being delivered out of the hands of the English, and placed in the power of the Church. On the 24th of May, 1431, she was taken to the St. Ouen burying-ground, where two large scaffolds were erected; upon one of these were the Cardinal of Winchester, the Bishop of Beauvais, the Bishops of Noyon and Boulogne, and several assessors.

Joan was conducted on to the other scaffold on which were the doctor who was to preach, the notaries employed in the trial, the officers in whose custody she had been during the examinations, M. l'Oiseleur, and another assessor, who had also been her confessor. Close by was the executioner with his cart ready to receive La Pucelle, and to convey her to the pile formed in the Grand Place. An immense crowd of French and English filled the burying-ground. The preacher spoke at great length. "Oh! noble house of France," he said amongst other things, "who, until now, hast always avoided supernatural things, and hast ever protected the faith, hast thou been so deceived as to take part with a heretic and schismatic? It is greatly to be deplored! Ah France! thou hast been misled; thou, who hast always been the most Christian realm; and Charles, thou who callest thyself her king and governor, thou, heretic as thou art, hast approved the words and the acts of an infamous and a shameful woman."

Here Joan interrupted him: "Speak of me, but not of the king; he is a good christian, and I dare to say and to swear, on pain of death, that he is the best of christians, and a good friend to the faith and the Church. He is not such as you say"-"Make her be silent!" cried the Bishop of Beauvais.

At the conclusion of his sermon, the preacher read to Joan a form of adjuration, and told her to sign it. "What is an adjuration?" asked she. She was answered, that if she refused to sign the articles presented to her, she would be burned, and that she must submit herself to the universal Church. "Well, I will make an adjuration if the universal Church wishes it." But it was not submission to the Church or to the Pope that was required from her, it was the avowal that her judges had passed a right sentence upon her. Threats, persuasions, and promises were therefore redoubled. Every effort was made to disconcert her. For a long time she remained firm and unshaken. "I was right in doing all that I have done," said she.

This scene lasted for some time. The English began to be impatient at what appeared to them like mercy towards the prisoner. Cries were raised against the bishop, calling him a traitor. "That is false," he said, "it is the duty of a bishop to endeavour to save both the soul and body of the accused." The Cardinal of Winchester imposed silence on his men.

At last Joan's resistance was overcome. "I desire all that the Church desires," said she, "and since the churchmen say that my visions are not worthy of belief, I will no longer hold to them." "Sign then, or you shall perish by fire," said the preacher to her. In this interval a secretary of the English king had substituted for the articles which had been read to her, and which she had been induced with such difficulty to approve, another paper containing a long adjuration, in which she avowed that all she had said was false, and prayed for pardon of her crimes. She was made to put a cross at the foot of this paper as her signature. A great disturbance then arose among the crowd; the French rejoicing at her escape, the English in their fury throwing stones.

The Bishop of Beauvais and the Inquisitor then pronounced another sentence which they had brought, condemning Joan to pass the rest of her days in prison, on the bread of misery, and the water of tribulation. The promises which had just been made to her were immediately broken. She hoped to be taken out of

the hands of the English, and delivered over to the clergy; in spite of her remon strances, she was carried back to the Tower.

The English were still very angry, they drew their swords, threatening the bishop and the assessors, and crying that they had not earned the king's money. Even the Earl of Warwick complained to the bishop. "The business has succeeded badly, since Joan has escaped," said he. "Never fear," said one of the assessors,

"we will soon have her again."

To this end operations were commenced without delay. She had resumed female clothing. Her male apparel was left in the same room. Her English gaolers and even an English lord, conducted themselves towards her with shameful brutality. She was more closely fettered than before, and treated with greater harshness. Nothing was omitted to reduce her to despair. At last, finding that she could not be made to violate her promise to retain the garments of her sex, her keepers removed them during her sleep, and only left her the male suit. "You know, gentlemen, that this is forbidden me," she said on awaking, "I do not wish to wear this dress. "However, she was obliged to rise and put it on. This was a great delight to the English. "She is taken!" cried the earl of Warwick. Information was immediately sent to the bishop. The assessors who arrived a short time before him, were menaced and driven back by the English, who filled the court of the castle.

