【Fazhen】Empty Heaven

The interrogation of the girl did not go well.

In the second year of her captivity, in January 1431, King Henry ordered Joan to be handed over to Pierre Cochon, bishop of Bowen, for trial because she had been captured in his bishopric jurisdiction.This is very bad for Joan, because Cochon is favored by the King of England, and both he and his master hate Joan deeply, and are eager to send her to the stake.

Bishop Cochon invited as many doctors and senior clergymen as possible to participate in the trial, trying to develop the entire trial team into a huge synod.And these noble, noble, pious and learned people have only one purpose - to make Joan confess her sins, otherwise they will light the pyre.

Joan, however, was not afraid.During long, tiresome interrogations, she refused to admit that she had been bewitched by the devil. "The voices I heard, they came from the Archangel St. Michael, the Virgin St. Catherine and St. Margaret, they came from God." She said word by word.

But no one will believe it.The Inquisitors had no doubt that Joan was an apostle of the devil, although the Duchess of Bedford personally confirmed the fact that she was still a virgin.In those days, it was widely believed that the devil would take away a girl's virginity before making an alliance with her, but perhaps Joan of Arc was an exception who was not defiled by the devil.

The purpose of this trial was never to establish whether Joan was really a witch.The inquisitors had prepared the verdict for her, and the English had set the stake for her.

During their interrogation, Joan boiled down the long, roundabout questions to one sentence—surrender to us, or to the flames that engulf you.

Joan of Arc didn't bother to answer such a meaningless question a second time.

The Inquisition lasted a long time.In the meantime, Francis was imprisoned in his own residence by Arthur Kirkland, and the time was as difficult as when he was imprisoned by the king.He spent most of his daily time in silence, and when people asked him something, he only answered perfunctorily, and the mercenaries who were in charge of guarding him also found it boring.

Francis' reticence and patience offended Arthur.He would rather this bohemian man constantly complaining and protesting than seeing him so quiet and lifeless.It wasn't the way he was used to dealing with this man.

But the thick-browed young man said nothing.He even rarely visited Francis, as if this person did not exist at all, and was still busy with conscription, taxation and trial.

Until one day in May, Arthur pushed open the door of Francis' room and saw his thin back standing in front of the only window, motionless like a silent statue.

Arthur stood for a moment, seeing no response from the other party, so he cleared his throat.

"Get ready and go to the trial with me."

The man at the window turned around.His blue eyes have become dull in the endless imprisonment, and they are as calm as the edges and corners have been worn away-or indifferent.

"I thought you should at least have some expression," Arthur raised an eyebrow, "joy, or surprise."

"You're willing to let me see her, that means she doesn't have many days to live?" Francis' voice was hoarse and low, "You've been delaying for so long...you don't want me to see her until the last moment."

It turned out that you saw through it all.Arthur shook his head and sighed: "This is her last chance. If she still refuses to plead guilty, the church will expel her and hand her over to the secular authority. My king has ordered her to be executed as soon as possible."

"Last chance?" Francis sneered. "She never had a chance, did she?" Then he straightened his clothes, tied his messy hair back, turned around, pushed Arthur aside, and walked out of the room. Door.

"Let's go. I've waited too long."

Francis stood in front of a tall door.The door is ajar, and the scene inside can be seen through the crack of the door.Francis stood so close that he could barely breathe through the door.

But he couldn't make a sound, couldn't push the door open.There are English soldiers behind him on the left and right, and behind him is Arthur Kirkland with a serious face.He was allowed to watch quietly outside the door, but that was all.

Inside the door is an extremely spacious and tall courtroom. From a distance, the judges can be seen sitting in condescending positions one by one, and in front of them, with their backs to Francis, is a thin girl in a large blue robe.She stood there, head up, answering their questions.

After more than a year, Francis heard Joan's voice again.

"I've said it too many times... I will not plead guilty, I have not betrayed my faith. Everything I do is guided by the saints, my love for France, and my loyalty to the Golden Lily Kingdom."

