed--/there was she. / But one
day, in front of the walls of Paris, in
endeavoring to save from destruction
an attack she had not alone not
planned, but against which/ she
had protested/ she/ & her men/ were71
driven back. Coming from this
defeat to the little town of St. Denis,
she was welcomed/ by the king & 
his court.
Tho' it is so long ago, 
ages ago, the actors in the scene
dead & turned to dust & the most
of them forgotten,/ tis enough to
make the indignant tears start to
ones eyes, to read what treatment/ was
accorded her.
The king, whose brow she had
crowned,/ whose throne she had established,/
whose nation [*kingdom*] she had
saved, at this/ her first disaster/ turned
upon her, with fears and revilings. The
courtiers (in too many cases) hated
her for her power,/ & were envious of her
success,/ & they made the most of the
opportunity to reveal their bad 
feelings./ The people, the common
soldiers loved her/ as of old.
For herself, tho she knew she was
surrounded by enemies,/ that her
king/ would prove/ faithless, for her
self, she never faltered, to the end./
And the end was near.
Compiegn was attacked.
The Duke of Burgundy had brought
the entire of his army from Germany



72
--/where, it had been successful, &
flaunted it, over, against the city. The
commander of the town/ (Wm.) de Flavy
--a rough & brutal soldier/ hated
her, & made no secret of his enmity.
Undeterred by this, she did
as she had done, in other cases. She
took a handful of men,/ flung herself
into the city,/ promising the citizens/
she would save them,/ or would
die with them.
At five o'clock in the afternoon/
of the day after she came into the town,
she took six hundred men-at-arms
& marched across the drawbridge, to attack
a portion of the Burgundian line.
Twice she drove this before her./
The third time/ she & her men/were
beaten back./ They were, however, retiring
in good order, when another
[section] portion of the Burgundian line went
about/ to get between them & the bridge,
split them within two forces/ & so grind 
them to powder.
Her men saw & they lost hope, they
lost courage, they broke ranks & 
fled like sheep to the bridge.
She, finding she could not lead
them to victory/ would cover them/in
retreat. She rode from her post at the
head/to the rear./She fought, as even
her malignant enemies, the old73
English Chroniclers assert/ as ten
men, might have fought. She fought
till she saw her last soldier on
the bridge, Her last soldier across
it/ then she put spurs to her own
horse to ride forward. --His forefeet
were poised to beat down upon
the bridge, when the cruel governor
(de Flavy) gave the signal!
The drawbridge swung into
mid air! Jeanne D'Arc was alone &
surrounded by ten thousand enemies! Soon/
she was torn from her horse, &
in the hands of the foes.
What treatment was accorded her?
She as a soldier, an officer,/ a
prisoner of war. She had never done
aught to forfeit the treatment due
such an one. In every case, she 
had been a most human & magnanimous
[foe] enemy.. What treatment, then,
was [afforded] done with this heroic & hapless soul?
The man-at-arms who captured
her surrendered her, to his
chief, Lieutenant de Signy, & de Signy sold her
to Burgundy,/--Burgundy sold her
to the English, & her traitorous countrymen,
& the English who had failed
to capture her, were not ashamed of
the bargain. There was paid for her
[*slow*]   almost/the ransom, of a king. 

5.24.1430:
From July to May 30 th
wandering. Then Compiegne.
Bastard of Wandonne, a lieutenant of
John of Luxembourg Count of Signy (for six
months castle of of Beaulieu & 
Beaurevoir. Twice tried to escape. july
Oct. 1430) "It is true I did wish & I did
wish to escape, as is the right of every
prisoner." His wife, Joan of Bethune
& aunt, Joan of Luxembourg, godmother
of Charles 7th brought him even by her
will not to give him up. He was poor, on
21 Nov. 1430 she was handed over to King
of England (J. of L. had died on 13) & same
day [?] of Paris demanded her of him (as
King of France) to be tried by our honored
lord the Bishop & Count of Beauvoir.
The King of England transmitting
it through his coffers at Rouen, in golden
coin. English money, the sum of ten
thousand livres.
She did well to dread
Burgundy & his treachery, "There is no
peace with him." She had said, "Save at
the point of the lance." She was made
much of by the way, specially at Abbeville.
"Ah! What a good people is this! Would to
God I might be so happy, when my days 
are ended as to be buried in these parts."
Evidently she thought much of
dying, for when she rode in Rheims
(between Duvois & the archb of Rheims,
16, July 29 (King crowned 17.) "In God's name
here is a good people & a devout; when I die,
I should much like to be in these parts."
"Joan" inquired Duvois, "Know you when
you will die & in what place?" "I know not"
said she, "for I am at the will of God."
When the parliament got her
it sent her to Rouen (not Paris) which was the
actual English Capital 23 Dec. 1430. 3 Jan
31. handed her over to Peter Cauchon.
Trial had 40 sittings from 21 Feb to
30 May.74
They passed her from prison to
[*Arras*] prison, from keeper to keeper,/ till
at last, she was lodged in the
great castle in the city of Rouen/
in which place/ already lived
Henry, the young English King. They
gave (--the secular arm holding her, for
the Inquisition, to try) her for jailer/
the Earl of Warwick/ he who is written
down in history,/ as the pink & flower,
of chivalry of his time.
What did he, do for her?
The men who constructed it (at his
command) afterwards/ testified under 
oath, that they made for him an iron
cage,/ too low for her to stand upright/
therein, too short, for her to stretch
herself/ at length./ They chained her
about her neck,/ about her waist,/
about her hands,/ about her feet./
They fastened, these, iron, links, to the
iron bars/ of her cage.
They thrust this cage, into a
dungeon under water,/ into which,
no ray of daylight/ ever could penetrate.
They put three brutal men-at-arms
within, two/outside her
dungeon/ to watch her,/ to insult her,/
to waken her from brief, & troubled
slumbers, to tell[ing] her the executioner
was coming/ to carry her/ to torture/


 
75
& to death. They almost starved her.
Worse than this,/ such men as
the Duke of Burgundy,/ the Earl of 
Stafford, & of Warwick,/ the Bishop of
Beauvais, were not allowed to come
into her dungeon, & while men-at-arms
held up torches to shine upon her face/
to laugh at & revile her where she lay.
Nay, the great John of Luxembourg
making a mock of her/ said:--
"Ah, Jeanne, I have come/ to buy thee/
of these English, to pay thy ransom
to let thee go free./ What! So silent?/
Hast thou no thanks, to offer me for that?"
And she/ where she lay/ helpless/
yet heroic/ looking at him with/
undaunted life, answered:--
"Thou mockest me!/ Thou canst 
not, if thou wouldst. Thou hast sold
me, to the English. They/will burn 
me, that I know, right well./ But, 
tho' they destroy me/ & one hundred
thousand more,/ they will be swift
from France, for so God has ordained." [*stop*]
And at that, the Earl of Stafford
tore the dagger from his belt to
stab her/ to death,/ but the Earl of
Warwick, dashed hand & dagger /to
one side/ saying:--"No so easy a
death./ She is to be saved/ for the76
stake/ & the burning!"
They exhausted ingenuity, in
trying to find testimony/ against
her & failed./ Among other efforts/ they
sent to her old home, to buy it, &
with naught else known in her
favor,/ this would suffice. These
English emissaries, went into
a country/ desolated by war/ to bare
fields,/ to empty cupboards,/ to cold
hearthstones,/ to hungry mouths &
they went with hands/ full of gold/
& they couldn't find in all the
village,/ nor in the region round
about,/ man, woman,/ nor little
child, so poor/ nor so hungry as
to tell the truth against her.
I tell you there is no calumny,
not one/ that can stand against the words/
"beloved by the poor."
At last, they brought her to trial.
I can give you no transcript/
of that trial. had I a
brush thrust into the blackness
of darkness on the one
hand/ Into all the splendors/
of God's own sunlight/ on the
other,/ I could not paint that
scene!
[*Feb. 21,
1431 [o]
Burned 30 May
1431.
Rehabilitated
at Rouen 
& Rome
1455]
[*dipped*]
[*thrust into*]

77
Ninety judges on the bench./ The
clearest brains, the finest intellects,
of all France & the whole power of
England--& of the Inquisition/
to back them./ The great room
crowded with her relentless foes.
[*slow)*]   The girl/ absolutely alone, save 
for her soul/ & her God. --But
these, sufficed.
The trial lasted for
months./ There were, in the
aggregate, hundreds of questions/
put & answers received/ & the
strangest part of this strange trial.
is that these marvellous answers
can be accepted without doubt,/
cavil in question, since they have
come to us,/ not on the record of
friend, degrader, or supporter. The
very men who condemned her, to
die, had the record written out/ for
you & for me, to read.
Piling her scaffold/ they built
their own monument of infamy.

