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.

CHAPTER II.

IN THE DUNGEON.

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."

CHAPTER III.

THE INQUISITION.

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?"

JOAN DARC (blushing)--"That was not revealed to me."

THE SAME JUDGE--"Was it to the archangel St. Michael that you promised

to remain a virgin?"

JOAN DARC (with chaste impatience)--"I made my vow to my good saints,

St. Marguerite and St. Catherine."

ANOTHER JUDGE--"And so the voices of your saints ordered you to come to

France?"

JOAN DARC--"Yes, for my own and the King's safety, and to deliver Gaul

from the foreign yoke."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Did you not at that epoch see the apparition of St.

Marguerite and St. Catherine, to whom you attribute the voices, those

divine voices according to you?"

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?"

JOAN DARC--"If I am not, may God place me there. If I am, may He keep me

there. (In a loud and strong voice:) But remember this: You are my

judges, you assume a grave responsibility in accusing me. As to myself,

the burden is light."

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."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"In that letter you threatened the English with death?"

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."

ANOTHER JUDGE--"Come, now; God loves the English, seeing He has so long

rendered them victorious and they conquered a part of France."

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?"

JOAN DARC--"Some did; others did not."

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."

This sublime answer, of such legitimate and touching pride and bearing

the stamp of antique simplicity, strikes the assembled ecclesiastical

executioners with admiration. They pause despite their bitter malice

towards their victim. These were heroic and scathing words. They told of

the price of perils and above all of disenchantment that Joan had paid

for her triumph. Aye, she and her glorious standard had been cruelly in

pain, poor martyr that she was. Her virginal body was broken by the

rude trials of war. She had shed her generous blood on the fields of

battle. She had struggled with admirable stubbornness, with mortal

anxieties born of the most sacred patriotism, against the treasonable

plots of the captains who finally brought on her downfall. She had

struggled against the sloth of Charles VII, the poltroon whom with so

much pain she dragged from victory to victory as far as Rheims, where

she had him consecrated King. Her only recompense was to see her

standard "at the honor" of that solemn consecration, from which she

expected the salvation of Gaul. Her standard had been at the pain--it

was entitled to be at the honor. The astonishment of the ecclesiastics

at these sublime words is profound. Deep silence ensues. Bishop Cauchon

is the first to break it. Addressing himself to the accused in measured

words, an ordinary symptom with him of some lurking perfidy, he asks:

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?"

JOAN DARC--"To the boy the name of Charles, in honor of the King of

France; to the girls the name of Joan, because the mothers so wished

it."

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."

BISHOP CAUCHON (to Canon Loyseleur with a significant accent)--"My very

dear brother, we shall reserve for another session the grave question

that you have broached touching the Church triumphant and the Church

militant. Let us now proceed with other matters. (Turning to Joan with

an inflection of his voice that announces the gravity of the question.)

When you left Vaucouleurs you put on male attire. Was that done at the

request of Robert of Baudricourt, or of your own free will? Answer

categorically."

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.

JOAN DARC--"Let me, then, be provided with a long dress; I shall put it

on to go to chapel. But when I return to my prison I shall resume my

man's clothes."

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."

THE INQUISITOR OF THE FAITH--"So that you claim not only to have seen a

supernatural apparition under the form of St. Michael with your bodily

eyes, but you furthermore claim that the figure was actually that of

that holy personage?"

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?"

JOAN DARC--"No. They advised me to the contrary, saying: 'Take courage;

God will come to your help; it is cowardly to flee danger.' But my fear

of the English was stronger than the advice of my saints."

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."

The radiancy of Joan's face illumines her beautiful features and imparts

to them a divine expression. Her black eyes, shining with the spark of

inspiration, are raised heavenward. She looks through the window,

contemplates the sky whose azure is for a moment visible through a rift

in the clouds, and in the expansion of her celestial ravishment she

seems detached from earth. But, alack! a puerile incident speedily

recalls the poor prisoner to reality. A little bird flutters cheerily by

the window and lightly touches the glass with its wing. At the sight of

the little creature, free in space, the heroine, instantaneously

yielding to the painful feeling of awakened reality, drops headlong from

the height of her radiantly towering hopes. She sighs, lowers her head,

and tears roll from her eyes. These rapidly succeeding emotions prevent

Joan from observing the joy of the ecclesiastical judges, busily

entering on their tablets the last two enormities, which, coupled with

so many others, are certain to take her to the pyre. The entries were:

"The said Joan voluntarily risked suicide by throwing herself down from

the tower of Beaurevoir"; "The said Joan has the sacrilegious audacity

of saying and believing that she is as sure of paradise as if she were

there now." But the task of the criminal ecclesiastics is not yet

complete. The heroine is suddenly drawn from her own painful thoughts by

the voice of the Bishop.

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?"

JOAN DARC--"My voices would have reproached me for the sin. My saints

would have abandoned me. Still, if I could, I would confess. One's

conscience can not be too clear."

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?"