The girl answered calmly, her voice echoing faintly in the huge room.

Bishop Cochon asked again: "You claim to hear the voices of angels and saints. Do you think you have received the grace of God?"

This is a tricky question.If she answered no, she would admit that she had lied before; but if she answered yes, she would be equally wrong, for no one has a right to claim that he has been favored by God.

But Joan said: "If I have it, may God allow me to remain in it; if I have not yet had it, may God lead me into it."

Impeccable answer.Francis couldn't help smiling, but the judges all changed their colors.The girl's wit caught them off guard, and there was faint admiration from the trial seat, which made Ke Xiong, who presided over the trial, very dissatisfied.

At this moment, Joan suddenly turned around and cast her eyes on the half-hidden door—as if sensing the existence of Francis, showing a surprised look.

Francis was taken aback, but Joan ran towards this direction unexpectedly.

There was an uproar in the trial hall. They thought she was trying to escape, and the guards reacted after a brief absence, and stopped her before Joan ran to the door.She struggled desperately.

"I know you're there—" she yelled, trying to break free, but the soldiers had her on hold.She didn't call out "France" or Francis, and everyone was puzzled by her behavior.

This woman is crazy, they thought.

But Joan still shouted desperately: "I know you are—I know you are there! Why did you come here..."

Guards blocked her view.She was surrounded and pushed away from the door by many hands.There was a slight knock behind the door, and someone closed the door.

She suddenly calmed down, stopped struggling, and stared blankly at the door for a moment, but the door didn't open again.She finally gave up and walked obediently back to her original position under the escort of the soldiers.

I know you're there, France.I am so familiar with your soul and your breath.

But you shouldn't have come.I am doomed to die.It's not worth your second look at me.

She no longer looked back, but withdrew her gaze, and faced the terrified monks and scholars.

"Whom are you calling—your accomplice?" asked the Bishop of Cochon.

"No..." she laughed suddenly, "I realized I had made a mistake. I thought I was alone, I thought we were all alone—God was alone, France was alone. I kept saying to myself, What is my solitude compared to the solitude of God and France? God's solitude is his strength, and mine will be my strength.—But now I see that I was wrong."

She paused for a moment, and her smile became even bigger: "I am not alone, nor is France. I am with France. My body and soul belong to France. The heresy trial cannot separate us, nor can the stake."

Ke Xiong leaned forward in his seat: "You mean, never repent?"

Joan raised her head and folded her hands in front of her chest, as if she had been tied to the stake: "Burn me to death. God wants me to pass through the fire into His arms, because I am His child, and you are not eligible." Let me live among you."

Arthur Kirkland looked at Francis' unresponsive back, his eyebrows were tangled.

Just now when Joan rushed over, Francis seemed to want to push the door, and the guards around him were about to stop him, but Arthur stopped them with gestures.

As he expected, Francis did not move at all.

He then ordered the door to be shut.

The man's back was as quiet as a tombstone, he thought, maybe it had Francis Bonofoir's name engraved on it.

But they will never have a tombstone of their own, neither in France nor in England.There will never be a tombstone, they can only send away the people around them one by one, and when they disappear, the world will forget them

"Time to go, France," he said, and found himself sounding so weak.

The silent man turned around suddenly, walked quickly past him, walked through the corridor when he came, and left here under the surveillance of the soldiers.

Arthur didn't see his expression, but felt that the moment he passed by, he seemed to catch a glimpse of the corner of Francis' mouth, which was so tight that it was chilling.

This is Joan's last night on earth.She was still imprisoned in the small tower, sitting on the cold stone, she could only see a small window when she looked up, but there was no moonlight in her vision.

She told the guards that she just wanted to be alone and not have any visitors.But the uninvited guest still appeared in front of her with an unnatural expression on his face.

"Can't I pass this last evening in peace, Mr. England?"

