A play based on the actual trial transcripts and other original documents of Joan of Arc, called "La Pucelle," - The Maiden.
_La Pucelle,
The Trial of Joan
A play based on the actual court documents and the
rehabilitation.\
This version has been divided into two acts. The division is arbitrary and may be kept of ignored.
By
Tony Devaney Morinelli
Characters
Joan
St. Michael
St. Margaret
St. Catherine
The Grand Inquisitor Cauchon
4 Other Inquisitors
Christine de Pisan
Baudricourt
Jacquinette
Various Peasants
Soldiers
The action takes place on two levels, the stage and the area
immediately in front of the stage (floor or on visible platforms if the pit is
very low.) All action not in the courtroom takes place in this front area.
The stage itself is divided in two.Upstage is a platform arrangement for the three head inquisitors.At mid-stage writing desks for the
clerks.Down stage is Joan and later
Jacquinette and eventually the stake.
Darkness.An off stage voice
begins in Latin.Off Stage Choir (or
recording)begins the
Dies Irae sung in the
traditional chant form.
(Chant:
Dies
Irae, Dies illa
Solvet
seclum in favilla
Teste
David cum Sybilla
Etc.)
In
nomine Domini, Amen
Incipit
processus in causa fidei
Contra
quondam quandam mulierem
IOHANNAM,
Vulgariter
dictam “La Pucelle”.
A dim light up stage reveals the shadow of a clerk.He stands and reads:
Clerk 1In the name of the Lord, AMEN.
Here
begin the proceedings
The
trial in matters of faith
The
trial against the woman
The
woman called Joan
Who
is commonly called THE MAID.
To
all those who shall see these present letters:
Pierre
Cauchon, by Divine Mercy,
Bishop
of Beauvais.
Brother
Jean le maistre, of the Dominican Order
Who,
in the diocese of Rouen,
Is
especially appointed
To
this holy trial.
Jean
Craverent
Also
a Dominican
Doctor
of Theology and most renowned;
By
apostolic authority
And
lettered learning,
Inquisitor
of the Faith
And
holy guard against
Heretical
error
In
all the kingdom of France.
Greetings
in that author
And
consummation of the Faith
Our
Lord Jesus Christ.
Clerk 2Let it be known that on this day
The
twenty and first of February
In
the year of our Lord and Savior
Fourteen
hundred and thirty one
There
appeared before us
In
the chapel royal
Of
the castle of Rouen
The
woman by the name of Joan.
The
reputation of this woman
Has
already gone forth
And
spread its treason to many parts.
A
woman yet wholly forgetful of womanly modesty!
A
woman having thrown off the bonds of shame!
A
woman who with monstrous brazenness
Astonishing
and blasphemous
Took
upon herself the garb and dress
Belonging
to the male sex.
And
she did perform
And
did disseminate
Many
such things
Contrary
to order,
Not
in keeping with a woman’s way
And
harmful and vile
To
the holy articles
Of
our belief.
Clerk 1Set this down in writing;
Set
it out for all to know.
That
here we amend
And
set aright
Such
things as do offend
Our
sight and thought and human sway.
Hear
now all
Hear
all well.
Let
no man of rank or station
No
person of property, rights or domain
May
leave this city of Rouen
Until
such time
As
we have settled
According
to all rights
At
the conclusion of this trial
The
matter of Joan
Who
is called the Maid.
(The clerks and inquisitors part to reveal behind a dimly lit scrim a
solitary figure, Joan.From the corner
shadows a figure moves towards her.)
Cauchon:As it is our office
To
keep and exalt
The
Holy faith
And
the unity of the Church
Well
do call and admonish
The
said Joan
Here
seated before us
That
she should answer in truth
The
questions put before her
Eschewing
subterfuge
Shift
and deceit
Whose
wiles do hinder
Truthful
confession.
Clerk:Swear Joan,
Swear
here upon the word of God
That
you will speak in truth
In
all those things which concern the faith.
Joan:You ask me to swear
You
ask too much
For
I do not know
That
you may ask me such things
As
my soul and conscience
Forbid
me to answer.
Cauchon:Your soul and conscience
Are
the charge of the church
And
the holy faith
Which
convenes you here
With
us your judges
To
reveal your errors
And
redeem your soul.
Joan:Then bring me the gospel
And
I shall swear.
(They bring her the book, She
kneels, her bound hands on its cover)
This
shall I swear
To
you before God.
That
in all those things
Of
my life and my home
Of
my father and mother
Of
my cousin and kin
And
of the road I have taken
Since
my coming to France,
These
I will tell you
As
you may ask.
But
of those things
Which
God has revealed
They
are for my king
And
for my confessor
And
on them you shall have
No
word from me.
Inquisitor 1:Tell the court
your name.
Joan:In
my own country they call me Jeanette
I
have been also called Jeanne.
Inquisitor 1:And the surname?
Joan:Of this name I
know nothing.
Inquisitor 1:Your father?Your Mother?
Joan:My
father is Jacques
My
mother Ysabelle
Also
Jacques d’Arc
They
call him by name.
Inquisitor 1:When were you
born?
Joan:On the night of the Epiphany.
Epiphany
night.
Inquisitor 1:In what place?
Joan:Domremy.
Domremy
by the church of Greux.
(Transition: lights down on the court.Joan is spotted alone.)
Joan:Where is that place?
That place.
That
place.
A light comes up on an up-stage figure.This is Cauchon.Slowly, he moves
to Joan and positions himself at her side, just behind her ear..
Cauchon:Reflect Joan.Reflect.
Turn
memory’s dark eye inward
Turn
to the soul’s pale mirror
_Call
up the shadows
The
shapes, the ghosts
That
led your soul away.
away.
Joan:There beneath the branches leafless,
My
wooden shoes, farm girl shoes,
Rustling
the sand along the walk,
The
sheep, the dung, the scent,
`Lips iced, tasting the
cold,
Breathing
the damp, dead winter
Cold
in my nostrils
My
ears burned and open to the wind
Whistling
through the branches
Bending
boughs and twigs.
Joan:They are too far.
They
are too deep.
I
despair of them.
They
have abandoned me.
Cauchon:Look deeply Joan.
Inward
into memory’s womb
Where
the demon sowed
His
foul bred seed
Whose
hideous deformity
Burst
forth unaborted
To
wreak upon the fields of France
It’s
unleashed taste for death.
Joan:It is cold.
My
eyes tear.
My
nose runs.
My
toes are curled
I
shiver.
Cauchon:Speak Joan.
Do
you hear them?
They
wait Joan,
The
monsters wait.
They
wait to speak.
They
call.
Joan:I hear them.
I
hear them from the right side.
I
hear the silver bells
The
great bells
The
church bells
Silver
notes that break the winter’s freeze.
2nd Inquisitor:Do they call?
Do
they speak?
Do
you hear them?
Hear them
darting
Through
the mind’s deep sea
And
foaming waves,
Leviathan
monsters’
Blackened blood
Spurting
from tentacles writhing
Cloud
in inky darkness
Light’s
bright clarity
That
seeks to penetrate
The
waves above.
From Stage Right a dark, draped
figure appears.It is a woman, but
“faceless”, in the shadows.
Temptress:Do you feel the darkness,
Joan?
Do
you feel the blackness about you?
Hold
Joan! Hold and still!
The
stilled air
Unmoving
air
Motionless
air
Black
and dark.
The
final despair
The
despair of the tomb.
It
fills your nose
And
ebbing pours itself downward
Down
through the throat,
From
there to the lungs;
Filling,
loading, exploding
Hot
and bleak and black
In
despair’s growing darkness.
Joan:Quiet in your darkness there!
Quiet!
Do you not hear?
(Silence)
Do
you not hear?
(Silence)
A peasant woman suddenly appears.She is from Joan’s past.
Peasant:Whad are ya starin’ at girl?
Look
at ya dumb!
Legs
planted sticks in the dirt.
Will
ya be growin’ there?
Like
a pile the sheep ha’ left in na road!
Wake
up girl!Go offto yer work.
Peasant Girl:And she won’t play
Won’t
sing with us,
She
walks alone,
Twigs
and leaves,
Straw and hay,
She
weaves and winds
Beneath
the trees,
Or
by the brook.
And
sometimes
Bends
and stares
At
her reflection.
Then
smacks the face
That
she finds there
In
the water’s flow
And
screams and cries
What
we can’t understand.
She’s
not much fun.
Who’d
want to play
With
the likes of her.
(Lights return on the court.)
Inquisitor 2Wake up girl!
Do
you hear us?
Do
you hear these questions?
Questions
of faith,
Questions
of holy church?
Cauchon:You claim
to hear voices.
The
voices of saints.
Holy
voices
Voices
that guide you.
Joan:Voices that brought me to France.
To
my king.
Inquisitor 3Whose voices?
Inquisitor 4Saints’ voices?
CauchonDemons’ voices?
Joan:Holy voices!
That
brought me to France,
That
raised up my king,
That
drove out the English,
That
restored the crown.
