Augustus sat down, and as much by glance as by words began the discussion. “Why did you not salute me when you entered?”
Lazarus answered indifferently: “I did not know it was necessary.”
“You are a Christian?”
“No.”
Augustus nodded approvingly. “That is good. I do not like the Christians. They shake the tree of life, forbidding it to bear fruit, and they scatter to the wind its fragrant blossoms. But who are you?”
With some effort Lazarus answered: “I was dead.”
“I heard about that. But who are you now?”
Lazarus’ answer came slowly. Finally he said again, listlessly and indistinctly: “I was dead.”
“Listen to me, stranger,” said the Emperor sharply, giving expression to what had been in his mind before. “My empire is an empire of the living; my people are a people of the living and not of the dead. You are superfluous here. I do not know who you are, I do not know what you have seen There, but if you lie, I hate your lies, and if you tell the truth, I hate your truth. In my heart I feel the pulse of life; in my hands I feel power, and my proud thoughts, like eagles, fly through space. Behind my back, under the protection of my authority, under the shadow of the laws I have created, men live and labour and rejoice. Do you hear this divine harmony of life? Do you hear the war cry that men hurl into the face of the future, challenging it to strife?”
Augustus extended his arms reverently and solemnly cried out: “Blessed art thou, Great Divine Life!”