Chapter VII: Part 7

I was then away on a journey. But in my absence, and without consulting me, my father ordained me a priest and sent me the priestly habit.

These tidings reached me in Tiberina, at my country house, where I was passing some days with my brother and with the friend of my youth, Basil of Caesarea.

Sire—had my sentence of death been read to me, it could not have appalled me more than this.

I a priest! I wished it, and I wished it not. I felt it must be—and yet my courage failed. I wrestled with God the Lord, as the patriarch wrestled with him in the days of the old covenant. What passed in my soul during the night which followed, I cannot tell. But this I know that, ere the cock crew, I talked face to face with the Crucified One.—Then I was his.

JULIAN.

Folly, folly; I know those dreams.

GREGORY.

On my homeward journey I passed through Caesarea. Oh, what misery met me there! I found the town full of fugitive country people, who had forsaken house and home because the drought had burnt up their crops, and laid all the vineyards and olive-gardens desolate. To escape starvation they had fled to the starving. There they lay—men, women, and children—in heaps along the walls of the houses; fever shook them, famine gnawed their entrails. What had Caesarea to offer them—that impoverished, unhappy town, as yet but half rebuilt after the great earthquake of two years ago? And in the midst of this, amid scorching heat and frequent earthquake-shocks, we had to see ungodly festivals going on day and night. The ruined altars were hastily rebuilt; the blood of sacrifices ran in streams; mummers and harlots paraded the streets with dance and song.

Sire—can you wonder that my much-tried brethren thought they saw in the visitation that had come upon them a judgment of heaven because they had so long tolerated heathenism and its scandalous symbols in their midst?

JULIAN.

What symbols do you mean?

GREGORY.

The cry of the terror-stricken and fevered multitude rose ever higher; they demanded that the rulers of the city should give a palpable witness for Christ by ordering the destruction of what still remains of the former glory of heathendom in Caesarea.

JULIAN.

You cannot mean to say that——?

GREGORY.

The magistrates of the city called a meeting, where I too was present. You know, most gracious Emperor, that all temples are the property of the city; so that the citizens have the right to dispose of them at their own free will.

JULIAN.

Well, well; what if it were so?

GREGORY.

In that terrible earthquake that ravaged Caesarea two years ago, all the temples but one were destroyed.

JULIAN.

Yes, yes; the temple of Fortuna.

GREGORY.

At the meeting whereof I speak, the congregation determined to complete God’s work of judgment, in testimony that they would trust wholly and solely to him, and no longer tolerate the abomination in their midst.

JULIAN.

[_Hoarsely._] Gregory,—once my friend—do you hold your life dear?

GREGORY.

This resolution I did not myself approve, but almost all voices were in favour of it. But as we feared that the matter might be represented to you falsely, and might, perhaps, incense you against the city, it was determined to send a man hither to announce to you what we have resolved, and what will presently happen.

Great ruler,—no one else was found willing to undertake the task. It fell perforce to me. Therefore it is, sire, that I stand here before you in all humility, to announce that we Christians in Caesarea have resolved that the temple where the heathen in bygone days worshipped a false deity, under the name of Fortuna, shall be pulled down and levelled with the ground.

JULIAN.

[_Springing up._] And I must listen to this with my own ears: One single man dares to tell me such unheard-of things!

COURTIERS, ORATORS, AND POETS.

O pious Emperor, do not suffer it! Punish this audacious man!

HEKEBOLIUS.

He is distraught, sire! Let him go. See,—the frenzy glitters in his eyes.

JULIAN.

Ay, it may well be called madness. But ’tis more than madness. To dream of pulling down that excellent temple, dedicated to a no less excellent divinity! Is it not to the favour of this very goddess that I ascribe my achievements, the fame of which has reached the remotest nations? Were I to suffer this, how could I ever again hope for victory or prosperity?—Gregory, I command you to return to Caesarea and give the citizens to understand that I forbid this outrage.

GREGORY.

Impossible, sire! The matter has come to such a pass that we have to choose between the fear of man and obedience to God. We cannot draw back.

JULIAN.

Then you shall feel how far the Emperor’s arm can stretch!

GREGORY.

The Emperor’s arm is mighty in earthly things; and I, like others, tremble under it.

JULIAN.

Show it, then, in deeds! Ah, you Galileans, you reckon upon my long-suffering. Do not trust to it; for truly——

_A noise at the entrance. The barber, EUNAPIUS, followed by
several citizens, rushes in._

JULIAN.

What is this? Eunapius, what has befallen you?

EUNAPIUS.

Oh that my eyes should see such a sight!

JULIAN.

What sight have you seen?

EUNAPIUS.

Behold, most gracious Emperor, I come bleeding and bruised, yet happy to be the first to call down your wrath——

JULIAN.

Speak, man;—who has beaten you?

EUNAPIUS.

Permit me, sire, to lay my complaint before you.

I went forth from the town this morning to visit the little temple of Venus which you have lately restored. When I came thither, the music of flutes and singing greeted my ears. Women were dancing gracefully in the outer court, and within I found the whole space filled with a rapturous crowd, while at the altar priests were offering up the sacrifices you have ordained.

JULIAN.

Yes, yes; and then——?

EUNAPIUS.

Scarcely had I had time to turn my thoughts in devotion toward that enchanting goddess, whom I especially revere and worship,—when a great crowd of young men forced their way into the temple——

JULIAN.

Not Galileans?

EUNAPIUS.

Yes, sire,—Galileans.

JULIAN.

Ah!

EUNAPIUS.

What a scene followed! Weeping under the assailants’ insults and blows, the dancing-girls fled from the outer court to us within. The Galileans fell upon us all, belaboured us and affronted us in the most shameful manner.

JULIAN.

[_Descending from his throne._] Wait, wait!

EUNAPIUS.

Alas, would that their violence had fallen on us alone! But the madmen went further. Yes, gracious Emperor—in one word, the altar is overthrown, the statue of the goddess dashed to pieces, the entrails of the sacrifices cast out to the dogs——

JULIAN.

[_Pacing up and down._] Wait, wait, wait!

GREGORY.

