Messire Guillaume Frontey, the priest, led them through a short benediction service, and comforted and refreshed,––Jeanne had been much wearied by the day’s work and religion was to her as the breath of life,––the child passed out into the garden.
There was a sweet coolness in the evening air, and the darkness was soft and agreeable after the glare of the summer sun. So pleasant was the night that
Jeanne stopped under an apple tree, loath to enter the warm cottage. Presently, through the darkness, there came the light that she had seen before. A light so bright, so glowing in its radiance that she sank to her knees awed by the luminosity. She was not so frightened as when it had come before, yet still she dared not lift her eyes to gaze upon its wonder. Tremblingly she waited for the voice that she knew would follow. As it spake the bells of the church began to
ring for compline. Mingled with their chimes sounded tones so sweet that her eyes filled at their tenderness:
“I come from God to help thee live a good and holy life,” it said. “Be good, Jeanne, and God will aid thee.”
That was all. The light faded gradually, and when it was gone Jeanne rose to her feet.
“It was the voice of an angel,” she whispered in awed tones. “The voice of an angel, and it spoke to me.”
And from that time forth Jeanne D’Arc had no doubt but that an angel had spoken to her. To children, especially religious little ones, Heaven is always very near, and that one of its denizens should come to them does not seem so improbable as it does to mature minds. For some time she stood lost in wonderment at the miraculous happening, then slowly and thoughtfully she went
into the cottage, going at once to her own little room.
This room was on the side of the cottage toward the church where the eaves sloped low. From her tiny window she could see the sacred light on the altar, and with hands clasped, Jeanne knelt before the open sash, gazing devoutly upon it.
It seemed to her that the threshold of Heaven was reached by that little church.
CHAPTER VII
FURTHER VISIONS
“Angels are wont to come down to Christians without
being seen, but I see them. ”
JEANNE D’ARC’S Own Words.
J. E. J. QUICHERAT, “Condamnation et Réhabilitation
de Jeanne d’Arc. ” Vol. I. , p. 130.
From this time forth the Voice became frequent. Again and again she heard it; chiefly out of doors, in the silence and freedom of the fields or garden. In time the Heavenly radiance resolved itself into the semblance of a man, but with wings and a crown on his head: a great angel, surrounded by many smaller ones.
The little maid knew him by his weapons and the courtly words that fell from his lips to be Saint Michael, the archangel who was provost of Heaven and warden
of Paradise; at once the leader of the Heavenly Hosts and the angel of judgment.
Often had Jeanne seen his image on the pillar of church or chapel, in the guise of a handsome knight, with a crown on his helmet, wearing a coat of mail and bearing a lance. Sometimes he was represented as holding scales. In an old bo7o 2 k
it is written that “the true office of Saint Michael is to make great revelations to men below, by giving them holy counsels.”
In very remote times he had appeared to the Bishop of Avranches and commanded him to build a church on Mount Tombe, in such a place as he should
find a bull hidden by thieves; and the site of the building was to include the whole area trodden by the bull. The Abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel-au-Péril-de-laMer was erected in obedience to this command.
About the time that Jeanne was having these visions the English were attacking
Mont-Saint-Michel, and the defenders of the fortress discomfited them. The French attributed the victory to the all-powerful intercession of the archangel.
Therefore, Saint Michael was in a fair way to become the patron saint of the French instead of Saint Denys, who had permitted his abbey to be taken by the
English. But Jeanne knew nothing of what had happened in Normandy.
The apparition was so noble, so majestic in its appearance that at first the little maid was sore afraid, but his counsels were so wise and tender that they overcame her fear.
One day he said to her: “Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret will come to thee.
Act according to their advice; for they are appointed to guide thee and counsel thee in all that thou hast to do, and thou mayest believe what they shall say unto thee.”
Jeanne was glad when she heard this promise, for she loved both these saints.
Saint Marguerite was highly honoured in the Kingdom of France, where she was
a great benefactress. She was the patron saint of flax spinners, nurses, vellum-dressers, and of bleachers of wool.
Saint Catherine had a church at Maxey on the other side of the Meuse, and Jeanne’s little sister bore her name. Often had she repeated the rhymed prayer that was used in the saint’s honour throughout the Valley of Colors:
“Hail, thou holy Catherine,
Virgin Maid so pure and fine.”
Both the saints were martyrs. Jeanne had heard their stories many times from her mother, so she awaited their coming eagerly.
It was in the woods, near the Fairy Tree, that they first came to her. It was a Saturday, the day held sacred to the Holy Virgin, and Jeanne made a little pilgrimage through the forest up the hill path beyond Greux to the Oratory of Our Lady of Belmont. With her tiny savings the child had bought a candle to burn on the altar, and also carried wild flowers to make the holy place as fragrant as the forest at its doors. She finished her orisons, placed her candle on the altar and laid her flowers on the shrine, then slowly started down the hill path. Soon, finding herself near The Gooseberry Spring, she knelt upon its brink for a drink from its pellucid waters. It was very quiet in the clearing about the Spring, and over the grassy space lay a grateful shade. The day was warm, and after her drink Jeanne sat down on a natural seat formed by the gnarled roots of a tree.
