Joan Darc—"Yes, sir."

Bishop Cauchon (deliberately)—"You are certain of having seen the apparition?"

Joan Darc—"I saw my dear saints as clearly as I see you, sir."

Bishop Cauchon—"You affirm that?"

Joan Darc—"I affirm it upon my salvation."

Renewed and profound silence among the judges; several of them take notes; others exchange a few words in a low voice.

A Judge—"By what sign did you recognize those whom you call St. Catherine and St. Marguerite to have been saints?"

Joan Darc—"By their saintliness."

Bishop Cauchon—"And the archangel St. Michael appeared before you?"

Joan Darc—"Yes, sir; several times."

A Judge—"How is he clad?"

Joan Darc (recollecting the advice of Canon Loyseleur)—"I do not know."

The same Judge—"You refuse to answer? Was the angel perhaps quite nude?"

Joan Darc (blushing)—"Do you imagine God has not the wherewithal to clothe him?"

Bishop Cauchon—"Your language is quite bold. Do you consider yourself under the protection of God?"

These noble words, pronounced by the martial maid in the conviction of her innocence, and indicative of her mistrust of her judges, announce a change in her spirit, a fortitude not there when the interrogatory commenced. She had secretly invoked her "voices" and they had answered—"Go on; fear not; answer the wicked priests boldly; you have nothing to reproach yourself with; God is with you; He will not forsake you." Strengthened by these thoughts and hope, the heroine raises her head; her pale and handsome face is now slightly colored; her large black eyes fix themselves boldly upon the Bishop; she realizes that he is her mortal enemy. The ecclesiastical judges remark the increasing assurance of the accused, who but a moment before was so timid and so dejected. The transformation augurs well for their projects. In the pride of her exaltation, Joan Darc may, and is bound to, drop admissions that she would have kept secret had she remained reserved, timid and mistrustful. Despite his wickedness, the Bishop feels rebuked by the eyes of Joan. He drops his hypocritical face, turns away his eyes and continues the interrogatory in a faltering voice.

Bishop Cauchon—"So, then, Joan, it was by order of your voices that you went to Vaucouleurs in search of a certain captain named Robert of Baudricourt, who furnished you with an escort to take you to the King, to whom you promised to raise the siege of Orleans?"

Joan Darc—"Yes, sir, you speak truly."

Bishop Cauchon—"Do you admit having dictated a letter addressed to the Duke of Bedford, Regent of England, and other illustrious captains?"

Joan Darc—"I dictated the letter at Poitiers, sir."

Joan Darc—"Yes; if they did not return to their own country, and if they persisted in heaping trials upon trials on the poor people of France, in ravaging the country, in burning the villages."

Bishop Cauchon—"Was not that letter written by you under the invocation of our Lord Jesus Christ and of His immaculate Mother, the holy Virgin?"

Joan Darc—"I ordered the words 'Jesus and Mary' to be placed in the form of a prayer at the head of the letters that I dictated. Was that wrong?"

Bishop Cauchon (does not answer; looks askance at the judges; several of these enter on their tablets the last answer of the accused, an answer that seems to be of extreme gravity judging from their hurry to note it)—"How did you sign the letters that you dictated?"

Joan Darc—"I do not know how to write. I placed my cross in God as a signature at the foot of the parchment."

This second answer, no less dangerous than the first, is likewise noted down with great zest by the priests. A profound silence follows. The Bishop seems to interrogate the registrars with his looks, and to ask them whether they have finished writing down the words of the accused.

Bishop Cauchon—"After several battles you forced the English to raise the siege of Orleans?"

Joan Darc—"My voices advised me. I fought—and God gave us the victory."

A Judge—"If those voices are of St. Marguerite and St. Catherine, these saints must hate the English."

Joan Darc—"What God hates they hate; what He loves they love."

Joan Darc—"He undoubtedly left them to the punishment of their cruelty."

Another Judge—"Why should God have chosen a girl of your station rather than some other person to vanquish them?"

Joan Darc—"Because it pleased the Lord to have the English routed by a poor girl like myself."

The Same Judge—"How much money did your King pay you to serve him?"

Joan Darc (proudly)—"I never asked aught of the King but good arms, good horses, and the payment of my soldiers."

Bishop Cauchon—"When your King put you to the work of war, you ordered a standard to be made for you. What was its material?"

Joan Darc—"It was of white satin." (She drops her head sadly at the recollection of the past glories of her banner, that was so terrible a device to the English, whose prisoner she now is. She smothers a sob.)

Bishop Cauchon—"What figures were painted on it?"

Joan Darc—"Two angels holding a lily stalk. Two symbols; God and the King."

These words are likewise noted down with great zest by the members of the tribunal.

