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THE STORY OF JOAN OF ARC THE WITCH--SAINT

By M. M. Mangasarian

Lecturer Of The Independent Religious Society

From "The Rationalist," October, 1913


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PAST NUMBERS OF THE RATIONALIST.

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JOAN OF ARC

This lecture on Joan of Arc, delivered some time ago, provoked a great
deal of criticism in Chicago. The people who protested against it and
wanted to punish its author were, naturally enough, the Roman Catholics.
What interests me in Joan of Arc is not the fact that the story of her
martyrdom and subsequent canonization could be used as a weapon
against the Church of Rome, but because the story in itself is so very
compelling. It is quite true that the story also illustrates how far
from infallible the Catholic Church has been in its dealings with the
Maid of Orleans--first, burning her at the stake as a witch, and, five
hundred years later, beatifying her as a saint. The statement in my
lecture which caused the greatest displeasure was to the effect that the
same church which had burnt Joan of Arc as a witch in fourteen hundred
thirty-one had sainted her in nineteen hundred and nine. The Catholics
deny that they were at all responsible for the terrible death of
the deliverer of France. This lecture will throw some light on that
question.

As related in a former lecture, it was at her shrine, in the Church of
the Sacred Heart, in Paris, last summer, that I promised myself the
task of presenting to the American people the truth about Joan of Arc.
I shall speak very plainly in this lecture, but, I am sure, without
any trace of bitterness in my heart toward anyone. I shall speak with
feeling, of course, for it is impossible not to be moved to the depths
by the events which brought a girl of nineteen to the stake--but my
passion is free from anger or prejudice. I can weep for this young woman
without gnashing my teeth on her fanatical persecutors. I am sure I can
tell the truth without lying about the Catholic Church.

But I do not wish to be sentimental, either. I have not forgiven the
unrepentant destroyers of the innocent. To convert a heretic into
a saint by trying to prove that she was not a heretic at all is not
repentance; it is sophistry. To deny that Joan suffered death at the
hands of, and by the authority of, the Vicar of Christ on earth is not
a sign of regret for the past, but a defiance of history. When
the Catholics shall admit that, through ignorance, and urged on by
circumstances they could not control, they committed the act which they
have since atoned for by offering her a heavenly crown--when, I say, the
Catholics shall shed over her body tears as genuine as those which black
Othello shed over the woman he had smothered--then we will forgive them.

But the Catholic Church will have to choose between securing our
forgiveness and retaining her infallibility. If she should repent of a
single act ever committed by her officially, she would lose her claim
to infallibility--for how can the infallible err? If, on the other hand,
she should hold to her infallibility, how can she be sorry for anything
she has ever done? If I had any influence with the Catholics I would
advise them to sacrifice infallibility for the respect of humanity.
It is much more divine to say, "I am sorry," than to say, "I am
infallible." But the Catholic Church will not take my advice.

The shrine of Joan in the Paris church is almost as eloquent as her
stake in Rouen. I have seen them both--that is to say, I have seen the
spot on which she was consumed, marked by a white slab; and I have seen
the marble figure of Joan, as a girl, in the attitude of prayer, now
in the Church of the Sacred Heart in Paris. As I stood at her shrine in
this great white church it seemed to me that, even though Joan of Arc
has, at last been made a saint, there was still a prejudice against her
on the part of the people, as well as of the priests. This is only an
impression, and I hope I am mistaken. But let me present the evidence
on which I base my misgivings: In the first place, Joan is not given
the preference in the shrine set apart for her. St. Michael, whoever he
might be, occupies the whole front of the altar, and only on the windows
and the side walls do we find any mention of Joan and the events of her
heroic career. There is also, at one end of the enclosure, as intimated
before, a small marble figure of Joan on her knees. Why does St. Michael
usurp the place of honor over the altar? Who is he? What has he done for
France? In the second place, there was not a single lighted candle at
her shrine. St. Mary's altar, a little distance off, was ablaze. St.
Joseph's, too, was honored by lighted candles. But no one was on her
knees and no flame twinkled before the sainted Joan of Arc. They say
that it is almost impossible to outlive the charge of heresy. In former
times, quite frequently, even heretics who repented of their heresies
were put to death, nevertheless. To have ever been accused, even, or
suspected of heresy, is an unpardonable crime. Joan was suspected, at
least, of rebellion against Rome, and it seemed to me, as I reflected
upon what I observed in the church, that the Catholics had canonized
this village maid reluctantly, and only under pressure, and after five
hundred years of dillydallying.

But before I left the Church of the Sacred Heart there was a lighted
candle upon her altar. I lighted it. Approaching one of the candle
tables, of which there are half a dozen in the building, I purchased a
long, tapering candle, white as the lily, and I touched it with fire--I
kindled it and set it in one of the sockets to burn before the kneeling
Joan. I left my flaming candle in the Church of the Sacred Heart! I,
a non-Catholic, offered my fire to Joan, not because she had been
canonized--for I never wait for the consent or the approval of the Pope
before paying homage to anybody--but because her sweet, sad story is one
of the most moving of modern times, and her vindication one of the most
stupendous conquests of modern thought.

