Bishop Cauchon (with ferocious joy)—"And I shall add what that royalist chronicler could not know, to wit, that taken from the Castle of Dugy to that of Crotoy, the Maid was there embarked upon the Somme, on which she sailed as far as St. Valery. She was thence conveyed to the Castle of Eu, thence to Dieppe, and from Dieppe hither to Rouen, where she is to arrive this very night or to-morrow morning. So, then, the she-devil is in our hands! And, now, canon, I must make a very serious revelation to you. It is in your power to render a signal service to our friends from across the water, to the Cardinal of Winchester, to the Duke of Bedford the Regent, and to the whole English government. The remuneration will exceed your hopes, I swear that to you! As true as the archbishopric of Rouen has been promised to me by the Regent of England if Joan is duly brought to the pyre and burned, you will be royally rewarded."
Canon Loyseleur—"What must I do, monseigneur? I am ready to obey you."
Bishop Cauchon—"Before answering you, and although I am from experience acquainted with the keenness of your mind and the subtlety of your resources, I must succinctly and clearly inform you of the reason and object of the process that we are to start to-morrow against the said Joan."
Canon Loyseleur (impassively)—"I listen attentively."
Bishop Cauchon—"First of all let us sum up the situation in a few words and ab ovo.[107] Two years ago the whole of France was on the point of falling into the hands of the English and would have so fallen but for the help that the Maid brought Charles VII. In the teeth of that prince, in the teeth of the Sire of La Tremouille, in the teeth of the captains, the she-devil forced the siege of Orleans to be raised, won a number of other and no less brilliant victories, and finally had the King consecrated at Rheims—an act of incalculable importance in the eyes of the people, with whom the divine consecration is tantamount to sovereign power. Thus a large number of towns, that until then remained in the hands of the English, opened their gates to Charles VII upon his return from Rheims. Everywhere the national spirit awoke at the voice of the Maid, and the foreign rule, that had been accepted for over half a century, suddenly seemed unsupportable. On the other hand, and parallel with all this, the prodigious successes of Joan have spread consternation and terror in the ranks of the English army. Matters have reached such a pass in this line that the government in London has seen itself compelled to issue two decrees, whose titles are (the Bishop takes up two parchments from the table and reads:) 'A Decree against the Captains and Soldiers Who Refuse to Pass into France out of Fear of the Witcheries of the Maid,'[108] and, 'A Decree against Fugitives from the Army out of Fear of the Witcheries of the Maid.'[109] I shall do even better. I shall confidentially read to you a significant passage from a letter addressed by our Regent the Duke of Bedford, to the council of the King of England, Henry VI. Now listen, canon, and ponder. (The Bishop reads:) 'We succeeded in everything until the siege of Orleans. Since then the hand of God has struck our army with severe blows. The principal cause of the unfortunate turn of affairs is, as I think, the fatal opinion and fatal fear that our soldiers entertain for a disciple of the devil, a hound from hell, named "The Maid," who has used enchantments and witchery, and thereby caused us discomfitures that have not only greatly diminished the number of our soldiers, but have wondrously depressed the courage of those that are left us.'[110] (The Bishop places the parchment back upon the table, and turns again to the other prelate who continues impassive.) The charm of half a century of victories is broken, and the enthusiasm of the masses is now on the ascendant. If Charles VII were not the incarnation of indolence and cowardice; if by promising to the Sire of La Tremouille the sovereignty of Poitou and other great advantages to the Bishop of Chartres and to Gaucourt, the Regent had not secured for his side the secret support of these powerful dignitaries; finally, if the Maid had not been captured at Compiegne—France would have become French again! The labors of more than fifty years' struggles would be lost, and Henry VI would no longer hold the two most beautiful crowns in the world! But we must not indulge in delusions. Henry VI is King of France in name only. The provinces that he still holds in the heart of Gaul are about to slip from his hands. The victories of the she-devil, have awakened the sense of patriotism, that slumbered so long. Everywhere hope springs up. The people feel ashamed of what they call the foreign yoke, and they curse it. The continued rule of England in this country is gravely compromised. Now, then, to those of us who have become English, such a thing spells ruin, exile or the gallows, the moment the French party has vanquished. Such is the true state of things. If Charles VII triumphs we are all lost."
Canon Loyseleur—"Indeed, monseigneur, I was convinced myself of the truth of what you say when I had my last secret interview with the emissary of the Sire of La Tremouille. The seigneur, although he is the supreme councilor of Charles VII, is in the secret recesses of his soul as English as ourselves, and as desirous as we of seeing his master vanquished. He indulges in no illusions on the progress of the malady."
Bishop Cauchon—"As the malady exists, we must endeavor to cure it by ascertaining its cause. Now, then, what is the cause?"
Canon Loyseleur—"Joan! The bedeviled Maid—a veritable limb of Satan."
Bishop Cauchon—"We then understand each other. Now, then, the Sire of Flavy, having at the instigation of the Sire of La Tremouille drawn the Maid to Compiegne under the pretext of requesting her assistance in behalf of the good people of the town, pushed the fighting maid forward and then had the drawbridge raised behind her, so that, to make a long story short, she is taken. It is now for us to draw the largest possible advantage from our capture, for which we paid ten thousand shining gold sous to John of Luxembourg. Now let us sum up. The English soldiers are convinced that as long as Joan lives they will be beaten by the French. If this continues, the rule of England in Gaul will crumble down to nothing, and we will be buried under the ruins. In order to protect ourselves against such a misfortune, what is to be done? Restore confidence to the English by freeing them from their bogie—Joan! Accordingly, Joan must die. The Maid must be burned alive."
Canon Loyseleur—"Logic so orders. She must be tried, sentenced and burned."
Bishop Cauchon—"Certes. Logice, she must be roasted; but right there a serious difficulty arises. It is this: The English captains, proud and imbued with the principles of chivalry, would have considered it an act of cowardice simply and merely to kill a prisoner who had vanquished them by the force of military genius. They feared that if they had Joan killed in her prison they would incur the contempt of all who carry spurs and swords. In view of that, the Cardinal of Winchester and myself held to them the following language: 'You, captains, can not order the death of a warrior who has fallen into your hands by the accidents of war. But the Church can. More than that, the Church must, at the first call of the Holy Inquisition, proceed against a witch, an invoker of demons, must convict her of sorcery and heresy, and deliver her to the secular arm, which will then burn her, roast her to the greater glory of God.'"
Canon Loyseleur—"It is the right of the Church, our holy mother."
Bishop Cauchon—"And she will exercise the right. Then, as soon as the Maid shall be delivered to the executioner as a witch, the terror of the English soldiers will vanish, they will pick up courage, and the power of the English rule in Gaul, now tottering to its fall, will be reaffirmed. The Sire of La Tremouille continues to serve us in the hope of obtaining Poitou for his domain; the English army will reconquer all that it has recently lost, and will invade the remaining provinces; completely dispossessed and although consecrated at Rheims, Charles VII will go to live in London, like the good King John II, his great grandfather did; he will forget all about his kingdom of France; we will have nothing more to fear; and the archepiscopal see of Rouen will be mine. The question being thus clearly understood, the point now is, to have Joan roasted, in other words to have her convicted of heresy."
