" And it seemed to
Hyzlo that he had just awakened from a bizarre dream of a monastic cell,
to more beautiful sights and shapes and sounds. The pair now traversed
the quay, past the signal masts, the fortified towers, pushing through
the throng of sailors, courtesans, philosophers, fruitsellers, soldiers,
beggars, and idle rich toward the spacious city. Past the palace to the
wall of the Canal, along the banks of the Royal Port, they finally
struck into a broad, deserted avenue. At its head was a garden wall.
Philo introduced himself and his companion through a low door and
presently they were both in an apartment full of parchments, glittering
brass and gold instruments all reposing on a wide, long table.
"Hyzlo," said the Jewish philosopher, in his slightly accented Greek, "I
have long promised you that I would reveal to you my secret, my life
work. I am downcast by sadness. Rome is full of warring cults, Greek,
African, Babylonian, Buddhistic; the writings of the great teachers, the
masters, Heraclitus, Zeno, Anaxagoras, Plato, Socrates, Epictetus,
Seneca, are overlaid with heretical emendations.
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