Sire, this one man’s word is not enough——

JULIAN.

Be silent!

[_To EUNAPIUS._] Did you know any of the sacrilegious crew?

EUNAPIUS.

Not I, sire; but these citizens knew many of them.

JULIAN.

Take a guard with you. Seize as many of the wretches as you can. Cast them into prison. The prisoners shall give up the names of the rest; and when I have them all in my power——

GREGORY.

What then, sire?

JULIAN.

Ask the executioner. Both you and the citizens of Caesarea shall be taught what you have to expect if, in your Galilean obstinacy, you should abide by your resolve.

[_The Emperor goes out in great wrath, to the left; EUNAPIUS and
his witnesses retire with the watch; the others disperse._

SCENE SECOND.

_A market-place in Antioch. In front, on the right, a street debouches
into the market; to the left, at the back, there is a view into a
narrow and crooked street._

_A great concourse of people fills the market. Hucksters cry their
wares. In several places the townspeople have gathered into
clusters, talking eagerly._

A CITIZEN.

Good God of heaven, when did this misfortune happen?

ANOTHER CITIZEN.

This morning, I tell you; quite early this morning.

PHOCION THE DYER.

[_Who has entered from the street on the right._] My good man, do you think it is fitting to call this a misfortune? I call it a crime, and a most audacious crime to boot.

THE SECOND CITIZEN.

Yes, yes; that is quite true; it was a most audacious thing to do.

PHOCION.

Only think—of course it is the outrage on the temple of Venus you are talking of? Only think of their choosing a time when the Emperor was in the city——! And this day, too, of all others—a day——

A THIRD CITIZEN.

[_Drawing near._] Tell me, good friend, what is the matter——?

PHOCION.

This day of all others, I say, when our august ruler is himself to officiate at the feast of Apollo.

THE THIRD CITIZEN.

Yes, I know that; but why are they taking these Christians to prison?

PHOCION.

What? Are they taking them to prison? Have they really caught them?

[_Loud shrieks are heard._

Hush; what is that? Yes, by the gods, I believe they have them!

[_An OLD WOMAN, much agitated, and with dishevelled hair, makes
her way through the crowd; she is beset by other women, who
in vain seek to restrain her._

THE OLD WOMAN.

I will not be held back! He is my only son, the child of my old age! Let me go; let me go! Can no one tell me where I can find the Emperor?

PHOCION.

What would you with the Emperor, old mother?

THE OLD WOMAN.

I would have my son again. Help me! My son! Hilarion! Oh, they have taken him from me! They burst into our house—and then they took him away!

ONE OF THE CITIZENS.

[_To PHOCION._] Who is this woman?

PHOCION.

What? Know you not the widow Publia,—the psalm-singer?

CITIZEN.

Ah, yes, yes, yes!

PUBLIA.

Hilarion! my child! What will they do to him? Ah, Phocion,—are you there? God be praised for sending me a Christian brother——!

PHOCION.

Hush, hush, be quiet; do not scream so loud; the Emperor is coming.

PUBLIA.

Oh, this ungodly Emperor! The Lord of Wrath is visiting his sins upon us; famine ravages the land; the earth trembles beneath our feet!

[_A detachment of soldiers enters by the street on the right._

THE COMMANDER OF THE DETACHMENT.

Stand aside; make room here!

PUBLIA.

Oh come, good Phocion;—help me, for our friendship’s and our fellowship’s sake——

PHOCION.

Are you mad, woman? I do not know you.

PUBLIA.

What? You do not know me? Are you not Phocion the dyer? Are you not the son of——?

PHOCION.

I am not the son of anybody. Get you gone, woman! You are mad! I do not know you; I have never seen you.

[_He hastens in among the crowd._

A SUBALTERN.

[_With soldiers, from the right._] Clear the way here!

[_The soldiers force the multitude back towards the houses. Old
PUBLIA faints in the arms of the women on the left. All gaze
expectantly down the street._

PHOCION.

[_In a knot of people behind the guard, to the right._] Yes, by the Sun-God, there he comes, the blessed Emperor!

A SOLDIER.

Do not push so, behind there!

PHOCION.

Can you see him? The man with the white fillet round his brow, that is the Emperor.

A CITIZEN.

The man all in white?

PHOCION.

Yes, yes, that is he.

THE CITIZEN.

Why is he dressed in white?

PHOCION.

Doubtless because of the heat; or,—no, stop,—I think it is as the sacrificing priest that he——

A SECOND CITIZEN.

Will the Emperor himself offer the sacrifice?

PHOCION.

Yes, the Emperor Julian does everything himself.

A THIRD CITIZEN.

He does not look so powerful as the Emperor Constantius.

PHOCION.

I think he does. He is not so tall as the late Emperor; but his arms are longer. And then his glance——oh my friends——! You cannot see it just now; his eyes are modestly lowered as he walks. Yes, modest he is, I can tell you. He has no eye for women. I dare swear that since his wife’s death he has but seldom——; you see, he writes the whole night. That is why his fingers are often as black as a dyer’s; just like mine; for I am a dyer. I can tell you I know the Emperor better than most people. I was born here in Antioch; but I have lived fifteen years in Constantinople, until very lately——

A CITIZEN.

Is there aught, think you, in the rumour that the Emperor is minded to settle here for good?

PHOCION.

I know the Emperor’s barber, and he reports it so. Let us trust these shameful disturbances may not incense him too much.

A CITIZEN.

Alas, alas, that were a pity indeed!

A SECOND CITIZEN.

If the Emperor lived here, ’twould bring something in to all of us.

PHOCION.

’Twas on that reckoning that I returned here. So now we must do our best, friends; when the Emperor comes past, we must shout lustily both for him and for Apollo.

A CITIZEN.

[_To another_.] Who is this Apollo, that people begin to talk so much about?

THE OTHER CITIZEN.

Why, ’tis the priest of Corinth,—he who watered what the holy Paul had planted.

THE FIRST CITIZEN.

Ay, ay; to be sure; I think I remember now.

PHOCION.

No, no, no, ’tis not that Apollo; ’tis another one entirely;—this is the Sun-King—the great lyre-playing Apollo.