A Judge—"Was your standard frequently renewed?"

Joan Darc—"It was renewed as often as its staff was broken in battle. That happened frequently."

Another Judge—"Did not some of those who followed you have standards made similar to yours?"

The Same Judge—"Were those who bore a standard similar to yours lucky in war? Did they rout the English?"

Joan Darc—"Yes, if they were brave, they then triumphed over the English."

Another Judge—"Did your people follow you to battle because they considered you inspired?"

Joan Darc—"I said to them: 'Let us fall bravely upon the English!' I was the first to fall to—they followed me."

The Judge—"In short, your people took you to be inspired of God?"

Joan Darc—"Whether they believed me to be inspired or not, they trusted in my courage."

Bishop Cauchon—"Did you not, when your King was consecrated at Rheims, proudly wave your banner over the prince's head?"

Joan Darc—"No; but alone of all the captains, I accompanied the King into the cathedral with my standard in my hand."

A Judge (angrily)—"Accordingly, while the other captains did not bring their standards to the solemnity, you brought yours!"

Joan Darc—"It had been at the pain—it was entitled to be at the honor."

Bishop Cauchon—"Joan, when you entered a town, did not the inhabitants kiss your hands, your feet, your clothes?"

Joan Darc—"Many wished to; and when poor people, women and children, came to me, I feared to grieve them if I repelled them."

This answer is to be used against her; several of the judges note it down, while a sinister smile plays around the lips of Bishop Cauchon; he proceeds:

Bishop Cauchon—"Did you ever hold a child at the baptismal font?"

Joan Darc—"Yes; I held a child at the holy font of Soissons, and two others at St. Denis. These are the only ones to whom I have been god-mother."

Bishop Cauchon—"What names did you give them?"

These words, that charmingly depict the enthusiasm which the martial maid inspired among the people, and the generosity that she showed towards Charles, are to be a further charge against her. Several judges note them down.

Bishop Cauchon—"A mother at Lagny asked you to visit her dying child, did she not?"

Joan Darc—"Yes, but the child had been brought to the Church of Notre-Dame. Young girls of the town were on their knees at the door and prayed for the child. I knelt down among them, and I also prayed to God for His blessing upon the child."

Canon Loyseleur (from under his completely lowered hood and disguising his voice)—"Which of the two Popes is the real Pope?"

Joan Darc (stupefied)—"Are there, then, two Popes, sir? I did not know that."

Bishop Cauchon—"You claim to be inspired by God. He must have instructed you as to which of the two Popes you should render obedience to."

Joan Darc—"I know nothing about that. It is for the Pope to know whether he obeys God, and for me to obey him who submits to God."

Joan Darc—"Of my own free will."

A Judge—"Did your voices order you to give up the garb of your sex?"

Joan Darc—"Whatever good I have done I did by the advice of my voices. Whenever I understood them well, my saints and the archangel have guided me well."

Another Judge—"So, then, you do not think you are committing a sin in wearing the man's clothes that you are covered with?"

Joan Darc (with a sigh of regret)—"Oh, for the happiness of France and the misfortune of England, why am I not free in man's clothes with my horse and my armor! I would still vanquish our enemies."

Another Judge—"Would you like to hear mass?"

Joan Darc (thrilling with hope)—"Oh, with all my heart!"

The Same Judge—"You can not hear it in those clothes that are not of your sex."

Joan Darc (reflects a moment; she recalls the obscene language of her jailers and fears to be outraged by them; in man's clothes she feels greater protection than in the habits of her sex; she answers)—"Do you promise me that if I resume my woman's clothes I shall be allowed to attend mass?"

The Same Judge—"Yes, Joan, I promise you that."

The Bishop makes a gesture of impatience and withers the judge who had last spoken with a look of condemnation.

The judge consults the Bishop with his eye to ascertain whether the request of the accused shall be granted; the prelate answers with a negative sign of his head, and turns to Joan.

Bishop Cauchon—"So, then, you persist in keeping your masculine dress?"

Joan Darc—"I am guarded by men; such dress is safer."

The Inquisitor of the Faith—"Do you now wear and have you worn masculine garb voluntarily, absolutely of your own free will?"

Joan Darc—"Yes; and I shall continue to do so."

Again silence ensues. The ecclesiastical judges feel triumphant over the answer made so categorically by the accused, a grave answer seeing that Bishop Cauchon says to the registrars:

Bishop Cauchon—"Have you entered the words of the said Joan?"

A Registrar—"Yes, monseigneur."

Bishop Cauchon (to the accused)—"You have often spoken of St. Michael. In what did you recognize that the form that appeared before you was that of the blessed archangel? Could not Satan assume the form of a good angel to lead you to evil?"

