joan of arc was a heretic

a very dull essay on fifteenth-century canon law and its consequences for everyone's favourite girlboss saint

Joan of Arc has one of the most complicated and charged reception histories of any saint. Embraced as a symbol of the French far-right, as a feminist icon and as a transgressive androgyne, few other saints have resonated across such disparate movements. Cute Etsy stickers emblazoned with the quote ‘I was not afraid; I was born to do this’ (not something Joan ever said) vs Marine Le Pen holding a rally in front of Frémiet’s 1874 statue of a gilded Joan on horseback. Her devotees—or fans, in a secular context—are united, however, in viewing the 1431 trial which condemned her and led to her execution as a political stitch-up. In the papal bull marking her canonisation in 1920, Benedict XV declared: ‘Et, iuxta non paucos testes, hic processus, qui quatuor menses perduravit non modo iniquus, sed etiam mancus et nullus fuit.’ (‘According to not a few witnesses, this process, which lasted four months, was not only unjust, but also null and void.’) Historians have called the trial a ‘sinister comedy,’¹ a ‘cynical manipulation,’² and a ‘judicial rape.’³

These judgements all rely on Joan’s second, posthumous trial, which ran from 1452 to 1456 and nullified the judgment of the trial which had condemned her. ‘We judge,’ declared the sentence of nullification issued on July 7th 1456, ‘that this trial record and sentences that contain deceit, slander, contradiction and manifest error of law and of fact, as well as the aforesaid abjuration, the execution and all that then ensued, were and are null, invalid, without effect or value.’⁴ This judgement nullified the original trial not on the basis of her testimony—in other words, it not deny that the testimony attributed to her in the trial record was heretical—but on procedural grounds:

‘The so-called sentences brought against the said deceased were and are extracted from the so-called trial record and from the so-called declarations of the deceased in a malicious, deceitful, slanderous manner with fraud and spitefulness… the forms of words were modified, changing the substance…’⁵

It was necessary to attack the trial on procedural grounds because, had it been properly conducted, Joan was indisputably a heretic. Joan’s eventual sentence rested on twelve articles, written by the judges and circulated for comment among theologians and canon lawyers at the University of Paris. The most significant was the twelfth and final article:

‘Item, this woman says and confesses that if the Church wanted her to do anything contrary to the command that she says God gave her, she would not do it for any reason whatsoever… she does not wish to submit to the decision of the Church militant on these matters, nor that of any man in the world, but only Our Lord God whose commands she will always follow, above all in the matter of revelations… even though the judges and others present in this place had frequently explained the article of faith “one holy catholic church”, explaining to her that every faithful pilgrim in this world is bound to obey and to submit their actions and words to the Church militant.’⁶

I’ve written before about the importance of discerning revelations within the community and tradition of the Church. Joan’s refusal to do this made her a schismatic, which by the fifteenth century was solidly embedded in the canonical definition of heresy. On May 23rd 1431, Joan recanted and was sentenced to solitary penance in prison, where she was given female clothing to wear. Four days later, when the judges returned to her cell, she had resumed wearing male clothing and, crucially, claimed that she continued to hear revelations:

Item, because we, her judges, had heard it said by some people that she had still not abandoned the illusions of her pretended revelations which she previously renounced, we asked her if she had heard the voices of Sts Katherine and Margaret since Thursday. She answered yes.⁷

In three of the manuscripts of the Latin trial record, these final words are accompanied by a marginal annotation: responsio mortifera, the fatal reply. It was on the basis of her persistence in refusing to submit to the authority of the Church, known in canon law as contumacy, which resulted in her final sentence and execution.

What follows below is a shortened version of an essay I wrote my finals, arguing that the trial of condemnation in 1431 was procedurally valid according to the standards of canon law at the time. Studying for that paper complicated my feelings about Joan: by turns brave, pious, stubborn, arrogant, afraid, bullied, unrepentant. A peasant girl who led an army, performed miracles, inspired a cult and faced the most powerful theologians and lawyers of Europe at the age of nineteen. Even for professional historians, studying Joan ‘in her own words’ arouses powerful feelings, usually of annoyance, respect, love or some combination of all of these. But this affective response cloaks the textual strategies and the nature of historical sources which stand between Joan and her readers (a difficult problem for any historian of faith), and the tone of my essay came partly from a frustration with the way devotion interfered with historiography. Historians have been predisposed to see the 1431 trial of condemnation as canonically invalid because of its political motivations, accepting the judgement of the 1456 trial of nullification. My argument below is that the 1431 trial was procedurally correct and, more significantly, that the ability of the same jurists and theologians to accept an opposing judgement only thirty years later reveals something interesting about the way canon law was interpreted in legal practice.