Inquisitor 1:Blasphemy!
Inquisitor 2:Heresy!
Cauchon:When first did you hear them?
Where
first did they speak?
Joan:In my father’s village
In
my father’s field.
There
I first heard them.
There
did they speak.
Sometimes
by the church,
Sometimes
by the brook
In
the bells,
In
the water
Silver
and clear and cool.
Inquisitor 1:And in what Latin
Or
in what French
Did
these voices speak to you?
In
what tongue
And
with what accent?
Joan:In one surely better than yours
Good
English sir.
Inquisitor 1:Impudence!
Cauchon:And when they appeared to you, these saints,
Did
you touch them
Joan:Yes, I did touch them.
Cauchon:And what part of them did you touch?
Joan:Is this of interest to my lord?
Cauchon:Did ever you embrace these saints you saw?
Joan:I did embrace them both.
Cauchon:And who were these saints that you did embrace?
Joan:They are my saints ,
Saint
Catherine
And
Saint Margaret.
Cauchon;And was there a fragrance in their embrace?
Joan:Yes,the fragrance of heaven
And
it was good.
Cauchon:And when you embraced them
Was
it above or below?
Joan:It was in reverence my lord,
That
I embraced their feet
And
fell before them
As
it should be.
And
kissed their holy feet..
Cauchon:And when you kissed them
Was
it warm
Or
was it cold?
Joan:On this my lord
You
trouble much
And
you shall not have my answer.
Inquisitor 1:And these visions you have
Do
they come to you naked
Or
are they arrayed?
Joan:Do you not think
That
God in his wonder
Has
not the wherewithal
To
cloth his own saints?
From Stage Right, in the same place as the Temptress, there appears
Saint Catherine.She is arrayed in full
medieval elegance, a crown of virginal flowers in her hair.A gobo with branch patterns lights her to
suggestthat she appears from out of
the trees.
St. Catherine:See yourself Joan.
See
yourself through the summer misty wood,
There
beneath the sun’s cutting blades
There
upon a morning damp
Moist
beneath your shoeless feet.
Warm,
the fragrance of wild raspberry,
And
must from early fallen leaves,
Warm
droplets
Upon
your arms and legs and brow,
Roll
soft upon your lips.
Vapors
rise and fill your mouth
Lush
and sweet with grape and rose.
Turn,
Joan.
Turn
to my voice.
Joan:Why do you call me?
Why
do you want me?
It
is hot.
Airless
Only
the straw stacks
The
meadow grass
The
trellis rose
And
arbor grape
Breath
out upon the light.
I
cannot breath.
Why
do you call me?
I’m
guarding the sheep.
Do
you not see me?
What
have I done
Why
do you punish
Why
do you curse?
Curse
me with your voices
With
you bidding
With
your will.
Where
is my will
A
will of my own
It
is hot
I
cannot breath
Your
voice is upon me
Your
voice is inside me
Your
voice is within me
Release
me my will !
Release
me
Forgive
me
What
fault is my own?
A 2ndpeasant woman appears
again.She speaks directly to the
audience.
Peasant Woman 2:She was a strange girl.
A
good girl but strange.
All
the time standin’.
Standin’
and staring.
Talkin’
to trees
Talkin
by streams
To
her face in the water.
(Pointing
stage left)
From
by there you could watch her
By
there you could see.
But
I never quite heard her
Or
what she would say.
Peasant Woman 3Who’d want to listen?
A
strange child
Talked
to the trees
Babbled
to the water,
Did
her chores
But
always in a dream.
Wasn’t
a bad girl.
But
never seemed to care
What
the other children did,
Or
what other folks was doin.
WomanSurely, she had a side of good
A
side like other girls?
A
joy in life
A
sweetness like the other girls?
Woman 3A joy in life
A
touch of sweetness?
If
sweetness be madness
And
folly to boot
Then
she had a sweetness
To
cloy the tongue
And
set the stomach
In
want of salt.
_
Woman 4
Its
your tongue’s got salt
And
vinegar too
That
sours your breath
And
the air you belch
Woman 3:Me belch air
Its
you make wind
With
all your cackle
And
gossip and talk.
Woman 1:Bother you both
You
own onions boil
And
tighten your bowel
With
sweeter medicament.
In
all of France
Across
the land
They
talk her name
And
what she done.
Woman 2:What she done is ride with men
And
what she’s ridin
I’d
like t’ know
What’s
a girl that age
Got
to do with men in mail
And
iron and cask,
Astride
their horses
At
gallop gone
To
run up their lance
`In an Englishman’s rump,
And
slash up their ears
And
their pig pokin noses
\And them manly parts.
That
go pokin and proddin
The
loose girls of France.
What
she doin I say
That
girl from a village
Who
should be beddin
A
man of her own
And
bringin about
A
gaggle of babies
To
work in her father’s fields.
Joan, back in time, in a trance.
Joan:I hear you.
Where
are you?
(Silence)
There,
there to my right?
(Silence)
There,
by the church?
(Silence)
By
the willow?
By
the stream?
(Silence)
Is
it the water speaking?
Yes.Yes, I will listen.
(Silence)
Yes.
Yes, I will go.
Peasant woman 3Look at ‘er standin
Droopin’
like a willow
Branches
all hangin’
Tippin
in the water
Peasant Woman 4Maybe the lass
Ought
to bend to the mud
And
smear up her face
To
save us that jaw.
Peasant Woman 5Where could a child
Get
such a face?
Peasant Woman 2Not how got the face
But
who got her?
Peasant Woman 1Or who got her mother!
Peasant Woman 3Was her father who fathered
Or
was the nest feathered
By
some other fowl?
Peasant Woman 5Some other fowl
Who
set her up foul
With
the jaw of an ox
And
the grin of an ass.
Joan:(to herself)Make
them go away
Make
them go away!
I
don’t want to hear them.
I
don’t want to listen.
(She goes to her knees. She looks into the
stream)
Take
it away!
(She pushes against her own face, first in
the reflection then begins to rip
violently at herown face)
Take
it away!
Why
must I look at it?
Why
must you be there?
Break
the water (she splashes her hand into the
stream)
Break
the image, the shape, the form, the shadow.
(Violently against her own face)
Break
it away.
Break
it away!
Rip
it from my bones
Skin
it from my skull
Cast
its soft and sallow flesh
This
woman’s flesh
Soft
and sallow
Boneless
and without rise
Slash
it and rip it
Into
the water to wash it away!
From Stage Right, Saint Margaret appears.Like Catherine, she is clothed in full
regalia, flowers and filtered light.
St. Margaret:Soft, Joan, soft.
Do not gaze upon the water’s broken
surface
There
where ripples, rocks and running
Turn
and twist the mouth and nose and eyes.
Gaze
instead upon the inner stream
Where
the blood within your heart
Fills
your veins and stirs your soul
Therein
a different self
Fold
within your bones and skin and hair and blood.
And
nestle within the glowing shadows
That
span the soul’s brightunending halls
Of
cavernous wonder.
St. Michael:There, Joan. There inside
Awaits
the palace halls of your desire.
There
the castle towers of your fire.
Go
then Joan.
Go
to your king.
Go
into France
Passed
the wood
Beyond
the field
The
thatch and wattle
The
daub and mud.
There
will be your glory
And
the glory of your people.
Joan:I hear.
I
hear.
Clerk 1:Joan
Joan
This
council calls you, Joan.
Inquisitor 1:Do you believe yourself capable
of sin?
Of
mortal sin?
Of
sin that damns the soul
And
leaves it sullied
To
grieve eternal
In
the flame unending
Of
longing for that face divine
That
is our yearning all?
That
is that complement
Of
man’s own natural bent?
Joan:I do not know your words.
Your
words are so unlike
The
council of my visions.
I
do not know your words
But commend myself
To
him whose voice
Has
bid my doings.
Inquisitor 3:Blasphemy!
Inquisitor 5:Do you know the weight of your
reply?
Do
you know the measure of your words?
You
speak to saints,
As
so you say
To
visions thin and born upon the air,
To
bells and ringings and winter’s chill.
But
our words,
The
words of mother church
Whose
vast halls of stone and glass
Echo
out both loud and clear
To
pierce the ear of wayward men
To
bring their minds to truth,
To
bring their hearts to truth
To
bring their souls to truth!
This
you do not hear?
.
Inquisitor 2:Her soul is lost in mortal sin
And
darkened, so infects the ear
Each
sin bound orifice
She
sports before us.
The
fleshed out image
Of
her whore plague crimes.
Mortal
sin
And
unrepented.
Joan:Mortal sin?
Yes,
I know of mortal sin.
But
why if I were in this sin
Would
voices sweet and kind
Bid
me do such things so good as I have done?
Restored
my king
And
to him his crown.
If
I were in this state of sin
Would
not my saints
My
Catherine dear
And
Margaret loved
My
Michael warrior at God’s side,
Would
not my saints
From
me and from my sin
Flee
in horror stricken?
Inquisitor 3:Such presumption on your part!
Inquisitor 1:Do you defy our sacred office?
