and now it came to pass that the great, deified augustus himself summoned lazarus. the imperial messengers dressed him gorgeously, in solemn nuptial clothes, as if time had legalized them, and he was to remain until his very death the bridegroom of an unknown bride. it was as though an old, rotting coffin had been gilt and furnished with new, gay tassels. and men, all in trim and bright attire, rode after him, as if in bridal procession indeed, and those foremost trumpeted loudly, bidding people to clear the way for the emperor's messengers. but lazarus' way was deserted: his native land cursed the hateful name of him who had miraculously risen from the dead, and people scattered at the very news of his appalling approach. the solitary voice of the brass trumpets sounded in the motionless air, and the wilderness alone responded with its languid echo.

then lazarus went by sea. and his was the most magnificently arrayed and the most mournful ship that ever mirrored itself in the azure waves of the mediterranean sea. many were the travelers aboard, but like a tomb was the ship, all silence and stillness, and the despairing water sobbed at the steep, proudly curved prow. all alone sat lazarus exposing his head to the blaze of the sun, silently listening to the murmur and splash of the wavelets, and afar seamen and messengers were sitting, a vague group of weary shadows. had the thunder burst and the wind attacked the red sails, the ships would probably have perished, for none of those aboard had either the will or the strength to struggle for life. with a supreme effort some mariners would reach the board and eagerly scan the blue, transparent deep, hoping to see a naiad's pink shoulder flash in the hollow of an azure wave, or a drunken gay centaur dash along and in frenzy splash the wave with his hoof. but the sea was like a wilderness, and the deep was dumb and deserted.

with utter indifference did lazarus set his feet on the street of the eternal city. as though all her wealth, all the magnificence of her palaces built by giants, all the resplendence, beauty, and music of her refined life were but the echo of the wind in the wilderness, the reflection of the desert quicksand. chariots were dashing, and along the streets were moving crowds of strong, fair, proud builders of the eternal city and haughty participants in her life; a song sounded; fountains and women laughed a pearly laughter; drunken philosophers harangued, and the sober listened to them with a smile; hoofs struck the stone pavements. and surrounded by cheerful noise, a stout, heavy man was moving, a cold spot of silence and despair, and on his way he sowed disgust, anger, and vague, gnawing weariness. who dares to be sad in rome, wondered indignantly the citizens, and frowned. in two days the entire city already knew all about him who had miraculously risen from the dead, and shunned him shyly.

but some daring people there were, who wanted to test their strength, and lazarus obeyed their imprudent summons. kept busy by state affairs, the emperor constantly delayed the reception, and seven days did he who had risen from the dead go about visiting others.

and lazarus came to a cheerful epicurean, and the host met him with laughter on his lips:

"drink, lazarus, drink!"—shouted he. "would not augustus laugh to see thee drunk!"

and half-naked drunken women laughed, and rose petals fell on lazarus' blue hands. but then the epicurean looked into lazarus' eyes, and his gaiety ended forever. drunkard remained he for the rest of his life; never did he drink, yet forever was he drunk. but instead of the gay reverie which wine brings with it, frightful dreams began to haunt him, the sole food of his stricken spirit. day and night he lived in the poisonous vapors of his nightmares, and death itself was not more frightful than her raving, monstrous forerunners.

and lazarus came to a youth and his beloved, who loved each other and were most beautiful in their passions. proudly and strongly embracing his love, the youth said with serene regret:

"look at us, lazarus, and share our joy. is there anything stronger than love?"

and lazarus looked. and for the rest of their life they kept on loving each other, but their passion grew gloomy and joyless, like those funeral cypresses whose roots feed on the decay of the graves and whose black summits in a still evening hour seek in vain to reach the sky. thrown by the unknown forces of life into each other's embraces, they mingled tears with kisses, voluptuous pleasures with pain, and they felt themselves doubly slaves, obedient slaves to life, and patient servants of the silent nothingness. ever united, ever severed, they blazed like sparks and like sparks lost themselves in the boundless dark.

and lazarus came to a haughty sage, and the sage said to him:

"i know all the horrors thou canst reveal to me. is there anything thou canst frighten me with?"

but before long the sage felt that the knowledge of horror was far from being the horror itself, and that the vision of death, was not death. and he felt that wisdom and folly are equal before the face of infinity, for infinity knows them not. and it vanished, the dividing-line between knowledge and ignorance, truth and falsehood, top and bottom, and the shapeless thought hung suspended in the void. then the sage clutched his gray head and cried out frantically:

"i cannot think! i cannot think!"

thus under the indifferent glance for him, who miraculously had risen from the dead, perished everything that asserts life, its significance and joys. and it was suggested that it was dangerous to let him see the emperor, that it was better to kill him and, having buried him secretly, to tell the emperor that he had disappeared no one knew whither. already swords were being whetted and youths devoted to the public welfare prepared for the murder, when augustus ordered lazarus to be brought before him next morning, thus destroying the cruel plans.

if there was no way of getting rid of lazarus, at least it was possible to soften the terrible impression his face produced. with this in view, skillful painters, barbers, and artists were summoned, and all night long they were busy over lazarus' head. they cropped his beard, curled it, and gave it a tidy, agreeable appearance. by means of paints they concealed the corpse-like blueness of his hands and face. repulsive were the wrinkles of suffering that furrowed his old face, and they were puttied, painted, and smoothed; then, over the smooth background, wrinkles of good-tempered laughter and pleasant, carefree mirth were skillfully painted with fine brushes.

lazarus submitted indifferently to everything that was done to him. soon he was turned into a becomingly stout, venerable old man, into a quiet and kind grandfather of numerous offspring. it seemed that the smile, with which only a while ago he was spinning funny yarns, was still lingering on his lips, and that in the corner of his eye serene tenderness was hiding, the companion of old age. but people did not dare change his nuptial garments, and they could not change his eyes, two dark and frightful glasses through which looked at men, the unknowable yonder.