The Church of the Sacred Heart is one of the most beautiful in Paris. It
is built on the highest point in the city and commands a wonderful
view. As I have told you before, I have two friends who dwell on this
summit--really, a superb location. It is approached by a long flight of
stairs, or by a cog-wheel train. Before it, and all around it, sweeps
the Paris of to-day, as did the Paris of Clovis and Charlemagne, nearly
fifteen hundred years ago; the Paris of Julian, Emperor of Rome, older
still; the Catholic Paris, when kings and parlements bowed low to kiss
the great toe of the Italian Christ, or his vicar; the Paris of the
Medici--red and bloody; the Paris of the Huguenots, of Henry of Navarre,
of Conde and Colligny--sad, desolate, and in the throes of a new faith;
and the Paris of the philosophers, whose smile softened its barbarities,
lit up its darkness, and made it a city of light--_La ville Lumiere!_
There, on that splendid elevation, live my two young friends. They are
both at the age of nineteen. One of them a lad, the other a maid. The
girl is housed; the boy is exposed. Joan of Arc lives in the church--the
cathedral is her home. The Chevalier de La Barre stands on the edge of
the hill, with sun and shower falling upon his head. The Catholic Church
burnt them both at the stake--the boy and the girl; the one because
he did not tip his hat to the priest at a street procession, the other
because she believed in herself! But modern thought has vindicated
both of these outcasts. Joan now dwells in a white church, perfumed and
lighted; and the Chevalier crowns the brow of the hill with his youthful
figure and appealing gesture. The chain which tied these children to the
stake in a dark age has flowered! Is not that wonderful? I believe in
the forces, the ideas, the movement--the thought that can cause a chain
to flower!

I am not going to speak this morning of the Chevalier de La Barre, to
commemorate whose memory the nationalists of France have erected this
monument, close to the Church of the Sacred Heart. He will be my theme
on another occasion. In this lecture I shall confine myself to the story
of Joan of Arc. And a strange story it is! A young girl of seventeen
marches at the head of a dilapidated and demoralized army, and leads it
on to victory against the best fighters of the world, the English, who,
in the fifteenth century, were trying to annex France to England; she
is captured by traitors, sold to the enemy for ten thousand pounds; and
then she is handed over to the church to be tried for heresy. She is
tried, convicted, and sentenced to be burned alive. This sentence, the
most revolting on record, is carried out in all its literalness, and in
broad daylight, and under the shadow of the Christian cross, and at
the very doors of a great cathedral. All this transpired in the city of
Rouen, on the thirtieth day of May, fourteen hundred thirty-one.

In order that I may enter into the spirit of the thrilling events of
which Rouen was the stage, I repaired to that city, and reverently
visited the scenes of the trial and the martyrdom of this latest saint
of the Catholic world. Words cannot convey to you the emotions which,
like a storm, burst upon me suddenly as the conductor on my train called
out, "Rouen!" It was then about a half hour to midnight, and, jumping
into a carriage, I was quickly driven to my hotel. What thoughts, and
how they crowded in upon me, as soon as I laid my head upon my pillow.
My brain was too active to permit of sleep. I imagined I was living in
_the year fourteen hundred thirty-one_, and that I had just reached this
city on the eve of the martyrdom of Joan. "To-morrow," I whispered
to myself, "Joan of Arc will be led to the stake." Again and again I
repeated to my pillow this shuddering intelligence. "What," I exclaimed
to myself, "a young woman who saved France by her courage is going to
be committed to the flames in this very city _tomorrow!_" I could not
believe it possible. I could not believe that there was folly enough,
or hatred enough, or stupidity enough, in the world for so desperate a
deed. But, alas, it was true. With my eyes closed, I fancied I saw
the throngs marching through the streets--consisting of peasants, of
merchants, of priests, of princes--to see a girl of nineteen burned in
the fire, and in all that throng there was not one who had either a kind
word or thought for her--her who had given them a country to live in.
Abandoned, hated and spat upon, she was left to suffer the cruelest
punishment that human _inhumanity_ could devise, or the most perverse
imagination invent. A girl of nineteen burned alive! "Oh, God!" The
words escaped my lips in spite of me. Then I turned about and called
upon _Humanity_. But in the fifteenth century God and Humanity were both
hard of hearing. Then I called upon _Science_ and _Reason_. But these
were not yet born. "There is no help then," I whispered to myself, and
my heart swelled within me with indignation, and I became desperate,
realizing my helplessness.

With my head upon my pillow during that first night I spent in Rouen,
I tried to penetrate into the motives for the persecution of Joan. This
brave girl was feared because she was superior to her age. She provoked
the jealousy of her inferiors. Her independence and originality alarmed
both the Church and the State. Her ability to take the initiative, and
her courage to disagree with her spiritual teachers was a menace to the
authority of the priest with the keys, and the king with the sword. The
English would not admit that a mere girl, a Domremy peasant, tending
her father's cows, could have the genius to whip them--the most powerful
warriors of Europe. The Catholic Church, on the other hand, would not
forgive Joan for distinguishing herself without their help. For a woman
to eclipse the Holy Church and humiliate a powerful State, was a crime
punishable by death.

