Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc (Vols. I-II) Chapter 8 Joan Persuades Her Inquisitors
by Mark Twain
When Joan told the King what that deep secret was that was
torturing his heart, his doubts were cleared away; he believed she
was sent of God, and if he had been let alone he would have set
her upon her great mission at once. But he was not let alone.
Tremouille and the holy fox of Rheims knew their man. All they
needed to say was this--and they said it:
"Your Highness says her Voices have revealed to you, by her
mouth, a secret known only to yourself and God. How can you
know that her Voices are not of Satan, and she his
mouthpiece?--for does not Satan know the secrets of men and use
his knowledge for the destruction of their souls? It is a dangerous
business, and your Highness will do well not to proceed in it
without probing the matter to the bottom."
That was enough. It shriveled up the King's little soul like a raisin,
with terrors and apprehensions, and straightway he privately
appointed a commission of bishops to visit and question Joan daily
until they should find out whether her supernatural helps hailed
from heaven or from hell.
The King's relative, the Duke of Alençon, three years prisoner of
war to the English, was in these days released from captivity
through promise of a great ransom; and the name and fame of the
Maid having reached him--for the same filled all mouths now, and
penetrated to all parts--he came to Chinon to see with his own eyes
what manner of creature she might be. The King sent for Joan and
introduced her to the Duke. She said, in her simple fashion:
"You are welcome; the more of the blood of France that is joined
to this cause, the better for the cause and it."
Then the two talked together, and there was just the usual result:
when they departed, the Duke was her friend and advocate.
Joan attended the King's mass the next day, and afterward dined
with the King and the Duke. The King was learning to prize her
company and value her conversation; and that might well be, for,
like other kings, he was used to getting nothing out of people's talk
but guarded phrases, colorless and non-committal, or carefully
tinted to tally with the color of what he said himself; and so this
kind of conversation only vexes and bores, and is wearisome; but
Joan's talk was fresh and free, sincere and honest, and unmarred by
timorous self-watching and constraint. She said the very thing that
was in her mind, and said it in a plain, straightforward way. One
can believe that to the King this must have been like fresh cold
water from the mountains to parched lips used to the water of the
sun-baked puddles of the plain.
After dinner Joan so charmed the Duke with her horsemanship and
lance practice in the meadows by the Castle of Chinon whither the
King also had come to look on, that he made her a present of a
great black war-steed.
Every day the commission of bishops came and questioned Joan
about her Voices and her mission, and then went to the King with
their report. These pryings accomplished but little. She told as
much as she considered advisable, and kept the rest to herself.
Both threats and trickeries were wasted upon her. She did not care
for the threats, and the traps caught nothing. She was perfectly
frank and childlike about these things. She knew the bishops were
sent by the King, that their questions were the King's questions,
and that by all law and custom a King's questions must be
answered; yet she told the King in her naïve way at his own table
one day that she answered only such of those questions as suited
her.
The bishops finally concluded that they couldn't tell whether Joan
was sent by God or not. They were cautious, you see. There were
two powerful parties at Court; therefore to make a decision either
way would infallibly embroil them with one of those parties; so it
seemed to them wisest to roost on the fence and shift the burden to
other shoulders. And that is what they did. They made final report
that Joan's case was beyond their powers, and recommended that it
be put into the hands of the learned and illustrious doctors of the
University of Poitiers. Then they retired from the field, leaving
behind them this little item of testimony, wrung from them by
Joan's wise reticence: they said she was a "gentle and simple little
shepherdess, very candid, but not given to talking."
It was quite true--in their case. But if they could have looked back
and seen her with us in the happy pastures of Domremy, they
would have perceived that she had a tongue that could go fast
enough when no harm could come of her words.
So we traveled to Poitiers, to endure there three weeks of tedious
delay while this poor child was being daily questioned and
badgered before a great bench of--what? Military experts?--since
what she had come to apply for was an army and the privilege of
leading it to battle against the enemies of France. Oh no; it was a
great bench of priests and monks--profoundly leaned and astute
casuists--renowned professors of theology! Instead of setting a
military commission to find out if this valorous little soldier could
win victories, they set a company of holy hair-splitters and
phrase-mongers to work to find out if the soldier was sound in her
piety and had no doctrinal leaks. The rats were devouring the
house, but instead of examining the cat's teeth and claws, they only
concerned themselves to find out if it was a holy cat. If it was a
pious cat, a moral cat, all right, never mind about the other
capacities, they were of no consequence.
Joan was as sweetly self-possessed and tranquil before this grim
tribunal, with its robed celebrities, its solemn state and imposing
ceremonials, as if she were but a spectator and not herself on trial.
She sat there, solitary on her bench, untroubled, and disconcerted
the science of the sages with her sublime ignorance--an ignorance
which was a fortress; arts, wiles, the learning drawn from books,
and all like missiles rebounded from its unconscious masonry and
fell to the ground harmless; they could not dislodge the garrison
which was within--Joan's serene great heart and spirit, the guards
and keepers of her mission.