Inquisitor 2:Do you affront our holy laws?
Inquisitor 5:Further counts against your
name!
Joan:If I guard and keep me maiden
And
likewise keep
The
pureness of my soul,
Then
as virgin in body and heart
Will
God protect me and defend me.
Inquisitor 1: (enraged)
You
presume too much.
Inquisitor 2:Confess!
Voces:Confess, Confess!
Joan:And I would confess.
For
never can one cleanse
The
conscience all too much.
And
when I do confess,
And
should I be by mortal sin possessed,
Then
surely my Lords here present rightly know
That
this great sorrow
Is
for my God and my confessor
Alone
in silence dark to hear,
And
not to be adjudged by this assembly.
(Lights down on Joan)
(Lights up on Peasant Women)
Woman 1She’s not a normal that one.
Not
a girl like mine
Or
yours
Or
any of the neighbors here.
Woman 2Some thinks she puts on airs
And
struts about to show herself
But
I’m not one to say such things
Or
meddle ‘bout her ways.
Woman 3:But at her age
You’d
think by now
They’d
a got her up as wife
Or
at least as promised bride.
Woman 4:Wha dya talk
It’s
nonsense then
Who’d
take her on?
Robert
the fool
Or club foot Pierre.
No
whole built man
In
back or brain
Would
want the like a her.
Woman 3:Well what’s more than that
Is
the gob she’s got
Sallow
as goat piss
And
sagged as its udder.
Woman 2:And it ain’t her face alone,
You’ll
always find a man
Whose
eyes is blind
To
such as her,
And
only want
What
they get in the dark.
Woman 3:Muffle it up in the horse’s feed bag
To
shut up all but them grey eyes.
Them
big strange eyes
Always
starin
Lookin
at ya like ya got
Your
old aunt’s ghost
Sittin
behind your shoulder
Woman 4:Or like she sees some spider
Crawlin
down from your hair
That’s
ready to bite your neck
And
she ain’t gonna tell
But
let ya get bit
Like
she wanted it ta be
To
teach ya a lesson.
Woman 2Ya talk the fool
Like
she was some witch
Get
on yer way!
Can’t
ya see
She’s
got air in the head
Like
Matthew the beggar
Only
he don’t run off
To
visit the king
But
sits in his corner
With
his fleas and his lice.
Woman 1:But it ain’t just her face
Or
her eyes
Or
her look.
It’s
what she has done
To
her womanly self.
Look
what she done!
What
she done to her hair
She
cut it up short
Bobbed
up like a boy
Like
a page or a squire
Or
knight of the crown.
Woman4:What man would want a woman well
Who
wears her hair
Cropped
short like his?
Woman 3:Whose got the eye to see her hair,
Look
what she done to the clothes she wears.
Cast
off her skirt and blouse and shawl
No
apron, pin afore or bib
Not
cowell or kerchief on her head.
Like
some soldier’s boy she wears a shirt
And
britches tight against her legs.
Woman 4:Ya
make me blush.
To
hear such talk.
What
ails this girl,
To
make her so?
(Lights down on women.Up on the
trial)
Inquisitor 2:How
with repugnance we must look upon your dress.
Rejecting
woman’s clothing
You
have taken shirt and breeches
Hose
joined to doublet with twenty points
Leggings
laced on the outer side
And
surcoat to the knees.
Inquisitor 1:Your
hair you have cut in demi-round
Like
a young coxcomb
And
dagger and lance
You
took to side.
Inquisitor 1:Now, think you not more
fiiting.
That
you cast off this tunic
That you put aside these britches,
These
clothes which suit a man?
Inquisitor 2It does not become a woman
To
wear the clothing of a man.
Jeanne:It is not the clothing of a man I wear,
But
the clothing of my king’s good soldier.
Inquisitor 2:But is not then a soldier a
man!
Jeanne:Is not a soldier any who fights for his land?
Inquisitor 3:But does not a soldier wear a
man’s costume.
Jeanne:Does not a soldier wear a soldier’s costume?
Inquisitor 1 (impatient and fierce)
Will
you put on a woman’s dress?
Inquisitor 2:In prison they gave you a
woman’s dress.
Jeanne:You have taken my woman’s dress.
Inquisitor 1:Your jailers gave you a woman’s
dress.
Jeanne:And brought me here in soldier’s dress.
For
you have denied me a woman’s ward
And shut me
in the keep of men
You
have shackled my feet
And
bound my hands
In
the lustful eye
Of
your English guards
Who mock and
deride
And threaten
.....
Inquisitor
2:(interrupting)You talk in
circles!
Inquisitor
1: (interjecting furiously)
Non
induetur mulier veste virili-
Abominabilis
enim apud Deum!
Let no woman
wear the clothing of a man!
It is an
abomination before the Lord!
Jeanne:I talk in French and in
no Latin.
I wear the
soldier’s dress,
Who fights
for God and for his king,
And for the
saints who bid me wear it.
(Lights come up on the soldiers and down on
the court.)
Soldier
1:Rough did she speak
against the English king
Soldier
2:And well against
Bedford and all his men.
Soldier
1:The young boy in
the squad
Soldier
2:The young boy with
learnin
Soldier
1:From the monks he
took his letters
He wrote it
out for her
Soldier
1:Words she could say
Soldier
2:Say well with a
full tone voice
Soldier
1:Like the voice of a
fighter.
Soldier
2:Stronger than
yours.
Joan:King of England
And you Duke
of Bedford
Who call
yourself regent of France
Do you right
now before the King of Heaven!
Hand over to
the Maiden
The Maiden
now sent
Now sent by Heaven’s
great king
The keys to
those good towns
Which your
villainy and greed
Has violated
in this sweet France.
And if you
will not so to do,
You shall
see fall upon yourself
Your very
great misfortune
If you
believe not these tidings sent to you
Sent to you
by this the maiden
She shall
strike within your midst
And you
shall cause your own great ruin.
For none
shall hold the kingdom of France
But by
God,the true heir, who is Charles my
prince.
(Lights on the court - down on the
soldiers.)
Inquisitor
1:We are fair and upright
men
And it is
our will
That in your
favor
You should
have
A counselor,
an advisor,
One who will
speak in your behalf
And in
consideration
Of your
unletterdness
Aid you in
the comprehension
Of this most
serious state.
Loiseleur:(with a parchment and quill in hand)
Hear me
Joan.
Hear the
words of comfort.
Abjure your
testimony,
Forswear
this uniform.
Believe me
Joan,
For if you
are willing,
You will be
saved.
Put on your
clothes,
The clothes
of a maid.
Put down
your arms,
Your sword
and your shield.
Tend to your
hair,
And shear it
no more.
Grant what
they wish,
Bend and
abjure.
If you do
not heed them,
Your life
will be forfeit,
Your soul in
great peril.
Do as I say,
And the
church will embrace you,
Call you
again daughter,
And ransom
your soul.
Sign, Joan.
Sign and
abjure.
Jeanne:Promise me that I may
hear mass
If I wear a
woman’s dress.
Promise me
this,
And I will
answer you.
Loiseleur:I promise that you may hear
mass
If you wear
a woman’s dress.
Jeanne:And what would you
answer,
If I have
sworn to God
And to my
king
Never to put
off
This tunic
of war?
Loiseleur:Swear what you will!
Will you put
off this manly garb
And wear a
woman’s dress?
Joan:Then have it made,
This woman’s
dress,
But modest
in cut
With no
train or trim.
Give me a
cover for my head,
That I may
hear mass.
And when I return
_ I
shall put on these clothes that I now wear.
Loiseleur:Do you not hear?
Have you no
sense?
Once and for
all,
Will you
abjure?
Put off
these clothes
And cover
yourself
In womanly
dress
As a young
maid should!
Joan:Everything I have
said or done
Is in the
hand of God
And so in
all
I commit
myself to him.
`I
swear to you this,
That nothing
would I do
That is
against the Christian faith.
And should I
learn
That I have
done anything
Contrariwise
to that faith
I would rip
it from me
And cast it
out.
(Lights down on the trial.St. Catherine appears.)
Catherine:There by the water,
Beneath the
trees young yellow green,
In sweet
spring’s purple misted April,
Pink
blossomed coronets
In the young girl’s hair
Golden brown
and black,
There Joan,
you danced your dance,
Small toes,
naked and white
Stirred the
sand beneath your feet,
Bending the
verdant locks of grass.
And from
your fingers,
Pink and
slender,
You raised
the gentle garland high,
And in soft
lilting called my name.
Joan:Saint Catherine,
good Catherine,
Why do you
forsake me?
Catherine:Forsake you, Joan?
Joan:I loved you.
Catherine:You loved me?
Joan:All my prayers,
Devotions
All upon my
knees...
Catherine:
Whose devotion?
Joan:Upon my knees,
Upon the
earth,
Red with sun
and black with mud,
Didn’t I
kneel upon the rocks moss green?
Didn’t I
bend to blue mantled heaven,
To white
ermined clouds,
The princely
array of God’s holy saints?