In less than two years' time Joan had saved France, after the prayers of
the Church and the armies of the nation had failed ignominiously. In the
opinion of the world of that day there was only one power, the devil's,
that could outwit the Church. It was not denied that Joan had driven
the victorious armies of the enemy out of France, and made a conquered
people free again; but it was argued that she had achieved this triumph,
not by the help of God, but by the instrumentality of the devil. In
those days, anything, however praiseworthy, if accomplished without the
permission and cooperation of the Church, was the work of the devil.
Joan had consulted her own heart, instead of the village confessor.
That was her heresy. Joan had seen visions and heard voices on her
own account. That is the independence which, if encouraged, or even
recognized, would overthrow the Catholic Church. No one is allowed to
receive revelations at first hand. Even God is not permitted to speak
except through his vicar on earth. In short, Joan was a _protestant_,
inasmuch as she not only had direct relations with heaven, but she
refused to allow the Church to be the judge as to whether her voices
were from God or from Satan. During all the agony of her long trial,
every effort was made to induce her to allow the Church to be the judge
of the nature of her visions. Joan refused the test. There was no doubt
about her heresy. She believed herself capable of judging. That was her
unpardonable sin.

Still imagining myself in Rouen, in the year fourteen hundred
thirty-one, I said to myself, "I must arise early in the morning and go
to the old market place to catch a glimpse of the wonderful woman when
she leaves the tower for the stake." As the picture of what I would see
on the following day arose before my closed eyes, I trembled. "I will
not let them burn her," I cried passionately. But, alas, what could one
man do against king, pope, and the mob! And I tossed in my bed like one
in a cage who is conscious of his helplessness against iron bars.

Suddenly, a thought struck me, as the lightning strikes a tree. "This
is fourteen hundred thirty-one," I repeated to myself. "I must get up at
once and repair to the palace of the Bishop of Beauvais, the priest who
holds in the hollow of his hand the fate of the bravest maid in history.
If I could only have a half hour with him," I said, "to pour into his
ears my protest, my pleadings, my scorn, my prayers; or, if I could tell
him of the time when Joan will have a shrine in a Catholic Church!--he
might relent and hearken unto reason?" With these thoughts in my mind
I jumped out of my bed, I lit the candle, I put on my clothes. Then, in
haste, I walked out into the night, seeking my way in the streets of the
strange city now deserted. By the help of the moon and the stars of
that night in May, _fourteen hundred thirty-one_, I traced my way to the
imposing Cathedral of St. Ouen, standing like a towering shadow in
the cold light of the night, and close to which lived the Bishop of
Beauvais.

I knocked upon the Bishop's door. "Open, open," I cried, as in the dead
of night I kept pounding upon the door. "I wish to come in," I cried. "I
wish to save the Church from an indelible stain, I wish to protect the
honor of humanity." "Open, open," I cried, again and again, and in the
stillness of the night the noise of my blows reached far and wide.
Louder and louder still I cried to the Bishop to open the door. "I wish
to rescue France and England from committing an act of infamy; I wish
to save history from an unspeakable shame. Let me in, Bishop! I come
to protect you against the execration of posterity, against eternal
damnation! Open, open the door!" I shouted. I kept pounding upon the
door, long and loud, on the eve of that foul day in fourteen hundred
thirty-one. I grew impatient with waiting for the door to open, and my
voice, which a moment before swept up and down the whole gamut of hope
and despair--pleading, shouting, sobbing--now became faint and feeble.

I could not arouse the Bishop. He was fast asleep. Then I was silent
myself. Suddenly I heard a far away whisper. It did not come from the
Episcopal palace, nor from the Cathedral close by, yet I was sure
I heard some one speaking. I listened again. I could now hear more
clearly. "I am coming, I am coming," was repeated in caressing accents.
"I am coming, to open the door, to awaken the Bishop, to usher in a more
joyous day for humanity. I will extinguish the fires of persecution,
turn executioners into teachers, disarm superstition, and make the whole
world sane. In that day Joan will triumph over her foes and make their
churches her mausoleum." It was the voice of Reason! But it took five
hundred years for that faint whisper to swell into a mighty chorus,
swinging around the globe. That prophecy has been fulfilled, the
Bishop's door opened, and the Church yielded to the clamor of
civilization, and changed Joan's stake into the shrine where I lit my
candle in her honor, in the Church of the Sacred Heart. She is no longer
a heretic, she has become a saint. Her tears have changed into pearls,
her tomb into a cathedral, where she sleeps in pomp on the bosom that
once stung her to death.

But I was not in Rouen in fourteen hundred thirty-one; I was there five
hundred years too late. The day after I arrived in the city, I went to
the market place, but, instead of a procession with candles and torches,
with stakes and fagots, I found commerce, industry, labor, in full
possession of the great square. Prosperous looking men and women met
and greeted one another pleasantly; farmers were selling fruit and
vegetables; the women, flowers. Even the priests one came across smiled
as they saw the happy countenances of the people. What a change! Common
sense has sweetened human nature and flooded the mind with the light
that destroys superstition and makes all men brothers. The guide pointed
out to me the white marble slab marking the spot on which Joan of Arc
met her death. "Upon this place stood the stake of Joan of Arc. The
ashes of the glorious virgin were thrown into the Seine." This is the
inscription on the slab which was placed there by the municipality in
eighteen hundred ninety-one.

Close to this same spot the citizens of Rouen have erected a fountain,
in the form of a monument, to the same heroic maiden. I stood and
watched the playful waters as they fell with a liquid plash into the
marble basin below. Presently, a woman came along with her pitcher. The
stake at which Joan of Arc was burned to death has become a fountain,
to which the people now come to slake their thirst. Walking up to the
woman, I said, "What fountain is this?"

"Ah, monsieur," she exclaimed, "behold the fountain of Joan of Arc."

