Joan: The Mysterious Life of the Heretic Who Became a Saint (7 page)

Friar Séguin, a Dominican professor, was among the benevolent examiners. “She spoke in a most dignified manner,” he recalled, and she said “that a voice told her that God had great pity on the people of France, and that she must go to Vaucouleurs, where she would find a captain who would enable her to go to the king.” Séguin’s impression coincided with that of Albert d’Ourches, a local
seigneur,
who had said, “I would have been very pleased to have so good a daughter as she.”

Something of Joan’s humor and spirit comes through in Séguin’s recollections about the examination at Poitiers that March. When he asked her what language her voices spoke, she referred to his native dialect (actually quite distinct from French) and replied, “Better than yours!” Séguin then asked if Joan believed in God: “Better than you!” was her lively riposte. Her impatience made her feisty, and the professors found her mettle refreshing. Asked for a sign—a miracle or a dramatic proof of her godliness—she replied, “In the name of God: I did not come to Poitiers to produce signs.” She paused and then stared at them gravely: “Lead me to Orléans, and I will show you the sign.” The miracle would be the liberation, which she was certain God would provide.

The record of the two-week interrogation does not survive but for the recollections of a few people almost thirty years later. But the conclusion of the examiners does, and its recommendation to the king is rather muted:

The king should not reject the maid who says that God has sent her to bring him help, even though those promises and their fulfillment may lie in a completely natural realm. On the other hand, the king should not be too credulous about the maid, either…. [However,] no evil has been found in her, only goodness, humility, virginity and devotion, honesty and simplicity. Now seeing that the king finds no evil in her either, and aware of her urgent request to be sent to Orléans—to show that indeed she is the bearer of divine aid—the king should not hinder her from going to Orléans with soldiers. Rather, he should send her there forthwith, trusting God. To fear or reject her would be to rebel against the Holy Spirit and to render oneself unworthy of divine aid.

In this report no mention is made of what has been presumed to be the further reason for Joan’s campaign—to see that Charles would be duly anointed king at Reims. In fact, at this point in her life Joan seems to have had only the liberation of Orléans in mind, and just so much may have been revealed to her. If this is so, then only in light of her subsequent success at Orléans was she encouraged (by her voices and perhaps by the king’s council) to escort Charles to his coronation. God addressed her progressively, in other words, through her voices and through events—and these had spoken to her only gradually; after all, how much could she be expected to absorb all at once? The revelations, like the history of salvation in the Scriptures, were progressive, and her spiritual life was a process. In fact, it may be difficult to accept otherwise: surely God’s plan could be disclosed to her (as to anyone) only in stages.

Others urged the king to take Joan very seriously indeed. Jacques Gélu held the ancient and prestigious archbishopric of Embrun, located in the High Alps about fifteen miles from the Italian border. Learned, cautious and devout, he urged Charles to take care lest he be tricked by Joan, an ignorant peasant girl; still, he recommended that she be treated with the utmost courtesy and that her claims be earnestly considered. Later, Gélu called her the “instrument” through which the marvelous liberation of Orléans had occurred. From that time he never wavered in his support of her and recommended that the king consult her in matters spiritual as well as temporal.

Furthermore, one of the greatest theologians of the time, Jean Gerson, wrote a spirited defense of Joan when the king asked for his reaction to the Poitiers examinations. Gerson’s treatise was widely circulated in Europe in 1429, and it has survived. The Maid did not subscribe to sorcery or witchcraft, Gerson wrote, and she sought no advantage for herself—only for the honor of God and the survival of France. Willing to risk personal danger to expel the English from France, Joan was entirely justified in wearing male clothing and short hair, he added: it was the only sensible style for her and only one of the elements indicating that her mission may be presumed to enjoy divine approval.
*

J
OAN
’
S OPENNESS TO
God, in other words, had practical consequences that could be understood only with the passing of time—precisely the way every person discovers a meaning and purpose in life. In Joan’s case fidelity to God’s summons came to mean a commitment to alleviate human suffering by lifting the siege of Orléans. For now that was the essential meaning of “saving France”—not a political act but a humanitarian one. As for the crowning of Charles at Reims, it seems that this goal became clear only later, as a sort of coda after the successes at Orléans and elsewhere in the Loire Valley.

