Joan: The Mysterious Life of the Heretic Who Became a Saint Read online

  Another assessor, a priest named Richard de Grouchet, later confessed that he (and others he named) “wanted to get out of the trial, but we finally took part out of fear and coercion.” A priest named Jean Riquier summarized the process: “Everyone was either forced to please the English or did so voluntarily, and the English wanted a quick trial and a pretext to execute her.”

  A Dominican friar at Rouen named Isambart de la Pierre swore that he was threatened by Cauchon with death if he said anything good about Joan. The judges and assessors, according to la Pierre, were variously motivated by partisanship, outright hatred of Joan, love of the money with which they were bribed, or fear of punishment. “Everything was done according to the wishes of the King of England [that is, according to the mandate of his regent, the Duke of Bedford], the Cardinal of Winchester, the Earl of Warwick, and other Englishmen who assumed the trial’s expenses.”* As for Joan, a Benedictine monk named Thomas Marie summarized the fama or word of mouth in Rouen at the time: “If the English had a woman like Joan on their side, they would have rewarded her with high honors and not treated her so dreadfully.”

  That was also the judgment of Jean de la Fontaine, who was charged with making the summary of charges against Joan in February. He saw that the enormous evidence favorable to her was being deliberately excised from the record, and he promptly withdrew from the case; afraid for his life, he made a hasty exit from Rouen. Jean Lohier, a Norman priest, loudly proclaimed his opinion that the trial was invalid because no one was there to represent the cause of either Joan or Charles VII. “We shall ignore him and go on our way,” muttered Cauchon. Lohier quit the trial and took refuge in Rome.

  Cauchon’s autocratic, tyrannical and malicious conduct with priests, bishops and assessors was entirely consistent with his attitude toward Joan, the trial he was preparing against her and his plan for her destruction. The critical issue at stake was clear to him: would Joan the Maid submit to the judgment of the institutional Church—that is, to him as its representative? Would she judge her own life as they would judge her? If so, she could readily be proclaimed guilty on their summary judgment; if she would not submit, she could nevertheless forthwith be condemned, since to deny the authority of the Church in matters spiritual was defined as the worst sort of heresy.

  Cauchon’s reasoning was a finely tuned example of medieval ecclesiastical thinking in service to churchmen rather than the laity; it was, in other words, an example of how a system could easily sacrifice people to syllogisms. However one assesses his sense of the Church, his notion of the nature of faith and the meaning of conscience, Cauchon can only be regarded as a complete failure; indeed, he gave no indication that these mattered to him at all. Entirely controlled by greed and an almost maniacal drive for political power, he became an implacable egomaniac who orchestrated not only Joan of Arc’s condemnation as a heretic but also her death. He cannot simply be excused as a product of the fifteenth century, for people of that time—as seen in the reactions of many assessors—placed a high value on fidelity to canon and civil law, which he blithely ignored.

  Utterly lacking any sense of justice, Cauchon insisted on stacking Joan’s trial with biased minds. Then, to prove that he was fiercely loyal to the king of England and the English cause, he worked to destroy both the French throne and the woman who had brought its sovereign from the realm of the possible to the world of the real. His crime was among the most heinous, for he not only wished to demonstrate his intense loyalty to those who could raise him high, he also sought to destroy the perceived enemies of those he served. And if Joan the Maid was indeed an authentic visionary sent by God, he would have to consider himself doomed for supporting the wrong side in the Hundred Years’ War. She had to be discredited, she had to be executed: his entire life, his success, his rank, reputation and position hung in the balance.

  That Pierre Cauchon was a bishop with a keen mind intensified the awfulness of the situation. He revealed to the court nothing of Christian faith, much less of the spirit of the gospel or of the bishop’s vocation—his mandate and, presumably, his sacred honor and supreme happiness—namely, the service of God’s people. Of the man’s earlier spiritual convictions, and of his conscience then and later, we know nothing.

  THE FIRST PUBLIC session of the trial’s preliminary investigation was held on Monday, February 19, when Cauchon in the presence of eleven assessors ordered Joan to make her first appearance two days later in council chambers. The next day Jean Le Maître informed Cauchon that he had no wish to be intimately involved in the trial or to appear on a regular basis, and he acquiesced in Cauchon’s choice of d’Estivet as chief Inquisitorial promoter.

  First Session: Ash Wednesday, February 21, 1431

  On February 21 Joan of Arc first appeared at her own trial. She entered the council chamber, set up in the castle chapel, at eight o’clock that morning, escorted by Jean Massieu because the heavy chains on her hands, waist and feet made it impossible for her to walk without assistance. Joan had already been a prisoner, in one place or another, for almost nine months, and since before Christmas she had been denied the consolations of the Church’s sacraments. That very morning she had asked to attend Mass before coming into the chamber, but Cauchon refused. Still, she had her own prayer and her communication with voices she still insisted came to her from God and His saints.

  As she looked around the room, Joan saw more than three dozen theologians, doctors of canon and civil law, judges and clerks. Cauchon, convinced that he could make short work of an illiterate peasant girl who had risen beyond her station, wasted no time as he and d’Estivet alternated asking the first questions:

  Questioner: To shorten this trial and to unburden your conscience, you must swear on this book of the Holy Gospels to tell the whole truth concerning everything that will be asked of you.

