fight had been fair!”
Evidently Cauchon had grown afraid of Manchon because of his
pretty apparent leanings toward Joan, for another recorder was in
the chief place here, which left my master and me nothing to do
but sit idle and look on.
Well, I suppose that everything had been done which could be
thought of to tire Joan’s body and mind, but it was a mistake; one
more device had been invented. This was to preach a long sermon
to her in that oppressive heat.
When the preacher began, she cast up one distressed and
disappointed look, then dropped her head again. This preacher was
Guillaume Erard, an oratorical celebrity. He got his text from the
Twelve Lies. He emptied upon Joan al the calumnies in detail that
had been bottled up in that mass of venom, and called her all the
brutal names that the Twelve were labeled with, working himself
into a whirlwind of fury as he went on; but his labors were wasted,
she seemed lost in dreams, she made no sign, she did not seem to
hear. At last he launched this apostrophe:
“O France, how hast thou been abused! Thou hast always been the
home of Christianity; but now, Charles, who calls himself thy King
and governor, indorses, like the heretic and schismatic that he is,
the words and deeds of a worthless and infamous woman!” Joan
raised her head, and her eyes began to burn and flash. The
preacher turned to her: “It is to you, Joan, that I speak, and I tell
you that your King is schismatic and a heretic!”
Ah, he might abuse her to his heart’s content; she could endure
that; but to her dying moment she could never hear in patience a
word against that ingrate, that treacherous dog our King, whose
proper place was here, at this moment, sword in hand, routing
these reptiles and saving this most noble servant that ever King
had in this world–and he would have been there if he had not been
what I have called him. Joan’s loyal soul was outraged, and she
turned upon the preacher and flung out a few words with a spirit
which the crowd recognized as being in accordance with the Joan
of Arc traditions:
“By my faith, sir! I make bold to say and swear, on pain of death,
that he is the most noble Christian of all Christians, and the best
lover of the faith and the Church!”
There was an explosion of applause from the crowd–which
angered the preacher, for he had been aching long to hear an
expression like this, and now that it was come at last it had fallen
to the wrong person: he had done all the work; the other had
carried off all the spoil. He stamped his foot and shouted to the
sheriff:
“Make her shut up!”
That made the crowd laugh.
A mob has small respect for a grown man who has to call on a
sheriff to protect him from a sick girl.
Joan had damaged the preacher’s cause more with one sentence
than he had helped it with a hundred; so he was much put out, and
had trouble to get a good start again. But he needn’t have bothered;
thee was no occasion. It was mainly an English-feeling mob. It had
but obeyed a law of our nature–an irresistible law–to enjoy and
applaud a spirited and promptly delivered retort, no matter who
makes it. The mob was with the preacher; it had been beguiled for
a moment, but only that; it would soon return. It was there to see
this girl burnt; so that it got that satisfaction–without too much
delay–it would be content.
Presently the preacher formally summoned Joan to submit to the
Church. He made the demand with confidence, for he had gotten
the idea from Loyseleur and Beaupere that she was worn to the
bone, exhausted, and would not be able to put forth any more
resistance; and, indeed, to look at her it seemed that they must be
right. Nevertheless, she made one more effort to hold her ground,
and said, wearily:
“As to that matter, I have answered my judges before. I have told