Joan Darc—"I recognized St. Michael by the advice he gave me. It was the advice of an angel and not of Satan; it came from heaven, not from hell."

A Judge—"What advice did he give?"

Joan Darc—"His advice was that I conduct myself as a pious and honest girl; he said to me God would then inspire me, and would aid me to deliver France."

Joan Darc—"I affirm it, seeing that I heard it with my ears, seeing that I saw it with my eyes. There is no doubt in my mind concerning the archangel."

Bishop Cauchon (to the registrars)—"Enter that answer without omitting a syllable."

A Registrar—"Yes, monseigneur."

Canon Loyseleur, whose face is carefully concealed under his hood, and who for greater security holds a handkerchief to the lower part of his countenance, rises and whispers in the ear of the Bishop; the latter strikes his forehead as if reminded by his accomplice that he had overlooked a matter of grave importance; the canon returns to his seat in the rear.

Bishop Cauchon—"Joan, when, after you were captured at Compiegne, you were taken to the Castle of Beaurevoir, you threw yourself out of one of the lower towers, did you not?"

Joan Darc—"It is true."

Bishop Cauchon—"What was the reason of your action?"

Joan Darc—"I heard it said in my prison that I had been sold to the English. I preferred the risk of killing myself to falling into their hands. I endeavored to escape by jumping down from the tower."

The Inquisitor—"Did you act by the advice of your voices?"

A Judge—"When you jumped out of the tower, had you the intention of killing yourself?"

Joan Darc—"I wished to escape. When I jumped I commended my soul to God, hoping with His help to escape from the English."

The Inquisitor—"After your fall, did you renounce the Lord and His saints?"

Joan Darc—"I never renounced either God or His saints."

A Judge—"Did you, at the moment of jumping down from the tower, invoke your saints?"

Joan Darc—"Yes, I invoked them. Despite their having advised me against the move, I invoked through them the protection of God for Gaul, my own deliverance, and the salvation of my soul."

The Inquisitor—"Since you have been a prisoner in Rouen, have your voices promised you your deliverance?"

Joan Darc—"Only an instant ago, they said to me: 'Accept everything meekly, bravely undergo your martyrdom. Have courage and patience. You will gain paradise!'"

The Inquisitor—"And do you expect to gain paradise?"

Joan Darc (radiantly)—"I believe it as firmly as if I were there now. God keeps my place."

Bishop Cauchon (excitedly, and looking at the judges)—"Here is an answer of much weight. Pride! Presumption!"

Joan Darc (with a celestial smile)—"Indeed, I hold my belief in paradise as a great treasure. Hence my strength."

Bishop Cauchon—"Do you believe you are in mortal sin?"

Joan Darc—"I refer all my actions to God."

The Inquisitor—"You, then, think it useless to confess, even if you are in a state of mortal sin?"

Joan Darc—"I never have committed a mortal sin, at least not that I know of."

A Judge—"What do you know about it?"

Bishop Cauchon—"And is it not a mortal sin to accept ransom for a man and yet have him executed?"

Joan Darc (stupefied)—"Who has done that?"

Bishop Cauchon—"You!"

Joan Darc (indignantly)—"Never!"

The Inquisitor—"What about Franquet of Arras?"

Joan Darc (consults her memory for a moment)—"Franquet of Arras was a captain of Burgundian marauders. I took him prisoner in battle. He confessed to being a traitor, a thief and a murderer. His trial consumed fifteen days before the judges of Senlis. I asked mercy for the man, hoping to exchange him for a worthy bourgeois of Paris who was a prisoner of the English. But learning that the bourgeois died in prison, I said to the bailiff of Senlis: 'The prisoner whose exchange I wished to obtain has died. You may, if you think fit, execute justice upon Franquet of Arras, traitor, thief and murderer.'"

A Judge—"Did you give money to the one who helped you capture Franquet of Arras?"

Joan Darc (shrugging her shoulders)—"I am neither minister nor treasurer of France, to order money to be paid out."

Bishop Cauchon—"You placed your arms ex voto in the basilica of St. Denis. What did you mean by that?"

The Inquisitor (seeming to remember something that he had forgotten)—"Did you, during the time that you were making war in battle harness and man's attire, take the Eucharist?"

The stir among the priests and the silence that falls upon the tribunal indicates the gravity of the question put to the accused.

Joan Darc—"I partook of communion as often as I could, and not as often as I would have wished."

Bishop Cauchon (excitedly)—"Registrars, did you enter that?"

A Registrar—"Yes, monseigneur."

Joan Darc (shivers at the painful recollection)—"I came from Crespy, in Valois."

Bishop Cauchon—"Did your voices order the sally at which you were taken?"