Without listening to Joan's excuses, without suffering any mention in the verbal process of the outrages to which she had been submitted, and the manner in which she had been forced to change her clothing, without paying the least attention to her just complaints, the bishop began saying that he found she still adhered to her illusions. "Have you again heard your voices?" he added. "It is true I have," she replied. "What did they say?" pursued the bishop. "God has revealed to me," continued she, "that it was a great mistake to sign your adjuration in order to save my life. The two saints told me on the scaffold to reply boldly to that false preacher, who accused me of what I had never done; they reproached me for my fault." After this she affirmed more positively than ever, that she believed her voices came from God; that she had never understood what the adjuration was that she had signed from fear of being burnt that she would rather die than remain in chains: that the only thing she could do was to wear female clothing. "For the rest, imprison me leniently. I will behave well, and do all the church desires."

This was enough, she was doomed. "Farewell!" cried the bishop to the earl of Warwick, and the rest of the English who were awaiting him outside the prison. The judges now resolved to deliver her over to secular justice, that is to say, to give her up to death. When this hard and cruel fate was announced to the poor girl, she began to weep and tear her hair. Her voices had often warned her that she would perish; but she had often fancied also that they promised her deliverance; now she could think of nothing but this dreadful death. "Alas!" said she, "my body which is pure and undefiled to be reduced to ashes! I would seven times rather be beheaded. If, as I requested, I had been placed in the custody of the church, I should not have met with such a terrible fate. Ah! I appeal to God, the great Judge, against the cruelty and injustice which I suffer."

When she saw Pierre Cauchon, she said, “Bishop, you are my murderer." To one of the assessors she said, "Ah! M. Pierre, where shall I be to-day?” “Have you not hope in God?" he asked in reply, "yes," answered she, "I trust, with God's help, to go to Paradise." By a singular contradiction to the sentence, she was allowed to take the sacrament. On the 30th of May, a week after her adjura tion, she entered the executioner's cart. Her confessor, not he who had betrayed

her, but brother Martin l'Advenu, and brother Isambard, both of whom had more than once during the trial demanded that justice should be done her, were by her side. Eight hundred Englishmen, armed with axes, lances, and swords, surrounded the cart.

On the road, she prayed so fervently, and lamented her fate with such meekness, that no Frenchman could restrain his tears. Some of the assessors were so overcome as to be unable to follow her to the scaffold. Suddenly a priest broke through the crowd, and reaching the cart, mounted into it. It was Nicolas l'Oiseleur, the false confessor, who, full of contrition, came to implore Joan's pardon for his perfidy. The English, overhearing him, were furious at his repentance, and the earl of Warwick had great difficulty in saving his life.

On arriving at the place of execution, Joan said, "Ah! Rouen! Rouen! is it here that I am to die?"

The cardinal of Winchester, and several French prelates were placed on one scaffold, the ecclesiastical and the secular judges on the other. Joan was conducted before them. A sermon was then delivered, upbraiding her with her relapse; she listened to it with patience and great calmness. "Joan, go in peace; the church can no longer protect thee, and delivers thee into secular hands." Thus the preacher concluded.

She then kneeled down, and implored the mercy of God, of the Holy Virgin, and of the Saints, especially St. Michel, St. Catherine, and St. Marguerite; she displayed so much fervour, that all around her wept, even the cardinal of Winchester, and several other Englishmen.

The bishop of Beauvais read the sentence, declaring her a relapsed heretic, and abandoning her to the secular power. After having been thus repulsed by the church, she asked for a cross. An Englishman formed one of two staffs, and gave it her. She took it devoutly, and kissed it; but she desired to have the cross of the parish; it was sent for, and she pressed it closely to her heart, whilst continuing to pray.

