Seized with terror, I now began to run, but, alas, I had worse
experiences in store for me. I was compelled to pass the principal
square in the center of the city before I could reach a place of
safety. When I reached this square, it had the appearance of a
veritable battlefield. It was Sunday morning, and the partisans of
rival bishops, differing in their interpretation of theological
doctrines, were fighting each other like maddened, malignant
creatures. One could hear, over the babel of discordant yells,
scriptural phrases. The words, "The Son is equal to the Father," "The
Father is greater than the Son," "He is begotten of the same substance
as the Father," "He is of like substance, but not of the same
substance," "You are a heretic," "You are an atheist," were invariably
accompanied with blows, stabs and sword thrusts, until, as an eye-
witness, I can take an oath that I saw the streets leading out of the
square deluged with palpitating human blood. Suddenly the commander of
the cavalry, Hermogenes, rode upon the scene of feud and bloodshed. He
ordered the followers of the rival bishops to disperse, but instead of
minding his authority, the zealots of both sides rushed upon his
horse, tore the rider from the saddle and began to beat him with clubs
and stones which they picked up from the street. He managed to escape
into a house close by, but the religious rabble surrounded the house
and set fire to it. Hermogenes appeared at the window, begging for his
life. He was attacked again, and killed, and his mangled body dragged
through the streets and rushed into a ditch.

The spectacle inflamed me, being a sectarian myself. I felt ashamed
that I was not showing an equal zeal for _my_ party. I, too, longed to
fight, to kill, to be killed, for my religion. And, anon! the
opportunity presented itself. I saw, looking up the street to my
right, a group of my fellow-believers, who, like myself, shut out of