From Tours Saint Joan was sent to Poitiers where she was questioned by a commission of ecclesiastics who pronounced her "sane and holy," and advised that she be suitably conducted to Orleans, fully believing as they did in the genuineness of her call from God.
First at Tourelles, later at Orleans, with an army of about twelve thousand men she led her troops to victory. For a long time the place seemed impregnable. But after the second assault, when the French had been twice driven back and the recall was about to be sounded, the Maid came to Dunois and begged him to wait yet a little while, retiring into a neighboring vineyard, where she prayed for more than a quarter of an hour. Flying her standard, Saint Joan bade the troops follow her and plunged once more into the thick of the fight. Although she had been wounded earlier in the day she seemed as fresh as though the battle had just begun. Prayer had soothed and strengthened her. The victory was all her own. "Within less than a week of her first day under fire," writes the chronicler, "this girl of seventeen had done what Wolfe did on the heights of Abraham, what Bruce did at Bannockburn; she had gained one of the 'fifteen decisive battles' of the world."
In spite of her painful wound she at once started for Chinon, where the King awaited her. But he met her at Tours, after having sent official despatches with news of the victory to other towns. When Saint Joan caught sight of him she dismounted and threw herself at his feet, where she reverently saluted him.
Raising her up he leaned forward and with much emotion gravely kissed her forehead. But she had not come to seek for compliments and at once informed him that she needed money and soldiers, and begged that he would permit her to accompany him to the city of Rheims.
"Sire," she said to him, "it is time you were on the way to Rheims, there to be crowned."
Charles hesitated. On one side was Saint Joan, on the other, advisers who told him it would be the wildest folly to count on a triumph at Rheims as long as the intervening town remained in control of the English.
"Come, let us march against them, then," said the Maid, undaunted.
And so they did, and from that day it was a conquering march to Jargeau, Meung, Beaugency, and the final victory of Patay. All this took place in seven days. On July 17, the King was solemnly crowned. The ceremony began at nine o'clock in the morning and is thus described by Pierre de Beauvais in a letter to the Queen of Sicily:
"It was a wondrous sight to see that fair mystery, for it was as solemn and as well-adorned with all things thereunto pertaining as if it had been ordered a year before. First, all in armor, and with banners displayed, the Marechal de Boussac with de Rais, Gravile, the Admiral and a great company, rode to meet the Abbot, who bore the Sainte Ampoule (the holy chrism). They rode into the minster and alighted at the entrance to the choir. The Archbishop of Rheims administered the coronation oath; he crowned and anointed the King, while all the people cried 'Noel, Noel', and the trumpet sounded so you might think the roof would be rent.
"And always during the mystery the Maid stood by the King, her standard in her hand. To see the goodly manners of the King and Maid was interesting, and she, kneeling, weeping for joy, embraced his knees saying these words:
"'Gentle King, now is accomplished the will of God, who decreed that I should raise the siege of Orleans and bring you to this city of Rheims to receive this solemn sacring (anointing), thereby showing that you are the true King, and that France should be yours.'
"And a wave of pity came upon all those who saw her, and many wept."
Prophetic tears! Already the mists of treachery and ingratitude were rising, a noxious miasma, from the minds and hearts of those, who, jealous of her achievements and fearful of what she might accomplish in the future - thus upsetting their own plans - resolved to crush and trample the lily that had so suddenly and fragrantly bloomed upon the lately arid soil of France.
In three short months Saint Joan had fulfilled the mission to which the heavenly powers had dedicated her, and now, according to her own declaration, her work was done. Thus far her Voices had led her; thereafter what she accomplished and endeavored to accomplish does not appear to have been by their command. On this slight foundation her enemies have tried to base the accusation that her mission was not from God, but was the delusion of a visionary, romantic girl. Others have maintained that, admitting her mission was from God, she proved false to her divinely-appointed vocation when, of her own volition, without guidance of the Voices, she continued her career after the coronation of the King at Rheims.
Their reasoning is not good. God does not always manifest His will by signs. Saint Joan had been obedient to it, had fulfilled to the letter what had been appointed her to do. Her prudence, modesty, and simplicity had not altered between the time when she first met the King at Chinon and stood beside him at the coronation, holding her spotless standard in her hand. To the King, on the day of his anointing, she said, it is true: "Gentle King, now is accomplished the good pleasure of God, who willed that you should come to Rheims to receive your sacred anointing, showing that you are a true King, and the one to whom the Kingdom should belong."
But France was not yet free. While, in the beginning, Saint Joan had thought of nothing but retiring once more to her native village, after the deed she had been told to do was accomplished, she loved her fatherland and was willing, eager, to lay down her strength, health, life itself, to secure or aid in securing the freedom of her sorely-stricken country. True, the Voices had not told her to go on; neither had they warned her to lay down her arms. Possibly Saint Joan felt that were she to resist the entreaties of those who begged her to continue to fight for France and freedom, she might be accused of cowardice. That, her valiant soul could not have borne. She felt it to be her duty to persevere in the career which had been thrust upon her. Certainly it was not from love of war-like things that she consented, as is alleged by her own words: "And I would that it pleased God, my Creator, that I could return now, leaving my arms; and that I could go back to serve my father and mother in taking care of their flocks with my sister and brothers."
The coronation of the King was but the means to an end; by the restoration of peace to France, and the abolition of the numerous evils that always follow in the train of war, why turn from the plow now that the sowing of the seed promised a joyful harvest? Why turn her back upon her still distracted country, to retire to the peace and security of her native village?
It is recorded that as Saint Joan stood there, rejoicing in the triumph of her rightful sovereign, herself the cynosure of thousands of admiring eyes, "she wept." Were they only joyful tears? Who can say that they were tears of unmixed happiness? Who can tell but that, having touched the height of felicity, the brave soul, fearing the future it felt itself obliged to face, did not tremble with a prophetic sorrow? If so, it was for a brief moment. Soon she was again ready for action. But a few days elapsed before she went forth to the relief of Compiegne, then besieged by the Burgundians.
- taken from A Child's Life of Saint Joan of Arc, by Mary Ellen Mannix