A MONK OF FIFE
A Romance of the Days of Jeanne D'Arc - Joan of Arc
by Andrew Lang
CHAPTER XXIII
HOW ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES CAME HOME
Of our Blessed Lord Himself it is said in the Gospel of St. Matthew,
"et non fecit ibi virtutes multas propter incredulitatem illorum."
These words I willingly leave in the Roman tongue; for by the wisdom
of Holy Church it is deemed that many mysteries should not be
published abroad in the vulgar speech, lest the unlearned hear to
their own confusion. But if even He, doubtless by the wisdom of His
own will, did not many great works "propter incredulitatem," it is
the less to be marvelled at that His Saints, through the person of
the Blessed Maid, were of no avail where men utterly disbelieved.
And that, where infidelity was, even she must labour in vain was
shown anon, even on this very day of my escape out of Paris town.
For I had scarce taken some food, and washed and armed myself, when
the Maid's trumpets sounded, and she herself, armed and on
horseback, despite her wound, rode into St. Denis, to devise with
the gentle Duc d'Alencon. Together they came forth from the gate,
and I, being in their company, heard her cry -
"By my baton, I will never go back till I take that city." {31}
These words Percival de Cagny also heard, a good knight, and maitre
d'hotel of the house of Alencon. Thereon arose some dispute,
D'Alencon being eager, as indeed he always was, to follow where the
Maiden led, and some others holding back.
Now, as they were devising together, some for, some against, for
men-at-arms not a few had fallen in the onfall, there came the sound
of horses' hoofs, and lo! Messire de Montmorency, who had been of
the party of the English, and with them in Paris, rode up, leading a
company of fifty or sixty gentlemen of his house, to join the Maid.
Thereat was great joy and new courage in all men of goodwill, seeing
that, within Paris itself, so many gentlemen deemed ours the better
cause and the more hopeful.
Thus there was an end of all dispute, our companies were fairly
arrayed, and we were marching to revenge ourselves for the losses of
yesterday, when two knights came spurring after us from St. Denis.
They were the Duc de Bar, and that unhappy Charles de Bourbon, Comte
de Clermont, by whose folly, or illwill, or cowardice, the Scots
were betrayed and deserted at the Battle of the Herrings, where my
own brother fell, as I have already told. This second time Charles
de Bourbon brought evil fortune, for he came on the King's part,
straitly forbidding D'Alencon and the Maid to march forward another
lance's length. Whereat D'Alencon swore profane, and the Maiden,
weeping, rebuked him. So, with heavy hearts, we turned, all the
host of us, and went back to quarters, the Maid to pray in the
chapel, and the men-at-arms to drink and speak ill of the King.
All this was on the ninth of September, a weary day to all of us,
though in the evening word came that we were to march early next
morning and attack Paris in another quarter, crossing the river by a
bridge of boats which the Duc d'Alencon had let build to that end.
After two wakeful nights I was well weary, and early laid me down to
sleep, rising at dawn with high hopes. And so through the grey
light we marched silently to the place appointed, but bridge there
was none; for the King, having heard of the Maid's intent, had
caused men to work all night long, destroying that which the gentle
Duke had builded. Had the King but heard the shouts and curses of
our company when they found nought but the bare piles standing, the
grey water flowing, and the boats and planks vanished, he might have
taken shame to himself of his lack of faith. Therefore I say it
boldly, it was because of men's unbelief that the Maid at Paris
wrought no great works, save that she put her body in such hazard of
war as never did woman, nay, nor man, since the making of the world.
I have no heart to speak more of this shameful matter, nor of these
days of anger and blasphemy. It was said and believed that her
voices bade the Maid abide at St. Denis till she should take Paris
town, but the King, and Charles de Bourbon, and the Archbishop of
Reims refused to hearken to her. On the thirteenth day of
September, after dinner, the King, with all his counsellors, rode
away from St. Denis, towards Gien on the Loire. The Maiden, for her
part, hung up all her harness that she had worn, save the sword of
St. Catherine of Fierbois, in front of the altar of Our Lady, and
the blessed relics of St. Denis in the chapel. Thereafter she rode,
as needs she must, and we of her company with her, to join the King,
for so he commanded.
And now was the will of the Maid and of the Duc d'Alencon broken,
and broken was all that great army, whereof some were free lances
out of many lands, but more were nobles of France with their men,
who had served without price or pay, for love of France and of the
Maid. Never again were they mustered; nay when, after some weeks
passed, the gentle Duc d'Alencon prayed that he might have the
Maiden with him, and burst into Normandy, where the English were
strongest, by the Marches of Maine, even this grace was refused to
him, by the malengin and ill-will of La Tremouille and the
Archbishop of Reims. And these two fair friends met never more
again, neither at fray nor feast. May she, among the Saints, so
work by her prayers that the late sin and treason of the gentle Duke
may be washed out and made clean, for while she lived there was no
man more dear to her, nor any that followed her more stoutly in
every onfall.