Even among the judges were those
who were compelled under penalty of death.
Dominican Isambard de la Pierre who suggested
to her appealing to the council of Bâle "Hold your
tongue in the devil's name" (It was he who led
the cross at the last. Dominican Martin
[Ladvenu?], told her of her death.78
but of these amazing answers.
I pick not one or two,/ wonderful,
(I pray you to remember) only as
all are wonderful Types of the whole.
Said one of her judges:
"Art thou in the grace of God,
Jeanne D'Arc?"
They thought, did 
she say "yes" they would accuse
her of presumption. Did she say
"No" they would accuse her of 
heresy. In either case/ they had
her. -- Mark how she went 
between them:
"If I am not in the grace of God,"
soft she answered, "may he take me
there. If, I, am, may he keep me."
And for this effort to prove her
a witch:--from the multiplicity
of questions, here are one or two.
Said one of the judges:--
"Thou wouldst seem, Jeanne D'Arc,
to wear a ring upon thy hand, A
ring/ to which thou didst talk--/
didst kiss & over which/ thou didst
pray before going into battle./ Manifestly
twas an evil thing/ given thee
by the enemy of souls. Thou dost not
dare to deny it."
"Ah!"/ she answered,/ the tears
rising to her tender eyes.--/
[*?]

79
"Tis true I did & I do wear such a ring.
I did so talk to it, so kiss it, so pray to
it before going into battle. It was 
because it had the name of Jesus
carved upon it, & because it had been
given me by my mother, & because
it was full of memories/ of childhood/
& of home."
"But," said another, "thy standard!
 That was an evil thing! Thou
wast heard again, & yet again,
[*o strong *]    to tell thy men/ that standard
would gain for them/ victory/
anywhere. All they had to do
was to look at it!"
"No!" she cried, & the soldiers
speaking there "No! I told them
no such thing. I told them to
follow that standard,/ whenever
& wherever it led to the front,/ in
the hottest part of the battle, &,
for all witchcraft, I carried
it there/myself."
"But," said they, "Thou
didst [carry] take it into the
cathedral where the king was
crowned,/ In all that magnificent
pageant thine, was
the only banner. What did that
miserable, battered, piece of silk/
& hacked & hewn out of wood80
wood, do thee?/ Thou didst not
dare/ leave it out of thy grasp./
Thou wast afraid thy master
would come else, to capture thee."
"Carry it there?"/ she cried,
and the answer should go to the
heart of every soldier, at least.
"Carry it there, I did, as was most
meet./ Since my banner had
been where there was danger, &
suffering, & struggle & death,/
it was fit that it should go where
there was honor & glory."
As to the effort to compel her/
to submit her inspiration to the
judgment of the Pope, knowing full
well, that as the Pop was the ally of
England, on that ground, he 
would decide against her./ --That
since she had maintained that
men should [rather] obey the
orderings of God in their own souls
rather than the commands of any
man, on that second count, she
was fore doomed, & I pray you, who
care to estimate this girl, & her character
ought to remember that before the
word "Protestant" was spoken in Europe,
before Luther was dreamt of, this child,
this peasant, this devout Catholic
facing prelates of her own church,



81 
life & death hanging in the balance/
answered them after this wise:--
"As to my work, - / my battles, - / my
seiges, --/these were the toils of
human hands. I am content
to submit them to the judgment
of the Pope, & his council, men 
great in power, yet, human
beings, like myself./ But for mine
inspiration,/ it came/ of Heaven/
I submit (yield) it, to Heaven.
alone./ I refuse to recognize the
right of any man to interfere
between the soul/ & its God."
And, at last, weary of injustice
& anguish/ she cried:--                   [* o stop*]
"I am come, from God! // I have
naught to do here. Dismiss me to
                                                [*strong*]
God, from whence I came."
Finding that even perverted
law could not trap her,
they resorted, to strategy. They
brought her, face to face/ with
instruments of torture, & death,
& in their presence read her, a    [*n*]
something called a recantation
-- a something by which she promised
to go back to her home, to
resume her peasant's gown, & that
if the Pope so decided she would stay
there -/ would no longer fight/82
the battles of the king.
Can you not imagine the girl's
thoughts? as she listened./ How,
she must have said to herself "It
will take time for this to reach the
Pope, & time for him to consider it./--
Time for it to be sent back here &
meanwhile, if I sign it, I gain
freedom thereby I can finish
the battles of the/ King, & they are
nearly done./ After that/ what
matter!"--"Read it again."
It was read again.
"I will sign it."               [*87*]
But instead of putting this paper
under her hand, they placed
another wherein she accused
herself of every crime/ & enormity,
--for remember/ she could not read
a word - & smiling as she took the
quill,/ she traced at the foot of the
parchment/ a circle/ & marked
within it/ the sign of the cross./
In the hand that had beaten down
the power of all England/ could not
write its own name -/ & then stood
up for sentence supposing it would
be one of dismissal.
— x  It was read to her.

85
"The church, of its mercy, condemns thee
to be carried back to thy dungeon, there
to eat the bread of sorrow, & to drink
the waters of bitterness/ till/ thou, shalt,
die."
And even at that,/ the English
soldiers,/ & her own false countrymen
crowding the streets,/ gathered up the
stones to fling at the priests on the
scaffold/ crying, "Ah, false
priests! Ye are not earning the king's money! Ye are not doing as we were
bid! You are letting her live! She
is to die! She is to be burned! She is to be burned!"
And at the the priests coming down from
the scaffold/ going among the people/laughed
& nodded as they went by/ saying--"In
good season! In good season! In good season!
We will have her again!"
So, she was carried back/ to her dungeon.
And on the eighth morning/ as she
would rise from her bed, she found lying
on the chair beside it, not the peasant's
gown she had sworn to resume,& on which during her life but the steel
links, of the armor, she had promised,
never to wear again. She knew
that to clothe herself in that armor/ would
be to dress herself in her shroud./ To enter
those steel links,/ would be to enter the
open door of her tomb, & so standing she
cried again & again for her peasant's
garments & they were witheld her, -- till
at last to save herself from insults--84
from danger, nay from absolute violation,
she put it on.
'Twas but a trap in which,
to catch her. Spies had been watching.
They ran with hasty feet to tell the
Bishop of Beauvais & she where she stood
in the gloom of her dungeon could
hear the Bishop's staff sounding on the
flagstones of the courtyard outside. Could
hear his voice passing the solemn stillness 
of the Sabbath morning as he cried to the
Earl of Warwick where he hung from 
an upper window "Aha! We have caught her!"
And the next day/ she was carried 
out, to her death.
The story goes on to tell us, how
she was brought from her dungeon
& put into a cart. The one officer of
the court who had been kind to her
on the one hand, the monk who was
faithful to death on the other.
How the cart moved down the narrow
street to the open market place of the
city, crowded with reveling soldiers
who literally spat upon her as she went by.
At the one side a high scaffold.
On it, the Bishop of Winchester, the
Bishop of Beauvais, the great knights
& prelates & officers who were in the 
town./ At the others a scaffold
equally high./ On it, a stake,
faggots, the executioner.

85
Outside, swelling & surging like
waves of the sea/ the people of the city
of Rouen/ for whom, she would have
died. --come to witness her burning.
And here, at the supreme
moment of her life [(when she came to
die)], she manifested herself supreme.
Dying, she conquered the living.
She knelt in her cart, in the
crowded street/ she prayed for these her
enemies, accusers, judges, murderers.
For this, her executioner. For the reviling
soldiers, about her. For the king, the
army, the nation that had forgotten
her./ For herself/ that she might hold
fast/ to the awful end.
What power was it/think you/
that speaking from dying lips & dying
eyes, wrought such results? --That
made the Bishop of Winchester/ who
in "dying,["] made no sign;"/ turn his
face to the wall, unable to witness
the sight?-- That made the
Bishop of Beauvais/ who, a short
half hour before had read her death
sentence,/ cover his face with his
hand, so that those, who stood
watching, could see the tears, drip
down the back of it? ---That
made the yelling, cursing, reviling
soldiers, pause to listen & as the86
prayer went on, drop their swords &
spears, & seizing one another's arms
cry out "Ah! Look at her! Listen to her!
See her! It is a saint of God we are 
about to burn!"--that sent her
with steady, unwavering feet/
up the scaffold stairs?/ That
chained to the stake, the smoke stifling,
& blinding her,/ the cruel flame
cracking her bones/ & shrivelling
her flesh/ made her, in dying, remember
the living/ who had forgotten
himself./ She saw where the
flames ran out to seize the robe
of the faithful monk who stood
by her side, & tearing lose her
searching, withering hands,
thrusting them out of the
flames. She cried; [?]

"Go down, my father, go down
& save thyself,/ but stand/ where thou
canst hold the blessed cross/ before
[God] me, & speak, I pray thee, words of
comfort, to me/ to the end."

Then, those who stood looking
& listening/ in [?] awestruck stillness,/
could hear issuing/ from the flames,
& the smoke/ naught/save/confused
sounds. Broken murmurings of a
voice;--a soul speaking to its God,
in oath. / Then/ silence.


87
She had fought/ a good fight./ She
had finished/ her course. She had
kept/ the faith.
The End  1870 Aug 19 at Betty's

Peter Maurice full of sympathy
"Have you not good hope in God."
Martin Ladvenu her confessor
asked to communicate "Tell
Brother Martin to give her the eucharist & all
that she asks for." (Canon of Rouen
Nicholas Loiseleur).

82 The usher John Massieu, who
too (Isambard de la Pierre) staid to the
last, & the registrar Taquel declared
but 7 or 8 lines. John Cabot (Sec of Henry
6th) took out of his sleeve the paper signed.

