Brave Men and Women Part 35

He began at the bottom, and without any help fought his own way to the top. If there ever was a man who had a right at the start to give up his earthly existence as a failure, that man was Henry Wilson. Born of a dissolute father, so that the son took another name in order to escape the disgrace; never having a dollar of his own before he was twenty-one years of age; toiling industriously in a shoemaker's shop, that he might get the means of schooling and culture; then loaning his money to a man who swamped it all and returned none of it; but still toiling on and up until he came to the State Legislature, and on and up until he reached the American Senate, and on and up till he became Vice-president. In all this there ought to be great encouragement to those who wake up late in life to find themselves unequipped. Henry Wilson did not begin his education until most of our young men think they have finished theirs.

If you are twenty-five or thirty, or forty or fifty, it is not too late to begin. Isaac Walton at ninety years of age wrote his valuable book; Benjamin Franklin, almost an octogenarian, went into philosophic discoveries; Fontenelle's mind blossomed even in the Winter of old age; Arnauld made valuable translations at eighty years of age; Christopher Wren added to the astronomical and religious knowledge of the world at eighty-six years of age.

Do not let any one, in the light of Henry Wilson's career, be discouraged. Rittenhouse conquered his poverty; John Milton overcame his blindness; Robert Hall overleaped his sickness; and plane and hammer, and adze and pickax, and crowbar and yardstick, and shoe-last have routed many an army of opposition and oppression. Let every disheartened man look at two pictures--Henry Wilson teaching fifteen hours a day at five dollars a week to get his education, and Henry Wilson under the admiring gaze of Christendom at the national capital. He was one of the few men who maintained his integrity against violent temptations. The tides of political life all set toward dissipation. The congressional burying-ground at Was.h.i.+ngton holds the bones of many congressional drunkards. Henry Wilson seated at a banquet with senators and presidents and foreign ministers, the nearest he ever came to taking their expensive brandies and wines was to say, "No, sir, I thank you; I never indulge." He never drank the health of other people in any thing that hurt his own. He never was more vehement than in flinging his thunderbolts of scorn against the decanter and the dram-shop. What a rebuke it is for men in high and exposed positions in this country who say, "We can not be in our positions without drinking." If Henry Wilson, under the gaze of senators and presidents, could say No, certainly you under the jeers of your commercial a.s.sociates ought to be able to say No. Henry Wilson also conquered all temptations to political corruption.

He died comparatively a poor man, when he might have filled his own pockets and the pockets of his friends if he had only consented to go into some of the infamous opportunities which tempted our public men.

_Credit Mobilier_, which took down so many senators and representatives, touched him, but glanced off, leaving him uncontaminated in the opinion of all fair-minded men. He steered clear of the "Lobby," that maelstrom which has swallowed up so many strong political crafts. The bribing railroad schemes that ran over half of our public men always left him on the right side of the track. With opportunities to have made millions of dollars by the surrender of good principles, he never made a cent. Along by the coasts strewn with the hulks of political adventurers he voyaged without loss of rudder or spar. We were not surprised at his funeral honors. If there ever was a man after death fit to lie on Abraham Lincoln's catafalque, and near the marble representation of Alexander Hamilton, and under Crawford's splendid statue of Freedom, with a sheathed sword in her hand and a wreath of stars on her brow, and to be carried out amid the acclamation and conclamation of a grateful people, that man was Henry Wilson.

The ministers did not at his obsequies have a hard time to make out a good case as to his future destiny, as in one case where a clergyman in offering consolation as to the departure of a man who had been very eminent, but went down through intemperance till he died in a snow-bank, his rum-jug beside him. At the obsequies of that unfortunate, the officiating pastor declared that the departed was a good Greek and Latin scholar. We have had United States senators who used the name of G.o.d rhetorically, and talked grandly about virtue and religion, when at that moment they were so drunk they could scarcely stand up. But Henry Wilson was an old-fas.h.i.+oned Christian, who had repented of his sins and put his trust in Christ. By profession he was a Congregationalist; but years ago he stood up in a Methodist meeting-house and told how he had found the Lord, and recommending all the people to choose Christ as their portion--the same Christ about whom he was reading the very night before he died, in that little book called "The Changed Cross," the more tender pa.s.sages marked with his own lead-pencil; and amid these poems of Christ Henry Wilson had placed the pictures of his departed wife and departed son, for I suppose he thought as these were with Christ in heaven their dear faces might as well be next to His name in the book.