Catherine:Was it Catherine you loved?
Was it
Catherine you heard?
Joan:And there in faith
in holy church,
Knees upon
the stone,
Gray and
cold, humble
Beneath her
arching vaults,
As though to
suckle grace
From God’s
bending belly.
Catherine:Joan, Joan,
Were you not
weaned of mother’s milk?
Have you no
teeth for crusty bread?
Joan:Oh! How you mock me!
You have
called me, you have touched me,
With the
voice within your heart.
In my
innocence you have filled me,
Entered me,
driven me,
With passion
fired me
And
with your love transformed my reason.
And now you,
like a whore,
Forget the
one who loved you so
(Lights down on Joan.)
(Up on Christine de Pisan and Baudricourt
Like all other characters not present at the
trial, Christine and Baudricourt play in the orchestra area.)
Baudricourt:Good friend, good lady
You warm my heart to see
you well
Christine:Baudricourt
Old fellow
Too long have you been
away
Come sit by me
By my webs and weaving’s
Long white spinnings
And restore to them a
bit of color
That since long ago
Has bled from their
threads.
Baudricourt:My lady Christine,
Your youth and your
vigor
still rush their spicy
sap
Into those sharp gray
eyes.
Don’t try to coyly pry
from me
The compliments you know
that you deserve
But that I am to short
of wit to offer.
Christine:You are the wit, old Baudricourt
But not just to jest
with me
In my listless
wanderings,
You are the wit
of that witless king of yours
I’ve heard your doings
in this new affair
This girl, this wonder
they call the maid.
Baudricourt:A wonder she is
If truth be told
A peasant, a stripling
An unlettered girl
Who came to me one morning
And with words so
convincing , so sure
And a face so set, more
strong in sweetness than in will
She determined to me
that I
Of all the men in
France, that I,
Should lead her to
Charles, the Dauphin.
For Charles, so she
said, by God’s hand and hers
Would be king.
Christine:Tell me Baudricourt
Is she as they say she
is?
Has my woman come to
France?
The idyl of my
imaginings
The rantings of my soul?
Baudricourt:Yes, my friend,\
It is as you have
written
A city of women
In the walls of France.
Christine:Do not play with me Baudricourt
A fine soldier you are,
None better,
But a scholar.
There’s another thing!
You’ve not read my book
But play on the word
Of those that have
And scoffed along with
them no doubt.
Baudricourt:Too well, my lady
You know me
too well.
I have not
read your books
My eyes dart
across a worded page
In aimless
coursing
Awkward at
the phrase’s turn
But no eye
is swifter to the arrow’s flight
Or the
sword’s deft pass
In a
battle’s mud and steel and smokey skies.
(Lights fade on Baudricourt.Christine is lit with a pin spot for her
monologue.)
Christine:Long have I waited
Baudricourt
So long that
I thought it only a dream.
Even Anna on
the temple steps
Waited no
longer than I.
More than I
can count
The wrinkles
about my sallowed eyes
The fawn
brown spots upon my skin
Have I seen
snow’s white crystals
Melt to
spring’s white blossoms
Upon the
branches at my window
But now, now
I rejoice,
Like
summer’s upturned boughs
In prayer to
the noon bright sun,
For these
eyes, gray and heavy lidded
See a new
light that shines from France’s crown.
To the new
city comes a woman,
No, not a
woman but a young maid,
Frail in flesh
but steel in mind, and soul and heart.
In victory
she has led her prince upon the throne.
For Were not
you Charles,
on
the 17th day of July
in
splendor and glory
in
the city of Reims
crowned
seventh of that name
king
of France
And
this from a girl
from
a maid
Oh!
What honor for the female sex!
God’s
love for it appears
for
what 5ooo men could not have done
a
girl of sixteen
who
weighs not the armor she wears
but
too her seem her very meat.
No
not Hector, Nor brave Achilles
possessed
such strength
For
it is God’s love
that
moves her on.
Pass
then beyond all brave men
For
it is the woman who shall bear the crown.
Arise, sweet
France
Your
daughter’s valiant cry
Has driven
the enemy from your hearth;\
No more to
rape and plunder
Your
children in their beds.
Your
daughter, sweet France,
Has done
what no son could do,
For in this
year, fourteen hundred and twenty nine
A virgin
called forth a new dawn
And brought
the sun to shine anew
Upon your
gentle fields.
END ACT I ____________________________________________________________________________
_ LA PUCELLE, THE TRIAL OF JOAN
ACT II
SCENE CHANGE- We return to the courtroom on
stage.Joan is not present.
(SILENCE)
Inquisitor1: State your name woman.
Jacquinette:What did you say ?
Inquisitor1: Your name.Please give us your name.
Jacquinette:Name?
Inquisitor
2The
witness will give her name.
Jacquinette:Witless?
My father called me witless.
My mother
too.
Witless.
Inquisitor
1Your name woman
Do you have
a name?
Jacquinette:Name?
Inquisitor
2Your name?
Jacquinette:
Are you going to put me in
prison?
Inquisitor:Woman, give us your name.
Jacquinette:
I done nothin wrong
Don’t put me
in prison.
They gots
rats there.
I don like
rats.
They hide in
the cellar.
It’s dark
there
I don like
the dark neither.
Inquisitor
2:No one will harm you
Give the
court your name.
Jacquinette:I didn’t drown the cat.
It wasn’t my
fault
It fell in
the barrel.
It fell in
the barrel with the rain.
Ol’ woman
Marie
She drowned
the cat.
Inquisitor
3: Your name.
Loiseleur
(approaching the woman)
Tell them
how they call you
Tell them
Jacquinette.
No one will
harm you.
Tell them
your name.
Jacquinette:(Loudly)
Jacquinette
They call me
Jacquinette.
Inquisitor
1:Where were you born
Jacquinette?
Jacquinette: Born?
In my
father's house.
Inquisitor
2:What village or town?
Jacquinette:In my village.
Inquisitor:And what is the name of that
village?
Jacquinette:It is the village where I was
born.
The village
with the sycamore
The big tall
sycamore
Standing by
the church door.
The fountain
in the square
The dogs
along the fences
They piss
along the fences
And the
chickens in the yards
Loiseleur:Tell them the village name.
Tell them
Domremy
Inquisitor2:Are you from the village of
Domremy?
Jacquinette:Domremy. Domremy
That’s what
she said to me.
Listen to
the bells
Listen to
the church bells
The bells of
Domremy.
Listen to
the bells and you will know
The hour of
the angel's prayer
Inquisitor
2:The angel's prayer?
Jacquinette:When
you hear the bells
You fall
upon your knees
You fall
upon your knees
And say out
loud these words
Special
words, angel's words.
Inquisitor
2:And who told you these
words?
Jacquinette:Ah, that was Joan.
Good Joan,
Sweat Joan.
Inquisitor:What words did Joan tell you
What angel's
words ?
Jacquinette:Special angel's words.
And you will
see,
You will
see.
If you are sick,
Angels make
you well;
Ifa sheep is lost,
Angels bring
it home.
But you must
know the words,
All the
angel words.
And Joan
told me so.
Inquisitor
3:Joan taught you special
words
Words the
angels use?
Words to
bring you health
Good fortune
and good times?
Jacquinette:Yes, good fortune,
By the
ringing of the bells
The angel's
bells.
Inquisitor
1And what are these
words
These
angel's words?
Jacquinette:If I tell you them
Will you
letme go?
Loiseleur:If you tell them they will
let you go.
Jacquinnette:No rats
No dark.
Loiseleur:No rats
No dark
But if you
do not say
You will
truly be a sorry girl.
Inquisitor
1:We will let you go.
Jacquinette:And bring old Marie in here.
She drowned
the cat.
Inquisitor
2:Tell us the words.
Jacquinette:First I hear the bells.
Ding-dong
Dong-ding
I hear the
bells
Ding-dong
Dong-ding
And then I
fall
I fall on my
knees
To say the
words.
(As
in a trance.She completely transforms and
seems rational)
Angelus
Domini
Nuntiavit
Mariae
Et concepit
de spirito sancto
Inquisitor
1:Angelus Domini?
(Going up to Loiseleur. )
What
testimony is this you bring us.
Do you wish
to make us fools.
A mad girl
who prays the Angelus,
A pious
prayer of every peasant,
Of every nun
and dutiful monk.
Is this what
you brought us to hear.
Loiseleur:
(to Jacquinette)
Do you know
what these words mean?
Jacquinette:No, my Lord, I do not know.
Inquisitor
3:Then why do you say
them?
Jacquinette:Because they bring good things.
Inquisitor
3:They bring good things?
Jacquinette:Oh yes, my lord.
Inquisitor
3:Good things from whom?
Jacquinette:From the angels, my lord.
Inquisitor
1: (to Losieleur)
From the angels.
Loiseleur:Only the angels Jacquinette?
Jacquinette:Oh, no sir.
Loiseleur:Then from whom?
Jacquinette:From the fairies my lord.
(Loiseleur shows his smug satisfaction at
this answer.)
