Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1858-05-08
DEATH OF JOAN D,ARC,

We make the following extract from Apple
ton work, The World Noted Women" 1t
is from the pen of Mary Cowden Clarke:
There is something indefinitely touching in
the saints and hero's relapse into simple hu
manity and wOmanhood, on that dark, unnatu
raj May morning, when the heavy news was
told her that she must die before sunset She
wept bitterly. Like Jeptha's daughter, she
mourned that her pure snd beauteous BODY
should be thus early sacrificed, exclaming :
Helas me traitat on ainsi horribement ct
cruellement, quill faille que mon corps, net ct
entler, qui ne tut Jamais cOrrompu, soft aujour
hui consume ct rendu en- cendres,' She
shrank, and shrieked, and writhed at the
thought of the flames, pitying herself for the
pain. But the saint triumphs soon-eyen
through the fiery vista before her, she sees a
better kingdom than France, a better home
than France, better home than Domremy
Even in this death she recognizes the "deIiy.
erance" promised her by " the voices
She appealed to God from the injustice and
cruelty of earth; she partOok of the holy sa-
crament, with many tears, she uttered her
touching and tremendous words to the Bishop
OF BeauyalS, a summons to answer for her
death before God. What a child-like natural
ness, plaintive naivetc marked the words she
addressed to one of the preachers standing by :
= Ah, Maitre Pierre, where will be this even.
ing"
We can fancy the fearful, wistful look the
terrified tremble of the hands, and all the voice
broken in sObs, with which she said this. Then
the priest replied "Have you not good hope
in the Saviour" the light of reinsurance, the
smile, the clasped hands, the heavenward gaze,
the voice clear and fervid, as she said HOh,
yes, God aiding, shall be in Paradise"
Bound and borne in a cart, like a common
malefactor, surrounded by a guard of eight
hundred English soldiers, Joan dare passed
through the streets of Rouen to the market
place; but in the eyes of the angels that awful
hour must have thrown into shade all forgone
hours of triumph-grander to them than the
proudest conqueror in his triumphal car, fol
lowed by princely captiyes and the .poils of
kingdoms.
At the stake the maid again brayely pro-
claimed her faith in " the voices" and nobly
defended hsr King. Her sublime, yet meek
composure, her marvellous womanIy sweetness,
filed many Of her prosecutors with wonder,
pity, and vain remorse. The people looked on
as in a horrible dream, weeping, groaning.
praying, but powerless to help. One last word
Of reprOach shivered the petriied heart of the
Bishop Bauvais, cleft It's way to deep unsus-
pected vein Of human feeling, and let it out in
tears.
The scafold lowered high above the crowd, a
huge pile OF fagots lit it at the base, gigantic
altar OF the sacrifice, fiery Calvary
When the flames uncoiled themselves from
below, and darted upward, in angry flashing
lengths, Kissing and writhing-when they
struck their fangs into her flesh, the flesh cried
| out In shrieBs that must have echoed forever
| through the guilty and craven souls who hea rd
Well had the young martyr learned the self
| forgetful spirit. In her agony, through the
flame and smoke of her torment she saw the
danger of the faithful priest who held the cru.
cifx above, and entreated him to leave her
He went; be bore from her sight the image o
her crucifed Lord, but he left beside her. in
the midst of the flames, the Lord himself Ma,
not her last cry of Z" Jesus" have been, not 8
cry OF fear, or application, but of joy and re-
| cognition, as she sprsng through the fery cat.
Of martyrdom into the welcoming arms Of hi
compassion-into the bosom Of his infinite, in
| ef1able love,