So, surrounded by a strong guard, the Maid was led through the corridor to the royal chapel. It was but a short distance, but it was the first breath of fresh air that she had had in almost two months, and Jeanne inhaled it eagerly. The chapel was a large room, but it was not large enough to accommodate those who sought admission. Rouen was very full of people, and the leopards of England and the two-tailed lion of Burgundy were to be seen on every side. There was a motley populace of soldiers, citizens, priests and lawyers; for the Great Trial had brought to the town any number of churchmen and men of the robe, each with his attendant train of clerics and secretaries.
Forty-four of the assessors, as the assistants of Cauchon were called, were present in the chapel ranged in a semi-circle around the presiding Bishop. Doctors in theology, doctors in canonical and civil law, abbots and canons were there assembled in the solemnity of their priestly and professional robes; clerks, ready with their pens to record proceedings, lords, and notables of every degree of rank: all gathered to see how easily the Witch would be undone.
To none of these worthies did Jeanne give attention as she was led through the spectators to a solitary bench which stood where all might see on a dais on one side of the room, near to the Bishop’s stand. But, raising her large, grave eyes, she gazed earnestly at the Judge, Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, who this day presided alone. It was a cold cruel face 352 upon which she looked; an intellectual face also, on which ambition sat. No man is so merciless toward an obstacle that stands in the way of his advancement as a cold intellectual man. Involuntarily Jeanne shuddered as she looked at him.
After she was seated Cauchon addressed her, summarizing the accusations, and all the public reports and suspicions upon which the trial was based, exhorting her sternly. Then he required her to take the oath upon the Scriptures, to speak the truth, and to answer all questions addressed to her.
“I know not what things I may be asked,” said Jeanne clearly. “Perhaps you may ask me questions which I cannot answer.”
As the sweet girlish voice rose in answer to the Bishop’s command there was a stir in the assembly and every eye was turned upon the maiden in the prisoner’s seat. They saw a slender girl, just past nineteen, dressed in a page’s suit of black, her dark hair, cut short man fashion, intensifying the pallor of her face, and the melancholy of her large eyes. She looked very young as she sat there, emaciated and fetter-worn from her irons.
“Swear to tell the truth upon whatever you may be asked concerning the faith, and facts within your knowledge,” rejoined the Bishop.
“As to my father and mother,” said Jeanne, “and what I did after setting out for France, I will swear willingly; but the revelations which have come to me from God I will reveal to no man except only to Charles, my King; I shall not reveal them to you though you cut off my head, because I have received them by vision and by secret communication, and am forbidden.” 353 After a moment’s reflection she added: “Before eight days I shall know if I may tell you of them.”
The Bishop urged her again and again to take the oath without conditions. She refused, and they were at length obliged to offer a limited oath. Then, kneeling, Jeanne crossed her hands upon the Missal and swore to answer truly whatever might be asked of her, so far as she could, concerning the common faith of Christians, but no more. Being then questioned concerning her name and early life she answered:
“In my own country I was called Jeannette; ever since coming into France[28] I have been called Jeanne. I have as surname D’Arc or Romée; in my country girls take the name of their mother.” Then she told the names of her father and mother, her godfather and godmothers, the priest who had baptized her, the place where she was born, her age, concluding with: “From my mother I learned my Pater, my Ave Marie, and my Credo. From my mother I learned all that I believe.”