Inquisitor
1:From the fairies?
Who told you
of fairies?
Jacquinette:Oh, Joan my lord.
`Good
Joan,
Sweet Joan.
She always
talked to me
And to the
fairies.
Inquisitor
2:She talked to the
fairies?
How did she
talk to the fairies?
Jacquinette:There in the fields,
She made the
trees to sing,
The birds to
dance among the branches.
Rabbits and
hares,
Gray, brown
and soft
Ate from her
hands
And bowed at
her knees.
She taught
me songs
And made me
laugh.
And down by
the river
In
the pebbles and sand
With a stick in her hand
She made the
shape
Of
birds and flowers and tiny things.
And with a
stone or a chip
She gave
them an eye
And said
they could see
As well as
we.
Inquisitor
1:Is it not clear
From what we
have heard
That the church
here present
Most mourn
for this child
So
bewitched and beguiled.
Is it not
clear
That here
before us
IS the first
of those twisted
And led
astray
By the wiles
of a woman
In the
devil’s charge.
Cauchon:Lead her away.
Record her
words.
Bring in the
witness.
Jacquinette:No rats, no rats.
No dark, no
cold
Cauchon:(almost caring)
No rats, no
cold,
No dark, no
fear.
(Two soldiers lead in Joan.)
Inquisitor
3: As a child
did you not play near the woods?
.....
Joan:(interrupting)
As
a child did not you play near the woods?
Inquisitor
3:As a child
did you not play near the woods
Where
there is said to be a certain tree
A
tree called the fairy tree
Joan:yes, by
Domremy there grows a tree,
A
great tall tree
A
red leaf beach
Branched
about, high and low
And
in the estate of Pierre Baudricourt
Knight
of my lord , the king.
Inquisitor
2:And is it
said that the fairies visit this tree?
Joan:So they
say.
Inquisitor
2:And that
the sick and ill go to this tree.
Joan:So they
say.
Inquisitor
2:And that
they go to this tree
Thinking
they will be cured
Of
ills and sorrows.
Joan:That
they go there
I
have heard.
Butthat they have ever been cured
or
saved I do not know,
Nor
do I know anyone who
Says
they have been cured or saved.
Inquisitor
2:Did you
frequent that tree
Or
that fairy dwelling wood.
Joan:Do you
call it a fairy wood
Because
you believe they dwell there.?
I
do not know that this can be true
For
I have never seen them there
Nor,
as best I know, anywhere.
Inquisitor
2:Do you go
there
With
the other girls
And
with them
Hang
upon the branches
Flowers
and garlands
For
the fairies pleasure?
Joan:Of what
they may do for the fairies
I
know nothing.
but
in may, the young girls go to the tree
And
there they dance
And
weave garlands of flowers
To
hang upon the branches
And
so they bring the spring
Which
in French we call
Le
Beau Mai.
But
since I have learned
That
I must come to France
I
have left behind
The
songs and flowers
The games and rounds
The
young girls play.
Peasant
Girl:She never likes play.
There she
sits,
Sits all
day.
By the wheel
spinning
Spinning.
The wheel
goes turning
While she
hums, hums, hums.
What is she
doing?
She won’t
come to play.
And when
she’s not spinning
She
stands ‘round alone singing
In the
trees, by the water
Where she
stares at her hands
Looks at the
water
And talks to
the stones.
Threw an
acorn once
An hit her
head
And what did
she do
She fell on
her knees
And crossed
herself, (gesturing rapidly) crossed
herself, crossed herself.
I suppose if
a pigeon
Shit on her
head
She’d think
it was angels
Come for a
kiss.
Woman
1:Do you remember the girl?
A strange one round
here.
Not many friends
a quiet self- kept.
Woman
A bit too good
If your askin me
Too good for us
If ya know what I mean.
Can;t never trust
The ones that do
All what she done.
WomanAll the time prayin
And out in the church
Confessin, confessin
What was it she done
A girl a that age?
WomanStart ya ta wonder
Why she would be
Round by the priest
And round by the church
At any odd time of the
day.
WomanI heard it said
She’s take in the
vagrants
The drunks and the bums
And set them to sleep
In her house on her bed
And she would take the
floor.
WomanIs the floor the only thing
That she would take
Or was she takin small
What now she gets large
And her floor the
startin ground
For what she plays now
in the field
Woman:But what’s the likes a her
doin with the likes a
men
WomanOr is the likes of those men
That likes their men
That she’s done herself
up for?
WomanDone indeed
from head to toe
in garters and hose
and britches and bows
that string up a man
where he needs to be
strung
Woman
While what a woman binds up
She binds flat away down
To liken her bosom
To a boy’s flat boney
chest
Before he’s a man.
WomanWhat woman is this
Who makes herself so
And struts about proud
Like a feather fluffed
pheasant
With pennants and
banners
And soldiers array.
WomanA girl or a soldier
A woman or man
By the looks a’ her
doin’s
She’s a hard one ta’
tell.
(Lights down on women, up on the Trial)
Cauchon
(frustrated and angry)
Did
you wantto be a man
When
first you came to France?.
Joan:I wanted
to be only what God wanted me to be.
Inquisitor
3:Did God
want you to be a man?
Joan:God
wanted me to be good,
To
hear mass and say my prayers
And
to go to my king,
Who
is king of France.
Inquisitor
1: (in frustration)
Will
you take a woman's dress?
Joan:Give me
one.
I
will take it andgo.
Otherwise
I will not have it,
For
I am content with this,
Since
it pleases God that I wearit.
class=WordSection4>
Inquisitor
2:Will you
not leave behind the wearing of these clothes!
Inquisitor
3:Harlot!
Inquisitor
4:Camp
follower!
Inquisitor
2:Frenchman’s
boy-faced whore!
(Inquisitor 1 turns to silence 2 - he
intends to take a different direction in the questioning.)
Inquisitor 2:You have believed in saints
You
have believed in angels
But
you believe in them
As
you yourself say
As
you do believe in Christ the Lord
To
equal God’s saints
With
the creator Himself
Is
heretical imbalance
And
an error in faith.
Inquisitor
3:You have
said that you see the future
Beyond
the veil of human eyes,
You
claim your heretic and degenerate prince
To
be the king of France
Inquisitor
1:Your
clothes are a man’s
Your
hair worn short.
You leave nothing to show
Of
a woman’s form.
Inquisitor
3:You deceive
in your words
In
your faith and your actions,
You
deceive in your claims
In
your dress and your bearing.
Inquisitor
1:You are
heretic
Demon
Witch
Abomination
before the Lord.
LoiseleurSave your soul
Joan,
Call
your body back from death.
The
flames that burn the flesh
Are
but like summer’s sun
To
sweet young skin;
But
the flames that burn in hell
Sear
and crackle in eternal torment.
Hold
back the flames of fiery hell,
Abjure,
recant
And
let God preserve you.
(The lights dim on the court and come up on
Joan and the Temptor)
Temptor:Do you feel the darkness
Joan?
The darkness
ever growing?
Where are
your visions,
Your hopes
for tomorrow?
Only the
rats, the wet and the mold,
Only the
rotting, the putrid, the foul.
Give in to
them Joan.
You cannot
go on.
Hope, Joan,
Hope?
Hope is a
conceit
A failed
past’s swollen reflection
Cast into a
future void;
The soul’s
limp spine
Seeking to
glorify
The weakness
of the present
Through the
worn glaze mirror
Of its own
vanity.
Already your
future,
Decays in
the past.
Nightmares
and screams
Speak
clearer than voices
Of saints in
your visions.
And the pain
of the fire,
The pain of
the flame.
Joan:I am
condemned
I
see the fire lit.
I
see the wood piled ready,
The
post upon the pyre
Where
they will put me to the flame.
I
see, yet I will not abjure.
I
fear, yet I will not deny
The
God, the saints,
The
voices that guide me.
And
even after,
When
I am in the fire,
When
the scraping flame
Burns
and blisters black my skin,
And
though my screams
Fill
the square
And
cause the bells to echo
Even
then will not a sound
Announce
a change of word.
I
will not change a thought.
I
will not change my soul.
I
will not change that I have loved
My
country, my king, my God.
But
shall maintain what I have said
Until
death.
Peasant
1:She’s off to her
dreams
What a sight
to behold.
Peasant
2:Baudricourt, the
kings first council
Gave her
arms,
Gave her his
faith
And brought
her to Chinon
Peasant
3:They say the king
When he was
to receive her
Thought to
trick her
And play her
as a fool
And sport.
He hidhimself among his courtiers
And sat upon
his throne instead
A serving
boy,
Dressed in
the king’s own cap and cloak.
Peasant
2:But she was not
fooled
There was no
game.
She entered
the hall
And went to
the throne
Then turned
away
And walked
straight to the king
Who hid
behind a women’s clutch
In the
corner of the hall.
Peasant
1:They say she knows
things
No man would
know
Not priest,
not bishop, not scholar, not king.
She plans
out battles
And leads
attacks,
A girl who
could not even lead her father’s sheep.
