JOAN OF ARC.

Hokitika Guardian, 17 July 1920, Page 4

JOAN OF ARC.

ORLEANS PAGEANT. ORLEANS, May 10. A lmrdy old French soldier steps up to the equestrian statue of a maid in armour. The “ Marseillaise ” crushes forth. The old French soldier salutes the statue and the national air. That is all you see, beyond a densely flagged and festooned square, a scarlet tribune, and poilus in horizon blue all round. And, yet, the scene will never fade—tlie spectacle of Marshal Eoch saluting this statue of the shepherdess of Lorraine across five centuries ol time. As lie stood (here, this gallant of his day, whose recruiting sergeants were strewn across the earth and who sent his men forward by tiie million in the wake of poisoned gas to thtV drone ol aircraft and to the thunder of innumerable guns, one glanced from him to the Maid of Orleans saluting Foch with her sword, and pondered what a small night raid her war was in comparison with his. . . Here was the proudest soldier of his time come to do her homage. “ Kneel to love France, rise to defend her,” the Marshal once exhorted. Today he came to Orleans to kneel, remembering—who knows?—that Joan of Arc was the password on the morning his call went forward to victory on the Marne and that Compiegne, where lie planned his famous victories, was also where Juan was sold to her enemies for 10,000 pieces of gold. THE SOUL OF FRANCE.

There may he doubt about Joan’s miracles; there can he no doubt that she left her flock of sheep to crown a King and that she stands now, as she stood in the fifteenth century, for the soul of France, for honour, for liberty and courage.

This year’s fete in her honour had a deeper significance than others. For the first time for many years the civil and military bodies of Orleans linked up with the ecclesiastical authorities —a move which may he but the forerunner of other and more profound developments. Again it was once more a victorious France which did the Maid honour—the Maid from one of the regained provinces, Lorraine. And she is about to be canonised. A combination of all those things, crowned by the presence of Marshal Foch, lifted Orleans into a week-end of racial ecstacy. Only one poor house now stands in Orleans which the Maid can ever have known, yet for two days and well into each night the whole town has feted its deliverer. FANFARES OF TRIUMPH.

Not a house in Orleans hut was draped with the light blue and white pennant of the Maid, with the tricolour of France and the yellow and red banner of the town. And batteries boomed incessantly from historic spots such as those where Joan was wounded or where she led her knights on to the assault. Poilus trumpted fanfares from beneath her banner on the cathdral tower and her hell was tolled with deep ringing notes from the belfry. And everyone wore her favours.

My first view of Orleans shows me the cathedral, one blaze of red as if on fire. Hundreds of red flares had been lit within as Joan’s banner was solemnly brought into the cathedral for the one night in the year it is allowed to rest there instead of in its normal sanctuary, the town hall.

A little late on at my hotel 1 found Marshal Foch dining in civilian clothes all alone at a little table, in striking contrast to the figure presently to be greeted by tens of thousands and laden with flowers.

“ They, are firing now from Tourelle, where Joan raised the siege,” said the waiter.

For the religious ceremony the cathedral liad been draped from end to end with the red and yellow of Orleans and with the escutcheons of Joan leading her men at arms. But it was the Maid’s own blue shield, with the famous crown and sword and fluer de lys, which drew all eyes. Suspended on high across the organ and capped with a huge knightly helmet and with breastplates, it dominated the cathedral.

As Marshal Foch entered, the vast assembly rose, and every soldier saluted though bareheaded. The organ swelled into a hymn of triumph to Joan, and then High Muss as sung. In words frequently applauded, despite the surroundings. a parish priest then took his hearers from the field at Domremy to the stake at ltouen and exhorted all France, and especially her war leaders, naming then one by one, to follow the Maid. MILE-LONG PROCESSION. Outside the cathedral a procession more than a mile long was formed. This was to mark the handing back of Joan’s banner to the mayor, and no such colour could ever have crept before into a purely civil procession. Little girls all in white, prelates in scarlet, acolytes, lawyers in black and red robes, priests carrying banners, wounded soldiers, thousands of youths belonging to sporting clubs (all in white but flamboyant sashes of every colour), senators and councillors in evening dress; finally, beneath Joan’s banner, the beaming Bishop of Orleans, blessing everyone as lie walked. In the afternoon came the military ceremony of presenting the colours of Joan, or rather to her statue, in the Place of Martyrdom. The memorial had been wreathed in flowers, and one was glad to see that the place of honour had been given to a beautiful tribute from England. It must have been placed there by Miss Murray, of Bexhill, on her country’s behalf. She was personally thanked by Marshal Foch. I spent an hour with Miss Murray, and her enthusiasm might have led you to believe her just a religious visionary till you noticed four British war medals on her coat.

