who were plotting her death and the blackening of her good name.
Cauchon was ready to go on with his miserable work. He had a
new scheme to try now. He would see what persuasion could
do–argument, eloquence, poured out upon the incorrigible captive
from the mouth of a trained expert. That was his plan. But the
reading of the Twelve Articles to her was not a part of it. No, even
Cauchon was ashamed to lay that monstrosity before her; even he
had a remnant of shame in him, away down deep, a million
fathoms deep, and that remnant asserted itself now and prevailed.
On this fair second of May, then, the black company gathered
itself together in the spacious chamber at the end of the great hall
of the castle–the Bishop of Beauvais on his throne, and sixty-two
minor judges massed before him, with the guards and recorders at
their stations and the orator at his desk.
Then we heard the far clank of chains, and presently Joan entered
with her keepers and took her seat upon her isolated bench. She
was looking well now, and most fair and beautiful after her
fortnight’s rest from wordy persecution.
She glanced about and noted the orator. Doubtless she divined the
situation.
The orator had written his speech all out, and had it in his hand,
though he held it back of him out of sight. It was so thick that it
resembled a book. He began flowing, but in the midst of a flowery
period his memory failed him and he had to snatch a furtive glance
at his manuscript–which much injured the effect. Again this
happened, and then a third time. The poor man’s face was red with
embarrassment, the whole great house was pitying him, which
made the matter worse; then Joan dropped in a remark which
completed the trouble. She said:
“Read your book–and then I will answer you!”
Why, it was almost cruel the way those moldy veterans laughed;
and as for the orator, he looked so flustered and helpless that
almost anybody would have pitied him, and I had difficulty to keep
from doing it myself. Yes, Joan was feeling very well after her
rest, and the native mischief that was in her lay near the surface. It
did not show when she made the remark, but I knew it was close in
there back of the words.
When the orator had gotten back his composure he did a wise
thing; for he followed Joan’s advice: he made no more attempts at
sham impromptu oratory, but read his speech straight from his
“book.” In the speech he compressed the Twelve Articles into six,
and made these his text.
Every now and then he stopped and asked questions, and Joan
replied. The nature of the Church Militant was explained, and once
more Joan was asked to submit herself to it.
She gave her usual answer.
Then she was asked:
“Do you believe the Church can err?”
“I believe it cannot err; but for those deeds and words of mine
which were done and uttered by command of God, I will answer to
Him alone.”
“Will you say that you have no judge upon earth? Is not our Holy
Father the Pope your judge?”
“I will say nothing about it. I have a good Master who is our Lord,
and to Him I will submit all.”
Then came these terrible words:
“If you do not submit to the Church you will be pronounced a
heretic by these judges here present and burned at the stake!”
Ah, that would have smitten you or me dead with fright, but it only
roused the lion heart of Joan of Arc, and in her answer rang that
martial note which had used to stir her soldiers like a bugle-call:
“I will not say otherwise than I have said already; and if I saw the
fire before me I would say it again!”
It was uplifting to hear her battle-voice once more and see the
battle-light burn in her eye. Many there were stirred; every man
that was a man was stirred, whether friend or foe; and Manchon
risked his life again, good soul, for he wrote in the margin of the