Joan Darc—"During the last week of the Easter holidays my voices often warned me that I was soon to be betrayed and delivered—but that it was so decreed—not to be surprised, and to accept everything meekly, and that God would come to my aid."

A Judge—"Thus your voices, the voices of your saints, told you you would be captured?"

Joan Darc (sighing)—"Yes, they told me so a long time. I requested my saints to let me die the moment I was taken so as not to prolong my sufferings—"

The Inquisitor—"Did your voices tell you exactly the day on which you would be captured?"

Joan Darc—"No, not exactly; they only announced to me that I was soon to be betrayed and delivered. I said so to the good people of Compiegne on the day of the sally."

A Judge—"If your voices had ordered you to deliver battle before Compiegne while warning you that you would be taken prisoner on that day, would you still have obeyed them?"

Joan Darc—"I would have obeyed with regrets; but I would have obeyed, whatever was to happen."

A Judge—"Did you cross the bridge in order to make the sally from Compiegne?"

Joan Darc (more and more cruelly affected by these remembrances)—"Does that belong to the process?"

Bishop Cauchon—"Answer."

Bishop Cauchon—"Joan, your interrogatory is closed for to-day. Pray to the Lord that He may enlighten your soul and guide you to the path of eternal salvation. May God help you, and come to your assistance." (He makes the sign of the cross.)

All the Other Priests (rising)—"Amen."

Bishop Cauchon—"Conduct Joan the Maid back to her prison."

Joan Darc is not alone in her cell. Canon Loyseleur is seated on a stool near the kind of coffin filled with straw on which she lies. Believing herself in danger of death, she has just confessed to Loyseleur, a solemnity at which she opened her soul to him and narrated her whole life. So far from remotely suspecting the infamous treason of the prelate, she drew vague hopes and religious consolation from the tokens of kindness which he seemed to bestow upon her. The canon had frequently visited the prisoner since their first interview. He obtained, said he, with much difficulty permission to leave his cell in order to offer her spiritual consolation. She reported to him what happened at her first and subsequent interrogatories. The canon congratulated her upon having asserted the reality of her apparitions and revelations, and warned her against another snare, a more dangerous one that he claimed to perceive. One of the judges having asked her which of the then two Popes should be obeyed, he advised her that, if further pressed for an answer thereon, and asked whether she would accept absolutely and blindly the opinion of her judges, she should refuse and appeal from them to God alone. A stranger to theological subtleties, Joan Darc placed confidence in Loyseleur's words. The snare thereby spread by the Bishop and his accomplice was extremely adroit.

On this day the canon had gone to Joan's cell under the pretext of fortifying her in her good resolutions, and after having taken Joan's general confession, and bestowed paternal and consoling words upon her, he went to the wicket to call John to let him out. The jailer quickly appeared, grumbled a few words in affected anger, opened the door, hurled the canon out with a great display of force and locked the door after him. Joan was left alone.

Such were, after her last interrogatory and the suffering produced by her illness, the spells of resoluteness and faint-heartedness that wrestled with each other and alternately exalted and again cast the heroine down. On this day, however, Joan Darc feels herself so exhausted that she feels certain she will speedily expire in her cell and escape the ordeal of the pyre. Suddenly the noise of approaching steps is heard outside and she recognizes the voice of the Bishop saying to the jailers:

"Open to us the door of Joan's prison; open it to the justice of God!"

The members of the holy tribunal are accompanied by two registrars. One of these carries a large lighted wax taper, the other a book of parchments and other writing material. The Bishop is clad in his sacerdotal robes, his accomplices wear their priestly or their monastic gowns. They silently range themselves in a semi-circle near the straw couch on which the chained prisoner is lying. The Bishop steps towards her; one of the registrars sits down at the table he has carried in, on which he lays his parchments; the other remains standing near his companion lighting the desk with his candle, whose reddish glamor falls upon the faces of the ecclesiastics, motionless as specters, and, rather than illuminating, imparts a somber aspect to the scene. Surprised at the unexpected visit, the object of which she is ignorant of, Joan Darc rises painfully and casts a frightened and wondering look around her.

Bishop Cauchon (in accents of hypocritic compassion)—"These reverend priests, doctors of theology, and myself, have come to visit you in your prison, out of which you are at present unable to move. We come to bring you words of consolation. You have been questioned by the most learned clerks of canonical law. Your answers, I must tell you paternally, have so far borne the stamp of most damnable error, and if you persist in these errors, errors so prejudicial to the salvation of your soul and the safety of your body, we shall see ourselves compelled to give you over to the secular arm."

Joan Darc (in a feeble voice)—"I feel so ill and so weak, that it seems to me I am about to die. If it must be so by the will of God I request communion before death, and sacred soil for my body after death."

