420 DISPUTE BETWEEN THE PEN AND THE SWORD. 



nothing can resist, which overturns giants, which gives understanding 

 to the simple. Though its stature be small, and though it exhibit no- 

 thing remarkable ; though its exterior seem weak and powerless, the 

 brave who have drawn the sword from the scabbard, are constrained to 

 retreat before it. Princes, inflated with their grandeur, are annihilated 

 by it." Then taking up the poetical lyre, they added : 



' Yes ; we are the immoveable supports of glory ; the pen, in our hands, 



* is the honour of the diadem ; to us alone is due the pinnacle of gran- 

 ' deur ; we tread under our feet the stars of the firmament. They who 

 ' brandish the sword are only our slaves ; the iron of our spear penetrates 



* their heart, plunging into it without resistance.' 



" What do you say ?" answered the chiefs of the armies. " Are not 

 the lions of battle, the brave with intrepid heart ? We cause the flame 

 to flash from the bosom of swords, which clash against each other, 

 and the terror which we inspire renders nations deserted and uninha- 

 bited. The people, who dwell in them, fly from them with a torn 

 breast ; parents abandon their children to withdraw themselves from 

 our fury. To us alone belongs the sword, which without a tongue 

 speaks powerfully, which without an eye-ball pierces every where with 

 its penetrating glances. Impetuous in its course as the torrent of 

 Kissoun, and the floods of Phison, it carries along with it whatever 

 resists. When the pillars of the kingdom assemble in the presence of 

 the Most High, it reaches above the heads of all ; for it is the crown of 

 monarchs, the diadem of the Lord's anointed. It watches over the 

 preservation of those who carry it, and the victims of its vengeance are 

 as the sands of the sea." Then adopting a more elevated style, they 

 sang : 



" Like that portion of the offering consecrated to the Eternal, which a 



* pontiff raises upon his altars, the sword drawn from the scabbard, 

 ' flashes in our hands and menaces the heads of our enemies. In the 

 ' day of terror, when the brave seek a refuge from danger, our bared 



* arms encounter the fight. As flourishes the vine, watered by the rains 

 ' of heaven, so doth our sword bathed in the blood of its victims. It 

 ' passes over the earth with the velocity of lightning ; it takes its flight, 

 ' and the same instant beholds it alight upon the head of our enemies." 



When both parties had thus spoken, the Sword and the Pen stepped 

 forward to assert their rights in person. "It is I," said the Sword, 

 " who inspire the brave with courage and strength ; it is I, from whom 

 the vultures and lion's whelps expect their nourishment. While I 

 exist, they will experience neither hunger nor thirst ; for I feed them 

 with the flesh of heroes, and I make them drunken with the blood of the 

 bravest warriors. How can the Pen, which my fires consume, which I 

 tread under my feet, compare itself with me ? How can a frail half- 

 broken reed, like the bramble and the nettle, have the audacity to contend 

 for rank with me ? Should my arm touch it in the slightest manner, it 

 will break ; the wind hath breathed upon, and not a trace of it remains." 



"Truth hath come out of thy mouth;" replied the Pen, "all that 

 thou hast said is just. Yes ; it is thou, who sheddest blood, thou art 

 known by thy violence and cruelty. Ah ! what blood hast thou spilt ! 

 how many innocents hast thou murdered ! From the first day of thy 