"But she was a heretic," I remarked. I can never forget her smile. The
sun had arisen in her eyes. "We live in the twentieth century," she
replied. And, unconsciously, we both heaved a sigh of relief. I
rubbed my eyes to be sure we were not living in the middle ages, when
Rationalism was still a babe in swaddling clothes, and Theology was
lord of all. This is the twentieth century--for we are drinking at the
fountain of Joan of Arc instead of carrying fagots to her stake! One
of the sunniest spots in my memory will be my meeting with this peasant
woman, with her pitcher, at the fountain of Joan of Arc.

But my object in this lecture is to help clear some obscure questions in
connection with the trial, martyrdom and subsequent canonization of this
girl of nineteen. I wish to bring about a more intelligent appreciation
of the story of a young shepherdess, beginning from the day she left her
home in Domremy, to the fiery scaffold; and thence to a place among the
saints in the Catholic calendar. This is the only instance in Catholic
history of a person once destroyed as a heretic who has afterwards
received the highest honors within the gift of the Church. In fourteen
hundred thirty-one an infallible body of ecclesiastics pronounced this
young woman to be "a child of perdition, a sorceress, a seducer, a
harlot and a heretic." Five hundred years after, another infallible
body of ecclesiastics belonging to the same church pronounced the same
"harlot" and "heretic" to be "angelic" and "divine." One infallible
pope allowed her to be burned in fourteen hundred thirty-one; another
infallible pope denounced her murderers as detestable criminals--which
shows how fallible is infallibility.

A great many untruths are being circulated to help clear this
contradiction. The clergy are proclaiming from the housetops that it was
not the church that tried and condemned Joan of Arc to torture and death
in fourteen hundred thirty-one; on the contrary, it was the church, they
say, which has just vindicated her memory and beatified her with superb
ceremonies. History, however, gives a different version of the affair.
Before proceeding to describe the trial and condemnation of Joan of Arc,
let me state the attitude of the Rationalist toward Joan of Arc's claims
to inspiration. We can do justice to a woman of her description without
believing in miraculous predictions. Joan of Arc claimed to have seen
visions and to have heard voices, which assured her of her divine
mission. She was thirteen years of age, according to her testimony, when
she felt her first thrill. The visions were repeated. One day, at about
noon, in the summer time, and while working on her father's farm, close
to the whispering trees, she saw a radiance out of which came a voice
which she fancied was the voice of an angel or of a saint. It was not at
all strange that she should hear voices. All her education had prepared
her for them. She had been told how others had seen angels and heard
voices. The literature of the Church was full of the miraculous in those
days. It was the ambition of every believer to receive visits from the
other world, and to be told secrets. Joan, the little Domremy girl,
shared these ambitions. In her case the wish was father to the vision.
She heard the voices and saw the faces which her heart coveted. How do
we explain her "voices" and her "visions"? The question is a very simple
one, unless we have a leaning for theology. The voices that Joan heard
were those that came from her own heart. It was her own dreams she saw
in the sunlight.

The young woman had mused over the acts of brigandage of the invading
army and their French allies; she had seen the smoke of the burning
villages and had heard the wail of her peasant neighbors. The distress
of her people had often melted her into tears and wrung many a sigh from
her lips. She imagined the whole country summoning her to the rescue.
So earnest was she that her thoughts assumed form and shape, and became
vocal. Thus, out of the substance of her own soul she fashioned the
visions which she beheld. She felt herself set apart to be the saviour
of France. The brilliance of that thought darkened every other object in
life--home, parents, money, marriage!

To those who will not be satisfied with this explanation, I beg to say
that if the voices were really supernatural, then they should be held
responsible for the cruel death to which they led or drove the young
woman. Why did her voices, if they were divine, desert her when she
needed their help most? Why did they not save her from prison and the
stake? And which of us would like to be guided to the chambers of the
inquisition, and the flames of the stake by "heavenly voices"? Moreover,
if these voices came from God, why did they not speak to the English
king, or to the Roman pope, in behalf of Joan, when she called on them
for help? Why did they not assume the responsibility for the acts for
which she was destroyed? Voices and visions which induce a young girl to
go to the help of a perishing country only to use her victories for the
benefit of a depraved and imbecile prince like Charles VII, and desert
the young woman herself to be "done" to death! Defend us against them!

Returning to the question of the responsibility of the Catholic Church
for the fate of Joan, there are these points to be touched upon. Being
a matter of history that on the last day of May, fourteen hundred
thirty-one, this young woman was publicly burned in the City of Rouen,
in the square of the cathedral, the question arises: Who put her to
death? Another important question is: Why was she put to death? And when
we have answered these questions we will be in a position to discuss the
much more important question of: Why Joan of Arc was recently translated
into a saint by the pope.