Now concerning the times that came after this shameful treason at
Paris, I have no joy to write. The King's counsellors, as their
manner was, ever hankered after a peace with Burgundy, and they
stretched the false truce that was to have ended at Christmas to
Easter Day, "pacem clamantes quo non fuit pax." For there was no
truce with the English, who took St. Denis again, and made booty of
the arms which the Maid had dedicated to Our Lady. On our part La
Hire and Xaintrailles plundered, for their own hand, the lands of
the Duke of Burgundy, and indeed on every side there was no fair
fighting, such as the Maid loved, but a war of wastry, the peasants
pillaged, and the poor held to ransom. For her part, she spent her
days in prayer for the poor and the oppressed, whom she had come to
deliver, and who now were in worse case than before, the English
harrying certain of the good towns that had yielded to King Charles.
Now her voices ever bade the Maid go back to the Isle of France, and
assail Paris, where lay no English garrison, and the Armagnacs were
stirring as much as they might. But Paris, being at this time under
the government of the Duke of Burgundy, was forsooth within the
truce. The King's counsellors, therefore, setting their wisdom
against that of the Saints, bade the Maid go against the towns of
St. Pierre le Moustier and La Charite, then held by the English on
the Loire. This was in November, when days were short, and the
weather bitter cold. The Council was held at Mehun sur Yevre, and
forthwith the Maid, glad to be doing, rode to Bourges, where she
mustered her men, and so marched to St. Pierre le Moustier, a small
town, but a strong, with fosses, towers, and high walls.
There we lay some two days or three, plying the town with our
artillery, and freezing in the winter nights. At length, having
made somewhat of a breach, the Maid gave the word for the assault,
and herself leading, with her banner in hand, we went at it with
what force we might. But twice and thrice we were driven back from
the fosse, and to be plain, our men were fled under cover, and only
the Maid stood within arrow-shot of the wall, with a few of her
household, of whom I was one, for I could not go back while she held
her ground. The arrows and bolts from the town rained and whistled
about us, and in faith I wished myself other where. Yet she stood,
waving her banner, and crying, "Tirez en avant, ils sont e nous," as
was her way in every onfall. Seeing her thus in jeopardy, her
maitre d'hotel, D'Aulon, though himself wounded in the heel so that
he might not set foot to ground, mounted a horse, and riding up,
asked her "why she abode there alone, and did not give ground like
the others?"
At this the Maid lifted her helmet from her head, and so, uncovered,
her face like marble for whiteness, and her eyes shining like steel,
made answer -
"I am not alone; with me there are of mine fifty thousand! Hence I
will not give back one step till I have taken the town."
Then I wotted well that, sinful man as I am, I was in the company of
the hosts of Heaven, though I saw them not. Great heart this
knowledge gave me and others, and the Maid crying, in a loud voice,
"Aux fagots, tout le monde!" the very runaways heard her and came
back with planks and faggots, and so, filling up the fosse and
passing over, we ran into the breach, smiting and slaying, and the
town was taken.
For my own part, I was so favoured that two knights yielded them my
prisoners (I being the only man of gentle birth among those who
beset them in a narrow wynd), and with their ransoms I deemed myself
wealthy enough, as well I might. So now I could look to win my
heart's desire, if no ill fortune befell. But little good fortune
came in our way. From La Charite, which was beset in the last days
of November, we had perforce to give back, for the King sent us no
munitions of war, and for lack of more powder and ball we might not
make any breach in the walls of that town. And so, by reason of the
hard winter, and the slackness of the King, and the false truce, we
fought no more, at that season, but went, trailing after the Court,
from castle to castle.
Many feasts were held, and much honour was done to the Maid, as by
gifts of coat armour, and the ennobling of all her kith and kin, but
these things she regarded not, nor did she ever bear on her shield
the sword supporting the crown, between the lilies of France.
If these were ill days for the Maid, I shame to confess that they
were merry days with me. There are worse places than a king's
court, when a man is young, and light of heart, full of hope, and
with money in his purse. I looked that we should take the field
again in the spring; and having gained some gold, and even some good
words, as one not backward where sword-strokes were going, I know
not what dreams I had of high renown, ay, and the Constable's staff
to end withal. For many a poor Scot has come to great place in
France and Germany, who began with no better fortune than a mind to
put his body in peril. Moreover, the winning of Elliot herself for
my wife seemed now a thing almost within my reach. Therefore, as I
say, I kept a merry Yule at Jargeau, going bravely clad, and dancing
all night long with the merriest. Only the wan face of the Maid
(that in time of war had been so gallant and glad) came between me
and my pleasures. Not that she was wilfully and wantonly sad, yet
now and again we could mark in her face the great and loving pity
that possessed her for France. Now I would be half angered with
her, but again far more wroth with myself, who could thus lightly
think of that passion of hers. But when she might she was ever at
her prayers, or in company of children, or seeking out such as were
poor and needy, to whom she was abundantly lavish of her gifts, so
that, wheresoever the Court went, the people blessed her.
In these months I had tidings of Elliot now and again; and as
occasion served I wrote to her, with messages of my love, and with a
gift, as of a ring or a jewel. But concerning the manner of my
escape from Paris I had told Elliot nothing for this cause. My
desire was, when soonest I had an occasion, to surprise her with the
gift of her jackanapes anew, knowing well that nothing could make
her greater joy, save my own coming, or a victory of the Maid. The
little creature had been my comrade wheresoever we went, as at
Sully, Gien, and Bourges, only I took him not to the leaguers of St.
