before the French King in the cathedral of Rheims, and shed
tears of joy." She felt that she had fulfilled her mission,
and she desired to return to her home at Domremy. But King
Charles VII persuaded her to remain with the army. "She
still heard her heavenly voices, but she now no longer
thought herself the appointed minister of heaven to lead her
countrymen to certain victory." She expected but one year
more of life; but she still bravely faced the future with
its perils.
The Maid took part in the capture of Laon, Soissons,
Compiègne, and other places, and, in the attack on Paris,
September, 1429, which she prematurely urged, was severely
wounded. In a sally from Compiègne, where she was besieged
by Burgundians, she was taken prisoner May 24, 1430, and
held until November, when for a large payment in money she
was surrendered to the English, who took her to Rouen, their
real capital in France.
On January 3, 1431, by order of King Henry VI of England,
Jeanne was placed in the hands of Peter Cauchon, Bishop of
Beauvais, who had already moved to have her delivered up to
the Inquisition of France, as demanded by the University of
Paris. The Bishop proceeded to form at Rouen a "court of
justice" for her trial, and on February 21st the Maid was
brought before her judges--"Norman priests and doctors of
Paris"--in the chapel of Rouen castle. The trial lasted
until May 30th, forty sittings being held--some of them in
Jeanne's prison, where for a time she was kept in an iron
cage.
Commanded to take "an oath to tell the truth about
everything as to which she should be questioned," she
replied: "Perchance you may ask me things I would not tell
you. I do not like to take an oath to tell the truth save as
to matters which concern the faith." She fearlessly tried to
guard against violation of what she considered her right to
be silent.
In "this odious and shameful trial," says Guizot, "the
judges' prejudiced servility and scientific subtlety were
employed for three months to wear out the courage or
overreach the understanding of a young girl of nineteen, who
made no defence beyond holding her tongue or appealing to
God, who had dictated to her that which she had done."
Formal accusation was made under twelve heads or articles,
based on the preliminary examination, and the trial
proceeded to its merciless end.
In Passion Week, Jeanne d'Arc fell sick. Her temptation began, no doubt,
on Palm Sunday. A country girl, born on the skirts of a forest, and
having ever lived in the open air of heaven, she was compelled to pass
this fine Palm Sunday in the depths of a dungeon. The grand "succor"
which the Church invokes came not for her; the "doors did not open."
They were opened on the Tuesday, but it was to lead the accused to the
great hall of the castle, before her judges. They read to her the
articles which had been founded on her answers, and the Bishop
previously represented to her "that these doctors were all churchmen,
clerks, and well read in law, divine and human; that they were all
tender and pitiful, and desired to proceed mildly, seeking neither
vengeance nor corporal punishment, but solely wishing to enlighten her,
and put her in the way of truth and of salvation; and that, as she was
not sufficiently informed in such high matters, the Bishop and the
Inquisitor offered her the choice of one or more of the assessors to act
as her counsel." The accused, in presence of this assembly, in which she
did not descry a single friendly face, mildly answered: "For what you
admonish me as to my good, and concerning our faith, I thank you; as to
the counsel you offer me, I have no intention to forsake the counsel of
our Lord."
The first article touched the capital point, submission. She replied:
"Well do I believe that our holy Father, the bishops, and others of the
Church are to guard the Christian faith and punish those who are found
wanting. As to my deeds, I submit myself only to the Church in heaven,
to God and the Virgin, to the sainted men and women in paradise. I have
not been wanting in regard to the Christian faith, and trust I never
shall be." And, shortly afterward, "I would rather die than recall what
I have done by our Lord's command."
What illustrates the time, the uninformed mind of these doctors, and
their blind attachment to the letter without regard to the spirit is
that no point seemed graver to them than the sin of having assumed male
attire. They represented to her that, according to the canons, those who
thus change the habit of their sex are abominable in the sight of God.
At first she would not give a direct answer, and begged for a respite
till the next day, but her judges insisted on her discarding the dress;
she replied "that she was not empowered to say when she could quit it."
"But if you should be deprived of the privilege of hearing mass?"
"Well, our Lord can grant me to hear it without you."
