Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1858-07-22
Death of Joan d'Arc.

We make the following extract from Ap.
ipleton's work, the World-N Women.
1t is from the pen of Mary Cowden Clarke
"There is something Indefinitely touch.
ing in the saints and hero's relapse into
simple humanity and womanhood, on the
dark, unnatural 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 and beauteous body should be thus early
sacrificed, exclaiming: 'Helas me traita
ton ansi horribleNent ct cruellement, quill
fa;le que mon corps, net ct entier, qui ne
fut jamais corrompu, soft aujourd'hui con-
sumo ct rendu en- cendres!' She shrank,
and shrieked, and writhed at the thought OF
the flames, plying herself for the pain -
But the saint triumphs soon-even through
the fiery vista before her she sees better
tkipgdom than France, a better hume than
/ Domremy. EveH in this death she recog-
nizes 'the deliverance' promised her by 'the
voices
"She appealed to God from the injustice
and cruelty of earth: she partook of the
holy sacrament with many tears; she ut
tered her touching and tremendous words
to the Bishop of Beauvais, summons to
answer for her death before God. What
chid-like naturalness, plaintive naivete
marked the words she addressed to one Of
the preachers standing by: 'Ah, Matre
Pierre, where will be this eveningp
ave can fancy the fearful, wistful look,
the terrified iremble of the hands, and all
the voice broken in sobs with which she
said this Then, as the priest replied: Have
you not good hope in the Saviourr the light
of reinsurance, the smile, the clasped hands
the heavenward gaze, the voice clear and
lervid, as she said: 'Oh, yes, God aiding,
shall be in Paradise
"Bound and borne in a cart, like COM
mon malei factor, surrounded by guard of
eight hundred English soldiers, Joan dare
passed through the streets OF Rouen to the
mark et place, but in the eyes of the angels
that awful hour must have thrown into
shade all foregone hours of triumph--grand
er to them than :he proudest conqueror in
his triumphaI car, followed by princely
CuDlVPS anu lUe SpOiIo u
SAT the stake the maid again bravely pro-
claimed her faith in 'the voices and nobly
defended her King. Her sublime, yet meek
composure, her marvellous womsnly sweet
hess, filled many of her persecutors with
wonder, pity, and vain remurse. The peo-
pie looked on as in horrible dream, weep
ing, groan;ng, praying, but Powerless' to
help. One last word Of reproach shivered
the 2etr:fed heart OF the Bishop Of Beau
vais, cleft its way to deep unsupported
vein of human feeling, and left ii Uut in
tears.
"The scaffod lowered high above the
crowd, huge pile OF faguts lit it at the
base, gigantic altar o! the sacrifice, fiery
Calvary.
"When the flames uncoled themselves
from below, and darted upward, in angry
flashing lengths, kissing and writhiug-I
when they struck their fangs into her flesh,
the flesh cried out in shrieks that must have
echoed forever through the guilty and craven
souls who heard.
swell bad the young martyr learned the
se!f-forgetful spirit. In her agony, through
the flme and smoke of her torment, che
saw the danger of the faithful priest who
held the crucifix above, and entreated him
to leave her II lie went; he bore from her
sight the image of her cruciied Lord, but
he left beside her, in the midst of the flames
the Lord himself. May not her last cry of
.Jesusn have been, not 4 cry of fear or sup
plication, but of joy and recognition. as she
fprang through the fiery path of martyrdom
into the welcoming arms of hs compassion
into the bosom OF his infinite, ineffable
lnva ~