Statue of Joan of Arc

Orléans, Lyon, Blois, Arras, Poitiers, Marseille… all these cities have something in common: somewhere in their streets, you’ll find a statue of Joan of Arc. And really, what place in France would pass up the chance to honor this legendary figure? A fearless warrior, a national heroine, and a symbol of resistance during the Hundred Years’ War, Joan of Arc is without a doubt one of the most iconic women in French history. From a humble peasant girl who claimed to hear divine voices, to the liberator of Orléans, and finally a martyr burned at the stake in Rouen—her story became one of the most enduring legends in French history, recognized well beyond its borders. So naturally, any attempt to pay tribute to her comes with high expectations. If the statue you see here in Nancy could talk, it would surely have quite a story to tell. So allow me to speak on its behalf. After the Franco-Prussian War, the French state commissioned a statue of Joan of Arc to be installed in Place des Pyramides in Paris, unveiled in 1874. But the statue—showing Joan in full armor, waving her banner with her right hand from atop a horse—was not well received. The newspaper Le Figaro didn’t mince words, saying: “A statue has been unveiled of a very small, ugly girl, going who-knows-where on a post horse.” Ouch. It was a disaster. So the sculptor, Emmanuel Frémiet, took matters into his own hands. At his own expense, he created a new version—one that politician Jules Ferry would later praise. However, before the new statue could make it to Paris, a patriotic French-Jewish patron bought it and donated it to the city of Nancy. That’s the very statue standing before you today—the first monument to Joan of Arc in Lorraine. Now, what about Paris, you ask? Well, a bit later, Frémiet, proud of his second Joan, had a personal copy made. He admitted, “This indulgence cost me dearly, but I never regretted it.” And no wonder! In 1898, during some renovation work on the base of the original Paris statue, Frémiet quietly swapped it out—replacing the unpopular version with his improved, gilded copy. As for the original? He had it melted down. Again, entirely at his own expense. No chance of anyone resurrecting that fiasco. Who would have guessed such a tale was waiting for you here in Nancy?