NOTES

New Zealand Tablet, 17 July 1919, Page 26

NOTES

St. Joan of Arc The spring of this year was surely a healing time in France, On scarred fields, oh burnt hills, on blasted trees: nature’s magic hand had work to do, hiding ugliness, and bringing back beauty to the landscape once, more. The winter had fled and the rain of tears had -passed away when the south winds began to blow in April over the arid plains. Spring, with its soft breezes and its kindly showers, brought back new life and new hope this year; and it brought something even more than these: it brought to the Catholic hearts of the men and women of France the joyous tidings that their own Jeanne’s canonisation was accomplished and the Maid of Orleans placed as a saint on the altars of the Church. After the passion they had gone through, after their treading of the wine-press, after their weeping and their watching the news of Jeanne’s glory came upon them like a benison; and who shall say that French- Catholic hearts could ask for a sweeter and prouder reward- at the-end of the long night just gone down ? To us the canonisation of Jeanne d’Arc means something as beautiful and as ineffable as the consolation of a great grace, and brings with it something of the wonderful, unique delight that a child hides in his 'soul on . the day of First Communion. What, then, must it import for France when the Maid of Domremy in whom all the romance of the old world is embodied and spiritualised is crowned with = a halo whose rays shine into every home from the Rhine to La Manche ? ..?■ —; > . •:--n

Joan’s Apologists- '■••/"■ . On a dark day in the past England stained her soul with the blood of Joan. It is worth • remembering now that after the / years ~ that have gone there have been modern Frenchmen ready 'to throw mud at. the pure heroine who ought to evoke chivalrous admiration even from savages. Yet, so deep did materialism and atheism plunge some Frenchmen in degradation that they, or haply the devils that possessed them, tried to belittle her whom God made so great. And here is where an opportunity was found by English writers to make what atonement they could for the crime of their country. Andrew Lang’s book on Joan of Arc is -a splendid tribute ) de Quxixcey’s panegyric is as lovely and as fragrant as a wreath of roses laid on her tomb. Strange to say, too, one of the most interesting books to which Mark Twain set his name "is' a Life "of the Maid of Orleans. Anyhow, in this hour of joy it is something to feel glad about; it. is as , it should 'be that the descendants of those at whose Hands she suffered ‘should’ be among the. first to, bear witness to he?

heroism, her t purity, her honor. May we say, also, that we ! welcome in this . light all the more Archbishop Redwood's splendid '''article' '■• published in this issue of the Tablet. His Grace; grew to manhood in Joan's France, where he '" became saturated " with the intense Catholic feeling which is the undying possession of the real France, and ho hand is more worthy than'' his to be the first in this new country to lay a .magnificent tribute at the feet' of the new-crowned saint. """ '', ''

Suffering Short, Joy Endless

In Schiller's great -tragedy of which Joan is the heroine we find a line worth remembering-now : ..-

• Kurz ist der Sch'merz, hind ewig'ist die Freude, .which, may be translated, "Suffering is' brief," and joy is eternal." Joan's sufferings are long .over. . The torturing examinations, the endless inquisitions, the snares set for the little' peasant girl by clever jurists who sought to trap her, the dreary, dark days and the lonely vigils of waking nights, the breaking of her young heart in the dungeon from which she could see'her green trees and hear the song of her birds— these are over and gone. In the pages of history live on the records of the final horror of her execution ; in the imagination of all who love her remains for ever the vision of the fire and smoke wrapping, her young limbs like a shroud and hiding her from the view of the wicked, brutal soldiery who watched her passing. The'pains she felt were not brief if measured by our time : her agony was long-drawn and awful, and she was spared nothing of it. It is short in the' light of eternity : and into that light she has entered now, a radiant, queenly Joan, who ! is given to us all in the Communion of Saints, and ours -for ever. To her we may all say how, 57. Joan prat/ tot us!

De Quincey

With a word from de Quincey we close this thought of St. Joan of Arc:

"Daughter of . Domremy, when the gratitude of thy king shall awaken, thou wilt be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her, king of France, but she will not hear thee! Cite her. by thy apparitors to come and receive a robe of honor, but she will be found en- con-

furnace. When the thunders of universal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim. the grandeur of the poor, peasant girl that gave up all for her. country, thy ear, young shepherd girl, will have been deaf for five centuries. To suffer and to do, that was thy portion in this life; that was thy destiny ; and not" for a moment was it hidden from thyself. Life, thou saidst is short ; and the sleep which -is in the grave is long. Let me use that life so transitory for the glory of those heavenly dreams, destined to comfort the sleep which is so long. This pure creature—pure from every suspicion of even a visionary self-interest, even as she was pure in senses more obvious, never once did this holy child, as regarded herself, relax from her belief in the darkness that was travelling to meet her. ’ . . The poor forsaken girl . . : . ’ drank not herself from that cup of rest which she had secured for France. She never sang together with the songs that rose ,in her native Domremy, as echoes of the departing steps of the invaders. She mingled not in the festal dances at V aucouleurs which celebrated in rapture the. redemption of France. No! for, her voice was then silent; no ! for her feet were dust. Pure, innocent, noble girl, whom, from earliest youth, ever I believed in as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was among the strongest pledges of thy truth, that'never once--no, ; not for a moment of weakness—didst thou revel l in the vision of

coronets and honor from- man. Coronets for thee! Oh, no! , Honors, if they come \ when all is \ over, : are for those who share;' thy blood." ;■' " ; ---••'•■• ./Fine as de Quincey is he missed two important things. Joan was not'. going to darkness. ' She was going 3to death; she never doubted that; her voices called' and 'she' followed, knowing that tihey were leading, it might be through the ; dark portal of death, but

leading at any : rate into light and rest ; eternal. Again, no earthly honors reached her in 'life',? nor did she seek any. No king of ; France, £: but the J King of Kings called her; and to calling J her ears were not deaf. Honors are hers now, and not only all of^her*'bloodphut; all of her faith share in them. We 7 share in the honors, but we share in her too. So let us get accustomed to call upon her "help"- St. Joan, pray for us! vmA