Joan of Arc

Early in the morning of May 29th Martin Ladvenu and Jean Toutmouillé came to the prison. The latter told the Maid briefly that she was to be burned. She wept, poor child, and cried out piteously.

"Alas!" she said. "Will they treat me so horribly and cruelly, that my pure and uncorrupted body ("corps net et entier, qui ne fut jamais corrompu") must to-day be burned to ashes?"

She would rather, she cried in her agony, be seven times beheaded than burn.

"I appeal to God, the supreme Judge, against the wrongs that have been done me."

At this moment Cauchon entered the prison. He must see with his own eyes how his victim received her condemnation. She turned upon him, and uttered the words which, wherever his name is spoken, whenever his image is conjured up, are written in flame upon his forehead:

"Bishop of Beauvais, it is through you I die. I summon you before your God and mine!"

Presently she composed herself; made confession to one of the monks, and asked for the Sacrament. After some haggling among her persecutors the elements were brought to her, albeit in slovenly fashion, bare of the priestly pomp which was their due.

So we come to the 30th day of May, of the year 1431. At nine in the morning Joan left her prison for the last time. She was in woman's dress. Over her shoulders was the long black robe of the Inquisition, on her head a paper cap or mitre, bearing the words: "Heretic, Relapsed, Apostate, Idolater." As the cart in which she stood rumbled through the streets, the Maid of France lifted up her voice and wept over the city of her death.

"Rouen, Rouen, mourrai-je içi? Seras-tu ma maison? Ah, Rouen, j'ai grand peur que tu n'aies à souffrir de ma mort."66

Hearing these words, the people around her, even the English soldiers, wept for pity. It is recorded that as the tumbril jolted its way over the stones, a man in priest's dress was seen pressing through the crowd, trying desperately to force a way to the cart. It was Loiseleur, the spy, come in an agony of repentance, to fling himself before the saint he had helped to condemn and implore her pardon. The soldiers repulsed him brutally; would have slain him but for Warwick's intervention. The crowd closed over him.

There were three scaffolds in Rouen Old Market that morning of May. On one of them the Maid was set to hear her last sermon preached by Nicholas Midi, of Rouen and Paris; on another sat judges and spectators, a goodly company; Cardinal Beaufort, Warwick, the "Father of Courtesy," Cauchon and all his priestly bloodhounds, who yet could not see blood shed.

The third scaffold was a heap of plaster, piled high with fagots, from which rose the stake. It bore the legend: "Jeanne, self-styled the Maid, liar, mischief-maker, abuser of the people, diviner, superstitious, blasphemer of God, presumptuous, false to the faith of Christ, boaster, idolater, cruel, dissolute, an invoker of devils, apostate, schismatic, heretic."

Nicholas Midi was long in speaking, and the English waxed impatient. Dinner time was near.

"How now, priest? Are you going to make us dine here?" some of them cried.

Cauchon read the sentence.

"Then she invoked the blessed Trinity, the glorious Virgin Mary, and all the blessed saints of Paradise. She begged right humbly also the forgiveness of all sorts and conditions of men, both of her own party and of her enemies; asking for their prayers, forgiving them the evil that they had done her."67

The Bailiff of Rouen waved his hand, saying "Away with her."

Quietly, patiently, the Maid climbed the third scaffold. She was well used to climbing; witness the walls of Les Tourelles, of Jargeau and Compiègne. Beside her climbed her confessor, Martin Ladvenu, and some say another Dominican, Isambart de la Pierre, who had been kind to her throughout. She begged for a cross; an English soldier hastily bound two sticks together cross-fashion and handed her the emblem. She kissed it devoutly, and thrust it in her bosom. Then, at her urgent prayer, they brought a crucifix from a church hard by; this she long embraced, holding it while they chained her to the stake.

When the flames began to mount, she bade the friar leave her, but begged him to hold aloft the crucifix, that her eyes might rest on it to the last. This man testified that from the heart of the fire, she called steadfastly on her Saints, Catherine, Margaret, Michael, as if they were once more about her as in the garden of Domrémy.