The ceremony of lowering the standards of the local sth Corps to the Maid was carried through just as if she had been a living person and a senior officer of Marshal Foch. Can any woman alive or in effigy ever have had such tribute paid her before? A dozen officers stepped forward to the statue and solemnly lowered their standards, while their corps commander mounted in their centre, paid homage to the noble one above him with a superb gesture. It was a moment worth the crossing of a continent.

For half an hour one thrilled to the scene as cavalry rode and infantry marched and gunners trundled their 75’s all eyes rigidly right as they passed Joan. Many Poilus seemed in doubt as

to whether they ought to salute Marshal Fooli as well, but the latter never returned a salute once throughout, looking fixedly at the unique pageant to hero worship as it unfolded itself. At night came fireworks by the Loire, culminating in a brilliant figure ol the Maid being shown just whore she led her men to the last assault. It lit up 50,000 faces along the waterside.

The last scene of all, close on midnight, struck one most. An illuminated halo had been placed above the Maid’s head in the market-place, and presently, out of the night,, and carrying torches, soldiers of France filed up for the last time. In the square,, musicians for half an hour trumpeted and drummed out their battle-airs while the Maid looked down at them, 1 sword out in the salute. In that midnight scene of homage seemed stored away the true genius of France. No other country could do it and feel it. CANONISED AT ROME.

ST. JOAN OF ARC. MARCH OF 300 BISHOPS. ROME May 16. An hour before midday the bells of St. Peter’s and all Hie other Roman churches rang out to make public announcement of the canonisation of Joan of Arc. At an early hour the vast spaces of St. Peter’s were filled by an immense crowd, and by 8 o’clock the front doors were closed, leaving many outside who were unable to obtain admittance. Over the crowd on the step of the Basilica hung a veiled picture of the Maid waiting the passage of the Pope from the \ atican through the vestibule. Punctually at balf-mmi: 8 the papal cortege, headed by monks of the various religious orders, entered. Twenty minutes behind the head of the procession came t/he great standard of Joan of Arc, which was lowered hv tlie papal altar and placed in the transept to the right.

The huge crowd and the rich costumes made an impressive spectacle, but more impressive still was the long procession of the archbishops and bishops who walked two by two, each accompanied by an attendant. There were more than 300, and it seemed as though the line of white mitres would never come to an end. At half-past nine the thrilling note of the silver trumpets filled the churWi, a stir and murmur ran through the assembled throng, and the Pope entered through the great central door. On either side of the nave there broke out u flutter of white handkerchiefs as the Pope was borne slowly up towards the altar. He proceeded to a th*me erected at tlu> end of the apse, and cardinals, bishops, and abbots made obeisance, the cardinals kissing his hand, the bishops the stole that covered his knee, and the abbots his foot.

The Pope was then approached by the Cardinal Procurator of Canonisation and the Consistori.nl Advocate. The latter kneeling prayed the Pope instnnter to inscribe the Blessed Joan of Arc on the Roll of Saints. The Secretary of Briefs replied to the Pope that first he must invoke the aid of the Saints. Then followed the Litany of Saints, sung by two hundred baritone voices with responses from hundreds of choristers placed in various parts of tlie church. Again the prayer was addressed to the Pope and this time instanter et instantitis. The same answer was given and the Pope intoned the hymn to the Holy Spirit. For the third time the prayer was repeated instanter, instantius ct sirne, and the reply came that the Pope would pronounce his favourable decision. The Pope then rose and pronounced the ritual formula and after receiving thanks sang the Te Deum. After confession and invocation of the newly canonised Saint, the Pope gave his benediction and the bells of Rome gave out the news.

The Pontifical Mass followed. At the elevation of the Host came once again the shrill call of the silver trumpets and at the end of the ceremony the Pope wap borne out of the church accompanied only by the Pontifical choir. The enormous crowd slowly filed out of St. Peter’s and on the facade the great picture of St. Jeanne d’Arc hung unveiled to the noonday sun.