Arthur smiled bitterly: "I thought you would ask me something."

"No," Jeanne shook her head without hesitation, "Go back, whether you want to come, or France asked you to come."

"I thought you'd like to see him."

But Joan still shook her head: "He shouldn't have come. Please tell him that what I said the last time I saw him will never change. As long as he remembers me, I will never leave his side."

Then Joan stopped talking and turned away from the other party, which meant to see off the guest.

Arthur was a man of taste.He came to visit with a gesture of humility and concession, but she refused his offer so stubbornly that he got up and left the cell where she was imprisoned.

However, just as he turned a corner and walked to the stairs, he suddenly heard singing from the cell.

Joan of Arc was singing, every word was clear and powerful, and the melody was firm and high-spirited, but it echoed between the cold stone walls, but it was so sad and desolate.

"My ancestors cannot be blamed,

Do not let lovely France suffer infamy;

I can only fight with Durenda,

The sword that I wear by my side,

You'll see it stained with blood. "

Arthur stopped and wanted to listen carefully, but she didn't continue singing.

It was a song he knew too, the story of a great king and his great warriors.

This is the battle song of France.

By the stairs, Francis, who was leaning against the wall, put his palms on his forehead to cover his eyes, and let out a nearly choked breath.

The bonfire that day, the girl's intermittent humming, the dry and waxy scone, the first and last vow.

——The royal banner of France will not fall.My lord has given me power beyond measure, with which I will save the splendor of the golden lily.

What did you say to me the last time we met?

—I fight for you, France.

—I love you, France.

——If I die, please bury me in the place closest to you.

But, Jean, it is France that has abandoned you.It was France who wanted to die.It was France who betrayed your allegiance to him.

With your sword and your banner you restored glory to the house of the golden lilies; but your king turned his back on you and left you alone at the stake.

And I'm going to watch them light the pyre.

— Roland, mate, blow the horn, and Charlie hears, and he'll go back to the pass; I assure you, the French will turn.

Francis chuckled softly, depressed and desperate.Perhaps when they first met, he shouldn't have sung that song to her. The tragic "Song of Roland" may have been a prophecy, doomed to the end of the girl.

Paladin Roland sounded his horn, but Charlie, his king, was not there in time.Roland finally died alone, his horn split in two, he swore allegiance to God, and he died facing his enemies.

Neither Charlie nor France came back.

The day of execution has come.

Joan of Arc put on a white robe, and under the strict escort of the English soldiers, the prison van passed through the streets of Rouen and drove to the execution ground under the eyes of people.

From a distance, I can see the tall erected stakes, the pyre that has been set up, and the crowded square.Joan watched calmly until the soldiers escorted her off the prison cart and pushed her onto the platform.

Her eyes slowly swept across the crowd below, some showed sympathy, some looked disgusted, she laughed them all away.But when her eyes passed the familiar figure, she suddenly trembled, and she couldn't take her eyes off again.

Francis stood in the crowd, dressed and regal as they had the second time they met, her curly blond hair tied back with a ribbon.Surrounded by Arthur Kirkland and several soldiers, he was looking at Joan. His blue eyes were like the Seine River. In the still and windless night, only the moonlight reflected on the water revealed his sadness—that The moonlight is the white figure of Joan of Arc at this moment.

When the eyes met, Francis' body seemed to tremble.

"France..."

A small but unmistakable voice came from the din of voices.Francis saw the girl's gentle smile, so warm and firm.

Bishop Cauchon began to read Joan's crimes, but Francis did not listen to a word.

The girl's red lips opened and closed, silently conveying the final message.

—Do not grieve for me, France.I never regret it.

The crimes were read out one by one, and finally she was excommunicated and handed over to the secular authority.A soldier put a large white paper cap on her, on which her charges were written: "Heretic, Apostate, Idolatry".

"Do you have anything else to say, Jeanne?" Cochon asked.

Joan smiled: "If you can, please give me a cross."

