Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  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, i
n 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?”