ng of France conquers,
Johanna dies. Nevertheless, she ceases not to pray for his success; and
when she hears that the king is so closely beset by his enemies that he
is in danger of his life, she implores heaven with such fervour, that
power is given her to rend asunder her chains. Snatching a sword from
one of her guards, she makes from the tower, and appears on the field of
battle in time to rescue her monarch. But she herself has received a
mortal wound; she sinks on the ground, and expires in the moment of
victory. They cover her with the banners of the victorious army. The
curtain falls.

Now, this violent departure from history, in the latter part of the
play, is what we chiefly regret in the tragedy of Schiller. The
melancholy fate of Joan d'Arc is so inseparably connected with her
memory, that we cease to identify the portrait of Schiller with the
personage of history. As the tragedy proceeds, we feel that it is no
longer our Joan d'Arc that it concerns--so impossible is it for us to
forget, that the village maiden of Dom Remi expiated her pious and
visionary patriotism in the flames at Rouen. Only half her tragedy has
been written; the other half remains for some future Schiller. Nor can
we conceive of a better opportunity for the display of the peculiar
powers of this poet, than would have been afforded by that catastrophe
he has chosen to alter. Was the opportunity felt to be _too great_? Had
the poet become wearied and exhausted with his theme, and did he feel
indisposed to nerve himself afresh for scenes which called for the
strenuous efforts of his genius? We know that it was not his original
intention to make this violent departure from history, and that he came
to the determination with regret.

We wish to state distinctly on what grounds we make our objection;
because there is current among a class of critics a censure for the mere
departure from historical truth--made, it would seem, out of a sensitive
regard for history--in which we by no means acquiesce. We have no desire
to bind a poet to history, merely because it is history. He has his own
ends to accomplish, and by those shall he be judged. As, assuredly, we
should not accept it as the least excuse for the least measure of
dulness, on the part of the poet, that he had followed faithfully the
historical narrative, so neither do we impose upon him a very close
adherence to it. We censure the course which Schiller has here pursued,
not because he