Joan of arc
Pamela Toler investigates how it was a young French woman made herself a legend and turned the tide of war
Joan of Arc had three counts against her: she was young, she was a peasant, and she was a woman. How did she convince anyone that God had sent her to save France? In 1429, France was ready for a champion, or perhaps a miracle. Since France’s unexpected defeat by England at the battle of Agincourt 14 years before, the Valois dynasty’s claim to the French throne, and indeed the dynasty’s control of France itself, had been badly compromised. The English army and its Burgundian allies occupied much of northern France. The Dauphin Charles, who remained uncrowned although his father, King Charles VI, had died seven years previously, had taken refuge in the city of Chinon. The English army had besieged the town of Orléans, which was the gateway to southern France. If it fell, England’s armies would have easy access to Chinon and to Charles – who from the English perspective was a rebel, not the heir to the throne of France.
Then Joan of Arc appeared on the scene: a 17-year-old peasant girl who claimed three saints – Catherine, Margaret and Michael – had given her the mission of driving the English out of France and placing the Dauphin on the throne. If her claim was true, Joan might be the miracle France needed.
In order to understand why Joan was able to convince people of the truth of her mission, we need to look at her claim from the perspective of her contemporaries. Visionaries who claimed to bring messages from God were familiar figures in 15th century France. The question for her contemporaries was not whether Joan heard supernatural voices, but whether those voices came from heaven or hell.
In May 1428, Joan travelled with her uncle to Vaucouleurs, a fortified town ten miles north of her home village of Domrémy, located in northeastern France near the border between the Duchies of Lorraine and Burgundy. Her voices had told her Robert de Baudricourt, the
captain of the French garrison at Vaucouleurs, would help her deliver her message to the Dauphin in Chinon. Baudricourt not only refused, he told her uncle to take her home and box her ears for her impertinence.
Joan was not dissuaded. When she came back to Vaucouleurs in January 1429, she was more insistent, but de Baudricourt initially refused to help her travel through the war-torn countryside to reach Charles in Chinon. In February, inspired perhaps by the fact that the duke of Lorraine had displayed interest in her claims, de Baudricourt ordered the parish priest perform an exorcism on Joan to determine whether she was possessed by evil spirits. She passed this test of her spiritual purity to the priest’s satisfaction. Evidently de Baudricourt was also satisfied, since he agreed to provide Joan with an escort to Chinon.
The girl who arrived in Chinon on 6 March with an escort of six armed men did not look much like the peasant girl who first demanded de Baudricourt’s help. Joan arrived in Vaucouleurs in a homespun red dress. She left for Chinon dressed in doublet, tunic, hose and breeches, with her hair cropped short and a sword at her side. It was a practical choice for an 11-day ride through 350 miles of mostly hostile Burgundian territory. It was also a statement that Joan was in Chinon on a mission.
The Dauphin Charles kept her waiting for several days before he agreed to see her. When he sent word for her to present herself at court, he disguised himself in plain clothes and hid among his courtiers, reasoning that if she were truly sent by God she would be able to identify him. Once again, Joan passed the test, picking Charles out of the crowd with no difficulty.
It was a positive sign, but Charles was not prepared to accept she was a true prophet without seeking expert advice.
Joan was not the first person to hear voices or receive a special revelation of God’s will in 15th century France. In fact, the situation was common enough that there was an established process for determining whether such visitations were heavenly or demonic. Known as ‘discernment of spirits’, this process had been laid out in detail by the great theologian Jean Gerson in a work titled On The Proving Of Spirits, written in 1415.
Even within the context of other medieval prophets and visionaries, Joan’s case was an extreme one. Previous prophets claimed revelations, but called on others to act on their messages from God. Joan demanded the right to take action herself – to lead French troops
“Even within the context of other medieval prophets and visionaries, Joan’s case was an extreme one”
against the British and to see the Dauphin crowned – as an essential part of the message.
Joan was interrogated by two panels of clerics in examinations that were remarkably similar in form to the trial for heresy that she would face at the end of her brief career. Both followed Gerson’s principles, which he summed up in a Latin verse: “Ask who, what, why; to whom, what kind, from where.” In other words, clerics should consider both the nature of the revelation and the nature of its recipient in order to determine its ultimate source.
The first examinations took place at Chinon, where the theologians at the Dauphin’s court subjected her to a good deal of both physical and spiritual testing.
The examination began with a test of Joan’s physical virtue. Joan claimed to be a pious woman, but the fact that she arrived wearing men’s clothing – a practical solution to travelling with a troop of soldiers – raised questions about her virtue and modesty. Two high-ranking ladies of the court confirmed her status as an untouched maid.
