Forthwith he sent dispatches to the Regent, to the Dukes of Brittany and Savoy, to his city of St. Quentin, and to the town of Gand that all Christendom might know that the Witch of the Armagnacs was taken.
“By the pleasure of our Blessed Creator,” he wrote, “such grace has come to pass that she whom they call the Maid has been taken. The great news of this capture should be spread everywhere and brought to the knowledge of all, that they may
see the error of those who could believe and lend themselves to the pretensions of such a woman. We write this in the hope of giving you joy, comfort, and consolation, and that you may thank God our Creator.”
Over France the tidings spread. From lip to lip it flew: the Maid was taken. Paris rejoiced, showing its delight by building bonfires and singing Te Deums in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. In the loyal cities and in the hearts of the peasantry there was mourning. At Tours the entire population appeared in the streets with bare feet, singing the Miserere in penance and affliction. Orléans and Blois made public prayers for her safety, and Reims had to be especially soothed by its Archbishop.
“She would not take counsel,” wrote Regnault de Chartres, Archbishop of Reims, who had always been an enemy to Jeanne, “but did everything according
to her own will. But there has lately come to the King a young shepherd boy who says neither more nor less than Jeanne the Maid. He is commanded by God
to go to the King, and defeat the English and Burgundians. He says that God suffered her to be taken because she was puffed up with pride, loved fine clothes, and preferred her own pleasure to any guidance.”
The archbishop’s letter silenced Reims and other cities. Silenced their outcries, that is, for they continued to send petitions to the King pleading that he would gather the money for her ransom, but he did nothing. Another Archbishop, Jacques Gélu, of Embrun, who had written Charles in favor of Jeanne after Orléans now addressed some bold words to the monarch on her behalf:
“For the recovery of this girl, and for the ransom of her life, I bid you spare neither means nor money, howsoever great the price, unless you would incur the
indelible shame of most disgraceful ingratitude.”
But the King preferred the “indelible shame of disgraceful ingratitude,” for he made no effort of any sort for Jeanne’s ransom or rescue. He had been a poor discredited Dauphin, with doubts as to his own claims to the throne, contemplating flight into Scotland or Spain when Jeanne came to him at Chinon.
She had resolved his doubts, restored the realm, and made him King with the sacred oil upon his brow, yet he preferred to keep his money for his pleasures than to give it for the maiden who had done so much for him. Charles the Seventh of France has been called Charles the Well-served, Charles the Victorious, and he is rightly so called; for it was always others who did his work for him, and won his victories; but Charles the Dastard is the best appellation that can be given him. The ingratitude of Princes is well known, but the heart sickens before such baseness as he showed toward the Maid of Orléans, and the
mind revolts from the thought that human nature can sink to such depths.
But if Charles and the French were indifferent to the value of Jeanne others were not. The University of Paris upon receipt of the news of her capture sent at once to Burgundy, demanding that Jean de Luxembourg send forthwith “this Jeanne,
violently suspected of many crimes touching heresy, to appear before the Council of Holy Inquisition.” A second letter followed this appeal, saying that it was “feared that the woman would be put out of their jurisdiction in some manner.” The University feared without cause, for no attempt was ever made to
redeem the girl whose only crime was to have defended, with matchless heroism,
her country and her King.
Back of the University stood the English, who were eager to get possession of her person, and were willing to pay even princely rewards for her delivery into their hands. They had their vengeance to gratify. They had always threatened to burn her if they caught her, and could she be condemned and executed as a sorceress Charles of Valois would be dishonoured through her who had crowned
him, and it would appear that his cause was not the true one; that Henry of England was the true sovereign of France. Most Englishmen believed that Jeanne was really a witch, for at this time no man believed that she could accomplish her deeds without supernatural aid. Consequently, as the English did not wish to think that God was against them they pronounced her aid to be from
the Evil One. So Pierre Cauchon, the Bishop of Beauvais, was sent by Bedford
to Jean de Luxembourg to negotiate the purchase of the Maid. He was an enemy
of France; he had a personal grudge toward Jeanne because through her success
in arms he had been expelled from his diocese, and was just the right sort of man to send for dickering in such a trade. Jean de Luxembourg was needy, and already in the pay of the English, but he did not wish to let his prize go until he had his money, so Jeanne was sent north to Beaulieu in the Vermandois, where
he had a strong castle, until the arrangements were perfected for her sale.
D’Aulon, her squire, was sent with her, for during this period of imprisonment Jeanne was treated honourably, and allowed attendance. She was cheerful and hopeful at Beaulieu for a time, and one day D’Aulon said to her:
“That poor town of Compiègne, which you loved so dearly, will now be placed
in the hands of the enemies of France.”
“It shall not be,” cried Jeanne in a flash of inspiration, “for no place which the King of Heaven has put in the hands of the gentle King Charles by my aid, shall be retaken by his enemies while he does his best to keep them.”
But, in spite of these brave words, the fate of the town hung heavy upon her spirit. Her guards told her tales of how the siege was progressing, and of the sufferings of the people. Jeanne chafed under inaction while her friends needed her, and watched eagerly for a chance whereby she might escape and go to their
aid. She had not given her faith to any man, and was not on parole.
In one side of the chamber in which she was confined there was a window opening upon a dark corridor. Across were nailed some narrow planks, the space
between them being sufficient for a very slender person to slip through. Jeanne resolved to risk an attempt.
Her guards were in an adjoining room, which also opened upon the dark
corridor, but once past their room she believed that she might gain the grounds of the château and from thence reach the wooded country that lay beyond its immediate confines. The plan worked perfectly––to a certain point. She was slight enough to slip between the narrow planks, which she did, and found herself in the corridor, which was dark and musty from long disuse. There was a huge key in the lock of the door where the guards were, and this Jeanne turned
as noiselessly as possible, then darted away through the dim passageway. Alas!
the porter of the château, who had not the least business in that part of the castle, suddenly came out of another room opening upon the corridor, and confronted her. Without ado the maiden was marched back to her chamber, like a naughty
child, and the guards were doubled.
“It did not please God that I should escape this time,” she said plaintively to D’Aulon when he came to attend her.
Jean de Luxembourg was alarmed when he heard of the attempt. She was too rich a prize to lose, so he sent her post haste to his stronghold of Beaurevoir, which was forty miles further north, beyond St. Quentin in the plain of Picardy, and was the residence of his wife, aunt, and step-daughter.
She was shut up here at the top of a tower sixty feet high, but notwithstanding this fact her condition was much alleviated, for the ladies of the household visited her daily, becoming greatly attached to her. These good women tried to get her to lay aside her masculine attire, for it troubled and shamed them to see her in the costume of a man. Jeanne explained courteously her reasons for wearing the garb when they brought a woman’s frock to her, and besought her to
