The arch of future society will not fall for not having this hideous keystone. Civilization is nothing but a series of successive changes. Which one are you going to help? The change of punishment. The gentle law of Christ will penetrate our laws after a while, and will shine through them. Crime will be looked upon as a malady; and it will have its physicians in place of your judges, its hospitals instead of your prisons. Liberty and health will be one. They will pour balm and oil where the iron and fire have left scars. It will be simple and sublime. The cross will take the place of the gallows. That is all.

March 15, 1832.

THE LAST DAY OF A CONDEMNED MAN

A COMEDY

(Apropos of a Tragedy5)

Dramatis Personæ

A Drawing-room

THE WRITER OF FUNERAL POEMS (reading).

“Upon the morrow steps were heard within the forest-glade;
A dog barked low beside the stream; and when the little maid
Returned, alas! her bower to find, her heart was filled with
fear;
For o’er the ancient citadel sad groans assailed her ear;
And never more, oh, gentle maid! oh, gentle maid Isaure!
Shall sing thy minstrel-lover true upon his sweet mandore.”

THE ENTIRE AUDIENCE. Bravo! Charming! Ravishing!

(Applause.)

MADAME DE BLINVAL. There is an indefinable mystery in the closing words which brings tears to one’s eyes.

THE WRITER OF FUNERAL POEMS (modesty). The Climax is veiled.

THE CHEVALIER (shaking his head). Mandore, minstrel, there is romanticism in that!

THE WRITER OF FUNERAL POEMS. Yes, sir; but reasonable and true romanticism. What can you expect? We must make some concessions.

THE CHEVALIER. Concessions! concessions! That is how one loses style. I would give all the romantic stanzas that have ever been written for this one quatrain:—

“From Pinde and Cythèra teasing,
Did Sir Bernard discover,
That Saturday, the Art of Lover,
Would sup a’ the Art of Pleasing!”

There is true poetry! The art of Loving supping on Saturday with the art of Pleasing! That is fine! But to-day it is the mandore , the minstrel. We no longer write fugitive poetry. If I were a poet, I would write fugitive poems; but I am not a poet.

THE WRITER OF FUNERAL POEMS. And yet, funeral poems—

THE CHEVALIER. Fugitive poems, sir. (Aside to MADAME DE BLINVAL.) Moreover, châtel (citadel) is not French; it should be castel.

A GUEST (to THE WRITER OF FUNERAL POEMS). Allow me to offer a suggestion, sir. You say the ancient citadel, why not the Gothic?

THE WRITER OF FUNERAL POEMS. Gothic is not used in poetry.

THE GUEST. Ah! that is different.

THE WRITER OF FUNERAL POEMS (continuing). You know, sir, one must keep within bounds. I am not one who wishes to change French verse, and bring back the epoch of Ronsard and Brébeuf. I am a romanticist, but in moderation.