Saints are generally regarded as people who experienced a dramatic moment of illumination that forestalled any further doubt or darkness and forever sweetened pain or suffering. But this is a skewed vision of sainthood; it is also terribly wrongheaded spirituality. For one thing, it implies that God plays favorites—that some people are selected for a gift that warms and leavens all of life while the rest of us stumble along, deprived of some mechanism that could make life so much easier. But making life easier for oneself, like “feeling good about oneself,” has nothing to do with authentic faith, nor is a relationship with God something about which one reaches final clarity. Holiness lies in a process of becoming more fully human.

In the Christian tradition, for example, the only model for faith is Jesus of Nazareth. His proclamation, one observes in the New Testament, was not particularly religious: he spoke of God, certainly, but only in relation to ordinary human life with its quotidian struggle and suffering. Nor did he speak or preach in especially religious or sectarian terms; in fact, it may be said that Jesus came to set the world free from enslavement to and obsession with mere (humanly made) religion. “He went about doing good” is the biblical summary of his life and mission, and no words are more moving or provocative.

In the life of Jesus we find no pattern of instant illumination and perfect understanding. To the contrary, he came only in stages to understand the contours of his mission to proclaim God’s unfathomable and unimaginable love for all humankind and to reach out to people as healer and comforter. He entered adulthood as a disciple of John the Baptist; he then gathered a few followers when John was arrested and could preach no more; and finally he went out on his own only when John was executed, to take up where John had left off. It is certainly a misreading of the New Testament to say that everything was clear to Jesus from the start; to assert the contrary would be, for one thing, to deny the truth of his full humanity.

All of this is singularly important in any consideration of Joan of Arc. Gradually disclosed and discovered, her purpose and meaning were not specifically religious as we ordinarily use that word: they were not sectarian and did not use the props of religion. Hence for those who revere her as a saint, there has always been something slightly embarrassing and difficult to explain: her voices did not direct her into a convent or to found a hospital or a schoolroom; to the contrary, they sent her onto a battlefield. We need to recognize, however, that the battlefield was secondary: her mission was to alleviate the suffering of her compatriots, who were being starved out by the English. Only after mustering the troops and inspiring them to victory was she used in the coronation of Charles, which (as one scholar has written) “became part of her mission only in the course of the lengthy debates on strategy that took place between the princes of the blood and the king’s military commanders in the aftermath of Orléans.” The interrogation of Joan at Poitiers concluded with another kind of examination. To confirm that Joan was no liar when she called herself
la Pucelle,
“the Maid,” a group of women, under the supervision of the king’s mother-in-law, was asked to confirm that Joan was indeed a virgin. The examination was performed; she was a virgin. Had the women determined otherwise, she would have been dismissed at once as a liar, and her entire claim and mission would have been rejected.

T
WO DAYS BEFORE
she left Poitiers to return to Chinon, Joan dictated a letter to be sent to the English commanders at Orléans. Dated Tuesday of Holy Week—March 22, 1429—the letter has survived:

To the King of England, and you, Duke of Bedford, who call yourself the regent of the kingdom of France; to William de la Pole, earl of Suffolk; to John, Lord Talbot; and to you, Thomas, Lord Scales, who call yourselves Bedford’s lieutenants:

Do right by the King of Heaven. Hand over to the king—who is sent here by God, the King of heaven—the keys to all the towns you have taken and plundered in France. The Maid is quite prepared to make peace, if you are willing to do right, so long as you give up France and make amends for occupying it.

And you, archers, soldiers noble and otherwise, who are around the town of Orléans, in God’s name, go back to your own lands. If you will not do so, beware: the Maid will come to see you very soon, to your great misfortune…. If you do not believe the tidings sent by God and the Maid, we will strike against you harshly, and we will see who will have the better right, God or you.

