They asked why she let the people kiss her feet and garments. She answered, “The poor people came to me because I did them no wrong, and helped them when I could.” “Was it well to attack Paris on Our Lady’s day?” “It is well to keep the festivals of Our Lady always.” “Do your saints love the English?” “They love what God loves, and hate what he hates.” “Does God hate the English?” “As to his love or hate for their souls I know nothing; but I know he will drive them from France.” “Can you tell whether you will escape death?” “That I leave in God’s hands.” When she went to death, her purity and truth had so touched men’s hearts that a great tide of remorse and pity began to swell up against her persecutors. A priest, who had played the part of Judas, and betrayed her, repented like Judas, and flung himself down before her, accusing himself of his treachery. The soldiers who stood by were melted. They said, “We have burned a saint.” The executioner declared that God would never forgive him. From the day of her death, all men began to believe in her holiness and truth. Come down to the end of the same century, and take another instance in Savonarola, the Florentine friar—the man who was at once the patriot, leading the minds of the people of Florence to republican institutions; the reformer, seeking to root out the abuses of the Church; and the prophetic teacher, preacher, religious inspirer. He also climbed to the height of his glory on his funeral pile. As Athens was glorified by the death of Socrates, as the Maid of Orleans has been a vision of beauty in the square of Rouen, so the place in Florence where Savonarola was murdered, in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, is memorable as the scene of virtue triumphing over its enemies and over evil, when it seemed to be conquered. That day, also, will never be forgotten, when he and his two companions walked through the furious rabble to their death, calm as if to a marriage feast. Savonarola was so absorbed in the thought of the life to come, says his biographer, that he appeared already to have left the earth. He was put to death by the order of Alexander Sixth, the worst pope and worst man of modern times; but in twenty years Rafaelle was painting the monk’s portrait on the walls of the Vatican by order of another pope. So it is that death glorifies life. If John Brown had escaped from his prison, and gone to Canada, what would have been his influence? He would only have been remembered as a crazy fanatic. But now there remains in all minds the picture of the old man going quietly and peacefully to die, kissing the little negro child on the way, looking up at the surrounding hills, and admiring the beauty of the scenery. Death set its seal on his life, and so his soul became the leader of the armies of the Union, going before them to victory.