She answered all questions frankly, and she told all the story of her
visions and of her experiences with the angels and what they said
to her; and the manner of the telling was so unaffected, and so
earnest and sincere, and made it all seem so lifelike and real, that
even that hard practical court forgot itself and sat motionless and
mute, listening with a charmed and wondering interest to the end.
And if you would have other testimony than mine, look in the
histories and you will find where an eyewitness, giving sworn
testimony in the Rehabilitation process, says that she told that tale
"with a noble dignity and simplicity," and as to its effect, says in
substance what I have said. Seventeen, she was--seventeen, and all
alone on her bench by herself; yet was not afraid, but faced that
great company of erudite doctors of law ant theology, and by the
help of no art learned in the schools, but using only the
enchantments which were hers by nature, of youth, sincerity, a
voice soft and musical, and an eloquence whose source was the
heart, not the head, she laid that spell upon them. Now was not
that a beautiful thing to see? If I could, I would put it before you
just as I saw it; then I know what you would say.
As I have told you, she could not read. "One day they harried and
pestered her with arguments, reasonings, objections, and other
windy and wordy trivialities, gathered out of the works of this and
that and the other great theological authority, until at last her
patience vanished, and she turned upon them sharply and said:
"I don't know A from B; but I know this: that I am come by
command of the Lord of Heaven to deliver Orleans from the
English power and crown the King of Rheims, and the matters ye
are puttering over are of no consequence!"
Necessarily those were trying days for her, and wearing for
everybody that took part; but her share was the hardest, for she had
no holidays, but must be always on hand and stay the long hours
through, whereas this, that, and the other inquisitor could absent
himself and rest up from his fatigues when he got worn out. And
yet she showed no wear, no weariness, and but seldom let fly her
temper. As a rule she put her day through calm, alert, patient,
fencing with those veteran masters of scholarly sword-play and
coming out always without a scratch.
One day a Dominican sprung upon her a question which made
everybody cock up his ears with interest; as for me, I trembled, and
said to myself she is done this time, poor Joan, for there is no way
of answering this. The sly Dominican began in this way--in a sort
of indolent fashion, as if the thing he was about was a matter of no
moment:
"You assert that God has willed to deliver France from this English
bondage?"
"Yes, He has willed it."
"You wish for men-at-arms, so that you may go to the relief of
Orleans, I believe?"
"Yes--and the sooner the better."
"God is all-powerful, and able to do whatsoever thing He wills to
do, is it not so?"
"Most surely. None doubts it."
The Dominican lifted his head suddenly, and sprung that question I
have spoken of, with exultation:
"Then answer me this. If He has willed to deliver France, and is
able to do whatsoever He wills, where is the need for
men-at-arms?"
There was a fine stir and commotion when he said that, and a
sudden thrusting forward of heads and putting up of hands to ears
to catch the answer; and the Dominican wagged his head with
satisfaction, and looked about him collecting his applause, for it
shone in every face. But Joan was not disturbed. There was no note
of disquiet in her voice when she answered:
"He helps who help themselves. The sons of France will fight the
battles, but He will give the victory!"
You could see a light of admiration sweep the house from face to
face like a ray from the sun. Even the Dominican himself looked
pleased, to see his master-stroke so neatly parried, and I heard a
venerable bishop mutter, in the phrasing common to priest and
people in that robust time, "By God, the child has said true. He
willed that Goliath should be slain, and He sent a child like this to
do it!"
Another day, when the inquisition had dragged along until
everybody looked drowsy and tired but Joan, Brother S‚guin,
professor of theology at the University of Poitiers, who was a sour
and sarcastic man, fell to plying Joan with all sorts of nagging
questions in his bastard Limousin French--for he was from
Limoges. Finally he said:
"How is it that you understand those angels? What language did
they speak?"
"French."
"In-deed! How pleasant to know that our language is so honored!
Good French?"
"Yes--perfect."
"Perfect, eh? Well, certainly you ought to know. It was even better
than your own, eh?"
"As to that, I--I believe I cannot say," said she, and was going on,
but stopped. Then she added, almost as if she were saying it to
herself, "Still, it was an improvement on yours!"
I knew there was a chuckle back of her eyes, for all their
innocence. Everybody shouted. Brother Séguin was nettled, and
asked brusquely:
"Do you believe in God?"
Joan answered with an irritating nonchalance:
"Oh, well, yes--better than you, it is likely."
Brother Séguin lost his patience, and heaped sarcasm after sarcasm
upon her, and finally burst out in angry earnest, exclaiming:
"Very well, I can tell you this, you whose believe in God is so
great: God has not willed that any shall believe in you without a
sign. Where is your sign?--show it!"
This roused Joan, and she was on her feet in a moment, and flung
out her retort with spirit:
"I have not come to Poitiers to show signs and do miracles. Send
me to Orleans and you shall have signs enough. Give me
men-at-arms--few or many--and let me go!"
The fire was leaping from her eyes--ah, the heroic little figure!
can't you see her? There was a great burst of acclamations, and she
sat down blushing, for it was not in her delicate nature to like
being conspicuous.
This speech and that episode about the French language scored
two points against Brother Séguin, while he scored nothing against
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.