"Open the gates of eternity to me, I implore thee! Since it needs must be, we will go together, my old dagger, thou and I, as with a new friend. Do not fail me when my soul shall ask transit of thee; afford to my hand that virile self-reliance which a strong man has in himself; snatch me from the outrages of petty persecutors and from the slow torture of the unknown!" Although this dagger was treasured by the unhappy Rabbe, as we have mentioned, it was not by its means that the _accursed one_, as he called himself, was to put an end to his miseries. Rabbe was only thirty and had strength enough in him yet to go on living. So, in despair, he dragged out his posthumous existence and flung himself into the political arena, as a gladiator takes comfort to himself by showing himself off between two tigers. 1821 began; the death of the Duc de Berry served as an excuse for many reactionary laws; Alphonse Rabbe now found his golden hour; he came to Marseilles and started _Le Phocéen_, in a countryside that was a very volcano of Royalism. Would you hear how he addresses those in power? Then listen. Hear how he addressed men of influence-- "Oligarchies are fighting for the rays of liberty across the dead body of an unfortunate prince.... O Liberty! mark with thy powerful inspirations those hours of the night which William Tell and his friends used to spend in striking blows to redress wrongs!..." When liberty is invoked in such terms she rarely answers to the call. One morning, someone knocked at Rabbe's door; he went to open it, and two policemen stood there who asked him to accompany them to the prison. When Rabbe was arrested, all Marseilles rose up in a violent Royalist explosion against him. An author who had written a couple of volumes of fables took upon himself to support the Bourbon cause in one of the papers. Rabbe read the article and replied-- "Monsieur, in one of your apologues you compare yourself to a sheep; well and good. Then, _monsieur le mouton_, go on, cropping your tender grass and stop biting other things!" The writer of fables paid a polite call upon Rabbe; they shook hands and all was forgotten.