It
seemed as if an icy wave of horror washed against his feet. He was
vanquished but not killed, and coldly awaited his doom, like a black
shadow. His nights were haunted by horror, but the bright days still
brought him the joys, as well as the sorrows, of life.
Next day, by order of the Emperor, they burned out Lazarus' eyes with
hot irons and sent him home. Even Augustus dared not kill him.
* * * * *
Lazarus returned to the desert and the desert received him with the
breath of the hissing wind and the ardour of the glowing sun. Again he
sat on the stone with matted beard uplifted; and two black holes,
where the eyes had once been, looked dull and horrible at the sky. In
the distance the Holy City surged and roared restlessly, but near him
all was deserted and still. No one approached the place where Lazarus,
miraculously raised from the dead, passed his last days, for his
neighbours had long since abandoned their homes. His cursed knowledge,
driven by the hot irons from his eyes deep into the brain, lay there
in ambush; as if from ambush it might spring out upon men with a
thousand unseen eyes.
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