Twenty-five years after the burning of Joan, when the city of Rouen was
restored to the French king, and the English were finally driven across
the Channel, it was decided to review the evidence upon which the Maid
had been convicted and put to death. This was done; and with the result
that she was acquitted of all the charges of heresy, insubordination to
the Church, adultery, witchcraft, etc. What do you think was the motive
of this revision? The French king had begun to realize the disgrace to
which he had been exposed by the condemnation of the Maid as a witch.
Being exceedingly pious--piety and crime were united in him as in many
others of that day--he was tormented by the thought that the young woman
who had assisted him in his war against the English, and had been the
means of securing for him the crown of France, and had also officiated
at his coronation in the cathedral of Rheims, was condemned as an agent
of satan by the Church; which, if true, it would make him not only the
target for the ridicule and derision of the whole Christian world, but,
also, an illicit king of the French, who might refuse their allegiance
to him because he was made king by a witch and not by an apostle of
God. It is no wonder that a superstitious man like Charles VII, in a
superstitious age, trembled, not only for his crown, but, also, for
his life. Therefore, in order to make his succession legitimate it was
necessary to prove that Joan was not a witch, but a true messenger of
God. For if Joan was a witch, Charles VII was not king "by the grace of
God," but by a trick of the devil. In self-defense the king of France
was not only compelled to reopen the case against Joan, now that he was
free from English dictation, but he also indicated in advance to the
ecclesiastics the conclusion they would have to arrive at. The
king could not have allowed, and he would not have allowed, the
ecclesiastical council, convened at his request, to arrive at any other
verdict than the one which would prove to France and Christendom that
he was made king at Rheims, not by a witch who was excommunicated by the
Church and flung into the fire, but by a real and inspired apostle of
God.

Of course, it is a matter of history that it was by the help of Joan
that Charles VII became King of France.

As already intimated, at the coronation ceremony Joan was not only
present, but she assisted the Archbishop when the latter placed the
crown upon the king's head. The inauguration was practically the work
of Joan. It was the fulfillment of a prediction she had repeatedly made,
that she would conquer the English and crown the French king in the City
of Rheims. If she was a witch the coronation was invalid. The ceremony
of the anointing of a king is one of the most solemn in the Catholic
Church. The condemnation of Joan as a witch had not only stripped this
ceremony of its sacredness, but it had also made it null and void, nay,
more, a blasphemy. How could a king, anointed by the help of a witch,
be the king of a Christian nation? To appreciate this argument we
must remember how bigoted the people were in the Middle Ages. In
self-defense, therefore, Charles VII was compelled to prove to the
French, and to the whole world, that the woman to whom he owed his
elevation to the throne was not a heretic.

Let us recapitulate. The King of France ordered the Church to make out a
new certificate for Joan. The Church obeyed the French king, even as the
same Church twenty-five years earlier had obeyed the King of England and
condemned Joan to death. When the English were masters of France, the
Catholic Church pleased them by delivering up the conqueror of England
to be burned alive; when the English were driven out of the country and
the French were again in control this sentence was reversed and Joan was
proven to have been a dutiful child of the Church. Thus it will be seen
that the Church swung with the English when the English ruled the land,
and she swung with the French when the French had driven the English
out of the country. The Church was with England at one time, and she was
with France at another--but never with Joan. I am milder in my criticism
than the facts warrant. I am making strenuous efforts to speak with
immoderation of an "infallible institution."

But why was it to the interest of the English to have Joan declared a
witch? Their motives were as personal as those of the French king. The
English felt humiliated to think that a mere woman had whipped them,
and therefore they were determined to prove that she was more than a
woman--an agent of the devil. There was no secret about this. Their
motive was very plain. It was to their interest to show that Joan was
the personification of satan, and that consequently the English should
not be blamed for running away from her presence, because who could
withstand the devil? The English army did not go down before a girl, but
before a sorceress. Even as the King of France did not wish it said that
he owed his victory over the English to a witch, or that he was made
king by an apostate, the English did not wish it said that they were
conquered by a saint, for that would make God the enemy of the English.
One king wanted Joan damned, and the Church accommodated him by damning
her; another wanted Joan beatified, and the Church beatified her.

It is admitted that the English could not have burned Joan as a witch
without the consent of the Church. They could have burned her as a
prisoner, but that would not have answered their purpose--she must be
declared a witch in order to vindicate the amour propre of the English
people. It is the exclusive prerogative of the Church to decide
questions of orthodoxy or heresy. No king has the right to admit or
exclude any one from the communion of the Church. Whether or not Joan
was a witch was a theological question and could only be decided by the
ecclesiastical court. Neither could the King of France declare Joan of
Arc innocent of heresy without the consent of the Church. It follows
then that the principal actor in the trial, the condemnation and
the death of the young woman under the English, and her subsequent
vindication and beatification, was the Church of Rome, since without its
consent the English could not have made a heretic of her, nor the French
a saviour and a saint. A secular government may declare who shall be its
military heroes, or who shall be court-martialed and disgraced, but only
the Church enjoys the right to damn or to canonize. This point is so
clinching that even the most zealous papist must admit that at one time,
when all Europe was Catholic--England as much so as France--and the pope
was as supreme in one country as in the other, a girl of nineteen, who
had rendered heroic services to her oppressed country, could not
have been declared a heretic and cast into the fire at the door of
a cathedral, in the presence of bishops, priests, a cardinal and a
representative of the holy Inquisition, without the knowledge and
consent of the Holy Roman Catholic Church.

An attempt has been made to throw the entire blame of the proceedings
against Joan of Arc upon the English. There is no doubt about the
anxiety of the English to punish the Maid who had robbed them of the
spoils of their victory over the French and brought dishonor upon their
arms. But a mere military punishment, as already intimated, would
not have been sufficient to satisfy the English--she had to be
excommunicated from Christendom as one possessed of the devil. That was
the only way to save the English of the disgrace of having been beaten
by a woman, and the records show that the Church, instead of reluctantly
carrying out the wishes of the English, was more than pleased to
bring Joan to the stake. Letters were written from the office of the
Inquisition to the English king, complaining against his lukewarmness
in the matter of prosecuting the young woman. The Catholic University
of Paris, also, sent a special communication to King Henry of England
to remind him of his duty to help the Church to put down heresy. The
English were urged to hand Joan over to the bishop and the Inquisition,
that the ecclesiastics might proceed with her trial without delay. And
when finally Joan faced her judges, forty in number, every one of them
was an ecclesiastic, and out of the forty, thirty-eight were Frenchmen.