It was appropriate that our Vice-president expire in the Capitol buildings, the scene of so many years of his patriotic work. At the door of that marbled and pictured Vice-president's room many a man has been obliged to wait because of the necessities of business, and to wait a great while before he could get in; but that morning, while the Vice-president was talking about taking a ride, a sable messenger arrived at the door, not halting a moment, not even knocking to see if he might get in, but pa.s.sed up and smote the lips into silence forever.

The sable messenger moving that morning through the splendid Capitol stopped not to look at the mosaics, or the fresco, or the panels of Tennessee and Italian marble, but darted in and darted out in an instant, and his work was done. It is said that Charles Sumner was more scholarly, and that Stephen A. Douglas was a better organizer, and that John J. Crittenden was more eloquent; but calling up my memory of Henry Wilson, I have come to the conclusion that that life is grandly eloquent whose peroration is heaven.--DR. TALMADGE, _in The Sunday Magazine_.

XLIV.

JOAN OF ARC

(BORN 1412--DIED 1431.)

THE PEASANT MAIDEN WHO DELIVERED HER COUNTRY AND BECAME A MARTYR IN ITS CAUSE.

No story of heroism has greater attractions for youthful readers than that of Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans. It would be long to tell how for hundreds of years the greatest jealousy and mistrust existed between England and France, and how constant disputes between their several sovereigns led to wars and tumults; how, in the time of Henry the Fifth, of England, a state of wild confusion existed on the continent, and how that king also claimed to be king of France; how this fifth Henry was married to Catherine, daughter of King Charles, and how they were crowned king and queen of France; how, in the midst of his triumphs, Henry died, and his son, an infant less than a year old, was declared king in his stead; how wars broke out, and how, at last, a simple maiden saved her country from the grasp of ambitious men. Hardly anything in history is more wonderful than, the way in which she was raised up to serve her country's need, and, having served it, died a martyr in its cause.

Joan of Arc, Maid of Orleans, was born in the forest of Greux, upon the Meuse, in the village of Domremy, in Lorraine, in the year 1412. At this time France was divided into two factions--the Burgundians and the Armagnacs--the former of whom favored the English cause, and the latter pledged to the cause of their country.

Joan was the daughter of simple villagers. She was brought up religiously, and from her earliest youth is said to have seen visions and dreamed dreams; the one great dream of her life was, however, the deliverance of her country from foreign invasions and domestic broils.

When only about thirteen years of age, she announced to the astonished townspeople that she had a mission, and that she meant to fulfill it.

The disasters of the war reached Joan's home; a party of Burgundians dashed into Domremy, and the Armagnacs fled before them. Joan's family took refuge in the town of Neufchateau, and she paid for their lodging at an inn by helping the mistress of the house.

Here, in a more public place, it was soon seen and wondered at that such a young girl was so much interested in the war. Her parents were already angry that she would not marry. They began to be frightened now. Jacques D'Arc told one of his sons that sooner than let Joan go to the camp he would drown her with his own hands. She could not, however, be kept back. Very cautiously, and as though afraid to speak of such high things, she began to let fall hints of what she saw. Half-frightened herself at what she said, she exclaimed to a neighbor, "There is now, between Colombey and Vaucouleurs, a maid who will cause the king of France to be crowned!"

Now came the turn in the war, when all the strength of both sides was to be gathered up into one great struggle, and it was to be shown whether the king was to have his right, or the usurper triumph. The real leaders of the war were the Duke of Bedford, regent of England, and the captains of the French army. Bedford gathered a vast force, chiefly from Burgundy, and gave its command to the Earl of Salisbury. The army went on; they gained, without a struggle, the towns of Rambouillet, Pithwier, Jargean, and others. Then they encamped before the city of Orleans. To this point they drew their whole strength. Orleans taken, the whole country beyond was theirs, as it commanded the entrance to the River Loire and the southern provinces; and the only stronghold left to King Charles was the mountain country of Auvergne and Dauphine.

The men of Orleans well knew how much depended upon their city. All that could be done they did to prepare for a resolute defense. The siege of Orleans was one of the first in which cannon were used. Salisbury visiting the works, a cannon broke a splinter from a cas.e.m.e.nt, which struck him and gave him his death wound. The Earl of Suffolk, who was appointed to succeed him, never had his full power.

