h decoration on the gorgeous
portal, with its array of saints and sovereigns, under which passed
Charles VII. of France, with the Maid of Orleans on his right hand.
Hurried as had been the preparations for the ceremonial, the even then
ancient and venerable rites must have deeply impressed the spectators,
and the semi-sacred act was carried out with scrupulous care--the King
crowned and anointed with the holy oil, surrounded on his throne by
the ecclesiastical peers and high dignitaries of the Church, and
waited on by the secular peers during the crowning and after at the
coronation banquet.

At length was accomplished the darling wish of Joan of Arc's heart,
for now her King was regarded and sanctioned by all true French
persons as King of France, by the grace of God and Holy Church.

When the King received the crown from the hands of the Archbishop, a
peal of trumpets rang out, with such a mighty volume of sound that the
very roof of the cathedral seemed to shake again. Ingres, in his
striking picture of Joan of Arc, now in the gallery of the Louvre,
represents her standing by the high altar, clad in her white panoply
of shining steel, her banner held on high; below bows in prayer her
confessor, the priest Pasquerel, in his brown robes of the Order of
Augustin; and beyond stand her faithful squire and pages. The
heroine's face is raised, and on it sits a radiant look of mingled
gratitude and triumph. It is a noble idea of a sublime figure.

When the long-drawn-out ceremony came to an end, and after the people
had shouted themselves hoarse in crying 'Noel!' and 'Long live King
Charles!'--Joan, who had remained by the King throughout the day,
knelt at his feet and, according to one chronicle, said these words:

'Now is finished the pleasure of God, who willed that you should come
to Rheims and receive your crown, proving that you are truly the King,
and no other, to whom belongs this land of France.'

Many besides the King are said to have shed tears at that moment.

That seemed indeed the moment of Joan of Arc's triumph. The _Nunc
Dimittis_ might well have then echoed from her lips; but in the midst
of all the rejoicing and festivity at this time Joan had saddened
thoughts and melancholy forebodings as to the future. While the
people shouted 'Noel!' as she rode through the jubilant streets by the
side of the King, she turned to the Archbishop, and said: 'When I die
I should wish to be buried here among these good