Canon Loyseleur—"It all depends upon that, monseigneur. We shall conduct the matter according to your wishes."
Bishop Cauchon—"Yes, all, absolutely everything, depends upon that. Now, let us look into the chances of the process that we are to institute against her. The first obstacle is this: A direct appeal of Charles VII to the Pope. That prince may possibly request the Holy Father to use his omnipotent influence against the Inquisition's pursuing its trial of the Maid for heresy. It is to her that Charles owes his crown. Before the consecration at Rheims he was quasi uncrowned. The most common gratitude, the least human regard would dictate the measure to him, even if he were certain of failing. But we know what the gratitude of kings amounts to."
Canon Loyseleur—"I received a formal assurance at my interview with the emissary of the Sire of La Tremouille and the Bishop of Chartres that such an application on the part of Charles VII will not be made. The process of heresy will be allowed to take its course peacefully. Besides, the Bishop of Chartres is commissioned to notify the notables of Rheims of the capture of the Maid, and to foreshadow the fate that awaits her. He expressed himself in the following terms which his emissary transmitted to me and which I wrote down. They are these: (he reads) 'The Bishop of Chartres hereby notifies the people of Rheims that the Maid has been captured before Compiegne, as a result of her disinclination to listen to any counsel, and wishing to act only at her own pleasure.' The Bishop adds: 'As to the rumor that is rife that the English will put the Maid to death, God has so willed it because she set herself up in pride, wore male attire, and did not obey the orders of God.'[111] So you see, monseigneur, after such a letter, written by a bishop, a member of the royal council, we may rest assured that Charles VII will neither directly nor indirectly attempt anything with the Holy Father in the matter of the process. She is dropped and renounced by the King."
Bishop Cauchon—"Furthermore, we have the certainty that Charles VII and his council are secretly as desirous as ourselves of having Joan burned. Accordingly, they will not intervene with the secular, seeing that they will not do so with the clerical, power. For the last six months the Maid has been dragged from prison to prison, and have Charles VII or his council made a shadow of a move with the King of England in favor of the prisoner? Could he not demand her either under bail or in exchange for English prisoners? Idle attempts, perhaps; but they would at least have been a sign of that self-respect that ingrates always feel it necessary to display."
Canon Loyseleur—"Nevertheless, monseigneur, allow me to put you a question. Joan was taken on May 24 of last year, 1430. Since then she has been a prisoner. Why this delay in starting the process? Why not taken, sentenced and executed?"
Bishop Cauchon—"I shall answer your question, and you will see that I was not to blame. The news of Joan's capture reached us on the morning of May 25. The very next day, the registrar of Paris, acting under my orders, addressed in the name and under the seal of the Inquisitor of France a summons to Monseigneur the Duke of Burgundy, who is the suzerain of John of Luxembourg, one of whose equerries was the captor of the Maid. The summons was to the effect that the said Joan be surrendered to the jurisdiction of the said Inquisitor, to the end that she may answer, in the words of the good formula 'to the good council, favor and aid of the good doctors and masters of the University of Paris.'"
Canon Loyseleur—"But, monseigneur, four or five months passed before the summons of the Inquisitor received an answer. The preliminaries of the process might have been shortened, and the Maid delivered to the executioner before this."
Bishop Cauchon—"Do you not know that the decisions of the University of Paris—an ecclesiastical body, that, however, has a hand in politics—have a powerful influence not only upon the majority of the higher clergy which upholds the English rule, but also upon the bishops who have remained faithful to the royalist party? Now, then, did not the latter, yielding to popular clamor, declare through the medium of the clerics gathered at Poitiers two years ago for the purpose of interrogating Joan, that 'she is neither a heretic nor a witch, and Charles VII may without endangering his salvation, avail himself of the aid that she brought him'? Very well, then. That opinion found partisans, even in the bosom of the University of Paris, which is an enlightened body and little inclined to believe in witches. The University was at first recalcitrant to my project of itself undertaking the process of heresy against Joan. It took me a long time, many negotiations and not a little money, to convince the objectors that from a political point of view it was of the highest importance to seem to believe in the witchery of Joan, and thus to deliver her to the flames, without which her influence would continue to assert itself, despite her captivity, and that such an influence, disastrous to the English, beneficent to the French, might, as it came very near doing, make Charles VII master of Paris. What would then happen? The University would be shorn of its power, its members would be proscribed and stripped of their privileges. In order to escape such a danger, it was imperative to break the instrument that threatened it, in other words, have Joan burned as a witch. (Laughing) It is a fact, we must always go back to the fagot. The pyre is our supreme argument."
Canon Loyseleur—"And finally, monseigneur, did the University start the process?"
Bishop Cauchon—"Yes; but that was only a slight success. The opposition that I had to overcome with many of the members of the University caused me to fear for the issue if it depended wholly upon them. I wished to have the process started by the University, and then continued before an ecclesiastical tribunal devoted to myself. After sedulous endeavors to reach the desired end I hit upon the right means. It is quite ingenious and worthy of us, whose mission it is to lead men by the nose. You may judge for yourself. Where was the Maid captured?"
Canon Loyseleur—"In Compiegne."
Bishop Cauchon—"To what diocese does Compiegne belong? Follow my reasoning closely."
Canon Loyseleur—"To the diocese of Beauvais."
Bishop Cauchon—"Who is Bishop of Beauvais by the grace of intrigues, the intervention of pretty courtesans and divine consent?"
Canon Loyseleur—"You, monseigneur; you are in possession of the bishopric."
Bishop Cauchon (rubbing his hands)—"So, there you have it! The Maid, taken on the territory of my diocese, falls within my jurisdiction. I am her judge. The University started the process, but will conduct it before an ecclesiastical tribunal chosen by myself. I have appointed to that tribunal the canons of the chapter of Rouen and the priests of the University of Paris who are faithful to me. I have above all placed in the tribunal a number of Norman beneficiaries whose interests place body and soul on the side of the English. I have also convoked a few young laureates of the college, but only such as are little versed in affairs. My choice of them flatters their pride and assures me their blind support. Among these I may name William Erard, Nicole Midi, Thomas of Courcelles, rising luminaries of theology and canon law. The tribunal is entirely my creature. It can begin operations to-morrow, according to inquisitorial laws. That subject, dear canon, brings me to the matter that concerns you personally. I mean the great service that you can render England. The Duke will not show his gratitude to you in the manner that Charles VII did to Joan. You will have honors and wealth."
Canon Loyseleur—"What must I do, monseigneur?"
Bishop Cauchon—"You are acquainted with the inquisitorial law. Its proceedings are simple, and go straight to the point. The sixteenth decretal formally sets forth: 'The judges of heretics have the faculty to proceed in a simplified manner, direct, without the noise of advocates, or form of judgment.'"