The English soldiers, and even some captains, began to be impatient at this delay. “Come, priest, are you going to make us dine here?" said some. "Give her to us," said others, "and it shall soon be over." "Do your duty," they said to the executioner.

Without waiting for any further order, or for the sentence of the secular judge, the executioner seized her. She embraced the cross, and walked towards the pile. The English soldiers dragged her forward with fury. Jean de Muilli, bishop of Noyon, and some other ecclesiastics, unable to endure this sight, descended from their scaffold and retired.

The pile was formed on a heap of rubbish. As soon as Joan had ascended it, a mitre was placed on her head, on which were inscribed the words héretique, relapse, apostate, idolâtre. Brother Martin l'Advenu, her confessor, had ascended the pile with her; he was still on it, when the executioner kindled the fire. "Jesus," cried Joan, and made the good priest descend from the pile. "Remain below," said she, "raise the cross before me, that I may see it as I die, and continue to repeat to me words of religious consolation to the last."

The bishop of Beauvais approaching her, she repeated to him: "You are my destroyer." She again affirmed that the voices came from God; that she did not think she had been deluded, and that all she had done had been by command of God. "Ah! Rouen! she added, "I fear that thou wilt suffer for my death." Thus protesting her innocence, and commending her soul to God, her prayers were still heard when the flames surrounded her, the last word that could be distinguished being, “Jesus!"

137.-THE INSURRECTION OF CADE.

HALL'S CHRONICLE.

A certain young man of a goodly stature and pregnant wit was enticed to take upon him the name of John Mortimer, although his name was John Cade, and not for a small policy, thinking that by that surname the line and lineage of the assistant house of the earl of March, which were no small number, should be to him both adherent and favourable. This captain, not only suborned by teachers, but also enforced by privy schoolmasters, assembled together a great company of tall personages; assuring them that their attempt was both honourable to God and the king, and also profitable to the commonwealth, promising them, that if either by force or policy they might once take the king, the queen, and other their counsellors, into their hands and governance, that they would honourably entreat the king, and so sharply handle his counsellors, that neither fifteens should hereafter be demanded, nor once any impositions or tax should be spoken of. These persuasions, with many other fair promises of liberty (which the common people more affect and desire, rather than reasonable obedience and due conformity), so animated the Kentish people, that they, with their captain above named, in good order of battle (not in great number) came to the plain of Blackheath, between Eldham and Greenwich. And to the intent that the cause of this glorious captain's coming thither might be shadowed from the king and his counsel, he sent to him an humble supplication, with loving words but with malicious intent, affirming his coming not to be against him, but against divers of his counsel, lovers of themselves and oppressors of the poor commonalty, flatterers to the king and enemies to his honour, suckers of his purse and robbers of his subjects, partial to their friends and extreme to be their enemies, for rewards corrupted and for indifferency nothing doing. This proud bill was both of the king and his counsel disdainfully taken, and therepon great consultation had, and after long debating it was concluded that such proud rebels should rather be suppressed and tamed with violence and force than with fair words or amicable answer: whereupon the king assembled a great army and marched toward them, which had lyen on Blackheath by the space of vii days. The subtil captain, named Jack Cade, intending to bring the king farther within the compass of his net, brake up his camp, and retired backward to the town of Sevenoaks, in Kent, and there, expecting his prey, encamped himself and made his abode. The queen, which bare the rule, being of his retreat well advertised, sent Sir Humphrey Stafford, knight, and William his brother, with many other gentlemen, to follow the chase of the Kentish men, thinking that they had fled; but verily they were deceived; for at the first skirmish both the Staffords were slain, and all their company shamefully discomfited. The king's army, being at this time come to Blackheath, hearing of this discomfiture, began to grudge and murmur amongst themselves; some wishing the Duke of York at home to aid the captain his cousin ; some desiring the overthrow of the king and his counsel; other openly crying out on the queen and her complices. This rumour, openly spoken and commonly published, caused the king, and certain of his counsel not led by favour nor corrupted by rewards (to the intent to appease the furious rage of the inconstant multitude), to commit the Lord Say, Treasurer of England, to the Tower of London; and if other, against whom like displeasure was borne, had been present, they had likewise been served but it was necessary that one should suffer rather than all the nobility then should perish. When the Kentish captain, or the covetous Cade, had thus obtained victory and slain the two valiant Staffords, he apparelled himself in their rich armour, and so with pomp and glory returned again toward London; in which