If you’re interested in a very dry study of fifteenth-century canon law (which is also very much an undergrad essay), read on (some people have asked to read it!!!), otherwise maybe read Larissa Taylor’s The Virgin Warrior: The Life and Death of Joan of Arc, which is the best biography I’ve come across.

The only contemporary image of Joan: Marginal sketch of Joan of Arc from register of the Parlement of Paris (AN, X1A 1481, fo, 12), May 1429

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1. The nature of the trial evidence

Records of the trial of condemnation have survived in three contemporary Latin copies of the original register and two later copies of the Minute Français. The proceedings of the nullification trial tell us something about how these documents were created. Joan’s interrogations were initially recorded by notaries Guillaume Manchon, Guillaume Colles and Nicholas Taquel. At the end of the day, the notaries compared notes and composed the Minute Français. Following the trial, Pierre Cauchon [the judge] employed Thomas de Courcelles and Guillaume Manchon to produce a Latin version of the trial record. The Latin record was composed shortly after the completion of the trial, by a date no later than November 30th 1431.⁸ The Latin record differs from the Minute Français in that it includes the letters and procedural arrangements which justified the trial. Unlike typical records of heresy trials, the Latin text was designed to be read; it was ‘a text consciously looking for a public and attempting to justify the trial.’⁹

Despite this, the Latin trial record shows little evidence of falsification. It does, at important points, deviate from the Minute Français. The Minute records that on the May 12th, a series of judges gave their opinions on whether to torture Joan; no record of this appears in the Latin version.¹⁰ Thomas de Courcelles was one of three judges who voted in favour of torture, and it is likely that he suppressed this list in order to conceal this judgement, which he later denied in his nullification trial testimony. Other differences include an increased emphasis on Joan’s agency in the execution of Franquet d’Arras and the resurrection of a baby at Lagny. The Latin text therefore implicates her to a greater extent in accusations of cruelty and witchcraft. These, however, are minor differences, and do not support the view (put forward at the nullification trial) that the Latin trial record was a corrupt rewriting of the proceedings. The strongest evidence for the reliability of the trial record comes from the nullification trial itself. Guillaume Manchon was shown a copy of the Latin record, and testified that it ‘had been signed by himself and his colleagues, and it contained the truth.’¹¹

Undoubtedly, Joan’s trial was politically motivated. Her judges were firmly on the side of the English and the Burgundians, and Cauchon was paid by Henry VI for his participation. The canonists and theologians consulted, most of whom belonged to the University of Paris and had tolerated decades of Armagnac assaults on the capital, were therefore predisposed to regard Joan negatively. They must also have been aware of the political utility of finding Joan guilty. It was far more damaging to Charles VII and his cause to execute her as a heretic than as a prisoner of war. There were, however, motivations to conduct the trial fairly. One of the canons of the 1243/4 Council of Narbonne, which was frequently included in inquisitorial manuals, stated: ‘You are not to proceed to the condemnation of anyone without clear and open proofs or their own confession. For it is better to leave a crime unpunished than to condemn the innocent.’¹² To unjustly condemn someone meant risking not only one’s own soul, but also the credibility of the inquisitorial system. Henry VI’s letter to Pierre Cauchon is instructive of Joan’s position in 1431. ‘It is our intention,’ he wrote, ‘to retake and regain possession of this Joan if it comes to pass that she is not convicted or found guilty of the said crimes.’¹³ While the English had no intention of letting Joan go free, they were not entirely confident that she would be convicted of heresy. This suggests that a sentence of heresy, though desirable, was not preordained.

In his letter initiating the nullification proceedings of 1450, Charles VII seemed more confident than Henry had been of a favourable verdict. He wrote that ‘our ancient enemies’ had ‘iniquitously, cruelly, and in defiance of all justice put her to death.’¹⁴ Charles, now secure in his rule, was unwilling to accept Joan’s status as a heretic, and expected the trial to confirm his view. Charles did not play a significant role in the nullification trial, which became an ecclesiastical inquiry from 1452 under papal legate Guillaume d’Estouteville. Nevertheless, it took place in a Normandy newly in French hands, and witnesses were under pressure to demonstrate their loyalty to their new king. It is notable that blame for the trial’s unfairness is assigned to those who had died—particularly Pierre Cauchon and Jean d’Estivet—and to the English. Of the surviving witnesses, according to Manchon’s testimony, ‘there was no one who was not afraid.’¹⁵