When she had ceased to live 2 of 
her [?] John Allspeé Canon of
Rouen & Peter Maurice doctor of
theology cried out "would that my
soul were where I believe the soul
of that woman is," & Tressart, Sec. to
Henry 6th said sorrowfully on returning
from the place of execution
"We are all lost; we have burned a
saint." 30 May 1431.

When Henry the 6th was crowned at
Notre Dame, Nov. 1431. Burgundy not
present. [& an?] Englishman, theCardinal _ Bishop of Winchester
who anointed him K. of F. Bishop
of Paris complained that it was a
violation of his rights; --Parliament,
municipal bodies &c reserved
no places, & the old Queen Isabel
wept as she saw the royal procession
of her grandson go by.
Defarbment of the Basqes 1435
Robert des Armoise Knight 1436
Jeanne D'Arcy, Orleans records 1439
1440 reversal of her trial 1456
pronounced innocent.Jeanne D'arc

By

Anna E. Dickinson1
Among the names, to which Time,
has decreed Eternity, is that of Jeanne
D'Arc.
With reason.
Consider, the time in which
she lived; the needs of her day;
the work she wrought; the life,
she lived; the death, she died.
First of all,  -- France.
In 1316, an infant girl,  1
was the rightful heir to the
French crown.
Her uncle, 2 who should
have been her actual, as he 
was, her legal protector, had
her thrust to one side; had
himself, crowned by the power
of the sword.
The people, believing in
that day, -- as in many a 
day since -- that right, is made
by might, accepted this
verdict. A law, of which 
Germany was the birthplace,
& heathenism, the date,
was summoned, to the 
support of this robbery.
The affair was settled.2
But mark you, legitimacy sacrificed
in the person of a young girl, 
left the door wide, for manly
usurpations, & illegitimate claims.
Edward the 3rd of England was
quick to see his opportunity,--
thrust his hand through this
loop-hole, to grasp at the French
crown.
From this ensued a war of
120 years. A war, extending
through the reigns of five English
& five French kings, during
which, the great realm of France
was twice lost, & twice re-won,
by Frenchmen.
A war, that began by denying
right--to a woman, was
ended, by a woman.
A war, the outset of which, was
the sacrifice of legitimacy in
the person of a young girl, was
closed, victory gained, peace
established by another young girl.
Thus, the "Whirligig of Time, brings
in his revenges." Thus, by a
species of Divine Adjustment, which



3
we do not now comprehend, the
scales of Justice--held in the
hand of God--swing down, 
even, at last.
This war went on with
varying measures of success, --
but always of success-- to the
English; with varying measures
of defeat, --but always of defeat--
to the French, till, at last, in
1427, Bedford, the then English
regent, wrote to his master, Henry
of England,---
"I am about putting in
practice a scheme which, if
successful, will ultimate in
the destruction of France as an
independent power,-- will
reduce it, as a vassal, to your
crown.
What was this scheme?
England was master of the 
entire of the Northern Provinces
of France--with the exception
of a few insignificant fortresses.
Charles, still held the centre, with 
a portion of the Southern Provinces
of his own domain.4
Orleans was his last stronghold, 
& was in such position,
that, whoso held it had an 
open door, through which he
could pass to the possessions of
England, --those in the North,
or, to the possessions of France,
--those in the centre & South.
Bedford, desiring to go to the 
South of France, saw that it 
was necessary, ere advancing,
to have this key of Orleans in
his keeping.
To this end, he massed
a great army over against the
City; -- twenty three thousand
as Hume, the historian of England
asserts; twice & thrice that,
as the French chronicles maintain.
He summoned, from 
posts of far off duty, his chiefest
generals to head this army. He
scattered money, like rain, through 
the ranks. 
As for France, it did what it
could.
It threw into this city, a few
of its scattered & marauding



5
bands; --(its excuses for an army.)
The people, already famishing,
stripped themselves a little more
closely, & fed a little more
narrowly, that these defenders,
might have supplies for brief
months, or weeks at least. The
young nobles, flung themselves
into the city, with the ditermination,
to save it, or, to die.
"Dim, is the rumor of a common
fight,
where host meets host, & many names
are sunk.
But of a single combat, Fame
speaks clear.
This contest, by reason of
the peculiarity of the position of
Orleans, by reason of the magnitude
of the issues at stake,
by reason of the combatants, had
all the interest of a duel, & all
the intensity of a duel, to the death:
--A duel, wherein, France
& England were the principals
while all Europe looked on.
Here, was the last stand
to be taken for French nationality.6
& it was taken--nobly.
Orleans comprehended, that
if she fell, she dragged down
with her, her king & her country,
& she said:-- "Nothing shall
subdue me.
But there be limits to
human endurance, & by & 
by, Orleans stretched out meagre
& trembling hands, crying for
help.--
To the King.
The king was packing his
belongings, making his preparations
to flee from his country,
turning his back upon the people
who were dying for him, that he
might save his own worthless
life.
To the Army.
The army was broken into
bands of robbers, its motto being,
"each man, for himself."
To the People. -- To France.
But what could France do?
France--whose highways were
deserted, whose fields were
barren, whose cities were



7
desolate, & whose villages had
ceased? High & low, rich & 
poor, master & servant, noble
& serf were alike, helpless, to aid
or save their country, in this,
its hour of direst need, & utmost 
extremity.
The end of all, seemed near.
Suddenly through this darkness
a light shone. Suddenly,
there went sounding down 
through this sorrow, gloom
& despair, a voice that cried-
"I am come from God to save you!"
And all the people said, "Amen!
For vain, is the help of man."
The people, never begin to 
pray, till they are afraid to hope. 
This voice, that brought
comfort to the fainting hearts of
men, was a woman's voice; that
of a girl, young & beautiful, &
unselfish, & wise with that
wisdom, which through all
ages, entering into holy souls, 
has made them prophets, &
friends of God.
In all history, there is no8
character, whose course can
be more readily & easily
traced, than that of this young girl. 
Over four hundred
authentic histories have been
written of her. Her enemies, who, 
by their process of condemnation
in 1431, thought to consign her 
to eternal infamy, have thereby
built her enduring monument.
They summoned witnesses
from all parts of the Empire,
from the greatest noble to the
lowest peasant, to testify concerning
her, --& this testimony, sworn
& proven, lies tonight among
the State papers of France [*(3*],  for
whoso to examine, that has need 
or desire.
Thus, when one speaks
of her & her work, one does not
speak of a myth, of a legend,
of a tale that is told. One does
not say, "Perhaps it was this"--"Maybe
it was was that," "Perchance it was
another." One simply says, --So,
it was.
She was born in the



9
 little village of Domremy, in Lorraine
--which was then, as it has been
full often since, swept by contending
armies, --in the year 
1411.
Her parents were peasants,--
poor--but, with the independence
that always comes from
actual ownership of the soil.
For herself, she lived a 
life, chiefly out of doors, that
was simple, strong, vigorous,
active, wholesome.
Beyond this, friend & for,
poet & historian, alike tell us
of her goodness, her kindness,
her charity. --Her seriousness
& earnestness, amounting to
sadness.
So kind was she, --as they
tell us, --as to take the bread from
her mouth, to give to some hungry
traveller, who came to her father's
door,--As, to get off her little bed
at night, to sleep upon the floor,
that some weary wayfarer
might have rest, for a few hours,
as to give all of her scanty childish10
childish store, with the work of her
hands, to the poor, the sick, & 
the suffering of the village.
So pious was she, with the
piety of the day & generation,
as not to be content to seek the church
only at stated intervals, but, upon
sunny morning, or twilight evening,
or high noon, she could 
be found prostrate at altar or
shrine.
"She,"--said her old priest, 
"was the only one in the village
who never missed confession,
& who had never anything to
confess."
So serious, & sad, &
thoughtful was she, as to provoke
the wonder of her elders--with
whom alone she would associate,--
for when she went abroad
with her young companions, under
the fine arch of the skies,--while
they played, she walked by her
self in silent meditation, &
when they laughed, she prayed.
Not only this, but the village
in which she lived, was one to



11
add to this habit of mind & seriousness
of thought. It was a
village--a little village it is 
true, but it was situated at the
crossing of two high roads, &
these roads, the vastly travelled
ones, between the kingdoms of
France & the kingdoms of
Germany. Thus, whoso journeyed,
knight, soldier, pilgrim,
beggar, peasant, priest, --everybody
came that way, --travelling
newspapers,--bringing with
them, stories of the great contest
raging outside,--a contest, wherein
they were all profoundly
interested,--stories of which grew
sadder & sadder, as the years
went on, to those who loved the
cause of the rightful king.
Among these listeners I
venture to assert, none gave
such an ear, such a heart of
heed, as those of this young girl.
Through all of her after life, --at
the head of her army, disputing
with learned doctors, dictating
terms of peace to nations, crowning12
a king, --through it all, she
showed plainly that her sentiment
for France was not merely a
sentiment, her feeling, was not
simply feeling, --but was a 
divine passion of patriotism
Her patriotism was her
religion. Her religion, was her
life.
How, then, must these stories
of the sorrow, the wrongs, the want,
the anguish of France have affected
one who believed her country to be
a portion, & the favored
portion of the kingdom of God?
Who regarded her king, but, as
the vicegerent of the most high,
upon earth.
How?
Manifestly they made her
lose her life to find it again. [*(4*]
She so loved France; she so
sorrowed in its sorrow; she so 
longed to live for it, to suffer for
it, to die for it at need, that
by & by this one supreme thought
took absolute possession of her
being. Things small, things



