CHAPTER I

A CHILDREN’S FESTIVAL

“There is a fountain in the forest called

The Fountain of the Fairies. An ancient oak,

The goodliest of the forest, grows beside. ”

SOUTHEY. “Joan of Arc, ” Book II.

“Who-oo-ee!” The gleeful shout came from the lips of a little girl who stood, with her hands cupped about her lips, on the edge of a streamlet which divided

the village of Domremy into two parts.

She was a slight little maiden, of some twelve summers, and as she gave the call she danced about in the warm sunshine as though unable to keep still from the

mere joy of being. Her hair was very dark and very abundant. Her eyes were wonderful for their blueness and the steadfastness of their gaze. Her face, though comely, was remarkable not so much for its beauty as for the happiness of 1 i 2 ts

expression. She stood still listening for a moment after sending forth her call, and then, as the Sabbath quiet remained unbroken, she sent forth the cry again in a clear, sweet voice that penetrated into the farthest reaches of the village:

“Who-oo-ee!”

This time the shout was caught up instantly, and answered by many voices. The

village wakened suddenly into life, as there poured forth from the cottages a goodly number of boys and girls who came running toward the little maid eagerly. She shook a finger at them reprovingly.

“Oh, but you are late,” she cried. “Here it is ten of the clock, and we were to start at nine. The day will be half gone before we get to the Tree. I was afraid that you had gone off without me.”

“Gone without you, Jeanne D’Arc,” exclaimed one of the girls. “Why, we couldn’t have any sport without you. I had to wait for my mother to fix my basket––that is the reason that I was late.”

“And I! And I!” chimed several other children in a chorus.

“Why didn’t you pack them yourselves?” demanded Jeanne, who seemed to be a

leader among them. “I did mine, and Jean’s and Pierrelot’s too.”

“But where are the boys?” asked a lad. “They are not here.”

“They ran back to get more nuts,” answered the little girl. “Jean said that we must be sure to have plenty. There! They are coming now. Let’s get into line, and be ready to start as soon as they get here.”

Gleefully the children formed a line, and then took up their march toward the great wood which stretched in primeval abundance half a league to the westward

of Domremy.

In all France there was not a more delicate, tranquil landscape than that of this broad valley of the Meuse, which extended in unbroken reaches between low hills, softly undulating, crowned with oaks, maples and birches. The trees were leafless now, and there were still ridges of snow to be seen among the hills, but already there were monitions of Spring in the air. The buds were swelling, springing grass carpeted the fields, and there was no longer ice in the river, which rippled its apple-green waters in the sunshine.

Along the valley the banks of the Meuse were dotted with many hamlets, villages and towns, and among them was Domremy, which nestled upon its western side in the county of Champagne. It was the greyest of the grey hamlets in this borderland. It consisted of a castle, a monastery, and a score of cottages which were grouped about a small church, but it was well favoured by Nature in

that the meadow lands which lay around it were rich and fertile beyond those of most villages, and the vineyards which covered the southern slopes of the hills were famous all over the countryside.

It was the first fine day of March, 1424, and “Laetare Sunday.” “Laetare Sunday” the fourth Sunday in Lent was called, because during the mass of the day was chanted the passage beginning, “Laetare, Jerusalem”; but the children called it “The Day of the Fountains,” for upon this day the annual “Well Dressing” of the Spring which lay at the edge of the forest was observed, and the Fairy Tree was decorated. In short, upon this day the children of the valley held high festival.

So, merrily they marched toward the wood; the boys carrying baskets of lunch, for they were to picnic, and the girls bearing garlands that were to be used for the decoration. It was a joyous party, for it was Spring; and all young things rejoice in Spring. There was a sweetness of leaf mold in the air that came to the senses with the penetrating quality of incense. A tender mist lay on the hills, and over all spread the radiant sky. The happy children laughed, and sang, and jested as they went, for the mild air animated them with a gentle intoxication.

And the little maid called Jeanne D’Arc was the blithest of them all. Hither and thither she darted, lightly as thistle down, seeming literally to bubble over with happiness. All at once she stooped, and plucked a long blade of grass, holding it up for inspection.

“See, Mengette,” she cried addressing a girl near her. “How long the grass is!

And how warm the sun is! Oh, is not God good to give us so fine day for our pleasure?”

“He is good; yes,” assented the girl addressed as Mengette. Then as the little maid darted away she turned to the girl by her side: “Jeanne is so religious,” she commented with a shrug of her shoulders. “She cannot even play without speaking of God. I wish that she were not so good. And you wish it too, do you

not, Hauviette?”

“Wish that Jeanne D’Arc would not be so good?” exclaimed Hauviette, who was

a staunch friend of Jeanne’s. “Why, she would not be Jeanne D’Arc if she were

not good.”

“I do not mean for her not to be good exactly,” demurred the first girl. “I meant that I wished she were not so pious.”

“Mengette, if the Curé should hear you,” breathed the second girl in shocked tones. “He would make you say many Ave Maries.”

“And who is to tell him what I say?” demanded Mengette, an expression of anxiety flitting across her face.

“Not I, Mengette, but I fear some of the others hearing such words may speak of them to the good Curé.”

“But the others speak as I do,” protested Mengette. “There is not one of them who does not think that Jeanne D’Arc is too pious.”

“Attend,” cried one of the lads at this moment using the peasant’s expression to attract attention. “Let’s see who shall be first to reach the tree. He who does so

shall hang the first wreath.”

A gleeful shout went up at the words, and there followed a quick dash for the tree, which began before the speaker had made an end of what he was saying.

Among the others Jeanne D’Arc threw up her head, laughing merrily, and darted

forward. So fleet and light of foot was she that she soon distanced her companions. Easily could she have gained the goal had there not come a cry from Mengette, who at this instant stumbled and fell prone upon the grass. Like a flash Jeanne turned, and, seeing that Mengette had risen, and was standing bent over as though in pain, ran back to her.

“Are you hurt, Mengette?” she asked anxiously. “’Tis pity that you fell. Where is the pain?”

“In my knee,” sobbed Mengette. “And now I shall have to lag behind; for walk