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- Джек Лондон
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And
I
remembered
back
to
my
young
days
when
I
had
sat
at
the
feet
of
Arius
,
who
had
been
a
presbyter
of
the
city
of
Alexandria
,
and
who
had
been
robbed
of
the
bishopric
by
the
blasphemous
and
heretical
Alexander
.
Alexander
the
Sabellianite
,
that
is
what
he
was
,
and
his
feet
had
fast
hold
of
hell
.
Yes
,
I
had
been
to
the
Council
of
Nicea
,
and
seen
it
avoid
the
issue
.
And
I
remembered
when
the
Emperor
Constantine
had
banished
Arius
for
his
uprightness
.
And
I
remembered
when
Constantine
repented
for
reasons
of
state
and
policy
and
commanded
Alexander
--
the
other
Alexander
,
thrice
cursed
,
Bishop
of
Constantinople
--
to
receive
Arius
into
communion
on
the
morrow
.
And
that
very
night
did
not
Arius
die
in
the
street
?
They
said
it
was
a
violent
sickness
visited
upon
him
in
answer
to
Alexander
's
prayer
to
God
.
But
I
said
,
and
so
said
all
we
Arians
,
that
the
violent
sickness
was
due
to
a
poison
,
and
that
the
poison
was
due
to
Alexander
himself
,
Bishop
of
Constantinople
and
devil
's
poisoner
.
And
here
I
ground
my
body
back
and
forth
on
the
sharp
stones
,
and
muttered
aloud
,
drunk
with
conviction
:
"
Let
the
Jews
and
Pagans
mock
.
Let
them
triumph
,
for
their
time
is
short
.
And
for
them
there
will
be
no
time
after
time
.
"
I
talked
to
myself
aloud
a
great
deal
on
that
rocky
shelf
overlooking
the
river
.
I
was
feverish
,
and
on
occasion
I
drank
sparingly
of
water
from
a
stinking
goatskin
.
This
goatskin
I
kept
hanging
in
the
sun
that
the
stench
of
the
skin
might
increase
and
that
there
might
be
no
refreshment
of
coolness
in
the
water
.
Food
there
was
,
lying
in
the
dirt
on
my
cave-floor
--
a
few
roots
and
a
chunk
of
mouldy
barley-cake
;
and
hungry
I
was
,
although
I
did
not
eat
.
All
I
did
that
blessed
,
livelong
day
was
to
sweat
and
swelter
in
the
sun
,
mortify
my
lean
flesh
upon
the
rock
,
gaze
out
of
the
desolation
,
resurrect
old
memories
,
dream
dreams
,
and
mutter
my
convictions
aloud
.
And
when
the
sun
set
,
in
the
swift
twilight
I
took
a
last
look
at
the
world
so
soon
to
pass
.
About
the
feet
of
the
colossi
I
could
make
out
the
creeping
forms
of
beasts
that
laired
in
the
once
proud
works
of
men
.
And
to
the
snarls
of
the
beasts
I
crawled
into
my
hole
,
and
,
muttering
and
dozing
,
visioning
fevered
fancies
and
praying
that
the
last
day
come
quickly
,
I
ebbed
down
into
the
darkness
of
sleep
.
*
*
*
*
*
Consciousness
came
back
to
me
in
solitary
,
with
the
quartet
of
torturers
about
me
.