13
petty, things base, things that
are for self & self alone, or nearly
touching self; --the life of today,
the what to eat, the where withal
to be clothed, the roof to shelter us
--matters that interest one & all
of us, good friends,--by & by such
matters as these, were crushed to
death in her, by a mightier than
they, &, from their grave, her
soul plunged to depths, & rose to
heights, where it found God.
Hume tells us, that her
undisciplined mind grappling
with difficulties that were
beyond its comprehension, mistook
the ravings of passion for
divine inspiration.
Schiller,--whose tragedy is
full of the most exquisite poetical
conceits, but, which as history, is
a romance, pure & simple, from
end to end--Schiller represents her
as a nondescript in creation. A
being neither angel nor human.
Shakespeare, trails his great 
genius in the filth of a national
prejudice, & daubs out of it, the14
picture, of a rude, coarse, vulgar,
disgusting charlatan.
Michelet & Lamartine, speak
of her, as Frenchmen almost
invariably speak of women;--
with the outward courtesy that
veils inward contempt.
And Miss Catherine Beecher,
(who has written a somewhat
exhaustive & exhausting article
upon her) discovers that these
voices & visions, of which we have
heard so much, were the results of
disease; a distempered condition
of the body; affecting the
organs of sight & sound.
For myself--I believe in these
visions, --but,--I believe they were
but the reflex, of her own soul.
I believe she was called
to her work.--Not by voices, by
signs, by wonders in the air. 
No. I believe she was called,
just as you & I are called, since, I 
know full well, that every soul
that ever fit was sent into the
world, had its work appointed
of God, & its voice of conscience,



15
to drive it on.
She had goodness in a 
generation of infidelity, --she
had genius in a time of commonplace--
above all she had Faith.
She believed in France, in her
King, in Heaven's interposition
in behalf of its own,--& this goodness,
this genius, above all this
faith, made her the fit leader &
helper of a faithless king, a 
shattered army, a dispirited, &
heart broken people.
Meanwhile, the needs of France
grew & grew, & her desire to serve
France kept pace with its needs.
By & by, she could keep
silence no longer.
One night, then, she stopped
her father's neighbor,--a poor
laboring man, -- as he was returning
from his toil, & putting her
hand upon his arm said,--
"I tell thee, there is one--
standing right here, --within
sound of our voices,--who within
the year, will raise the siege
of Orleans, & see that the Dauphin16
is crowned, king. What hast thou
to say, to that?"
Manifestly the girl wanted
to take the thought out of herself,
mark its effect upon another.
As to this other,--he was an
ignorant, superstitious, kindly
fellow, living in the midst of
ignorance & superstition, & it by
no means astounded him.
He took it in good part.
She, gaining courage
thereby, went her way to her
father & mother, & no longer
said, "It is a girl,"--but, "I,
myself, will do this thing."
And the good, commonplace
father & mother did just about
what good commonplace fathers
& mothers would have done, in
all ages since then;--the
mother, blinded her eyes & wore
her knees, with tears & with 
prayers, & the father said,
"Thou go with the army? Thou
march with these soldiers? Why,
sooner than that, I will drown
thee with these hands!"



17
In her, none of these things 
moved her. The great battle, between
her love & her genius, her duty &
her affections, had been fought
long before, in the inner depths of
her nature. They might break
her heart. They could not sway
her purpose, nor her soul.
From this point on, it is 
clear that the girl marked her
path from her father's door to
the king--& beyond, &
followed it, step by step.
First of all, how to reach
the Dauphin, whom she would
serve.
She thought;--she 
said then, "I will go my way
to the Governor of the province,
the great man of the district,
Robert de Baudricourt. He 
shall hear me. He shall forward 
me to the King."
To this end, she enlisted in
her service, her good uncle, 
Durand Laxart, who loved her
& believed in her, & sent him on
this mission to the knight.18
Fancy the scene!
A magnificent castle. In it, a
man grown gray with years,
covered with honorable orders.
A knight, a courtier, a scholar,
a gentleman.
Into this superb presence, 
comes another man. A peasant,
clad in homespun, wooden
shoes on his feet, his hands hardened
with toil,--& this 
man, says to this man, that
he comes to him as "an ambassador."
An ambassador from whom?
From another peasant! A
child! a young girl who cannot
write her own name, nor read
it after it is written!--& this
girl, this child, this ignorant
peasant says that "she will
raise the siege of Orleans, & 
see that the Dauphin is crowned,
King."--That where kings, &
armies, & potentates & powers have
failed, she will succeed.
Why, across all this dimming
distance of time, you &
I can yet imagine the sort of



19
smile that came to the knight's
face, as he said,--
"Go thy ways, good fellow, box
thy niece's ears, & send her home."
He went his ways.
He did not box his niece's ears,
nor send her home. He was blessed
to see, back of the girl's face & the
woman's form, the august soul,
that was to work such results in the
world, & when she said,--
"Take thou me to the governor,"
he took her.
But the governor would not
see her. Shut the door in her face.
She, nothing daunted, went
her way to the house of the best
woman in the town, --the wife
of the blacksmith, --& there, took
up her abode, waiting the
knight's pleasure.
And while she there waited, 
she talked much,--& all her
talk was of France. She shed
innumerable bitter tears, --&
all her tears were for France.
She prayed incessantly, --& all
her prayers, were for her wretched20
king, & his yet more unhappy land.
She so talked, she so wept,
she so prayed, that the people of
the village, the country folk 
round about, crowded to to see
& hear her, & one & all, swept &
swayed by some subtle power
& magnetism they could not
comprehend, went their way
from her presence, complaining
against the Governor, over in
his castle, for witholding "Divine
aid that should be forwarded
to the king."
They so talked, the wonder
so spread, as finally to reach
the ears of a young knight, Jean
of Metz, who rode that way
with his old squire, to whom
he said,--
"Come, my squire, let us turn 
a little out of our path, & see
this girl."
Which was done, accordingly.
And it is plain, from the outset,
what effect the girl had
upon the knight, for there yet, by
letters extant--simple, sweet



21
manly letters- that the young
fellow wrote to his mother & sisters,
telling them of the marvellous girl,
& of the wonderful influence she
had over whoso approached her.
So he staid & talked with
her about many things, & at
last, said to her,-
"What is it, thou dost desire,
Jeanne?- What wouldst thou do?
What is all this mystery?"
To which she,-
"I am sent of God to this governor,
-Robert de Baudricourt,-
over yonder in the great castle,-
to tell him he must forward me
to the King. But he will not listen.
He shuts the door in my face! And
yet, I must reach the Dauphin
before Easter morning, if I have to
go to him, upon my knees, for
neither kings nor princes, nor
the daughter of the King of Scotland,
(who was the ally of France) "Can
in any way, aid, or serve him.
I alone, can save him. For so,
my Lord has ordained.."
And you & I can yet hear22
the laugh, that came from the gay
young fellow, as looking at her, &
then at his old squire, he asked,--
"Thy lord? Who is thy lord,
Jeanne?"
"God."
At that, the young knight & the
old squire, stretching out their
mailed hands,--took her young,
slight palm in their grasp &
swore to conduct her, to the king,
or whithersoever she would.
"When, wilt thou go?" said
they.
"Rather today than tomorrow,"
she answered.
She realized that when a 
man is dying, there is need of
dispatch.
"Wilt thou go in that dress?"
"I will be thankful, for another."
Nothing, should stand
betwixt her, & her work. The
woman's dress would expose
her to difficulty, danger,
insult, perchance, death,
itself.
Meanwhile, the Governor,



23
moved by all this, had written to
the Dauphin. The Dauphin, doubtless
swayed by a variety of emotions,
had sent back word "forward
her to us," & so, all things conspiring,
the King, commanding
her presence, the knight &
squire swearing to conduct her,
the people believing in her, she was
sent on her way; &, as she was
about riding forth, clad in
complete armor, the Governor,
de Baudricourt himself going
into his armory, taking a sword
from the wall, putting it into
her hand, said,--
"Go! Go & let come, what
thou canst accomplish!"
Evidently the knight, thought
it was a very small affair, the
girl was to do.
Why, it was a vast enterprise,
even, to begin.
She had to get over, one
hundred & four leagues of territory,--
the old French league being
twice as long as the present one,--
every town, every village, every24
fortress of which, was in the hands 
of the enemy,--the English &
Burgundian forces. She had
to cross, eight rivers, & innumerable
streams, every one of which,
was bridgeless. She had to go
upon a journey, which, from its
fatigue, exposure, exhaustion,
hunger, thirst, cold, would
have taxed the strength of a
strong man.--
--More than this, she had
to go, a girl, -  young, beautiful, alone,
with seven knights & men-at-arms,
in a day when men
held woman's honor, but, as
thistle-down, to be blown down
the winds, & yet, --as these same
men afterwards testified, under
oath, --tho' they rode all day on
horses at her side, & stretched
themselves out to sleep by her side
in the open fields at night, no
thought, ever came to them concerning
her, other than though she 
had been an angel.
At last, she reached the
town where lived the king,--but