THE OTHER CITIZEN.

Ah indeed; _that_ Apollo! Is he better?

PHOCION.

I should think so, indeed.—Look, look, there he comes. Oh, our most blessed Emperor!

_The EMPEROR JULIAN, robed as a high priest, enters, surrounded by
priests and servants of the temple. Courtiers and learned men,
among whom is HEKEBOLIUS, have joined the procession; likewise
citizens. Before the Emperor go flute-players and harpers.
Soldiers and men of the city guard, with long staves, clear the
way before the procession and on either side._

THE MULTITUDE.

[_Clapping their hands._] Praise to the Emperor! Praise to Julian, hero and benefactor!

PHOCION.

All hail to Julian and to the Sun-King! Long live Apollo!

THE CITIZENS.

[_In the foreground, on the right._] Emperor, Emperor, stay long among us!

[_Julian makes a sign for the procession to stop._

JULIAN.

Citizens of Antioch! It were hard for me to name anything that could more rejoice my heart than these inspiriting acclamations. And my heart stands sorely in need of this refreshment.

It was with a downcast spirit that I set forth on this procession, which should be one of joy and exaltation. Nay, more; I will not hide from you that I was this morning on the verge of losing that equanimity which it behoves a lover of wisdom to preserve under all trials.

But can any one chide me for it? I would have you all remember what outrages are threatened elsewhere, and have already been committed here.

PUBLIA.

My lord, my lord!

PHOCION.

Oh pious and righteous Emperor, punish these desperate men!

PUBLIA.

My lord, give me back my Hilarion!

PHOCION.

All good citizens implore your favour towards this city.

JULIAN.

Seek to win the favour of the gods, and of mine you need have no doubt. And surely it is fitting that Antioch should lead the way. Does it not seem as though the Sun-God’s eye had dwelt with especial complacency on this city? Ask of travellers, and you shall hear to what melancholy extremes fanaticism has elsewhere proceeded in laying waste our holy places. What is left? A remnant here and there; and nothing of the best.

But with you, citizens of Antioch! Oh, my eyes filled with tears of joy when first I saw that incomparable sanctuary, the very house of Apollo, which seems scarcely to be the work of human hands. Does not the image of the Glorious One stand within it, in unviolated beauty? Not a corner of his altar has broken or crumbled away, not a crack is to be seen in the stately columns.

Oh, when I think of this,—when I feel the fillet round my brow—when I look down upon these garments, dearer to me than the purple robe of empire, then I feel, with a sacred tremor, the presence of the god.

See, see, the sunlight quivers around us in its glory!

Feel, feel, the air is teeming with the perfume of fresh-woven garlands!

Beautiful earth! The home of light and life, the home of joy, the home of happiness and beauty;—what thou wast shalt thou again become!—In the embrace of the Sun-King! Mithra, Mithra!

Forward on our victorious way!

[_The procession moves on again, amid the plaudits of the crowd;
those in front come to a stop at the mouth of the narrow
street, through which another procession enters the
market-place._

JULIAN.

What hinders us?

HEKEBOLIUS.

Gracious lord, there is something amiss in the other street.

SONG.

[_Far off._

Blissful our pangs, be they never so cruel;
Blissful our rising, the death-struggle o’er.

PHOCION.

The Galileans, sire! They have them!

PUBLIA.

Hilarion!

PHOCION.

They have them! I hear the fetters——

JULIAN.

Pass them by——!

EUNAPIUS.

[_Hastening through the press._] We have succeeded marvellously, sire.

JULIAN.

Who are they, these ruffians?

EUNAPIUS.

Some of them belong to this city; but most, it seems, are peasants fleeing from Cappadocia.

JULIAN.

I will not see them. Forward, as I commanded!

THE PRISONERS’ SONG.
[_Nearer._

Blissful our crowning with martyrdom’s jewel;
Blissful our meeting with saints gone before.

JULIAN.

The madmen. Not so near to me! My guard, my guard!

[_The two processions have meanwhile encountered each other in
the crush. The procession of Apollo has to stand still while
the other, with the prisoners—men in chains, surrounded by
soldiers, and accompanied by a great concourse of
people—passes on._

PUBLIA.

My child! Hilarion!

HILARION.

[_Among the prisoners._] Rejoice, my mother!

JULIAN.

Poor deluded creatures! When I hear madness thus speaking in you, I almost doubt whether I have the right to punish you.

ANOTHER VOICE.

[_Among the prisoners._] Stand aside; take not from us our crown of thorns.

JULIAN.

Night and horror,—what voice is that?

THE LEADER OF THE GUARD.

’Twas this one, sire, who spoke.

[_He pushes one of the prisoners forward, a young man, who leads
a half-grown lad by the hand._

JULIAN.

[_With a cry._] Agathon!

[_THE PRISONER looks at him, and is silent._

Agathon, Agathon! Answer me; are you not Agathon?

THE PRISONER.

I am.

JULIAN.

You among these? Speak to me?

AGATHON.

I know you not!

JULIAN.

You do not know me? You know not who I am?

AGATHON.

I know you are the lord of the earth; therefore you are not my lord.

JULIAN.

And the boy——? Is he your young brother?

[_To the leader of the guard._

This man must be innocent.

EUNAPIUS.

My lord, this man is the very ringleader. He has confessed it; he even glories in his deed.

JULIAN.

So strangely can hunger, and sickness, and misfortune disorder a man’s mind.

[_To the prisoners._

If you will but say, in one word, that you repent, none of you shall suffer.

PUBLIA.

[_Shrieks._] Say it not, Hilarion!

AGATHON.

Be strong, dear brother!

PUBLIA.

Go, go to what awaits you, my only one!

JULIAN.

Hear and bethink you, you others——

AGATHON.

[_To the prisoners._] Choose between Christ and the Emperor!

THE PRISONERS.

Glory to God in the highest!

JULIAN.

Terrible is the Galilean’s power of delusion. It must be broken. Pass them by, the abominable crew! They cloud our gladness; they darken the day with their brooding death-hunger!—Flute-players—men, women—why are you silent? A song—a song in praise of life, and light, and happiness.

