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 Et nous mettons nos cœurs, ô maîtres des humains, Nos prières, nos deuils dans les petites mains De votre infante Jeanne, innocente, et pareille À la fraise des bois où se pose l'abeille. Roi, reine, ayez pitié!

After the sublime and inexpressible pathos of this appeal from age and innocence against the most execrable of all religions that ever infected earth and verified hell, it would have been impossible for any poet but one to find expression for the passion of unselfish faith in that infernal creed which should not merely horrify and disgust us. But when Hugo brings before us the figure of the grand inquisitor in contemplation of the supreme act of faith accomplished in defiance of king and queen to the greater glory of God, for the ultimate redemption of souls else condemned to everlasting torment, the rapture of the terrible redeemer, whose faith is in salvation by fire, is rendered into words of such magical and magnificent inspiration that the conscience of our fancy is well nigh conquered and convinced and converted for the moment as we read.

O fête, ô gloire, ô joie! La clémence terrible et superbe flamboie! Délivrance à jamais! Damnés, soyez absous! Le bûcher sur la terre éteint l'enfer dessous. Sois béni, toi par qui l'âme au bonheur remonte, Bûcher, gloire du feu dont l'enfer est la honte, Issue aboutissant au radieux chemin, Porte du paradis rouverte au genre humain, Miséricorde ardente aux caresses sans nombre, Mystérieux rachat des esclaves de l'ombre,