2. Trial procedure: ‘The Church does not judge secret matters.’

Joan’s trial was conducted as an inquisition, a procedure established by Innocent III and affirmed by Lateran IV in 1215. The system was designed to replace the accusatio, in which an accusation was brought forward by an individual who, if unable to prove the accusation, would suffer the penalty himself. Under the inquisitorial system, there was no need for a single accuser; accusations were established by fama publica. H.A. Kelly has characterised the 1431 trial as irregular on the basis of legal procedure, primarily on the basis of the principle, established at Lateran IV, that the church does not judge secret matters.¹⁶ Fama publica was to be established in preparation for the ordinary trial, and articles of accusation (known as a libellus) to be drafted on its basis alone. The charges were then to be presented to the defendant, who could confess or deny them. In the latter case, the judge would order purgation of the defendant, requiring them to swear to their innocence. The procedure established at Lateran IV did not allow a defendant to be questioned on beliefs which had not first been established as infamous.

However, by the fifteenth century, this principle had been superseded. This can be traced to the practice, in thirteenth-century continental inquisitions, of interrogating witnesses de se et aliis—witnesses in local heresy trials were asked to testify not only about the accused, but also about themselves.¹⁷ This was justified in the Alexander IV’s 1260 decretal Accusatus, and at the Council of Narbonne, which stated that during the preliminary investigation, inquisitors should question witnesses ‘generaliter de se et aliis.’¹⁸ This practice certainly violated the ordo juris established at Lateran IV, but by papal and conciliar approval became incorporated into canon law. Requiring witnesses to testify to their own beliefs without first establishing fama was no longer a violation of due process.

Pope Boniface VIII’s Liber Sextus of 1298 introduced two canons, Postquam and Si is, which ruled that if defendants were tried without infamy being established or charges presented, and did not protest, they could not later invalidate the proceedings. Boniface argued that anything heretical confessed during a trial became instantly notorious.¹⁹ By the fourteenth century, heresy suspects were commonly questioned not only on beliefs which had been established by fama publica, but also on current and secret beliefs. The 1382 trials against followers of Wycliffe in Oxford devised ‘a new kind of purgation, not of past offences, but of present unorthodox belief.’²⁰ Three defendants were asked to give their opinion about a set of propositions drawn up from Wycliffe’s writings. A similar process was used at the trial of Jan Hus at the Council of Constance in 1415, whereby Hus was required was required to respond to charges based not on his own views, but on a list of views attributed to Wycliffe.²¹

This practice was given papal approval in 1418 by Martin V’s papal bull Inter Cunctas, which required bishops and inquisitors to compel anyone suspect of heresy to respond under oath to the forty-five Wycliffite articles compiled at Constance, as well as thirty condemned Hussite articles.²² By the time of Joan’s trial, therefore, it was normal procedure to interrogate a suspect on views which had not been discovered by fama publica. The judges at Joan’s trial had first-hand experience of heresy trials in which this procedure had been used. William Alnwick, Bishop of Norwich, attended Joan’s trial fresh from leading heresy trials in Norwich, where suspects were interrogated on secret beliefs without first being charged. Pierre Cauchon had attended the trial of Jan Hus and described it as ‘a beautiful process.’²³

The acceptability of interrogation before charges is supported by the nullification trial: none of the lawyers and theologians who testified during the nullification trial objected to the interrogation of Joan before she was charged.²⁴ Guillaume Manchon’s testimony of 1450 recalls Lohier’s complaint that no libellus had been submitted to Joan before she was interrogated, but this criticism is not repeated in Manchon’s testimonies of 1452 or 1456, whereas Lohier’s other criticisms are.²⁵ That this criticism was not made central to the case for nullification suggests that it was a minority view amongst canonists.

Some of the depositions given in 1456 did, however, condemn the trial on the basis that it did not properly establish infamy before summoning Joan. Both John de Montigny and Nicholas de Courcelles suggested that there had not been a preliminary process on infamy. Courcelles was shown the trial record, which demonstrated that he had been witness to a reading of depositions about Joan gathered in a preliminary inquiry. Courcelles claimed that he did not remember this.²⁶ He then claimed that Jean Lohier, in the criticisms of the trial made in 1431, had also protested that there was no preliminary inquiry into her reputation, though Manchon’s account of Lohier’s criticisms does not support this. Courcelles’ testimony is questionable: the trial record showed that he had pushed for Joan to be condemned, and it was certainly in his interests to suggest that the record of the condemnation trial contained error.