THE PROCESSION OF APOLLO.
[_Sings._

Gladsome with roses our locks to entwine;
Gladsome to bathe in the sunlight divine!

THE PROCESSION OF PRISONERS.

Blissful to sleep ’neath the blood-reeking sod;
Blissful to wake in the gardens of God.

THE PROCESSION OF APOLLO.

Gladsome ’mid incense-clouds still to draw breath.

THE PROCESSION OF PRISONERS.

Blissful in blood-streams to strangle to death.

THE PROCESSION OF APOLLO.

Ever for him who his godhead adoreth
Deep draughts of rapture Apollo outpoureth.

THE PROCESSION OF PRISONERS.

Bones racked and riven, flesh seared to a coal,
He shall make whole!

THE PROCESSION OF APOLLO.

Gladsome to bask in the light-sea that laves us!

THE PROCESSION OF PRISONERS.

Blissful to writhe in the blood-death that saves us!

[_The processions pass each other during the singing. The crowd
in the market-place looks on in dull silence._

SCENE THIRD.

_The sacred grove around the temple of Apollo. The portico, supported by
columns, and approached by a broad flight of steps, is seen among
the trees in the background, on the left._

_A number of people are rushing about in the grove with loud cries of
terror. Far away is heard the music of the procession._

WOMEN.

Mercy! The earth is quaking again!

A MAN IN FLIGHT.

Oh horror! Thunder beneath our feet——!

ANOTHER MAN.

Was it indeed so? Was it the earth that shook?

A WOMAN.

Did you not feel it? That tree there swayed so that the branches whistled through the air.

MANY VOICES.

Hark, hark, hark!

SOME.

’Tis the roll of chariots on the pavements.

OTHERS.

’Tis the sound of drums. Hark to the music——, the Emperor is coming!

[_The procession of Apollo advances from the right through the
grove, and stations itself amid music of flutes and harps,
in a semicircle in front of the temple._

JULIAN.

[_Turning towards the temple, with upstretched hands._] I accept the omen!——

Never have I felt myself in such close communion with the immortal gods.

The Bow-Wielder is among us. The earth thunders beneath his tread, as when of old he stamped in wrath upon the Trojan shore.

But ’tis not on us he frowns. ’Tis on those unhappy wretches who hate him and his sunlit realm.

Yes,—as surely as good or evil fortune affords the true measure of the gods’ favour towards mortals,—so surely is the difference here made manifest between them and us.

Where are the Galileans now? Some under the executioner’s hands, others flying through the narrow streets, ashy pale with terror, their eyes starting from their heads—a shriek between their half-clenched teeth—their hair stiffening with dread, or torn out in despair.

And where are we? Here in Daphne’s pleasant grove, where the dryads’ balmy breath cools our brows,—here, before the glorious temple of the glorious god, lapped in the melodies of flute and lyre,—here, in light, in happiness, in safety, the god himself made manifest among us.

Where is the God of the Galileans? Where is the Jew, the carpenter’s crucified son? Let him manifest himself. Nay, not he!

’Tis fitting, then, that we should throng the sanctuary. There, with my own hands, I will perform the services which are so far from appearing to me mean and unbecoming, that I, on the contrary, esteem them above all others.

[_He advances at the head of the procession, through the
multitude, towards the temple._

A VOICE.

[_Calling out in the throng._] Stay, ungodly one!

JULIAN.

A Galilean among us?

THE SAME VOICE.

No further, blasphemer!

JULIAN.

Who is he that speaks?

OTHER VOICES IN THE CROWD.

A Galilean priest. A blind old man. Here he stands.

OTHERS AGAIN.

Away, away, with the shameless wretch!

[_A blind OLD MAN, in priestly garments, and supported by two
younger men, also dressed as priests, is pushed forward till
he stands at the foot of the temple steps, facing the
Emperor._

JULIAN.

Ah, what do I see? Tell me, old man, are not you Bishop Maris, of Chalcedon?

THE OLD MAN.

Yes, I am that unworthiest servant of the Church.

JULIAN.

“Unworthiest,” you call yourself; and I think you are not far wrong. If I mistake not, you have been one of the foremost in stirring up internal strife among the Galileans.

BISHOP MARIS.

I have done that which weighs me still deeper down in penitence. When you seized the empire, and rumour told of your bent of mind, my heart was beleagured with unspeakable dread. Blind and enfeebled by age, I could not conceive the thought of setting myself up against the mighty monarch of the world. Yes,—God have mercy on me—I forsook the flock I was appointed to guard, shrank timidly from all the perils that gathered frowning around the Lord’s people, and sought shelter here, in my Syrian villa——

JULIAN.

In truth a strange story! And you, timid as you say you are, you, who formerly prized the Emperor’s favour so highly, now step forth before me and fling insults in my very face!

BISHOP MARIS.

Now I fear you no longer; for now has Christ fully possessed my heart. In the Church’s hour of need, her light and glory burst upon me. All the blood you shed,—all the violence and wrong you do—cry out to heaven, and, re-echoing mightily, ring in my deaf ears, and show me, in my night of blindness, the way I have to go.

JULIAN.

Get you home, old man!

BISHOP MARIS.

Not till you have sworn to renounce your devilish courses. What would you do? Would dust rise up against the spirit? Would the lord of earth cast down the Lord of heaven? See you not that the day of wrath is upon us by reason of your sins? The fountains are parched like eyes that have wept themselves dry. The clouds, which ought to pour the manna of fruitfulness upon us, sweep over our heads, and shed no moisture. This earth, which has been cursed since the morning of time, quakes and trembles under the Emperor’s blood-guiltiness.

JULIAN.

What favour do you expect of your God for such excess of zeal, foolish old man? Do you hope that, as of old, your Galilean master will work a miracle, and give you back your sight?

BISHOP MARIS.

I have all the sight I desire; and I thank the Lord that he quenched my bodily vision, so that I am spared from seeing the man who walks in a darkness more terrible than mine.

JULIAN.

Let me pass!

BISHOP MARIS.