25.
the king had changed his mind,--
would not see her. He sent her
to an inn, & commissioners, to 
her.
But she, had naught to say,
to them.
Then, he forwarded some,
to her old home, to inquire into
her past life, & impatient, ere
these could return, sent other
commissioners, to her.
But she replied to these, as,
to the first,--
"I have naught, to say to
you. Take me to the King. I will
answer him."
'Till at last the king said,
"We will receive her. Let her,
come in."
And so, - as the old chronicles
tell us,--the impoverished
court, made itself fine to receive
the peasant girl. It got out its
splendid robes, & its cloth-of-gold,
& its magnificent jewels, &
arrayed itself therein. It had
fifty candles, twelve feet high,
burning in the room. It had26
three hundred knights in complete
armor waiting, in the
antechamber, & the Dauphin said,--
"If she come of God, she
will recognize us in disguise."
& so put him into plain armor,
& mingled with his court.
"If she come of the devil--she
will pick out my handsomest
courtier," & himself selecting
the knight, had him dressed
in his own robes, placed
his crown upon his head, mounted
him, in his chair of state, & 
had her summoned to audience.
And here, say those who
will find in this girl everything,
save, what she was, a creature
of genius, of power & patriotism,
say those who will see in her
a mere blind tool in the hand
of fate, "here, be two incidents,
in her career, that plainly demonstrate,
the truth of our theory."
They tell us, as she was riding
across the drawbridge, to come
into the castle, where the king was
waiting to receive her, a brutal



27
man-at-arms, struck by the
beauty of her face, & the singularity
of her dress, said to a comrade,--
"Who is that?"
"Jeanne D'arc," was the answer.
"The maid, you know, who has come,
to the help of the king."
The man with horrid oaths,
& hideous blasphemy, made some
threat against her womanhood.
They tell us she paused,
drew bridal rein, turned,
& looked at the man, &, in a
voice, thrilling & terrible, cried out,
--"Ah, by my God, thou blasphemest
Him! And thou, so near
to death." And in a little while
thereafter, they tell us the man,
fell into the river, & was drowned.
Need of a miracle, here?
Why, so good, & so serious, & so
earnest a soul must, of necessity,
have borne its testimony against
blasphemy & indecency, &, for the
rest, Time must always have
seemed short, & the grave near, 
to one who lived in constant
thoughts of Eternity.28
Coming, then, into the
presence of the king & his court
she was by no means, deceived,
by this mock dauphin on his
throne. She knew her rightful
lord. She knelt at his feet. She
claimed him as her own.
Again, need of a miracle?
Why, she had lived for four 
days in the same town with him,
--a little town, --a town of
one street. Every knight of his
court had been into her presence,
--All their talk, had been of 
the king, --she must have
heard him described, a thousand
times.
For myself I believe that
from the moment she came
into the presence of the King &
the court, they saw, of what
stuff she was made, & for
what work she was ready, but it
was necessary to prepare the
minds, of the common people, 
to fight under the banner 
in this last desperate enterprise
for the salvation of France. (5



29
So they held councils, & had
questions & cross questions a
plenty, & her answers, full of
that rarest of all genius, the
genius of common sense were
scattered broadcast across the
land.
Through this, six thousand
men, from the midst of the
multitudes who had swarmed
to the place, had enlisted under
her banner. The people, finding
that a final effort was to be
made in behalf of Orleans, gathered,
of their scanty remaining store
of provisions, to send to the starving
wretches of the town.
She, then, being first of
all appointed commander-in-chief
of the King's forces, was clad
in shining white armor, a so called
sacred sword put into the hand,
a so called sacred banner, into
the other, & so, with her army,
her escort, her provisions, she
rode on her way,--the last hope
of the last stronghold of France.
They marched by day, &30
they marched by night, through 
many days & nights, & at last found
themselves at a little village,
a few leagues distant from Orleans,
& there waited till the officers of [*(4] (6*]
the town could come out to meet her.
On this side the city, the
English siege lines were of such
strength, as to compel her army
to go about by a long & circuitous
route, & so come into the place
from the other side.
By & by the officers of the town
came out to meet her. Her army
went on its way. She & her
escort, & her provisions, came 
down the river to a little
place just opposite Orleans, &
wind & tide favoring, entered
unmolested in.
"How!" say you. "Unmolested?
Where then, were the English?
Why did they not prevent?"
She was as well known 
in the one camp, as in the
other, but, with a difference.
The French said,--
"She comes of Heaven!"




31
The English said, "She 
comes of Hell.
The French cried, "She
is God's special interposition
in our behalf!"
The English could not
accept that theory, for God, you
know, is always on our side.
Nevertheless, the Devil, is a 
formidable adversary, & they
preferred (wisely enough) staying
behind their entrenchments,
to meeting him in the open
field.
And so, coming into that
city at eight o'clock of the pleasant
summer evening, 1428, what did
she bring to it?
A great army to fight their
battle?
No.
A commanding general
whose name itself, would be a
tower of strength in their midst?
No.
A King, to arouse their enthusiasm?
No.32
She brought, two hundred men-at-arms.
She brought some food
for starving mouths. She brought
herself.
But, in that last bringing,
she literally brought, "beauty for
ashes, the oil of joy, for mourning,
& the garment of praise for the
spirit of heaviness."
The people, crowding the
house tops, darkening the windows,
blocking the doorways, swarming
in the streets, looking at this
marvellous, beautiful, inspired
face, as it rode up, cried,
"Ah! She is sent indeed
of Heaven. We are saved!"
And the next day she
began active enterprise in their
behalf, & for their salvation, by
calling together a council of
war, & putting before it her plan
of a campaign.
"Her plan of a campaign?"
says someone. "What did she
know of such matters? It is
self evident that it was the
generals, the officers, the men



33
who understand these things who
planned the campaign, & she, by
her youth, & sex, & enthusiasm
merely inspired the men, to
fight."
Let us see if that statement,
will hold water.
The siege of Orleans had
begun in October 1428. This was
April 1429. [*4*]
This was the same city,
these the same officers in command,
this the same army, 
this the same besieging English
line. Not an item had
changed, save only, that this
girl, had come into the town.
The officers had had
everything their own way for six
months. They could plan as they
pleased, & fight as they pleased.
What had they gained by it?
They had gained, precisely
six months of waiting--&
starvation.
She, then, standing in
their midst laid down her
plan of a campaign.34
Said she, "We will take our
men, burning with hope, at
white heat of enthusiasm, will
mold them into one compact body,
will beat this down upon
the nearest & weakest of the enemy's
forts. Taking this, will cut
their line, --will inspire our
men to greater deeds, -- will be
an entering wedge to victory."
Why her whole plan was
simply that, that Napoleon put into
practice centuries later, through
which, he made himself temporary
master of the world. It was to
take his army, large or small, make
one compact mass of it, hurl this
upon the frailest point in the
line of the enemy, & so breaking it
in two, have the whole thing at his
mercy, to be taken, in detail.
Of the man, the world
says, "What august power! What
commanding genius!"
Of the woman, under 
precisely similar conditions it
cries, "Why what a lucky accident
it was, she should happen to hit



35
upon that plan."
So she presented it, & the 
governor of the city, the Count Dunois,
--the ablest officer, bravest soldier,
most cultured scholar, elegant
gentleman of the court of Charles
the 7th --said Dunois, & such
men as he, as became true
greatness.--
"All we have to propose
has come to nothingness. We have 
no fresh plan to offer Here, is a
new one. We stand to back it, & 
see what comes of it.
Said the little ones,--
"It is not to be thought of, for
an instant."
They had never thought of it.
But, where the council had
broken up, & the great men & the
great woman had gone on their
ways, these lesser souls, gathering
themselves together said,--
"Good! Capital! Tomorrow
when she is where she ought to be,
in her own house, we will take
her plan, & the men she has
inspired, & will march out &36
pick the laurels, of this tree of her
planting.:
So the next morning,
early, they took the men, they
took the plan, & went their way
to its fulfilment.
They went out swelling 
to victory. --And they came 
home again!
She, lying upon her bed, at
high noon, asleep, exhausted by the
long toils of the past month--was 
wakened by the sorrowful tumult
in the street, by voices that cried 
under her window,--
"Awake! Arouse! The
French line has advanced! Has
attacked! Is defeated! Is in
full retreat at the gates of the city,
the enemy at its heels!"
She heard;--she
wakened;--she answered!
She sprang from her
bed,--she dashed into her armor,
she fled down the stairway, --she
vaulted into her saddle, &, tearing
her banner from the window
where it floated, put spurs to her