Canon Loyseleur—"Simpliciter et de plano, absque advocatorum ac judiciorum strepitu et figura—The text is formal."
Bishop Cauchon—"Whence it follows that myself and the inquisitor John Lemaitre will constitute a sufficient authority to apply to Joan the law against heretics. But in order to do that she must give us proofs of her heresy. There is where we run up against a grave difficulty, which it will be for you to remove."
Canon Loyseleur—"How, monseigneur? What must I do?"
Bishop Cauchon—"However devoted to me the judges of the tribunal may be, they will require some proofs in order to condemn Joan and protect the dignity of the Church. Now, then, the she-devil has a reputation for craftiness. I have read her answers to the interrogatories at Poitiers. She more than once astounded and embarrassed the judges by her quick wit or by the loftiness of her answers. It must not go at Rouen as it did at Poitiers. This is the summary course that I would stamp upon the process, to the end that Joan may not escape. To obtain from herself condemnatory admissions, and pronounce her guilty upon them. And then after her sentence to find means of causing her to make a public recantation and to admit her to penitence."
Canon Loyseleur (stupefied)—"But if she renounces her errors, then she is not condemned, monseigneur! If she is admitted to penitence, then she can not be burned!"
Bishop Cauchon—"Patience, listen. If Joan abjures her errors, she is admitted to penitence. We shall have given a proof of our gentleness and indulgence. At any rate the fools will think so."
Canon Loyseleur—"If Joan escapes the fagot your end is not reached."
Bishop Cauchon—"For one day. Immediately after she must be led by some skilful method to relapse into her previous heretical conduct. We may even get her to maintain that her abjuration was the result of a snare, a surprise. We can thus lead her to persevere in her damnable errors. The criminal relapse then gives us the right to condemn the penitent as 'relapsed.' We abandon her to the secular arm, and by it she is delivered to the executioner. Thus, the appearances of ecclesiastical charity being saved, the full burden will fall upon Joan herself."
Canon Loyseleur—"The proposal is excellent. But how to carry it out?"
Bishop Cauchon—"I shall come to that presently. Let us first consider what flagrant proofs of heresy we must find in Joan's answers. One example will explain my thoughts to you. The girl pretends to have seen saints and angels and to have heard supernatural voices. Now, then, in the eye of the Church and its holy canons Joan has not the sufficient and recognized, quality to converse and hold commerce with the blessed beings of paradise. In the eye of the canon law, the visions and apparitions of the said Joan, so far from proceeding from God, and emanating from celestial beings—"
Canon Loyseleur—"Proceed directly from Satan. A flagrant proof that Joan is an invoker of devils, hence a witch, hence deserving of the fagot."
Bishop Cauchon—"One moment—a stone lies there in our way. It will have to be removed."
Canon Loyseleur—"What stone, monseigneur? I do not see the said stone."
Bishop Cauchon—"Our canon law admits a qualification in avowals concerning supernatural matters. Thus the tribunal would find itself prevented from passing sentence upon the Maid, if by some mishap, instead of her declaring affirmatively: 'I have heard the voices,' she were to say: 'I believe I heard the voices.' The doubtful form would cause the principal charge to fall. Now, then, I fear that whether guided by the instinct of self-preservation, or whether properly indoctrinated in advance, Joan may give her answers such a form as to perfidiously raise an unsurmountable obstacle in our way. Do you understand me?"
Canon Loyseleur—"Perfectly, monseigneur. But how shall we manage it that instead of saying: 'I believe I heard the voices,' Joan shall say: 'I have heard the voices'?"
Bishop Cauchon—"Nothing is simpler. All we need is to have a councilor, in whom Joan may have full confidence, dictate to her certain answers that will be certain to lead to her condemnation."
Canon Loyseleur—"Monseigneur, the girl is of extraordinary intelligence and is gifted with exceptional sound judgment. That is her reputation. How can we expect her to repose blind confidence in an unknown adviser?"
Bishop Cauchon—"My son in Christ, what is your name?"
Canon Loyseleur—"My name is Nicolas Loyseleur."[112]
Bishop Cauchon—"I believe the name is truly predestined."
Canon Loyseleur—"Predestined?"
Bishop Cauchon (laughing)—"Without a doubt. What is the way that the skilful fowler practices the piping of birds in order to attract the mistrusting partridge? He skilfully imitates the bird's chirping, and the latter believing one of his kind near, flies in the direction of the deceitful voice and falls into the snare. Now, then, my worthy canon, the apostle St. Peter was a fisher of men, you shall be a decoyer of women—to the greater glory of our order."
Canon Loyseleur (after a moment's reflection)—"I vaguely perceive your thought, monseigneur."
Bishop Cauchon—"The Maid will arrive towards morning in Rouen. Her cell, her irons are ready. Well, then, it is necessary that when she enters her cell in the morning, she find you there. You must be a companion in her misery, and presently her confidant."
Canon Loyseleur—"I, monseigneur! Such a mission for me!"
Bishop Cauchon—"You—in chains, hands and feet. You will moan. You will sigh at the cruelty of the English, at the severity with which I, a bishop, allow a poor priest to be treated whose only crime is that he remained faithful to the King of France. That is the outline of your role."
Canon Loyseleur (smiling)—"Our divine master said: 'Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, and unto God what is God's.'"
Bishop Cauchon—"What is the application of that quotation! It is out of all connection."
Canon Loyseleur—"Let us render to the Inquisition what belongs to the Inquisition. The method that you propose is skilful, I admit. But it has been practiced before upon the great Albigensian heretics as is attested by the following seventh decretal of the inquisitorial law: 'Let none approach the heretic, except, from time to time, one or two faithful persons, who cautiously, and as if greatly moved by pity for him, shall give him advice,' etc., etc."[113]
Bishop Cauchon—"Well! Just because the method has often been successfully put in practice by the Inquisition it is sure to succeed again! I do not mean to plume myself upon having invented it. It goes without saying that being Joan's fowler you are also to be among her judges. To the end that you may enjoy the results of your skilful chirping, I reserved a place for you on the tribunal. You will sit in your robes with your cowl wholly over your head; it will conceal your face. Joan will not be able to recognize you. Informer and judge—it is agreed."
Canon Loyseleur—"It will be all the more necessary, seeing that, thanks to my quality of priest, it will be easy for me to induce the girl to confess. In that case, you realize the tremendous advantage that may be gained over her, through her sincerely made avowals before the sacred tribunal of penitence."
Bishop Cauchon (transported with joy)—"Canon! Canon! The Regent of England and the Cardinal of Winchester will worthily reward your zeal. You shall be bishop; I, archbishop."
