Ah, dissidence. Are we at last to tolerate a little liberty? If only for the sake of theatre. A little stage in a little mind made dizzy by the need to validate this curiosity? How did it once taste? How did it sound? Has a judge even the memory to recall? And what man made this freedom his standard? How did it acquire conformity? But I remember the tales! Ah, tales indeed! Spun by who, exactly? A modern interpretation with a little room for manoeuvre. That even liberty could be inherited? And when the last free man died who exactly protected this heirloom? Someone buried it? In literature? No! It was buried in the dust! So that you may come again!
To these Godly souls I should lead them away from all base existence. But alas, what words of mine would evict their base desires? That common bond of depravity! Such have I lived! Such have I tasted! That bitter sensation of the youthful soul, not strong enough to nourish itself! That it must drink from others! Then I say this, who has courage to sip from this joyful chalice? For too long it has simmered, now from the mount does it spill. All was concocted within me and only now do I erupt! Only at my hour do all know me! By what other hour could I be known? That I did wander through my loneliness to make myself known to – myself! For what truer virtue exists other than the virtue of oneself! So I say this also, “Make oneself of one’s own virtue!” For only then can you know what you ought to love. I make that the only law of the Noble Virtue, the Noble soul. Through it I give my unreserved love to those who stand before me. To those whose virtue is at odds with order, the demanded virtue, the expected happiness. For there exists no greater measure of virtue than he who suffers for his virtue. And no greater strength than he who smiles through bitterness.