37
horse, & rode from the Western
gate of the city to the Eastern gate
--the gate of Burgundy,--across
the whole length of the town, ere
her old squire had fairly cased
himself in armor.
Riding, then, among
these scattered, beaten fugitives,
she swept around them eye &
voice of command; & the men
recognized, --(what men always
have & always will recognize
to the end of time)--the eye & 
the voice of the master soul, where
it blazes, & where it speaks.
They gathered about her;
they closed in after her; they
followed her through the gate of the
city to the fort from whence they
had fled a half hour before, &,
in another half hour, they literally
took it by storm. Five hundred
Englishmen had been left dead
under their bloody swords &
spears.
So quick, so terrible, so 
resistless had been the assault,
that the English, in the near forts38
did not venture to the rescue of
their comrades, & even Bedford, the
great English commander, did
not care, as Hume, himself, confesses
to meet this girl, in the
open field with the sword.
That, in short, was the 
story of that day--&, of the next,
& the next.
Through this, the major
officers stood to support her, the
minor ones to oppose her, till at 
last these said, --"Enough!
Let us make an end!"
Thursday, a saint's day,
(she, devout, on her knees in her
own chamber in prayer) these
malcontents gathered themselves
together in a council from which
Dunois had been excluded, of which
she was supposed to know nothing.
Being so gathered, the one
suggested one reason; -- another,
another;--a fifth, a fifth;--a 
truth, a truth for --"Delay", till
her army, which was already
half way over its course, should
reach its destination, & they with



39
its assistance, should accomplish
some great thing.
This being done, they were
about making up their council,
when she, who was supposed to know
naught of it, came knocking, knocking
at the door, & entering in, said
to them,--
"Gentlemen, you have
been at your council, I, have 
been at mine. Believe me, the
councils of men, shall come to
naught, but that of my God,
shall stand. I will attack
the enemy tomorrow."
So the next morning,
when the sun rose, she rose. She
clad herself in armor, & came
riding through the city streets to the
city gates, to find them locked
& barred against her, their keeper, 
with the keys in his hand, his
guard about him.
"Let me through!" she cried.
"It is against the orders of the
council." he answered.
"Let me through!" she
repeated.40
"The generals have otherwise decided,"
was the response.
The generals were not there
& the council, was not there,--but
the army was there, & the people
were there, & when she cried to them,
"Let us go through!"--they went
through!
They battered the gate to
atoms. They swarmed across the
bridge, to attack the last stronghold
of the enemy; --The Tournelles--
two great towns, that lifted themselves
up over against the city, connected
by a drawbridge.
Here the English--(learning
wisdom through disaster)--
had gathered in the men from the
outlying forts, & so massed them
in these two towns as to force them
out upon the open & exposed drawbridge.
Here, then, they fought that
day as Englishmen know how
to fight! As men, who struggled, 
not alone for life, but for immortality!
Against this seemingly



41
impregnable fortress, against this
desperate & heroic foe, the French
line beat from seven of the morning.
'till one of the afternoon,--& beat
in vain.
She, then, finding her
men were losing heart & hope,
that she could not rally them,
flinging her sword to one soldier,
her banner to another ran, &
with her own hands seizing a 
ladder, put it against the
walls of the fort, & mounted it,
battle axe in hand, shouting to
her men to come onward.
They heard!--They followed!--
They answered! but not soon
enough. An archer, taking
too sure aim, let fly an arrow
from the wall, striking her here
(in the breast) making a wound,
a finger length broad, the arrow
head, coming out behind.
She fell, fainting, to the 
bottom of the trench. Her men
ran, seized her, --tore her from
under the very advancing
feet of the foe, & carrying her42
away to a green & quiet spot, stood
about her, to watch her die.
But presently, life, came
back, to her, & with life, the consciousness
of intolerable pain.
Her tears were wrung from her 
eyes, --but remembering herself--
herself once more, with her own
hand, she tore the arrow from
the wound, with her own hand,
dressed it, & ordered her men to 
carry her back, to the front once
more.
But through this, the
minutes had grown to hours.
The soul gone, how could the
body fight? The French line
was in full retreat. It thought
her dead.
She, looking across the
field saw that this was no defeat,
saw that it was a panic. She
recognized, what military men
in all ages have recognized, that
under the whole shining surface
of the sun, there is naught so
senseless as a panic in an army.
But, finding she could



43
not sway the generals--to her mind--
with that quickness of thought
that pertains to genius, & goes to
its mark, like the lightning of
God, she said,--
"At last, let the men sit
down to supper. They have had
naught to eat, nor to drink,
this day."
Thereby she gained 
two points: strength, for the men, to fight
the battle she must wage that
night; time for them, sitting there
coolly to see what it was, from
which they had fled, what it was
they were to face.
The generals, did not fathom
her plan. They were not willing
for the men to fight, they were
more than ready to let them feed.
So they were put down to their
suppers.
Through this, she went by
herself in prayer, & this done, &
that done, she came among them
once more, --to find them refreshed
& inspired. New men.
As to these English in44
their two towns, they expected no second
assault. They thought the day well
& honorably won. They had flung
aside their arms, & put off their
armor. They were feasting, and
reveling, & rejoicing themselves
in a false security, when the 
solitary sentry, from the wall
cried,--
"Behold!"
And lo, here was seen creeping
up through the gathering twilight
of the spring evening, seemingly
a new army, & at its head
the woman they thought dead, hours
before, came living, & commanding
the living.
There could be no two
results, to such an assault.
Fighting,--struggling,--contending,
--inch by inch of the way, --the
English were forced out upon the 
overcrowded drawbridge.
Here, then, fully exposed,
the French fire cutting through &
through them, the French arrows
whizzing across & across them,
she, from where she stood, saw,



45
that the timbers were cracking, the
bridge giving way, &, with a
blessed instinct of mercy, ran
forward, & cried to Glasdale, the
English commander,--
"Surrender, thou, & they men,
& you shall have mercy! You shall
not be put, to the point, of the sword!"
And Glasdale, who had 
promised that if she ever fell into
his hands, he would burn her as
a witch, responded, with brutal
oaths & blasphemy--&,--at the
instant,--the timbers burst! The
bridge, gave way! The hundreds
on hundreds there gathered,
sank into the river, beneath,
& as Glasdale himself went down,
& the dark waters closed over
his blaspheming head, she cried,
for his dying ears to hear,--
"Ah, how I pity, & pray, for thy soul!"
The other town, was soon taken.
The siege of Orleans, was ended.
It had lasted for six months
ere she came to the city. This was
the night of the sixth day, after
she entered it.46
The next day was the Sabbath.
She would permit no fighting.
She compelled the whole army to
stand still, while the shattered
remnants of the English forces,
marched away.
Monday, while the place
was in the midst of its rejoicing,
she went her way to the king.
She was received with all 
honor. She was loaded with
gold & with favor. The dissolute
young courtiers, for once in their
lives, paid respect to genius, & to
goodness, --but they recommenced
their councils.
One said,--"She shall go with
me, into Normandy, to reconquer
my possessions, there."
Another said.--"Nay, not
so selfish fellow, my castle &
lands in Brittany are greater
than thine. She shall go with
me, there."
Others said, "She shall
go upon no private enterprise.
She shall fight the battles of the king.
As for the king, about whom



47
was the whole ado, he said, "Enough
has been done. Let us eat, drink,
& be merry."
As for her, she saw the
first need of the king, was to be
king, indeed. The first want of
the empire, was a head.
There was a superstition, rife 
through all France--from the highest
noble to the lowest peasant, to the
effect, that the rightful heir to the
throne, could nowhere be properly
crowned, & anointed, save, in the
great cathedral of the city of Rheims.
Every French king had 
there been crowned,--Charles, alone,
excepted.
Charles the 6th had died
in 1422. This was 1428. The Dauphin
had not been crowned in
the place appointed, since it, & all
the country round it, was in the
hands of his powerful enemies,--the 
English & Burgundian forces.
Grave doubts were everywhere
entertained of the Dauphin's legitimacy; 
-- doubts that Bedford, the
English regent, the most astute48
prince of his time did his best to intensify.
He had already sent to
England for young Henry. It was
a race, between the two. Whoso, should
first reach this city of Rheims, &
there be crowned, Henry of England
or Charles of France, would be recognized
by the great body of the people,
as their rightful head.
The king did not know his
own danger. His knights &
nobles were too blind, selfish, or
indifferent, to tell him thereof.
Jeanne D'arc, a peasant,
comprehended the superstitions
of the peasants. A child of the people,
understood what would touch the
hearts of the people. A soldier, knew
what would rouse the courage of
soldiers, so, that coming into the
presence of the Dauphin, she said,--
"Sire, if thou wouldst forever
sit at rest, this whole question of
loyalty, & legitimacy, in France,
if thou wouldst bring knight,
soldier, peasant, as one man
to fight under thy standard, go
thou thy way, as all thy forefathers



49
have gone, before thee, to this city of
Rheims, & there, be crowned. The 
first-step will be half the journey. The 
very effort to start will prove thou
hast the right to go, & will bring
thy people to thy support.
The king cried,--
"No!--Madness!"
The court cried,--
"No! Folly.
She said,--
"Aye!"
And when power speaks, weakness
yields. She carried them
on their way.
And, to sum up in brief that
story of journey through a hostile
country, --she came to fortresses, &
took them; she came to strongly
walled & garrisoned places, & took
them; at Patay [*(8*], she fought the first
battle in eight years of ceaseless battles,
wherein France had stood victorious
in the open field. Nay, here was
not alone defeated, here was positively
annihilated the vast power, sent
from England years before for the
subjugation of the French.50
From this point on, it was, as
she had predicted:--the march 
of the king, was one triumphal progress.
The fortresses let down their 
drawbridges at his approach. The
towns & the cities, flung their keys
& their allegiance at his feet. The
people, crowded the roadsides, shouting
at his approach.
The king had, literally,
"Come to his own."
Reaching the city of Rheims.
it was to find the gates thrown wide,
the English army marched away,
the citizens rejoicing to receive them.
The morning Jeanne D'arc
entered that city, she climbed the
apex of her life. She reached the
summit of her existence.
Every one of us, you, & I, my friend,
have had, or will have, our day
from which we date.
This, was hers.
That morning, she dictated a 
letter to Burgundy, that ultimately
brought peace between the king &
his great rebellious subject. She



