Even the great bronze
bells had been melted in the flames and had fallen in molten
drops, like tears of grief, into the wreckage below. All the
beautiful treasures--the tapestries, wrought by the hands of
queens, and even the sacred banner of Jeanne d'Arc itself--had
been destroyed.
Mother Meraut knew, but she did not tell her children, that
precious lives had also been lost, and that buried somewhere in
the ruins were the bodies of doctors and nurses who had given
their own in trying to save the lives of others, and of brave
citizens of Rheims who had fallen in an attempt to save the
precious relics carefully treasured there. Neither did she tell
them that little Jean, the Verger's son, was one of that heroic
band. These sorrows she bore in her own breast, but she never
passed near the Cathedral after that terrible night. Sometimes,
when a necessary errand took her to that part of the City, she
would pause at a distance to look long at the statue of Jeanne
d'Arc, standing unharmed in the midst of the destruction about
her still lifting her sword to the sky. In all the rain of shells
which had fallen upon the City not one had yet touched the
statue. Only the tip of the sword had been broken off. It
comforted Mother Meraut to see it standing so strangely safe in
the midst of such desolation. "It stands," she thought, " even as
her pure spirit stood safe amidst the flames of her martyrdom.
But I cannot, like her, pray for my enemies while I burn in the
fires they have kindled.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60