A soldier made one for her out of two wooden sticks, and she held it close to her breast.Then the executioner tied her to the stake, and she folded her hands on her chest, holding the crude cross.

The firewood pile as high as a person was closed, completely surrounding the girl, and her pale but fearless face could be seen through the cracks in the dry firewood.The executioner took the burning torch from the soldier and prepared to light the pyre.

And the girl is still smiling, as brave as every day in the past.

—I love you, France.

She said it with her lips, looking at the blond man in the crowd.

—Be strong, France.

The flames rose from under her feet, and Francis saw her tears pouring down at the end, heard her call "France" and the name of Jesus, her white clothes were reduced to ashes in the flames, and then the flames and smoke engulfed her face .

From the beginning to the end, he stood there without moving his gaze, watching the girl's figure gradually shatter into dust in the raging fire.

Until the pyre dies down, until the executioner refuels and lights the wreckage, until all that can be burned is consumed.

Francis turned his back to Arthur and said nothing.

The crowd gradually dispersed, and an English soldier walked up to Arthur: "Sir, what should I do if I can't burn it?"

Arthur glanced at Ashes: "Your Majesty has told you not to leave anything behind, in case someone uses them for heresy and witchcraft. If you can't burn them, just throw them into the Seine River."

"Yes, sir." The soldier saluted and was about to go forward to clean up the wreckage.

But at this moment, Francis suddenly moved.Before Arthur could react, something soft was thrown on his face, and he grabbed it subconsciously, and lowered his head to recognize that it was Francis' glove.Immediately after he heard the sound of the sword being unsheathed, he raised his head suddenly. Francis had already drawn the soldier's sword and pointed it at Arthur's face.

"Accept my challenge, Arthur? Kirkland?" Francis had a tense face, and the ungloved left hand was tightly clenched into a fist and hung by his side.

Arthur frowned, threw the glove on the ground, and drew his sword.

"Did you draw your sword after you lost it, Francis? Bonofois!" he shouted in a low voice, and at the same time pushed aside the opponent's sword edge, "Do you hate me? Are you angry? But anger will only make your sword weaker, Make your hand that holds the sword tremble!"

Arthur sneered in his heart. The girl's death had probably pushed Francis' high tension to the brink of collapse. Under his cold face, his anger and grief could easily destroy what little reason he had left.How could such Francis be his opponent when he challenged him?

However, at the moment when he was distracted, Francis raised his sword, and his sword suddenly dropped from his hand and flew far away.He stared dumbfounded as Francis rested the sword on his neck.

Francis' anger was on display, but desperation didn't overwhelm him the way Arthur expected.His anger was so calm that he saw the opening before Arthur was ready to fight.

But how is this possible?Shouldn't he weep, kneel before the ashes of the pyre and call her name?

"Do you think you can defeat me, little Arthur?" Francis raised the corners of his mouth, it was the smile of an avenger, "Do you think you can get France by burning her?"

Arthur's face was livid, and he didn't answer.He felt that the person standing in front of him was the Francis he knew again, with the contempt and arrogance he was familiar with in that smile.Yes, he should have been, instead of being silent like a weathered tombstone.

"If we could be killed by the sword, I don't think you and I would be alive at this moment." Francis sighed and threw the sword aside.Immediately, soldiers rushed forward to restrain him, for fear that he would make any further moves, but Arthur waved his hand to signal them to let him go.

"Do you still remember that you are France?" Arthur took a step, approaching him, "When you asked me for help, do you still remember that you are France! Where is your pride, where is your glory!"

"England destroyed my pride and glory!" Francis grabbed Arthur by the lapel and stared at him, "But even so, this duel is not over! With this land as a bet, I will Fight until the last English soldier is driven out of France! Put away your arrogance, Arthur Kirkland, you are doomed to lose this war, and England will never get France, for this is what she swore to defend!"