51
dictated a letter to Bedford decreeing
terms of settlement that were
scoffed at that day, but, that in
comparatively brief space of time were
accepted to the last letter. Entering the
city, though in the procession were
knights & nobles, & men with even
royal blood in their veins, she
took precedence of them all. She
marched at the right hand of the
king.
In the Cathedral where he
was crowned, she still held her
post of honor at his right hand.
The king, crowned, sent 
for her homely, old, peasant uncle,
& delighted to have him sit at the
same table, &, as the greatest mark
of favor he could show him, fed
out of the same dish with him.
He sent for her peasant father &
peasant brothers, ennobled &
knighted them. He loaded her
with honor, & with gold. In every
magnificent pageant of camp &
court in all Europe--no figure,
stood as resplendent, as that, of
this young girl.52
'Twas a dizzy height.
Did she lose balance, there? Was 
it necessary, to place behind her,
as behind Caesar, (in his triumphs,)
a slave, to whisper, "Remember,
thou, too, art but human."?
She was a peasant. She was
a girl of eighteen. She had all
France at her feet, & was the marvel
of Europe. What, was her ambition?
The king, throned & established,
she came into his presence, 
& said,--
"Sire, I have somewhat to
ask of thee."
And the king said,
"Speak on."
He would have given her, thenm
the half of his kingdom. 
Then she said--
"I pray thee, sire, that thou
wouldst let me go back, to my old
home. Thou hast no longer need
of me, here. The siege of Orleans is
raised;--the English army is
dispersed. Thou, thyself, are crowned.
Burgundy, is considering terms of
truce with thee. Thy knights &



53
thy nobles are crowding to thy standard.
What remains to be done, can soon
be done, & without farther aid of
mine. I pray thee, then, that thou
wouldst let me return, --that I may
enter once more, under my mother's
roof, that I may go out, as in times
past, in the open fields, to tend my 
father's sheep. Grant me this, sire,
I beseech of thee, since I have
naught more, to ask of thee.
The soldier's work, was 
done. The patriot's labor, was
ended. The woman's heart, cried
for home.
"No," said the King.
"Not to be thought of!" cried the
knights. Thou hast gathered this
army; thou hast inspired it; thou 
hast led it to victory. Stay, thou
then with it till is accomplished,
what is nearly done.
She prayed, she entreated,--
as a good & loyal subject, she
yielded to the commands of the king.
But, it was noted that from
this time, a great sadness fell
upon her, & that she no longer54
originated plans. She was
content, to execute the orders of
others.
Still, she marched & she 
fought. Wherever, a forlorn hope
was to be led, wherever, a desperate
encounter was to be headed, there
was she. But one day, in front
of the walls of Paris, in endeavoring
to save from destruction, an attack
she had not alone not planned,
but against which she had 
protested, she & her men were
driven back.
Coming from this defeat to
the little town of Saint Denis, she
was welcomed by the King & his 
court!
Though it is so long ago, ages
ago, the actors in the scene
dead, & turned to dust, & the
most of them, forgotten, tis
enough to make the indignant
tears start to one's eyes, to read
what treatment, was accorded her.
The king, whose brow she
had crowned, whose throne she 
had established, whose kingdom



55
she had saved, at this, her first
disaster, turned upon her, with
heartless jeers & revilings. The
courtiers, in too many cases, hated
her for her power, & were envious of
her success, & they made the most of
the opportunity, to reveal their bad
feelings. The people, the common
soldiers, loved her, as of old.
For herself, though she knew
she was surrounded by enemies,
that her king, would prove, faithless
for herself, she never faltered, to the
end.--& the end, was near.
Compiegne was attacked.
The Duke of Burgundy had 
brought the entire of his army from
Germany, where it had been successful,
& planted it over against
the city. The commandant of the 
town, de Flavy, a rough & brutal
soldier, hated her, & made no
secret of his enmity.
Undeterred by this, she did,
as she had done in other cases.
She took a handful of men, flung 
herself into the city, promising the
citizens, she would save them, or56
would die with them.
At five o'clock in the 
afternoon of the day after she came
into the town, she took six hundred
men-at-arms, & marched across the
drawbridge, to attack a portion of the
Burgundian line.
Twice she drove this before
her. The third time, she & her
followers, were beaten back. They 
were, however, retiring in good
order, when another section of
the Burgundian line went 
about, to get between them & the
bridge, shut them within two
forces, & so, grind them to powder.
The men saw, they lost
hope. They lost courage. They broke
ranks, & fled like sheep, to the bridge.
She, finding she could not
lead them to victory, would cover
them, in retreat. She rode from
her post at the head, to the rear.
She fought, as even her malignant
enemies, the old English chroniclers
assert, as ten men, might have
fought. She fought, till she saw her 
last soldier on the bridge, her



57

last soldier across it, then, she
put spurs to her own horse to ride
forward. His fore feet were poised
to beat down upon the bridge, when
the cruel governor, de Flavy, gave
the signal! The drawbridge, swung
into mid-air. Jeanne D'arc, was
alone surrounded, by her thousand
enemies! Soon, she was torn 
from her horse, & in the hands 
of her foe.
What treatment was accorded
her?
She was a soldier, an officer,
a prisoner of war. She had never
done aught to forfeit the treatment
due such an one. In every case,
she had been a most magnanimous
enemy. What, then, was done
with this heroic, & hapless soul?
The man-at-arms who
captured her surrendered her
to de Signy. De Signy sold her to
Luxembourg, Luxembourg sold her
to Burgundy, Burgundy sold
her to the English, & her traitorous
countrymen, & the English who had
failed to capture her, were not58
ashamed, of the bargain. There
was paid for her,--the king of
England transmitting it through
his coffers at Rouen, the sum of
two thousand livres.
They passed her, from
prison to prison, from keeper to keeper,
till at last, she was lodged in the 
great castle of the City of Rouen,
in which place, already, lived 
Henry, the young English king.
They gave her as jailer--the secular
arm holding her, for the 
church to try--the Earl of Warwick,
he, who is written down in history,
as the pink & flower of the
chivalry of this time.
What did he do for her?
The men who constructed it,--
at his command--afterwards
testified under oath, that they
made for her an iron cage, too low
for her to stand upright, therein,
too short for her stretch herself,
at length. They chained her,
about the neck, about her waist, 
about her hands, about her feet.
They fastened there iron links, to



59
the iron bars of her cage.
They thrust this cage, into
a dungeon under water, into which,
no ray of daylight, even could 
penetrate. They put three brutal
men-at-arms within, two outside
her dungeon, to watch her, to insult
her, to waken her from brief & troubled 
slumbers, to tell her the executioner
was coming, to carry her to torture, &
to death. They almost starved
her.
Worse than this, such men as
the Count of Luxembourg, the Earl
of Warwick, the Bishop of Beauvais,
were not ashamed to come into
her dungeon, & while men-at-arms
held up torches to shine upon
her face, to laugh at, & revile her
where she lay.
Nay, the great John of Luxembourg,
making a mock of her,
said,--
"Ah, Jeanne, I have come 
to buy thee, of these English,--to 
pay thy ransom, --to let thee
go free. What! So silent? Hast 
thou no thanks, to off me, for that?"60
And she, where she lay, helpless,
yet, heroic, looking at him with
undaunted eyes, answered,--
"Thou mockest me! Thou
canst not, if thou wouldst. Thou
has sold me, to the English. They,
will burn me, that I know, right
well. But, though they destroy me, 
& one hundred thousand more,
they will be swept from France, 
for so, God, has ordained."
At that, the count tore the
dagger from his belt to stab her
to death, - but the Earl of Warwick
dashed hand, & dagger to one
side, saying,--
"Not so easy a death. She is
to be saved, for the stake, & the
burning."
They exhausted ingenuity,
in trying to find testimony, against
her--& failed. Among other
efforts, they sent to her old home,
to buy it, & were naught else,
known in her favor, this, would
suffice. --These  English emissaries,
went into a country, desolated 
by war, to bare fields, to

61.
empty cupboards, to cold hearthstones.
to hungry mouths, --they went
with hands, full of gold, --&
they couldn't find in all the
village, not in the region round
about, man, woman, nor little
child, so poor, as to sell, the
truth, against her.
I tell you there is no calumny,
not one, that can stand against
the words -- beloved by the poor.
At last, they brought her
to trial.
I can give you no transcript,
of that work. Had I a brush,
dipped into the blackness of darkness,
on the one hand, thrust into
all the splendor, of God's own
sunlight, on the other, I could
not paint, that scene.
Ninety judges on the bench;
--the clearest intellects, the finest
minds, of all France. The whole
power, of the Inquisition, to back 
them. 
The girl, absolutely alone,
--save for her soul, & her God.
But these, sufficed.62
The trial, lasted for months.
There were in the aggregate, hundreds
of questions, put & answers, received,
& the strangest part of this strange
trial, is, that these marvellous answers,
can be accepted without
doubt, cavil, or question, since
they have come to us, not on the
record of friend, defender or
supporter. The very men who
condemned her to die, had the
record written out, for you & for me
to read.
Piling her scaffold, they
built their own monument of infamy,
but of these amazing answers,
I pick but one or two. Wonderful,
I pray you to remember, only, as
all are wonderful. Types of the
whole.
Said one of her judges,--
"Art thou, in the grace of
God, Jeanne D'arc?"
They thought did she say
"yes," they would accuse her of
presumption. Did she say "no,"
they would accuse her of heresy.
In either case, they had her.



