“Again!” she said, and they all sang it again, gaining in volume. Then sweetly her voice rang out alone:
“Oh, that old rugged cross, so despised by the world
Has a wondrous attraction for me,
For the dear lamb of God left His glory above,
To bear it to dark Calvary.”
This time the chorus was very good, and by the time the last verse was finished the whole roomful was singing heartily.
“That was good!” said Janice. “Do you know another as well?”
“‘Onward Chrisshun Soldiers!’” shouted Ronald helpfully, and Janice smiled and went into the melody, the whole company following her clear voice and making fairly good music. And the beauty of it was that none of them felt they were doing much singing themselves.
Ronald still had a high, clear soprano voice when he chose to use it, though usually he tried to growl a low uncertain bass, thinking it was more manly. But now he led off, and the chorus rang out:
“Onward Chrisshun soldiers! Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus going on before.”
They all sang the four verses with Janice’s help, and then she felt she had her audience right where she wanted them, and she swung around and went over to the round table where the lovely little head of Joan of Arc was standing, just where the light from the new bay window could shine across and show the exquisite profile.
Janice turned the marble head around, till the eyes seemed searching the eyes of the boys seated in front of her, and their mumbled talk was hushed as they looked at the statue and wondered what this story was going to be.
Janice was standing now not far from the lower steps of the stairs, the landing of which would shelter her somewhat, in case anyone should happen to come to the front door. She was facing the row of boys, and farther back were the Robertses and the workmen who were regarding her with eager eyes.
The Robertses had become very well acquainted with Janice during the stay at the shore and admired her greatly. She had been a great help to Mrs. Roberts all the time and dearly loved the baby. So she did not feel that they were strangers. The workmen were friendly fellows who had passed a pleasant word with her now and then going about their work every day.
But it was to the four boys that she began to tell her story. The others were just people who had slipped in because they wanted to. She smiled around upon them all before she began. With one hand softly touching the marble shoulder of the statue, she began.
“Joan of Arc was born in Domrémy, France, on January sixth, fourteen hundred and twelve!”
She paused a moment to let that fact sink in.
“That was just eighty years before America was discovered by Christopher Columbus,” she went on.
The boys looked duly impressed, gazed at the statue with awe and a soft drawing of the breath. That seemed to put Joan almost out of their comprehension.
The doorbell rang just then, as doorbells have a way of doing just at a critical moment, but the boys did not notice it. Their attention was entirely centered on that beautiful girl’s face. And Martha, with forethought, was seated very near the vestibule door. She softly slipped out, drawing the door shut behind her.
It was the doctor, with the new doctor in his wake! She greeted them pleasantly and explained what was going on. A hungry look came into Blackwell’s eyes.
“May we come in?” he asked. “We’ll be very good and not make any noise!” He gave her an affectionate grin. “Couldn’t we just slip in by this door, behind the stair landing, and nobody will see us? We’ll do it so quietly they won’t be disturbed.”
“Why yes, I suppose you may,” said Martha. “I don’t think anyone would really mind, only you know how shy boys get sometimes. But there are two chairs right here beyond the door, behind the landing. You’ll be entirely out of sight while the story is going on, and afterward I’m sure you’ll be forgiven.”
She laughed softly and slipped inside the door like a wraith ahead of the two men and went back to her own chair. The two doctors proved that they could be as silent as two cats. Not even Ernestine could have done it better, and there they were sitting within the room yet not in sight. Janice had no idea who had come to the door, or if anyone had come in, and not even the boys looked up to see if anyone was sharing their story. So Janice went on with her tale without losing even a fraction of the dramatic opening.
“Not much is known about little Joan’s childhood because it was so long ago, and her people were not very important people and therefore did not keep records of their children’s sayings and doings as young fathers and mothers do today. But we know that she was a sweet, good child. She lived next to a church and loved to go to church. Her mother taught her to pray, and prayer must have been a real thing to her, because she seems often to have had regular conversations with God. They called her pious in those days, but that is just an old-fashioned name for loving to learn about God and trying to please Him. A name for being a real, what we would call today, Christian. Nowadays the word pious is used to make fun of religion and discredit people who make a great show of their religious beliefs and yet do not live up to them, but in Joan’s day it did not mean that. It meant true religion, truly trying to please God and walk in His ways. And when they said it about Joan, they meant that she was sincere and real in her thoughts with God.”
Dr. Blackwell looked up at his friend Sterling to see what impression his young patient Janice was making on his friend, but was not prepared for the look of startled wonder and joy that radiated from Sterling’s face.
The voice, oh, that dear voice that he had listened for in his night watches! The little nurse Mary, who had vanished like a spirit. Had he found her at last? He couldn’t see her face because he was sitting behind the stair landing, but he bent forward and tried to look around the corner and see her, and he fairly held his breath, not to lose a single syllable.
The sweet voice went on.