Moreover, the Archbishop of Rheims, who was also Chancellor of France,
wrote a letter which is still in existence, in which he congratulated
the French upon the capture of Joan of Arc, whom he denounces as a
heretic--"a proud and rebellious child who refuses to submit to the
Church." Being the superior of the Bishop of Beauvais, who was in charge
of the trial, the Archbishop could have stopped the prosecution if
he had the least sympathy or pity for the Maid. But to try to save
a heretic would be the worst kind of heresy. That explains the utter
desertion of Joan by all France--people, priest and king.

In this connection a comparison should be made between the zeal of
the clergy to bring Joan to trial for heresy and the slowness and
indifference with which the Church proceeded to obey the summons of
the King of France twenty-five years after to reinstate her into the
fellowship of Catholic Christendom. The records show that it required
considerable urging and manoeuvring on the part of the French government
to bring about a revision of the ecclesiastical sentence against the
Maid. As long as Nicholas V was pope nothing was accomplished. The case
was reopened under Pope Calixtus. Not until it was realized that further
delay in the matter would greatly irritate, not only the French king,
but also the populace, now freed from English dominion and seeking to
live down the evil reputation of having harbored an apostate in their
midst, did Rome stir itself in the matter. It will be seen that it was
not the pope nor the Church that took the initiative in behalf of Joan
of Arc. The Church only yielded to the pressure from the State, that had
now become powerful. Had the English remained in control of France the
Maid of Orleans would never have been remembered by the Catholic Church,
much less restored to honor and immortality.

"We do not deny," answer the defenders of the Church, "that _some_
bishops and even cardinals persecuted Joan of Arc to death. But is
it just to hold the whole Church responsible for the crime of an
insignificant minority?" This is the main defense of the Catholics
against the arguments of the Rationalists and the facts of history. Be
it noted that I am not trying to abuse the Catholics; I am only sorry
that they should be unwilling, even at this date, to say, "We are
sorry." To commit mistakes is human. But why should the Church move
heaven and earth to prove that it has never committed a mistake? The
attempt is also made to prove that the ecclesiastics who are responsible
for the death of Joan were wicked men and have been repudiated by the
Church. To this is added the further defense that it was the gold of the
English which corrupted these priests. But such a defense, I regret to
say, does not reflect credit upon the intelligence or the honor of the
Church of Rome. In this day of general information it is impossible for
anyone to wrap up the facts of history in a napkin, as it were, and put
them away where no one may have access to them. The judges of Joan
were all ordained ministers of the Church. The presiding priest was
a bishop--the bishop of Beauvais. He was assisted by a cardinal, a
vice-president of the Inquisition, and a number of other ecclesiastics
who were connected with the University of Paris. Is it reasonable to
suppose that the Inquisition and the Catholic University of Paris, and
all the clergy of England and France represented only a discredited
section of the Church?

It is the pride of the Catholics that their church has never been
divided or schismatic, and that it has been one and indivisible "always
and everywhere." How is this claim to be reconciled with the excuse that
a considerable portion of the Catholic Church in the fifteenth century
openly ignored the authority of the pope and did as they pleased without
incurring the displeasure of the Hierarchy for their insubordination?
Furthermore, if only a part of the church persecuted the young woman,
what did the rest of the church do to save her? We would like the names
of the priests who interceded in her behalf. It does not give me a bit
of pleasure to prove the Catholic Church responsible for this as for
many other burnings at the stake, but it gives me pleasure to be able to
show that any institution claiming infallibility, to defend that
claim must persecute. And why do I take pleasure in proving this to be
inevitable? It might open the eyes of the religious world to the danger
of supernaturalism. If the Christians no longer burn people they do not
like, it is not because their Bibles have been altered, but because they
no longer believe in them as they used to. It is good news to report
that supernaturalism is waning, for it means the progress of science and
sanity.

There is still another point to be touched upon: When all Europe
heard of the fate that had befallen a girl of nineteen through the
machinations, let us say, of a few naughty Catholic priests--what
did Rome do to these same priests who had so disgraced their "holy"
profession, as well as brought lasting shame upon civilization? Is not
this a pertinent question? Joan's trial lasted for four months. Not only
France and England, but all Christendom was interested in the outcome.
During all this time not only was there not a word of protest from Rome,
but what is more significant, shortly after the trial and condemnation
of Joan, the pope rewarded her accusers and persucutors with
ecclesiastical promotion. Again, I must hasten to explain that I am
not interested in embarrassing the Catholics; my point is to strike at
_dogma_--which turns hearts into stone, and makes of the intellect a
juggler's instrument. Joan was sacrificed, nay,--the honor of France, of
Europe, of civilization, of humanity--was flung into the fire with Joan,
to save--what? Dogma!

