So they talked to her. Presently the cart came that was to carry her to the cemetery of St. Ouen, which was to be the 369 place of her sentence. Loyseleur, Massieu and a number of the priests rode with her, exhorting, explaining, and pleading with her to submit. They drove through the marketplace that she might see the preparations that had been made for the execution of the sentence should she persist in her obduracy. Jeanne was not spared one pang. A lofty scaffold with a stake upon it, the logs all arranged ready for the lighting, stood in the midst of the marketplace waiting for its victim.
It was a beautiful day in May. The blue sky had not one cloud to mar its cerulean depths. The streets were filled with crowds of excited people who pushed and struggled behind the rows of erect English soldiers who guarded the passage of the tumbril to the place of sentence: all speaking of life, life and liberty. And beside Loyseleur was whispering, “Submit! Submit!”
Before the stately church of St. Ouen there was an open space that afforded room for a large assemblage of people. Here were erected two platforms, one facing the other. On one of these, in the midst of prelates and nobles, Cardinal Winchester sat with the Bishop of Beauvais and the Earl of Warwick; on the other was the preacher, Maître Guillaume Erad, for it was usual to preach to a witch before burning her. Here also stood Jeanne, and the priests who had accompanied her. Below and all around were a vast concourse of people, and many soldiers.
When all were in their places the preacher arose, and began his sermon: “A branch cannot bear fruit of itself except it abide in the vine.” It was long and eloquent. When it was half over he suddenly began to apostrophise France and her 370 King: “Ah, France! thou art much abused; thou hast always been the most Christian of nations, and Charles, who calls himself thy king and governor, hath joined himself, a heretic and schismatic, which he is, to the words and deeds of a worthless woman, defamed and full of dishonour; and not only he but all the clergy within his jurisdiction and lordship by whom she hath been examined and not reproved, as she hath said.” Then pointing at the Maid, he cried: “It is to thee, Jeanne, that I speak. I tell thee that thy king is a heretic and schismatic.”
Jeanne could bear, and had borne much; but she could not stand an assault upon her King. Clearly her voice rang out as it had been wont to do on field of battle:
“By my faith, sire, saving your respect, I swear upon my life that my King is the most noble Christian of all Christians, that he is not what you say.”
So she spoke, defending the craven who had made no effort in her behalf. There was a sensation among the people as she made her cry; a stir as though moved in spite of themselves, and voices began to murmur excitedly. At this the English soldiers who surrounded the two platforms in a close ring drew closer, and made threatening gestures toward the crowd which silenced them. The preacher resumed his sermon, which he concluded with a last solemn exhortation to the prisoner to yield submission to the Church.
As her Voices had bade her do, Jeanne replied to the preacher’s words boldly: “I have told you Doctors that all my deeds and words should be sent to Rome to our Holy Father, the 371 Pope, to whom, and to God first, I appeal. As for my deeds, I burden no man with them, neither my King nor any other. If fault there be, it is my own and no other’s.”
Three times she was asked if she was willing to renounce those of her acts and words which the court condemned. To which she replied only:
“I appeal to God, and to our Holy Father, the Pope.”