Suffolk could not tame the spirit of the men of Orleans by regular attack, so he tried other means. He resolved to block it up by surrounding it with forts, and starve the people out. But for some time, before the works were finished, food was brought into the city; while the French troops, scouring the plains, as often stopped the supplies coming to the English. Faster, however, than they were brought in, the provisions in Orleans wasted away. And through the dreary Winter the citizens watched one fort after another rise around them. The enemy was growing stronger, they were growing weaker; they had no prospect before them but defeat; when the Spring came would come the famine; their city would be lost, and then their country.

The eyes of all France were upon Orleans. News of the siege and of the distress came to Domremy, and Joan of Arc rose to action. Her mind was fixed to go and raise the siege of Orleans and crown Charles king. Not for one moment did she think it impossible or even unlikely. What G.o.d had called her to do, that she would carry out. She made no secret of her call, but went to Vaucouleurs and told De Briancourt that she meant to save France. At first the governor treated her lightly, and told her to go home and dream about a sweetheart; but such was her earnestness that at last not only he, but thousands of other people, believed in the mission of Joan of Arc. And so, before many days, she set out, with many n.o.ble attendants, to visit Charles at the castle of Chinon.

On all who saw her, Joan's earnestness, singleness of heart, and deep piety made but one impression. Only the king remained undecided; he could hardly be roused to see her, but at last he named a day, and Joan of Arc had her desire and stood before him in the great hall of Chinon.

Fifty torches lighted the hall, which was crowded with knights and n.o.bles. Joan, too self-forgetful to feel abashed, walked forward firmly.

Charles had placed himself among his courtiers, so that she should not know him. Not by inspiration, as they thought, but because with her enthusiasm she must have heard him described often and often, she at once singled him out and clasped his knees. Charles denied that he was the king. "In the name of G.o.d," Joan answered, "it no other but yourself. Most n.o.ble Lord Dauphin, I am Joan, the maid sent on the part of G.o.d to aid you and your kingdom; and by his command I announce to you that you shall be crowned in the city of Rheims, and shall become his lieutenant in the realm of France." Charles led her aside, and told his courtiers afterward that in their private conversation she had revealed to him secrets. But all that she said appears to have been, "I tell thee from my Lord that thou art the true heir of France." A few days before the king had offered a prayer for help only on condition that he was the rightful sovereign, and it has been well said that "such a coincidence of idea on so obvious a topic seems very far from supernatural or even surprising." It is but one out of many proofs how ready every one in those days was to believe in signs and wonders.

Her fame spread wide; there went abroad all kinds of reports about her miraculous powers. Already the French began to hope and the English to wonder.

The king still doubted, and so did his council. People in our own day, who admire the wisdom of the Dark Ages, would do well to study the story of Joan of Arc. She was taken before the University of Poictiers. Six weeks did the learned doctors employ in determining whether Joan was sent by G.o.d or in league with the devil. She never made any claim to supernatural help beyond what she needed to fulfill her mission. She refused to give them a sign, saying that her sign would be at Orleans--the leading of brave men to battle. She boasted no attainments, declaring that she knew neither A nor B; only, she must raise the siege of Orleans and crown the Dauphin. The friars sent to her old home to inquire about her, and brought back a spotless report of her life. So, after the tedious examination, the judgment of the learned and wise men of Poictiers was that Charles might accept her services without peril to his soul.

The vexatious delays over, Joan of Arc set out for Orleans. In the church of Fierbois she had seen, among other old weapons, a sword marked with five crosses. For this she sent. When she left Vaucouleurs she had put on a man's dress; now she was clad in white armor. A banner was prepared under her directions; this also was white, strewn with the lilies of France.

So much time had been lost that Joan was not at Blois till the middle of April. She entered the town on horseback; her head was uncovered. All men admired her skillful riding and the poise of her lance. Joan carried all before her now; she brought spirit to the troops; the armor laid down was buckled on afresh when she appeared; the hearts of the people were lifted up--they would have died for her. Charles, who had been with the army, slipped back to Chinon; but he left behind him better and braver men--his five bravest leaders. Joan began her work gloriously by clearing the camp of all bad characters. Father Pasquerel bore her banner through the streets, while Joan, with the priests who followed, sang the Litany and exhorted men to prepare for battle by repentance and prayer. In this, as in all else, she succeeded.