63
Mark, how she went between
them,--
"If I am not in the Grace
of God," she answered, "May
he, take me there. If I am, may 
he keep me."
And, for this effort to prove 
her a witch;--from the multiplicity
of questions, here, are one,
or two.
Said one of her judges,--
"Thou wast seen, Jeanne
D'arc, to wear a ring upon thy
hand,--a ring, to which thou
didst talk,--didst kiss, over 
which thou didst pray, before 
going into battle. Manifestly
twas an evil thing, given thee
by the enemy of souls. Thou
dost not dare, to deny it."
"Ah," she answered, the
tears rising to her tender eyes. "Tis 
true, I did--I do wear such a 
ring. I did so talk to it, so kiss
it, so pray to it, before going into
battle. It was, because it had the
name of Jesus, carved upon it.--
Because it had been given me,64
by my mother, --because it was
full of memories, of childhood,
& of home."
"But," said another, "thy
standard! That, was an evil
thing. Thou wast heard again,
& again, to tell thy men,
that standard would gain them,
victory, anywhere. All they had
to do was to look at it."
"No," she cried, the soldier
speaking there, "No. I told them
no. such. thing. I told them to
follow that standard, whenever
& wherever it led to the front, to
the hottest part of the battle, &
for all witchcraft, I carried
it there, myself."
"But," said they, "thou
didst take it into the cathedral,
where the king was crowned. In all
that magnificent pageant thine
was the only banner. What, did
that miserable, tattered piece of
silk, & hacked & hewn bit of
wood, do there? Thou didst not
dare, leave it out of thy grasp.
Thou wast afraid thy master,



65
would come else, to capture thee."
"Carry it there?" she cried,--
& the answer should go to the
heart of every soldier, at least,
"Carry it there I did, as was
most meet. Since my banner,
had been where there was danger,
& suffering, & struggle & death,
it was fit that it should go where
there was honor & glory."
As to the effort to compel
her, to submit her inspiration to
the judgment of the Pope,--knowing
full well, that as the Pope
was the ally of England, on that
ground, he would decide against
her; that, since she had maintained
that men should obey the
orderings of God in their own
souls rather than the commands
of any man, on that second
count, she was foredoomed--
I pray you, who care to estimate
this girl, & her character aright,
to remember that before the
word "Protestant" was spoken in
Europe, before Luther, was dreamt
of, this child, this peasant,66
this Catholic, facing prelates of her
own church, life & death hanging
in the balance, answered them,
after this wise:-
"As to my work, my battles,
my signs, there, were the toils
of human hands. I am content
to submit them, to the judgment
of the Pope, & his council, men
great in power, yet human beings
like myself. But for mine inspiration
it came, of Heaven. I
yield it, to Heaven, alone. I refuse
to recognize, the right of any man,
to interfere between the soul, & its
God."
And at last, weary of injustice,
& anguish, she cried,--
"I am come from God. I
have naught to do here. Dismiss
me, to God, from whence I came."
Finding, that even perverted
law, could not trap her, they resorted
to strategy. They brought her, face
to face, with torture & death, & in
their presence, read her a something
called a recantation; -- a something,
by which, she promised, to



67
go back to her home, to resume
her peasant's gown, & that, if the
Pope so decided,--she would stay
there,--would no longer fight,
the battles of the king.
Can you not imagine the
girl's thought? as she listened.
How she must have said, to
herself,-"It will take time for
this to reach the Pope,--time for him
to consider it, --time for it to be
sent back, here. Meanwhile, if I 
sign it, I gain freedom thereby,--
I can finish the battles of the 
king,--they are nearly done!--After
that, what matter!"
--"Read it, again."
It was read, again.
"I, will, sign it."
But, instead of putting this
paper under her hand, they placed
another, wherein she accused
herself, of every crime & enormity--
(for remember, she could not read
a word)--&, smiling as she took
the quill, she traced at the foot
of the parchment, a circle, &
marked within it, the sign of68
the cross,--for the hand that had
beaten down the power of all
England, could not sign its
own name, --& then, stood up
for sentence, supposing it would
be one of dismissal.
It was read to her.
"Thou are condemned, to be
carried back to thy dungeon,
there, to eat the bread of sorrow,
& to drink the waters of bitterness,
till, thou shalt die."
And even at that, the
soldiers, & her own false countrymen
crowding the streets, gathered
of stones to fling at the priests
on the scaffold, crying,--
"Ah, false priests! Ye are not
earning the king's money! You are
not doing as you were bid! You are
letting her live! She is to die! She
is to be burned! She is to be burned!"
And at that, the priests coming 
down from the scaffold, going
among the people, laughed & 
nodded as they went by, saying,
"In good season. In good
season. In good season. We



69
will have her again."
So she was carried back,
to her dungeon.
And on the eighth morning,
as she would rise from her
bed, she found lying beside it,
not the peasant's gown she had
sworn to resume, & on which, hung
her life, but the steel links of the
armor, she had promised, never
to wear again.
She knew that to clothe
herself, in that armor would
be to dress herself in her shroud;--
to enter those steel links would be
to enter the open door of her tomb,
& so standing, she cried again
& again for her peasant garments
& they were witheld, till, to save
herself from insult, from danger,
nay, from absolute violation, she
put it on.
Twas but a trap in 
which to catch her. Spies had
been watching. They ran with
hasty steps to tell the Bishop of
Beauvais. And she, where she
stood in the gloom of her dungeon70
dungeon could hear the Bishop's feet
sounding on the flagstones of the
courtyard outside, could hear his
voice, jarring the solemn stillness
of the Sabbath morning, as he cried
to the Earl of Warwick where he
hung from an upper window,--
"Aha! We have caught her!"
And the next day, she was 
carried out to her death.
The story goes on to tell us,
how she was brought from her
dungeon, & put into a cart.
The one officer of the jail, who
had been kind to her on the
one side, the monk who was
faithful to death on the other.
How the cart, moved down the
narrow street to the open marketplace
of the city, crowded with
reviling soldiers who literally
spat upon her as she went by.
At the one side, a high
scaffold. On it, the Bishop of
Winchester, the Bishop of Beauvais,
the knight,s & prelates, & officers who
were in the town.
At the other, a scaffold,



71
equally high, on it, a stake, faggots,
the executioner.
Outside, swelling & surging
like waves of the sea, the people of the
city of Rouen, for whom she would
have died, come, to witness her 
burning.
And here, at the supreme 
moment of her life, she manifested
herself, supreme. Dying, she
conquered the living.
She knelt in her cart,
in the crowded street. She
prayed for these her enemies, accusers,
judges, murderers. For 
this, her executioner. For the
reviling soldiers about her. For
the king, the army, the nation
that had forgotten her. For herself,
that she might hold fast,
to the awful end.
What power was it 
think you, that speaking from
dying lips & dying eyes, brought
to such results?
That made the Bishop
of Winchester, who in "dying made
no sign," turn his face to the wall,72
unable to witness the sight?
That made the Bishop of
Beauvais, who a short half hour before,
had read her death sentence, cover
his face with his hand, so that
those, who stood watching, could
see the tears drip down the back
of it?
That made the yelling,
cursing, reviling soldiers pause
to listen, &, as the prayer went on,
drop their swords & spears, &
seizing one another's arms, cry 
out, "Ah, Look at her! Listen to
her! See her! Tis a saint of God 
we are about to burn!"?
That sent her with steady,
unwavering feet, up the gallows
stairs! That chained to the
stake, the smoke, stifling &
blinding her, the cruel flames
cracking her bones, & shrivelling
her flesh, made her, in dying,
remember the living who had
forgotten himself?--
She saw where
the flames ran out to seize the
robes of the faithful monk who



73
stood by her side, & tearing loose
her scorching, withering hands,
thrusting them forth, she cried,--
"Go down, my father. Go
down & save thyself. But stand
where thou canst hold the blessed
cross before me, & speak. I pray
thee, words of comfort to me, to
the end."
There, these who stood,
looking & listening, in awestruck
stillness, could hear, issuing from 
the flames & the smoke, naught
save confused sounds:--broken
murmurings of a voice:--a
soul, speaking to its God, in
death.
Then, silence.
She had fought a good
fight. She had finished her
course. She had kept the faith.

The End