surprised into some
weakness, that something might escape her which could be set down as a
disavowal, at the least some confused words which might be interpreted
at pleasure, perhaps low prayers, humiliating cries for mercy, such as
proceed from a woman in despair.

The frightful ceremony began with a sermon. Master Nicolas Midy, one of
the lights of the University of Paris, preached upon the edifying text:
"When one limb of the Church is sick, the whole Church is sick." He
wound up with the formula: "Jeanne, go in peace; the Church can no
longer defend thee."

The ecclesiastical judge, the Bishop of Beauvais, then benignly
exhorted her to take care of her soul and to recall all her misdeeds, in
order that she might awaken to true repentance. The assessors had ruled
that it was the law to read over her abjuration to her; the Bishop did
nothing of the sort. He feared her denials, her disclaimers. But the
poor girl had no thought of so chicaning away life; her mind was fixed
on far other subjects. Even before she was exhorted to repentance, she
had knelt down and invoked God, the Virgin, St. Michael, and St.
Catharine, pardoning all and asking pardon, saying to the bystanders,
"Pray for me!" In particular, she besought the priests to say each a
mass for her soul. And all this so devoutly, humbly, and touchingly
that, sympathy becoming contagious, no one could any longer contain
himself; the Bishop of Beauvais melted into tears, the Bishop of
Boulogne sobbed, and the very English cried and wept as well, Winchester
with the rest.

Might it be in this moment of universal tenderness, of tears, of
contagious weakness, that the unhappy girl, softened, and relapsing into
the mere woman, confessed that she saw clearly she had erred, and that,
apparently, she had been deceived when promised deliverance? This is a
point on which we cannot implicitly rely on the interested testimony of
the English. Nevertheless, it would betray scant knowledge of human
nature to doubt, with her hopes so frustrated, her having wavered in her
faith. Whether she confessed to this effect in words is uncertain; but I
will confidently affirm that she owned it in thought.

Meanwhile the judges, for a moment put out of countenance, had recovered
their usual bearing, and the Bishop of Beauvais, drying his eyes, began
to read the act of condemnation. He reminded the guilty one of all her
crimes, of her schism, idolatry, invocation of demons, how she had