When the English heard that Joan was really coming, they pretended to scorn her. Common report made Joan a prophet and a worker of miracles.

Hearts beat higher in Orleans than they had done for months. More terror was in the English camp than it had ever known before.

The English took no heed of Joan's order to submit. They little thought that in a fortnight they would flee before a woman.

She entered the city at midnight. LaHire and two hundred men, with lances, were her escort. Though she had embarked close under an English fort, she was not molested. Untouched by the enemy, coming in the midst of the storm, bringing plenty, and the lights of her procession s.h.i.+ning in the black night, we can not wonder that the men of Orleans looked on her as in very truth the messenger of G.o.d. They flocked round her, and he who could touch but her horse was counted happy.

Joan went straight to the cathedral, where she had the Te Deum chanted.

The people thought that already they were singing their thanksgivings for victory. Despair was changed to hope; fear to courage. She was known as "the Maid of Orleans." From the cathedral she went to the house of one of the most esteemed ladies of the town, with whom she had chosen to live. A great supper had been prepared for her, but she took only a bit of bread sopped in wine before she went to sleep. By her orders, the next day an archer fastened to his arrow a letter of warning, and shot it into the English lines. She went herself along the bridge and exhorted the enemy to depart. Sir William Gladsdale tried to conceal his fright by answering her with such rude words as made her weep. Four days afterwards the real terror of the English was shown. The Maid of Orleans and LaHire went to meet the second load of provisions. As it pa.s.sed close under the English lines not an arrow was shot against it; not a man appeared.

Joan of Arc was now to win as much glory by her courage as before her very name had brought. While she was lying down to rest, that same afternoon, the townspeople went out to attack the Bastile of St. Loup.

They had sent her no word of the fight. But Joan started suddenly from her bed, declaring that her voices told her to go against the English.

She put on her armor, mounted her horse, and, with her banner in her hand, galloped through the streets. The French were retreating, but they gathered again round her white banner, and Joan led them on once more.

Her spirit rose with the thickness of the fight. She dashed right into the midst. The battle raged for three hours round the Bastile of St.

Loup, then Joan led on the French to storm it. Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans, had gained her first victory.

The day after there was no fighting, for it was the Feast of the Ascension. Joan had been first in the fight yesterday; she was first in prayer to-day. She brought many of the soldiers to their knees for the first time in their lives.

All along the captains had doubted the military skill of "the simplest girl they had ever seen," and they did not call her to the council they held that day. They resolved to attack the English forts on the southern and weakest side. After a little difficulty Joan consented, when she was told of it. The next day, before daybreak, she took her place with LaHire on a small island in the Loire, from whence they crossed in boats to the southern bank. Their hard day's work was set about early. Joan would not wait for more troops, but began the fight at once. The English joined two garrisons together, and thus for a time overpowered the French as they attacked the Bastile of the Augustins.

Carried on for a little while with the flying, Joan soon turned round again upon the enemy. The sight of the witch, as they thought her, was enough. The English screened themselves from her and her charms behind their walls. Help was coming up for the French. They made a fresh attack; the bastile was taken and set on fire. Joan returned to the city slightly wounded in the foot.

The only fort left to the English was their first-made and strongest, the Bastile de Tournelles. It was held by the picked men of their army, Gladsdale and his company. The French leaders wished to delay its attack until they had fresh soldiers. This suited Joan little. "You have been to your council," she said, "and I have been to mine. Be a.s.sured that the council of my Lord will hold good, and that the council of men will perish." The hearts of the people were with her; the leaders thought it best to give in. Victory followed wherever she led, and, after several actions, at which she took active part, the siege was raised. It began on the 12th of October, 1428, and was raised on the 14th of May, 1429.

Even now, in Orleans, the 14th of May is held sacred, that day on which, in 1429, the citizens watched the English lines growing less and less in the distance.