Evidently, some preliminary investigation had been conducted—the questions regarding Joan’s upbringing, and particularly local details such as the fairy tree, could only have been gained by such an investigation. The trial record states that the judges ordered that preparatory information be gathered on January 13th 1431. This task was entrusted to ‘worthy and learned experts in canon and civil law,’ in addition to the two notaries.²⁷ On January 23rd, it was ordered that further information be gathered by Master Jean de la Fontaine, and that this was done by him and the notaries between the 14th and 17th of February. Articles were drawn up on or prior to February 19th, and it was decided on that day the depositions contained ‘sufficient evidence to justify summoning this woman.’²⁸ The seventy articles also take pains to establish that Joan ‘was and is gravely suspected, accused of scandal, and publicly denounced by many good and respectable persons.’²⁹

There remains the question, however, of why these witness testimonies were not included in the trial record, and why no witnesses were called to testify at Rouen. At the nullification trial, two witnesses suggested that during the investigations in Lorraine, they had been unable to find anyone who would speak ill of Joan.³⁰ It is possible that Cauchon did not want to include these testimonies in the record because of the positive impression they might give of Joan. The trial record, however, suggests that the judges felt that fama publica had been sufficiently established without a formal diffamatio. In his summons ordering Joan to appear, Cauchon stated that ‘reports of her damaging words and acts had spread not only throughout France but also to all Christian lands.’³¹ It is clear that he felt that the picture given in the trial record—of a preliminary investigation without a formal diffamatio—appeared sufficient to justify summoning Joan. Inquisitorial trials had been allowed to make use of summary procedure since 1255,³² the rules of which had been clarified by the Clementines of 1317, in which Pope John XXII ruled that a judge should limit ‘a superfluous throng of witnesses’ as long as no necessary proofs or defences were excluded.³³ This accords with the decision on the 19th of February that sufficient proofs had been established.

The judges at Joan’s trial believed that the trial was regular, and drew up the Latin trial record as a testament to this. When the seventy articles were drawn up, Cauchon requested that where Joan’s testimony corroborated the articles, it was reproduced verbatim into the record.³⁴ Cauchon believed that convicting Joan on the basis of her testimony strengthened his case, rather than undermined it. Kelly notes that all 33 those present at Joan’s trial ‘seem to have been unaware that this was a breach of correct procedure.’³⁵ Given the numbers of canon lawyers consulted during the process, it is inconceivable that this be attributed to ignorance of the law; rather, it reflects the diachronic evolution and regional diversity of canonical procedure. Lateran IV was not the immutable standard of ideal legal procedure from which later law deviated; it was a major pronouncement in an evolving system of legal thought which encompassed decretals, commentaries, and inquisitorial manuals, which varied across space and time and was subject to constant contestation and revision. Canonists could draw upon this body to make convincing legal arguments, but these arguments could vary widely depending on which decretals they drew upon and which commentaries they regarded authoritative. Lohier’s criticisms demonstrate not that Joan’s judges were mistaken, but that disagreements were inevitable when working with such a body of material. By 1431, it had been established through papal pronouncements and legal precedent that it was lawful to interrogate a suspect based on secret beliefs, and to do this without presenting formal charges. On this point, Joan’s trial appeared entirely regular.

3. Sentence: ‘We call you a relapse and a heretic.’

If Joan’s trial was fairly conducted, there remains the question of whether Joan was fairly charged. The sentence of nullification made no attempt to show that Joan’s testimony was not heretical. Instead, it announced that ‘false assertions were introduced at many essential points… and nothing was said about some circumstances that exonerated and justified her on many points. Finally the forms of the words were modified, changing the substance.’³⁶ It was necessary to suggest that the trial record had been manipulated because Joan’s testimony did, in fact, condemn her as a heretic.

Heresy had been defined by Innocent III as the practice of publicly proclaiming ideas contrary to the teachings of the official church.³⁷ At the Council of Tarragona in 1242, heretics and believers in heresy were distinguished from supporters of heresy, i.e. those who helped heretics without believing the error themselves. Erroneous belief was therefore a necessary condition of heresy in the thirteenth century. The council also defined heretics as ‘those who persist in their error’.³⁸ This element of persistence, or contumacy, was essential to the definition of heresy.

