THE DAUGHTER. Yes, it is my end. Farewell!
THE POET. Give us a parting word.
THE DAUGHTER. No, I cannot. Do you believe that your words can express our thoughts?
DEAN OF THEOLOGY. [Enters in a rage] I am cast off by God and persecuted by man; I am deserted by the government and scorned by my colleagues! How am I to believe when nobody else believes? How am I to defend a god that does not defend his own? Bosh, that's what it is!
[Throws a book on the fire and goes out.
THE POET. [Snatches the book out of the fire] Do you know what it is? A martyrology, a calendar with a martyr for each day of the year.
THE DAUGHTER. Martyr?
THE POET. Yes, one that has been tortured and killed on account of his faith! Tell me why?—Do you think that all who are tortured suffer, and that all who are killed feel pain? Suffering is said to be salvation, and death a liberation.
CHRISTINE. [With slips of paper] I paste, I paste until there is nothing more to paste——
THE POET. And if heaven should split in twain, you would try to paste it together—Away!