A.D. 451.

Attila, king of the Huns, entered Gaul in 451, with fire and sword, followed by a countless host of barbarians. After spreading everywhere terror, death, and carnage, he appeared before Orleans. The only defence of this city consisted in the valour of its people and the active zeal of Saint-Agnan, its bishop. Before the Huns had crossed the Seine, he hastened to raise the walls on that side, he collected as much provision as possible, flew to Arles to press the Roman general Ætius to succour Orleans, and then shut himself up within its walls, determined to perish with his flock if the Romans did not second their courage. The Huns arrived and attacked the part of the city situated on the right bank of the Loire, with fury. They reiterated their assaults, they multiplied their efforts, whilst Agnan, having employed all human means, was prostrate at the foot of the altar, imploring the All-Powerful. Heaven appeared to listen to his prayers; a tempestuous rain, which lasted three days, interrupted the attacks. When it had ceased, the barbarians recommenced their assaults, broke down the gates, and were already rushing into the city, when the Roman trumpets were heard. Ætius and Theodoric entered Orleans from the other side of the Loire at the same instant that Attila entered by the opposite gate. The Huns, imagining they were conquerors, dispersed themselves in the wild disorder of pillage, through the streets and houses. The barbarians were stopped, surrounded, pursued, and massacred in all directions. In vain Agnan endeavoured to excite pity for these ferocious men; their character was too well known: they gave none; they met with none. Attila, conquered at the moment he thought himself victorious, retired, darting upon the prey which had escaped him, furious but powerless glances of disappointment and rage.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 1429.

We come now to an interesting siege, one connected with many stirring associations for both French and English readers. The miserable condition into which France had fallen at the period of the unjust invasion of our Henry V., can scarcely be conceived. An insane king, ambitious grasping princes, bold, poor, and selfish nobles, all conspired to oppress a sunken and degraded people. With us, Henry V. has a false amiability thrown round his character; except in his bravery and shrewd sense, the historical Henry V. has not much resemblance to the heroic, gay, dissipated but good-natured, Hal of Shakespeare. He and his English rendered themselves hateful to the French, whom they treated as a conquered nation. The early death of Henry made matters still worse. His brother Bedford, with Talbot, Salisbury, and other eminent leaders, upheld the English cause in France for many years, and with occasional success; but the one great directing will and power was gone; where there are many, however able they may be, disunions will take place, and even a good cause will fail. For Englishmen who are proud of the valour and ability of their heroes of all ages, the page now before us is a melancholy one to turn over. Better knights never laid lance in rest; wiser and more prudent men never met in council, than some of the leaders in these ill-starred wars; and yet all seem to be striving against fate, and that fate was that their cause was unjust.

At the period of this siege, the two great actors in the late events, Henry V. of England and Charles VI. of France, were dead. Henry’s son was an infant; Charles’s was still worse: the infant was under the good tutelage of his brave and good uncles, whilst Charles’s son, for a long time called only the dauphin, was a weak, dissipated, indolent youth, a willing prey to mistresses and favourites. By the treaty of Troyes, signed by Henry V. and Charles VI., the crown belonged to Henry VI.; but the bulk of the French nation deemed such a compulsory engagement binding upon no one, and all eagerly waited the opportunity for throwing off the odious foreign yoke.

For a long time the council of the king of England, to assist in ruining the party of Charles VII., disinherited, as they said, by the treaty of Troyes, had fixed their eyes upon Orleans; but numberless considerations had retarded the siege of that city. At length, on the 8th of October, 1428, ten thousand English approached to reconnoitre the environs of the place, after having rapidly conquered ChÂteau-Neuf, Rambouillet, BÉtancourt, Rochefort, and all the neighbouring places. Gaucourt, the governor of the city, made a vigorous sortie, and repulsed the enemy. They went and sacked some more places, and on the 12th of the same month reappeared before Orleans, on the side of the Sologne. The garrison was weak, but it had as leaders intrepid warriors, the Gaucourts, the Dunois, the Lahires, the Xaintrailles, a crowd of noblesse of that name and that merit, who all inspired the lowest soldiers with the heroic valour which animated them. The inhabitants even, resolved to bury themselves under the ruins of their city rather than submit to a foreign yoke, had become so many heroes. The women partook of this martial ardour, and devoted themselves enthusiastically to the service of their country.