Whither?

JULIAN.

Into the Sun-King’s house.

BISHOP MARIS.

You shall not pass. I forbid you in the name of the only God!

JULIAN.

Frantic old man!—Away with him!

BISHOP MARIS.

Ay, lay hands upon me! But he who dares to do so, his hand shall wither. The God of Wrath shall manifest himself in his might——

JULIAN.

Your God is no mighty God. I will show you that the Emperor is stronger than he——

BISHOP MARIS.

Lost creature!—Then must I call down the ban upon thee, thou recreant son of the church!

HEKEBOLIUS.

[_Pale._] My lord and Emperor, let not this thing be!

BISHOP MARIS.

[_In a loud voice._] Cursed be thou, Julianus Apostata! Cursed be thou, Emperor Julian! God the Lord hath spat thee forth out of his mouth! Cursed be thine eyes and thy hands! Cursed be thy head and all thy doings!

Woe, woe, woe to the apostate! Woe, woe, woe——

[_A hollow rumbling noise is heard. The roof and columns of the
temple totter, and are seen to collapse with a thundering
crash, while the whole building is wrapped in a cloud of
dust. The multitude utter shrieks of terror; many flee,
others fall to the ground. There is breathless stillness for
a while. Little by little the cloud of dust settles, and the
temple of Apollo is seen in ruins._

BISHOP MARIS.

[_Whose two conductors have fled, stands alone, and says softly._] God has spoken.

JULIAN.

[_Pale, and in a low voice._] Apollo has spoken. His temple was polluted: therefore he crushed it.

BISHOP MARIS.

And I tell you it was that Lord who laid the temple of Jerusalem in ruins.

JULIAN.

If it be so, then the churches of the Galilean shall be closed, and his priests shall be driven with scourges to raise up that temple anew.

BISHOP MARIS.

Try, impotent man! Who has had power to restore the temple of Jerusalem since the Prince of Golgotha called down destruction upon it?

JULIAN.

I have the power! The Emperor has the power! Your God shall be made a liar. Stone by stone will I rebuild the temple of Jerusalem in all its glory, as it was in the days of Solomon.

BISHOP MARIS.

Not one stone shall you add to another; for it is accursed of the Lord.

JULIAN.

Wait, wait; you shall see—if you _could_ see—you who stand there forsaken and helpless, groping in the darkness, not knowing where you next may place your foot.

BISHOP MARIS.

Yet I see the glare of the lightning that shall one day fall upon you and yours.

[_He gropes his way out. JULIAN remains behind, surrounded by a
handful of pale and terrified attendants._

ACT THIRD.

SCENE FIRST.

_In Antioch. An open colonnade, with statues and a fountain in front of
it. To the left, under the colonnade, a flight of steps leads up
to the Imperial Palace._

_A company of Courtiers, Teachers, Poets, and Orators—among them the
court-physician, ORIBASES, and the poet, HERACLIUS—are assembled,
some in the colonnade, some around the fountain; most of them are
dressed in ragged cloaks, with matted hair and beards._

HERACLIUS.

I can endure this life no longer. To rise with the sun, plunge into a cold bath, run or fence oneself weary——

ORIBASES.

’Tis all very wholesome.

HERACLIUS.

Is it wholesome to eat seaweed and raw fish?

A COURTIER.

Is it wholesome to have to devour meat in _great_ lumps, all bloody, as it comes from the butcher?

HERACLIUS.

’Tis little enough meat I have seen for the past week. Most of it goes to the altars. Ere long, methinks, we shall be able to say that the ever-venerable gods are the only meat-eaters in Antioch.

ORIBASES.

Still the same old mocker, Heraclius.

HERACLIUS.

Why, of what are you thinking, friend? Far be it from me to mock at the Emperor’s wise decrees. Blessed be the Emperor Julian! Does he not follow in the footsteps of the immortals? For, tell me, does not a certain frugality seem nowadays to reign, even in the heavenly housekeeping?

A COURTIER.

Ha-ha-ha! There you are not far wrong.

HERACLIUS.

Look at Cybele, formerly so bounteous a goddess, whose statue the Emperor lately found in an ash-pit——

ANOTHER COURTIER.

It was in a dunghill——

HERACLIUS.

Like enough; fertilising is Cybele’s business. But look at this goddess, I say;—in spite of her hundred breasts, she flows neither with milk nor honey.

[_A circle of laughing hearers has gathered round him. While he
is speaking, the EMPEROR JULIAN has come forward on the
steps in the colonnade, unnoticed by_ _those below. He wears
a tattered cloak, with a girdle of rope; his hair and beard
are unkempt, his fingers stained with ink; in both hands,
under his arms, and stuck in his belt, he holds bundles of
parchment rolls and papers. He stops and listens to
HERACLIUS with every sign of exasperation._

HERACLIUS.

[_Continuing._] It seems as though this wet-nurse of the world had become barren. We might almost think that she had passed the age when women——

A COURTIER.

[_Observing JULIAN._] Fie, fie, Heraclius,—shame on you!

[_Julian signs to the courtier to be silent._

HERACLIUS.

[_Continuing._] Well, enough of her. But is Ceres in the same case? Does she not display a most melancholy—I had almost said an imperial—parsimony? Yes, believe me, if we had a little more intercourse with high Olympus nowadays, we should hear much to the same tune. I dare swear that nectar and ambrosia are measured out as sparingly as possible. Oh Zeus, how gaunt must thou have grown! Oh roguish Dionysus, how much is there left of the fulness of thy loins? Oh wanton, quick-flushing Venus,—oh Mars, inauspicious to married men——

JULIAN.

[_In great wrath._] Oh most shameless Heraclius! Oh scurvy, gall-spitting, venom-mouth——

HERACLIUS.

Ah, my gracious Emperor!

JULIAN.

Oh ribald scoffer at all sacred things! And this must I endure—to hear your croaking tongue the instant I leave my library to breathe the fresh morning air!

[_He comes nearer._

Know you what I hold under my left arm? No, you do not know. ’Tis a polemic against you, blasphemous and foolish Heraclius!

HERACLIUS.