Canon Loyseleur—"My reward is in myself, monseigneur. What I do, I do, as you said, to the greater glory of our Church, and above all to its great profit. I feel outraged at the sight of a stupid mob attributing supernatural powers and divine relations to this peasant girl, who, according to canonical law, has none of the qualities for such celestial commerce. I feel for Joan the hatred, vigorous and legitimate, that the captains, her rivals, pursue her with. 'What is the use,' they justly said, 'of being born noble? What is the use of growing old in the harness, if it is enough for a cowherdess to come and our illustrious houses are eclipsed?' You tax Charles VII with ingratitude, monseigneur. You are wrong. By showing himself ungrateful, he asserts his royal dignity. His conduct is politic when he repudiates the services of the Maid. Charles VII could not intervene in Joan's behalf without thereby making the admission, disgraceful to his Majesty—'A vassal has rendered the crown to a descendant of the Frankish Kings.' England, the Church, the knighthood of France, Charles VII and his council—all are interested in having the Maid burned alive. And she shall be roasted, even if I should myself have to light the pyre!"
Bishop Cauchon (laughing)—"That is too much zeal, canon! In her infinite mercy, our holy mother the Church sends people to the pyre but never herself burns them with her maternal hands. Execution is the province of the secular arm. Thanks to your spiritual aid, it will be done that way with Joan. She shall be roasted as a relapsed heretic, and the Church will have shown herself full of clemency to the very end. Our triumph will have results of an importance that you do not dream of. Joan will become even in the eyes of her partisans the most despicable of creatures. We shall burn her body and we shall stain her name and fame for now and evermore."
Canon Loyseleur—"How, monseigneur? I do not quite grasp your meaning."
Bishop Cauchon—"I shall prove to you to-morrow what I am now saying. In the meantime we must also see what advantage we can draw from the otherwise annoying chastity of the she-devil. Because, may God pardon me, she is still a virgin. But it is growing late. Go and take a few hours of rest. To-morrow early you must be all sorrow, moans and sighs, with irons to your hands and feet and lying upon straw in the cell of Joan."
The canon departs; the Bishop remains alone. He busies himself with the preparation of the process and the drawing up of a series of questions based upon the actions and words of Joan the Maid.
It is still night. A lamp feebly lights a dark subterraneous cell in the old donjon of the Castle of Rouen. The cell is a semi-circular cave. Its greenish walls ooze with the moisture of winter. A narrow window, furnished with an enormous iron bar is cut in a stone wall six feet thick. Opposite the airhole and under a vaulted passage is a massive door studded with iron and pierced with a grated wicket always kept open. A wooden box filled with straw lies to the left of the door; a long chain that is soldered in the wall and the other end of which is fastened to a heavy iron belt, now open, lies on the straw. At one end of the box, that is to serve as a bed, rises a beam so contrived as to hold fast the feet of the girl prisoner that is soon to be conveyed thither. A trunk, a stool, a table, the sorrowful furniture of a prisoner's cell, are barely distinguishable by the light of the lamp. Opposite this straw bed is another, furnished exactly like the first. On it lies Canon Loyseleur, in chains. He has just said a few words to the jailer John, an English soldier in burly middle age, who wears an old fur coat, and whose low and savage face is bloated by excessive indulgence in wine and strong liquors. His thick long beard, unkempt like his hair, falls down upon his chest. A cutlass hangs at his side. Presently another man of hang-dog looks pushes open the door and says to John:
"Come, quick. Here is the witch!"
The jailer goes out precipitately, makes a sign of intelligence to the canon and carries the lamp out. The canon stretches himself on the straw and pretends to sleep. The door is double locked on the outside. The weak light of approaching dawn, so pale in those winter days, filters through the airhole of the cell, yet leaves the interior in substantial darkness. The bed occupied by the canon lies completely in the shadow. The scene is about to begin.
Again the heavy door grates on its hinges. Joan Darc enters preceded by John. He casts a savage look upon her. Two other jailers, also armed, follow their chief. One of them has a hammer and shears in his hands, the other carries on his shoulder a small box containing some clothes that belong to the prisoner. Joan is hardly recognizable. Since her prolonged sojourn in a succession of prisons, the fresh color of the child of the fields or of the martial maid always living in the open has disappeared. Her beautiful face, now furrowed with suffering and worn with sorrow, is of a sickly hue. A bitter smile contracts her lips. Her appearance is sad yet proud. Her black eyes seem enlarged through the hollowness of her cheeks. She wears a woman's felt hat, a brown tunic and tight hose fastened with hooks to her shirt. The laces of her leather shoes are hidden under two large iron rings held together by a chain that is hardly long enough to allow her to walk. Close manacles hold her hands together. Her clothes, worn out and tattered by her journey, are ripped at the elbows and allow glimpses of a coarse shirt. The English soldiers charged to guard the heroine have received orders not to lose sight of her night or day, and to sleep in her room during the few halts that were made. As her chastity would not allow her to undress in their presence, she has not removed her clothes for a whole month.
John orders his aides to unchain the prisoner and to fasten her firmly to the straw bed. They approach her with an insolence that is not unmixed with fear. In their eyes she is a witch. They are always in fear of some sorcery. Nevertheless they first place around her waist the heavy iron belt, lock it, and give the key to John. The length of the chain, that is fastened at the other end to the wall, barely allows her to sit down or stretch herself out upon the litter. Being thus secured to her new fastenings, one of the jailers begins to remove her traveling irons. With a hammer he strikes a chisel which he applied to the jointure of the manacles and these drop from Joan's sore wrists. With a sigh of relief she stretches out her aching and swollen arms. Her feet are then unchained, to be immediately secured in the rings at the end of the chain that is fastened to the beam at the foot of the litter, on which, worn out with fatigue and broken with sadness, the martial maid drops in a sitting posture and covers her face with her hands.
John orders his men out and casts a knowing look at Canon Loyseleur. The latter has not yet been noticed by the prisoner, as he crouches in a corner that lies wholly in the dark. The jailer goes out and locks the door. Through the wicket the iron casques of the two sentinels, posted on the outside, are seen passing and repassing. Invisible in the thick darkness, which the feeble light that filters through the airhole is unable to dispel, the canon holds his breath and observes Joan. With her face in her hands, she remains profoundly absorbed in her own thoughts—painful, heartrending thoughts. She indulges in no false hopes. Charles VII has abandoned her to her executioners. For some time she had known the egotism, cowardice and ingratitude of the prince. Twice she had wished to leave him to his fate, indignant and shocked at his cowardice. But out of patriotism she had resigned herself to cover him with her glory, knowing that in the eyes of the people France was personified in the King. This notwithstanding, the heroine at first expected that the prince would endeavor to save her. He owed everything to her, only from him could she expect some degree of pity. Enlightened by so many evidences on the envy and hatred that the captains pursued her with, she in no way counted with help from that quarter; after so many attempts at infamous treason, they had finally succeeded in delivering her to the English before Compiegne. For a moment, in the innocence of her heart, she expected aid from the charity of the clergy, the bishops who at Poitiers declared that Charles VII could with a safe conscience accept the unexpected aid that she brought him in the name of God. She hoped for the intervention of the ecclesiastics who were so anxious to admit her, to communion and to confession, who sang her praises, and who, with all the pomp of the church, celebrated the feast of the 8th of May, a commemorative anniversary of the raising of the siege of Orleans, a religious solemnity ordered by the bishop of the diocese, which comprised an imposing procession of the clergy, who marched at the head of the councilmen, holding wax candles in their hands, and made its pious stations at the several spots that had been the theater of the glorious deeds of the Maid.