"Will you put on a woman's dress, in order to receive your Saviour at
Easter?"
"No; I cannot quit this dress; it matters not to me in what dress I
receive my Saviour."
After this she seems shaken, asks to be at least allowed to hear mass,
adding, "I won't say but if you were to give me a gown such as the
daughters of the burghers wear, a very _long gown_."
It is clear she shrank, through modesty, from explaining herself. The
poor girl durst not explain her position in prison or the constant
danger she was in. The truth is that three soldiers slept in her room,
three of the brigand ruffians called _houspilleurs_;[78] that she was
chained to a beam by a large iron chain, almost wholly at their mercy;
the man's dress they wished to compel her to discontinue was all her
safeguard. What are we to think of the imbecility of the judge, or of
his horrible connivance?
Besides being kept under the eyes of these wretches, and exposed to
their insults and mockery, she was subjected to espial from without.
Winchester,[79] the Inquisitor, and Cauchon had each a key to the tower,
and watched her hourly through a hole in the wall. Each stone of this
infernal dungeon had eyes.
Her only consolation was that she was at first allowed interviews with a
priest, who told her that he was a prisoner and attached to Charles
VII's cause. Loyseleur, so he was named, was a tool of the English. He
had won Jeanne's confidence, who used to confess herself to him; and, at
such times, her confessions were taken down by notaries concealed on
purpose to overhear her. It is said that Loyseleur encouraged her to
hold out, in order to insure her destruction.
The deplorable state of the prisoner's health was aggravated by her
being deprived of the consolations of religion during Passion Week. On
the Thursday, the sacrament was withheld from her; on that selfsame day
on which Christ is universal host, on which he invites the poor and all
those who suffer, she seemed to be forgotten.
On Good Friday, that day of deep silence, on which we all hear no other
sound than the beating of one's own heart, it seems as if the hearts of
the judges smote them, and that some feeling of humanity and of religion
had been awakened in their aged scholastic souls; at least it is certain
that, whereas thirty-five of them took their seats on the Wednesday, no
more than nine were present at the examination on Saturday; the rest, no
doubt, alleged the devotions of the day as their excuse.
On the contrary, her courage had revived. Likening her own sufferings to
those of Christ, the thought had roused her from her despondency. She
agreed to "defer to the Church militant, provided it commanded nothing
impossible."
"Do you think, then, that you are not subject to the Church which is
upon earth, to our holy father the Pope, to the cardinals, archbishops,
bishops, and prelates?"
"Yes, certainly, our Lord served."
"Do your voices forbid your submitting to the Church militant?"
"They do not forbid it, our Lord being served _first_."
This firmness did not desert her once on the Saturday; but on the next
day, the Sunday, Easter Sunday! what must her feelings have been? What
must have passed in that poor heart when, the sounds of the universal
holiday enlivening the city, Rouen's five hundred bells ringing out with
their joyous peals on the air, and the whole Christian world coming to
life with the Saviour, she remained with death! Could she who, with all
her inner life of visions and revelations, had not the less docilely
obeyed the commands of the Church; could she, who till now had believed
herself in her simplicity "a good girl," as she said, a girl altogether
submissive to the Church--could she without terror see the Church
against her?
After all, what, who was she, to undertake to gainsay these prelates,
these doctors? How dared she speak before so many able men--men who had
studied? Was there not presumption and damnable pride in an ignorant
girl's opposing herself to the learned--a poor, simple girl, to men in
authority? Undoubtedly fears of the kind agitated her mind.
On the other hand, this opposition is not Jeanne's, but that of the
saints and angels who have dictated her answers to her, and, up to this
time, sustained her. Wherefore, alas! do they come no more in this
pressing need of hers? Wherefore is the so long promised deliverance
delayed? Doubtless the prisoner has put these questions to herself over
and over again.
There was one means of escaping; this was, without expressly disavowing,
to forbear affirming, and to say, "It seems to me." The lawyers thought
it easy for her to pronounce these few simple words; but in her mind, to
use so doubtful an expression was in reality equivalent to a denial; it
was abjuring her beautiful dream of heavenly friendships, betraying her
sweet sisters on high. Better to die. And indeed, the unfortunate,
rejected by the visible, abandoned by the invisible, by the Church, by
the world, and by her own heart, was sinking. And the body was following
the sinking soul.