What, my Emperor,—against me?

JULIAN.

Yes, a treatise against you. A treatise with which my indignation has this very night inspired me. Think you I could be other than wroth at your most unseemly behaviour yesterday? How strange was the licence you allowed yourself in the lecture-hall, in my hearing, and that of many other earnest men? Had we not to listen for hours together to the shameful fables about the gods which you must needs retail? How dared you repeat such fictions? Were they not lies, from first to last?

HERACLIUS.

Ah, my Emperor, if you call _that_ lying, then both Ovid and Lucian were liars.

JULIAN.

What else? Oh, I cannot express the indignation that seized me when I understood whither your impudent address was tending. “Man, let nothing surprise you,” I was tempted to say with the comic poet, when I heard you, like an ill-conditioned cur, barking forth, not expressions of gratitude, but a string of irrational nursery-tales, and ill-written to boot. For your verses were bad, Heraclius;—that I have proved in my treatise.

How I longed to arise and leave the hall when I saw you, as in a theatre, making a spectacle both of Dionysus and of the great immortal after whom you are named! If I constrained myself to keep my seat, I can assure you ’twas more out of respect to the players—if I dare call them so—than to the poet. But ’twas most of all for my own sake. I feared it might seem as though I were fleeing like a frightened dove. Therefore I made no sign, but quietly repeated to myself that verse of Homer:

“Bear it, my heart, for a time; heavier things hast thou suffered.”

Endure, as before, to hear a mad dog yelp at the eternal gods.

Yes, I see we must stomach this and more. We are fallen on evil days. Show me the happy man who has been suffered to keep his eyes and ears uncontaminated in this iron age!

ORIBASES.

I pray you, my noble master, be not so deeply moved. Let it comfort you that we all listened with displeasure to this man’s folly.

JULIAN.

That is in nowise the truth! I read in the countenances of most of you something far different from displeasure while this shameless mountebank was babbling forth his ribaldries, and then looking round the circle with a greasy smile, just as though he had done something to be proud of.

HERACLIUS.

Alas, my Emperor, I am most unhappy——

JULIAN.

That you may well be; for this is, in truth, no trifling matter. Think you the legends of the gods have not a serious and weighty purpose? Are they not destined to lead the human spirit, by an easy and pleasant path, up to the mystic abodes where reigns the highest god,—and thereby to make our souls capable of union with him? How can it be otherwise? Was it not with that view that the old poets invented such legends, and that Plato and others repeated them, and even added to their number? Apart from this purpose, I tell you, these stories would be fit only for children or barbarians,—and scarcely for them. But was it children and barbarians, pray, that you had before you yesterday? Where do you find the audacity to address me as if I were a child? Do you think yourself a sage, and entitled to a sage’s freedom of speech, because you wear a ragged cloak, and carry a beggar’s staff in your hand?

A COURTIER.

How true, my Emperor! No, no, it needs more than that.

JULIAN.

Ay? Does it indeed? And what? To let your hair grow, perhaps, and never clean your nails? Oh hypocritical Cleon! I know you, one and all. Here, in this treatise, I have given you a name which——; you shall hear——

_He searches through the bundles of papers. At that moment
LIBANIUS enters from the right, richly clad, and with a
haughty mien._

ORIBASES.

[_In a low tone._] Ah, you come in the nick of time, most honoured Libanius!

JULIAN.

[_Continuing his search._] Where can it be——

LIBANIUS.

[_To ORIBASES._] What mean you, friend?

ORIBASES.

The Emperor is much enraged; your coming will pacify him.

JULIAN.

Ah, here I have it——

[_With annoyance._

What does that man want?

ORIBASES.

Sire, this is——

JULIAN.

No matter, no matter! Now you shall hear whether I know you or not. There are among the wretched Galileans a number of madmen who call themselves penitents. These renounce all earthly possessions, and yet demand great gifts of the fools who treat them as holy men and almost as objects of worship. Behold, you are like these penitents, except that I shall give you nothing. For I am not so foolish as those others. Yes, yes, were I not firm on that point, you would soon overrun the whole court with your shamelessness. Nay, do you not already do so? Are there not many among you who would come again, even if I drove them away? Oh my dear friends, what can this lead to? Are you lovers of wisdom? Are you followers of Diogenes, whose garb and habits you ape? In truth, you do not haunt the schools nearly so much as you besiege my treasurer. What a pitiful and despicable thing has not wisdom become because of you! Oh, hypocrites and babblers without understanding! Oh you—— But what is yonder fat man seeking?

ORIBASES.

Sire, it is the chief magistrate of the city——

JULIAN.

The chief magistrate must wait. The matters we have in hand must take precedence of all meaner affairs. How now? Why this air of impatience? Is your business so weighty——

LIBANIUS.

By no means, sire; I can come another day.

[_He is going._

ORIBASES.

Sire, do you not recognise this distinguished man? This is the rhetorician Libanius.

JULIAN.

What? Libanius? Impossible. Libanius here—the incomparable Libanius! I cannot believe it.

LIBANIUS.

I thought the Emperor knew that the citizens of Antioch had chosen me as their chief magistrate.

JULIAN.

Assuredly I knew it. But when I made my entrance into the city, and the magistrates came forth to greet me with an oration, I looked in vain for Libanius. Libanius was not among them.

LIBANIUS.

The Emperor had uttered no wish to hear Libanius speak on that occasion.

JULIAN.

The orator Libanius ought to have known what were the Emperor’s wishes in that respect.

LIBANIUS.

Libanius knew not what changes time and absence might have wrought. Libanius therefore judged it more becoming to take his place among the multitude. He chose, indeed, a sufficiently conspicuous position; but the Emperor deigned not to let his eyes fall on him.

JULIAN.

I thought you received my letter the day after——

LIBANIUS.

Your new friend Priscus brought it to me.

JULIAN.

And none the less—perhaps all the more—you held aloof——?

LIBANIUS.

Headache and weighty business——

JULIAN.

Ah, Libanius, in bygone days you were not so chary of your presence.

LIBANIUS.