"To the end she maintained that her Voices were from God, and all she had done was by God's counsel; nor did she believe that her Voices had deceived her."

At the last she gave one great cry: "Jesus!" and spoke no more.

Have you felt the touch of fire? Put your finger in the candle flame for a moment! Then, for another moment – not more, since that way madness lies – think of that white, tender body of the Maid of France flaming like a torch to Heaven!

A torch indeed. Fiercely its blaze beats upon Rouen Old Market, throwing a dreadful light on those watching faces. Pierre de Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, on your face it glares most fiercely; on yours, Henry Beaufort, Cardinal of Winchester; Earl of Warwick, on yours. I think you will see that light while you live, however dark the night around you. I know that by it alone we see your faces to-day.

A torch, indeed. Its flame brightens the sacred fields of France, now in the hour of Victory, when light has triumphed over darkness, as it brightened them in the hour of her agony, though God alone saw that radiance. In the white fire of that torch were fused all incoherent elements, all that turned the sword of brother against brother, Frenchman against Frenchman. From that white fire sprang, into enduring life and glory, France Imperishable.

FINIS

1

Guizot, "Popular History of France," III, p. 20.

2

Guizot, "Popular History of France," III, p. 21.

[3] Guizot, "Popular History of France," III, p. 21.

[4] Belloc, "Paris," p. 248.

3

Guizot, III, p. 22.

4

Guizot, III, p. 27.

[7] Guizot, III, p. 28.

5

Guizot, III, p. 29.

6

Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 15.

7

Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 18.

8

Luce. "Jeanne d'Arc à Domrémy," p. 19.

9

Gerardin.

10

"Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,With many a foul and midnight murder fed,Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame,And spare the meek usurper's holy head!"– Gray, the Bard.

11

"Journal of a citizen of Paris."

12

"Journal of a Citizen of Paris."

13

Lt. – Col. A. C. P. Haggard, D. S. O. "The France of Joan of Arc."

14

Gilles de Rais.

15

Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 28. N. B. – Other authorities place the light on her right hand.

16

W. B. Clarke. "The Fighting Race."

17

A. Lang, "Maid of France," p. 63.

18

Andrew Lang. "Maid of France," p. 63.

19

Michelet. "Histoire de France."

20

Guizot. "History of France."

21

Lang. "Maid of France," p. 65.

22

Trans. Andrew Lang.

23

Trans. Andrew Lang.

24

Famous city, noble city, ancient city, verily first of earth.

25

Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 55.

26

Lang. "Maid of France," p. 76.

27

Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 57.

28

N. B. – He was a Scot!

29

Lowell. "Joan of Arc," p. 57.

30

Guizot, III, 96.

31

Lang. "Maid of France," p. 99.

32

Lang. "Maid of France," p. 99.

33

Lang.

34

Trans. F. C. Lowell.

35

Quoted by A. Lang, p. 120.

36

Guizot.

37

Percival de Cagny.

38

A. Lang, p. 122.

39

Quicherat.

40

Translated by F. C. Lowell.

41

Translated by F. C. Lowell.

42

Pasquerel, translated by F. C. Lowell.

[46] Guizot.

43

Guizot.

44

Fille Dé, va, va, va! je serai à ton aide; va!

45

1918.

46

Afterward Louis XI.

47

Lowell, pp. 120-123.

48

Lowell. Lang calls it June 9th.

49

Lang, pp. 136 and 137.

50

Lang, p. 138.

51

A. Lang, p. 141.

52

Translated by Andrew Lang.

53

"Pictorial History of England," Knight, p. 88.

54

Trans. A. Lang.

55

Trans. A. Lang.

56

Lowell, pp. 161 and 162.

57

Translated by Andrew Lang.

58

Lowell, pp. 168 and 169.

59

Lang, p. 190.

60

They joined her probably at Orleans; little more is known about them.

61

A. Lang, p. 203.

62

Translation, A. Lang.

63

Trans., A. Lang.

64

Trans., A. Lang.

65

Trans., A. Lang.

66

Rouen, Rouen, shall I die here? Shalt thou be my (last) home? Ah, Rouen, I have great fear thou must suffer for my death.

67

Trans., A. Lang.