Joan; yet, sour man as he was, he was a manly man, and honest, as
you can see by the histories; for at the Rehabilitation he could have
hidden those unlucky incidents if he had chosen, but he didn’t do
it, but spoke them right out in his evidence.
On one of the lat3er days of that three-weeks session the gowned
scholars and professors made one grand assault all along the line,
fairly overwhelming Joan with objections and arguments culled
from the writings of every ancient and illustrious authority of the
Roman Church. She was well-nigh smothered; but at last she
shook herself free and struck back, crying out:
“Listen! The Book of God is worth more than all these ye cite, and
I stand upon it. And I tell ye there are things in that Book that not
one among ye can read, with all your learning!”
From the first she was the guest, by invitation, of the dame De
Rabateau, wife of a councilor of the Parliament of Poitiers; and to
that house the great ladies of the city came nightly to see Joan and
talk with her; and not these only, but the old lawyers, councilors
and scholars of the Parliament and the University. And these grave
men, accustomed to weigh every strange and questionable thing,
and cautiously consider it, and turn it about this way and that and
still doubt it, came night after night, and night after night, falling
ever deeper and deeper under the influence of that mysterious
something, that spell, that elusive and unwordable fascination,
which was the supremest endowment of Joan of Arc, that winning
and persuasive and convincing something which high and low
alike recognized and felt, but which neither high nor low could
explain or describe, and one by one they all surrendered, saying,
“This child is sent of God.”
All day long Joan, in the great court and subject to its rigid rules of
procedure, was at a disadvantage; her judges had things their own
way; but at night she held court herself, and matters were reversed,
she presiding, with her tongue free and her same judges there
before her. There could not be but one result: all the objections and
hindrances they could build around her with their hard labors of
the day she would charm away at night. In the end, she carried her
judges with her in a mass, and got her great verdict without a
dissenting voice.
The court was a sight to see when the president of it read it from
his throne, for all the great people of the town were there who
could get admission and find room. First there were some solemn
ceremonies, proper and usual at such times; then, when there was
silence again, the reading followed, penetrating the deep hush so
that every word was heard in even the remotest parts of the house:
“It is found, and is hereby declared, that Joan of Arc, called the
Maid, is a good Christian and a good Catholic; that there is
nothing in her person or her words contrary to the faith; and that
the King may and ought to accept the succor she offers; for to
repel it would be to offend the Holy Spirit, and render him
unworthy of the air of God.”
The court rose, and then the storm of plaudits burst forth
unrebuked, dying down and bursting forth again and again, and I
lost sight of Joan, for she was swallowed up in a great tide of
people who rushed to congratulate her and pour out benedictions
upon her and upon the cause of France, now solemnly and
irrevocably delivered into her little hands.
Chapter 9 She Is Made General-in-Chief
IT WAS indeed a great day, and a stirring thing to see.
She had won! It was a mistake of Tremouille and her other
ill-wishers to let her hold court those nights.
The commission of priests sent to Lorraine ostensibly to inquire
into Joan’s character–in fact to weary her with delays and wear out
her purpose and make her give it up–arrived back and reported her
character perfect. Our affairs were in full career now, you see.
The verdict made a prodigious stir. Dead France woke suddenly to