I come where I am bidden. Ought I to be intrusive? Would you have me stand in the way of the Emperor’s much-honoured Maximus?

JULIAN.

Maximus never appears at court.

LIBANIUS.

And for good reason. Maximus holds a court of his own. The Emperor has conceded him a whole palace.

JULIAN.

Oh my Libanius, have I not conceded you my heart? How can you envy Maximus his palace?

LIBANIUS.

I envy no man. I do not even envy my colleagues Themistius and Mamertinus, although you have conferred on them such signal proofs of your favour. Nor do I envy Hekebolius, whose wealth you have increased by such princely presents. I even rejoice to be the only man to whom you have given nothing. For I well know the reason of the exception. You wish the cities of your empire to abound in everything, and most of all in oratory, knowing that it is that distinction which marks us off from the barbarians. Now you feared that I, like certain others, might, if you gave me riches, become lukewarm in my art. The Emperor has therefore preferred to let the teacher of his youth remain poor, in order to hold him the closer to his craft. Thus do I interpret a course of action which has astonished some whom I forbear to name. ’Tis for the honour and well-being of the state that you have given me nothing. I am to lack riches that I may abound in eloquence.

JULIAN.

And I, my Libanius, have also understood the reason why the teacher of my youth has let me pass many months here in Antioch without presenting himself. Libanius doubtless deemed that any services his former pupil may have rendered to the gods, to the state, or to learning, were not great enough to deserve celebration by the man who is called the king of eloquence. Libanius no doubt thought that meaner orators were better fitted to deal with such trivial things. Moreover, Libanius has remained silent out of care for the balance of my mind. You feared, doubtless, to see the Emperor intoxicated with arrogance, reeling like one who in his thirst has drunk too deeply of the leaf-crowned wine-bowl, had you lavished on him any of that art which is the marvel of Greece, and raised him, so to speak, to the level of the gods, by pouring out before him so precious a libation.

LIBANIUS.

Ah, my Emperor, if I could believe that my oratory possessed such power——

JULIAN.

And why should you not believe it, incomparable friend? Oh, leave me. I am wroth with you, Libanius. But it is the lover’s anger against the one he loves.

LIBANIUS.

Is it indeed so? Oh my crowned brother, let me then tell you that not a day has passed since your coming hither on which I have not cursed the steadfastness that would not let me make the first advance. My friends assured me—not without some show of reason—that you had undertaken this long journey chiefly in order to see me and hear me speak. But Julian himself gave no sign. What was I to do? Should I flatter as Emperor him whom I loved as a man?

JULIAN.

[_Embracing and kissing him._] My Libanius!

LIBANIUS.

[_Kissing the Emperor in return._] My friend and brother!

ORIBASES.

How honourable to both!

COURTIERS AND TEACHERS.

[_Clapping their hands._] How beautiful! How sublime!

JULIAN.

Libanius, cruel friend,—how could you find it in your heart to balk me so long of this happy moment? During the weeks and months I have waited for you, my countenance has been veiled in Scythian darkness.

LIBANIUS.

Alas, you were in better case than I; for you had those to whom you could speak about your absent friend.

JULIAN.

Say not so. I had only the hapless lover’s comfort: that of sorrowfully repeating your name, and crying out: “Libanius, Libanius!”

LIBANIUS.

Ah, whilst you spoke thus to empty air, I spoke to the four walls of my chamber. Most of the day I passed in bed, picturing to myself who was then with you—now this one, now that. “Once it was otherwise,” I said to myself,—“then it was I who possessed Julian’s ear.”

JULIAN.

And meanwhile you let me pine away with longing. Look at me. Have I not grown a century older?

LIBANIUS.

Oh, have I not suffered as great a change? You did not recognise me.

JULIAN.

This meeting has been to both of us as a bath, from which we go forth healed.

[_They embrace and kiss again._

And now, beloved friend, now tell me what has brought you hither to-day; for I cannot doubt that you have some special errand.

LIBANIUS.

To say nothing of my longing—so it is. Would that another had been sent in my stead! But the post of honour to which the confidence of the citizens has summoned me makes it my duty to perform all missions alike.

JULIAN.

Speak, my Libanius, and tell me how I can serve you.

LIBANIUS.

Let me begin by saying that the inhabitants of this city are sunk in sorrow because you have withdrawn your favour from them.

JULIAN.

H’m——!

LIBANIUS.

And this sorrow has been coupled with anxiety and disquiet since Alexander, the new governor, assumed office.

JULIAN.

Aha; indeed!

LIBANIUS.

The exaltation of such a man could not but take us by surprise. Alexander has hitherto filled only trifling offices, and that in a manner little calculated to earn him either the respect or the affection of the citizens.

JULIAN.

I know that well, Libanius!

LIBANIUS.

Alexander is violent in all his dealings, and justice is of little moment in his eyes——

JULIAN.

I know it; I know all you tell me. Alexander is a rough man, without morals and without eloquence. Alexander has in no way deserved so great advancement. But you may tell the citizens of Antioch that they have deserved Alexander. Ay, they have, if possible, deserved a still worse ruler, covetous and intractable as they are——

LIBANIUS.

It is, then, as we feared; this is a punishment——

JULIAN.

Hear me, Libanius! How did I come hither? With full confidence in the people of this city. Antioch, chosen by the Sun-King for his especial seat, was to help me to repair all the wrong and ingratitude which had so long been shown to the immortals. But how have you met me? Some with defiance, others with lukewarmness. What have I not to endure here? Does not that Cappadocian, Gregory of Nazianzus, still wander about the city, stirring up the ignorant Galileans by his audacious speeches? Has not a poet arisen among them—a certain Apollinaris—who, with his wild songs, inflames their fanaticism to the point of madness?

And what do I not learn from other places? In Caesarea, have they not carried out their threat, and wrecked the temple of Fortuna! Oh shame and infamy! Where were the goddess’s worshippers the while? Did they prevent it? No, they did not lift a finger, Libanius, though they should have laid down life itself to preserve the sanctuary.

But wait, wait! The Galileans of Caesarea shall atone with their blood, and the whole city shall go up in flames as soon as I have time at my disposal.

