The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1870-09-09

this peasant girl to havea sword in her
hand instead of a diStaf? But the
younger officers loved and admired
her.
Joan never fOrsook her simple village
habits. She would sometimes go fast
ing through long, firing day, and her
meals often consisted of Onlya a piece of
bread and a cup of wine and water.
She loved, it is true, beautiful horses
and rich arms, and all the bravery of
war, but she showed it in a frank, al
most childlike way, which was infin-
itely naive and pretty. She was q
thorough woman in the midst of the
clash of swords and the blare of trum-
pets. She would often spring from her
horse to support and comfort a dying
soldier, whether friend or fore; she cried
with the pain when she herself was
wounded. Her care, also, for the souls
of her soldiers was eminently woman
like. If she could, she would have
made every man in the army confess
and receive absOlutiOn before going into
battle. She insisted on having the
camp cleared of all women of light
character. The fact, indeed, of her not
being in the smallest degree unseXed is
proved by the way in which ladies
crowded around, caressed her wherever
she. went, and by the strong attraction
Is said always to have had for chill
dfen. Glorious and bright are the
forms which meet our view standing
around Joan as we look back at her in
the hour of her sunshine. There is a
knight, whose graceful person and gal
liant bearing might have belonged to a
paladin of old; we knRY that the in
ner man answered well to this brilliant
outside when we learn that this knights
name is Dunois. There is a middle
aged man, whose brOnzed, rugged face
is redeemed by the kindly, almost faith
erly, look in his eyes, as he turns them
on Joan this is La Hire, the most
stubborn fighter in the army. LAere is
a prince Of1the blood royal clasping
lovely, fearful lady in his arms, and we
hear Joan So, Z" Weep anot, sweet
duchess, your handsom6 lord, your
brave AIencon, shall come back safe to
his hOme.n
But clouds are at hand, and we must
hurry forward. JOan's successes went
on even after the king was crowned at
Rheims. De La Tremouille, now be-
gan to fear that if she continued much
longer at this rate she would make
Charles so powerful that he would break
away out of the leading-strings in
which he held him. He therefore, in
some subtle way, persuaded the king
to recall her from the army. For sew
eraI months she lived in restless mac
tiOn at the French court. Charles en-
nObled her and her family. She was
pleased, but size wanted to be at her
work. At Iast,~IInable to stay quiet
any longer, she escaped from the court,
and rejOined the army. But her old
success did not now attend her. Per-
haps her confidence in herself was sha-
ken by the fact of her going out to fight
without her kings sanction; perhaps
the soldiers were less true to her. One
day she led a sally from the town of
COmpeigne, which was being beseiged;
the French at first charged galIantly
into the midst of the enemy, and then
were driven back. Joan, however, and
a few faithful followers, among whom
was her favOrite youngest brother,
Pierrie, was surrounded by the Eng
lish. The little band fought bTavely in
her defence. E brother shared her
fate, but not hA prison. Never again
did the two talk over those sweet old
home memories, which had been so
dear to Joan, even in the day of her
highest glory. The stain of those two
most cruel and unjust acts, the trial
and execution of Joan of Arc, rests
equally on France and England. The
one shOnld have ransGned her; the
other should have honored her, though I
an enemy. But ungrateful Charles sat |
still, spelI-bound by the arts of De La |
and the Duke of Bedford, |
the English regent Though besOught |
and reproved by his wife had not the !
courage to deprive the common soldiers |
Of their vengeance. JOan's trial took |
place at Rouen; her judges were al
most all priests, some English and |
some apostate French. q the midst /
Of these silver-tongued, sefpent-heart-
ed men, all of whom were bent on her /
destruction, the girl of nineteen show
ed a wonderful mixture of quiet digni- /
ty and sharp woman's wit. They |
they preached, they scolded, |
but not one word would she say about |
the sign she had given her king. They |
did indeed at last cheat her into re-
canting the truth of her mission, but /
she repented, and denied the words as
soon as they were spoken. Whatever
she had done or said, their malice |
would not have let her live. The stake |
was set up, the fire was kindled, and |
in the flames of martyrdom her soul |
sprang up to her God.