nothing can undo it, nothing can remove it. Neither the Pope nor
any other power can strip the priest of his office; God gave it, and
it is forever sacred and secure. The dull parish knows all this. To
priest and parish, whatsoever is anointed of God bears an office
whose authority can no longer be disputed or assailed. To the
parish priest, and to his subjects the nation, an uncrowned king is a
similitude of a person who has been named for holy orders but has
not been consecrated; he has no office, he has not been ordained,
another may be appointed to his place. In a word, an uncrowned
king is a doubtful king; but if God appoint him and His servant the
Bishop anoint him, the doubt is annihilated; the priest and the
parish are his loyal subjects straightway, and while he lives they
will recognize no king but him.
To Joan of Arc, the peasant-girl, Charles VII. was no King until he
was crowned; to her he was only the Dauphin; that is to say, the
heir. If I have ever made her call him King, it was a mistake; she
called him the Dauphin, and nothing else until after the
Coronation. It shows you as in a mirror–for Joan was a mirror in
which the lowly hosts of France were clearly reflected–that to all
that vast underlying force called “the people,” he was no King but
only Dauphin before his crowning, and was indisputably and
irrevocably King after it.
Now you understand what a colossal move on the political
chess-board the Coronation was. Bedford realized this by and by,
and tried to patch up his mistake by crowning his King; but what
good could that do? None in the world.
Speaking of chess, Joan’s great acts may be likened to that game.
Each move was made in its proper order, and it as great and
effective because it was made in its proper order and not out of it.
Each, at the time made, seemed the greatest move; but the final
result made them all recognizable as equally essential and equally
important. This is the game, as played:
1. Joan moves to Orleans and Patay–check.
2. Then moves the Reconciliation–but does not proclaim check, it
being a move for position, and to take effect later.
3. Next she moves the Coronation–check.
4. Next, the Bloodless March–check.
5. Final move (after her death), the reconciled Constable
Richemont to the French King’s elbow–checkmate.
Chapter 34 The Jests of the Burgundians
THE CAMPAIGN of the Loire had as good as opened the road to
Rheims. There was no sufficient reason now why the Coronation
should not take place. The Coronation would complete the mission
which Joan had received from heaven, and then she would be
forever done with war, and would fly home to her mother and her
sheep, and never stir from the hearthstone and happiness any more.
That was her dream; and she could not rest, she was so impatient
to see it fulfilled. She became so possessed with this matter that I
began to lose faith in her two prophecies of her early death–and,
of course, when I found that faith wavering I encouraged it to
waver all the more.
The King was afraid to start to Rheims, because the road was
mile-posted with English fortresses, so to speak. Joan held them in
light esteem and not things to be afraid of in the existing modified
condition of English confidence.
And she was right. As it turned out, the march to Rheims was
nothing but a holiday excursion: Joan did not even take any
artillery along, she was so sure it would not be necessary. We
marched from Gien twelve thousand strong. This was the 29th of
June. The Maid rode by the side of the King; on his other side was
the Duke d’Alen‡on. After the duke followed three other princes of
the blood. After these followed the Bastard of Orleans, the
Marshal de Boussac, and the Admiral of France. After these came
La Hire, Saintrailles, Tremouille, and a long procession of knights
and nobles.
We rested three days before Auxerre. The city provisioned the