Brave Men and Women Part 36

A long and troublesome pa.s.sage had Joan of Arc from this bad world to her home in heaven, where dwelt those whom she called "her brothers of Paradise." Her faith was to be tried in the fire--purified seven times.

All the French army were jealous of her. The governor of the fortress of Compiegne was cruel and tyrannical beyond all others, even in that age.

Compiegne was besieged by the English; Joan threw herself bravely into the place. She arrived there on the 24th of May, and that same evening she headed a party who went out of the gates to attack the enemy. Twice they were driven back by her; but, seeing more coming up, she made the sign to go back. She kept herself the last; the city gate was partly closed, so that but few could pa.s.s in at once. In the confusion she was separated from her friends; but she still fought bravely, until an archer from Picardy seized her and dragged her from her horse. She struggled, but was obliged to give up; and so the Maid of Orleans was taken prisoner.

Joan was first taken to the quarters of John of Luxembourg. Her prison was changed many times, but the English were eager to have her in their own power. In November John of Luxemburg sold her to them for a large sum of money. When she was in his prison she had tried twice to escape.

She could not try now; she was put in the great tower of the castle of Rouen, confined between iron gratings, with irons upon her feet. Her guards offered her all kinds of rudeness, and even John of Luxembourg was so mean as to go and rejoice over her in her prison.

It would have been a cruel thing to put her to death as a prisoner of war; but those were dark days, and such things were often done. The desire of the English was to hold Joan up to public scorn as a witch, and to prove that she had dealings with the devil. With this wicked object, they put her on her trial. They found Frenchmen ready enough to help them. One Canchon, bishop of Beauvais, even pet.i.tioned that the trial might be under his guidance. He had his desire; he was appointed the first judge, and a hundred and two other learned Frenchmen were found ready to join him.

Before these false judges Joan of Arc was called--as simple a girl as she was when, just two years before, she left Domremy. All that malice and rage could do was done against her. She was alone before her enemies. Day after day they tried hard to find new and puzzling questions for her; to make her false on her own showing; to make her deny her visions or deny her G.o.d. They could not. Clearheaded, simple-hearted, she had been always, and she was so still. She showed the faith of a Christian, the patience of a saint, in all her answers.

Piety and wisdom were with her, wickedness and folly with her enemies.

They tried to make evil out of two things in particular: her banner, with which it was declared she worked charms, and the tree she used to dance around when she was a child, where they said she went to consult the fairies. Concerning her banner, Joan said that she carried it on purpose to spare the sword, so she might not kill any one with her own hand; of the tree, she denied that she knew any thing about fairies, or was acquainted with any one who had seen them there. She was tormented with questions as to whether the saints spoke English when she saw them, what they wore, how they smelt, whether she helped the banner or the banner her, whether she was in mortal sin when she rode the horse belonging to the bishop of Senlis, whether she could commit mortal sin, whether the saints hated the English. Every trap they could lay for her they laid. She answered all clearly; when she had forgotten any thing she said so; her patience never gave way; she was never confused. When asked whether she was in a state of grace, she said: "If I am not, I pray to G.o.d to bring me to it; and, if I am, may he keep me in it."

After all, they did not dare condemn her. Try as they could, they could draw nothing from her that was wrong. They teased her to give the matter into the hands of the Church. She put the Church in heaven, and its head, above the Church on earth and the pope. The English were afraid that after all she might escape, and pressed on the judgment. The lawyers at Rouen would say nothing, neither would the chapter. The only way to take was to send the report of the trial to the University of Paris, and wait the answer.

On the 19th of May arrived the answer from Paris. It was this: that the Maid of Orleans was either a liar or in alliance with Satan and with Behemoth; that she was given to superst.i.tion, most likely an idolater; that she lowered the angels, and vainly boasted and exalted herself; that she was a blasphemer and a traitor thirsting for blood, a heretic and an apostate. Yet they would not burn her at once; they would first disgrace her in the eyes of people. This was done on the 23d of May. A scaffold was put up behind the Cathedral of St. Onen; here in solemn state sat the cardinal of Winchester, two judges, and thirty-three helpers. On another scaffold was Joan of Arc, in the midst of guards, notaries to take reports, and the most famous preacher of France to admonish her. Below was seen the rack upon a cart.

The preacher began his discourse. Joan let him speak against herself, but she stopped him when he spoke against the king, that king for whom she had risked every thing, but who was dreaming at Chinon, and had not stretched out a finger to save her. Their labor was nearly lost; her enemies became furious. Persuading was of no use; she refused to go back from any thing she had said or done. Her instant death was threatened if she continued obstinate, but if she would recant she was promised deliverance from the English. "I will sign," she said at last. The cardinal drew a paper from his sleeve with a short denial. She put her mark to it. They kept their promise of mercy by pa.s.sing this sentence upon her: "Joan, we condemn you, through our grace and moderation, to pa.s.s the rest of your days in prison, to eat the bread of grief and drink the water of anguish, and to bewail your sins."

When she went back to prison there was published through Rouen, not the short denial she had signed, but one six pages long.