Once her physical purity was established, Archbishop Gélu and the other theologians at Chinon questioned her on her faith and her habits. They found her to be devout and virtuous. But even after several days of examination and prayer, they weren’t prepared to make a decision about the validity of the Maid’s claims. Too much was at stake. Charles could not afford to follow the revelations of a false prophet or reject those of a true prophet. Either choice would be a disaster for France, which already teetered on the brink of destruction at the hands of the British.
On 10 March, Charles sent Joan 40 miles south to Poitiers, the administrative centre of Armagnac France, for more extensive questioning by a panel of 18 theologians, presided over by Regnault de Chartres, Archbishop of Reims and Chancellor of France.
For three weeks, the learned gathering questioned Joan about her life, her beliefs and her revelations. They prayed for a sign that would tell them that this young girl was in fact an emissary of God’s will. Her questioners reported that they found no evil in her, only “goodness, humility, virginity, piety, integrity, and simplicity.” Her belief that it was her mission to lead the Dauphin to Reims to be crowned and drive the British from France held firm through all their examinations. And yet, like their counterparts at Chinon, they were unwilling to reach a definitive verdict.
The churchmen wanted a sign that would prove Joan’s claims were truly a message from God. Joan herself gave them a clue as to what form that sign might take. When informed that it would be difficult to lead the Dauphin to Reims because the besieged city of Orléans lay in the path between Chinon and Reims, Joan saw no difficulty: she would raise the siege.
From the point of view of the theologians in Poitiers, an attempt to raise the siege of Orléans was the perfect test of the validity of Joan’s mission. Success would vindicate her claims; failure would be an indictment of the same.
Raising the siege of
Orléans, which we now think of as Joan’s first major achievement, became the ultimate test of the truth of her claims.
Around 22 April, outfitted with a suit of custom armour made by the king’s master armour and a personal standard, she joined the royal army at Blois. She marched out of Blois with an army of 4,000 soldiers who had rallied to her cause, foreswearing pillage, prostitutes and profanity to ride with the Maid, and a huge convoy of provisions collected by the Dauphin’s mother-in-law for the suffering citizens of Orléans.
The army arrived at Orléans on 29 April. Joan openly entered the city with the food convoy, as if no siege were in place. She was greeted with excitement, not only because she brought much-needed supplies but because rumours regarding her mission had given them hope.
On 5 May, Joan and the town’s commander, Jean, Count of Dunois, the Bastard of Orléans,
rode into battle with the French cavalry.
Dunois was the official commander, but no one doubted that Joan was in charge. She carried her standard as if it were a weapon and urged her soldiers into battle. They fought for two long days, taking one British fortification after another. By the end of 6 May, the British had retreated into the Tourelles, a massive twintowered stone structure that controlled access to the city across the Loire River. The former besiegers were themselves under siege by Joan and her army.
On 7 May, French forces assailed the Tourelles at dawn, in what would be the bloodiest battle of the Hundred Years’ War since Agincourt. Toward the end of the day, a crossbow arrow penetrated Joan’s armour between her neck and her shoulder. The French army briefly faltered when she was carried from the field, covered in blood. Joan refused to rest. Once the wound was bandaged, she put her armour back on and returned to the battle, where she urged the army forward once more. By day’s end, the Tourelles was under French control.
The fall of the Tourelles meant the siege of Orléans was effectively over, but the English still had garrisons in the small forts they had built to the west and north of the city. At dawn the next morning, sentries reported that the English were arming for battle once more. The defenders of Orléans mustered. At Joan’s orders, they drew close to the English position, but they did not attack. For an hour the two armies faced each other without either side taking action. Then, “discomfited and in confusion”, the English army withdrew, leaving behind any armaments that could slow their retreat. The siege was over.
Orléans had been besieged for six months. It took Joan and her men four days to raise the siege. The learned churchmen at Poitiers had received the sign they asked for. Who could argue now that Joan’s voices were anything other than a message from God?
The siege of Orléans was over, but Joan wasted no time savouring her victory. Her mission was not yet complete. Three days later, Joan reported to the Dauphin Charles and demanded that he go to Reims to be anointed and crowned as the divinely sanctioned king of France.
Many of Charles’ advisors felt they should build on the success at Orléans and begin an offensive against the English. But Joan insisted that the Dauphin must be legitimately crowned. And Joan was the woman of the hour.
Travelling to Reims was not a simple task.
The city was deep in English-held territory and the Dauphin’s purse was thin. It took almost a month to raise the money and muster the troops that Joan needed to drive out the remnants of the English army, from their garrisons at Jargeau, Meung and Beaugency.
On 11 June, Joan and a force of some 2,000 men, under the nominal command of the duke
“By the end of 6 May, the former besiegers were themselves under siege by Joan and her army”
of Alençon, successfully besieged the English garrison at Jargeau. From Jargeau, the army moved against the remaining British positions. Meung fell on 15 June and Beugency on 17 June.
