There was a school in Greux and some of the boys in Domrémy went to it. The Arcs could not be spared. Jeannette was not sure whether she would want to go. She had seen the horn book which belonged to one of the boys in the village and it had not held the same charm for her as the statues in the church and the beautiful sound of the bells.
Still, it must be wonderful, she admitted, to be a scholar like Thiesselin.
The next day Jacquemin departed. Jeannette did a little spinning for her godmother, some housework and weeding in the garden. In fact she worked as hard in Neufchâteau as she did in Domrémy. But there was more to eat, different and more delicious food; and when the day was over instead of going to bed as they did in Domrémy, Jeannette lighted two candles – a great extravagance for at home in Domrémy they never had more than one going at a time – and they talked and sometimes Uncle Thiesselin – as she called him – read to them from the wonderful books.
It was from Thiesselin that she first heard the stories of Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret.
All her life she would remember sitting on a stool in that darkening room with the two candles throwing their light on the book which lay open on the table before Thiesselin.
‘Catherine was the daughter of the King and Queen of Alexandria,’ read Thiesselin. ‘The King was King Costus and the Queen Sabinella. Her body was beautiful but her soul was dark for it was blackened by idolatry. She worshipped idols. Many in her father’s kingdom sought her hand in marriage because of her beauty. But she said no to them all. “I want a husband who is handsome and rich and the most noble in the land,” she added. Then one night the Virgin came to her and in her arms she held the most beautiful child Catherine had ever seen. “Will you take him for your husband,” asked the Virgin, “and will you, my son, take this beautiful girl as your bride?” And the Christ child said: “No, for she worships idols. But if she will be baptised I will put my nuptial ring on her finger.”
Jeannette listened wide-eyed to how Catherine was secretly baptised and there in a vision saw Christ who put the nuptial ring on her finger.
‘Now Maxentius, the Emperor of the Romans, sent out a command that all the people must offer sacrifices to the idols they worshipped. Catherine was now a Christian; she could not partake in the offering of such sacrifices, nor could she stand by silently and see this done, and when the Emperor and all his retinue came to Alexandria to witness the sacrifices and were gathered in the great square, Catherine went before him and called him a fool because he sacrificed to false idols. He was proud of the fine buildings he set up, she told him. He loved them to idolatry, but he should love the trees and the earth, the stars and the sky. That was God’s work and superior to that of man.’
Listening avidly, Jeannette was there in the great square at Alexandria. She glowed with the ardour which was Catherine’s. In those moments in the candlelit room she was Catherine.
Thiesselin went on to read of how Catherine was arrested and because her beauty had impressed Maxentius he said that his wise men should parley with her and confound her in argument and when they proved her folly to her she should be given the opportunity to recant.
‘Now,’ read Thiesselin, ‘God spoke through Catherine so that she confounded those so-called wise men, and so impressed were they that they declared Catherine to be the one who spoke the truth.’
It was vivid; it was real.
Thiesselin paused and said: ‘That is enough for this night. Tomorrow I will read more of the story of Catherine.’
Jeannette lay on her truckle bed as though in a trance. It had been a wonderful experience. She could scarcely get through the day and when that hour came when the candles were lighted and Thiesselin sat at the table and continued with the story of Catherine she was trembling with excitement.
She listened to how the infuriated Emperor caused the wise men to be burned to death, but although the fires raged round them they emerged unscathed.
‘It was a miracle,’ breathed Jeannette.
‘It was God proclaiming the Truth,’ said her godmother.
‘And what did the Emperor do then?’ Jeannette wanted to know.
It seemed that he had been struck by Catherine’s beauty and offered her a place in his palace, second only to that of his Empress. There should be a statue to her set up in the town and she should be worshipped as a goddess. But first she must make a sacrifice to the idols the Emperor worshipped. Catherine’s response was that she was the bride of Christ. Then the Emperor ordered that she be cast into a dungeon after being scourged by rods and there she should be left to starve. He then departed on his conquests. But an angel came to the Empress and she believed him when he told her that Catherine was a saint.
The Emperor returned and when he heard that Catherine was not dead but seemed unscathed by her ordeal he ordered that wheels with sharp spikes be made, the intention being that Catherine’s body should be broken on these, but just as they were about to be set in motion they broke asunder and the pieces were scattered, killing several who had come to gloat on the sufferings of Catherine. The Empress, seeing what had happened, came to the Emperor to protest and to say that she had had a vision and as a result had become a Christian. In his rage the Emperor ordered her head to be cut off.
The Emperor then offered Catherine a choice. She could be his Empress or her head should be cut off.
‘So her head was cut off and it was not blood that flowed from her body but milk. And from Heaven there was heard sounds of celestial music when Catherine ascended to join her bridegroom.’
Thiesselin shut the book and there was deep silence in the room.
Jeannette’s godmother blew out one of the candles. ‘Jeannette, are you asleep?’ she asked.
Jeannette opened wide eyes to stare at her. ‘Asleep! Dear godmother, I was there … I knew what was in her mind. And the milk which flowed from her body was purity. It is the pure who see God.’
The Vittels looked at her in amazement. She seemed transformed.
‘Go to your bed,’ said Jeannette de Vittel kindly.
Jeannette rose. ‘Shall there be more reading tomorrow?’ she asked.
Thiesselin laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘My dear child,’ he said, ‘I will read more stories of the saints. Saint Catherine was not the only one to die for God and the faith.’
And that visit to her godmother was an important landmark in the life of little Jeannette. She waited through the days patiently doing the tasks set her and while she was at her spinning wheel she dreamed of what the saints had done for God and she thought that they were the truly great ones. Not great soldiers like the mighty Dukes of Burgundy and Orléans, not like the King himself … But the holy saints who cared not what happened to them and lived only to die in the service of God.
She would always adore Saint Catherine, and when she heard the story of the blessed Margaret these two became as friends to her.
Eagerly she listened to how Margaret, daughter of Theodosius a priest of the Gentiles, was baptised in secret and how Olibrius the Governor of the city saw her and admired her beauty. He ordered that she be brought into his house and when she refused to become his concubine he had her hung from a wooden horse and beaten with iron rods while her flesh was torn with iron pincers. Her blood came from her body like the freshest water. She suffered other tortures at the hands of Olibrius but she endured them all and refused to give in. Finally she was beheaded and those watching said that as she died a pure white dove flew up to Heaven.
Jeannette thought a great deal about the saints and her godmother took her to the church and showed her the images of St Catherine and St Margaret, and she longed to be like them.