March and April came and went. It wasn’t until the First of May that Monseuir would keep his promise to Madame Marchant. On that day, also known as May Day, they would find their way to a true French garden.
It all began in the earliest part of morning when Madame Marchant was still asleep. Monseuir Marchant picked a bunch of lilies and stood beside the bed in which she slept.
“Bonjour, Mon Ami,” he said, waking her.
“Merci!” She poked her nose in the center of the blooms. They smelled like a spring day.
“Would you like to go on a road trip?”
“Where to?”
“I was thinking we could go to Reims.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Only a two-hour drive by car, it was strange that the family had not been to Reims in some while. This was, of course, the place where Rupert and Julia (Madame Marchant) had spent their childhood.
It was a only short trip along twisting country roads before arriving in Reims. Monseuir Marchant drove through the tree-lined streets as his wife told him where to turn. Anton listened to Uncle Rupert, who sat next to him in the back seat. Rupert pointed out the places he remembered from his past.
“There’s Saint Guilliame, where your mother and I went to Catholic school…and there’s the Laundromat where your mother worked …and if we turn down this street…”
It was a very familiar place to Anton, too. He had been here before.
“There’s the old ‘LaFontaine’ house…” said Uncle Rupert.
“It looks just the same,” said Madame Marchant.
Usually, Anton never thought about his mother’s maiden name, unless he was thinking about his Uncle Rupert. He had heard tales of her as a little girl.
“Can we stop by Notre Dame?” asked mother.
“Of course,” said father.
Notre Dame de Reims, was the oldest cathedral in the old city. As Monseuir Marchant navigated his way through the city streets, Anton looked out his window. The majestic spires of the old church overlooked the city. The car turned onto the main boulevard – Notre Dame de Reims stood at the far end.
“There she is!” exclaimed mother.
Built in 496, destroyed by fire in 1211, and rebuilt again, the cathedral was regal and majestic. Two tall towers stood on either side of the main cathedral. Intricate stonework decorated the entire façade, dressing it in gothic majesty. A row of portcullises lined the front. A giant round stained-glass window loomed over the entrance. A long platform of building-wide steps led from the street to the cathedral.
Monseuir Marchant parked on the boulevard and everyone walked to Notre Dame. The church bells rang out, signaling the top of the hour. It was 10 o’clock. The bells rang ten times, one for each hour of the day.
Heavy oak doors opened to reveal the inside of the cathedral. It was just as impressive as the outer façade. Carefully sculpted plaster lined the vaulted ceilings, which supported a massive lead and tin roof. Oaken pews formed two columns. A wide red carpet paved the way to the altar. Voices echoed in the spacious chamber.
Anton ran along, tugging his mother behind him.
“Hello!” called Anton.
Madame Marchant tugged at his hand.
“Hello!” repeated Uncle Ruprt.
“Shhh!” she scolded.
In fact, every word, every sound, and even every click of shoes echoed in the chamber. The Marchants, of course, walked quietly on the carpet leading to the altar.
Anton climbed the altar stairs and walked behind the chorus pews. He looked through the stained glass in the large window behind the altar. His view changed from blue to green to red to yellow as he moved from pane to pane.
“Mother, what is this outside?” he asked.
She stood beside him, peering out the windows.
“Of course!”
“Shhh!” said Uncle Rupert.
“Le jardin à la française!”
Madame Marchant took Anton by the hand and led him to the exit. They wandered outside into a topiary garden. It was long, angular, and green. Anton ran along the carefully manicured lawns. His mother traipsed alongside a set of pruned bushes, running her hand across the tops of the shrubbery. Every tiny leaf tickled her hand, just as it had done when she ran through these gardens as a child.
The sunshine glared as church bells tolled the half-hour. Anton investigated topiary animals in the far part of the garden. As he circled back towards his mother, he stopped under the wrought iron gate that separated two halves of the garden.
“Is this garden a memorial for the French Resistance?”
“Why do you say that?”
Anton pointed to the top of the gate. Two Crosses of Lorraine adorned each side of the arch looping overhead.
“Well, I cannot believe I’ve never noticed that!”
“Those don’t symbolize the Free French,” interruped Uncle Rupert, “They represent Joan of Arc.”
“Of course!” said Madame Marchant.
Uncle Rupert cleared his throat. “You see, during medieval times, Germanic tribes still divided France. Dukes ruled their regions from their castles. There were the Houses of Bourbon, Burgundy, Normandy, Capet, and even Lorraine.”
“So that’s where it gets it’s name,” said Anton.
“That’s only part of it. Many of these Dukes were related. Some were even related to King Louis the Fifth.”
“Why was that important?”
“Being related to the King meant you had power. In fact, the crown was handed down from fathers to sons. King Louis had sons, but no grandsons. With no grandsons, there was no rightful King. The question became ‘Who would save France?’”
“A woman, of course,” replied Madame Marchant. “A 13-year old girl named Johanne.”
Uncle Rupert nodded. “Two houses fought for their rightful place upon the throne. One day, Joan heard the church bells and saw a shaft of light from heaven. She had a vision. She would help restore the kingdom of France.
She begged to see the King, but her duke and his court just laughed at her. She told him of her visions. When one of her visions came to pass, the people of Lorraine began listening. The duke decided he must do something, so he sent her to see the king. She rode on horseback with a group of knigts.
She cut her hair delivered her message to the King. He laughed, too. He was busy with the Hundred Years War. Still, Joan would not give up. Finally, the King decided she could help him. He gave her a suit of shining armor and a sword. She looked like a true knight.”
The King sent Joan to the city of Orleans, which was under siege by the English. When the English saw a woman leading the French soldiers, they laughed, too.
This did not stop Joan. With a small army, she attacked one of the nearby forts, which was occupied by English soldiers. This small band defeated the English and sent them running. When the King heard of this, he was pleased.
Still, the English occupied other forts near Orleans. Against the wishes of other French commanders, she led her soldiers straight into battle. They recaptured another English-held fort.
THe English soldiers laughed at Joan, but she and her soldiers fought on. As she charged the fort, an archer shot an arrow through her shoulder. She was quickly carted away.
‘The witch is dead! The witch is dead!’ said the English soldiers as they danced and cheered.
Joan could not stand to be away from the front lines. She grabbed the arrow and pulled it out of her shoulder. When she returned to the front, the English were appalled. ‘How could she still be alive?’ It must have been a miracle. Her troops attacked the fort, overwhelming the English.
After this, word spread about Joan, the ‘Maid of Orleans’, who saved France. Peasants and farmers volunteered for the French army. They took back what was rightfully theirs. The king was crowned and France was whole again.”
The church bells tolled again, this time at the top of the hour – one, two, three o’clock. Everyone returned to Uncle Ruperts little yellow hatchback and drove from one childhood home to the other. As he rode along in the back seat, Anton looked up to the heavens.
Shifting shafts of shining glowed upon his face, breaking through the gray0-black clouds that hung low in the spring sky. Anton heaved a sigh and dreamed of knights in shining armor – fighting on the same hills and fields that Anton called home.
10.Divine Interventions