But Joan now no longer indulged in false hopes. The clergy, like the King, abandoned her to her executioners. Other priests of Christ would judge and condemn her. The English who brought her in chains often told her on the route: "You are going to be burned, witch! We have priests in Rouen who will send you to the pyre!"
Convinced by these words that she need expect neither mercy nor justice from the ecclesiastical tribunal before which she was about to be arraigned, and overpowered by the bitter disillusionment, the recollections of which stabbed her heart without souring her angelic spirit, Joan asked herself in a perplexity of doubt, why did the Lord forsake her, her the instrument of His divine will? Her who was ever obedient to the saintly voices that she heard so distinctly, and that since her captivity still repeated to her: "Go, daughter of God! Fear not—submit meekly to your martyrdom. You have fulfilled your duty—heaven is with you!"
And yet heaven delivered her to the English, her implacable enemies!
And yet the priests of the Lord were impatient, it was told her on all hands, to sentence her to the flames!
These contradictions profoundly troubled the prisoner. Often she was overcome with sadness, whenever she thought of her uncompleted mission—the soil of Gaul was not yet completely delivered from the foreign rule!
Such are the thoughts of Joan at this hour when, with her face hidden in her hands, she sits on the straw of her cell, and is yet ignorant of the presence of Canon Loyseleur. Suddenly the girl trembles with surprise, almost fright. From the midst of the darkness at the opposite side she hears a compassionate voice addressing her, and the following dialogue ensues:
Canon Loyseleur—"Raise your head, virgin! The Lord will not forsake you! He watches over you!"
Joan Darc—"Who is speaking to me?"
Canon Loyseleur (rising on the straw)—"Who speaks to you? A poor old priest—a good Christian and royalist—a victim to his loyalty, to his faith, and to his King—crimes that the English do not pardon. For more than a year have I lived chained in this dungeon, and have asked but one favor of my Creator—to be recalled to Him! Alack! I have suffered so much! But I forget my sufferings since I am permitted to behold the holy maid, the virgin inspired by heaven, vanquisher of the English, deliverer of Gaul! May her name be glorified!"
Joan Darc (tenderly)—"Not so loud, my Father! You might be heard. I fear not for myself, but I fear for your sake the anger of the jailers."
Canon Loyseleur (with exaltation and a ringing voice)—"What can the English, whom I abhor, these enemies of our beloved country, do to me? I pray God to send me martyrdom, if He thinks me worthy of such a glorious aureola!"
John (appearing at the wicket and affecting rage)—"If you keep on screaming like that, I shall have you whipped till you bleed!"
Canon Loyseleur (with greater exaltation)—"Hack my limbs to pieces! Tear my scalp from my skull, ferocious beast! Unto death shall I cry: 'Glory to God—Long live King Charles VII! Anathema upon the English!'"
John (still at the wicket)—"The captain of the tower will soon be here. I shall notify him of the danger there is in leaving you in the same cell with that witch, with whom you might enter into wicked machinations, you tonsured devil! But if you continue to scream, your flesh will be flayed!" (He withdraws from the wicket.)
Canon Loyseleur (shaking his chains)—"Heathen! Criminal! Idolater! You will burn in hell!"
Joan Darc (beseechingly)—"Good Father, calm yourself; do not irritate that man. He will remove you from me, if you do. Oh, in my distress, it would be a great consolation to me to hear the word of a priest of our Lord. Do not withdraw your support from me."
Canon Loyseleur (contritely)—"May God pardon me for having yielded to an impulse of anger! I would regret the act doubly if it were to cause these wicked men to separate me from you. (In a low voice and feigning to look toward the wicket with fear of being overheard) I have hoped to be useful to you—perhaps to save you—by my advice—"
Joan Darc—"What say you, good Father?"
Canon Loyseleur (still in a low voice)—"I have hoped to be able to give you useful advice in the matter of the process that is to be instituted against you, and keep you from falling into the snares that those unworthy priests will surely spread before you. Those judges are simoniacal, they have been sold to the English. I hoped to be able to admit you to confession and to the ineffable happiness of communion, that you have probably been long deprived of."
Joan Darc (sighing)—"Since my captivity I have not been able to approach the sacred table!"
Canon Loyseleur—"I have succeeded in concealing from the jailers some consecrated wafers. But so far from reserving the bread of the angels for myself alone, I wished to invite you to the celestial feast!"
Joan Darc (clasping her hands in pious delight)—"Oh, Father! Good Father! How thankful I shall be to you!"
Canon Loyseleur (hurriedly, but in a still lower voice, and casting furtive glances hither and thither)—"Our moments are precious. I may be taken away from here any time. I know not whether I shall ever again see you, holy maid. Give me your full attention. Remember my advice. It may save you. You must know that to-morrow, perhaps to-day, you will be arraigned before an ecclesiastical tribunal on the charges of heresy and witchcraft."
Joan Darc—"The English who brought me hither a prisoner have announced the tribunal to me. I am to be condemned."
Canon Loyseleur—"The threat is not idle. Yesterday my jailer said to me: 'You will soon have Joan the witch as your cell-mate; she is to be tried, sentenced and burned as a magician who sold herself to Satan, and as a heretic'!"
Joan Darc (trembling)—"My God!"
Canon Loyseleur—"What is the matter, my dear daughter? You seem to tremble!"
Joan Darc (with a shiver)—"Oh, Father! May God stand by me! Thanks to Him, I never knew fear! (She covers her face with her hands in terror.) I, burned! Oh, Lord God! Burned! What a frightful death!"
Canon Loyseleur—"You are well justified in your fears. The purpose of the tribunal is to send you to the pyre."
Joan Darc (in a smothered voice)—"And yet they are priests! What harm have I done them? Why do they persecute me?"
Canon Loyseleur—"Oh, my daughter, do not blaspheme that sacred name of priest by applying it to those tigers who thirst for blood."
Joan Darc—"Pardon me, Father!"
Canon Loyseleur (in a voice of tender commiseration)—"Sweet and dear child, need you fear a word of blame from my mouth? No, no. It was but a generous impulse of indignation that carried me away against those new Pharisees who conspire to kill you, as their predecessors years ago conspired to kill Jesus our Redeemer! I am a clerk of theology. I know the manner in which such tribunals as you are about to face are wont to proceed. I know your life; the glorious voice of your fame has informed me of your noble deeds."
Joan Darc (dejectedly)—"Oh, if I had only remained home sewing and spinning. I would not now be in imminent danger of death!"
