This vow having been taken, the Abbot of St. Remi, in his richest robes, appeared surrounded by his monks, carrying the treasure in his hands; and under a splendid canopy, blazing in the sunshine with cloth of gold, marched toward the cathedral under escort of the noble hostages. Into the cathedral rode the cavalcade through the great west door. Their coming was proclaimed by chimes

of bells, and blare of trumpets, and chanting of hymns until a mighty volume of sound rolled and swelled through the vaulted domes of the ancient building.

Straight up to the entrance of the choir they rode, and there the Abbot gave over the sacred Chrism to the Archbishop. Then began the long and imposing ceremonies of the coronation. There were prayers, and anthems, and sermons, but at length the king-at-arms, standing upon the steps of the altar, called upon the twelve peers of France to come and serve their King.

There were vacant places to be supplied, both among the temporal and the spiritual peers, but Alençon, Clermont, Vendôme, Guy de Laval, La Trémouille

and Maillé filled them. Among the clerical peers the Archbishop of Reims, the

Bishops of Châlons and Laon were present; the others were supplied. In the absence of Richemont, the Constable of France, d’Albret held the Sword of State. D’Alençon, in place of “false Burgundy,” dubbed Charles a knight; then the Archbishop raised the holy flask and anointed the Dauphin upon the brow, upon his shoulders, within the joints of his arms and the palms of his hands, slits

being cut and embroidered in his robe to this use. All was done according to ancient custom, the Dauphin kneeling the while. Administering the oath the Archbishop then took the crown and held it high above the monarch’s head; the

twelve peers of the realm, closing in, held it firm; then gently it was lowered upon the brows of the kneeling prince.

“Arise, Charles, King of France,” cried the prelate in a loud voice. And, as Charles was lifted high in the throne chair by the peers that all might see, he cried again: “Behold your King!”

As Charles the Seventh, King of France, faced his people a mighty shout of

“Noël! Noël! Noël!” came from the assembly, while crash of chimes, chanting voices, and music of instruments rolled through the arches, until the vaulted heights answered again and again.

Throughout the ceremony, close to Charles upon the steps of the altar stood Jeanne with her standard in her hand. “It had borne the burden, it should share the glory,” she said afterwards. “And a right fair thing it was to see the goodly manners of the King and the Maid. She who was in truth the cause of the crowning of the King and of all the assembly. ”[16]

Pale with emotion Jeanne had stood watching every step of the ceremonial with

intentness. When at last it was ended she could control herself no longer.

Stepping forward she fell at the feet of the newly crowned monarch, embracing

his knees, and weeping for joy.

“Gentle King, now is the pleasure of God fulfilled––whose will it was that I should raise the siege of Orléans, and lead you to this city of Reims to receive your consecration. Now has He shown that you are the true King, and that the kingdom of France belongs to you alone.”

Soft, and low, and broken came the words. They pierced all hearts, and “right great pity came upon all those who saw her, and many wept. ”[17]

Many wept. The girl was so young, so fair, so slight, yet what great deeds had

she not wrought? In three months she had given France a king, and to the King, a country. In spite of obstacles that would seem incredible were they not a part of recorded history she had accomplished her mission. A great soul in which intense zeal was wedded to intense purpose had wrought marvels, and changed

the destiny of a nation.

Many wept, and the King too was moved. Perhaps at that moment he felt more

gratitude towards the maiden than ever before or afterward. Lifting her, he said:

“You have brought us to our crowning, beloved Maid. Speak, and whatsoever grace you ask it shall be granted.”

Again Jeanne fell upon her knees.

“Most noble King, out of your grace I beseech you to grant that the taxes of my village be remitted. Its people are poor, and it brings great hardship upon them to pay.”

“Is that all, Jeanne?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Then in consideration of the great, high, notable, and profitable service which this, our beloved Jeanne the Maid, has rendered and daily renders us in the recovery of our Kingdom, in her favour and at her request, we therefore decree

that Domremy, the native village of Jeanne D’Arc, Deliverer of France, be forever exempt from taxation.”

Again the people shouted fervently. They recognized the justice of the grant, and wondered only that she asked so little.

“Noël! Noël! Noël! ”[18]

For centuries the privilege lasted, and against the names of Domremy and Greux, its adjoining village, in the tax gatherer’s book was written:

“Domremy ... Rien-La Pucelle,” “Nothing––For the sake of the Maid.”

She had gained a kingdom, yet all she asked in return was that the taxes of her poor oppressed village might be remitted. She wished for nothing for herself.

Not the least of the girl’s great qualities was her unselfishness.

[13]

Dunois.

[14]

Noël––an exclamation of joyful acclamation.

[15]

M. Blaze de Bury.

[16]

Journal du Siège.

[17]

Journal du Siège.

[18]

“Noël”––a word of acclaim––“hurrah!”

CHAPTER XXIII

THE TURNING OF THE TIDE