Joan of Arc

Preceding her canonization in 1920, the Victorian era experienced a revived interest in the historical figure Joan of Arc. Because the biographical accounts written at the time reflect the various ideologies of the age, one doesn’t know what to expect of her portrayal. Was she illustrated as a divinely inspired prophetess or simply an imaginative heroine? Universally, they regale her with flowery prose, depicting her as an archetypal tragic heroine who is wronged by her contemporaries; however, it seems that Victorian authors are unable to agree on the extent of her holiness. Her secular self takes a back seat with her “divinity” pushed beneath the spotlight in some instances, and in others the case is reversed. Also, some authors comment on her adopting male conduct, wearing men’s attire, and leading the men of the French military. Many authors state outright what they feel to be appropriate behavior of a member of the “fairer sex,” while others neglect the issue entirely. These discordant viewpoints concerning Joan of Arc’s divinity and adherence to gender roles are reflective of the controversial social issues prominent during the Victorian era.

Joan of Arc was born in the French village Domrémy to Jacques d’Arc and Isabelle Romée in 1412. Although sources generally portray her childhood as a happy one, the context of Joan’s upbringing was both chaotic and violent. The French and the English were entangled in the Hundred Years’ War, an international conflict that would ultimately determine the future king of France. After 341 years of rule, the royal family line of the Capetians ended in 1328 leaving the French throne unoccupied. In a desperate attempt to assume the throne amidst the controversy concerning the establishment of a legitimate heir, the French and the English entered a war that would last for over a century. Charles VI, during one of his bouts of insanity, had signed the Treaty of Troyes which ensured English claim to the French throne. Charles VII, the Dauphin, came to be seen as an illegitimate heir, while the infant Henry VI became the King of France in 1422. Those still loyal to Charles VII, however, would continue their hostile resistance against English occupation.

Joan of Arc claimed to have experienced visions from the time she was twelve, one of which included images of Saint Michael, Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret instructing her to rid France of the English and restore the Dauphin to the throne. The means by which Victorian authors attempt to explain this phenomenon are far from unanimous. For example, while biographer Lord Ronald Gower continuously refers to Joan’s “presences” as visions, John Maskelyne refers to them as mere “hallucinations” and “illusions,” (Maskelyne, 235). Biographer William Adams is caught in the same dilemma, portraying the young Joan as an impressionable child who was simultaneously directed by God (Adams, 245-247).

In response to her visions, at sixteen years of age Joan requested that she be brought to Count Robert de Baudricourt so that she might earn permission to visit Charles VII at the royal court of Chinon. (She would have to be escorted across enemy territory for the encounter with the Dauphin to take place). On her second attempt she won the Count’s approval, as she managed to accurately predict the result of the Battle of the Herrings.

News of Joan’s visit spread quickly; therefore, to test her divinity Charles dressed himself in commoner’s clothing and adorned another in rich garb to mislead her. When she arrived at court, however, she knelt before Charles instead of the decoy, and despite Charles' denials, declared him the true Dauphin: “‘In God’s name it is not they, but you, who are the King. Most noble Dauphin, I am Jeanne the Maid. The Heavenly King sends me to help you and the realm; and to tell you that you shall be anointed and crowned in the city of Rheims, and that you shall reign as lieutenant of the Heavenly King, who is the King of France’” (Adams, 250). Pulling him aside for a private discussion—although there is no record of what was actually exchanged—she managed to convince him to allow her to lead his army against the English.

After having been granted permission to assist in the command of the French army, Joan deviated from traditional French tactics of war and managed a series of victories against the English, acquiring the fortress of Saint Loup on May 4, 1429, the fortress of Saint Jean le Blanc on May 5, the fortress of Saint Augustins on May 6, and on May 7 the Orleans stronghold les Tourelles (an achievement that left her with a wounded neck). She had another string of victories in the month following, reclaiming Jargeau on June 12, Meung-sur-Loire on June 15, and Beaugency on June 17. She also had success in the June 18 Battle of Patay, which would be the turning point of the Hundred Years’ War, granting France the lead against England. As a result of her success in battle, she was able to accomplish one of the primary aims of her mission: the coronation of Charles VII in Rheims on July 17.

Throughout sieges, captures, and even King Charles’ coronation, Joan wore the attire of a male knight. Although the French had tolerated Joan’s style of dress in her campaigns, it seems that Victorian authors were unable to agree on whether her transvestitism—and in a few cases her military leadership—was appropriate. After having described the coronation at Rheims, one particular author remarks: "as the grand object of her mission was now, by the will of Heaven, accomplished, she entreated his permission to return home, and resume those occupations and that course of life which became her sex” (James, 34-35). Like other biographers, although he issues abundant praise for Joan’s service to her country, he still adheres to Victorian ideology concerning the distinction between gender roles. Another example is Gower’s reconstruction of Joan’s character during her trial, reaffirming the Victorian perception of women as members of the fairer and weaker sex: “Even Joan of Arc’s courage failed at that sight, and all the woman in her nature asserted itself” (Gower, 232). Gower also notes that she “had not the defect of so many excellent but tedious women, who love talk for the mere sake of talking” (6). Other biographical accounts convey the opposite, disregarding expectations of women and depicting her solely as a beacon of unconquerable strength (Adams, 253).