On 29 June, with the road cleared of immediate threats, Joan and a force now numbering 12,000 soldiers escorted the
Dauphin and his court more than a hundred miles across the dangerous countryside from Chinon to Reims, where French kings had been crowned since 1207. On 17 July, after seven years of waiting, Charles VII was crowned in the cathedral at Reims, with the army at his back and Joan the Maid in a place of honour at his side.
Prior to the coronation, Joan’s mission and the newly crowned king’s goals had been similar, if not identical. But once Charles was invested with royal authority in a manner recognised as legitimate throughout France, their paths diverged. Joan remained focused on driving the English out of France through military action while Charles began to explore the possibilities of peace negotiations with the Duke of Burgundy.
For a period of time, Charles pursued the two goals in tandem. After the coronation, the French army pushed toward Paris, which had been under Anglo-burgundian control since
1418, taking several surrounding towns as they went. At the same time, unknown to Joan, on 16 August, French envoys opened peace talks with the Burgundians.
Within two weeks, the two powers signed the Edict of Compiègne. The treaty provided for a truce through Christmas between France and Burgundy. Paris remained in English control, and stood outside the terms of the treaty. The French were free to attack the city, and the Duke of Burgundy reserved the right to defend it.
At the time Charles signed the edict, Joan and her army were seven miles away from
Paris, which she intended to take from the English as the next step in her mission of retaking France. For two weeks, she waited for Charles’ permission to attack, skirmishing with English forces around the walls of the city and reconnoiter its defences.
Finally, Charles allowed her to go on the offensive. On 8 September, Joan led her troops to the Porte Saint-honoré, the gate on the western edge of Paris. As she had before, she plunged into the ditch with her men, brandishing her banner and urging them forward.
Joan’s troops were no closer to taking the city at sunset than they had been at dawn. As darkness fell, a crossbow arrow hit Joan in the thigh. She was losing blood, but she continued to shout to her soldiers to press on. At Orléans and Jargeau, Joan had fought on when wounded. Her resilience had encouraged her men to keep fighting as well. This time, the official commander of her army, the Duke of Alençon, called a ceasefire as soldiers dragged
Joan from the ditch against her will and carried her to safety.
When she woke up in camp the next day, she learned Charles had given the order to retreat. The assault on Paris was over.
She had been given one day to take the most heavily fortified city west of Constantinople. As far as Charles and his advisors were concerned, the assault on Paris was no different than the attempt to raise the siege of Orléans: a gamble that Joan could produce a miracle. If it failed, nothing was lost. The military position remained unchanged. From Charles’ perspective it was time to pursue peace with Burgundy, with the hope of uniting France against the English.
Faith in Joan and her mission deteriorated after her failure to take Paris. Charles honoured her for her service by conferring nobility on Joan and her family, but he clearly considered that her active value to France was at an end. For the last seven months of her freedom, Joan was reduced to leading a small band of soldiers on small campaigns.
On the evening of 24 May 1430, 13 months after her victory at Orléans, Joan led her last campaign. A Burgundian army had besieged the town of Compiègne. Joan rode out with a small force to mount a surprise attack against the besiegers, but was herself caught in an unexpected pincer movement between English soldiers from the south and Burgundians from the north. She stayed with the rear guard, allowing most of her men to escape, then surrendered to Jean of Luxumbourg-ligny, a vassal of the Duke of Burgundy.
As a new member of the nobility and a soldier in the French army, Joan had every reason to expect to be ransomed. Instead, Charles left her to her fate. The Burgundians turned her over to the English, who in turn surrendered her to the Inquisition.
Her capture raised questions once again about the nature of her voices. The success of Joan’s mission had contained within it the seeds of her fall from the beginning. Each battle was a test of the truth of her mission. Her final failure and capture could be seen as a failure of belief on the part of Charles, resulting in the loss of heaven’s aid. The English were sure it was proof that her inspiration came not from heaven but from hell.
She was tried at Rouen on charges of witchcraft, heresy and dressing like a man by a panel of 42 clerics, led by the Bishop Pierre Cauchon, who was not an impartial jurist.
He had lost his episcopal see (or diocese) at Beauvais when the town surrendered to Joan and King Charles after his coronation at Reims.
The very beliefs that allowed Joan to convince French authorities that she was in fact a true seer shaped the conclusions of the Anglo-burgundian clerics who conducted her final trial. Like their counterparts at Poitiers, they asked “who, what, why; to whom, what kind, from where”. They considered both the nature of the revelation and that of the recipient. And, perhaps inevitably, they reached very different conclusions.
Joan was burned at the stake as a heretic in Rouen on 30 May 1431.
Women Warriors: An Unexpected History by Pamela D Toler is available now from Beacon Press, covering female fighters from the Vikings to Soviet pilots in World War II.
“Joan had fought on when wounded. Her resilience had encouraged her men to keep fighting as well”