Joan Darc—"If my body dies in prison, I request of you a sacred sepulchre for it. If you refuse that to me, I shall appeal to God. May His will be done."

Bishop Cauchon—"These are grave words. You appeal to God. But between you and God stands His Church."

Joan Darc—"Is it not all one—God and His Church?"

Bishop Cauchon—"Learn, my dear daughter, that there is a Church triumphant where God is with His saints, His angels and the saved souls; there is, besides, the Church militant composed of our Holy Father the Pope, vicar of God on earth, the cardinals, the prelates, the priests and all good Catholics, the which Church is infallible, in other words, can never err, can never be mistaken, guided as it is by the divine light. That, Joan, is the Church militant. Will you submit to its judgment? Will you, yes or no, acknowledge us as your judges, us, members of the Church militant?"

Joan Darc (recalls the advice of the canon; there can be no doubt, she thinks, that a snare is being laid for her; her mistrust being in accord with her naïve faith, she answers with all the firmness that her weakness allows)—"I went to the King for the sake of the salvation of France, sent to him by God and His saints. To that Church (making a sublime gesture), to that Church on high, do I submit in all my acts and words!"

Bishop Cauchon (with difficulty restraining his joy)—"You will not, then, accept the judgment of the Church militant upon your acts and words?"

Joan Darc—"I shall submit to this Church if it does not demand the impossible from me."

Joan Darc—"To deny or repudiate the visions that I have had from God. For nothing in the world shall I deny or repudiate them. I shall not consent to save my life by a falsehood."

Bishop Cauchon (in a blandishing voice)—"If the Church militant were to declare those visions and apparitions illusory and diabolical, would you still refuse to submit to its judgment?"

Joan Darc—"I submit only to God, who has ever inspired me. I neither accept nor shall I accept the judgment of any man, all men being liable to error."

Bishop Cauchon (addressing the registrar)—"Write down that answer, registrar; write it down without any omission."

The Registrar—"Yes, monseigneur."

The Inquisitor—"You do not, then, hold yourself subject to the Church militant, that is to say to our Pope, our seigneurs the cardinals, archbishops, bishops and other holy ministers of God?"

Joan Darc (interrupting him)—"I recognize myself their subject—God being first served."

The admirable answer disconcerts the prelates. The ingenuous and pure soul that they expected to entangle in the perfidious net of their theological subtleties, slipped from them with one stroke of its wings.

Bishop Cauchon (is the first to recover, he addresses Joan with severity)—"You answer us like an idolater. You are exposing your body and your soul to a grave peril."

Joan Darc—"I could not answer otherwise, monseigneur."

A Judge (harshly)—"You will then have to die an apostate."

Bishop Cauchon—"Do you desire to receive the body of the Savior?"

Joan Darc—"Oh, I wish it with all my soul!"

Bishop Cauchon—"You will then have to submit to the Church militant."

Joan Darc—"I serve God to the best of my ability—from Him I expect everything—nothing from the bishops, nothing from the priests, nothing from anybody."

The Inquisitor—"If you refuse submission to the holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church you will be given up for a heretic, and condemned to be burned."

Joan Darc (in a high degree of exaltation springing from her convictions and the disgust that the ecclesiastics inspire her)—"Even if the pyre stood ready I would answer no otherwise!"

Bishop Cauchon—"Joan, my dear daughter, your stiff-neckedness is execrable. Do you mean to say that if you stood before a council composed of our Holy Father, the cardinals and bishops, and they called upon you to submit to their decision—"

Joan Darc (interrupting him with pained impatience)—"Neither Pope, nor cardinals, nor bishops will draw from me other statements than those that I have made. Pray have mercy upon a poor creature! I am dying!" (She drops back upon the straw in a swoon.)

Bishop Cauchon—"Will you submit to the successor of St. Peter, our Holy Father? Answer categorically."

Joan Darc (after a long pause and recovering)—"Have me taken to him, I shall ask him for his blessing."

Joan Darc—"I would put on female clothes to go to church, if I could, in order to receive the body of my Savior. But back in my prison, I shall resume my male attire out of fear of being outraged by your people, as they have tried before now."

The Inquisitor—"Once more and for the last time, and be careful: if you persist in your damnable error our holy mother the Church will be forced, despite her infinite mercy, to deliver you over to the secular arm, and it will then be all over with your body and soul."

Joan Darc—"It would then be all over with your own souls—with the souls of yourselves who will have condemned me unjustly. Reflect upon that."

Bishop Cauchon—"Joan, I must charitably declare to you that if you stubbornly persist in your ways, there are torturers near who will put you to the rack.(He points to the door, Joan shivers.) There are torturers near—they are waiting—they will put you to cruel torments, for the sole purpose of drawing less damnable answers from you."