Canon Loyseleur—"Come, daughter of God, no weakness! Did not the Lord tell you by the voice of two of His saints and of His archangel: 'Go, daughter of God! Go to the aid of the King. You will deliver Gaul'?"
Joan Darc—"Yes, Father."
Canon Loyseleur—"As to those voices, did you hear them?"
Joan Darc—"Yes, Father."
Canon Loyseleur (pressingly)—"You heard them, the sacred voices? With your bodily ears?"
Joan Darc—"As clearly as I hear your voice at this moment."
Canon Loyseleur—"And you saw your saints? You saw them with your own eyes?"
Joan Darc—"As I see you."
Canon Loyseleur (delighted)—"Oh, dear daughter! Hold that language before the ecclesiastical tribunal, and you are saved! You will then escape the snare that they will spread before you."
Joan Darc—"Please explain what you mean, dear Father and protector."
Canon Loyseleur—"However perverse, however iniquitous these tribunals of blood may be, they are nevertheless composed of men who are clothed with a sacred character. These priests must save appearances towards one another and the public. Your judges will tell you with a confidential and benign air: 'Joan, you claim to have seen St. Marguerite, St. Catherine and St. Michael, the archangel; you claim to have heard their voices. Can it not have been an illusion of your senses? If so, the senses, due to their grossness, are liable to error. The Church will be slow to impute to you as a crime what may be only a carnal error.' Now, then, my poor child (the canon's features are screwed into an expression of anxious concern) if, misled by such insidious language, and thinking to see in it a means of escape, you were to answer: 'Indeed, I do not affirm that I saw the saints and the archangel, I do not affirm that I heard their voices, but I believe to have seen, I believe to have heard,' if you should say that, dear and holy child, you will be lost! (Joan makes a motion of terror) This is why: To recoil before the affirmation that you have actually seen and heard, to present the fact in the form of a doubt, would be to draw upon your head the charge of falsehood, blasphemy, and heresy in the highest degree. You would be charged (in an increasingly threatening voice) with having made sport of the most sacred things! You would be charged with having, thanks to such diabolical jugglery, deceived the people by holding yourself out as inspired by God, whom you would be outraging in a most infamous, abominable, impious manner! (In a frightful hollow voice) They would then pronounce upon you a terrible excommunication cutting you off from the Church as a gangrened, rotten, infected limb! You would thereupon be delivered to the secular arm, you would be taken to the pyre and burned alive for a heretic, an apostate, an idolater! The ashes of your body will be cast to the winds!"
Joan Darc, pale with fear, utters a piercing cry. She is terrified.
Canon Loyseleur (aside)—"The pyre frightens her. She is ours! (He joins his hands imploringly and points to the wicket where the face of John reappears.) Silence! Joan, my dear daughter, you will ruin us both!"
John (roughly, through the wicket)—"You are still making a noise and screaming! Must I come in and make you behave?"
Canon Loyseleur (brusquely)—"The irons of my poor mate have wounded her. Pain drew from her an involuntary cry."
John—"She has not yet reached the end! She will scream much louder on the pyre that awaits her, the miserable witch!"
Canon Loyseleur (seeming hardly able to contain his indignation)—"Jailer, have at least the charity of not insulting our distress. Have pity for the poor girl!"
John withdraws grumbling. Joan Darc, overwhelmed with terror, has fallen back upon the straw and represses her sobs. After the jailer's withdrawal she slightly regains courage, rises partly and the dialogue proceeds:
Joan Darc—"Pardon my weakness, Father. Oh, the mere thought of such a horrible death—the thought of mounting a pyre!" (She does not finish the sentence, and sobs violently.)
Canon Loyseleur—"By placing before you the frightful fate reserved to you, in case you are snared, I wished to put you upon your guard against your enemies."
Joan Darc (wiping her tears, and in an accent of profound gratitude)—"God will reward you, good Father, for the great pity you show me, a stranger to you."
Canon Loyseleur—"You are no stranger to me, Joan. I know you are one of the glories of France! The elect of the Lord! Now listen to the rest of what I have to say to you. I am in a hurry to complete my advice before I am dragged away from here. If, deceived by their perfidious suggestions, you should answer your judges that you believe you saw your saints appear before you, that you believe you heard their voices, instead of resolutely affirming that you saw them with your eyes and heard them with your ears, St. Catherine, St. Marguerite and the archangel St. Michael, sent to you by the Lord—"
Joan Darc—"It is the truth, Father. I shall tell what I saw and heard. I have never lied."
Canon Loyseleur—"The truth must be boldly confessed, in the face of the judges. You must answer them: 'Yes, I have seen these supernatural beings with my eyes; yes, I have heard their marvelous voices with my ears.' Then, dear child, despite all its ill will, the tribunal, unable to catch the slightest hesitation in your words, will be forced to recognize that you are a sacred virgin, the elect, the inspired of heaven. And however perverse, however devoted to the English your judges may be, they will find themselves forced to absolve you and set you free."
Joan Darc (yielding to hope)—"If all that is needed to be saved is to tell the truth, then my deliverance is certain. Thanks to God and to you, good Father. Thanks for your friendly advice!"
Canon Loyseleur—"If circumstantial details are asked for upon the form and shape of your apparitions, refuse to answer. They might be able to draw from your words some improper meaning. Limit yourself to the pure and simple affirmation of the reality of your visions and revelations."
Outside of the cell the noise of numerous steps is heard, together with the rattle of arms and the words: "To your posts! To your posts! Here is the captain of the tower!"
Canon Loyseleur (listens and says to Joan in great hurry)—"It is the captain. Perhaps the jailer will carry out his threat, and take me away from you, dear daughter. There is but one means for us to meet again. Demand of the captain permission to have me as your confessor. He will not dare to decline. I shall then be able to hold to your lips the sacred wafer, the bread of the angels."
The door opens with a great noise. A captain enters, followed by John and other keepers.
The Captain (pointing to the canon)—"Take that tonsured old scamp to another cell, and keep him on a fast."
Canon Loyseleur—"Sir captain, I pray you, allow me to remain near Joan, my daughter in God."
The Captain—"If the witch is your daughter, then you must be Satan in person."
Canon Loyseleur—"For pity's sake, do not separate us!"
The Captain (to John)—"Take away this priest of Beelzebub!"
John (brutally to the canon)—"Come, get up! Be quick about it!"
Canon Loyseleur rises painfully from his couch of straw, clanking his chains all he can and uttering lamentable sighs. Joan advances toward the captain as far as her chain will allow her, and says in a sweet and imploring voice:
Joan Darc—"Sir, grant me a favor that never is denied to a prisoner. Allow me to take this holy man for my confessor."
The Captain—"Your confessor shall be the executioner, strumpet!"
Canon Loyseleur (carrying his chained hands to his eyes)—"Oh, sir captain, you are merciless."
John (rudely pushing the canon)—"March! March! You will have time enough to cry in your cell."
