In the black sky no star is seen, somewhere in ambush lurks the Angel of Death, but the spices tongues of the masqueraders are loose and shameless A shout: "Make way for the hero!" Ah yes. Displacing the tall one, he will step forth now without fail and sing to us about holy vengeance...

At last the god cometh! The air runs over with splendor; The fire leaps high on the altar; Melodious thunders shake the ground. Hark to the Delphic responses! Hark! it is the god!

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat. Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet!
Our God is marching on.

Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother’s, when she feels
For the first time her first-born’s breath! Come when the blessed seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke!
Come in consumption’s ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm!
Come when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet song, and dance, and wine!
And thou art terrible!—the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know or dream or fear Of agony are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word;
And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be.

Prepare yourselves
for the roaring voice of the God of Joy!

Above all, he appeals to the invisible realities, to the emotions, to faith rather than reason. His speeches are full of talk about Honor, Folk, Fatherland, Loyalty, Family, Sacrifice, Revenge. ‘He begins,’ says a writer who has often heard him, ‘in a gentle tenor voice. It is usually fifteen minutes before the miracle happens. Then it comes. Literally, it seems. ‘the spirit enters into him.’ He is possessed. Phrases come to his lips with are artistically perfect.

How good music and bad reasons sound when one marches against an enemy.

On march the banners of the King of Hell.

The great pontiff took the floor to argue the case against me. I don't remember his harangue, because I was too horrified to understand such a discordant voice, and because he made his speech with a musical instrument so loud it deafened me. He had deliberately chosen a trumpet. The violence of its martial tone was supposed to make the people call for my death and to keep them from thinking rationally, as happens in our armies, where the din of trumpets and drums prevents the soldier from thinking about the importance of his life.