hile the drunkard philosophised and the sober ones
smilingly listened; horseshoes rattled on the pavement. And surrounded
on all sides by glad sounds, a fat, heavy man moved through the centre
of the city like a cold spot of silence, sowing in his path grief,
anger and vague, carking distress. Who dared to be sad in Rome?
indignantly demanded frowning citizens; and in two days the
swift-tongued Rome knew of Lazarus, the man miraculously raised from
the grave, and timidly evaded him.

There were many brave men ready to try their strength, and at their
senseless call Lazarus came obediently. The Emperor was so engrossed
with state affairs that he delayed receiving the visitor, and for
seven days Lazarus moved among the people.

A jovial drunkard met him with a smile on his red lips. "Drink,
Lazarus, drink!" he cried, "Would not Augustus laugh to see you
drink!" And naked, besotted women laughed, and decked the blue hands
of Lazarus with rose-leaves. But the drunkard looked into the eyes of
Lazarus--and his joy ended forever. Thereafter he was always drunk. He
drank no more, but was drunk all the time, shadowed by fearful dreams,
instead of the joyous reveries that wine gives. Fearful dreams became
the food of his broken spirit. Fearful dreams held him day and night
in the mists of monstrous fantasy, and death itself was no more
fearful than the apparition of its fierce precursor.

Lazarus came to a youth and his lass who loved each other and were
beautiful in their love. Proudly and strongly holding in his arms his
beloved one, the youth said, with gentle pity: "Look at us, Lazarus,
and rejoice with us. Is there anything stronger than love?"

And Lazarus looked at them. And their whole life they continued to
love one another, but their love became mournful and gloomy, even as
those cypress trees over the tombs that feed their roots on the
putrescence of the grave, and strive in vain in the quiet evening hour
to touch the sky with their pointed tops. Hurled by fathomless
life-forces into each other's arms, they mingled their kisses with
tears, their joy with pain, and only succeeded in realising the more
vividly a sense of their slavery to the silent Nothing. Forever
united, forever parted, they flashed like sparks, and like sparks went
out in boundless darkness.

Lazarus came to a proud sage, and the sage said to him: "I already
know all the horrors that you may tell me, Lazarus. With what else can
you terrify me?"