The tÊte du pont, on the side of the Sologne, was defended by a fortress called Les Tourelles, in front of which a bulwark had been commenced. It was by this intrenchment the earl of Salisbury, the general of the English army, made his first attacks. The faubourgs, set fire to on the approach of the enemy, were not yet entirely consumed. This barrier stopped them at first, but they soon elevated a bastille upon the ruins of the convent of the Augustines, and erected batteries, which kept up a constant discharge against the walls of the city, the Tourelles, and the boulevard, of which they wished to make themselves masters. The cannon made a large breach, and it was resolved to mount it sword in hand. On the 21st of October, the trumpets sounded the signal, and, as if by one motion, the warriors planted their ladders at the foot of the ramparts. They sprang up with incredible intrepidity; but they were received with a firmness equal to it, and both sides fought with the same fury. National hatred and a desire for vengeance added to the natural desire to conquer. Whilst the besieged hurled their foes into the fosses, launched fire-pots, rolled stones of an enormous size upon them, encircled them with rings of red-hot iron, poured torrents of boiling oil, and burning ashes, the women of the city, not less active, in the words of a chronicler, “brought them everything that could assist in the defence; and to refresh their great labour, bread, wine, meats, fruits, and vinegar, with white towels to wipe them. Some were seen, during the assault, repulsing the English with lance-thrusts from the entrance to the boulevard, and beating them down into the fosses.” Such a furious resistance disconcerted Salisbury; he sounded a retreat, and ordered a mine to be instantly commenced. It was soon finished, and they were preparing to spring it. The besieged perceived it, and despairing of maintaining a post threatened on all sides, they set fire to it, in the sight of the English, and retired into the fortress of the Tourelles. To defend this for a short time, they raised a new boulevard on the bridge even, of which they destroyed two arches. Notwithstanding all this, they could not long withstand the multiplied efforts of the English. The fort of the Tourelles was carried, and that advantageous post offered the besiegers a commodious and redoubtable position. The OrlÉannais then directed all their batteries against that part of their city for which they had so boldly fought. The enemy, on their side, neglected no means to maintain it, and both exhausted, in attack or defence, all the resources the most heroic valour could furnish.

It was then the middle of autumn. Salisbury foreseeing that the siege would be long, resolved to encircle the place with a belt of many forts, which, placed at regular distances, would render the entrance of succours or convoys next to impossible. To draw up his plan according to the situation of the city, he repaired to the Tourelles, from whence a view could be obtained of the whole environs of Orleans. He was earnestly employed on this examination, when a cannon-ball carried away one of his eyes and half of his face. After having exhorted the principal officers to continue the siege according to the plan he had traced for them, he was transported to Meun, where he soon after died. The earl of Suffolk, the lord Pole his brother, Talbot, Glansdale, and other leaders, were clothed with his authority; and these captains, full of respect for their general, continued their operations according to the instructions he had given them. Every day the besiegers and the besieged received reinforcements. The garrison, which at first scarcely amounted to twelve hundred men, was now composed of three thousand combatants; and the English army, which at the commencement only reckoned ten thousand warriors, was increased to twenty-three thousand soldiers, who thought themselves invincible. The city, which had been attacked on the side of the Sologne alone, was now invested almost entirely on that of the Beauce. Opposite to the principal avenues of Orleans were erected six large bastilles, which communicated with each other by sixty less considerable redoubts, constructed in the intervals. It was impossible to enter the place without passing under the artillery of the forts. More than once the French leaders forced the quarters of the enemy’s army to introduce convoys. The rigour of the season did not at all interrupt the works. Only on Christmas-day the English proposed a suspension of arms, and begged the besieged to send them some musicians, to celebrate that great festival with proper solemnity. The generals made each other presents. The earl of Suffolk sent the bastard of Orleans some refreshments in exchange for a plush robe which he had given him. Up to the beginning of Lent, nothing remarkable took place. Having desolated the country round, the English began to be in want of provisions. In the early part of February, the duke of Bedford sent a convoy, escorted by two thousand five hundred men, under the conduct of the brave Fastolfe. The count de Clermont having collected nearly three thousand soldiers, to whom he added a detachment of the garrison of Orleans, resolved to carry off this convoy. He came up with the English at Rouvray, a village of the Beauce. Fastolfe9 halted, made an intrenchment of the waggons which contained the provisions, and only left two issues, at one of which he placed his archers. The French army, more courageous than prudent, wished that same night to force this intrenchment, with an impetuosity that has often proved fatal to their countrymen. The French insisted upon fighting on horseback; the Scots would only fight on foot. This deficiency of discipline produced the effect that might have been expected. After an obstinate conflict, the English were conquerors. A hundred and twenty nobles of high rank were left dead upon the field; and the other leaders returned to the city, quite crest-fallen, with scarcely five hundred followers. This battle was called “La journÉe des harengs,” because the convoy conducted by Fastolfe consisted principally of barrels filled with this fish, which, being broken by the French artillery, their savoury contents were strewed over the field of battle.