Joan was one of the last to leave the battlefield of Compiègne, resulting in her imminent capture on May 23rd, 1430. She had led a successful attack against the Burgundians until the English intervened and attacked the rear guard. Apparently, she would have made it to safety had not the drawbridge to the heavily fortified town of Compiègne been raised at the very last minute. She and a few of her closest aides stranded outside with her were promptly taken as prisoners to Margny, the Burgundian camp. Strangely, according to Gower, Joan had at certain instances demonstrated that she might have known about her fate beforehand:

‘My children and dear friends, I bid you to mark that I have been sold and betrayed and that I shall be shortly put to death. So I beseech you all to pray to God for me, for never more shall I be able to be of service to the King or to the Kingdom of France’ (Gower, 126).

This appears to be another confirmation of her divinely inspired nature, as portrayed by select Victorian biographers. Gower also makes a curious statement that reflects the tendency to expound upon the “essence” of the biographical subject: “This story, whether authentic or not, is surely a touching one, is full of the spirit of the heroine,” (Gower, 126). Authenticity is not as important a factor as “the spirit of the heroine,” quite clearly. Any detail, as long as it eulogizes the subject in some way, is worthy of documentation.

The trial, which took place in Rouen from March 26 to May 24, 1431, was conducted by Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais and was preceded by an interrogation lasting over fifteen sessions. During interrogation, Joan was rigorously questioned about her birth, her religious upbringing, her visions, her manly garb, her military actions and even her virginity. Throughout the trial, Joan famously refused to swear an oath concerning the truthfulness of her answers to the judges: “You may ask me questions on which I shall be able to answer you, and others about which I cannot” (Gower, 158). After interrogation Joan of Arc was forced to endure torture locked in an iron cage for fifty days and nights. Nevertheless, she retained a great deal of dignity and mental clarity, speaking shrewdly and firmly in her defense. Her courage is certainly exalted in Victorian biography; for every factual detail there is a comment on her virtue and bravery. In one instance, Gower exclaims, “Glorious words, worthy of her who spoke them! They bear with them a heroic ring, and reveal with one sublime expression the very soul and spirit of Joan of Arc!” (192). Rousing, majestic expressions like “sublime” and “heroic” add to the already larger-than-life qualities attributed to her. Her noble character is contrasted with those of her captors, who are depicted as dastardly and devoid of morals: “No doubt can be entertained that she was a sacrifice to jealousy, in the first place, leaving hypocrisy and cruelty to do their part in the course of her trial--that mockery of justice and everlasting disgrace to all who bore a part in it” (James, 43). This line illustrates the sharp polarization of good and evil in these Victorian accounts. The sweeping descriptions “sacrifice to jealousy” and “everlasting shame and infamy” have a sense of permanence that coincides with the prevalent religious overtone. There seems to be a clear delineation between the holy and the blasphemous.

The conclusion to the dramatic trial was her iconic, romanticized execution. Joan of Arc was condemned to burn at the stake on May 30, 1431, only six days after the trial ended. She was bullied into signing an abjuration stating that she would either wear women’s clothes or immediately burn at the stake. She was sexually assaulted only days after the abjuration and the perpetrators stole her clothes and left her with nothing to cover herself but men’s attire. When the Bishop noticed her garb, he immediately called for a meeting at the archiepiscopal chapel on the 29th of May in which all condemned her to death.

She died beautifully, firmly clutching a crude cross made of staves as the flames consumed her. Of course, Victorian biographers capitalized on the dramatic nature of her death, by exaggerating her heroic and Christ-like characteristics: “The crime of her martyrdom will ever rest, and surely no other crime but one in the world’s history can be paralleled with it” (Gower, 252). Yet not all of them are overwhelmed by religious overtones. Biographer George James, for example, is a lot more secular in his approach: “In an enlightened age, her transcendently noble qualities, which were displayed in the best of causes, the just defence of her king and country, would have secured her universal admiration and gratitude; nor perhaps, can ancient or modern history furnish an example of such pure and exalted heroism” (James, 62). This text in particular focuses on her personal bravery and attitude rather than her divinity. Also, the author takes the opportunity to opine on the superiority of his own enlightened era, and does not refer to any form of spirituality. The biographies’ dissonant portrayals of Joan as either a heroic or divine figure (and in some instances a blend of the two) echo the conflict between faith and secularism prominent in Victorian society.

From the differing depictions and viewpoints of these biographies, one can easily observe the extent to which Victorians diverged from one another in social ethics and belief systems. Joan of Arc, a focused straightforward character, is poked and prodded in multiple directions by these authors. To some she is a true messenger of God, and to others she is merely a brave soul with an excitable imagination. Their biographies hold up a looking glass to an age when people simply could not decide whether to be spiritual or enlightened, whether to enforce gender roles or to blur the lines. However, these accounts undividedly devote themselves to eulogizing Joan and making it abundantly clear that her nature and deeds were to be venerated by all.

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