“One day, when Joan was about thirteen years old, she was walking in her father’s garden and she heard a voice. Somehow she knew it was God speaking to her, telling her what He wanted her to do and how He wanted her to live. And while she was still out there in the garden, when their talk together was over, she made a vow or promise to God that she would live for Him always. That she would never marry but would make her life entirely devoted to His service. And after that she began to hear that voice again, sometimes two or three times a week!”
“Was it a real voice?” put in Ronald. “Or did she just think she heard it? Was it just imagination?”
“No,” said Janice, “she said it was a real voice. And we have no other means of knowing about that except from what she said, so I guess we have to believe her. She certainly suffered enough to be believed.”
“But God doesn’t really speak to people so they can hear Him, does He?” asked Ronald skeptically.
“Why, He used to,” said Janice. “Don’t you remember how He talked to Adam and Eve in the garden before they had sinned, told them there was just one rule they must keep in the beautiful garden home He gave them in Eden? And told them if they wouldn’t trust Him enough to keep that rule they would bring death into the world for themselves and their children. That was what happened that made everybody have to die now, you know. And then God called them, don’t you remember? After they had sinned and were afraid to answer. And when they finally answered, He told them what was going to happen to the whole race of their children that were to come after them. Sin and death. Oh, and He talked to them, and to Abraham and Moses afterward, and a lot of other men, of how He would send His own Son to die in their place, and rise again to make them all right before God. Sometimes He only came to them in dreams in those days. But whether it was a voice they could hear, or a dream they could remember, or only a still, small voice in their hearts, God really spoke to them. And so I am sure God spoke to Joan of Arc. He had something special for her to do for Him, and He wanted to have her know Him so well th
at she would obey just what He told her to do. But anyway, whether they were voices other people could hear, too, or only voices she heard in her heart, I am sure she thought they were real voices, for she said they were, and the people who knew her in the days when she lived all testified that she told the truth and was a good and honorable girl. She would not have told a lie.”
Sterling, as he listened, unable to see the face he knew so well and longed to look upon, closed his eyes and let the sweet voice and the great truths she was telling flow over his hungry spirit like a soothing flood. He wondered, as he listened, where she got the power to talk like that, where she got the power to make such things plain to those untaught boys? He could just see the lovely little statue that stood on the table before her, and wished she, too, were within range so that he might study her as she spoke. Oh, was this real? Or was he only imagining it? Was that his little nurse Mary out there?
He had not yet learned to call her Janice, even in his thoughts, although he had by this time, of course, learned that her real name must be Janice Whitmore.
But the voice went on, making the story out of an age that was past live again for that little audience.
“The voices kept coming,” she said with conviction. “For five years she heard them two or three times a week, at least. There was war in that time, too. Her own country, France, was in trouble, and she was aware of the horrors of war and the dreadful things that were going on all about her. That was between 1419 and 1428. You can read all that in history. And then the voices commanded her to go to raise the siege of Orleans, a great city of France. That was October of 1428. It was a distinct command that she, a girl, should raise an army and go and fight to set the people free from their oppressors. England was gathering an army to conquer the young crown prince’s territory south of the Loire River. And the voices told her to go and do something about it. Everybody she told about it thought she was crazy. Joan went and told her father about the voices’ command for her to go to war, and her father said, ‘I would rather drown her with my own hands than to have her do that.’ But Joan was determined to go anyway. She felt she must obey God’s voice, even beyond her father and mother. So she went to other friends of hers to beg them to help her do this great thing, but they one and all did their best to persuade her she must not do it. But on she went, determined to carry out God’s purpose for her life. At last she went herself to the commandant of the prince’s army and begged him to write a letter to the prince and say that she was sent by the Lord to lead him to his crowning. He paid little heed to her words and sent her back to her parents. But still Joan continued to talk more and more of her great mission. Later, when the news of more fighting around Orleans came, she went to visit some cousins in Valcouleurs and sought once more to convince Baudricourt to let her try her fortune at war. He had just learned of several disasters, and was perhaps ready to try anything once, so he gave Joan permission to go. He gave her a sword and said, ‘Go, and let come what may.’ She wrote to the prince, asking for permission to come and give him information that no one else possessed. There was a great disturbance, and the council met to decide whether the young king should hear her or not, but at last she was led into his presence, and with meekness and simplicity she said, ‘Most noble Dauphin, I am come to help you and your kingdom.’ The prince talked with her for more than two hours. As she addressed him she said, ‘I am God’s messenger, sent to tell you that you are the king’s son and the true heir to France.’ She was trying to urge him to come forward and fight for what was his by right. But even then there was much to hinder. The king insisted she be examined by an assembly of learned theologians. She told them that she would raise the siege of Orleans and have the king crowned, and she dictated a letter commanding the English to depart. They sent her home but could find nothing but good of her, and finally she was sent to Tours. She put on white armor and had sent to her from the church a sword on which were five crosses. And so at last she started. On the night of April 28, 1429, she entered Orleans, bringing hope to the beleaguered citizens. The Maid and her companions stormed the bastille, the Tower of the Augustines. They also captured the tourelles that commanded the head of the bridge. Joan herself planted the first scaling ladder and was wounded in the shoulder by an arrow. But Orleans was saved. Joan entered the city in triumph. They marched on Reims, and two days later the king was crowned. Beside him stood the Maid, a banner in her hand. ‘Gentle King,’ she said, kneeling before him, ‘now is fulfilled the will of God that I should raise the siege of Orleans and lead you to the city of Reims to receive the holy coronation, to show that you are indeed the king and the rightful lord of the realm of France.’