Joan Darc—"Sir captain, do not spurn my prayer—allow the good priest to visit me occasionally as my confessor."
The Captain (feigns to be mollified)—"I shall consult the Duke of Warwick upon that. For the present (to John), take the priest of Satan away and thrust him into some other cell."
Canon Loyseleur (following the jailer)—"Courage, noble Joan! Courage, my daughter! Remember what I told you! May the holy name of God be ever glorified." (He goes out.)
Joan Darc (with tears in her eyes)—"May God guard me from forgetting your advice. May the Lord preserve you, good Father!" (She drops exhausted upon the straw.)
The Captain (to John)—"Remove the irons from the prisoner. She is to be taken upstairs. The tribunal is in session."
Joan Darc (rises and shivers involuntarily)—"So soon!"
The Captain (with a savage laugh)—"At last I see you tremble, witch! Your bravery came from the devil!"
Joan Darc smiles disdainfully. John and another jailer approach her to remove the irons that hold her by the feet and by the waist. She trembles with disgust and becomes purple with shame at the touch of these men's hands while they remove the irons from her limbs and body. Wounded not in her vanity but in her dignity at the thought of appearing before her judges in torn garments she says to the captain:
Joan Darc—"Sir, I have in that little trunk some linen and other clothes. Please order your men out for a few minutes in order that I may dress myself."
The Captain (bursting out laughing)—"By the devil, your patron! If you want to change your clothes, change them before us, and instead of a few minutes, I shall let you have all the time that you may want for your toilet. I would even help you, if you wish it, my pretty witch!"
Joan Darc (blushing with confusion, and with a firm voice)—"Let us be gone to the tribunal. May God help me. You are truly severe in refusing so slight a favor to a prisoner."
The ecclesiastical tribunal before which Joan Darc is to appear is assembled in the ancient chapel of the old Castle of Rouen. The vaults overhead, the walls, the pillars, are blackened with age. It is eight in the morning. The pale light of this winter morn, chilly and foggy, penetrates to the vast nave through a single ogive window, cut into the thick wall behind the platform where the clerical judges are seated under the presidency of Bishop Peter Cauchon. To the left of the tribunal is a table at which the registrars are placed. Their duty is to keep the minutes of the questions and answers. Facing this table is the seat of Peter of Estivet, the institutor of the process. Nothing could be more sinister than the aspect of these men. In order to keep out the cold, they are clad in long furred robes with hoods down and almost completely covering their faces. Their backs are turned to the solitary window from which the only light, and that a weak one, enters the place. Thus they are wholly in the shade. A slight reflection of greyish light fringes the top of their black hoods and glides over their shoulders.
The judges have numerous substitutes to take their places when needed. The priests of the University of Paris are partly reserved for the other sessions. Here are the names of the infamous priests present at this first session. Their names should be inscribed in letters of blood and consigned to eternal execration:
Peter of Longueville, Abbot of the Holy Trinity of Fecamp; John Hulot of Chatillon, Archdeacon of Evreux; James Guesdon of the Order of Minor Friars; John Lefevre, Augustinian monk; Maurice of Quesnay, priest and professor of theology; William Leboucher, priest and doctor of canon law; William of Conti, Abbot of the Trinity of Mount St. Catherine; Bonnel, Abbot of Cormeilles; John Garin, Archdeacon of French Vexin; Richard of Gronchet, canon of the collegiate of Saussaye; Peter Minier, priest and bachelor of theology; Raoul Sauvage, of the Order of St. Dominic; Robert Barbier, canon of Rouen; Denis Gastinel, canon of Notre Dame-la-Ronde; John Ledoux, canon of Rouen; John Basset, canon of Rouen; John Brouillot, chanter of the Cathedral of Rouen; Aubert Morel, canon of Rouen; John Colombelle, canon of Rouen; Laurent Dubust, priest and licentiate of canon law; Raoul Auguy, canon of Rouen; Andre Marguerie, Archdeacon of Petit-Coux; John Alespee, canon of Rouen; Geoffroy of Crotoy, canon of Rouen; Gilles of Les Champs, canon of Rouen; John Lemaitre, vicar and Inquisitor of the faith; finally, Nicolas Loyseleur, canon of Rouen, who completely hides his face under his hood.
The registrars, Thomas of Courcelles, Manchon and Taquel Bois-Guillaume, are at their table ready to take down the proceedings. Canon Peter of Estivet, the institutor of the process, is in his seat. The other members of the ecclesiastical tribunal have taken their places.
Bishop Peter Cauchon (rising)—"My very dear brothers: Peter of Estivet, institutor of the process against Joan the Maid, will concisely state our petition. Listen attentively."
Canon Peter of Estivet (rises, takes a parchment from the table and reads)—"'We, Peter Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais by the grace of God, metropolitan of the town and diocese of Rouen, have convoked you, our very dear brothers, in the name of the venerable and very reverend chapter of the cathedral to examine and judge the facts hereinafter set forth.
"'To the author and consummator of the faith, our Lord Jesus Christ, greeting.
"'A certain woman, commonly named Joan the Maid, has been taken and made a prisoner at Compiegne, within the jurisdiction of our diocese of Beauvais, by the soldiers of our very Christian and Serene Master Henry VI, King of England and of the French.
"'The said woman being strongly suspected by us of heresy, and our duty in the premises being to investigate her on her faith, we have requisitioned and demanded that the said woman be delivered and sent to us. We, Bishop, being informed by public rumor of the acts and deeds of the said Joan, acts and deeds that assail not only our faith but the faith of France and of all christendom, and wishing to proceed in this matter with all speed yet deliberately, have decreed that the said Joan shall be summoned to appear before us and be interrogated concerning her acts and deeds, as well as upon matters that concern the faith, and we have cited her to appear before us in the chapel of the Castle of Rouen, on this twentieth day of February, 1431, at eight o'clock in the morning, in order that she may answer the charges brought against her.'" (The institutor resumes his seat.)
Bishop Peter Cauchon—"Introduce the accused before the tribunal."
Two beadles in black gowns leave the chapel and speedily re-enter leading Joan. Once so resolute, so serene in those days of battle when, cased in her white armor and riding her charger, she dashed upon the enemy, her standard in her hand, the martial maid now shivers with fear at the sight of this tribunal of priests half hidden in the shadow of the chapel and their faces barely visible under their hoods—silent, motionless, like black phantoms. She recalls the words and the advice of Canon Loyseleur, whose presence among her judges she does not remotely suspect. The recollection of his words and advice at once give her heart and fill her with fear. By pretending to give her the means of escaping the snare spread for her, the canon had also informed her that the tribunal was predetermined to deliver her to the pyre. This thought upsets and frightens the prisoner, already weakened by so many sorrows and trials. She feels her knees shake at the first steps that she takes into the chapel, and forced to lean upon the arm of one of the beadles, she halts for a moment. At the sight of the young girl, now hardly nineteen, still so beautiful despite her pallor, thinness and tattered clothes, the ecclesiastical judges contemplate her with somber curiosity, but experience neither concern nor pity for the heroine of so many battles. From the political and religious viewpoint, she is to them an enemy. Their animosity towards her smothers all human sentiment in their breasts. Her great deeds, her genius, her glory irritate them all the more seeing they are conscious of the abominable crime in which they are about to share through ambition, orthodox fanaticism, cupidity and partisan hatred. Presently controlling her emotions, Joan Darc takes courage and advances between the two beadles. They lead her to the foot of the tribunal, and withdraw. She dares not raise her eyes to her judges, respectfully takes off her hat which she keeps in her hand, inclines herself slightly forward, and remains standing before the platform.
