Augustus, as in prayer, stretched forth his arms and exclaimed solemnly: 

“Be blessed, O great and divine Life!”

Lazarus was silent, and with growing sternness the emperor went on: 

“Thou art not wanted here, miserable remnant, snatched from under Death’s teeth, thou inspirest weariness and disgust with life; like a caterpillar in the fields, thou gloatest on the rich ear of joy and belchest out the drivel of despair and sorrow.  Thy truth is like a rusty sword in the hands of a nightly murderer,—­and as a murderer thou shalt be executed.  But before that, let me look into thine eyes.  Perchance, only cowards are afraid of them, but in the brave they awake the thirst for strife and victory; then thou shalt be rewarded, not executed....  Now, look at me, Lazarus.”

At first it appeared to the deified Augustus that a friend was looking at him,—­so soft, so tenderly fascinating was Lazarus’ glance.  It promised not horror, but sweet rest and the Infinite seemed to him a tender mistress, a compassionate sister, a mother.  But stronger and stronger grew its embraces, and already the mouth, greedy of hissing kisses, interfered with the monarch’s breathing, and already to the surface of the soft tissues of the body came the iron of the bones and tightened its merciless circle,—­and unknown fangs, blunt and cold, touched his heart and sank into it with slow indolence.

“It pains,” said the deified Augustus, growing pale.  “But look at me, Lazarus, look.”

It was as though some heavy gates, ever closed, were slowly moving apart, and through the growing interstice the appalling horror of the Infinite poured in slowly and steadily.  Like two shadows there entered the shoreless void and the unfathomable darkness; they extinguished the sun, ravished the earth from under the feet, and the roof from over the head.  No more did the frozen heart ache.

“Look, look, Lazarus,” ordered Augustus tottering.

Time stood still, and the beginning of each thing grew frightfully near to its end.  Augustus’ throne just erected, crumbled down, and the void was already in the place of the throne and of Augustus.  Noiselessly did Rome crumble down, and a new city stood on its site and it too was swallowed by the void.  Like fantastic giants, cities, states, and countries fell down and vanished in the void darkness—­and with uttermost indifference did the insatiable black womb of the Infinite swallow them.

“Halt!”—­ordered the emperor.

In his voice sounded already a note of indifference, his hands dropped in languor, and in the vain struggle with the onrushing darkness his fiery eyes now blazed up, and now went out.

“My life thou hast taken from me, Lazarus,”—­said he in a spiritless, feeble voice.

And these words of hopelessness saved him.  He remembered his people, whose shield he was destined to be, and keen salutary pain pierced his deadened heart.  “They are doomed to death,” he thought wearily.  “Serene shadows in the darkness of the Infinite,” thought he, and horror grew upon him.  “Frail vessels with living seething blood with a heart that knows sorrow and also great joy,” said he in his heart, and tenderness pervaded it.