She outdoes
the English, and Burgundy’s men
And leads
the men of France
Beneath her
pennant, blue and white.
Peasant
2:She dons armor and
sword,
Shield and
tunic all painted in blue
And white
and silver garnish.
She has a
charger,
Ten and
eight hands high,
A girl who
could not guide her mother’s mule.
Peasant
1:Of God or the devil
I surely
don’t know.
But what she
can conjure
What she can
make
Is beyond a
village girl’s ken.
(Lights down. Up on Joan)
Soldier
1:A girl, Baudricourt
sends us a girl?
What did we
all say?
Who can
believe it?
The English
call her witch
Burgundy
calls her harlot
But she is
France,
She is
Charles and the throne.
Soldier
2:She is God’s saint
Her miracles
prove it.
She knew the
king
When he hid
from her
She told him
of the sword,
The sacred
sword buried deep,
Deep below
Saint Catherine’ altar
In the
Church at Fierbois.
Soldier
3: Covered in rust
they found it
Just as she
said.
Covered in
rust, aged and decayed
Forgotten
and lost
Like the
crown of France.
Yet, in her
visions,
She saw its
blade
Silver and
sharp
And ready
for battle.
And when
they dug it from its grave,
The rust and
tarnish and dirt of ages
Fell fast
away.
And so they
made her a velvet scabbard
To sheath
that sword.
And with it
she led us on to Orleans.
Soldier
3:Sure this girl
can’t be no witch
What witch
could work her magic spells
`Under
good Jesus and Mary’s name.
She had ‘em
put the names
In silver
and gold
In writin’
on her banner.
Now, I’m not
sayin as I can read.
And can’t
say for my life
That that’s
what it says,
But there
are fellows in the camp
Who have
learned at least their letters.
And that’s
what they say
She’s wrote
up there.
Soldier
2:They say that
pennant brings her luck,
As
well as some special ring
The king has
sent.
I don’t know
‘bout witches
And I’m not
sure ‘bout luck,
But that
girl flung herself up on the wall
Like no man
I know,
And took an
arrow in the chest
Without a
wince or call.
Soldier
1:I hear some say
she’s a boy in them clothes
Maybe the
captain’s boy?
Soldier
2:She ain’t no boy
I heard it
sure
From the
captain’s man
Who saw her
once
When
he came into her tent.
He came to
fetch her to Baudricourt
And there
she was,
Naked to the
waist,
And sure
enough
(He gestures “round breasts”)
She ain’t no
boy.
_ Soldier 3: Have you
forgot
That that’s
no proof.
These (he gestures) are not the things that
make a woman.
Soldier
1:Now, you sure one
that needs a woman,
Soldier
3:For sure you’re
right,
But I’ve
heard for sure that she’s no boy
And that the
queen herself made sure she wasn’t
And more
than that was never been touched
If you know
what I mean.
Soldier
1:But now the English
got her.
And the Duke
of Burgundy
Locked her
up.
And all them
priests and monks
Are sure to
twist her up
And set her
up for fire wood.
Soldier
2:But the king won’t
let ‘em.
He owes her
the crown.
Soldier
1:But they asked a
ransom,
And the
king’s purse
Holds less
that a fork full of water.
(Lights down on soldiersas they come up on Charles, the queen and
Baudricourt)
Charles:(Yelling)
Afraid, I’m
afraid.
Queen:An idiot,
My son is an
idiot.
Charles:If she is a demon.
Queen:A fool for a king.
Baudricourt:But if there is truth in what
they claim...
Queen:You are as much a fool as he.
Charles:My conscience troubles
me.
I walk alone
at night,
Without
sleep, without dreams,
Troubled by
the thought, by the fear
That indeed
she is demon sent
And demon
sent she rode to me
To fit my
crown with hell-fire coals
To lift me
up
To cast me
down
Into the
darkest devil’s pit.
Queen:When will I hear enough from this
fool?
He babbles
like school boys
In fancies
and dreams
That the
priests and the nuns
Paint in his
brain.
Idle
ramblings
Adventuresome
terrors
Fit for a
child.
Charles:If I am king by a witch
I am the
king of demons,
Maggots and
worms will burst from my bowels
Blood and
puss will spurt from my brow
I will
forever me consigned to hell fire
And know no
peace in death
As I have
known no peace in life.
Queen:(To Baudricourt)
We speak
plainly Baudricourt
We speak as
soldiers
We speak as
kings,
I the throne
and you the lance.
Truth to
tell,
We have no
need,
No need of
her now.
Her role is
complete
The battle
is done.
Whether
demon or saint
She has
delivered us Rheims
She has
given us Orleans
Restored to
us France.
Baudricourt:A girl, madame,
Of no more
than nineteen,
A girl came
to me madame
And with her
a dream.
Can we allow
her to our enemies
To their
prisons, their guards
Their
English guards
Who beset
her day and night
With taunts
and chidings
They have
denied her the woman’s right
Of churchly
confinement in a nunnery’s ward
And
subjected her as a soldier
To the keep
of men.
Is this our
repayment
For the
crown she has won?
Queen:Did you see her at Rhiems
At my son’s
side.
There were
she stood
A warrior
goddess
Resplendent
in silver and blue
Her sword at
her side
And in her
outstretched arm
The pennant
she bears
And on it
emblazoned
Jesus,
Maria?
Did you see
the soldiers watch her,
See the
people fixed
Staring in
wonder.
And there
upon the throne,
Upon the
throne of France
This, their
king.
This, frail
in body and long in nose,
Whimpering,
drooling,
Fidgeting
with his crown
Like a child
with a new hat.
Charles:Let the English have her,
She
frightens me.
Harlot they
call her,
Witch and
whore.
Let the
English burn her
To appease
the sin
She has
done.
Baudricourt:We cannot abandon her, madame.
Pay out a
ransom
Return her
to France.
If need be,
Send her
away
To a convent
or cloister
To live out
her days.
Charles:I will not have her.
Don’t do it
mother.
Keep her
away.
Queen:No, Baudricourt, no.
Not for my
son’s fears
But for his
crown,
For the
crown of France.
One more
battle she must fight,
One more
battle must she win.
The English
will burn her,
We know it
well.
But the fire
they will light
Will scorch
all of France
And cleanse
it of England
For a
thousand years.
And not only
England
But all of
our foes
And so will
the crown
And the land
Be forever
one, forever France.
(Return to the trial)
Inquisitor
1Have you visited the
Church of Saint Catherine
Saint
Catherine at Fierbois
Joan:Yes
Inquisitor
1And what did you find
at the Church
Joan:A sword my lord
Inquisitor
1And where did you find
this sword
Joan:They found it
beneath the altar my lord
Inquisitor
2:And how did they find
it
Joan:They knew where to
find it by my voices
For I told
them where it lay
Not to deep
I think
But covered
in rust
With five
crosses upon it
Inquisitor
2:And what blessings did
you invoke
Or have
invoked upon it
Joan:Neither did I bless
it
Or have it
blessed
Inquisitor
3: Did you place your
sword upon the altar
And so
placing it
Believe it
more fortunate
Joan:No my lord
Inquisitor
3:Had you a banner
Joan:A banner white and
fringed in silk
Upon it a
field of lilies golden
And with the
words as they tell me
Jesu Maria
Inquisitor
3:And fir which was your
greater care
Your banner
or your sword
Joan:Forty times more
I loved my
banner
Than my
sword
Cauchon:Your soldiers Joan.
What do you
say of your soldiers.
Joan:Not my soldiers,
But God’s
soldiers
And soldiers
of the king.
Cauchon:Do you see them Joan?
How you
deceived them Joan?
How you
enticed them Joan?
Joan:My soldiers heed the
call of France.
Cauchon:Do they kiss your hands?
Joan:Do they kiss my
hands?
Cauchon:Do the soldiers kiss your
hands?
Do they
press their lips upon your palms”
Do their
lips
Melt within
The folds or
your skin?
Joan:Do they kiss my
hands?
Cauchon:Do their lips warm
The soft and
tender folds
That lie
beneath your fingers?
Joan:These hands?
A soldier’s
hands,
Raw hands.
Cauchon:Moist lips Joan,
To soften
those hands.
Joan:Blistered hands.
Cauchon:Tell me Joan,
Do they kiss
your hands?
Joan:Hands that wield the
sword
Of almighty
God’s desire.
Cauchon:And your desire Joan?
What voice
is your desire?
Do you hear
them now?
Listen.
Joan:Beating thousand
chorus wings,
Red and
blue, silver and gold,
Startled
doves in autumns leaves
Thunder
soundless to my ears
And flutter
trumpeting within my soul.
Rumbling in
the clouds
Soft upon
the earth
The angels
sing to me
Call to me
Listen!
Cauchon:Then you do not hear them
But only
think you hear them.
Joan:Listen.
Cauchon:Conjured them,
Divined them
from bewitched imaginings.
Joan:Listen.
Yes, I hear.
(Silence)
Michael,
guardian, warrior.