It so happened that on that very day she had eaten part of a fish which
the charitable Bishop of Beauvais had sent her, and might have imagined
herself poisoned. The bishop had an interest in her death; it would have
put an end to this embarrassing trial, would have got the judge out of
the scrape; but this was not what the English reckoned upon. The Earl of
Warwick, in his alarm, said: "The King would not have her by any means
die a natural death. The King has bought her dear. She must die by
justice and be burned. See and cure her."
All attention, indeed, was paid her; she was visited and bled, but was
none the better for it, remaining weak and nearly dying. Whether through
fear that she should escape thus and die without retracting, or that her
bodily weakness inspired hopes that her mind would be more easily dealt
with, the judges made an attempt while she was lying in this state,
April 18th. They visited her in her chamber, and represented to her that
she would be in great danger if she did not reconsider, and follow the
advice of the Church. "It seems to me, indeed," she said, "seeing my
sickness, that I am in great danger of death. If so, God's will be done;
I should like to confess, receive my Saviour, and be laid in holy
ground."
"If you desire the sacraments of the Church, you must do as good
Catholics do, and submit yourself to it." She made no reply. But, on the
judge's repeating his words, she said: "If the body die in prison, I
hope that you will lay it in holy ground; if you do not, I appeal to our
Lord."
Already, in the course of these examinations, she had expressed one of
her last wishes. _Question_: "You say that you wear a man's dress by
God's command, and yet, in case you die, you want a woman's shift?"
_Answer_: "All I want is to have a long one." This touching answer was
ample proof that, in this extremity, she was much less occupied with
care about life than with the fears of modesty.
The doctors preached to their patient for a long time; and he who had
taken on himself the especial care of exhorting her, Master Nicolas
Midy, a scholastic of Paris, closed the scene by saying bitterly to her,
"If you don't obey the Church, you will be abandoned for a Saracen."
"I am a good Christian," she replied meekly; "I was properly baptized,
and will die like a good Christian."
The slowness of these proceedings drove the English wild with
impatience. Winchester had hoped to bring the trial to an end before the
campaign; to have forced a confession from the prisoner, and have
dishonored King Charles. This blow struck, he would recover Louviers,
secure Normandy and the Seine, and then repair to Basel to begin another
war--a theological war--to sit there as arbiter of Christendom, and make
and unmake popes. At the very moment he had these high designs in view,
he was compelled to cool his heels, waiting upon what it might please
this girl to say.
The unlucky Cauchon happened at this precise juncture to have offended
the chapter of Rouen, from which he was soliciting a decision against
the Pucelle; he had allowed himself to be addressed beforehand as "My
lord the Archbishop." Winchester determined to disregard the delays of
these Normans, and to refer at once to the great theological tribunal,
the University of Paris.
While waiting for the answer, new attempts were made to overcome the
resistance of the accused; and both stratagem and terror were brought
into play. In the course of a second admonition, May 2d, the preacher,
Master Châtillon, proposed to her to submit the question of the truth of
her visions to persons of her own party. She did not give in to the
snare. "As to this," she said, "I depend on my Judge, the King of heaven
and earth." She did not say this time, as before, "On God and the Pope."
"Well, the Church will give you up, and you will be in danger of fire,
both soul and body. You will not do what we tell you until you suffer
body and soul."
They did not stop at vague threats. On the third admonition, which took
place in her chamber, May 11th, the executioner was sent for, and she
was told that the torture was ready. But the manoeuvre failed. On the
contrary, it was found that she had resumed all, and more than all, her
courage. Raised up after temptation, she seemed to have mounted a step
nearer the source of grace. "The angel Gabriel," she said, "has appeared
to strengthen me; it was he--my saints have assured me so. God has been
ever my master in what I have done; the devil has never had power over
me. Though you should tear off my limbs and pluck my soul from my body,
I would say nothing else." The spirit was so visibly manifested in her
that her last adversary, the preacher Châtillon, was touched, and became
her defender, declaring that a trial so conducted seemed to him null.