LIBANIUS.

My lord and friend,—if you would permit me——

JULIAN.

Permit me, first. Say yourself whether I ought to tolerate such things? Say whether my zeal can bear with such insults to the divinities who hover over and shield me? But what can I do? Have I not laboured through many a long night to disprove these unhappy delusions,—writing, Libanius, till my eyes were red, and my fingers black with ink? And what good, think you, has it done? I have reaped scorn instead of thanks, not only from the fanatics themselves, but even from men who pretend to share my opinions. And now, to crown all these mortifications, I find you acting as spokesman for the complaints of a handful of citizens against Alexander, who at least does his best to keep the Galileans in check.

LIBANIUS.

Oh, my august friend,—that is precisely our ground of complaint.

JULIAN.

Do _you_ tell me this?

LIBANIUS.

’Tis not with my own good will that I do the city’s errands. I urged upon the council that they ought to choose for this task the most distinguished man in the town, thereby implying that I did not wish to be chosen. Despite this hint, the choice fell on me, who am certainly not——

JULIAN.

Well, well, well! But oh, Libanius, that I must hear from your mouth——!

LIBANIUS.

I beg my crowned brother to remember that I speak in the name of the city! For myself, I prize the immortal gods as highly as any one. Where would the art of oratory be without the legends which the poets of bygone days have left to us? May not these legends be likened to a rich vein of ore, whence an accomplished orator can forge himself both weapons and ornaments, if only he understands how to work the metal skilfully? How flat and insipid would not the maxims of wisdom seem, expressed without images or comparisons borrowed from the supernatural?

But think, oh my friend—can you expect the multitude to take this view, especially in such an age as ours? I assure you that in Antioch, at any rate, ’tis not to be hoped for. The citizens—both Galileans and the more enlightened—have of late years lived at peace without greatly concerning themselves as to these matters. There is scarce a household in the city wherein people are of one mind upon things divine. But, until lately, domestic peace has nevertheless prevailed.

Now the case is altered. People have begun to weigh creed against creed. Discord has broken out between the nearest kinsmen. For example, a citizen, whose name I forbear to mention, has lately disinherited his son because the young man separated himself from the Galilean community. Commerce and social life suffer from all this, especially now, when scarcity reigns and famine stands at the door.

JULIAN.

Enough, enough,—more than enough, Libanius! You complain of scarcity. But tell me, has luxury ever been more rampant than now? Is the amphitheatre ever empty when it is reported that a new lion has arrived from Africa? Last week, when there was a talk of turning all idlers and vagabonds out of the city because of the dearth, did not the citizens loudly demand that the gladiators and dancing-girls should be exempted; for they felt they could not exist without them!

Ah, well may the gods desert you in wrath over, your folly! There are plenty of teachers of wisdom in this city, but where is wisdom? Why do so few tread in my footsteps? Why stop at Socrates? Why not go a few steps further, and follow Diogenes, or—if I dare say so—me, since we lead you to happiness? For is not happiness the goal of all philosophy? And what is happiness but harmony with oneself? Does the eagle want golden feathers? Or the lion claws of silver? Or does the pomegranate-tree long to bear fruits of sparkling stone? I tell you no man has a right to enjoy until he has steeled himself to forbear. Ay, he ought not to touch enjoyment with his finger-tips until he has learnt to trample it under foot.

Ah truly, we are far from that! But for that end will I work with all my might. For the sake of these things I will give up others which are also important. The Persian king—alarmed at my approach—has offered me terms of peace. I think of accepting them, that I may have my hands free to enlighten and improve you, intractable generation! As to the other matter, it must remain as it is. You shall keep Alexander. Make the best you can of him.

Yet, my Libanius, it shall not be said that I have sent you from me in disfavour——

LIBANIUS.

Ah, my Emperor——

JULIAN.

You mentioned with a certain bitterness that I had given much to Themistius and Mamertinus. But did I not also take something from them? Did I not take from them my daily companionship? ’Tis my intent to give you more than I gave them.

LIBANIUS.

Ah, what do you tell me, my august brother?

JULIAN.

’Tis not my intent to give you gold or silver. That folly prevailed with me only at first, until I saw how people flocked round me, like thirsty harvesters round a fountain, elbowing and jostling one another, and each stretching out a hollow hand to have it filled first, and filled to the brim. I have grown wiser since. I think it may be said in particular that the Goddess of Wisdom has not withdrawn her countenance from me in the measures I have taken for the good of this city.

LIBANIUS.

Doubtless, doubtless!

JULIAN.

Therefore I commission you, oh my Libanius, to compose a panegyric on me.

LIBANIUS.

Ah, what an honour——!

JULIAN.

You must lay special stress on the benefits for which the citizens of Antioch owe me gratitude. I hope you will produce an oration that shall do honour both to the orator and to his subject. This task, my Libanius, shall be my gift to you. I know of nothing more fitting to offer to a man like you.

LIBANIUS.

Oh, my crowned friend, what a transcendent favour!

JULIAN.

And now to the fencing-hall. Then, my friends, we will walk through the streets, to give these insolent townsfolk a profitable example of sobriety in dress and simplicity in manners.

ORIBASES.

Through the streets, sire? In this midday heat——

A COURTIER.

Pray, sire, let me be excused; I feel extremely unwell——

HERACLIUS.

I too, most gracious lord! All this morning I have been struggling against a feeling of nausea——

JULIAN.

Then take an emetic, and see if you cannot throw up your folly at the same time.

Oh Diogenes,—how degenerate are your successors! They are ashamed to wear your cloak in the open street.

[_He goes out angrily through the colonnade._

SCENE SECOND.

_A mean street in the outskirts of the city. In the row of houses to the
left stands a small church._

_A great multitude of lamenting Christians is assembled. The
psalm-writer APOLLINARIS and the teacher CYRILLUS are among them.
Women with children in their arms utter loud cries. GREGORY OF
NAZIANZUS passes along the street._

THE WOMEN.

[_Rushing up to him and taking hold of his garments._] Ah, Gregory, Gregory—speak to us! Comfort us in this anguish!

GREGORY.