He shook his head, let go, and turned to the woodpile.The soldiers wanted to stop them, but he pushed them aside.

"What are you going to do?" Arthur asked behind him. "Do you want to—"

"You don't deserve to touch her," Francis paused, "and I owe her a promise."

——If I die, please bury me in the place closest to you.

——I promise you, if there is a place closest to me, you must be there.

Francis walked up to the burning platform step by step, only feeling that his steps were so heavy, as if those dead souls were clasping his ankles and calves in layers, trying to prevent him from approaching the only remaining remains of the girl.

The English are not worthy to touch her, are you, Francis?

He took off his short cloak, spread it on the ground, and knelt down.He was surprised that his hands were so calm and powerful.

He picked the charred bones out piece by piece, and found her unburnt heart among the ashes.

And these will all sink into the surging Seine River, and together with the river water, flow into the Sea of ​​Atlantis.

There was no grave, no headstone, England didn't want her to leave anything, but she left herself forever to France.England can burn her body, but cannot drive her spirit from the land.

Zhen, I would like to be your tombstone, I will remember you, your battle flag, your sword, and you said to me at the moment when the flame was lit, be strong, France.

That was May 1431, 5.Five years later, Paris recovered.

In 1453, Charles VII regained all the territory except Calais, ending the long war.He became known as "Charlie the Victor" for this great feat.

The day the war ended, Francis returned to Rouen, to the place where Joan of Arc had been burned, to stand on the scorched ground.This time, there are no more lingering souls, and this land has returned to the arms of France, where the dead can finally rest in peace.

Francis knelt down slowly and kissed the slightly moist soil, which seemed to be soaked with tears.

Thank you, my beloved girl.Thank you for giving me so much love and thank you for being willing to stay by my side.

Also, I'm sorry, I was supposed to bury you on this land with my own hands, but I couldn't keep my promise.

But you know what, Jeong.

The Seine is still rushing, and the golden lilies are still blooming.Francis put his hand on his heart slowly, lowered his head and closed his eyes tightly.

"This is the closest place to me, and you've always been here."

In 1453, the Hundred Years' War ended.Three years later, at the behest of Charles VII, the Inquisition reheard Joan's case, and the girl's grievances were finally vindicated.

In 1920, five centuries after Joan's death, Pope Benedict XV canonized her as a saint, and her anniversary was set on May 5.

In 1979, the Saint Joan of Arc Church was completed in Rouen. It is also a folk memorial to Joan of Arc and has become one of the most popular attractions in Rouen.

Epilogue

The air in Rouen gradually became less suffocating to him.

He came out of Joan's church, took a deep breath of fresh air, and then walked into the sunlight, looking at the huge cross.

After so many years, you see, people still remember your name.

You are the most popular saint of Catholicism, and your sculptures and portraits are all over France.

They call you Maiden of Orleans, noble martyr, saint of France.They put a halo of greatness over your head, and use up all the good modifiers.

They regard you as a messenger connecting heaven and earth, and they believe that you have received the grace of God and will live with Him in that paradise forever.

But Jeong, I know you're not going there.

The gates of heaven may be open to you forever, but I know you won't go there.

You just sleep here, your flesh and blood melted into every inch of France, your bones and heart turned into the soft sound of the Seine.

From that day on, your flesh and blood melted into my flesh and blood, and your bones became my backbone.

I treasure your soul in my chest, and I can touch your power by pressing my palm here.

500 years later you still talk to me through this heartbeat.

—I fight for you, France.

—I love you, France.

Moiaussi, Jeanne.

Jet'aime.

Attachment: main reference materials

[1] The Biography of Joan of Arc (France) by Anatole France, translated by Gui Yufang

[2] Joan of Arc (Ireland) written by George Bernard Shaw and translated by Wu Qiancheng

[3] Ran Duck (US) Mark Twain, translated by Zhu Fu

[4] The Song of Roland translated by Yang Xianyi, the French epic

[5] Wikipedia