Joan of Arc had even yet done but half her work. Neither Charles nor Henry had been crowned. That the crown should be placed on Charles's head was what she still had to accomplish. Though we have always spoken of him as "King," he was not so in reality until this had been done. He was strictly but the Dauphin. Bedford wished much that young Henry should be crowned; for let Charles once have the holy crown on _his_ brow, and the oil of anointing on his head, and let him stand where for hundreds of years his fathers had stood to be consecrated kings of France, in the Cathedral of Rheims, before his people as their king, any crowning afterwards would be a mockery. Charles was now with the Court of Tours. Rheims was a long way off in the north, and to get there would be a work of some difficulty; yet get there he must, for the coronation could not take place anywhere else. Joan went to Tours, and, falling before him, she begged him to go and receive his crown, saying, that when her voices gave her this message she was marvelously rejoiced.

Charles did not seem much rejoiced to receive it. He said a great deal about the dangers of the way, and preferred that the other English posts on the Loire should be taken first. It must have been very trying to one so quick and eager as Joan to deal with such a person, but, good or bad, he was her king. She was not idle because she could not do exactly as she wished; she set out with the army at once.

The news flew onwards. The inhabitants of Chalons and of Rheims rose and turned out the Burgundian garrisons. The king's way to Rheims was one triumph, and, amidst the shouts of the people, he entered Rheims on the 16th of July. The next day Charles VII was crowned. The visions of the Maid had been fulfilled. By her arm Orleans had been saved, through her means the king stood there. She was beside the king at the high altar, with her banner displayed; and when the service was over, she knelt before him with streaming eyes, saying, "Gentle king, now is done the pleasure of G.o.d, who willed that you should come to Rheims and be anointed, showing that you are the true king, and he to whom the kingdom should belong."

All eyes were upon her as the savior of her country. She might have secured every thing for herself; but she asked no reward, she was content to have done her duty. And of all that was offered her, the only thing she would accept was that Domremy should be free forever from any kind of tax. So, until the time of the first French Revolution, the collectors wrote against the name of the village, as it stood in their books, "_Nothing, for the Maid's sake_."

Joan of Arc said that her work was done. She had seen her father and her uncle in the crowd, and, with many tears, she begged the king to let her go back with them, and keep her flocks and herds, and do all as she had been used to do. Never had man or woman done so much with so simple a heart. But the king and his advisers knew her power over the people, and their entreaties that she would stay with them prevailed. So she let her father and her uncle depart without her. They must have had enough to tell when they reached home.

We have little heart to tell the rest of the story. At length the king reached Paris, and the Duke of Bedford was away in Normandy. Joan wished to attack the city, and it was done. Many of the soldiers were jealous of her, and they fought only feebly. They crossed the first ditch round the city, but found the second full of water. Joan was trying its depth with her lance, when she was seriously wounded. She lay on the ground cheering the troops, calling for f.a.gots and bundles of wood to fill the trench, nor would she withdraw until the evening, when the Duke of Alencon persuaded her to give up the attempt, as it had prospered so ill.

Were it not so wicked and so shameful, it might be laughable to think of the king's idleness. It is really true that he longed for his lovely Chinon, and a quiet life, as a tired child longs to go to sleep. He made his misfortune at Paris, which would have stirred up almost any one else to greater exertions, an excuse for getting away. The troops were sent to winter quarters; he went back across the Loire now, when the English leader was away, and the chief towns in the north ready to submit. Had he but shown himself a man, he might have gained his capital, and the whole of the north of France. The spirit lately roused for him was down again. It seemed really not worth while to fight for a king who would not attend to business for more than two months together.

We know little more of the Maid of Orleans in the Winter, than that she continued with the army. After her defeat at Paris, she hung her armor up in the church at St. Denis, and made up her mind to go home. The entreaties of the French leaders prevailed again; for, though they were jealous of her, and slighted her on every occasion, they knew her power, and were glad to get all out of her that they could. In December, Joan and all her family were made n.o.bles by the king. They changed their name from Arc to Du Lys, "Lys" being French for lily, the flower of France, as the rose is of England; and they were given the lily of France for their coat of arms.

With the return of Spring the king's troops marched into the northern provinces. Charles would not leave Chinon. The army was utterly disorderly, and had no idea what to set about. Joan showed herself as brave as ever in such fighting as there was. But, doubting whether she was in her right place or her wrong one, in the midst of fierce and lawless men, nothing pointed out for her to do, her situation was most miserable. The Duke of Gloucester sent out a proclamation to strengthen the hearts of the English troops against her. The t.i.tle was "against the feeble-minded captains and soldiers who are terrified by the incantations of the Maid."