Joan was taken back to the prison from whence she came. The next few days were the darkest and saddest of all her life, yet they were the darkest before the dawn. She had, in the paper which she had signed, promised to wear a woman's dress again, and she did so. Her enemies had now a sure hold on her. They could make her break her own oath. In the night her woman's dress was taken away, and man's clothes put in their place. She had no choice in the morning what to do.

As soon as it was day Canchon and the rest made haste to the prison to see the success of their plot. Canchon laughed, and said, "She is taken." No more hope for her on earth; no friend with her, save that in the fiery furnace was "One like unto the Son of G.o.d."

Brought before her judges, Joan only said why she had put on her old dress. They could not hide their delight, and joked and laughed among themselves. G.o.d sent her hope and comfort; she knew that the time of her deliverance was near. She was to be set free by fire. They appointed the day after the morrow for her burning. But a few hours' notice was given her. She wept when she heard that she was to be burnt alive, but after awhile she exclaimed: "I shall be to-night in Paradise!"

Eight hundred Englishmen conducted her to the market-place! On her way, the wretched priest L'Oiseleur threw himself on the ground before her, and begged her to forgive him. Three scaffolds had been set up. On one sat the cardinal with all his train. Joan and her enemies were on another. The third, a great, towering pile, built up so high that what happened on it should be in the sight of all the town, had upon it the stake to which she was to be tied. Canchon began to preach to her. Her faith never wavered; her Saviour, her best friend, was with her. To him she prayed aloud before the gathered mult.i.tude. She declared that she forgave her enemies, and begged her friends to pray for her. Even Canchon and the cardinal shed tears. But they hastened to dry their eyes, and read the condemnation. All the false charges were named, and she was given over to death.

They put her on the scaffold and bound her fast to the stake. Looking round on the crowd of her countrymen, who stood looking over, she exclaimed: "O Rouen! I fear thou wilt suffer for my death!" A miter was placed on her head, with the words: "Relapsed Heretic, Apostate, Idolater." Canchon drew near, to listen whether even now she would not say something to condemn herself. Her only words were, "Bishop, I die through your means." Of the worthless king she said: "That which I have well or ill done I did it of myself; the king did not advise me." These were her last words about earthly matters. The flames burnt from the foot of the pile, but the monk who held the cross before her did not move. He heard her from the midst of the fire call upon her Saviour.

Soon she bowed her head and cried aloud "Jesus!" And she went to be with him forever.

We have little to add of the character of the Maid of Orleans. She was simple amid triumph and splendor; unselfish, when she might have had whatever she had asked; humane and gentle, even on the battlefield; patient in the midst of the greatest provocation; brave in the midst of suffering; firm in faith and hope when all beside were cast down; blameless and holy in her life, when all beside were wicked and corrupt.

The English never recovered from the blow struck by the Maid. Their power in France gradually weakened. In 1435 peace was made between Charles VII and the Duke of Burgundy. One by one the ill-gotten gains were given up, and the English king lost even the French provinces he inherited. In the year 1451 the only English possession in France was the town of Calais. This, too, was lost about a hundred years after, in the reign of Queen Mary. Yet the kings of England kept the empty t.i.tle of kings of France, and put the lilies of France in their coat of arms until the middle of the reign of George III.

The last incident in the strange story of Joan of Arc remains to be told. Ten years after her execution, to the amazement of all who knew him, Charles VII suddenly shook off his idleness and blazed forth a wise king, an energetic ruler. Probably in this, his better state of mind, he thought with shame and sorrow of Joan of Arc. In the year 1456 he ordered a fresh inquiry to be made. At this every one was examined who had known or seen her at any period of her short life. The judgment pa.s.sed on her before was contradicted, and she was declared a good and innocent woman. They would have given the whole world then to have had her back and to have made amends to her for their foul injustice. But the opinions of men no longer mattered to her. The twenty-five years since she had been burnt at Rouen had been the first twenty-five of her uncounted eternity of joy.

"The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come."

XLV.

THE SONG OF WORK

MANY PHASES AND MANY EXAMPLES.

Music.

In every leaf and flower The pulse of music beats, And works the changes hour by hour, In those divine retreats.

Alike in star and clod One melody resides, Which is the working will of G.o.d, Beyond all power besides.

It is by angels heard, By all of lower birth, The silent music of the Word Who works in heaven and earth.

For music order is To which all work belongs, And in this wondrous world of His Work is the song of songs.

Divine Workers.

The Father hitherto, And his Eternal Son Work, work, and still have work to do With each successive sun.

O bow the heart in awe, And work as with the Lord, Who, with his everlasting law, Works on in sweet accord.

Work is the law of love Which rules the world below, Which rules the brighter world above, Through which, like G.o.d, we grow.

And this and every day The work of love is rest In which our sorrows steal away, Which cares may not infest.

The Will of G.o.d.

With heart as strong as fate, Brave worker, girt and shod, Adore! and know that naught is great Except the will of G.o.d.

O sweet, sweet light of day, Through which such wonders run, Thou ownest, in thy glorious sway, Allegiance to the sun.

And thou, O human will, As wondrous as the light, Cans't thou thy little trust fulfill Save through Another's might?

With heart to conquer fate, Brave worker, girt and shod, Work on! and know that he is great Who does the will of G.o.d.

"Laborare est Orare."

To labor is to pray, As some dear saint has said, And with this truth for many a day Have I been comforted.