In proportion with the triumph of the English in this little battle was the depression of the feeble and voluptuous Charles, then lying encamped at Chinon. Despairing of his fortunes, the timid monarch deliberated whether he had not better seek refuge in Dauphiny. It was his own opinion, and his servile counsellors concurred in it. He was already about to carry this resolution into effect, when two heroines roused the courage of the prince from its effeminate slumbers. The queen, a princess above her sex and her rank, and the fair Agnes10 Sorel, employed the influence their charms had over him to detain the king, who could but blush to think he had less magnanimity than his wife or his mistress.

In the mean time Orleans seemed daily sinking into the last extremity. The besieged could no longer look for relief to a prince who was in no condition to assist them, and who, indeed, scarcely preserved a shadow of royalty. There only remained one chance of saving the city, and that was to place it in sequestration in the hands of the duke of Burgundy. The envoys, among whom was Xaintrailles, went at once to the duke, who agreed to the proposal, and came with them to Paris, with the design of persuading the duke of Bedford to accept it. But the regent replied that he would only treat with the city upon the condition of its surrender to the English. This intelligence roused the indignation and revived the courage of the OrlÉannais; they resolved to defend themselves to the last breath.

Whilst terrified France looked for nothing but the blow which was to consummate its ruin, that Invincible Power which sometimes seems to attach the greatest events to the most apparently weak causes, prepared her an avenger. A girl, of about seventeen years of age, was strongly persuaded that God destined her to be the preserver of her country. Our readers will please to observe we speak of La Pucelle according to the opinion entertained of her by the French of her own day, because it was that opinion which produced the revolution which astonishes us: if the majority of the French nation had not had faith in the mission of Joan of Arc, the miracle would not have been effected. Born near the banks of the Meuse, at Dom-Remy, a village of Lorraine, her poor but honest parents had given her an education conformable to the simplicity of her situation. Jeanne d’Arc, or, as we call her, Joan of Arc, had from her childhood been brought up with a horror for the English; she constantly made it the subject of her prayers that the monarchy should be delivered from the eternal enemies who tyrannized over it. Her zeal becoming more ardent with her years, at thirteen she had trances, in which she declared she had conversed with St. Michael, St. Marguerite, and St. Catherine, who told her that God had appointed her to drive out the English and bring about the coronation of the dauphin. With this enthusiasm she possessed all the virtues of which a simple mind is susceptible: innocence, piety, candour, generosity, and courage. Her rustic life had strengthened her naturally robust frame; she had the exterior, and even the natural graces of her sex, without experiencing the infirmities which characterize the weakness of it.