Pierre le Moustier and La Charite, but left him with a fair lady of
the Court. He had waxed fat again, for as meagre as he was when he
came to me in prison, and he was full of new tricks, warming himself
at the great fire in hall, like a man.
Now in the middle of the month of January, in the year of Grace
fourteen hundred and thirty, the Maid told us of her household that
she would journey to Orleans, to abide for some space with certain
ladies of her friends, namely, Madame de St. Mesmin and Madame de
Mouchy, who loved her dearly. To the most of us she gave holiday,
to see our own friends. The Maid knew surely that in France my
friends were few, and well she guessed whither I was bound.
Therefore she sent for me, and bidding me carry her love to Elliot,
she put into my hands a gift to her friend. It was a ring of
silver-gilt, fashioned like that which her own father and mother had
given her. At this ring she had a custom of looking often, so that
the English conceived it to be an unholy talisman, though it bore
the Name that is above all names. That ring I now wear in my bosom.
So, saying farewell, with many kind words on her part, I rode
towards Tours, where Elliot and her father as then dwelt, in that
same house where I had been with them to be healed of my malady,
after the leaguer of Orleans. To Tours I rode, telling them not of
my coming, and carrying the jackanapes well wrapped up in furs of
the best. The weather was frosty, and folk were sliding on the ice
of the flooded fields near Tours when I came within sight of the
great Minster. The roads rang hard; on the smooth ice the low sun
was making paths of gold, and I sang as I rode. Putting up my horse
at the sign of the "Hanging Sword," I took the ape under my great
furred surcoat, and stole like a thief through the alleys, towards
my master's house. The night was falling, and all the casement of
the great chamber was glowing with the colour and light of a leaping
fire within. There came a sound of music too, as one touched the
virginals to a tune of my own country. My heart was beating for
joy, as it had beaten in the bushment outside Paris town.
I opened the outer door secretly, for I knew the trick of it, and I
saw from the thin thread of light on the wall of the passage that
the chamber door was a little ajar. The jackanapes was now fretting
and struggling within my surcoat, so, opening the coat, I put him
down by the chamber door. He gave a little scratch, as was his
custom, for he was a very mannerly little beast, and the sound of
the virginals ceased. Then, pushing the door with his little hands,
he ran in, with a kind of cry of joy.
"In Our Lady's name, what is this?" came the voice of Elliot. "My
dear, dear little friend, what make you here?"
Then I could withhold myself no longer, but entered, and my lady ran
to me, the jackanapes clinging about her neck with his arms. But
mine were round her too, and what words we said, and what cheer we
made each the other, I may not write, commending me to all true
lovers, whose hearts shall tell them that whereof I am silent. Much
was I rebuked for that I did not write to warn them of my coming,
which was yet the more joyful that they were not warned. And then
the good woman, Elliot's kinswoman, must be called (though in sooth
not at the very first), and then a great fire must be lit in my old
chamber; and next my master came in, from a tavern where he had been
devising with some Scots of his friends; and all the while the
jackanapes kept such a merry coil, and played so many of his tricks,
and got so many kisses from his mistress, that it was marvel. But
of all that had befallen me in the wars, and of how the Maiden did
(concerning which Elliot had questioned me first of all), I would
tell them little till supper was brought.
And then, indeed, out came all my tale, and they heard of what had
been my fortune in Paris, and how the jackanapes had delivered me
from durance, whereon never, surely, was any beast of his kind so
caressed since our father Adam gave all the creatures their names.
But as touching the Maid, I told how she had borne herself at St.
Pierre le Moustier, and of all the honours that had been granted to
her, and I bade them be of good heart and hope, for that her banner
would be on the wind in spring, after Easter Day. All the good news
that might be truly told I did tell, as how La Hire had taken
Louviers town, and harried the English up to the very gates of
Rouen. And I gave to Elliot the ring which the Maid had sent to
her, fashioned like that she herself wore, but of silver gilt,
whereas the Maid's was of base metal, and it bore the Holy Names
MARI. IHS. Thereon Elliot kissed it humbly, and avowed herself to
be, that night, the gladdest damsel in all France.
"For I have gotten you, mon ami, and my little friend that I had
lost, beyond all hope, and I have a kind word and a token from Her,
la fille de Dieu," whereat her speech faltered, and her eyes swam in
tears. But some trick of her jackanapes brought back her mirth, and
so the hours passed, as happy as any in my life. Truly the memory
of these things tells me how glad this world might be, wherein God
has placed us, were it not troubled by the inordinate desires of
men. In my master's house of Tours, then, my days of holiday went
merrily by, save for one matter, and that of the utmost moment. For
my master would in no manner permit me to wed his daughter while
this war endured; and Elliot herself, blushing like any rose, told
me that, while the Maid had need of me, with the Maid I must abide
at my duty, and that she herself had no mind for happiness while her
friend was yet labouring in the cause of France. Howbeit, I
delivered me of my vow, by pilgrimage to the chapel in Fierbois.
{32}
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