Bishop Cauchon—"Joan, your transport singularly aggravates your position."

Joan Darc—"Listen, Oh, ye priests of Christ; listen, Oh, ye seigneurs of the Church; you are bent upon my death. If in order to make me die, if in order to execute me my clothes are to be taken off, I ask of you but a woman's shirt to march in to the pyre."

Bishop Cauchon (affecting astonishment)—"You pretend that you wear a man's shirt and clothes by the command of God; why should you want a woman's shirt to go to death in? This is a singular inconsistency."

Joan Darc—"Because it is longer."

The infamous ecclesiastics are determined to inflict upon the wretched young woman of hardly nineteen years all the tortures, from the rack to the pyre. A tremor, nevertheless, runs through them at the sublime modesty of the virgin, who requests of her butchers as a supreme act of mercy that she be allowed a woman's shirt to go to death in because such a shirt was longer, because it could better conceal her figure from the public gaze. Bishop Cauchon alone remains unaffected.

Bishop Cauchon (harshly addressing his accomplices)—"My very dear brothers, we shall assemble in a room of the tower in order to deliberate upon the torture that should be inflicted upon Joan."

The full ecclesiastical tribunal is assembled in a low, somber and vaulted apartment. The registrar reads to the ecclesiastical judges the last interrogatory, at which they had not all been present. They are to consider whether the accused shall be put to the torture.

Bishop Cauchon—"My very dear brothers, you are again assembled in the name of our holy Church."

All the Judges—"Amen."

Bishop Cauchon—"My very dear brothers, we Peter, Bishop of Beauvais by divine grace do, in view of the stubbornness of the said Joan, and in view of the pestilent heresy that her answers are poisoned with, consult with you, our very dear brothers, whether it is deemed expedient and urgent to submit the said Joan to the torture, to the end of obtaining from her answers and avowals that may save her poor soul from the eternal and her body from the temporal flames. Please give your opinion in the order of precedence."

Nicolas of Venderesse—"It does not seem to me, at present, opportune to put the said Joan to the torture."

William Erard—"It is, indeed, unnecessary to obtain new avowals from the said Joan. Those that she has made call for the chastisement of the temporal arm. Let us not go beyond that."

Robert Barbier—"I share the views of my very dear brother."

Denis Gastinel—"I am of the opinion that we should forego the torture. It is useless in the case at bar."

Aubert Morel—"I am of the opinion that the torture should be forthwith applied to the said Joan in order to ascertain whether the errors that she persists in are sincere or fraudulent."

Thomas of Courcelles—"I hold that it would be well to put the said Joan to the torture."

Nicolas of Coupequesne—"I do not think it expedient to submit Joan to bodily torture. But she should be admonished once more, in order to compel her to submit to the Church militant."

John Ledoux—"I think so, too. No torture."

Isambard of la Pierre—"That is my opinion."

Bishop Cauchon (ill disguising his displeasure)—"The majority of our very dear brothers have pronounced against submitting the said Joan to the torture. That means of obtaining her sincere avowals being discarded, I demand that before we now adjourn she be brought hither to the end that she may hear the verdict that is pronounced against her by our very dear brother Maurice, canon of the very reverend chapter of the Cathedral of Rouen."

The ecclesiastical judges bow approval. Nicolas Loyseleur goes out to issue the orders for the carrying in of Joan before the tribunal. He, however, does not resume his seat at the session, fearing to be recognized by the prisoner. The traitor trembles before his victim.

Dressed in his canonical robes, Canon Maurice holds in his hands a parchment on which the sentence that he is about to read is written.

The virgin warrior, defending her country's soil, had proved herself the peer of the most illustrious captains.

The Christian maid had usually kept her sword in its scabbard, and even in the heat of the most stubbornly contested battles never used it against men. She contented herself with guiding her soldiers with it and with her standard. Every day, when at all possible, she knelt in the temple and held communion with the angels. In the letters that she addressed to the foreign captains and the chiefs of the civil factions, she conjured the English in the name of the God of charity, of concord and of justice to abandon a country that they held contrary to right and that they ruled with violence, and she promised to them mercy and peace if they renounced the iniquitous conquest that rapine and massacre had rendered still more odious. When she addressed herself to the Frenchmen in arms against the French she ever reminded them that they were of France, and conjured them to join against the common enemy.

How could the ecclesiastical judges formulate against the warrior, the Christian and the virgin a single accusation that does not cause common judgment to revolt? an accusation that is not a heinous outrage, a despicable insult, a sacrilegious challenge cast at all that ever has been and ever will be the object of man's admiration?

