He advances toward the Guardian irresolutely, in zigzag movements; lies down on his belly and crawls, wailing with longing and fear.

Oh, I the prince of darkness, wise and powerful, and yet you see—I am crawling on my belly like a dog. And I am doing it because I love you, I want to kiss the hem of your cloak. But why does my old heart ache so much? Tell me, Omniscient.

GUARDIAN.

The accursed one has no heart.

ANATHEMA.

CONTENTS

Advancing.

Yes, yes. The accursed has no heart, his chest is mute and motionless like the grey rock which does not breathe. Oh, if Anathema had a heart, you would have destroyed him long ago by his sufferings, even as you destroy the foolish man. But Anathema has a mind that is searching for the Truth, unprotected against your blows—spare it.... Here I am at your feet, reveal your face to me. Only for an instant, as brief as the flash of lightning,—reveal your face to me.

He cringes servilely at the feet of the Guardian, not daring, however, to touch his cloak. He is vainly endeavoring to lower his eyes, which are quick and searching, sharp, flashing like coals beneath grey ashes. The Guardian is silent and Anathema continues his fruitless and persistent entreaties.

Do you not want to do it? Then call the name of Him who is beyond the Gates. Call it in a soft voice, and no one will hear it; only I will know it, the wise Anathema, longing for Truth. Is it not true that it consists of seven letters? Or of six? Or of one? Tell me. Only one letter—and you will save the accursed one from eternal tortures, and the earth, which I am tearing with my nails, will bless you. You may say it softly, softly, you may only breathe it, and I shall understand it, and I shall bless you.... Tell me.

CONTENTS

The Guardian is silent, and Anathema, after some hesitation, full of fury, crawls away slowly, growing holder with every step.

It is not true that I love you.... It is not true that I wanted to kiss the hem of your cloak.... I feel sorry for you, if you believed me.... I simply have nothing to do, so I roam about in the world.... I have nothing to do, so I question the passers-by about this and that,—about things I know myself.... I know 

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