  Joan: I do not know what you want to question me about. Perhaps you may ask about private things, which I will not answer.

  The “private things” referred not only to the intimacy of her spiritual life and the nature of her visions and voices, but also to whatever she knew of French military plans, strategies and matters past and present relative to the king of France. Of these things, she always refused to speak; hence she would not take an oath to answer truthfully everything put to her:

  Joan: I am ready to swear to tell the truth concerning what I know about this trial—but I shall never say everything that I know.

  Questioner: You must swear to tell the truth about whatever you are asked that relates to the Catholic faith—and anything else that you may know.

  Joan: I shall willingly swear to tell you everything about my father and mother, and what I have done since I came into France [that is, the part of the country loyal to Charles VII]. But I have never said anything to anyone about the revelations I have been given by God—except to Charles, who is my earthly king. And even if you threaten to cut my head off, I will not reveal anything, for God asks me to keep these revelations secret.

  Questioner: Swear to tell the truth concerning your faith.

  Joan took the missal in her hands and swore to speak truthfully in all matters concerning the faith. She then added, “But about my revelations, I will tell you nothing.” She was then required to begin with a traditional and formal statement that revealed her name, origins and background.

  Joan: I was born in Domrémy de Greux, and the principal church of the region is at Greux. In that place, I was called Jeannette, and in France, Jeanne [= Joan]. My father is Jacques Darc, and my mother is Isabelle.

  Questioner: Where were you baptized?

  Joan: In the church of Domrémy.

  Questioner: Who were your godmothers and godfathers?

  Joan: They were women called Agnes and Jeanne, and a man named Jean Bavent. My mother told me there were other godmothers and godfathers too.

  Questioner: Which priest baptized you?

  Joan: His name was Jean Minet, so far as I can recall.

  Questioner: I
s he still alive?

  Joan: I think so.

  Questioner: How old are you?

  Joan: About nineteen.

  Questioner: Who gave you religious instruction?

  Joan: My mother taught me the Our Father and the Hail Mary and the Apostles’ Creed. No one but my mother taught me about faith.

  Questioner: Say the Lord’s Prayer and the Ave Maria aloud.

  Joan: If you hear my confession, I will gladly do so.

  This was a clever request on Joan’s part, for it could never be denied by any priest. But this would have required Cauchon to shift roles, from judge to priestly confessor, and he would have had to accord her forgiveness. According to Church law, it also would have prevented him from revealing in public anything she told him within the seal of confession. Cauchon said he would provide another clergyman among those present to hear her confession, but she refused to say prayers aloud, as he requested, unless Cauchon himself heard her. He dropped the subject. She then complained about her shackles.

  Questioner: Several times you have tried to escape from your prisons, so to keep you more securely, I have ordered that you be shackled.

  Joan: Of course I tried to escape—that is to be expected of any prisoner! And if I had been able to escape, no one could accuse me of breaking my word, for I would never give anyone my word that I would not try.

  Hearing that, Cauchon ordered the chief of Joan’s guards to keep strict watch over her at all times, to see that her chains were secure at all hours, and not to allow anyone to visit or speak with her unless they had his own explicit permission.

  At that point, and with Cauchon’s approving glance, several assessors spoke simultaneously, crying out questions and making statements to Joan in an attempt to confuse and intimidate her. “When the Lord of Beauvais and six assessors first interrogated her,” recalled Jean Massieu, “it was usual for one to ask her a question, and while she was answering, another interrupted her reply with another question, so that she had to call out for some order in the hall.”

  Joan: My lord and my lords, I beg you—one question at a time, please, and I shall reply!

  Displeased by her poise, Cauchon adjourned the session.

  Guillaume Manchon, the chief notary or recorder of the trial, later testified as to the general tone of the proceedings:

  During the trial, she was often exhausted by the many repeated and complicated questions, which were sometimes put to her simultaneously. They put her through this every morning for three or four hours, and often late in the day too for another two or three hours. Many times they quoted her to herself from a previous day’s record, even changing her words in order to confuse her. Despite this, she spoke firmly and clearly, for she had a superb memory. Often she said, in response to a question, “I already replied to that,” and if they said she had not, she said, “I refer you to the master notary,” meaning myself, who was the recorder of her words. She was always correct in her memory of what she had said.

  At the beginning there was often a great deal of confusion and disarray in the chapel turned judicial chamber. In addition to Manchon, the English had imported their own secretaries, who frequently shouted aloud for Joan or one of the assessors to repeat something while she was replying. With considerable courage, Manchon announced that he would no longer continue in his assigned task if this sort of chaos continued. Soon after, the trial was moved to a small court of the castle. Years later Manchon said:

  I set down the Maid’s answers in French, and sometimes the judges tried to force me to put those answers in other words—for they referred to them in Latin and changed the meaning of her words or my taking of dictation. Meanwhile, Cauchon had other secretaries taking down Joan’s answers and changing them. My notes were put in the minutes, as required, but [Cauchon] often referred to the notes of others when he was questioning Joan.