Bishop Cauchon (rising)—"Joan, approach (she draws nearer). Our duty as protectors and upholders of the Christian faith, with the aid of our Lord Jesus Christ, compels us to warn you in all charity that, in order to hasten your trial and the peace of your soul, you must tell the truth, the whole truth. In short, answer without subterfuge to our interrogatories. You are to swear on the Holy Scriptures to tell the truth. (To one of the beadles) Bring a missal."
The beadle brings a missal and presents it to Joan.
Bishop Cauchon—"Joan, down on your knees. Swear on that missal to tell the truth."
Joan Darc (mistrustful)—"I know not what you mean to interrogate me upon, sir. You may put such questions to me that I may be unable to answer."
Bishop Cauchon—"You shall swear that you will sincerely answer the questions that we shall put to you concerning your faith—and other things."
Joan Darc (kneels down and puts both her hands on the missal)—"I swear to tell the truth."
Bishop Cauchon—"What are your given names?"
Joan Darc—"In Lorraine I was called Jeannette. Since my arrival in France I have been called Joan. That is my name."
Bishop Cauchon—"Where were you born?"
Joan Darc—"In the village of Domremy, in the valley of Vaucouleurs."
Bishop Cauchon—"What are the names of your father and your mother?"
Joan Darc (with deep emotion)—"My father is named James Darc, my mother Isabelle Romée. These are the names of my dear parents."
Bishop Cauchon—"In what place were you baptized?"
Joan Darc—"In the church of Domremy."
Bishop Cauchon—"Who were your god-father and god-mother?"
Joan Darc—"My god-father's name was John Linguet, my god-mother's Sybille." (At the recollections invoked by this name a tear rolls down her cheek.)
Bishop Cauchon—"This woman claimed to have seen fairies. Did she not pass in the region for a soothsayer and sorceress?"
Joan Darc (with a firmer voice)—"My god-mother was a good and wise woman."
Bishop Cauchon—"What priest baptized you at your birth?"
Joan Darc—"Master John Minet, our curate, a holy man."
Bishop Cauchon—"How old are you?"
Joan Darc—"Nearly nineteen."
Bishop Cauchon—"Do you know your Pater Noster?"
Joan Darc—"My mother taught it to me, and I recite it mornings and evenings." (She sighs.)
Bishop Cauchon—"Will you pledge yourself not to flee from the Castle of Rouen, under pain of passing for a heretic?"
Joan Darc (remains silent for a moment and reflects; by degrees she regains her self-assurance; she answers in a firm voice)—"I shall not take that pledge. I will not promise not to seek to flee, if the opportunity offers."
Raoul Sauvage (threateningly)—"Your chains will then be doubled, to keep you from escaping."
Joan Darc—"It is allowed to all prisoners to escape from their prison."
Bishop Cauchon (with severity, after consulting in a low voice with several of the judges sitting near him)—"The rebellious words of the said Joan having been heard, we shall particularly commit her to the keeping of the noble John Le Gris, a guardsman of our Sire, the King of England and France, and join to John Le Gris the equerries Berwick and Talbot, English men-at-arms. All the three are hereby charged to keep the prisoner, and we recommend to them not to allow anyone to approach her or to speak with her without our permission. (Addressing himself to the tribunal) Those of our very dear brothers who have any question to put to the accused, are now free to do so."
A Judge—"Joan, do you swear to tell the whole truth? I await your answer."
Joan Darc (with dignity)—"I have sworn; that is enough. I never lie."
The Same Judge—"Did you in your infancy learn to work like the other girls of the fields?"
Joan Darc—"My mother taught me to sew and to spin, and also the labors of the field."
Another Judge—"Did you have a confessor?"
Joan Darc—"Yes, the curate of our parish is my confessor and spiritual guide."
The Same Judge—"Did you confess your revelations to your curate or to any other man of the church?"
Joan Darc—"No, I said nothing upon that."
The priests exchange meaning glances and a few words in a low voice.
The Same Judge—"Why that secrecy towards your curate?"
Joan Darc—"Had I spoken about my apparitions my father and mother would have opposed my undertaking."
Another Judge—"Do you think you committed a sin in leaving your father and your mother, contrary to the precept of the Scriptures—'Thou shalt honor thy father and mother'?"
Joan Darc—"I never disobeyed them before I left them. But I wrote to them; they pardoned me."
The Same Judge—"Accordingly, you think you can violate without sin the commandments of the church?"
Joan Darc—"God commanded me to go to the aid of Orleans. I would not have been the King's servant had I not departed."
Bishop Cauchon (with a significant look at the judges)—"You claim, Joan, to have had revelations, visions—at what age did that happen to you?"
Joan Darc—"I was then thirteen and a half years old. It was noon, in summer. I had fasted the previous day. I heard the voice, that seemed to proceed from the church. At the same time I saw a great light that dazzled me."
Bishop Cauchon (slowly and weighing every word)—"You say you heard voices—are you quite certain?"
Joan Darc (to herself: Here is the snare that the good priest warned me against—I shall escape it by telling the truth)—"I heard the voices as clearly as I hear yours, Sir Bishop."
Bishop Cauchon—"Do you affirm that?"
Joan Darc—"Yes, sir; because it is the truth."
Bishop Cauchon (lets his eyes travel triumphantly over the tribunal; his gesture is understood; a momentary silence ensues; then to the registrars)—"Have you taken down textually the prisoner's answer?"
A Registrar—"Yes, monseigneur."
A Judge—"And in France, Joan, did you there also hear those voices?"
Joan Darc—"Yes, sir."
Another Judge—"Whence do you suppose came those voices?"
Joan Darc (with an accent of profound conviction)—"The voices came from God."
Another Judge—"What do you know about that?"
Another Judge—"What were the circumstances under which you were captured at Compiegne?"
Another Judge—"Who dictated the letter that you addressed to the English?"
These unrelated and cross questions followed close upon one another for the purpose of confusing Joan.
Joan Darc (after a moment's silence)—"If you all question me at once, sirs, I shall be unable to answer any of you."
Bishop Cauchon—"Well, what makes you believe that the voices you speak about were divine?"
Joan Darc—"They told me to behave like an honest girl, and that with the aid of God I would save France."
A Judge—"Was it revealed to you that if you lost your virginity you would forfeit your luck in war?"