UNDER THE MICROSCOPE
Ta voix sévère est comme un rappel qu'on entend
Sonner du fond de l'ombre où le sort nous attend.
L'appétit nu, la chair affamée et rieuse,
Source âpre et basse où boit la jeunesse oublieuse,
La luxure cynique au regard fauve et vil,
Rentre, à ton aspect, comme un chien dans son chenil.
Jamais le rire impur ne vint souiller de fange
Ta lèvre où luit le feu de l'apôtre et de l'ange.
Le satyre au chant rauque a peur devant tes yeux;
Le vice à ton abord frémit silencieux;
Et la neige qui pleut sur ta tête qui penche,
Quand on a vu ton cœur, ne semble plus si blanche."
I know not whether the rebuke of venerable virtue had power to affect the callous conscience of the "hoarse-voiced satyr" thus convicted of "the depth of ill-breeding and bad taste;" but I cannot doubt that when in January a like parable was taken up in the same quarter against certain younger offenders, the thought that the same voice with the same weight of judgment in its tones was raised to denounce them must have struck cold to their hearts while it brought the blood to their cheeks. The likeness in turn of phrase and inflexion of voice was perfect; the air of age and authority, if indeed it was but assumed, was assumed with faultless and exquisite fidelity; the choice of points for attack and words to attack with was as nearly as might be identical. "No terms of condemnation could be too strong," so rang that "terrible voice of most just judgment," "for the revolting picturesqueness of A's description of the sexual relation;" it was illustrated by sacramental symbols
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