Not only did the church fail to punish a single one of the forty
ecclesiastics who tried Joan, not to mention hundreds of others who
cooperated with them to bring about her destruction, but, as intended,
gifts were conferred upon the principal actors in this awful drama.
Roussel, one of the ecclesiastics who figured prominently in the
proceedings, was given the archepiscopacy of the city of Rouen--the very
city in which a girl not yet twenty, and who had served France on the
battlefield, and brought victory to her flag, was beaten and burnt to
death. Pasquier, an ordinary priest when he was serving as one of the
judges, was made a bishop after the execution of Joan. Two others,
Gilles and Le Fevre, were also advanced to upper ranks in the church.
Thomas Courcelles, one of the most merciless judges of Joan--who voted
in favor of subjecting the prisoner to physical torture to compel her
to admit she was a witch--this priest with the unenviable reputation was
also promoted to a lucrative post in the famous church of Notre Dame, in
Paris. Finally, the man who engineered the trial, who presided over
the sessions, and to whom Joan said, "You are the cause of my
misfortunes"--the Bishop of Beauvais, the man whom all Catholics justly
execrate today--even he was rewarded by the "Holy Father"; he was given
the episcopal seat of Lisieux. Does it look as though the crime against
Joan were the work of a discredited minority in the Catholic Church? I
repeat, it was dogma, it was revelation, it was infallibility, it
was supernaturalism, and not this or that priest--that should be held
guilty.

To meet these arguments the Catholic apologists call attention to the
fact that the church "has a horror of blood," and that it has never
put anyone to death for any cause whatever. But this is true only in
a Pickwickian sense. It is like the head saying to the hands, "I have
never committed the least violence against anyone." The hands, it is
evident, commit the acts, but whose hands are they? The hands only
obey the head, and for the head to blame the hands for carrying out its
orders, realizing its thoughts and wishes, would not even be amusing,
much less convincing. It is the judge, or the court, that takes the
life of the culprit, for instance, and not the executioner. The Catholic
Church demands the death of the heretic. Is this denied? Read Thomas
Aquinas, the most honored saint and theologian of Catholicism; read the
decrees of the general councils of the church and the encyclicals of
St. Peter's successors, and a thousand, thousand proofs will be found
in them to substantiate the statement. It is the Bible that commands the
death of the heretic. No church founded on the Bible can afford to be
tolerant. The theory of Christianity as well as of Mohammedanism is that
the sword which the king carries has been blessed and put in his hands
that he may put down the heretics. The civil authorities then, in
bringing Joan of Arc to the fire were carrying out the instructions of
the forty ecclesiastical judges who condemned her to death. Had these
judges found her innocent, the state could not have destroyed her life;
it was the will of the priestly court that she should die, and the
secular authorities fulfilled its wish.

But was Joan a heretic? Strenuous efforts are made to show that she was
not. This point is a vital one. The church, in self-defense, is bound to
produce arguments to prove that Joan of Arc was an orthodox, obedient,
and submissive child of the church. If she was not orthodox, then the
church has sainted a heretic in the person of Joan of Arc. One of the
questions they asked her at the trial was whether she would be willing
to submit the question of her "visions" to the church; that is to say,
would she consent to the findings of an ecclesiastical court concerning
herself and her mission? To this the answer was that she held herself
responsible only to God. This was considered a rebellious answer, and it
was--from the church's point of view. According to Catholic theology
the church is divided into two branches,--the church militant, which
is composed of the pope, the priests and their flock; and the church
triumphant, which is presided over by God and the saints in glory. Joan
said she was prepared to submit to the church triumphant--the church
on high, that is to say, to God, but to nobody else. This also was a
heresy. Her clerical judges insisted that to be a good Catholic she
must bow to the will of the church on earth--the pope and his
representatives. Her heresy then was both real and serious. She appealed
from the pope to God. She placed her own conscience above the authority
of the church. She believed in private judgment, the exercise of which
is forbidden by the church. In refusing to let the pope act as the
middleman between God and herself she was threatening the very existence
of the papacy. There is then no doubt that both by her independent
conduct and by her original answers Joan attacked the very fundamentals
of Catholicism. It follows, then, that the pope a few years ago made a
saint out of a heretic.

Although Joan was an uncultivated girl, able neither to read nor write,
she was gifted with good common sense. She saw at a glance that if she
were to submit to the church she would thereby be casting doubts upon
the genuineness of her "visions." She preferred to go to the stake
rather than do that. She was really between two fires: the priests
threatened her body; God in her conscience threatened her soul. She
decided to obey the voice within. The decision cost her her life.

Some of the questions put to her and the answers which Joan made are
really remarkable. They show the craft of her judges, on the one hand,
and the courage and common sense of the victim, on the other.

"Will you not submit to our holy father, the Pope?" they asked her.
"Bring me before the Pope, and I will answer," she replied. In other
words, they were trying to have her admit that she had no right to think
for herself or to exercise any independence at all. But she was too
serious and earnest a person to subscribe to any such doctrine. She had
never understood that to be a Catholic meant to be a bondswoman. "Take
care," she said, turning her fiery glance upon her inquisitors, "take
care that you do not put yourselves in the place of God." By such an
answer, the young woman, still in her teens, had shot the Catholic
Church in the heart.