After several years of revelations, Joan, urged more and more by that inward voice which excited her to arm for her country, formed the resolution of presenting herself to Baudricourt, governor of Vaucouleurs, a small city of the neighbourhood:—“Master captain,” said she, “know that God has for some time past often given me to know, and has commanded me to go to the gentil dauphin, who ought, it is true, to be king of France, and that he should place under me men-at-arms, and that I should raise the siege of Orleans, and lead him to be crowned at Reims.” The astonished Baudricourt supposed her to be mad, and wanted to have her exorcised by the curÉ of the place. Joan continued to urge him for six months, and at length the governor, subdued by her importunities, armed her at all points, gave her in charge to two gentlemen with their servants, and dismissed her, saying, “Go, come of it what may!” Towards the end of February she arrived at Chinon, where the dauphin then was. It was precisely the moment when the vacillating Charles appeared to be sinking under the weight of his ill fortune.11 She announced herself at the court of the monarch. During two days it was deliberated whether she should be heard or not; but at length curiosity prevailed, and she was admitted. The king, without any mark of superior dignity, mingled with the crowd of courtiers, on purpose to prove her. Joan distinguished him, pointed him out, and in spite of the cries “You are mistaken! you are mistaken!” continued to exclaim, “That is he! that is he!” They all admire her noble boldness; they surround her, and gaze on her with astonished looks. Charles himself cannot explain what passes in his heart at the aspect of this unknown girl: “Gentil dauphin,” said the heroine, without being the least disconcerted, “my name is Jeanne la Pucelle. The King of Heaven has sent me to succour you; if you will please to give me men of war, by divine grace and force of arms I will raise the siege of Orleans, and will lead you to Reims to be crowned, in spite of all your enemies. This is what the King of Heaven has ordered me to tell you, and it is His will that the English should return to their own country, and leave you peaceful in yours, as being the only true and legitimate heir of it; that if you make this offering to God, He will make you much greater and more flourishing than your predecessors have ever been; and He will take it ill of the English if they do not retire.” Thus spoke La Pucelle; the fire of her words, the naÏvetÉ of her manner, her simple but precise replies, everything convinced. The king caused her to be examined by matrons, by theologians, and by his parliament. Yoland of Arragon, queen of Sicily, accompanied by the ladies De Gaucourt, De TiÉnes, and several others of the first distinction, visited Joan, and pronounced her to be as pure as she had described herself. The theologians, after many interrogations, decided that she was inspired. The parliament of Poitiers, after the most scrupulous observations, required that she should manifest the truth of her revelations by some prodigy. “I did not come to Poitiers,” she haughtily replied, “to perform miracles; but conduct me to Orleans, and I will give you certain signs of my mission.” This firm reply so astonished her judges, that all with one voice declared that this heavenly instrument which the All-Powerful had sent to their country ought to be instantly employed. Charles ordered a splendid and complete suit of armour to be made for her, gave her a standard, squires, pages, an intendant, a chaplain, and a train becoming the state of a great warlike leader. The new Amazon placed herself at the head of a considerable convoy destined for Orleans; and her warriors soon felt themselves inspired with her enthusiasm. She set out, followed by Marshal De Boussac, Gilles de Rais, the admiral De Couland, Ambroise de LotÉ, and Lahire, and arrived on the 29th of April within sight of the place. Dunois came to meet her; he begged her to satisfy the desire the inhabitants had to behold their liberator: she yielded to his entreaties, and she entered the city as if in triumph. A thousand cries of joy were heard; at that moment the OrlÉannais believed themselves invincible, and in fact were so. Everything was changed; the English, to that day conquerors, trembled at the name of Joan of Arc; they as firmly believed her to be a sorceress as the French believed her to be celestially inspired. “English,” wrote the heroine to them, “you who have no right to this kingdom of France, God commands you by me, Jeanne la Pucelle, to abandon your forts and to retire.” The couriers were arrested, and no reply was made to this awful summons but insults. Joan, outraged but dreaded, now prepared to prove her mission. On Wednesday, the 4th of May, she selected a body of troops, and, filled with an ardour more than human, she precipitated herself upon the enemy’s forts, and carried them after an assault of four hours. She then thought of gaining possession of the boulevard and fort of the Tourelles, where the Élite of the English were cantoned, under the orders of the celebrated Glansdale. After having made her dispositions during the night, she gave the signal as the first rays of day appeared. The ready troops follow her, mount with her to the breach, fight with ardour, press, pierce through, and overthrow the English, who, nevertheless, defend themselves with great courage. The French were on the point of carrying all before them, when Joan, wounded in the neck, was obliged to retire to put a dressing to her wound. Her absence extinguished the courage of the assailants; the soldiers missed the warlike illusion which rendered them victorious. Each began to desire to place himself in safety: even Dunois judged it most prudent to do so. All at once La Pucelle reappears! She rushes to the foot of the fort, and there plants her standard. Her intrepidity passes into all hearts; the efforts of her followers are redoubled, their fatigues and fears are forgotten, the English fly, the boulevard is carried!