These infamous ecclesiastics, these bishops sold to the English, ransacked the canons of the Church and the decretals of the Inquisition, and with the aid of these found twelve capital charges against the warrior, the Christian and the virgin.

Twelve capital charges! And what is still more abominable, in the eyes of the orthodox judges, the charges are well founded and legitimate. They are the "complete, absolute, irrevocable and infallible" expression of the Roman Church. They flow in point of right, from the legal application of the jurisdiction of a church that is infallible, eternal and divine—one as God; infallible as God; divine as God; eternal as God!—according to the claims of the ecclesiastics!

The sentence of Joan is supposed to be the summary of the life of the Maid, now present before her judges, and though broken and feverish, yet with a soul full of faith and of energy.

The session is re-opened.

Bishop Cauchon (addressing the accused in a grave voice)—"Joan, our very dear brother Maurice will read to you the sentence that has been pronounced upon you." (The Bishop devoutly crosses himself.)

All the Judges (crossing themselves)—"Amen."

"'Upon this point, and considering the aim and final object of these revelations and apparitions, the nature of the matters revealed, and the quality of your person, the Church pronounces your revelations and visions to be fraudulent, seductive, pernicious, and proceeding from the evil spirit of the devil.'"

Canon Maurice stops for a moment in order that the gravity of the first charge be properly weighed and appreciated by Joan Darc. But the words that she has just heard carry her back to the days of her childhood, days of peace that flowed in the midst of the sweet enjoyments of her family. She forgets the present and becomes absorbed in the recollection of her infancy, a recollection at once sweet and bitter to her.

Canon Maurice (proceeds to read)—"'Secondly: Joan, you said that your King, having recognized you by your signs as truly sent by God, gave you men of arms to do battle with. You said that St. Marguerite and St. Catherine accompanied you to Chinon and other places, where they guided you with their advice.

"'The Church pronounces this declaration mendacious and derogatory to the dignity of the saints and the angels.

"'Thirdly: Joan, you said that you recognized the angels and the saints by the advice that they gave you. You said that you believed the apparitions to be good, and that you believe that as firmly as you do in the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ. This is an outrage to the Divinity.

Recalled from her revery, Joan Darc listens to this new accusation without understanding it. In what did she brag? In what was she temerarious? In what did she lie? She recognized the saints by the wisdom of their counsel when they said to her: "Joan, be pious, behave as a wise girl; heaven will support you in driving the foreigners from Gaul." The promise of her saints is verified. She has won brilliant victories over the enemy of France. Where is the lie, the temerariousness, the bragging?

Canon Maurice (reads)—"'Fourthly: Joan, you said you were endowed with the faculty of knowing certain things that lay in the future, and that you recognized your King without ever having seen him before.

"'The Church pronounces you convicted of presumption, arrogance and witchcraft.'"

Without concerning herself about the imputation of witchcraft, that seems to her senseless, Joan Darc sighs at the recollection of her first interview at Chinon with "the gentle Dauphin of France," when, drawn towards him out of commiseration for his misfortunes and devoted to the royalty, Charles VII received her with a miserable buffoonery, thereupon imposed upon her, upon so chaste a girl, an infamous examination, and then sent her to a council of ecclesiastics assembled in Poitiers, who, struck by the sincerity of her responses, declared her divinely inspired. And, now, here is another set of priests, speaking in the name of the same Church, and treating her as a witch!

"'The Church pronounces you upon that head a blasphemer of God, a contemner of its sacraments, a transgressor of divine law, of Holy Writ and of canonical sanction. The Church pronounces you astray and errant in the faith, and idolatrous after the fashion of the gentiles.'"

With her mind upon the chaste motives that had decided her to assume male attire so long as her divine mission compelled her to live in camps near soldiers; remembering also with what zeal priests had admitted her to communion when, clad in her martial outfit, she came to thank God for having granted her victory, Joan Darc asks herself by what mental aberration another set of priests of Christ can see in her a blasphemer and an idolatress after the fashion of the gentiles!

Canon Maurice (reads)—"'Sixthly: Joan, you said that often you caused the divine names of Jesus and Mary to be placed at the head of the letters, which you addressed to captains and others, and that afterwards, at the bottom of the said letters, you drew the revered sign of the cross. In those homicidal letters, you boasted that you would cause the death of those who should dare resist your insolent orders. You affirmed that you spoke and acted thus by divine inspiration and suggestion.