Jan Hus was found guilty of both error intellectus and pertinacia voluntatis — voluntary stubbornness. In a commentary of around 1300, canonist Guido de Baysio had explicitly defined the two characteristics of heresy as ‘error in reason, which is the beginning of heresy, and pertinacity in will, which is its completion.’³⁹ Some canonists went further, suggesting that persistence in schism itself constituted heresy, an argument utilised by fifteenth century conciliarists to justify deposing popes.⁴⁰ This argument is echoed in the conclusions of the Faculty of Canon Law during Joan’s trial, which accused Joan of being schismatic and then went on to state, citing Jerome, that anyone who denies the unity of the the Church ‘reveals themselves as not only ignorant, ill-intentioned and not catholic, but heretical.’⁴¹

The accusation that Joan was schismatic rested on her unwillingness to recognise the authority of the Church Militant in relation to her voices. As the twelve articles noted, Joan obeyed her voices ‘without asking counsel of anyone, such as her father or mother, a priest or prelate, or any other churchman.’⁴² This refusal of temporal authority not only made her schismatic, but suggested that her voices were of demonic provenance. Jean Gerson had outlined the five principles governing the discernment of spirits: ‘Who is it to whom the revelation is made? What does the revelation itself mean and to what does it refer? Why is it said to have taken place? To whom was it shown for advice? What kind of life does the visionary lead?’⁴³ As the fourth point suggests, it was expected that a true visionary would seek counsel from theologians. The trial also attacked Joan’s manner of life, particularly on the basis of her male clothing, violence and cruelty. This was a direct attack on her claims to divine inspiration. The Faculty of Theology concluded that ‘having considered the purpose, the manner and the content of the revelations, the quality of the person and the place,’ her revelations were either lies or demonic apparitions. Later, they labelled her an ‘invoker of demons,’ a charge which had increasingly fallen under the purview of heresy.⁴⁴

The fourteenth century witnessed an expansion of the idea of heresy to include invocation of demons and diabolism. In 1320 Pope John XXII convened a meeting of theologians and canonists to advise on whether witchcraft should be considered heresy. A letter sent in his name states that inquisitors should ‘proceed, while conserving the modes of procedure which the canons have set down… in matters concerning heresy, upon encountering those who sacrifice to demons or who worship them or pay homage to them.’⁴⁵ The association between diabolism and heresy was reiterated the papal bull Super illius specula in 1326. Though doubt has been cast on its authenticity, it was copied in Nicholas Eymeric’s influential 1376 Directorium Inquisitorum, and from there gained widespread popularity. This represented a major change in canon law; Alexander IV’s Accusatus had specified that witchcraft could not be investigated by inquisition. In 1398, the Faculty of Theology at the University of Paris determined that sorcery involving a demonic pact implied apostasy, and was therefore related to heresy. Pierre Cauchon was at this point a licentiate in law at the University of Paris, and would certainly have been aware of this decision.⁴⁶

On May 24th, Joan was interviewed and found to have resumed male clothing. On this basis, Régine Pernoud has argued that ‘Joan’s entire condemnation rested on her reassumption of male clothing.’⁴⁷ As the trial record makes clear, however, this was not the main reason for Joan’s execution. Next to Joan’s admission that she continued to hear the voices of St Katherine and St Margaret, a marginal note in all three surviving copies of the trial record reads “responsio mortifera”—the fatal reply. It was Joan’s continued belief in her revelations—and her related refusal to submit to the Church Militant—which led to her conviction as a relapsed heretic. This was, according to the understanding of heresy typical of the early fifteenth century, entirely fair. Joan had committed an error, though one of behaviour rather than intellect, and had contumaciously persisted in it. It is notable that during the nullification trial, witnesses made no attempt to justify Joan’s refusal to submit to the Church. Jean Massieu attests that Nicholas Loiseleur had ‘influenced Joan to speak and act opposite to her instincts.’⁴⁸ They were clearly aware that Joan’s conviction was, on this point, entirely justified.

4. The construction of fairness in trial proceedings

I have argued that the trial of condemnation could not be condemned on procedural grounds; it was therefore incumbent on the judges to demonstrate that the trial had been unfairly conducted on extra-legal grounds. A focus of the nullification trial is the mistreatment of Joan and the effect this had on her testimony. Several witnesses testified to her exhaustion. Guillaume Manchon said that she was ‘tired out by the numerous and varied questions.’⁴⁹ He said that her judges kept the most ‘difficult and subtle questions’ until the end of the day and ‘passed from one question to another, changing the subject.’ Massieu also testified that ‘Joan was extremely worn down by being asked if she was in a state of grace,’⁵⁰ and Guillaume de La Chambre argued that her judges ‘were doing her a great injustice in hounding her in this way.’⁵¹ Several witnesses also attested to verbal abuse—Tiphaine testified that d’Estivet called her a whore, and La Chambre agreed that d’Estivet called her a whore and a slut.⁵² Manchon testified that ‘as the Bishop and the Earl well knew, her guards tried many times to violate her.’⁵³