On the morrow the vanquished English draw up in order of battle on the side of La Beauce; the French, still led on, still animated by their heroine, present themselves in the same order, resolved to fight, although inferior in numbers. But their enemies, till that time so proud and so terrible, did not dare to stand before them; they precipitately retreated, leaving behind them their sick, their baggage, their provisions, their artillery, and nearly five thousand dead. Thus, contrary to all hopes and expectations, the city of Orleans was relieved on the 8th of May, 1419. Public gratitude exhausted itself, so to say, to prove to Joan of Arc how deeply the greatness of her benefits was felt; the king ennobled her, with her father, her three brothers, and all her posterity. A statue was erected to her on the bridge of the city she had saved, and, to eternize the memory of this fortunate event, a festival was established, which is still celebrated every year on the 8th of May. At this festival an eulogy is pronounced on Joan of Arc, who, from the period of the raising of the siege, has been styled the Maid of Orleans. During the troubles of the Revolution, ignorant and barbarous men overthrew, in Orleans, the statue of a heroine who had preserved their city from the yoke of the English, and roused the spirit in France which shortly afterwards expelled the invaders from their soil; it was, however, reinstated by Buonaparte, during his consulship, on which occasion he did not forget to introduce a pungent reflection upon his and Joan’s enemies, the English.

The momentary gratitude was such as we have above described it; but what was the conduct of the king she had saved, when she became a captive? After she had fulfilled her mission, and effected the consecration of the king at Reims, she wished to retire, “to be taken back,” as she said, “to her father and mother, and keep their sheep and tend to their cattle.” But Charles’s captains had found the value of the enthusiasm she created, and refused to let her go. She, however, never was again as she had been; if she had had any faith in the divinity of her mission, with its completion it was gone. She was wounded at the siege of Paris, and was afterwards taken prisoner. As no Englishman can speak of her death without a blush, we will pass over that in humbled silence; but what shall we say for her king, who owed her so much, who heard of her imprisonment and death with the utmost indifference, and did not make the least effort to save her, or mitigate the horrors of her punishment? It was twenty-five years before he bethought himself of doing her memory justice: but Charles VII. was then a very different man from what he had been when he was so deeply indebted to Joan of Arc.

Joan of Arc is one of those remarkable characters who have achieved miracles by working upon the current superstitions of the times they lived in. To what a degree they were superstitious, we may judge by the one instance of the duchess of Gloucester, the wife of the king’s uncle, being tried and punished to the full extent the court durst venture, for dabbling in witchcraft. Acknowledging the immense benefit Joan’s efforts produced, and at the same time admitting the spirit and intelligence with which she carried out her plans, when we look at the pretence under which she operated, we are made sceptical, as we are in all such cases, of the first moving cause. In fact, we think it much more probable that the keen-witted Dunois should have trained a bold, shrewd girl to impose upon a weak young king and a superstitious people, than for an instant to imagine there was anything supernatural in her mission, or even that she devised a scheme entirely herself. Shakespeare generally follows the chronicles pretty faithfully; and the manner in which Dunois introduces her to the notice of the king is very suspicious. We do not take Shakespeare’s view of her character, but we are quite as much at variance with those poets who throw a veil of perfection and sickly sentimentality over it. In our opinion, Joan is a person who almost unwittingly effected wonders; neither she nor Dunois contemplated the extent of the good she did for France. Had she appeared under any banner but that of superstition, we should not have said a word against the faith that is placed in her; but no student of history should allow that pretence to pass without the closest investigation. As a high-spirited, intelligent, persevering, patriotic woman, she has much of our admiration, but as the inspired Maid of Orleans, she has none.

Her intervention was critically timed. The nobles were beginning to be ashamed of allowing a foreign power to dominate over the fair fields of France; the patience of the people under an oppressive yoke was exhausted; the English leaders, brave and wise as they were, were many and divided, under a minor king of weak character even when a man. In addition to these causes all beginning to operate favourably for France, Charles VII. was becoming of an age to perceive his legitimate course, and if he had not shaken off the trammels of sloth and pleasure, occasionally showed some little scintillations of what he afterwards became. When paying tribute to the memory of Joan of Arc as the regenerator of France, the French should not forget another remarkable woman to whom they are indebted: Agnes Sorel employed no magic but beauty and good sense, and yet the rousing of the king to a sense of his duty was as much due to her as the rousing of the people was due to Joan.