We knew a single master and we've seen how he became a dog. Degraded by his stomach, by flattery to his stomach, by fear, he cowers under the whip in foolish oblivion of the right he has. Moth-eaten, full of pests, he licked unceasingly the rough hand which has him tied up for so long in the mud. It would have been easy for him to make an impenetrable and high wall of his silence: he chose the great gentle shame of barking. We have never been able, though, to give up hope of the old defeated one and in the night we raise shouts in a song, for the words overflow with meaning. The water, the earth, the air, the fire are his, if he finally takes the chance of being himself. He will have to say enough at once, to want now to walk again, upright, without a break, forevermore a man saved among the people, against the wind. Saved among the people, now the master of all; no cringing dog but his own master.