Epitaph for Three Women (25 page)

She looked up at the sky. A dark cloud had sprung up suddenly. She held out her hand. It was raining quite hard now. On the island apart from the main chapel there was the ruin of an old one which could not have been used for fifty years. The walls had been battered by weather but what was left would offer a good shelter from a shower of rain.

The rain was now teeming down and she stepped under the protruding roof. It was clear that this had been an altar to the Virgin, and as always, when close to holy places, Jeannette experienced a lifting of her spirits. She knelt down to pray as she often did, and the burden of her prayer was, as usual, that Heaven might see fit to save her tortured country from the enemy.

And as she prayed a strange drowsiness came upon her. She could not understand quite what had happened when she thought of it afterwards. Whether she fell asleep she was not sure. It was a conviction rather than anything she saw, but it was clear and different from anything that had ever happened to her before. It was like a vision in which she heard the voice of God telling her that she had been chosen to go to the aid of the Dauphin.

She awoke … if sleeping she had been. The rain had stopped and the sun had come out. It was shining on the wet grass and bushes, and she could smell the freshness in the air.

What a strange dream! Yet not a dream. Had she heard a voice? She was not sure. It was just a wild dream and yet she was filled with an exultation, as though she had been in communication with God.

She herded the flocks together and told herself she had fallen asleep and dreamed. The terrible state of the country was constantly in her mind. Wasn’t it in everyone’s mind? No one could escape from it. Perhaps that was why when she dozed for a few moments she should have such a dream. But no. It had been a preposterous idea. How could she, a simple peasant girl, go to the aid of the Dauphin!

It was a few days later – a hot summer’s day. She was working on her father’s patch when suddenly from the direction of the church she heard the voice again.

It said: ‘Jeannette, I have been sent by God to help you live a good and holy life. Be good and God will help you.’

She stood up. A sudden fear came to her. She was in the presence of the supernatural.

‘Have no fear,’ went on the voice. ‘Be good. If you are, you will have the protection of God.’

Jeannette’s fear passed away and she fell to her knees. She believed it was Christ claiming her as His bride as He had St Catherine.

‘I will be good,’ she murmured. ‘I will be the bride of Christ. I belong to Christ Jesus for as long as He will keep me in His almighty power.’

It was a strange experience. She rose from her knees. If any had seen her they would not have been very surprised. They knew how obsessed she had been for some time by her piety. Mengette and even Catherine had said that it was unnatural. Colin, Catherine’s husband, openly laughed at her.

But there was some great meaning in life and she felt that she was on the verge of a revelation.

So she told no one of what she had heard and as a day or so passed she even began to wonder herself whether she had heard it.

She was not long left in doubt for a few days later she had another experience. She was in the fields once more when she heard the voice again. It was admonishing her to be good. And on this occasion she saw strange images … figures bathed in light. In the midst of these was a majestic figure with wings whom she knew at once because she had seen many statues of him. He was the Archangel Michael.

‘Jeannette,’ he told her. ‘You are the chosen one. Two saints of whom you have heard will be sent to guide you. Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret will come to you. They are appointed to guide and counsel you. Do as they say that that which God has ordained may come to pass.’

She was no longer in doubt. This was the reason for her excessive love of the church and the saints; it was the answer to those who wondered why she was apart, different from them, why she preferred to kneel and pray to the saints rather than dance in the fields and chat with the boys. She was the chosen one.

She was exalted.

‘What has come over you, Jeannette?’ asked her mother. You dream the hours away.’

She wanted to tell them; but she dared not. They would not believe her and just at first she could not endure their disbelief.

She waited every day for the voices to come, for the visions to appear. They always came and as the Archangel Michael had told her she saw the Saints Catherine and Margaret as well. They were beautiful beyond human understanding, bathed in celestial light and smelling of the sweetest perfume more intoxicating than that of roses. They talked to her gently, always soothing her fears. She fell on her knees before them and swore that she would preserve her virginity even as they had. She was one of them. She was the bride of Christ and she would remain pure in His service.

‘Have no fear, Jeannette,’ they told her. ‘Trust in Heaven.’

She could scarcely eat or sleep so great was her excitement. Her mother watched her anxiously.

‘I am anxious about Jeannette,’ she told Jacques. ‘The girl is too pious. It is not natural. She should be with the young folks. She will not now go to dance under the tree.’

‘She will soon be of an age to marry,’ said Jacques. ‘She will calm down then.’

Vaguely Jeannette heard them talking about the war. There was a strong commander at Vaucouleurs called Robert de Baudricourt. He was staunchly for the Dauphin and was inspiring new hope in the neighbourhood.

Jacques shook his head. ‘What can he do?’ he asked. ‘There is so much ground to be recovered. We have lost so much.’

Jeannette said: ‘It will not always be so. A time will come …’

They looked at her oddly. Her eyes were shining. She spoke like a prophet.

‘What do you know of such matters, girl?’ said Jacques sharply. ‘Look to your spinning.’

And she was silent – seeing that it would be impossible to tell them.

She walked over to Greux to see Catherine. Her sister was lying on her pallet looking very pale.

‘Catherine, what ails you?’ she asked. ‘Do you feel pain?’

Catherine shook her head. ‘It is my cough mostly, Jeannette, it weakens me. Do not tell Colin. It worries him. If I rest like this I can be up and about when he comes in from the fields.’

Jeannette cleaned the house and cooked a little and spun – doing Catherine’s share as well as her own.

‘Thank you, sister,’ said Catherine.

‘I would I could do more for you, Catherine … a strange thing has happened to me. I have heard voices.’

‘Voices?’ she said. ‘Whose voices?’