The nature of the charges against Joan as formulated by her judges also
goes to prove that she was considered a heretic and condemned to death
for that offense. The eleventh charge against her reads: "She has adored
her saints without taking clerical advice." Charge twelfth reads: "She
refuses to submit her conduct and revelation to the church." When asked
if she would obey the church, her reply was, "God first being served."
Luther said no more than that--and the Catholic church was split in
two. Everything goes to show that the Domremy peasant girl was a private
thinker, that is to say, a heretic. Listen to this: "I will believe that
our Holy Father, the pope of Rome and the bishops and other churchmen
are for the guarding of the Christian faith and the punishment of
heretics, _but as for me and my facts, I will only submit to the church
of heaven_." To be sure that is insubordination; it is placing herself
not only on an equality with the pope, but even above him. Of course,
Joan was not a Rationalist--far from it--but she was an independent
Catholic--that is to say--not subject to the church--and that is heresy.
Is it any wonder that her sentence read: "Therefore we pronounce you
a rotten limb, and as such to be lopped off from the church." And the
reason this sentence gave satisfaction to the Catholics all over
the world was because such initiative and self-respect as Joan had
manifested, if tolerated, would bring about the collapse of the
infallible authority of the church. The University of Paris wrote to the
pope, to the king of England and the bishops, lauding the priests who
had purged the church of this dangerous girl with her "I think so," or
"I believe so,"--with the emphasis on the "I." In this same letter the
Bishop of Beauvais, the evil genius of Joan, to whom she said, when she
saw the stake awaiting her, "Bishop, I die through you!" is commended
for "his great gravity and holy way of proceeding, which ought to be
most satisfactory to all."

It took five hundred years for the Catholic Church to discover that the
young woman burnt as a heretic was really a saint. But the church did
not make this discovery until modern thought, benign and brave, had
taken the outcast girl under its protection. The French nation had
already made a national heroine of her, when the Vatican decided
to enroll her name among the hallowed ones in its calendar. The
beatification of Joan was brought about ostensibly by the report that
certain sufferers from cancer, and other incurable maladies, had been
completely cured by praying to Joan of Arc for help. The Maid had become
a miracle worker, and hence worthy to receive a medal, as it were, from
the pope. Joan is now a new income as well as a saint.

Joan owes her Vindication to the Rationalists of France. The man in
recent years whose books, position and influence did more than anything
else to bring about a new attitude toward Joan of Arc, was Marcelin
Berthelot, who now sleeps in the Pantheon as one of the glories of
his country. A few years ago, I received an invitation to visit him at
Bellevue near Paris. To give you an idea of the great man who did so
much to rejuvenate Europe and throw its whole weight on the side of
justice to the Martyr--woman of France. I shall reproduce in this
connection what I said about him after my interview with him:

"Who are the Rationalists?" is one of the questions frequently asked.
Well, they are the intellectual leaders of the world, as what I learned
about Berthelot clearly shows. He was the man upon whom two European
sovereigns had conferred the highest decorations in their power for
services rendered to human progress,--whom his own countrymen had
honored by making him a senator for life; who twice had been appointed
minister of foreign affairs; who had been elected an honorary member
of all the scientific associations of the world; upon whom the Royal
Scientific Society of London has bestowed its most coveted honors; who
is the perpetual secretary of the Academy of Science of Paris; a member
of the Academy Française, and, therefore, one of the immortals; and
whose volumes, inventions, discoveries and contributions have placed
modern civilization under inexpressible obligations to him. With all
these dignities and titles, richly deserved, M. Berthelot is as gracious
in his manners, as unassuming, as childlike and modest, as one could
desire. He displays all the charms of the real man of worth--the man of
genius.

Though in his seventy-sixth year, the sage and diplomat still possessed
the vigor of a man of fifty, pursuing his studies and interesting
himself in the politics of his time, with the ardor and fervor of youth.
The accumulation of his years and his indefatigable labors had by no
means impaired the faculties of his mind, being still regarded by his
countrymen as one of the most fertile brains and sanest intellects of
modern Europe.

Two years previously all France, one might say, had met in Paris to
celebrate at the Sorbonne the completion of Berthelot's fifty years of
intellectual labor. It was on this occasion that the foreign potentates
sent their delegates and decorations to him. Every civilized country
was represented at the festivities by its foremost men of letters
and diplomats, while all the senators of France, the president of the
republic, the members of his cabinet, and all the heads of the colleges
were assembled to applaud the _master_ whose half a century of study and
service had so greatly augmented the horizon of man and increased the
light of the world.

When this distinguished scientist was admitted into the French Academy,
Jules Lemaitre, in his address of welcome, declared that Berthelot was
the real creator of the modern industrial era, which had multiplied the
resources of man a hundredfold. He called Berthelot the discoverer of
modern chemistry, which has in so short a time transformed the face of
the earth, and which holds the secret of the solution of the social and
economic problems of the day. "'Chemistry" declares Berthelot, "'is a
new gospel, which brings tidings of great power to mankind.'" "It
will put an end to the cruel struggle of classes, and make of warlike
politics, now one of the scourges of nations, a lost art. It will do
this by placing within the reach of all an inexhaustible wealth of food
and raiment, thereby curing man forever of the disease of discontent."

"There are only two things worth living for," said M. Berthelot, in an
address at the Palais de Trocadero before six thousand Frenchmen--"the
love of truth and the love of one's fellows."

That _love of truth_ opened for Joan the doors of the Catholic Church,
shut against her five hundred years ago and it opened to Berthelot the
doors of the Pantheon--the Temple of the Immortals!

A final word. I have as much compassion and sympathy for the Catholics
as I have for the martyred girl--indeed more, since they need more. Joan
has been vindicated by the broader and more benign thought of this! age.
The same serene and sweet power will transform the Catholic Church
and make it one of the most progressive forces of our America. I have
delivered this lecture to hasten that lovely day!

[Illustration: 0042]







End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Joan of Arc, by M. M. Mangasarian