JOAN DARC (remains silent for an instant, absorbed in painful

recollections. Seriously wounded under the walls of Paris, she had upon

recovery offered her armor to the Virgin Mary as a pious homage, and did

so also through an impulse of indignation, that was provoked by the

cowardice of Charles VII, who, after the prodigies of the Maid's

victorious campaign, had returned to Touraine to join his mistresses.

Vainly had Joan said to him: "Face the English, who almost alone defend

the walls of Paris; present yourself bravely at the gates of the town

promising to the Parisians oblivion for the past and harmony for the

future; it is almost certain that you will thus conquer your capital!"

But the royal poltroon had recoiled before the danger connected with

such a step. In utter despair, Joan had decided to renounce war, she

gave up her armor, and offered it up _ex voto_. Joan can not make such

an admission to the priests. Guided by the generosity of her soul and

instructed by her sound judgment, she would prefer to die rather than

accuse Charles VII and cover him with ignominy in the eyes of his

enemies. She sees France in the royalty. The King's shame would fall

indelibly upon the country itself. Her answer is accordingly so framed

as to save the honor of Charles VII)--"I was wounded under the walls of

Poitiers; I offered my armor at the altar of the Holy Virgin in

thankfulness that my wound was not mortal."

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."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"Whence did you come the last time you went to

Compiegne?"

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."

JOAN DARC (rapidly in short sentences)--"I crossed the bridge. I

attacked with my company the Burgundians of the Sire of Luxembourg. I

threw them back twice as far as their own trenches, the third time only

half way. The English then came up. They cut off my retreat. Several of

my soldiers wished to force me back into Compiegne. But the bridge had

been raised. We were betrayed. I was captured." (She shudders.)

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."

The two beadles approach Joan. Each takes her by an arm; they lead her

out of the chapel and deliver her to a platoon of English soldiers, who

conduct her back to her dungeon.

CHAPTER IV.

THE TEMPTATION.

Livid, haggard, broken with exhaustion after her final interrogatory,

Joan Darc reclines upon the straw of her cell; her male attire is still

more dilapidated than when she first appeared before her judges. She is

chained by the waist and feet as before. She has wound some rags around

the heavy iron rings at her ankles. Their pressure made her flesh sore,

and in spots broke it to the quick, creating painful wounds. Besides,

one of the wounds received in battle opened anew and added to her

physical suffering. But the look of profound distress upon the martial

maid's face proceeds from other than these causes. One of the jailers,

noticing that the prisoner barely touched the gross food furnished to

her, had said that in order to restore her appetite Bishop Cauchon was

to send her a dish prepared in his own palace. The following day she

partook of a fish that the prelate sent her. Almost immediately after

she was seized with convulsive retchings and had fallen into a swoon.

The jailers thought she was upon the point of death and ran for a

physician. The latter immediately discovered the symptoms of poison and

succeeded in recalling her to life, but not to health. Since then the

prisoner remained in a languishing state, downcast and weak.

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.

In making her general confession to the canon, in narrating to him her

whole, life, Joan had yielded not merely to a religious habit, but also

to the desire of once more evoking the memories of her whole past

existence, and of scrupulously interrogating herself upon all her

actions. The threatening present induced the desire. She wished to

ascertain with inexorable severity towards herself whether any of her

actions were blameworthy. The mere thought of the threatened punishment,

to be burned alive, prostrated her mind. The reasons for her terror were

various. First of all she shrank before the shame of being publicly

dragged to death like a criminal; the atrocious torment of feeling the

flames devouring her flesh threw her into further agonies; finally the

chaste girl was distracted by the fear of being taken half naked to the

pyre. She had questioned the canon several times upon that head, and had

learned from him that "heretics, male and female, are taken to death

without any other clothing than a shirt, and on their heads a large

pasteboard mitre inscribed with the heretic's special crimes." At the

thought of appearing in public in an almost nude condition the maid's

dignity and modesty revolted. The despair that such thoughts threw her

into made her ready to submit to any declaration that her judges might

demand of her, if it only could save her from such ignominy. In vain did

her voices whisper to her: "Submit bravely to your martyrdom, not the

shadow of a wrongful act stains the luster of your life. Yield not to

vain shame, the shamefulness of it must fall upon your murderers. Face

without a blush the looks of men--glory covers you with a celestial

aureola--be strong of heart!"

In these moments of despair, the heroine became again the timid young

girl whose intense modesty had caused her even to renounce the sacred

joys of wifehood, and who had taken the vow of virginity to her saints.

Thus, despite the encouragement of her voices, her strength failed her,

especially at the thought of being led to the pyre in a mere shirt.

After her recent spell of sickness that, snapping the springs of her

energetic and tender nature, slowly undermined her will power, Joan fell

with increasing frequency under the dominion of weakness. At intervals

her wonted courage and resoluteness resumed the ascendancy. Her voices

said to her: "Do not yield to those false priests, who pretend to judge

you and are but your butchers. Uphold truth bravely! Pride yourself in

having saved France with the aid of heaven. Defy death! They may burn

your body, but your fame will live imperishable as your immortal soul,

that will radiantly rejoin its Creator! Noble victim of priests'

hypocrisy and of the wickedness of man, quit this sad world and enter

paradise!"

