them to report all that I have said and done to our Holy Father the
Pope–to whom, and to God first, I appeal.”
Again, out of her native wisdom, she had brought those words of
tremendous import, but was ignorant of their value. But they could
have availed her nothing in any case, now, with the stake there and
these thousands of enemies about her. Yet they made every
churchman there blench, and the preacher changed the subject
with all haste. Well might those criminals blench, for Joan’s appeal
of her case to the Pope stripped Cauchon at once of jurisdiction
over it, and annulled all that he and his judges had already done in
the matter and all that they should do in it henceforth.
Joan went on presently to reiterate, after some further talk, that she
had acted by command of God in her deeds and utterances; then,
when an attempt was made to implicate the King, and friends of
hers and his, she stopped that. She said:
“I charge my deeds and words upon no one, neither upon my King
nor any other. If there is any fault in them, I am responsible and no
other.”
She was asked if she would not recant those of her words and
deeds which had been pronounced evil by her judges. Here answer
made confusion and damage again:
“I submit them to God and the Pope.”
The Pope once more! It was very embarrassing. Here was a person
who was asked to submit her case to the Church, and who frankly
consents–offers to submit it to the very head of it. What more
could any one require? How was one to answer such a formidably
unanswerable answer as that?
The worried judges put their heads together and whispered and
planned and discussed. Then they brought forth this sufficiently
shambling conclusion–but it was the best they could do, in so
close a place: they said the Pope was so far away; and it was not
necessary to go to him anyway, because the present judges had
sufficient power and authority to deal with the present case, and
were in effect “the Church” to that extent. At another time they
could have smiled at this conceit, but not now; they were not
comfortable enough now.
The mob was getting impatient. It was beginning to put on a
threatening aspect; it was tired of standing, tired of the scorching
heat; and the thunder was coming nearer, the lightning was
flashing brighter. It was necessary to hurry this matter to a close.
Erard showed Joan a written form, which had been prepared and
made all ready beforehand, and asked her to abjure.
“Abjure? What is abjure?”
She did not know the word. It was explained to her by Massieu.
She tried to understand, but she was breaking, under exhaustion,
and she could not gather the meaning. It was all a jumble and
confusion of strange words. In her despair she sent out this
beseeching cry:
“I appeal to the Church universal whether I ought to abjure or not!”
Erard exclaimed:
“You shall abjure instantly, or instantly be burnt!”
She glanced up, at those awful words, and for the first time she
saw the stake and the mass of red coals–redder and angrier than
ever now under the constantly deepening storm-gloom. She gasped
and staggered up out of her seat muttering and mumbling
incoherently, and gazed vacantly upon the people and the scene
about her like one who is dazed, or thinks he dreams, and does not
know where he is.
The priests crowded about her imploring her to sign the paper,
there were many voices beseeching and urging her at once, there
was great turmoil and shouting and excitement among the
populace and everywhere.
“Sign! sign!” from the priests; “sign–sign and be saved!” And
Loyseleur was urging at her ear, “Do as I told you–do not destroy
yourself!”
Joan said plaintively to these people:
“Ah, you do not do well to seduce me.”
The judges joined their voices to the others. Yes, even the iron in
their hearts melted, and they said:
“O Joan, we pity you so! Take back what you have said, or we