It is impossible to demonstrate conclusively which elements of the nullification trial testimonies are true. There is evidence of clear fabrication: Jean Tiphaine, for instance, claimed not to have given any opinion during the trial other than on Joan’s illness. In fact, he had agreed with the Abbot of Fécamp on May 29th that Joan was a relapsed heretic, and that the judges should hand her over to the secular power.⁵⁴ Guillaume de La Chambre neglected to mention his vote in favour of a sentence of relapse, and de Courcelles falsely claimed that he had not voted in favour of torturing Joan.⁵⁵ Regarding Joan’s resumption of male clothing, there are two conflicting reports: Manchon says she resumed male clothing in order to defend herself from sexual assault, while Massieu claimed that the guards had removed her female clothing while she slept. There are also points at which the testimony is confirmed by the Latin trial record. Thomas de Courcelles testified that her feet were shackled in iron, as did Manchon. The trial record attests that on May 28th, following her abjuration, Joan asked that she be freed from her iron chains.⁵⁶ Between these poles lie most of the nullification trial testimony: claims which cannot be substantiated by the trial record, which may or may not be true, but which nevertheless accord with the general tenor of the proceedings. It seems credible, for instance, that if Joan was shackled, she might also have been ‘fastened by an iron chain’ at night, and guarded by ‘four or five guards of the lowest kind.’⁵⁷ By basing their testimonies on elements attested by the trial record which appear cruel and unfair, the witnesses could present an overall picture of credibility.

These testimonies allow a glimpse into the proceedings undocumented by the official record; this is perhaps the main attraction of the nullification trial for historians. They allow us to develop a more detailed portrait of Joan’s experience, her emotional state, and how this might have influenced her testimony. Throughout her trial, Joan contradicts earlier testimony, usually adding greater detail. Regarding the sign shown to Charles VII, for instance, Joan initially refuses to answer. On March 1st, Joan is asked ‘if she saw the crown on the head of her King when she showed him the sign.’⁵⁸ At this point, Joan had given no description of her sign. During her fourth private examination on the 13th of March, however, she says that ‘this sign was that an angel assured her King by bringing him the crown.’⁵⁹ It is tempting to see this narrative as something constructed over the course of the trial in response to her interrogators’ questions. Viewed through the lens of the nullification trial, Joan appears as isolated, bullied, and broken down, forced to fabricate testimony to give her interrogators what they wanted. By showing that Joan’s testimony was unfairly extracted from her, the judges at the nullification trial no longer needed to demonstrate that it was not heretical.

Natalie Zemon Davis has encouraged historians to look at the literary qualities of legal texts: ‘their forming, shaping, and molding elements: the crafting of a narrative.’⁶⁰ The records of both Joan’s trials were produced with particular ends in mind—to justify her condemnation or to invalidate it. The testimonies of the nullification trial were not offered as the continuous narratives that appear in the record; rather, they were given shape by interrogatories. These survive from the first phase of the nullification trial conducted at Domremy, Vaucouleurs, and Toul, but do not survive from the later interrogations at Chinon, Paris, and Rouen. Nevertheless, it is clear from the points of emphasis which recur across testimonies that the interrogatories encouraged witnesses to construct a particular narrative. The cruelty of the judges, the climate of fear under which the trial was held, and Joan’s essential virtue were repeated motifs. The same process of construction can be seen in the trial of condemnation, which contrasts Joan’s recalcitrance with the charity of her judges. Towards the end of the trial record is a lengthy passage demonstrating that the judges had treated Joan charitably, offering to ‘chose learned and knowledgeable men, honest and kind, who could duly instruct her.’⁶¹

Both trial records were composite texts, containing not only interrogations but also opinions of theologians and canonists, rooted in scriptural and patristic authority. In his Recollectio, entered into the official record of the nullification trial which he himself composed, Jean Bréhal defended Joan’s actions on the basis that ‘in the private law itself emerging from divine inspiration, one is released from all common law and one is rendered inwardly free from all guilt.’⁶² This doctrine of lex privata, which had also featured in the consilia of Thomas Basin, Jean de Montigny, and Martin Berruyer, was a remarkable subversion of the principles according to which Joan had been condemned. Bréhal traces the doctrine through Aquinas to Gratian’s Decretum, imbuing it with canonical authority. It was, however, an obscure doctrine, which ran contrary to the accepted principle that canon law was based on natural law, and could not be overturned by an individual claiming divine inspiration.⁶³

