Weekly Trinity journal. [volume] (Weaverville, Calif.) 1857-1972, 1868-11-14
NEW COUNTY OFFICIAL DIRECTORY
Death of Joan D,Arc,

There is something infinitely touching in the
saints and hero's relapse into simple humanity
and womanhood. On that 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: q HeLas me trditation
ansi aorrbiement ct cruslmsnt, qul failte que mon
rompu, soft AMOUR d'Aai consume ct rendu en-
cendres." She sbrank, and shreked, and
writhed at the thought of the flames, plying
herself for the pain. But the saint trumphs
soon-even through the fiery vista before her
she sees better kingdom than France, better
home than Domremy Even in this death, she
recognizes the ''deliverance' promised her by
" the voices
She appealed to God from the injustice and
cruelty of earth she partook of the holy sacra-
ment; with many tears she uttered her tremu-
lous and touching words to the Bishop of Beau
yais, summons to answer for her death before
God. What child-like naturalness plain
tive navete marked the wordE she addressed to
of the preachers standing by: ''Ah, Maitre
Pierre, where shall be this evening? '
We can fancy the fearful, wistful look, the
terrified tremble of the hands, and all the voice
broken in sobs in which she said this. Then, as
the priest replied - Have you not good hope in
the Savior?" the light of reinsurance, the smile,
the clasped hands, the heavenward gaze the
4
God aiding, | shall be in Paradise p
Bound and borne in a cart like common NAL
efactor, surrounded by guard of eight hun
dred English soldiers, Joan dare passed
through the streets of Rouen to the market
place but in the minds of the angels that awful
hour must have thrown into the shade all fore
gone hours of triumph-grander to them than
the proudest conqueror in his triumphal car, fol-
lowed by priceless captives and the spols of
kingdoms.
AT the stake the maid again bravely proclaim
ed her faith in % the voices and nobly defended
her king. Her sublime but meek composure,
her marvellous womanlY sweetness, filled many
of her prosecutors with wonder, pity and vain
remorse. The people looked on as in horrible
dream, weeping, groaning, praying, but power
less to act. One last word of reproach shvered
the petri6ed heart of the Bishop of Beauvas,
cleft its way to deep, unsupported vein of hu-
man feeling, and let it out in tears.
The scafold lowered high above the crowd, a
huge pile of taggots lit at the base, gigantic
altar of the sacrifce-a fiery Calvary.
When the flames uncoiled themselves from be-
Kissing and writhng when they struck their
fangs into her flesh the flesh cried out in shrieks
that must have echoed forever through the
guilty souls that heard.
Well had the young martyr learnt 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 cruel
fix above, and entreated him to leave her. He
went. He bore from her sight the image of her
crucifed Lord but left beside her, in the midst
of the flames, the Lord himself.
May not her last cry of 'JeSus y have been
not cry of fear or supplication, but of joy and
recognition, as she sprang through the fiery gate
OF martyrdom into the welcoming arms of His
compassion-into the bosom of his infinite love.