For all, except this comfort from
her farewell dream, she had died--died amid the tears of ten thousand
enemies--died amid the drums and trumpets of armies--died amid peals
redoubling upon peals, volleys upon volleys, from the saluting clarions
of martyrs.
Bishop of Beauvais! because the guilt-burdened man is in dreams haunted
and waylaid by the most frightful of his crimes, and because upon that
fluctuating mirror--rising (like the mocking mirrors of _mirage_ in
Arabian deserts) from the fens of death-most of all are reflected the
sweet countenances which the man has laid in ruins; therefore I know,
bishop, that you also, entering your final dream, saw Domremy. That
fountain, of which the witnesses spoke so much, showed itself to your
eyes in pure morning dews; but neither dews, nor the holy dawn, could
cleanse away the bright spots of innocent blood upon its surface. By
the fountain, bishop, you saw a woman seated, that hid her face. But,
as _you_ draw near, the woman raises her wasted features. Would
Domremy know them again for the features of her child? Ah, but _you_
know them, bishop, well! Oh, mercy! what a groan was _that_ which the
servants, waiting outside the bishop's dream at his bedside, heard from
his labouring heart, as at this moment he turned away from the fountain
and the woman, seeking rest in the forests afar off.
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