‘Voices of angels and saints … They speak to me, Catherine.’

Catherine looked at her warily, a little frightened. Jeannette realised that their mother must have told her that Jeannette had been acting strangely lately.

Catherine would not understand and she did not want to frighten her. Poor Catherine had anxieties enough of her own – not that this was an anxiety, but Catherine might think it so.

‘Have you been dreaming again?’ asked Catherine. ‘I used to when I was younger. I don’t now. I’m glad. Dreams can be frightening when you are afraid the soldiers might come in the night … and we seem always to have been afraid of that.’

No, she could not speak to Catherine.

Colin came in from the fields. He smiled to see her. He was glad she had come to give Catherine a helping hand.

‘What,’ he cried, ‘have you taken time off from church to come and see us!’

He teased of course. No, she could tell no one in her sister’s household.

Why should she want to tell? She did not know. Perhaps it was because she was going to be given some task and she would need help. I am so ignorant of life, she thought, just a simple peasant girl. Could they really have chosen me? Have I dreamed it?

There was one to whom she could whisper something. That was little Hauviette. Hauviette had always listened, always wanted to be with her since those days when a very small Hauviette had followed them about and tried to share in their games.

When Hauviette came to the cottage to spin with her, she chatted merrily all the time and did not notice Jeannette’s silence. When it grew dark the young girl asked if she might stay the night as she used to. She had told her parents she would and even though she had not far to go to her home it was advisable for her not to be out after dark in case some marauding bear showed his face.

The two girls lay on Jeannette’s narrow pallet and Jeannette tried to explain how angels and saints had come to her and told her she was chosen for a great task.

Hauviette listened rather drowsily, and after a while she began to murmur something unintelligible. Jeannette realised then that she was half asleep and that she had thought Jeannette was telling her a story about a saint who had the same name as herself. Hauviette did not really believe that Jeannette, whom she had known all her life, could really be like Saint Margaret or Saint Catherine.

She would tell no one. No one would believe her in any case.

A few days later a visitor came to Domrémy. This was a member of the family for whom Jeannette had always had a special friendship. Durand Laxart was some sixteen years older than she was and had married her cousin Jeanne le Vauseul. Jeanne was the daughter of Zabillet’s sister Aveline, and Durand had known Jeannette since she was a baby. He had been attracted by her because even then she had seemed apart from the other children. He used to carry her on his shoulders and walk through the fields with her, cut whistles for her out of wood and tell her the names of the birds and the trees.

Durand sat round the fire and talked of what was happening in Petit-Burey where he lived with his wife and her parents. They had suffered in the same way as Domrémy and like those of that village were haunted by the shadow of war. Durand was not so very frequent a visitor because Petit-Burey was five miles from Domrémy and although that was not so very far it did mean travelling ten miles if the visit was to be made in one day only.

He told them that Zabillet’s sister Aveline was pregnant and that was a piece of news for them to discuss endlessly. When Zabillet was alone with Durand she told him that she was a little concerned about Jeannette.

‘Her father is worried about her too,’ said Zabillet. ‘She is not like other girls of her age.’

‘She never was,’ said Durand.

‘She spends so much time in the church in prayer. I believe she is there when she should be tending the flocks or tilling the ground. She neglects her work … It is not that she is lazy … and there is a strange look about her.’

Durand thought he would try to find out and when he saw Jeannette going into the church he followed her and there he found her kneeling before the statue of the Virgin. He stood waiting for her and when she came out he noticed the look of exultation on her face.

‘Jeannette,’ he said. ‘What has happened to you?’

She looked at him and said simply: ‘God has spoken to me through the Archangel Michael and His saints.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Durand.

So she told him and he listened intently. He was the first who had taken her seriously.

‘I am chosen,’ she said. ‘I have been told.’

He was thoughtful as they went back. Suddenly, as though on impulse, she said to him: ‘Durand, you would help me, would you not?’

‘If it were possible, with all my heart,’ he assured her.

When they returned to the house it was to hear that there was a message from Colin. Catherine had become very ill and wished to see them all.

They left at once for Greux and there lying on her pallet, so pale and small that she seemed almost to have wasted away, lay Catherine.

There was little they could do but mourn. Poor Colin had lost all his gaiety. He was just a bewildered boy. He stood staring at the figure on the bed as though trying to convince himself that this was the girl with whom he had danced round L’Arbre des Dames and whom he had married in the church of Saint Rémy not so long ago.

Jeannette was stricken. She forgot everything but that she had lost a beloved sister. She even forgot her voices.

She could not stay in the stricken house but wandered out into the patch of garden which was close by and as she did so the voices came to her.

The Archangel Michael appeared to her and the two saints were with him. They were looking at her with compassion and she knew that she must not grieve for earthly losses, for this day Catherine would be with her Father in heaven.

‘Daughter of France,’ said a voice, ‘you must leave your village and make your way into France. Take your standard from the hands of the King of Heaven. Carry it with courage and God will help you.’

She was trembling. The voices were telling her she must act, and she did not know how to.

Then the Archangel Michael spoke to her.

‘You shall lead the Dauphin into Rheims and there he shall be crowned,’ he told her.

She covered her face with her hands for a few moments. Her heart was filled with sudden terror. This was something beyond her imaginings. She could preserve her virginity; she could die for her faith; but how could she, a country girl, go to the Dauphin?

‘You must go to Captain Baudricourt in Vaucouleurs and in time – though not at first – he will give you guides to take you to the Dauphin.’

The brightness had gone; the voices faded away and she was alone.

Had she heard aright? Go to the Dauphin? Go to Captain Baudricourt? She had heard his name and she knew that he was in charge of the garrison at Vaucouleurs. But how could she go to him?