He takes a goblet, fills, tastes, and hands it to Pancratius. PANCRATIUS. If I am not mistaken, this red and blue shield was called a coat of arms in the language of the Dead; but such trifles have vanished from the face of the earth. He drinks. THE MAN. Vanished? With the aid of God, you will soon look upon them by thousands! PANCRATIUS. Commend me to the old noble! always confident in himself, though without money, arms, or soldiers; proud, obstinate, and hoping against all hope; like the corpse in the fable, threatening the driver of the hearse at the very door of the charnel house, and confiding in God, or at least pretending to confide in Him, when confidence in himself is no longer even possible! Pray, Count Henry, give me but one little glimpse of the lightning which is to be sent from heaven, for your especial benefit, to blast me and my millions; or show me at least one angel of the thousands of the heavenly hosts, who are to encamp on your side, and whose prowess is so speedily to decide the combat in your favor! He empties the goblet. THE MAN. You are pleased to jest, leader of the people; but atheism is quite an old formula, and I looked for something _new_ from the _new men_! PANCRATIUS. Laugh, if you will, at your own wit, but my faith is wider, deeper, and more firmly based than your own. Its central dogma is the emancipation of humanity. It has its source in the cries of despair which rise unceasingly to heaven from the hearts of tortured millions, in the famine of the operatives, the grinding poverty of the peasants, the desecration of their wives and daughters, the degradation of the race through unjust laws and debasing and brutal prejudices--from all this agony spring my new formulas, the creed which I am determined to establish: _'Man has a birthright of happiness_.' These thoughts are my god, a god which will give bread, rest, bliss, glory to man! He fills, drinks, and casts and goblet from him. THE MAN. I place my trust in that God who gave power and rule, into the hands of my forefathers! PANCRATIUS. You trust Him still, and yet through your whole life you have been but a plaything in the hands of the Devil! But let us leave such discussions to the theologians, if any such still linger upon earth:--to business, Count Henry, to stern facts! THE MAN. What do you seek from me, redeemer of the people, citizen-god? PANCRATIUS. I sought you, in the first place, because I wished to know you; in the second, because I desire to save you. THE MAN. For the first, receive my thanks; for the second, trust my sword!