Heaven’s
champion knight,
I white
flame armor
Sun rayed
hair, celestial fire
From above
his thrusting brow
Bursts
forward toward his halo crown,
Eyes, icy
crystals that scorch and singe
My burning
cheeks to summer’s rose.
Upward to
those crystal spheres
He raises
high his blue silver steel.
“Go forward
Joan,
Forward for
God,
Forward for
France”.
Inquisitor
4:You desire the flow of
human blood
Across the
fields of daughter France,
That God
should speak to you in the Frenchman’s tongue
And shut his
ears to England’s prayers.
That you
ignore the call to love your foe
And claim
that saints direct you....
Blasphemy!
Inquisitor
3:You have abandoned
father and mother,
Home and
duty.
You live in
the company of men,
To march
with whores
Who swarm
the fields of battle.
Harlot!
Adulteress!
Inquisitor
4:You refuse the
judgement of Mother Church
And all her
councils.
You do not
heed the will of clergy,
Of bishops
and clerics who speak as one.
You do not
cease to err in the pernicious singularity
Of self
destruction
Which you
dare to call,
The voice of
God.
Apostate!Idolater!
Inquisitor
1:Sign the confession.
Sign and
abjure!
Inquisitor
5:Will you submit to the
ordinance of the church?
Joan:I submit to God.
Inquisitor
2:Will you cast aside
these men’s clothes.
Joan:Has my lord
forgotten
Or can he
not read his own books
On this you
have my answer.
Inquisitor
3:Submit
Sign
Joan:I am condemned.
But send me
a priest
And with
God’s aid
I will
answer to him
In the dark
closure
Of my
private confession.
Inquisitor4:You will have no priest
Until you
submit,
Submit to
the church
Who sits
here before you,
Present in
this body.
Submit to
the church
Who with her
bishops
And with her
priests
With her
sons
And with her
daughters
Speaks as
one
In God’s
holy name.
Cauchon:If thy brother
Shall
trespass against thee
Go you and
tell him his fault.
But if he
will not hear thee,
Then take
with thee one or two more,
And if he
shall refuse to hear even them,
Tell his
wrong doing to the whole assembly.
And if he
refuse to hear the whole assembly
Let him be
to thee as the heathen apart!
Inquisitor
4:You will be an outcast
Joan.
Like the
villainous Saracen
The Blackamoor
among us,
Marked like
Cain,
And the
children of Ham.
Your soul in
solitary anguish
With torment
Shall abide
with demons.
Joan:I am the church’s
baptized daughter,
Raised upon
the font.
Her waters
washed my sins.
But now you wish
to raise me up
Excommunicate
And cast me
down and unmarked grave.
Yet, I am a
good Christian
And so I
shall die.
Inquisitor
2:No, Joan.
You raise
yourself.
You raise
yourself above the church
Above this
assembly,
Above the law.
Joan:It is God who has
raised me,
To serve my
king,
To serve my
country,
To serve His
will.
Inquisitor
4:His will.
Your
impudence cries louder than your foul deeds.
Joan:For my words and for
my deeds,
I refer them
all to God.
Inquisitor
3:Blasphemy!
Inquisitor
2:Heresy!
Inquisitor
1:By your own words,
By your own
words Joan,
You break
with holy church
And this
assembly.
The church
is one,
The church
is holy.
Loiseleur:Make yourself one with us
Joan,
Make
yourself one.
Do not let
your soul wander alone.
Renounce
your voices,
Embrace the
truth
And find
peace in your heart.
Joan:To tell you
different I cannot.
To say you
different I cannot.
Even though
I go to the fire,
I cannot
renounce my saints,
My voices,
My king,
My God.
Cauchon:Girl!
Do you not
realize
These words
you utter
Tear at our
very soul?
To bring you
to reason
To make you
again whole,
You drive us
to consider means
That strike
fear into us all.
Loiseleur:Why can you not do what they
ask?
Are you
willing to burn?
Do you not
fear the flame?
The flame
that sears the flesh,
That rises
to dance upon your breast
To slice
your nipples
And sing
upon your nose and lips
And curl and
leap between your fingers
And dart and
cut beneath the nails.
Thrusting up
between your limbs
To melt your
maidenhood to ash.
Have you
seen those dead from fire?
Have you
smelled and heard their stench filled cries?
(Joan is silent.She crosses herself.)
Inquisitor
1:She remains.
Inquisitor
2:Silence.
Inquisitor
1:Unrepentent.
(The judges move toward the center.Cauchon prepares the final judgement.Two soldiers move Joan to a side platform to
hear the sentence)
Cauchon:In ipsa causa concludimus
We, assembled here to hear this
cause
Declare by
law
The process
is concluded..
For in all
things you have remained obdurate
And do not
consider
As the
Gospel surely teaches
That no
branch may bear
Its fruit of its own
Except that
it abide
By the
growing of the vine.
Hear then
now
The words of
this court
For, before
us at dawn
On the
morrow in this place
Shall you
hear well
The sentence
pronounced
To be
carried out
In this city
of Rouen
According to
right
And to holy
law.
Joan:
Do not!I implore you. Do not!
Inquisitor
1: Then you submit?
Inquisitor
2:Then you abjure?
Joan:I am afraid!
Temptor:You are an abomination
Joan.
Your
are a distortion.
In
flesh you are a woman’s mold
In
heart are you driven as though a man.
Yet
that woman’s flesh denies itself
and
shields itself in manly dress
And
that manly soul
that
moves you on
Is
towards comely saints compelled
Cast
off the guise of your design
accept
the mask of their charade.
Truth,
Joan, truth?
What
truth have you designed?
But
truth that you deny.
Have
you not seen on the water’s surface?
Have
you seen in the depth’s of your soul?
Crippled
in sight
Blinded
in action
You
cannot stand alone Joan,
You
cannot stand alone.
Collapse
the armor of your walls
And
fall to nest within their arms.
Loiseleur:(Handing her the document)
Make your
mark.
Joan:(She makes her mark)
Temptor:Joan,
Joan
You have seen
You have seen
Now you are at one
At one with them
Cast off now this manly garb
Don again your womanly dress
Stand down from arms and fields of war
Turn again to a woman's web
Leave behind your strange desires
And turn your will to their designs
You are one with them Joan
One with all others
Is this not simple thing
_
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
MicrosoftInternetExplorer4
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
Is this not a comfort sweet
At peace now Joan
be at peace
Cauchon:Now see we justice
The will of
God and the people of France
Prevail
against the ways of deceit
Of villany
and cunning.
Now for your
treason
The just
dessert.
You have
found, Joan,
You have
found the will of God.
You have
renounced your demons
And you have
found the will of God.
You have
restored your soul.
Joan:My soul?Oh my soul!
(She pauses in confusion)
Cauchon:Your soul redeemed.
Cauchon: Your soul redeemed.
Joan: My
soul consumed!
Oh, my saints!
Oh, my holy voices!
What have I done?
What have I done?
Now do I behold my sin
Now do I perceive my error
For with my mark have I denied my loving God
A god who has made me as I am
Who has conceived me and sent me forth
Who has created the fullness of my self
A god who would not deny to daughter or son
The gift of love
The right of love
Which is the making of the soul
And in my weakness have I denied
To fit myself within your narrow mold
For fear to stand alone
For fear to speak that love
Which speaks to me
And that your blindness cannot see
And your hearing cannot hear
Loiseleur:
Beware your words!
Joan: Beware
my soul!
I have deceived them,
I have betrayed them!
Oh Sweet
voices
Oh, holy martyrs!
Forgive me my treason!
Forgive me this lie!
Cauchon:The demons retake her!
Joan:Undo my mark
Loiseleur: Do
you renounce your abjuration?
Joan:Pardon
my treason
Loiseleur:Do
you recant your admission?
Joan:
I recall my saints, my voices, my loves.
Inquisitor 1:Do
you return to your sin
Joan:Yes,
I behold my sin
I behold my error
For in that stroke have I denied my loving God
A god who has made me as you see
For I am indeed God made
Not in hair and dress
But in soul and mind and heart
Unink that stroke
Scrape clean the leaf
That I may too
Remove the stain
that has blackened my faith
My heart, my soul.
For fear to stand alone
Against those fires which would burn away
All that my God, my voices, my saints
Have called upon me to be
Loiseleur:Then you bring upon yourself
The
judgement that awaits you
The fires of
purgation whose biting flame
But hints at
the eternal fires of hell’s dark hole.
Joan:You speak of fires
my lord;
You speak of
darkness.
But is this
not already greater darkness?.
Is this not
a more burning flame?
How brief
that moment
Of my
submission
Yet in its
instant was all the burning fire of eternity
Feeding on
the flesh of my denial.
And
whenyou bind me upon that pyre,
It will not
be my screams that you will hear
But the
sound of God’s justice offended
That will
burn through your ears and mind and heart.
(Silence)
Joan:Listen.
St.
Michael:Joan,
I have heard
you Joan.
I have heard
but cannot defend.
For though
you have called me,
Was it I who
called you?