“As time went on there were other battles. And now, successful, she found that she was allowed to lead the royal forces to an assault on the Porte Saint Honoré at Paris. It failed, however, and Joan was wounded in the thigh but had to be dragged from the field by force. There were more battles and more troubles, and Joan was distinguished by patience and a power to persist against all odds.”
On went the story, briefly told in simple language, and the little audience was held at the point of keen attention as Joan’s trial came on. Janice made it plain that the reason for the trial was based on twelve points, the main ones being that she claimed to be acting under the command of God, that she had really heard voices, and that she was responsible only to God and not to the church. They censured her masculine dress and insisted she should wear women’s garb and not soldiers’ garments. Janice brought out how plainly envy and hate and bitter jealousy were at the bottom of it all. Joan’s claim that she had prophetic power was another sore point. And then Janice made very plain how Joan was suffering for her own country, desiring to lead it to victory.
“We today,” said Janice, looking at the four boys in front of her, “are fighting just as earnestly for our country’s freedom as they were in Joan’s time. But if Joan could come back today and fight for us and insist that the way she urged was the way of righteousness, the right way, God’s way, and that God had told her what to say to them, would there be some today who would cry her down as they did then? We are urging our women to do all they can in this war. Is there anyone like-minded with Joan? Perhaps there are many, and hundreds of years from now the people who live then may be studying about them. But there could be none who would excel this lovely girl, who devoted her life, under God’s direction, to fighting even to death for victory, for freedom. That is what our boys are fighting for today. But if you go, go in the strength of the Lord, for that is the way to win, and the only way. Joan had printed on her white banner the name of Jesus. It was in the strength of Jesus that she conquered, and when it came time for her to die, she died a glorious death, crying out in her last breath ‘JESUS!’ For Joan did die for her faith. Her enemies pursued her to her death. They insisted that she should be burned at the stake. And though there was a long and bitter trial, and though she just escaped the torture chamber, she was finally sentenced to be burned at the stake. It seems a terrible thing to hear that this lovely girl—for all the records show that she was very good and beautiful, and most devoted to her Lord, serving Him with an honest heart, accepting Him as her sole Guide to whom alone she owed allegiance—should have had to meet her death in fire! They gave her a cross from a neighboring church, and she kissed it while she was being chained to the stake. As the smoke and flames swept up over her lovely form she cried out ‘JESUS!’
“They took her ashes to the bridge of Rouen and threw them into the Seine River. A lonely servant of the Lord, brought into the world perhaps just to serve in a special way to carry out some of God’s great purposes, and if she did some things in different ways from those we know now, who can criticize her? For she surely served the Lord Christ and was loyal to His commands as she understood them through the voices. And boys, I think it would be wonderful if every one of you should learn to know God, as lovely Joan did, and to follow the voices with which He will surely speak to your hearts
if you will let Him, through praying to Him and through reading the Bible. Then you can take your knowledge of the Bible, which He Himself has said is the sword of the Spirit with which He wants you to fight, and go out to fight the enemies of the Lord Jesus Christ. Not to do good works—no, that isn’t of value—but to conquer His enemies because He has sent you to do it and because you love Him who died to save you. There is another woman in the Bible named Esther who was something like Joan of Arc. Sometime I’d like to tell you her story, if you would like to come another day and hear it.”
“Oh, sure!” exclaimed Ronald. “That’ll be swell!”
Janice smiled.
“But don’t forget this beautiful Joan,” said Janice. “Carry home the lovely memory of her in your heart, and think about how she listened to God. And someday perhaps you will hear voices in your own hearts. Voices of God, setting you apart to get to know Him! Now, come closer and take a closer look at Joan so you will not forget her story.”
As one man, those boys arose and approached, stood looking into those beautiful chiseled eyes that almost seemed to speak, so real they were, and then Ronald looked up from the marble face to Janice’s and broke the hush that had come over the little company.
“Say, Janice, she does look like you. Only I think you’re better looking!”
“Oh Ronald!” reproved the girl in a kind of shocked voice. “Don’t say that!”
Quick to get her idea, the boy subsided.
“I see what you mean,” he said in a low tone and added, “I’m sorry!”
The two doctors had forgotten to keep out of sight now. Dr. Blackwell had quite come out into the open, with Sterling not far behind him. And so it was that Janice, turning away to hide her embarrassment, came suddenly face-to-face with her dear doctor and almost thought for a moment that this story had gone to her head and that she was seeing visions and dreaming dreams.
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