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retreat, divers idle and vagabond persons resorted to him from Sussex and Surrey, and from other parts, to a great number. Thus this glorious captain, compassed about and environed with a multitude of evil, rude, and rustic persons, came again to the plain of Blackheath, and there strongly encamped himself: to whom were sent by the king the Archbishop of Canterbury and Humphrey Duke of Buckingham, to commune with him of his griefs and requests. These lords found him sober in communication, wise in disputing, arrogant in heart, and stiff in his opinion, and by no ways possible to be persuaded to dissolve his army, except the king in person would come to him and assent to all things which he would require. These lords, perceiving the wilful pertinacy and manifest contumacy of this rebellious Javelin, departed to the king, declaring to him his temerarious and rash words and presumptuous requests. The king, somewhat hearing and more marking the sayings of this outrageous losel, and having daily report of the concourse and access of people which continually resorted to him, doubting as much his familiar servants as his unknown subjects (which spared not to speak that the captain's cause was profitable for the commonwealth), departed in all haste to the castle of Killingworth, in Warwickshire, leaving only behind him the Lord Scales, to keep the Tower of London. The captain, being advertised of the king's absence, came first into Southwark, and there lodged at the White Hart, prohibiting to all men murder, rape, or robbery; by which colour he allured to him the hearts of the common people. But after that he entered into London, and cut the ropes of the drawbridge, striking his sword on London stone, saying, "Now is Mortimer lord of this city," and rode in every street like a lordly captain. And after a flattering declaration made to the mayor of the city of his thither coming, he departed again into Southwark. And upon the third day of July he caused Sir James Fines Lord Say, and Treasurer of England, to be brought to the Guildhall of London, and there to be arraigned; which, being before the king's justices put to answer, desired to be tried by his peers, for the longer delay of his life. The captain, perceiving his dilatory plea, by force took him from the officers and brought him to the standard in Cheap, and there, before his confession ended, caused his head to be cut off, and pitched it on a high pole, which was openly borne before him through the streets. And this cruel tyrant, not content with the murder of the Lord Say, went to Mileend, and there apprehended Sir James Cromer, then sheriff of Kent, and son-in-law to the said Lord Say, and him, without confession or excuse heard, caused there likewise to be beheaded, and his head fixed on a pole, and with these two heads this bloody butcher entered into the city again, and in despite caused them in every street kiss together, to the great detestation of all the beholders.

After this shameful murder succeeded open rapine and manifest robbery in divers houses within the city, aud in especial in the house of Philip Malpas, alderman of London, and divers other over and beside ransoming and fining of divers notable merchants, for the tuition and security of their lives and goods; as Robert Horne, alderman, which paid v. C. marks, and yet neither he or no other person was either of life or substance in a surety or safeguard. He also put to execution in Southwark divers persons, some for infringing his rules and precepts, because he would be seen indifferent; other he tormented of his old acquaintance, lest they should blase and declare his base birth and low lineage, disparaging him from his usurped name of Mortimer; for the which he thought, and doubted not, both to have friends and fautors both in London, Kent, and Essex. The wise mayor and sage magistrates of the city of London, perceiving themselves neither to be sure of goods nor of life well warranted, determined with fear to repel and expulse this mischievous head and his ungracious company. And because the Lord Scales was ordained

keeper of the Tower of London, with Mathew Gough, the often-named captain in