Cauchon, beside himself with rage, compelled him to silence.
The reply of the University arrived at last. The decision to which it
came on the twelve articles was that this girl was wholly the devil's;
was impious in regard to her parents; thirsted for Christian blood, etc.
This was the opinion given by the faculty of theology. That of law was
more moderate, declaring her to be deserving of punishment, but with two
reservations: (1) In case she persisted in her nonsubmission; (2) if
she were in her right senses.
At the same time the university wrote to the Pope, to the cardinals, and
to the King of England, lauding the Bishop of Beauvais and setting
forth, "there seemed to it to have been great gravity observed, and a
holy and just way of proceeding, which ought to be most satisfactory to
all."
Armed with this response, some of the assessors[80] were for burning her
without further delay; which would have been sufficient satisfaction for
the doctors, whose authority she rejected, but not for the English, who
required a retraction that should defame King Charles. They had recourse
to a new admonition and a new preacher, Master Pierre Morice, which was
attended by no better result. It was in vain that he dwelt upon the
authority of the University of Paris, "which is the light of all
science."
"Though I should see the executioner and the fire there," she exclaimed,
"though I were in the fire, I could only say what I have said."
It was by this time the 23d of May, the day after Pentecost; Winchester
could remain no longer at Rouen, and it behooved to make an end of the
business. Therefore it was resolved to get up a great and terrible
public scene, which should either terrify the recusant into submission,
or, at the least, blind the people. Loyseleur, Châtillon, and Morice
were sent to visit her the evening before, to promise her that, if she
would submit and quit her man's dress, she should be delivered out of
the hands of the English, and placed in those of the Church.
This fearful farce was enacted in the cemetery of St. Ouen, behind the
beautifully severe monastic church so called, and which had by that day
assumed its present appearance. On a scaffolding raised for the purpose
sat Cardinal Winchester, the two judges, and thirty-three assessors, of
whom many had their scribes seated at their feet. On another scaffold,
in the midst of _huissiers_[81] and torturers, was Jeanne, in male
attire, and also notaries to take down her confessions, and a preacher
to admonish her; and, at its foot, among the crowd, was remarked a
strange auditor, the executioner upon his cart, ready to bear her off as
soon as she should be adjudged his.
The preacher on this day, a famous doctor, Guillaume Erard, conceived
himself bound, on so fine an opportunity, to give the reins to his
eloquence; and by his zeal he spoiled all. "O noble house of France," he
exclaimed, "which wast ever wont to be protectress of the faith, how
hast thou been abused to ally thyself with a heretic and schismatic!" So
far the accused had listened patiently; but when the preacher, turning
toward her, said to her, raising his finger: "It is to thee, Jeanne,
that I address myself; and I tell thee that thy King is a heretic and
schismatic," the admirable girl, forgetting all her danger, burst forth
with, "On my faith, sir, with all due respect, I undertake to tell you,
and to swear, on pain of my life, that he is the noblest Christian of
all Christians, the sincerest lover of the faith and of the Church, and
not what you call him."
"Silence her," called out Cauchon.
The accused adhered to what she had said. All they could obtain from her
was her consent to submit herself to the Pope. Cauchon replied, "The
Pope is too far off." He then began to read the sentence of
condemnation, which had been drawn up beforehand, and in which, among
other things, it was specified: "And furthermore, you have obstinately
persisted, in refusing to submit yourself to the holy Father and to the
council," etc. Meanwhile, Loyseleur and Erard conjured her to have pity
on herself; on which the Bishop, catching at a shadow of hope,
discontinued his reading. This drove the English mad; and one of
Winchester's secretaries told Cauchon it was clear that he favored the
girl--a charge repeated by the Cardinal's chaplain. "Thou art a liar,"
exclaimed the Bishop. "And thou," was the retort, "art a traitor to the
King." These grave personages seemed to be on the point of going to
cuffs on the judgment-seat.
