I was passing along the street when a beggar, a decrepit old man,
stopped me.
Swollen, tearful eyes, blue lips, bristling rags, unclean sores.... Oh,
how horribly had poverty gnawed that unhappy being!
He stretched out to me a red, bloated, dirty hand.... He moaned, he
bellowed for help.
I began to rummage in all my pockets.... Neither purse, nor watch, nor
even handkerchief did I find.... I had taken nothing with me.
And the beggar still waited ... and extended his hand, which swayed and
trembled feebly.
Bewildered, confused, I shook that dirty, tremulous hand heartily....
"Blame me not, brother; I have nothing, brother."
The beggar man fixed his swollen eyes upon me; his blue lips smiled--and
in his turn he pressed my cold fingers.
"Never mind, brother," he mumbled. "Thanks for this also, brother.--This
also is an alms, brother."