  Second Session: Thursday, February 22

  The second day the trial was moved to the chambre de parement, a small room adjacent to the Great Hall of the castle. A Rouen priest named Jean Beaupère, one of the assessors, asked the questions, which dealt mostly with Joan’s voices and the events of Vaucouleurs. At the outset Joan was again asked to take the oath swearing to answer about everything she would be asked.

  Joan: I gave you that oath yesterday. You are burdening me too much. I will tell the truth concerning any points touching the faith, but that is all.

  This was not mere stubbornness on Joan’s part. She knew they were trying to convict her of heresy—errors in her beliefs—and she was confident that she could acquit herself in that regard. She also knew that there were biblical and canonical prohibitions against needless oath taking—and it was not beyond possibility that her judges, having asked her to take repeated oaths, would omit their requests from the transcripts, include only her multiple oaths, and then condemn her for having taken them.

  Questioner: Will you tell us the truth about everything?

  Joan: If you really knew me, about my life and what I have done, you would really want to have nothing to do with me, and you would know that you have no reason to charge or condemn me. I have done nothing except by revelation from God.

  Typically, the interrogation shifts in subject and chronology.

  Questioner: How old were you when you left home?

  Joan: I am not sure.

  Questioner: Did you learn any craft or trade?

  Joan: My mother taught me very well how to sew, and I don’t think there’s a woman here in Rouen who could teach me anything more about it.

  Questioner: Why did you leave Domrémy with your family?

  Joan: For fear of the Burgundians. We stayed with a woman at Neufchâteau, and there I helped with household tasks.

  Questioner: Did you go to confession every year? [Annual confession was required by Church law.]

  Joan: Yes, to my own parish priest, and if he was not available, then to another. I also went to confession to friars who visited the town. And I went to Holy Communion every year at Easter [as also required by Church law].

  Questioner: Did you go to Holy Communion at other feasts than Easter?

  This too was a trick question. If she said she did, then they would have inquired about the state of her soul each time she did so, to whom she confessed and so forth. And if she did not frequent the Eucharist outside Eastertide, they were free to ask why not since this could have been interpreted as an implication of sinfulness. Hence her reply:

  Joan: Go to the next question.

  Questioner: We understand that you claim to have heard voices. When did you first hear voices?

  Joan: At about the age of thirteen, I heard a voice from Our Lord, teaching me how to behave. The first time I was very much afraid. It happened about noon on a summer day, when I was in my father’s garden, and I heard the voice on my right side, as if from the direction of the church. There was also a bright light—I always saw a bright light, and it was always in the direction of the voice. The voice always took good care of me, and I felt very consoled.

  Questioner: What sort of teaching did the voice give you?

  Joan: I was taught how to behave, to pray, and to go to church. Later I was told go to into France. Later still, two or three times a week, I was told I must leave home and go to raise the siege of Orléans—but first I must go to Robert de Baudricourt, the captain of Vaucouleurs, and that he would give me men to accompany me. Twice Baudricourt refused me, but then he received me and gave me men to conduct me to France…. Before that, the Duke of Lorraine sent for me. I went with safe conduct and told him I could do nothing for his health but that I would pray for him.

  Questioner: Who advised you to put on men’s clothing?

  Joan: My voices…but I charge no one with this.

  Joan answered variously to this question, but there are no real discrepancies. She repeatedly said that she was inspired to wear male garb for the obvious practical reasons and for protection against both military and sexual danger. And when she re
plied that no one told her to do so, she simply meant that the notion came from no outside agent or command. She then described how she left Vaucouleurs and who accompanied her, and she told of their journey to Charles.

  Joan: I found my king at Chinon, where I arrived about noon and went to an inn. Then I went to where the king was, and I recognized him. I told the king that I wished to do battle against the English.

  The questions then shifted to the frequency of her voices during her interviews with the king, about which Joan said very little. They asked about her injury during the siege of Paris, who cared for her and various other matters—all designed to confuse her by mixing the chronology. By late afternoon Cauchon was hungry and concluded the day’s proceedings, calling for a day’s recess.

  Third Session: Saturday, February 24

  The trial reconvened on Saturday with a long speech by Cauchon reminding her that he was her judge and that she was required to do his bidding in all things.

  Joan: Beware of saying that you are my judge. In so doing, you take upon yourself a very great responsibility, and you place too great a burden on me. My lord bishop, I have come from God, and I ought not to be here before you. You should dismiss me and place me in the hands of God, from whom I came.

  Beaupère then resumed the inquiry:

  Questioner: When did you last eat or drink?

  Joan: Yesterday afternoon.

  Questioner: When did you last hear your voices?

  Joan: Yesterday and today.

  Questioner: At what time?

  Joan: Yesterday, three times—in the morning, at the hour of Vespers [late afternoon] and at the hour of the Ave Maria [at six in the evening].

  Questioner: What were you doing when you heard this voice?*

  Joan: I was asleep, and the voice awoke me.

  Questioner: How were you awakened—by the sound of the voice, or did someone touch you on the arm, or elsewhere?