Erard, not discouraged, threatened, prayed. One while he said, "Jeanne,
we pity you so!" and another, "Abjure or be burned!" All present evinced
an interest in the matter, down even to a worthy catchpole (huissier),
who, touched with compassion, besought her to give way, assuring her
that she should be taken out of the hands of the English and placed in
those of the Church. "Well, then," she said, "I will sign." On this
Cauchon, turning to the Cardinal, respectfully inquired what was to be
done next. "Admit her to do penance," replied the ecclesiastical prince.
Winchester's secretary drew out of his sleeve a brief revocation, only
six lines long--that which was given to the world took up six pages--and
put a pen in her hand, but she could not sign. She smiled and drew a
circle: the secretary took her hand and guided it to make a cross.
The sentence of grace was a most severe one: "Jeanne, we condemn you,
out of our grace and moderation, to pass the rest of your days in
prison, on the bread of grief and water of anguish, and so to mourn your
sins."
She was admitted by the ecclesiastical judge to do penance, no doubt,
nowhere save in the prisons of the Church. The ecclesiastic _in pace_,
however severe it might be, would at the least withdraw her from the
hands of the English, place her under shelter from their insults, save
her honor. Judge of her surprise and despair when the Bishop coldly
said, "Take her back whence you brought her."
Nothing was done; deceived on this wise, she could not fail to retract
her retractation. Yet, though she had abided by it, the English in their
fury would not have allowed her to escape. They had come to St. Ouen in
the hope of at last burning the sorceress, had waited panting and
breathless to this end; and now they were to be dismissed on this
fashion, paid with a slip of parchment, a signature, a grimace. At the
very moment the Bishop discontinued reading the sentence of
condemnation, stones flew upon the scaffolding without any respect for
the Cardinal. The doctors were in peril of their lives as they came down
from their seats into the public place; swords were in all directions
pointed at their throats. The more moderate among the English confined
themselves to insulting language--"Priests, you are not earning the
King's money." The doctors, making off in all haste, said tremblingly,
"Do not be uneasy, we shall soon have her again."
And it was not the soldiery alone, not the English mob, always so
ferocious, which displayed this thirst for blood. The better born, the
great, the lords, were no less sanguinary. The King's man, his tutor,
the Earl of Warwick, said like the soldiers: "The King's business goes
on badly; the girl will not be burned."
According to English notions, Warwick was the mirror of worthiness, the
accomplished Englishman, the perfect gentleman. Brave and devout, like
his master, Henry V, and the zealous champion of the Established Church,
he had performed the pilgrimage to the Holy Land, as well as many other
chivalrous expeditions. With all his chivalry, Warwick was not the less
savagely eager for the death of a woman, and one who was, too, a
prisoner of war. The best and the most looked-up-to of the English was
as little deterred by honorable scruples as the rest of his countrymen
from putting to death on the award of priests, and by fire, her who had
humbled them by the sword.
The Jews never exhibited the rage against Jesus which the English did
against the Pucelle. It must be owned that she had wounded them cruelly
in the most sensible part--in the simple but deep esteem they have for
themselves. At Orleans the invincible men-at-arms, the famous archers,
Talbot at their head, had shown their backs; at Jargeau, sheltered by
the good walls of a fortified town, they had suffered themselves to be
taken; at Patay they had fled as fast as their legs would carry them,
fled before a girl. This was hard to be borne, and these taciturn
English were forever pondering over the disgrace. They had been afraid
of a girl, and it was not very certain but that, chained as she was,
they felt fear of her still, though, seemingly, not of her, but of the
devil, whose agent she was. At least, they endeavored both to believe
and to have it believed so.
But there was an obstacle in the way of this, for she was said to be a
virgin; and it was a notorious and well-ascertained fact that the devil
could not make a compact with a virgin. The coolest head among the
English, Bedford,[82] the regent, resolved to have the point cleared up;
and his wife, the Duchess, intrusted the matter to some matrons, who
declared Jeanne to be a maid; a favorable declaration which turned
against her by giving rise to another superstitious notion; to wit, that
her virginity constituted her strength, her power, and that to deprive
her of it was to disarm her, was to break the charm, and lower her to
the level of other women.