At this stupid and iniquitous accusation, Joan Darc is unable to resist a tremor of indignation. They accuse her of cruelty, of causing the shedding of human blood—her who on the very day of her triumphal entry into Orleans, seeing an English prisoner fall under the blows of a brutal mercenary, was so moved with pity that she precipitated herself from her horse and knelt down beside the wounded soldier, whose head she raised, and for whom she implored help! She, desirous of the effusion of human blood! She who on many occasions saved English prisoners from massacre and set them free! She who, under the invocation of Christ, wrote so many letters making ardent pleas for peace! She who dictated the touching missive to the Duke of Burgundy imploring him to put an end to the disasters of civil war! She who ever marched into battle, confronting death with no weapon in her hand other than her banner of white satin! She whose own blood ran on the field of battle and who never shed the blood of any!

Canon Maurice (reads)—"'Seventhly: Joan, you said that, as a result of your revelations, you left the paternal roof at the age of seventeen years, against the will of your parents, who were plunged by your departure into a sorrow that verged upon distraction; that you then went to a captain named Robert of Baudricourt, who had you escorted to Chinon to your King, to whom you said that you came in the name of God to drive away the English and restore him his crown.

This accusation is as unjust as the preceding ones. What heartrending agonies did not Joan undergo when, beset by her voices that daily said to her: "March to the deliverance of France!" she felt compelled to resign herself to the idea of leaving her dearly beloved and revered parents! How many times, overcoming the intoxication of her victories, has she not felt and declared: "I would prefer to be sewing and spinning near my dear mother!" And when, become the arbiter of the destiny of France, she received a letter from her father who whelmed her with blessings and pardoned her departure, did she not cry out, less delighted at her triumphs than at the paternal clemency, "My father has pardoned me!" And yet, despite the saintly absolution, these ecclesiastics accuse her of trampling under foot the commandments of God!

Canon Maurice (reads)—"'Eighthly: Joan, you said that you jumped down out of the tower of the Castle of Beaurevoir because you preferred death to falling into the hands of the English; and that, despite the advice of the archangel St. Michael and your saints, who ordered you not to attempt to escape or kill yourself, you persevered in your project.

"'The Church pronounces you guilty of yielding to despair, of having contemplated homicide upon yourself, and of having criminally interpreted the law of human freedom of action.'"

Joan Darc smiles disdainfully at hearing these ecclesiastics condemn her for having endeavored to escape her enemies who sold her for ten thousand gold sous to the English.

"'The Church pronounces you presumptuous and headstrong in assertions that are mendacious and pernicious, and that exhale a pestilential odor.'"

Joan raises to the vaulted roof of the apartment her face beaming with faith and hope, and she hears her voices whisper to her: "Courage, holy daughter, what need you care for the vain words of these men? God has adjudged you worthy of His paradise."

Canon Maurice (reads)—"'Tenthly: Joan, you said that the archangel St. Michael and your saints, speaking to you in the language of Gaul, informed you that they were enemies of the English and friends of your King.

"'The Church pronounces you superstitious, a sorceress, a blasphemer of the archangel St. Michael and of Saints Marguerite and Catherine, and a contemner of love for your neighbor.

"'Eleventhly: Joan, you said that if the evil spirit had appeared under the form of St. Michael you would have been able to discover and discern the fact.

"'The Church pronounces you idolatrous, an invoker of devils and guilty of illicit judgment.'"

Canon Maurice (reads)—"'Twelfthly: Joan, you said that if the Church would demand from you an admission contrary to the inspirations that you pretend to have received from God, you would absolutely refuse obedience, and that in all such matters you do recognize neither the judgment of the Church nor of any man on earth. You said the answer proceeded not from yourself but from God, and you persisted, although frequently reminded of the article of faith, Unam Ecclesiam Catholicam, and although it was proven to you that every Catholic must submit his actions and words to the Church militant, represented by the Pope and his ministers.

"'The Church pronounces you a schismatic, an enemy of its unity and authority. It pronounces you, besides, stiff-necked in the errors of your apostate faith.—Amen!'"

All the Judges (in chorus, and crossing themselves)—"Amen!"

If in her loyalty, in the habitual meekness of her spirit Joan Darc admitted some of the accusations against her, she would bow before the judgment of these ecclesiastics. But after hearing the charges, the Maid remains all the more convinced of their iniquity, and resolves more strongly than ever to spurn such judges and to appeal from them to God.

The reading of the indictment being ended, Bishop Peter Cauchon approaches the Maid's seat.

Joan Darc (makes a superhuman effort to rise and keep her feet; she succeeds by steadying her chained and shaking limbs against her seat. She then raises her right hand and cries in a firm voice and an accent of profound and heroic conviction)—"I take heaven for my witness! I shall be condemned, I shall see the fagots, the executioner ready to set them on fire; and yet I shall unto death repeat: Yes, I have said the truth. Yes, God has inspired me. Yes, from Him I expect everything, nothing from anybody else. Yes, God is my sole judge, my sole master."