"'The prison is to modern society what the circus was to ancient Rome: the slave died for individual liberty; in our day, the convict dies for passional integral liberty.' "And again silence reigned, but after a while a mild Voice from on high said to the sorry cortège which stood motionless at one corner of the pallet-bed--- "'Have hope, ye poor martyrs! Hope! for the hour approaches!'" "Then three noble figures came forward--those of the mechanic, the labourer and the soldier. The first was hungry: they fought with him for the bread he had earned. The second was both hungry and cold; they haggled for the corn he had sown and the wood he had cut down. The third had experienced every kind of human suffering; furthermore, he had hoped and his hope had withered away, and he was reproached for the blood that had been shed. All three bore the history of their lives on their countenances; all felt ill at ease in the present and were ready to question God concerning His doings; but as the hour approached and their cry was about to rise to the Eternal, a spectre rose up from the limbs of the past: his name was _Duty._ Before him they recoiled affrighted. A priest went before them, his form wrapped in burial clothes; he advanced slowly with lowered eyes. Strange contrast! He dreamed of the heavens and yet bent low towards the earth! On his breast was the inscription: _Christianity!_ Beneath: _Resignation._ "'Here they come! Behold them!' cried the apostle; they are advancing to _him who is._ What will be the nature of their speech and how will they express themselves in his presence? Will their complaint be as great as their sadness? Not so, their uncertainty is too great for them to dare to formulate their thoughts: besides, doubt is their real feeling. Perhaps, some day, they may speak out more freely. Let us listen respectfully to the hymn that falls from their lips; it is solemnly majestic, but less musical than the breeze and less infinite than the Ocean. Hear it-- HYMNE "Du haut de l'horizon, du milieu des nuages Où l'astre voyageur apparut aux trois rois, Des profondeurs du temple où veillent tes images, O Christ! entends-tu notre voix? Si tu contemples la misère De la foule muette au pied de tes autels, Une larme de sang doit mouiller ta paupière. Tu dois te demander, dans ta douleur austère, S'il est des dogmes éternels!" LE PRÊTRE "O Christ! j'ai pris longtemps pour un port salutaire Ta maison, dont le toit domine les hauts lieux; Et j'ai voulu cacher au fond du sanctuaire, Comme sous un bandeau, mon front tumultueux." LE SOLDAT