Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  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 insp
ired 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 accompl
ice 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.”