By this time the report from Poitiers had reached Charles; however lacking in enthusiasm for Joan, the king’s counselors saw that things had become so desperate for the Valois that the Maid could at least be given a chance to prove herself at Orléans. If she was even mildly successful, the fortunes of France just might improve; in any case, things could hardly be worse.

It is important to recall that the idea of a woman skilled in military matters was not unknown in the Middle Ages. As Joan’s contemporary, Christine de Pisan, wrote in her
Book of the Three Virtues
(1406), it was expected that a noble Frenchwoman would know how to defend the family estate in her husband’s absence:

She should have a man’s heart, which means that she should know the laws of warfare and all things pertaining to them, so that she will be prepared to command her men if there is need of it, knowing how to assault and defend, if the situation requires it…. She should try out her defenders and ascertain the quality of their courage and determination before putting too much trust in them, to see what strength and help she can count on in case of need; she should make sure of this and not put her trust in vain or feeble promises. She must give special attention to what resources she would have until her husband could get there.

On Thursday, March 24, Joan was back in Chinon. According to Simon Charles, master of the court of requests, the king gave her some troops, bestowed on her some military prerogatives, and gave her a place in the army. Her role became more important with each month, but it was not clearly specified in advance, nor was it the same every day of her campaigns. She encouraged the troops in a new and effective discipline and saw that their spiritual needs were met; she conferred with the military chieftains on strategy; and she led the men to victory in the most important battles. Joan’s influence and activity were of surpassing importance, but she was neither the sole commander of operations nor a
chef de guerre,
unless we understand that the phrase was used imprecisely and could connote a flexible responsibility. Because of Joan’s enormous and historic influence, it would help to see precisely where she stood in the military hierarchy of Charles VII’s reign. But such formal distinctions did not exist, and so she cannot be placed at a specific rank. Of course, the general commander of all forces was the king, but the practical supervisory task was assigned to the
connétable
or constable of France, who necessarily parceled out tasks to chieftains in various locations. In specific battles the officer was often chosen on the spot, on the basis of his wisdom, achievement, wealth, and influence (and, it was presumed, at least some military expertise). The command of the militia, in other words, was flexible and often improvised.

More clear was the hierarchy of the nobility. After the king came dukes, counts, viscounts, barons and lords (some of whom were not noblemen). By Joan’s time the chivalric levels, mostly ordered by the Church, no longer had the symbolic role of earlier times. The chivalry, as it was called, consisted of knights, then squires (who aspired to be knights), and pages (who aspired to be squires).

Important at court were the so-called Grand Officers of the Crown—chamberlain, chancellor, constable, marshals, an admiral and the masters of crossbowmen and of the artillery. Perhaps most quaintly amusing to modern ears are the titles of those who worked in the royal household: the great wine waiter, the master baker, the master of the kitchen, the master of the horse, of the house, of the falcons, and finally the master of rivers and forests. Cupbearers, cellarers, and huntsmen were found in more or less profusion, depending on both season and need.

F
ROM
A
PRIL
6 to 21, Joan was at Tours, where she was outfitted with a sword, armor, a new standard and a small staff or military household, which was typical for all captains; in her case the items and personnel provided her with both an honorary retinue and an added measure of security. Now she would be accompanied by a master of horse or squire, two pages, two heralds, and two chaplains.

At her trial Joan said that her voices had told her to send for an ancient and venerated sword, long buried at Saint-Catherine-de-Fier-bois; messengers indeed found it, buried in an obscure location just as she had said. Contrary to pious legend, it is not necessary to see this as evidence of Joan’s second sight or clairvoyance. The directions her voices provided to find the sword was perhaps Joan’s way of recalling a sudden inspiration to have this particular one found and brought to her, since it came from a place with the hallowed connection to Saint Catherine. Joan had stopped at Fierbois, after all, and it is not unlikely that the story of the famous, mystical sword circulated among townspeople she met.