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 door is opened, and the prelate appears, accompanied by seven of the

ecclesiastical judges--William Boucher, Jacob of Tours, Maurice of

Quesnay, Nicolas Midi, William Adelin, Gerard Feuillet, and Haiton--and

the inquisitor John Lemaitre.

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."

A JUDGE--"Submit yourself to the Church. The more you stand in fear of

death, all the more should you mend your ways."

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."

THE INQUISITOR--"What do you understand by that?"

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."

JOAN DARC (with touching pride)--"I received baptism; I am a good

Christian; I shall die a Christian."

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."

BISHOP CAUCHON--"What you say is insensate. Do you persist in keeping

your male attire, a most blameworthy conduct?"

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."

JOAN DARC (yields at first to the terror of the thought of being

tortured; the momentary weakness is, however, speedily overcome; she

draws superhuman strength from the conviction of her innocence; sits up;

casts a withering look upon the prelates and cries in an accent of

indomitable resolution) --"Have my limbs torn one from the other! Have

my soul leap out of my body! You shall be no further! And if the pain of

the torture should draw from my distracted body aught that is contrary

to what I have so far said, I take God for my witness, it will be pain

alone that will have made me speak contrary to the truth!"[114]

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 Bishop and his fellows depart from the cell, followed by the

registrars.

CHAPTER V.

THE SENTENCE.

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."

ANDRE MARGUERIE--"I consider the torture superfluous. The answers of the

accused are sufficient to condemn her upon. I am against 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."

NICOLAS LOYSELEUR--"I think it is necessary as a medicine to the soul of

the said Joan that she be put to the torture.[115] For the rest I shall

adhere to the opinion of my very dear brothers. The question must be

decided."

WILLIAM HAITON--"I consider the torture useless. I pronounce against its

application."

The result of the deliberation is that a majority of the ecclesiastics

is against applying the torture to Joan Darc, not so much through a

sentiment of humanity as because the admissions made by the accused

sufficiently justify her condemnation, as Canon Andre Marguerie naïvely

put it. Nevertheless, Bishop Cauchon, who panted for the torture like a

wolf at the smell of blood, seems greatly displeased with the

evangelical mildness of his very dear brothers in Jesus Christ, who seem

so charitably disposed as to think that the burning of Joan Darc would

be glory enough to the Church of Rome, without previously lacerating her

flesh or cracking her bones. Moreover, these more clement ecclesiastics

consider that, weak and ailing as Joan is, the girl may expire under the

torture. They aim at a striking death for their victim.

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.

Too feeble to walk, Joan Darc is brought in upon a chair by two jailers

with her feet chained. They deposit the chair a few paces before the

ecclesiastical judges. Resolved to uphold the truth until death, Joan

asks herself what crimes she could have committed. She has maintained

the reality of the visions that she had; she has conscientiously

submitted all the acts of her life to the judgment of her sovereign

master--God. Convinced though she is of the bias and perfidy of the

ecclesiastical tribunal, she is still unable to believe her

condemnation possible, or rather she racks her mind to fathom its

motive. A feverish hue has slightly colored her pale face. She partially

rises from her seat, supporting herself on its arms. Her large black

eyes are anxiously fixed upon her judges. She waits in the midst of the

profound silence that falls upon the assembly at her entrance.

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.

As a woman, Joan Darc ever gave the example of the most generous and

most angelic virtues. Her chastity inspired her with sublime words that

will remain the admiration of the centuries.

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."

CANON MAURICE (reading in a sepulchral and threatening voice)--"'First:

You said, Joan, that at thirteen years you had revelations and

apparitions of angels and saints to whom you give the name of St.

Michael, of St. Marguerite and of St. Catherine. You said you

frequently saw them with the eyes of your body. You said that you

frequently conversed with them.

"'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.

"'The Church declares that those are not determining signs to recognize

the saints by; that your belief is temerarious, your claim braggard,

and that you err in the faith. You are outside of the pale of the

communion of the faithful.'"

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!

CANON MAURICE (reads)--"'Fifthly: Joan, you said that by the advice of

God you wore and continue to wear male attire--a short jacket, hose

fastened with hooks, cap, and hair cut short down to your

ears--preserving nothing that denotes your sex except what nature itself

betrays. Before being taken prisoner, you frequently partook of the holy

Eucharist in manly costume; and despite all our efforts to induce you to

renounce such a costume, you obstinately persevere in keeping it,

pretending to act by the advice of God.

"'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.

"'The Church pronounces you a traitor, mendacious, cruel, desirous of

shedding human blood, seditious, a provoker of tyranny and a blasphemer

of God in His holy commandments and revelations.'"

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.