This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By Georg Ebers
Translated from the German by Clara Bell
The busy turmoil of the town had been hushed for some hours; the moonand stars were keeping silent watch over Alexandria, and many of theinhabitants were already in the land of dreams. It was deliciously fresh—a truly gracious night; but, though peace reigned in the streets andalleys, even now there was in this pause for rest a lack of the soothingcalm which refreshes and renews the spirit of man. For some few weeksthere had been an oppressive and fevered tension in the repose of night.Every house and shop was closed as securely as though it were done, notonly to secure slumber against intrusion, but to protect life andproperty from the spoiler; and instead of tones of jollity and mirth thesleeping city echoed the heavy steps and ringing arms of soldiers. Nowand again, when the Roman word of command or the excited cry of somesleepless monk broke the silence, shops and doors were cautiously openedand an anxious face peered out, while belated wanderers shrunk intogateways or under the black shadow of a wall as the watch came past. Amysterious burden weighed on the Heart of the busy city and clicked itspulses, as a nightmare oppresses the dreamer.
On this night of the year of our Lord 391, in a narrow street leadingfrom the commercial harbor known as Kibotus, an old man was slinkingalong close to the houses. His clothes were plain but decent, and hewalked with his head bent forward looking anxiously on all sides; whenthe patrol came by he shrank into the shadow; though he was no thief hehad his reasons for keeping out of the way of the soldiery, for theinhabitants, whether natives or strangers, were forbidden to appear inthe streets after the harbor was closed for the night.
He stopped in front of a large house, whose long, windowless wallextended from one side street to the next, and pausing before the greatgate, he read an inscription on which the light fell from a lamp above:The House of the Holy Martyr. His widow here offers shelter to all whoneed it. He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord."
"At how much per cent I wonder?" mattered the old man and a satiricalsmile curled his bearuless lips. A heavy thud with the knocker rangthrough the silent street, and after a few short questions from withinand equally curt replies from without, a small door was opened in thegreat gate. The stranger was on the point of crossing the vestibule whena human creature crept up to him on all fours, and clutched his anclewith a strong hand, exclaiming in a hoarse voice: "As soon as the dooris shut—an entrance fee; for the poor, you know."
The old man flung a copper piece to the gatekeeper who tried it, andthen, holding on to the rope by which he was tied to a post like a watch-dog, he whined out "Not a drop to wet a Christian's lips?"
"It has not rained for some time," retorted the stranger, who proceededto open a second door which led into a vast court-yard open to the bluevault of heaven. A few torches stuck against the pillars and a smallfire on the pavement added thin smoky, flickering light to the clearglory of the stars, and the whole quadrangle was full of a heavy, reekingatmosphere, compounded of sm