Brehal’s inclusion of this doctrine demonstrates another important aspect of legal texts: their selective use of canon law and doctrine. Canonists engaged with canon law not as a coherent body of doctrine, with each part given equal weight and authority, but as a repository of various decisions which could be drawn upon as the situation required. When Bernard Gui compiled his 1323 inquisitors’ manual Practica inquisitionis, he pointedly ignored the recently promulgated decretals known as the Clementines, which had clarified rules regarding summary procedure. Gui’s selective use of canon law was not atypical, and we can see much the same process taking place in both Joan’s trials. This does not mean that the actions of the judges—in either trial—were illegitimate or entirely cynical. Rather, it reveals that fairness could be constructed in the context of a particular trial and supported by a range of canonical traditions. The records of the trial of condemnation and the nullification trial present radically different, irreconcilable conclusions about what was fair, but do this with reference to equally legitimate authorities.

5. Conclusion

In a study of legal record of witchcraft trials in sixteenth century England, Peter Rushton has argued that ‘there can be no real distinction drawn between facts and evidence, that is, between the accounts of reality and the legal use made of them.’⁶⁴ The records of Joan’s trials are illustrations of this. The two trial records present contradictory and irreconcilable images of the 1431 trial of condemnation, the fairness with which it was conducted, and the very nature of the woman at its heart. While the 1431 trial record emphasises Joan’s cruelty and pride, the nullification trial is almost an exercise in hagiography. The wealth of documentation about Joan has led many historians to claim that she can be accessed ‘in her own words,’ but what these words demonstrate more than anything is that our access to the the past is always mediated by text and textual strategies. The same barriers which prevent us from accessing Joan as she was also prevent us from absolute judgements regarding the fairness of the trial. The trial records draw radically different conclusions about the same event: the Latin record of 1431 was produced with the aim of demonstrating the fairness and procedural correctness of the trial, yet less than thirty years later notaries could affirm the accuracy of the trial record while at the same time condemning its proceedings. The nullification trial demonstrates that documentary sources do not possess fixed and immutable meanings but rather generate meaning and narrative depending on the context in which they are used. To see Joan’s trial of condemnation through the lens of the nullification trial—or, indeed, through the lens of her canonisation—can obscure not only its procedural legitimacy but its particular construction of fairness and justice.

1. R. Pernoud, The Retrial of Joan of Arc, tr. J.M. Cohen (London, 1955), p. 13.

2. G.K. Waite, Heresy, Magic, and Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe (Basingstoke, 2003), p. 31.

3. H.A. Kelly, 'The Right to Remain Silent: Before and After Joan of Arc', Speculum, 68/4 (1993), p. 1026.

4. ‘The Sentence of Nullification’, in C. Taylor, ed. and tr., Joan of Arc: La Pucelle (Manchester, 2006), p. 349.

5. ‘The Sentence of Nullification’, pp. 348-9.

6. ‘The Twelve Articles of Accusation’, in C. Taylor, ed. and tr., Joan of Arc: La Pucelle (Manchester, 2006), p. 212.

7. ‘The opening of the trial for relapse’, in C. Taylor, ed. and tr. Joan of Arc: La Pucelle (Mancester, 2006), pp. 220-221.

8. R. Pernoud and M. Clin, Joan of Arc: Her Story, tr. J. Adams, ed. B. Wheeler (Phoenix, 2000), pp. 236-7.

9. The Trial of Joan of Arc, ed. and tr. D. Hobbins (London, 2005), p. 6.

10. The Trial of Joan of Arc, pp. 179-80.

11. ‘Deposition of Master Guillaume Manchon’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor 9 (Manchester, 2006), p. 322.

12. ‘The Council of Narbonne’, in Heresy and Inquisition in France, 1200-1300, ed. and tr. J.H. Arnold 10 and P. Biller (Manchester, 2016), p. 245.

13. ‘Letter from Henry VI to Pierre Cauchon (3 January 1431)’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 136.

14. Pernoud, The Retrial, p. 1.

15. ‘Deposition of Master Guillaume Manchon’, p. 323

16. Kelly, ‘The Right to Remain Silent’, p. 994.

17. H.A. Kelly, ‘Trial Procedures against Wyclif and Wycliffites in England and Constance’, Huntingdon Library Quarterly, 61/1 (1998), p. 2.

