everywhere; while in the meantime Jeanne, partially
healed of her wound (on May 9th she rode out in a
maillet, a light coat of chain-mail), after
a few days’ rest in the joyful city which she
had saved with all its treasures, set out on her return
to Chinon. She found the King at Loches, another
of the strong places on the Loire where there was
room for a Court, and means of defence for a siege
should such be necessary, as is the case with so many
of these wonderful castles upon the great French river.
Hot with eagerness to follow up her first great success
and accomplish her mission, Jeanne’s object was
to march on at once with the young Prince, with or
without his immense retinue, to Rheims where he should
be crowned and anointed King as she had promised.
Her instinctive sense of the necessities of the position,
if we use that language—more justly, her
boundless faith in the orders which she believed had
been give her from Heaven, to accomplish this great
act without delay, urged her on. She was straitened,
if we may quote the most divine of words, till it
should be accomplished.
But the Maid, flushed with victory, with the shouts
of Orleans still ringing in her ears, the applause
of her fellow-soldiers, the sound of the triumphant
bells, was plunged all at once into the indolence,
the intrigues, the busy nothingness of the Court, in
which whispering favourites surrounded a foolish young
prince, beguiling him into foolish amusements, alarming
him with coward fears. Wise men and buffoons alike
dragged him down into that paltry abyss, the one always
counselling caution, the other inventing amusements.
“Let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die.”
Was it worth while to lose everything that was enjoyable
in the present moment, to subject a young sovereign
to toils and excitement, and probable loss, for the
uncertain advantage of a vain ceremony, when he might
be enjoying himself safely and at his ease, throughout
the summer months, on the cheerful banks of the Loire?
On the other hand, the Chancellor, the Chamberlains,
the Church, all his graver advisers (with the exception
of Gerson, the great theologian to whom has been ascribed
the authorship of the Imitation of Christ, who
is reported to have said, “If France deserts
her, and she fails, she is none the less inspired”)
shook their hands and advised that the way should
be quite safe and free of danger before the King risked
himself upon it. It was thus that Jeanne was
received when, newly alighted from her charger, her
shoulder still but half healed, her eyes scarcely clear
of the dust and smoke, she found herself once more
in the ante-chamber, wasting the days, waiting in
vain behind closed doors, tormented by the lutes and
madrigals, the light women and lighter men, useless
and contemptible, of a foolish Court. The Maid,
in all the energy and impulse of a success which had
proved all her claims, had also a premonition that
her own time was short, if not a direct intimation,
as some believe, to that effect: and mingled
her remonstrances and appeals with the cry of warning:
“I shall only last a year: take the good
of me as long as it is possible.”
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