Joan:Truly, did I hear
you
And truly
did believe.
Touch me now
Touch me
with that golden lance
With which
at heaven’s birth
You cast
below the fiend’s false light
To hell’s
dark fires
And
everlasting night.
Michael:Joan, poor Joan.
Vain pride
did not all that morning perish
Nor did it
fall so far into hell’s black fire
That it’s
gilded touch
Is not with
us still.
Joan:Is it vain to love,
Is it pride
to call upon the saints
To fall
before their shrines
And speak
their names with a faith
That
consecrated them to me?
St.
Margaret:Are we then yours
Joan?
Are we, the
elect, given to you?
Do we above,
dally below
To meddle in
the hearts of men
And play
with children’s hearts,
And so
entice the wiles
Of foolish
young maids?
Joan:By my love you are
mine,
By my faith
you are elect
Within God’s
realm.
It is my
love that hears you;
My love that
gives you voice.
My faith
that brings you to me.
Catherine:Faith, Joan,
Faith in
whom.
In us?
Margaret:Or in your self.
Joan:I only wanted to
love you.
I only
wanted to love.
Michael:There can only be silence
now Joan
Only the
silence of your own will
Deep within
you it echoes
The
voiceless cries
Of your
lonely soul.
They cannot
see Joan;
They cannot
hear.
You are
alone.
Joan:No, No!
Do not
abandon me
Do not
forsake me
I have loved
you
I have loved
you!
You are
mine!
Do you not
hear me?
Do you not
hear?
Loiseleur:Do you not hear us Joan?
Do you not
hear this assembly?
Submit to
this council
Submit to
the church.
Submit to
the truth!
(Stage lights dim.Lights up on the orchestra for Christine.)
Christine:What then is truth?
I tell you her word is
truth
For her word is ever
one.
And is not truth by its
very nature
Like nature, ever one?
For all your pacts
For all your congress
You arrive by
multiplicity
By contrivance and false
compromise,
By diminution, by
distillation
At points which
counterfeit and mock
The one-ness which is
truth.
By your councils and
your parries,
Which pleases all
And troubles none,
You become your own
contentment
And find a resting place
Where you think to
defend yourselves
In your own approbation
And mutual smug repose.
And though you by
numbers
Rebuke her, confine her,
destroy her,
you cannot arrest her
For she is also her own
truth,
Her own unshakeable
oneness
Bound within and without
By the steadfast armor
Of her belief.
And it is here that you
fear her.
Here that you men of learning
Men of the church,
Men of arms
Here that you fear
A simple girl,
A country girl
Not yet ten and nine.
For in the oneness of
the truth
All your force
All your threats
All your chains
And black wholed
prisons,
Crumble in dust,
An impotent lie.
(The stage goes dark.
A lone monk, hood raised, appears in the
shadows with a single lighted taper.
We hear a choir intoning the Dies Irae as at
the start of the play.)
Clerk
1:In the name of the Lord
AMEN
We, Pierre Cauchon,
By divine mercy
Bishop of Beauvais
Jean le Maitre
`Deputy of the Inquisitor
Of the faith
Jean Craverant
Doctor of Theology
And matters of faith
Judges competent in this
action,
Whereas, we deem you
Joan
Who calls yourself the Maid
To be a wayward heretic
Fallen into a diversity
of crimes
Of schism, idolatry
And invocation of
demons.
In your singularity you
raise your pride
In your pride you defy
this communion
With unyielding fixation
Like a dog
You return,
return to your own
vomit,
To devour and consume
anew
Your headstrong
presumption.
Therefore, in the single
voice
And unity of holy church
And all those assembled
here
The clerk takes the great taper, turns it
upside down and extinguishes the flame on the floor)
WE DECLARE YOU HERETIC
WE CAST YOU FROM THE
UNITY OF THE CHURCH
WE DISCARD YOU AS A
ROTTEN AND PUTREFIED MEMBER
AND GIVE YOU UP TO
SECULAR JUSTICE
Joan:(Screaming for the first time)
My God, I am
afraid.
(The following moves rapidly ; the chant
continues)
Loiseleur:Abjure Joan.
Joan:I am alone!
Inquisitor
5:Abjure!
Joan:I don’t want to die.
Loiseleur:Recant Joan
Joan:Don’t let me burn!
Loiseleur:Free yourself!
Joan:I am afraid.
Inquisitor
1:A king you saved,
You cannot
save yourself!
Joan:My God, Into your
hands!
Inquisitor
2:Recant
Joan:Do not burn my
hands.
Inquisitor
3:Sign!
Joan:... my face.
Inquisitor
4:Swear!
Joan:... my hair
Inquisitor
5:Heretic!
Joan:.. My skin, my eyes
Inquisitor
4:(As a clerk kneels before her with paper and quill)
Sign and
recant.
Joan:I cannot.
Inquisitor
3:Sign.
Joan:I cannot. I am
bound.
Inquisitor
2:Unbind her hands.!
Joan:Not by your threads
But by
chains
By the
chains of my soul.
inquisitors
alternately:Witch
Heretic
Blasphemer
Apostate
Joan:Oh my saints
Why have you
abandoned me?
Oh, my king,
OH, Orleans
Oh, sweet
France
Unbind me of
myself
Deliver me
to their will
To dissolve
to their mind.
Inquisitors
alternately: Witch
Heretic
Blasphemer
Apostate
Cauchon:Then you despair!
Despair of
your voices.
Despair of
your saints.
Joan:No!
I despair of
the truth
That flees
from your hearts!
(A large pole is either lowered from the fly
space or rolled in from the wings.
They bind Joan to the stake:)
The stake must be raised above the floor so
that her head is beyond arm’s reach.
As they bind her.
The following exchanges must be as frenetic
as possible..
Joan:I confess to
almighty God...
Cauchon:Confess your lies!
Joan:To blessed Mary ever
Virgin...
Cauchon:Confess your harlotry!
Joan:To blessed John the
Baptist...
Cauchon:To confess daughter of
Satan!
Joan:To
the holy saint Michael
To saints
Margaret and Catherine..
Cauchon:Confess, confess
Joan:That I have
sinned...
Cauchon:Instrument of evil
Daughter of
sin.
class=WordSection2>
(They light the fire.)
Joan:A cross
A cross
Bring me a
cross.
(A man from the crowd runs in with a tall
processional cross and holds it to her face.
Joan kisses the cross.)
Loiseleur: (to the executioner)
Do your job
man
Now
Do your job
Joan:Jesu!
Executioner:Too high
They have
set her too high
My arms
cannot reach.
Joan:Jesu!
Loiseleur:Now, now , the rope
Bind the
garrot!
Twist the
cord!
Joan:Jesu, Jesu!
Executioner:The flames
Too high
They have
set her too high!
The
Crowd:A strange chromatic tonal groaning
BLACKOUT
Lights return dimly.Only Cauchon and the executioner remain.
Cauchon:
(to the executioner)
It did not
burn completely?
Executioner:No, my lord.
Cauchon:Didyou see when the flames had burned away
The
sackcloth she wore?
Executioner:Yes, lord.
Cauchon:A woman’s body.
Executioner:Yes, my Lord.
A woman’s
body
Or, no. A
girl’s
We all saw.
Cauchon:
The people saw?
Executioner:Yes, my lord.
They talk of
it now.
Cauchon:It did not burn completely?
Executioner:As I said my lord,
Not
completely.
Cauchon:Not completely.
Executioner:No my Lord
When the
flame went out
I added oil,
Saltpeter
Niter.
With wood on
top
And wood
below.
It burned
the flesh.
Charred the
bones
But still
inside
There was a
lump,
A clot of
flesh.
Cauchon:A clot?
What clot?
Executioner:
(opening a cloth)
This my
lord.
Cauchon:(examining)
What is this
lump
A coal?
A mass?
Executioner:A heart my lord.
A maiden’s
heart.
Cauchon:
(thrusting it back at him)
Burn it
Burn it with
the rest
Use oil
Use pitch
Executioner:I tried my lord
I tried
It will not
burn.
Cauchon:Then cast it away
Cast it to
the water
Into the
Seine
Into the
river.
Executioner:
(moves down stage - alone)
Into the
river.
Into water’s
blue silver veins.
The heart
will flow
New blood
New soul
Into her
daughter France.
And in time
to come
Not England,
not Spain
Nor the
tribal Hun
Will move to
strike her down.
Flow on,
daughter of France
And mother
to your country.
History
awaits you.
Cauchon:
(to himself)
What have we
burned?
A fool, a
simple fool.
She was
heretic, apostate.
Yet they
will glamorize, canonize...
Accept what
you see...
The ashes of
prideful villainy
What have I
burned?
Can there be
doubt?
Therein
festers her true contagion,
Like the
plague her ashes spread on the wind,
The foul air
that carries her madness to the many.
Already they
say what men will always say
And there,
there is her heresy,
There is her
lie.
More quickly
will they believe the fool
Crazed with
wonders and fables,
More quickly
still will they cower before the devil’s horns,