THE SOLDIER. You wont find it so bad, sir. Jolly. Like as if you were always drunk without the trouble and expense of drinking. Tip top company too: emperors and popes and kings and all sorts. They chip me about giving that young judy the cross; but I dont care: I stand up to them proper, and tell them that if she hadnt a better right to it than they, she’d be where they are. That dumbfounds them, that does. All they can do is gnash their teeth, hell fashion; and I just laugh, and go off singing the old chanty: Rum tum trumple—Hullo! Who’s that knocking at the door? _They listen. A long gentle knocking is heard._ CHARLES. Come in. _The door opens; and an old priest, white-haired, bent, with a silly but benevolent smile, comes in and trots over to Joan._ THE NEWCOMER. Excuse me, gentle lords and ladies. Do not let me disturb you. Only a poor old harmless English rector. Formerly chaplain to the cardinal: to my lord of Winchester. John de Stogumber, at your service. [_He looks at them inquiringly_] Did you say anything? I am a little deaf, unfortunately. Also a little—well, not always in my right mind, perhaps; but still, it is a small village with a few simple people. I suffice: I suffice: they love me there; and I am able to do a little good. I am well connected, you see; and they indulge me. JOAN. Poor old John! What brought thee to this state? DE STOGUMBER. I tell my folks they must be very careful. I say to them, “If you only saw what you think about you would think quite differently about it. It would give you a great shock. Oh, a great shock.” And they all say “Yes, parson: we all know you are a kind man, and would not harm a fly.” That is a great comfort to me. For I am not cruel by nature, you know. THE SOLDIER. Who said you were? DE STOGUMBER. Well, you see, I did a very cruel thing once because I did not know what cruelty was like. I had not seen it, you know. That is the great thing: you must see it. And then you are redeemed and saved. CAUCHON. Were not the sufferings of our Lord Christ enough for you? DE STOGUMBER. No. Oh no: not at all. I had seen them in pictures, and read of them in books, and been greatly moved by them, as I thought. But it was no use: it was not our Lord that redeemed me, but a young woman whom I saw actually burnt to death. It was dreadful: oh, most dreadful. But it saved me. I have been a different man ever since, though a little astray in my wits sometimes. CAUCHON. Must then a Christ perish in torment in every age to save those that have no imagination? JOAN. Well, if I saved all those he would have been cruel to if he had not been cruel to me, I was not burnt for nothing, was I? DE STOGUMBER. Oh, no; it was not you. My sight is bad: I cannot distinguish your features: but you are not she: oh no: she was burnt to a cinder: dead and gone, dead and gone.