18. H.A. Kelly, 'Inquisition, Public Fame and Confession: General Rules and English Practice', in M.C. Flannery and K.L. Walter (eds.), The Culture of Inquisition in Medieval England (Cambridge, 2013), p. 14.

19. Kelly, ‘The Right to Remain Silent’, p. 1002

20. Kelly, ‘Trial Procedures against Wyclif and Wycliffites’, p. 27.

21. Kelly, ‘Trial Procedures against Wyclif and Wycliffites’, p. 23.

22. H.A. Kelly, 'Lollard Inquisitions: Due and Undue Process', in A. Ferreiro (ed.), The Devil, Heresy and Witchcraft in the Middles Ages (Leiden, 1998), p. 296.

23. T.A. Fudge, The Trial of Jan Hus: Medieval Heresy and Criminal Procedure (New York, 2013), p. 100.

24. Kelly, ‘The Right to Remain Silent’, p. 1022.

25. Pernoud, The Retrial, p. 204-5

26. Pernoud, The Retrial, p. 293

27. The Trial of Joan of Arc, ed. and tr. D. Hobbins (London, 2005), pp. 42-3

28. The Trial of Joan of Arc, p. 44.

29. The Trial of Joan of Arc, p. 154.

30. C. Taylor, ‘Introduction’ in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle (Manchester, 2006), p. 24.

31. The Trial of Joan of Arc, p. 47.

32. H.A. Kelly, ‘Inquisition and the Prosecution of Heresy: Misconceptions and Abuses’, Church History, 58/4 (1989), p. 443

33. Fudge, The Trial of Jan Hus, p. 93.

34. The Trial of Joan of Arc, p. 125, n. 9.

35. Kelly, ‘The Right to Remain Silent’, p. 1013.

36. ‘The Sentence of Nullification’, p. 349.

37. Fudge, The Trial of Jan Hus, p. 34.

38. ‘Council of Tarragona’, in Heresy and Inquisition in France, 1200-1300, ed. and tr. J.H. Arnold and P. Biller (Manchester, 2016), p. 219.

39. J.D. Mann, ‘William of Ockham, Juan de Segovia and Heretical Pertinacity’, Mediæval Studies, 56 (1994), p. 67.

40. Fudge, The Trial of Jan Hus, p. 36.

41. ‘The opinions of the University of Paris’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 215.

42. ‘The Twelve Articles of Accusation’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 212.

43. Taylor, ‘Introduction’, p. 14.

44. ‘The opinions of the University of Paris’, pp. 213-214.

45. A. Boureau, Satan the Heretic: The Birth of Demonology in the Medieval West, tr. T.L. Fagan (Chicago, 2006), p. 17.

46. Pernoud and Clin, Joan of Arc, p. 208.

47. Pernoud, The Retrial, p. 13.

48. ‘Deposition of Master Jean Massieu’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 334.

49. ‘Deposition of Master Guillaume Manchon’, p. 327.

50. ‘Deposition of Master Jean Massieu’, p. 332.

51. ‘Deposition of Master Guillaume de La Chambre’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 291

52. ‘Deposition of Master Jean Tiphaine’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 290; ‘Deposition of Master Guillaume de La Chambre’, p. 292.

53. ‘Deposition of Master Guillaume Manchon’, p. 329

54. The Trial of Jeanne d'Arc, ed. and tr. W.P. Barrett (London, 1931), pp. 322-324

55. ‘Deposition of Master Thomas de Courcelles’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 293.

56. ‘The opening of the trial for relapse’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 220

57. ‘Deposition of Master Guillaume Manchon’, p. 326.

58. ‘Fifth public examination’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 165

59. ‘Fourth private examination’, in Joan of Arc: La Pucelle, ed. and tr. C. Taylor (Manchester, 2006), p. 183.

60. N.Z. Davis, Fiction in the archives: pardon tales and their tellers in sixteenth-century France (Cambridge, 1987), p. 3.

61. The Trial of Joan of Arc, p. 167

62. The Trial of Joan of Arc, p. 106.

63. C. Lefebvre, ‘Natural Equity and Canonical Equity’, Natural Law Forum, 98 (1963), p. 130.

64. P. Rushton, 'Texts of Authority: Witchcraft Accusations and the Demonstration of Truth in Early Modern England', in S. Clark (ed.), Languages of Witchcraft: Narrative, Ideology and Meaning in Early Modern Culture (London, 2001), p. 35